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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

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

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

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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.

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

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

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

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

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in the time in the world – for what?

To fail? Again?

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

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

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

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

“It’s unlocked, Pero.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the longer without you.

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

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

“He finds them all beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

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

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

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way?

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.”

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart.

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.”

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar.

Fuck it.

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.”

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth.

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel.

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?”

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last.

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape.

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you.

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob.

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.”

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under.

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.”

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his.

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar.

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe.

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on."

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him.

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised.

“Unless you don’t want –,”

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places.

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword.

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress.

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed.

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him.

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh.

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor.

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.”

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both.

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips.

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils.

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm.

“Oh, oh, Pero—,”

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand.

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.”

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body.

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing.

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress.

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace.

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs.

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear.

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth.

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough.

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly.

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving.

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire.

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets.

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again.

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care.

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter.

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.”

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest.

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.”

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.”

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.”

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more.

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss.

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.”

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.”

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.”

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.”

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble.

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs.

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides.

“Have you had your fun yet?”

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.”

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.”

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips.

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest.

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks.

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted.

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it.

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known.

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart.

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you.

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

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baronessvonglitter · 3 months ago

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I read so many fics over the holidays and found great new (well, new to me) authors. Starting next month I'll be doing monthly fic recs instead because whoa.. this is a lot ❤️

Please take time to read these stories, and others by these creative and beautiful people 💫 And mind the tags, as the majority of these blogs are 18+ and come with their own warnings.

dividers by @plum98 👑

Joel Miller

Borrowed Time by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Joel x f!reader

Darkest Desires by @myownwholewildworld ~ Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader.

Fade Into You by @probablyreadinsmut ~ Joel x Afab! Reader

Girl Dinner by @slimybeth69 ~ kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader

A good grade by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader

Guilty Pleasure by @for-a-longlongtime ~ dbf!Joel x reader

A Hell of a Morning by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Stepdad!Joel x f!reader

It feels like hope by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Hot Priest!Joel x f!reader

Lock the Gate by @almostfoxglove ~ Joel x f!reader

The Older One by @frannyzooey ~ Joel x f!reader

Overloaded by @katiexpunk ~ Joel and Tommy Miller X fem!Reader

Pregame Play by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Dbf!Joel x reader

Seeing Pink by @gutsby ~ Joel x Reader

Texas Red by @studioghibelli ~ Joel x reader

this one thing you did by @joelscruff ~ Joel x f!reader

Three Strikes by @maiamore ~ Joel x f!reader

Unwrapped by @sunshinehaze1 ~ Joel x f!reader (f. Marcus Acacius & Lucilla Aurelius)

The Warden by @arcanefox207 ~ GameWarden!Joel x F!Reader

you got me thinkin' nonsense by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Dbf!Joel x F!reader

Dave York

In Vino Veritas by @yxtkiwiyxt ~ dave x f!reader

The Lonely Space Between Floors by @morallyinept ~ Dave x F!Reader

One Day at a Time by @drewharrisonwriter ~ Dave x Female Reader

A Quiet Neighborhood by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Dave x f!reader

The Road Not Taken by @guiltyasdave ~ Dave x f!reader

Under False Pretenses by @joelalorian ~ stepdad!dave x f!reader

Javier Pena

How could you love somebody like me? by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ f!reader x Javier

Lost and Found by @oliveksmoked ~ Javier x f!reader

A New Year's Distraction by @lotusbxtch ~ Javier + f!Reader

Pump by @morallyinept ~ Javier x GN!Reader

Marcus Pike

Merry Christmas, baby by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Marcus P x f!reader

Sign Here, Please by @inept-the-magnificent ~ Marcus P X f!Reader

Dieter Bravo

A Better Man by @drewharrisonwriter ~ Dieter x reader

Din Djarin

Best Kept Secret by @lincolndjarin ~ bodyguard!din x princess!reader

Pero Tovar

Baron Tovar Takes a Wife by @604to647 ~ Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero x fem!reader

Confession by @sawymredfox ~ Pero x fem able-bodied reader

Marcus Acacius

Searching for the Stars Pt. 2 by @the-mandawhor1an ~ Marcus A x f!Reader

Frankie Morales

Extra cream and sugar by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Frankie x f!reader

Multi/Other

Blackmail by @milla-frenchy ~ Javier Pena x fem reader x Joel Miller

Cosmic Love by @kedsandtubesocks ~ Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

Datura by @suzdin ~ Joel Miller x f!reader x Dave York

Don't say a word if this word is not "please" by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ General!Marcus Acacius X slave trader!Javier Peña

Fuckboy by @sizzlingcloudmentality ~ unnamed ppu character x f!reader

Paris, Texas by @almostempty ~ Joel Miller x Javier Pena x f!reader

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hellfire-state-of-mind · 11 months ago

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i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)

pairing: Pero Tovar x fem!reader

rating: E for Explicit

word count: 2.2k

warnings: 18+ content, fingering/hand job, unprotected piv, creampie, praise kink, brief talk of injury/treatment (reader gives him stitches), reader has no physical description besides breasts and feminine clothing, Tovar is able to lift reader

a/n: my submission for @iamasaddie's kinky may challenge! i was given the honor of writing Tovar with a praise kink 😤 i haven't written smut in a long time so please be gentle 🥲 extra special shoutouts to @frannyzooey and @joelscruff for hyping me up with the snippets i shared with them. feedback is always welcome, i was equal parts excited and scared to write this so i'd love to hear what y'all think 🙂

Tovar squirms again, making your hand slip and press harder on the wet rag you’re using to clean the sizeable gash along his right collarbone. He hisses slightly through his teeth before glancing down at you. You glare at him and huff once more.

“I told you to stop moving.”

Before he can respond, you hike up your skirt with your free hand and straddle his thighs. Tovar freezes completely upon your sudden movement, gripping the bench now supporting the both of you, his brows raised as you lock eyes.

“Now, hold still.”

You twist to the table next to you and pick up a sewing needle and thread, taking a moment to hold the needle in the flame of a lit candle to sterilize it before threading the eye. You don’t ask if he’s ready before beginning to stitch the wound.

Your stitches are slow but precise in the low candlelight. When you finish, you lean forward slightly to cut the thread with your teeth and secure the ends. It’s only when you pull away to set aside your tools that you notice Tovar’s breathing, or rather the lack of. He’s completely still as a statue, focused on a vague point off in the distance behind you.

“Did it really hurt that much?” You maneuver to try and catch his eyes but he veers away. You teasingly brush your fingertips down his muscular bicep. “I thought a big, tough mercenary like you could handle more than a few stitches without a fuss.”

Tovar clears his throat and his voice comes out lightly strained and breathy. “It is…not my wound that is the trouble.”

He shifts uncomfortably beneath you and you feel it. His full erection is pressed against your bare inner thigh. You can feel his weight and warmth just as he can feel yours. You bite back a smirk when he passes you a guilty glance.

“Forgive me, my dear. It has been a long time since I’ve felt a woman’s touch.”

You pause to consider your next move. You can’t deny your own attraction to the man, and you’ve been experiencing an extended dry spell of your own. It’s a miracle your own arousal hasn’t found its way to the front of his trousers where you’re still perched. Who knows how long he’ll stay here at the Wall? Who knows if he’ll even live to see another moonrise? What’s the harm in a little release?

You smirk and look up at him through your eyelashes. “Allow me to relieve your pain, then.”

You slide back on his thighs far enough to reach between the two of you and unfasten his pants. He grips your wrists with one thick, massive hand to stop you from going further.

“I cannot ask you to do that.” His voice and eyes are stern, intent on not crossing any unwanted boundaries.

You look back at him with sincerity. “You’re not asking me. I want to.”

“Querida-”

“No one ordered me to tend to your wound. I came because I wanted to. I wanted to help you,” you gently pry your hands from his grasp, “and I’m not leaving until I’ve finished helping you.”

Tovar’s expression is difficult to read. You can see the turmoil behind his eyes, so you try to make the decision easier for him. Shifting closer once more, you take his hand and guide it between your own legs. The corner of your mouth twitches up as his pupils dilate upon coming in contact with your soft, damp hairs. You press him further into your wetness, cupped fully in the palm of his hand now, and he breathes in sharply.

“If you truly want me to go-”

“No.” Tovar cuts you off quietly. You smile in satisfaction when you remove your hand but his does not budge. “But I will not indulge in what is not offered.”

Striking your final blow, you undo the strings closing the top of your tunic, shrugging the shoulders off and letting it fall around your waist. Your breasts are exposed, nipples peaking in the cool night air from the window beside you. Tovar’s eyes are ablaze now as he takes you in, using every last bit of his willpower to resist until you give the word.

“Is this offering enough?”

The breath is stolen straight from your lungs as Tovar plunges one thick finger inside you up to the knuckle, his other hand smoothing up your bare thigh to your ass cheek and grasping it. He tugs you close so your tits are pressed to his solid chest as he slowly pumps in and out of you.

Your hands fly to his shoulders to steady yourself, but you move them away just as quickly when you put pressure on his fresh stitches. Tovar only grunts softly, otherwise not acknowledging the slip. You instead find a handhold along his ribs, gripping him tightly as warmth begins to spread up into your belly. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, breathing deep and focused as he eases a second finger inside and increases his speed. You gasp at the foreign stretch and claw at his sides.

Tovar’s hips buck into you at the pinch, and you’re reminded of your initial mission. One hand slips past his waistband and settles on his hip. You bow your head and spit into the other before reaching down his front to grasp his length. The two of you groan simultaneously at the new sensation. You start pumping him, matching the pace of his fingers.

Your motions soon falter, though, as Tovar curls his fingers to press into your sweet spot. Your head falls to the side and rests on his, unable to stay up on its own as the wave of euphoria builds and threatens to crest. You fight to maintain your own strokes as Tovar chuckles from deep in his chest into your ear.

“You’re doing so good for me, querida. So soft and warm, so tight.” He cuts himself off with a stronger groan as your hand on his hip circles back to the top of his ass, while the one wrapped around his cock slides down to cup his balls as well. “I know you’re close. Don’t fight it, bonita. Give it to me.”

The wave comes crashing over you with his encouragement. You mouth drops open as you make no attempt to smother your cries. Tovar flexes as your hips rut against him.

“Very good. Let it out, let me hear you.”

Tovar continues his movements until you’ve completely come down from your high, though it begins to build again almost as soon as it dissipates. Finally, he removes his fingers, making a soft pop as your walls try to suck him back inside. He raises them to his lips and generously sucks off all your release from them, never once breaking eye contact. You feel a fresh gush of arousal drip down your thigh at the sight. You quickly fumble to pull down his trousers and free his raging cock. Tovar tilts his hips, tugging them down to his mid-thighs, but grasps you by the waist before you can impale yourself on him.

“I need you to say it first, mi amor. I simply cannot take what is not freely given.”

“Then take me,” you huff impatiently.

Tovar loosens his grip enough for you to rise onto your knees, notching the weeping head of his cock at your entrance. You lock eyes with him and take a deep, steadying breath before sinking down. You cry out in both pain and pleasure, the stretch more intense than his fingers especially after so long without. Tovar moans along with you, letting out a pained shout of his own as you take him all the way inside, settling onto his lap once more.

You nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his scent of sweat and a hint of gunpowder, your breath hot against his skin. You try rocking your hips to relieve some of the tension, but Tovar abruptly stands, slipping out but clutching you to him tightly. You whine at the loss, then gasp when you feel the coolness of the thin sheets adorning the simple bed in the opposite corner of the room.

Tovar settles above you, supporting most of his weight on his knees and forearms. His pelvis rests lightly between your spread legs, his hardness bobbing against your mound with every breath. The dark trail of hair leading up his abdomen tickles your stomach, and you take the opportunity to truly admire the specimen hovering above you. The rippling muscles in his back, littered with long-healed battle scars breaking up the smooth skin. His dark hair, cut short but curling slightly at the nape of his neck. You rake your fingers through it, pulling him close. Tovar rests his forehead against yours, lips parted, exchanging breath. His gaze is piercing but you feel yourself being pulled in rather than pushed away.

Tovar must feel the same as he leans down just enough that your lips brush, but not seal together. You whimper his name on the verge of desperation and he closes the gap. He immediately takes charge, his tongue invading your mouth, feeling and tasting every crevice. You buck into him once again and he rips away from you, pinning your hips to the bed with one hand splayed across your lower belly.

You want to scream in frustration. “Tovar, please!”

“Shh, I know, mi amor. I know what you need. And you’ve been so good for me, I promise I will give it to you.” He moves his hand away and guides his tip back inside, pressing in slowly until his hips are flush with yours. The two of you groan in sync again and you wrap your legs around him, locking him in. “But we must go slow. I would hate to finish too quickly and bring an end to such pleasure that has only just begun.”

With this, he captures your lips with his own once more. You two stay locked like this for a while, savoring each other’s taste and touch. Tovar’s hands explore your body as you did his, tracing bones and squeezing flesh. Only when you feel totally consumed by him does he retreat from you, leaving only his tip inside. Tilting your chin up to look at him, he sinks back in to the root. And again. And again. Your second high hits you without warning as he sets the perfect rhythm.

Tovar bites back a guttural moan as he feels you tighten around him. “Dios mio, mi amor. You’re taking me so well. I would stay just like this forever if I could, buried in this cunt.”

You feel as if you’re floating, evaporating into the air from his heat and force of his thrusts. Your pleasure reaches new heights as he cups the back of your knee and pushes it up to your chest, welcoming him impossibly deeper. Tovar’s intense gaze remains on your face as he fucks you, committing every sound and expression of bliss to his memory.

You feel the wave cresting again just as his hips begin to stutter but never lose their force. You try to call out his name, a warning of your impending release, but you only manage pleading cries of “please.”

He understands immediately, snaking his other arm underneath you and up to your shoulder, pulling you against him as he slams into you. His voice is just as desperate, strained from holding off his own release to wait for yours.

“That’s it, mi amor. Cum for me. Cum on my cock. I want it. I need it. I crave it.” His snarling in your ear tips the scales in your favors, sending you over the edge. Your legs tighten around him as your back arches off the mattress. Tovar takes one breast into his mouth, biting and sucking his mark onto you. He unlatches in time to smack his hips to yours once, twice, three more times. A roar erupts from him as his cock pulses, forcing out rope after rope of his cum to coat your walls, content to plant there and never escape.

He fills you to the brim, milky white droplets beginning to seep out from where your hole has sealed around him. When he’s finally spent, he lowers himself flush to you, arms curling around your back. The salty, heady scent of your activity surrounds the two of you as you each fight to regain your senses.

You card your fingers through his hair once more as Tovar turns his head to press his lips to your neck. Soft at first, then open and hungry, nipping at the skin to coax out another mark matching the one on your breast, tongue soothing the spot after each bite.

You hear his breath begin to deepen and slow, feel his heartbeat matching it. You know you shouldn’t allow yourself to fall asleep beneath him. But how could you rip yourself from his arms now?

As if sensing your thoughts, Tovar rests his head atop yours, gazing into your eyes once more, lids half-closed.

“Ay, mi amor. I have half a mind to steal you away with us. What kind of man would I be to leave behind such perfection?” He seals your lips together and, at the same time, your mind.

What’s the harm in being his forever?

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the hellfire texts

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romana-after-dark · 6 months ago

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Dead Dove December 2024

Hello everyone! This December I’m hosting a multi-fandom event that I’m calling, Dead Dove December! From 12/01/2024 - 12/31/2024 I’m encouraging others to create something that expresses their deepest and (most importantly) darkest desires. I will be reblogging all pieces of art or fanfiction, and will post a masterlist in January. or whenever i get around to it. i have not even done the pride masterlist bc I'm a disaster! But most importantly this will be for funsies.

I hosted this last year with just oscar/pedro Characters but Logan is my special guy so he's here now too <3

Details below the cut…

What is Dead Dove Do Not Eat?

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, or DDDNE has its origins in one of my comfort shows!

The phrase comes from a meme referencing the 2003 Arrested Development episode "Top Banana", in which Michael Bluth opens a paper bag labeled "DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT" and, upon discovering that there is a dead dove inside the bag, says, deadpan, "I don't know what I expected." - fanlore.org

In short, what you see in the tags is what you should expect to see in the fic. This can apply for any type of fic, including the fluffy ones, but it’s usually associated with darker themes. That being said, this is your warning that this is a DARK THEMED EVENT. If you aren’t comfortable with darker topics like non-con, excessive violence, blood/gore, death, toxic relationships, 18+ age gaps, and more, then I encourage you not to participate in this event.

How to Participate

For the month of December, post your Dead Dove fanfiction or fan art on your blog. Use the tag #deaddovedecemeber2024 and tag me. You can also send a link via ask or DM if you like! I will not be posting anything for you, just reblogging and linking. At the end of December I will post a masterlist with links to everyone’s works! Side Note - Since Tumblr doesn’t really allow for NSFW art, you can post your work on Twitter or any other site that allows it and just send me that link so I can add it to the masterlist.

Rules

You MUST be 18+ to participate. I will be checking your blog/social media to be sure. Please make sure your age is easy to find. If I find that you’re a minor or if your age isn’t readily present I will be blocking you and you will be unable to participate. You can just add that you are over 18 if you don’t want your age out on the internet. As the creator and promotor of this event, I need to know I’m not interacting with minors given the nature of this event.

The work MUST be dark in some way. There’s no limit to how dark your work needs to be or can be, but it needs to contain some sort of dark theme in order to qualify. If non con isn’t your thing, dub con via stockholm syndrome or brainwash can let you write a more comfortable scene while still remaining dark. Fics and art do not necessarily need to be NSFW. last year a friend even did cnc, where it was seemingly dark but then ended with it was Marc and reader ding a scene. Dark reader or oc is an absolute yes.

Your work MUST have an Oscar Isaac, Hugh Jackman, or Pedro Pascal Character. It can be x reader, x oc,xcanon character, crosoversec. If you want Joel Miller fucking the ghoul from Fallout (or both of them fucking a reader)you can even though Eddie doesn't exist in any Oscar Pedro Hugh content. If you want Marc and Logan to fuck, go nuts. Got a series you're already writing, and wanna submit a dark chapter or a dark Au to it? That's fine too! We're pretty open here. No rpf.

Do NOT post anything before 12/01/2024. I will not count submissions prior to that date or after 12/31/2024. Masterlsit will be posted in January.

Your work MUST contain the proper tags. I won’t police how detailed your tags should be, but, for instance, if your work contains non-con, and you didn’t tag non-con then your work will not qualify. Please be inclusive in your writing where you can, but aware of POC queer and disabled people.

You may submit no more than two (2) pieces. This can include a fanfic and fanart, two fanfics or two fanarts. This is to allow someone to write a piece and make a work of art to accompany it. You can also work with another creator together.

I’m not going to yuck someone’s yum, but there are some things I’m just personally not comfortable with and since I’ll be reading/viewing/promoting all of these, I have a few things not allowed in the event. The list of what’s NOT allowed is shorter than the list of what IS allowed so here’s a list of the things that will NOT be tolerated in this event:

No underage/aged up minor content - To clarify, this includes things popular ships like - TLOU 1 or "Show Ellie" x Joel or Miguel O’Hara X Gwen Stacy. No "ageing up" minors for the purpose of a fic.

No Bestiality - To clarify, monsterfucking does NOT count as bestiality (at least to me). For example, werewolves, venom, Khonshu, e.t.c. are all allowed.

No Real person fanfiction. Can’t include Oscar, Pedro, or Hugh. This is not a moral judgement or me looking down just not in my comfort zone

No incest - To clarify, step-sibling/step-parent relationships are permitted as long as everyone is 18+. Different age of consent in your state or country does not apply here, and frankly I'd prefer 21+ but I know there are younger people than me who write so I'm not gonna say you gotta write like that. Selfcest relationships are also allowed (like Moon Knight or Miguel with his alternate self, e.t.c.).

No necro/snuff. Plain and simple.

I have final say in what I want to promote. Is TLOU 2 Ellie an adult and not technically Joel's ctual kid? Yes. technically it fits all the rules but it gives me the ick so I'm not gonna accept it. I cannot possibly prepare for all scenarios, and i want to just be able to have fun here with yall.

If you’re unsure if something is allowed or not, you can send me a DM or an ask for clarification prior to posting.

You can use any prompts you want or none, you aren’t tied to any one idea but here are some to get the ideas flowing if you need them!

Also, you can absolutely use a fic to inspire your art, or art to inspire a fic! Your inspiration piece, whether yours or someone else’s does not have to be from December, but you MUST obtain permission from the original creator before I promote your work. Most creators are happy when their work inspires others, and all my fics are open to being used for inspiration, but please reach out to the creator first.

I’m very excited! This is my second year hosting this an I've hosted other events by myself or with friends so I'm happy to keep going, this time with Hugh Jackman bc i can't get Logan out of my head.

Dividers and header made by the amazing @melodygatesauthor

Please consider reblogging to spread the word!

I don't reall know many people in the logan/hugh jackman fandom so I'd love if this was an oppritunity to get to know yall too!

Dark prompt list to come, also check out #deaddovedecember2023 to see what last year had!

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lotusbxtch · 2 months ago

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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

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pero tovar #pedro pascal characters #the great wall #happy pedro hours #bouquetsofpedro challenge #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you

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hellishjoel · 1 year ago

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12 Days of Pedro | Masterlist

Authors Note Hello and welcome to 12 Days of Pedro! I'm incredibly lucky to host a wonderful collection of works by such talented and sweet authors. We will be posting fics and moodboards, all linked on this masterlist! To the authors participating, thank you from the bottom of my heart, putting this together meant the world to me! Getting to hear all of your excitement and ideas really put me in the spirit! To the readers, these fics will be holiday/christmas/winter themed, all posted on the original authors account. Please show them support and love! Come back every day to open a new present (fic!)

Thank you to @undercoverpena for creating this wonderful masterlist image and thank you @saradika-graphics for the banner!

Day 1 (December 11) - new year's day by @hellishjoel Day 2 (December 12) - decorating the tree with dieter by @wildemaven Day 3 (December 13) - white christmas by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Day 4 (December 14) - when i’m feeling alone, you remind me of home by @joelsgreys Day 5 (December 15) - under the mistletoe by @beskarandblasters Day 6 (December 16) - baby, it's cold outside by @thetriumphantpanda Day 7 (December 17) - snowmen and sledding by @wildemaven Day 8 (December 18) - you're a mean one, mr. miller by @cupofjoel Day 9 (December 19) - make me like the holidays by @undercoverpena Day 10 (December 20) - let it snow by @kiwisbell Day 11 (December 21) - ásjá by @perotovar Day 12 (December 22) - naughty or spice by @morallyinept

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604to647 · 1 year ago

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Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Third Movement (Presto agitato)

11K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: What do you do now that you realize you have feelings for the Barón?

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Pining and Angst. Semi public kissing, groping and sex. Someone comes in his breeches 🤷🏻‍♀️. F!oral, fingering, thigh riding, unprotected PiV. Pet names (spanish), Pero catches reader and gives her a little twirl once.

A/N: I'm sorry for the word count 😅😅 I feel like the pacing of this final part is kind of like season 1 of Bridgerton where it was like 5 episodes of flirting and then SMUTSMUTSMUT 🤭🤭 Just wanted to give our Spaniard and his Dulce a HEA, that's all! Please please correct my Spanish!! Google won't be offended! Thank you for reading along and hope you're looking forward to Season 3 of Bridgerton next week!

Series Masterlist 🎼 First Movement 🎼 Second Movement 🎼

The following morning you wake to your ladies’ maid gently shaking you and a massive headache. Barely able open your eyes, so puffy from crying, you’re sure you gave her a terrible fright. After asking for and drinking some water, you try using the cool glass to depuff your eyes and alleviate the pounding in your head, but no difference is made; you continue to feel positively awful. Daphne comes into your room at the behest of the maid and immediately sees you’re much too unwell to entertain visitors today; it’s an easy decision to send all your suitors away and have them come back when you’re better. When you start to apologize for causing a fuss, she immediately shushes you and insists you get rest - she will have the maids bring up some soothing tea. You lay back down, exhausted, and drift off in the middle of telling her how much you love her.

---

Pero steps into Bridgerton House just as several young men are leaving; as they brush past him, he spots Colin speaking with a maid in the main foyer.

“Tovar! It’s been ages – how have you been?” Colin beams when he sees his friend.

In truth, Pero is here to see you; he can’t quite get over the look of distress on your face when you left him last night. Not for the first time, Pero silently curses Lord Ridlington for having sent over women to his house unsolicited last night, his apparent idea of a prank. Leaving the women to themselves in a waiting room, Pero had been discussing with his butler the next course of action when you had surprised him beneath his window. After you left, he made the proper arrangements for the women to leave discreetly, and had gone to bed thinking of you as usual.

“I’ve been well, thank you. Hope things have been going well here? Have today’s suitors started their visits earlier than usual?” He gestures to another three men now descending the stairs and making towards the exit in an orderly line.

“No, my Lord,” the maid explains, “Miss is ill today. Her suitors have been sent away and asked to return when she has recovered and is ready to receive visitors again.”

“Ill?!” How could you have taken ill when he just saw you? Instantly Pero admonishes himself for having kept you standing outside last night - the night chill must have disagreed with you. “Please,” he begs, “take me to see her.”

The maid looks panic stricken. Surely this Spanish nobleman must understand the impropriety of a man being let in to the bed chambers of an unmarried woman.

Colin diverts her attention, “Marie, it will be okay. Barón Tovar is an old family friend of the Count’s. There is nothing improper afoot. The door will remain open and you and I shall both be but a step away.”

With Mr. Bridgerton’s assurance, Marie the maid leads the two men to your door and opens it wide before stepping back to wait outside with Colin. Pero walks into darkness, the curtains still drawn to help you sleep and ease the pain of your headache, but your magnetic pull leads him to you with no issue.

Kneeling by your bedside, Pero says your name softly, but you do not stir. He goes to push aside some hair that’s fallen across your forehead and is alarmed when it feels hot to the touch; using the back of his hand to check your forehead and cheeks, he finds you clammy and feverish. Shouting for Marie, both Colin and the maid rush in to Pero’s call, “Please find the Duchess! Her friend is running a fever and a doctor needs to be called. And please bring me a basin of cold water and a clean washcloth at once!”

Daphne rushes in minutes later to find Pero dabbing your forehead with the wet cloth that Marie procured, “Oh no! I saw her this morning and knew she was unwell, but I did not think to check for a temperature!”

Shaking his head softly, Pero entreats the Duchess, “Do not blame yourself, your Grace. Likely this morning she was not feverish when you saw her. Please, has a doctor been called?”

The Duchess nods tearfully, grateful for Pero’s kind words and feeling a kinship with this man who clearly shares her tremendous concern for your well being.

When the doctor arrives, Daphne stays in the room and gives Pero a nod of reassurance; he leaves begrudgingly though he knows you are in safe hands with the Duchess. Hovering impatiently never more than a step away from the door, Pero breathes a sigh of relief when he overhears the doctor say that your temperature is no longer increasing, and that if kept cool and comfortable, your fever should easily break over the next day or two. He vows to ensure both conditions are met to the best of his abilities until the moment you awake.

After the doctor leaves and Daphne has gone in search of a servant to fetch your father, Pero stays by your side, continuously stroking your hair gently and dabbing your hot skin with a cool cloth. Every time Daphne passes by the open door of your room, she looks in to find Pero watching over you, brows furrowed, eyes full of concern and worry. Sometimes the Duchess will see Pero’s lips moving, speaking gently to you - though she never hears the words he says, she can tell they’re heartfelt. It becomes crystal clear to her that two weeks ago she had simply asked the Barón the wrong question; instead of “Do you intend to court her?”, she should have asked Pero: “Do you love her?” The answer obvious.

Pero never leaves your side, not when the Bridgerton women visit, or even when your father comes. He just tucks himself into the corner of the room until their visits are over, as if afraid to leave you. When it’s just him and you alone, he tries his best to make sure you’re comfortable, arranging your blankets nicely and propping up your pillows so that your sleep is restful and serene. He requests that cool water and clean cloths are at his constant disposal, and makes sure to dab your face, neck, and decolletage at consistent intervals in order to keep your temperature down. And while he does so, Pero continuously talks to you, encouraging you to get better, coaxing you back to him.

He calls you carino, hermosa, princesa, mi reina, mi amor, and all the other endearments he doesn’t ever let himself call you save for in his head. He lavishes you with compliments and words of praise that he's never allowed to slip past his lips - how perfect you are, how sweet and smart, that he doesn’t know anyone else like you and that your cheerful demeanor and melodic voice are the only things that can ever make him smile. He tells you how he hasn’t smiled as much as he has since he reunited with you at the Danbury ball in years. He confesses that every time he holds you while you dance, he has trouble letting go when the music ends, and when he sees another man take your hand and spin you around the room, he has to hold himself back from physically stepping in and pulling you back into his arms. He tells you that he finds you beautiful and intoxicating, and describes every last inch of you that he can’t stop dreaming about, but lingers the longest in his description of your eyes and the richness of expressions they make that leave him breathless. He tells you all these things because if he doesn’t say them out loud, he thinks he will burst from having to hold his feelings in all the time. He tells you these things because he knows you will never hear them.

As the doctor predicted, the fever breaks late the following day and you start to stir shortly after. Blinking your eyes open slowly, they come into focus to your father’s worry lined face and you watch as it cracks with relief, “Welcome back, dearest. How do you feel?”

Not sure you can trust your voice right now, you give your father a small smile and nod when he says he needs to get the doctor. In the few minutes you have alone, you try to get your bearings; the last thing you remember is waking to a terrible headache and falling back asleep after Daphne told you she would be sending your suitors away. You swear you have vague memories of Pero’s voice and soft touch, but that couldn’t have been real. Pero. Oh. You remember now the reason for having woken up before feeling empty and sad, but you don’t have too long to linger on it because your father returns swiftly with the doctor.

After declaring you well on your way to a full recovery, the doctor leaves you with your father; the Count, looking like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders, hugs you tightly and clasps his hands tightly over yours, “I am so glad you are better, dearest. Now, will you please tell your suffering father what is troubling that heart of yours?”

You’re shocked. How could your father know about your feelings for Pero when you only realized them a few nights ago? Your surprise must be written all over your face because the Count gently explains, “My dear, in the entirety of your life, you have only ever had such a fever twice, both times due to crying yourself sick from heartbreak. The first time was when you were a young girl and I read you The Little Mermaid - the ending saddened you to tears. The other was when we were leaving Portugal and I didn’t let you keep the stray puppy you had been feeding for a month. This is how I know something ails your heart terribly. Please. Tell your father so he can help you.”

Your heart swells with affection for your father - he has always been the most loving and caring man, attentive to your feelings and understanding of your nature. There is no one on this earth who you trust so whole heartedly and with whom you feel so safe. Except for Pero, you suddenly realize.

You tell your father everything. You tell him about how Pero lets you be yourself without reservation, and that with him you don’t need to temper down your enthusiasm for your interests or make your experiences seem smaller than they are. How he encourages you in everything you do and makes you feel like you’re capable of anything and everything. He respects you and approaches you with kindness, always making you feel safe and taken care of. That he makes you laugh all the time. And that you’ve taken Pero and his wonderfulness for granted, not realizing just how rare and valuable all his amazing qualities are because if you had you would have figured out earlier that you’re completely in love with him. You cry softly and confess to your father that your heart is broken because you’re in love with a man who will never see you more than a childhood compatriot, and that you may never get over this sad truth.

The Count listens to you sympathetically, and when you’re finished, he simply tilts his head thoughtfully and asks, “How do you know he does not care for you in the same manner?”

You can hardly tell your father that you snuck out of Bridgerton House and interrupted Pero when he had company over, so you have to cite another reason you’re so certain of how Pero feels about you. But you find yourself struggling to come up with any concrete examples or reasoning that satisfy even yourself; all you can say is, “Because he wishes for me to find a husband. He encourages me to do so. I’m simply the daughter of his father’s friend.”

Something like bemusement dances over your father’s face, “It seems to a me that a man who thinks of you as simply the daughter of his father’s friend would not have purchased my shares in the fleet.”

You’re absolutely stunned. Pero purchased your father’s shares? But why? There was no inherent income from the investment, the dividends benefitted you and your future children only, “Why would Pero do that?”

“You will have to ask him yourself, dearest. It shouldn’t be too long before he visits himself now that he’s likely heard you’re awake. He had not left your bedside for nearly two days and it was only at my insistence that he let me sit vigil so he could go home and change his clothes.”

Again, you’re astonished; is it possible that your vague recollections of Pero’s voice and gentle touches while you were ill are real?

“I will say, when I asked him the same question of why, his answer was that he did not want the hard work you and I put into our happy venture to be squandered. He said he knew that would break your heart.”

It’s true, it would.

“With his experience, I know the fleet would be in good hands.”

Nodding, you have to agree.

“… and you would be in good hands.”

You look up to see your father looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place. You’re about to ask him about it when you hear a quiet knocking and you look over to see Pero standing in the open doorway, as if you had summoned him with your conversation.

“My apologies, I do not mean to interrupt. I thought I heard your voice and wanted to see if you were awake,” Pero looks tired, but hopeful.

The Count waves him in and gets up, whispering in your ear, “Be kind to him, dearest. The man has been in anguish and has not left your bedside for more than a few minutes these past two days.” Kissing you on the cheek, he tells you he will go and find the Duchess to give her the good news of your recovery if the doctor has not yet done so himself. After he pulls away, you notice for the first time that your room is filled with peonies, every flat surface covered with the most splendid displays in the prettiest pastel colours – your heart soars at the sight. When Pero takes your father’s place in the chair across from you, neither of you notice that the Count closes the door behind him.

“Dulce, how are you feeling,” asks Pero with as much feeling as you’ve ever heard from him.

You tell him you’re much better, and that although no one has said so explicitly, you suspect that much of your recovery is due to his diligent care and watch over you.

“It was nothing, Dulce. I was worried about you. I am glad you are okay now,” he says, relief evident in his voice.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I really don't know what I have done to deserve your kindness, Pero. And not only these past two days when I’ve taken ill, but over the entire course of this season – I do not think I have ever properly thanked you for being there for me, supporting and encouraging me, and bringing me such peace and joy so that I did not buckle under the pressure of my debut. Please allow me to do so right now. Thank you, Pero,” you look at him with adoration and admiration, pouring all your feelings out and disguising them as simple gratitude.

“It has been my absolute pleasure, truly. I am so very proud of the woman you have grown up to be: beautiful, smart, funny, and so, so very caring. You are one of kind, Dulce – and the lucky man who marries you needs to know just how special you are. There isn’t anyone else who has your vibrant spirit, your sweet disposition, your fun-loving heart. He needs to know and nurture all these wonderful qualities so that your light never goes out,” Pero espouses your virtues and merits with eyes fixed upon yours, wishing he could express just how deep his admiration truly runs.

To say you’re affected would be an understatement, and it makes you bold and brave.

“Pero, I cannot tell you how much your kind words mean to me. I have never known a man to be more genuine and earnest that you; when you say something, you mean it. I find you so very thoughtful this way. And in other ways as well – I know, for example, it must have been you who filled this room with my favourite flowers.” Pero nods indulgently and you carry on, “… and I know you purchased the shares in the fleet from my father. Thank you, Pero.”

Pero is surprised, although he had not asked the Count to keep the sale from you, he didn’t expect you to know already.

You’re looking at him with an expression he won’t let himself name, eyes soft, almost pleading, “Why would you do something so generous, Pero?”

Pero remains quiet, as if wrestling with how he wishes to answer and you wait patiently, not sure what to expect.

“The owner of the shares has custody of a great gift. The fleet is an impressive venture - it has potential to do considerable good in this world, and much of that is thanks to you and your father’s dedication and contributions – the holder of these shares cannot squander that opportunity; he needs to honour you and your father’s legacy by carrying on the good work you’ve started together. But that in and of itself is not the gift. The man who holds these shares is also given the gift of being able to take care of you, to have a small hand in ensuring a prosperous future for you and your children. I… could not take the risk that someone who did not understand the honour of this charge would hold these shares. I hope you can understand and not think it imprudent of me.”

You don’t know what to say. Pero is so generous and considerate – how could he ever think you would view his gesture as anything but deeply caring? Unsure of your silence, Pero attempts to lighten the mood, “This way, I can still be in your life. I can come to see you when I need to discuss matters of the fleet.”

“Pero, you’re my friend! You do not need to have a business pretense to see me.”

He shakes his head sadly, “You will be married, Dulce. Your husband would not like a man like me visiting his wife frequently.”

��A man like you?” you’re not sure what he means.

“A man who looks at you the way I look at you.”

You inhale sharply, hardly allowing yourself to breathe, “And how do you look at me, Pero?”

“Like you are the sun, Dulce. Like everything you touch is made brighter and better from the light of your smile and the warmth of your sweet laugh. As if under your care and attention, everything and everyone, including me, grows – stronger, brighter, better. I look at you like I dream about the graceful notes of your voice every night and wish to hear your melody of thoughts and opinions on all things. I look at you like I am hypnotized just by the sway of your hips and even the lilt of your fingers. Everyday, I’m ever more enchanted with the tilt of your head and curve of your mouth. I look at you like I could never get enough.”

“And what if I don’t want that?”

“Then I will stay away, mi reina. Anything you wish,” though crushed, Pero knows that he would do whatever you asked.

“No, Pero, you misunderstand. What if I don’t want a husband who does not want you looking at me like that? What if I want you to look at me like that? What if I do not want a husband who isn’t you?”

“Dulce…” Pero’s heart has leapt into his throat, he can hardly allow himself to believe what he’s hearing, “… you do not know what you’re saying. You would not want me for a husband.”

You smile kindly, “And why not?”

Pero looks at you so sadly it breaks your heart, “You would not wish to separate from your friends and leave England to be mistress of a lowly Barón’s estate in a foreign land where you know no one and do not speak the language. Not when you have suitors with much grander fortunes, with estates nearer to your friends, and where you and your children would grow up in the style befitting the daughter of a British Count. You would not want a husband who is never home and spends more time on the seas and in far off lands than he does on home soil; one you never see and for whom you would worry all the time, not knowing where he is or what he is doing.”

“Would you not be willing to take me with you on your travels, Pero?”

“Of course, I would,” Pero never second guesses his answer.

Heart still aflutter at Pero’s romantic declarations, you press ahead, determined. “Well. It seems then that no one would be better suited to be my husband than you! You must know me well enough to know that I do not care for grand fortunes and estates, and my dear father and now you have made sure that I will never be financially dependent on any husband. What I care for is freedom and adventure! And exploration and not being kept from the joys this life has to offer because I am a woman, or just somebody’s wife. As for my friends, I can always visit! And I am fortunate enough that the strength of our bonds is not dependent on having to see each other constantly. Honestly! This would not be the first time in my life I have gone to live in a foreign country where I do not speak the native tongue – it’s practically second nature to me now! But I can see how it would be useful to be able to fluently converse with servants and locals - I suppose I would just have to commit myself to learning Spanish. That is,” you’re suddenly embarrassed upon realizing that Pero hasn’t actually asked you to be his wife, and instead, you’re espousing all the reasons you find the match to be agreeable when he himself hasn’t expressed any desire for it, “if you would wish to have me.”

“Dulce, all I have done since the moment I laid eyes on you at the Danbury Ball is wish to have you. Do you know how hard it was for me to see you entertaining all those suitors when I was certain none of them could ever appreciate you for even half the wonderful person you are? None of them had any idea what a smar-“

You crash your lips to his, and after the initial surprise, Pero kisses you back with the fervent need that’s been building in his soul the past few months. Throwing your arms around him, you open your mouth to his just as his hands pull you flush to his chest; it’s the warmest, hungriest first kiss to have ever been kissed. Your mind having only recently caught up to your heart, and Pero’s constrained feelings finally being set free, your tongues press together over and over, spilling all the unspoken words between the both of you. On instinct you fist Pero’s shirt and pull him down with you onto the bed, Pero’s eyes darkening as he climbs on top of you, placing one knee in between your legs while keeping the other on the ground. You finally run your hands through his soft curls and it feels as incredible as you had imagined two nights ago; you both moan softly at the sensation.

“Dulce, you make the prettiest noises…”

You purr softly at Pero’s praise, leading him to groan deeper into your mouth and you feel the hand that isn’t braced on the pillow next to your head start to skate up your side, landing near your breast and tentatively drawing circles on the underside of your plush curves with its thumb. You arch into Pero’s hand to encourage him to touch you, and he responds as he always promised he would if he had the chance which is to give in to your every desire. Groping your breast and finding your nipple between his fingers, Pero rolls and pinches so expertly that you can’t help but writhe beneath him. He shifts to kiss down your neck as he continues his attentions on your peak and when his knee brushes your throbbing centre, you gasp loudly before covering your mouth with your hands. Still breathing heavily, the two of you giggle and smile stupidly at each other in the tender moment. Pressing his forehead against yours, Pero whispers, “Mi reina, we should stop, I still need to ask your father for your hand. Tomorrow, I am sure he will come here for breakfast and I will ask to speak with him after.”

Looking deep into is eyes, you nod; you know Pero’s right, though there’s a warmth radiating from your very being that wishes to invite scandal and tell him to never stop touching you, knowing by the way he’s making you feel right now that it would be worth it.

Not without regret, Pero pulls himself off of you and stands; after he helps you sit up, Pero tips your chin with his finger so you look at him squarely. A seriousness takes over his face, an expression he usually reserves for others, “Are you sure you want me, mi amor? You have so many suitors, so many options.”

Your eyes shine with sincerity and so much softness for this man that does not seem to understand just how much you love him. You vow to spend the rest of your days showing him, “There are no options when there’s you, Pero.”

You can’t help but shriek a little in laughter as Pero falls on you and crushes his lips to yours, pinning your body to your bed with his large and solid frame. Kissing you over and over, Pero punctuates his affection with barely strung together words of love - So perfect. So perfect. Can’t believe it. How. How did I get so. Damn. Lucky. Beautiful. Perfect girl.

Right before your giggles can turn into moans, a knock on your door freezes you both. The noise is quickly followed by the Duchess’ slightly amused voice, “Is everything okay? We have brought up dinner. Please let me know when it is decent for us to come in.”

Giving you one last peck on your lips before chuckling lightly, Pero pulls you up and whispers, “Tomorrow,” before going to open the door for Daphne.

The next morning you find Pero waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs when you come down. Checking quickly to make sure there aren’t any lingering servants, you step off the third to last step and fling yourself into his arms. Pero catches you easily and gives you a twirl before placing you gently on your feet, then places a less gentle kiss to your lips. With a few hurried murmurings of devotion - I missed you. You look beautiful. I still can’t believe you’re mine - you break apart and head to breakfast.

When the two of you enter the dining room, you’re greeted exuberantly by your friends congratulating you on your recovery and expressing their delight that you’re well enough to rejoin them. Your father hugs you and you think you detect a knowing smile gracing his face, but you’re too soon seated with platters of food being offered and pushed towards you for you to be sure. It’s a happy occasion but also slightly awkward – you’re seated next to Pero, but you have to pretend that nothing has changed between the two of you. Trying to cheerfully chat with your father and friends, you find yourself unable to give the conversation your full attention because you trying with all your might to hold in the most wonderful news of your life, and with it, your overflowing happiness. It doesn’t help that Pero finds increasingly mischievous ways to secretly touch you throughout breakfast: foot reaching over to playfully nudge yours, gently squeezing your thigh under the table. When he purposefully brushes his hand down your arm and over yours in order to reach for the butter dish, you gasp in surprise - his touch out in the open sending a warm thrill through to your heart. In response to your friends’ concerns, you have to lie and say you may still be feeling fatigued, and Pero, ever the menace, pats your shoulder affectionately and reminds you not to overexert yourself before buttering his scone with a smirk.

After your father finishes his meal, you nervously watch Pero hastily shove his last piece of food into his mouth before asking the Viscount for use of his office, and entreats your father for a word. Finishing your own breakfast as quickly as you can without drawing suspicion, you find your way to the closed office doors and pace outside impatiently. Try as you may, you cannot make out any of what is being spoken in the office, even when you press your ear up to the door. After what feels like an eternity, the door opens and Pero exits; not the least bit surprise to find you outside, he whispers in your ear as he walks by, “Your father wishes to see you now, Dulce. Come find me afterwards. I will be upstairs writing a letter.”

The Count welcomes you into the office with open arms and you immediately fly into your father’s loving embrace. As he continues to envelope you in the warmth of his joy, he chuckles, “Well, dearest, I think your old father deserves some acknowledgement for being right.”

Pulling away from him, you look at the face that’s so much like your own, eyes crinkled in mirth and a smile big enough to rival yours, “I concede, Father - you were right. And I have never been so happy to have been wrong!”

Your father’s already expressive eyes shine with an extra brightness, “All I have ever hoped for is your happiness, my dear. Pero is a good man, like his father before him and he has given me every assurance that he will cherish and take care of you the way you deserve. I shall rest easily knowing that you will be in his capable hands… and he in yours.”

What did you ever do to deserve such a brilliant father who has given you the most wonderful life? You ponder this as you walk up the stairs after telling your father that you love him and saying goodbye for the day. You suspect you’ll never discover a satisfactory answer, but can only hope you can one day bestow the same unconditional love and support upon your own children.

You find Pero sitting at the corner desk in the drawing room where some of the Bridgertons are relaxing: Eloise and Colin reading, Francesca tinkering at the piano forte, Daphne looking over some correspondence of her own. Approaching him silently, you look over his shoulder and whisper, “Mi rey, to whom are you writing?”

Smiling at your Spanish endearment of choice, Pero responds without looking up from his task, “I am writing my king, Dulce, and asking him for his permission to marry.”

Ah right, you consider that the Count could very well be penning a similar letter to the queen at this same moment, “What happens if he refuses, Pero?”

“Then I abscond with my new bride and we live like pirates on the run,” smiles Pero, still not looking up.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you grin.

Pero finally sets his soft gaze upon you, “Nothing can be so bad if you are by my side, mi reina.”

He looks at you with such devotion and affection, you can’t help yourself - you cup his perfect face in your hands and bend down to kiss him. Pero returns your soft, gentle kisses with his own, nothing urgent, nothing hurried – just a moment of tenderness that couldn’t have been restrained.

You don’t break apart even when you hear the successive gasps of your friends or even when Colin cheers, unable to part from Pero’s lips even a moment sooner than you need to. When the two of your finally look up, it’s to the sight of the Duchess standing with her hands on her hips and a beaming smile on her face, “Do you two have something to tell us?”

You and Pero attend all of the remaining season events as a happily engaged couple. Pero, no longer scowling all by his lonesome against the wall, but standing tall and proud next to you; his hand laced through yours or comforting and firm on your lower back as the two of you receive congratulations from the ton. He drinks in the jealous looks from your former suitors and inwardly chuckles a little at the conceding grumbles from the mamas who proclaim with surprise that they didn’t know he had been looking for a wife. His stoic countenance cracking just a little at their poorly concealed scandalized faces when he replies that he hadn’t been. For your part, you don’t notice any of this; you only have eyes and ears for Pero. Your face hurts from smiling so much – it’s all you can do to tear your eyes away from your handsome fiancé in order to respond politely to the questions you receive from curious members of the ton.

You still dance every dance, floating on air as you traverse the floor in the strong arms of your dashing Spaniard; now that there is no danger of some other man whisking you away from him for the next dance, Pero quite enjoys the dance floor. He holds you closer than he probably should, chests touching and faces so close that the gentle fan of your breath curls over his lips; his hands find themselves placed low on your back during the waltz, dipping scandalously close to where he really wants them to be, itching to squeeze the plush globes of your ass. If anyone was to make a comment to you about it, you would giggle and simply say that your fiancé is a passionate man.

And he is. A passionate man, that is. Under his grave and steely visage, Pero is a man who yearns for and craves the woman he loves, hungry for you at all times. Such a man is not made of infinite restraint - the limits of Pero’s self control having already been sorely tested for the past few months. As such, whenever an opportunity to escape the rigid formality of these events would arise, Pero wasted no time whisking you away for himself.

At the Grand Picnic, he steals you away to a secluded spot in the gardens where he proceeds to kiss you so fervently and passionately that you actually get dizzy. He presses you against the base of some winged sculpture and hungrily licks and sucks down your neck, all while you cover your mouth with your hands, hoping against hope to contain your moans and soft whimpers. The stone angel watches from its perch as Pero trails his mouth down past your collar towards the swell of your breasts, already rapidly rising and falling. Pressing feather light kisses to the tops of your breasts, Pero drinks in your breathy giggles when his scruff tickles you, before diving in devilishly, lapping at your ample curves and the valley in between. As you start to pant from arousal, Pero finds himself most ardently wishing that your tits would break free of their fine silk confines and spill into his mouth.

A la mierda, he thinks and glides his tongue into the sliver of space between your dress and skin, dragging it across your chest until he hits your hardened nipple; having found his prize, Pero dives in, straining with his tongue to stroke your peak harder and faster. When he leverages enough space with his chin to wedge in between your soft skin and the fabric of your dress, Pero takes your breast into his mouth and sucks while groping your other breast with his hand, finding the twin nipple already straining against your gown, aching to be played with. The combined sensation has you grabbing at Pero’s hair and pressing him closer to you; with your hands now otherwise occupied, your gasps and moans spill unfiltered from your open mouth. The obscene sounds Pero pulls from you must start to carry, because soon you hear voices getting nearer to where you and Pero have now frozen, his mouth buried in your chest; he places one last chaste kiss to tops of each of your breasts before the two of you giggle and run hand-in-hand out of the gardens.

At the Opera, Pero secures a box on the second mezzanine for the two of you. With most of the ton preferring the orchestra seats or boxes closer to the stage, you find yourselves alone in the secluded alcove nearer to the house balcony. Once the lights dim and the overture starts, Pero takes your hand in his and you lean on his shoulder, relaxing into his closeness. By the time the audience is enjoying the soprano’s heart-breaking aria in the third act, Pero has his left arm thrown around you and the knuckles of his right hand are ghosting over the front of your panties where he finds them already damp from want.

“Keep your eyes on the stage, Dulce,” he whispers in your ear as his thumb draws slow circles over your clit. You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out, trying with all your might not to let your whole body react to Pero’s teasing lest it draws the attention of the opera house attendees sitting on the balcony or in the boxes on the opposite side of the hall.

Pero is patient. And thorough. He takes an inordinate time exploring the shape of your pussy - running his thumb then fingers over the outline of your slit and the hardening form of your clit, eventually cupping your mound and letting you grind down on his palm to give you some of the friction you so desperately seek. He toys with you over the fabric of your underwear for the remainder of the 3rd act until your panties are completely soaked through. Only once the 4th act is underway does he slip his hand down the front of your underwear and start to run his forefinger through your folds.

“Pero…” you sigh, spreading your legs wider to allow him more freedom of movement.

“Doing so good for me, mi amor,” he whispers back, continuing his smooth, teasing strokes, dragging your sticky arousal through the valleys of your seam and trailing it up to your clit, spreading it over and around your bundle of nerves before returning his fingers to your wet core. He repeats this over and over, alternating the speed and pressure of his fingers, never letting you settle into a complacent state. Quite the opposite – you feel like your body is on fire.

Willing yourself to breathe through your nose as evenly as you can, you focus on the soprano’s finale song before the ensemble gathers for the finale; just as the singer hits the high notes of her solo with a warm vibrato, Pero pushes a finger straight into your heat and you whine in harmony with her. Slowly he pumps his finger in and out of your tight hole, nearly losing control with the way you clench as he drags along your warm warms; Pero feels you hum around him as pleasure you’ve never felt before radiates throughout your entire body. The squelching sound of Pero working your cunt are thankfully masked by the musical drama unfolding on the stage, and Pero uses the opportunity to ask you if you’re ready for another.

Seeing you nod as subtly as you can, Pero murmurs, “Good girl,” before adding a second finger to join the first. Oh. You’re so full. It’s a stretch, but the sting pairs perfectly with the devastating pleasure now coursing through your veins as Pero slowly drives his fingers into you. Staying with a slower pace until you start dripping down his wrist, Pero’s fingers now start to thrust faster, keeping tempo with the musical build that the ton in the orchestra is enjoying, clueless to your lascivious activities above them.

When Pero presses his thumb to your slippery clit, you surge forward and grab onto the balcony banister for stability, nearly in danger of drawing the attention of unwanted eyes. Refusing to ease up in his efforts on your cunt, Pero continues to push you closer and closer to your high, his fingers never faltering from their punishing pace until you come and cry out in tune with the finale’s final chorus. While the rest of the audience applauses when the curtain falls, Pero’s praise is only for you - purring that you did so good for him and kissing you gently as his slips his slick covered hand back into his glove.

At the Hastings Ball, you’re the one feeling bold. Having arrived at your friend’s estate a week prior to help the Duchess with preparations, you familiarize yourself with the grounds and all the intimate, secret corners perfect for intimate, secret things. Once all the guests have arrived and the festivities have begun in earnest, you sneak off with your fiancé, leading him down a hidden staircase into the Duke’s impressive wine cellar. With all of tonight’s refreshments having already been pulled from inventory, you know no one will be coming down here during the ball; you’re free to touch, feel and love on Pero in all the ways you desire. Once Pero realizes the amount of privacy you’ve been afforded, he’s like a dog unleashed, stalking and cornering you into a wall with a growl, sniping at your neck with his teeth and lips, pawing at your soft curves already on display for him in your pretty ballgown.

Here in the cellar, while you still cannot be loud, but you don’t have to be quiet – the cavernous room echos your quiet moans and Pero’s deep grunts like a soundtrack of pleasure that’s percussed by heavy breathing as the two of you drown in one another. Lips attached to yours, but eyes kept open to take in your lustful expression, Pero spies an unopened crate out of the corner of his eye and smiles against your mouth, “Come here, Dulce. Let me show you something.”

After letting him lead you to the crate, you allow Pero to help you on top before scooting you back so your legs no longer dangle over the edge. Grinning, you ask playfully, “What, pray tell, do you wish to show me, Barón?”

“Want to show you how I’m going to make my pretty wife feel good every day we are married,” Pero looks at you, eyes dark, as his starts to ruffle up the many layers of your dress. You giggle as his pushes through the yards of fabric with a feigned annoyance, bunching it up for you to hold against your chest like an overstuffed pillow. Once Pero is satisfied with his unfettered access, he gently pushes you to lean back on your elbows, hands still laid prettily on your pillow of dress skirts, eyes watching your handsome fiancé’s movements. Pero leans over the edge of the crate and rubs your silk stocking covered calves with his big firm hands as he starts kissing up your leg starting from where your stockings end mid thigh. Every kiss he leaves on your skin gives you a shiver as the cool cellar air hits the imprint his lips leaves behind; then, as he gets closer to your heat, he starts to open mouth kiss where you’re the most sensitive, dragging his tongue back and forth over these tender spot and leading you to throw you head back and close your eyes in heady desire. When he repeats this fog inducing pattern on the inside of your other thigh, you start begging, “Pero, please… please, my Lord, ple-pl-please!”

Nipping at your sensitive flesh with his teeth, Pero smirks against your leg, “What do you need, mi reina?”

Opening your eyes, you nearly buck into his face when you see Pero’s roguish expression peeking up at you from between your wide spread legs, “Touch me please, mi rey.”

“Here?” he asks, with pretend innocence before he dives in and starts devouring your pussy over the fabric of your underwear without waiting for your answer. This feels different. So much like his fingers but even more sensual, intimate, wild. Pero mouths and nuzzles your cunt with a precision only rivalled by that of his tongue; his tongue has a mind of his own, gently prodding, exploring, reaching where his lips can’t. Pero's hands reach up your legs and hook under the band of your soaked panties and you catch him look at you before he murmurs “May I?” directly into your cunt. The vibrations of his question run through to your chest and it’s all you can do to nod quickly before you watch him pull the frilly undergarment down your legs and have them drop to the ground. Already completely wrecked, Pero takes in your glistening folds, wet and primed, and growls, “Look at this perfect pussy. And she’s all mine.”

You run one hand through his soft curls and grip his hair so he’ll look at you, smiling lazily, already unbelievably blissed out, you promise, “All yours.”

“Mine,” Pero repeats, and then he buries his face into heaven.

The sensation is overwhelming in the very best way. Pero is eating you, no, devouring you like a man starved; every press of his lips to your pussy somehow deeper and hungrier than the last, as his tongue licks every crest and wave of your core and marks them for his own. Your slick pools from you, down your backside and dampens your gown beneath you; the wet noises from Pero’s mouth against your folds echo obscenely around you and your voice cannot help but try to add in its own harmony. All of this makes you feel like a worshiped goddess about to ascend her alter and simultaneously like a wanton whore who knows that true heaven lies in the bodily pleasures of this mortal realm. Then, as Pero’s mouth closes over your clit and he starts to flick your throbbing nub with his tongue, you realize in your daze that no, what you are is something better than either of those two things: you’re the woman who is marrying Barón Pero Tovar. That’s the thought that overflows from your thumping heart and pushes you over the edge, coming on Pero’s face as you chant his name in a grateful prayer.

After the Ball, you’re positively exhausted from purposefully overdoing the socializing after returning from the wine cellar so no one would recall your long absence. Yawning, you’re giving your hair a final brush when you hear a soft clink against your bedroom window, followed shortly by another, then another.

Confused, you approach your window with slight trepidation, and upon looking out, you think at first that your tired eyes must be deceiving you. Below your window, gazing up at you, is Pero. He looks devastatingly handsome; yet to undress – Pero is still in his formal breeches, but his white shirt has been unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing his smooth, tanned skin to your admiring gaze. You might lick your lips at the sight. Giggling as you tiptoe down the stairs, you walk out onto the terrace that hangs off the sitting room directly below your bedroom, greeted by Pero’s blinding smile, “Barón, what are you doing here?”

It's an easy climb up the side of the wall to the terrace level for Pero and his long legs; once he’s standing directly in front of you, he answers, “I could not sleep without seeing you one last time, Dulce.”

Where did this man who adores you so openly and without reservation come from? You throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a gleeful kiss; you adore him too, after all.

Still grinning, Pero jokes, “And as I recall, it is my turn to call upon you in the dead of night from beneath your window in order to rouse you from the comfort of your bed chamber.”

Although he has no such intent, Pero’s words immediately transport you back to the night you realized your feelings for him… and how you had left his house, devastated upon the discovery that he was not alone. Stilling in your movements, you shrink away from Pero a little; none of this goes without notice.

“Dulce, are you okay? I’m sorry, I did not mean to imply there was anything wrong with these late-night meetings, but if you prefer to go back inside, I understand.”

You shake your head to let him know you’re not upset by that, but still your expression remains slightly sad and hurt. Pero bends at the knee to meet your eye, “Mi amor?”

You’ve never lied or kept anything from Pero in all the time you’ve known him, and now that you’re his fiancé, you’re not about to start. Looking at the ground next to you, you mumble, “I’m sorry, I was just remembering the night you’re alluding to; when I interrupted you… with those two women.”

When Pero doesn’t answer, you wonder if he’s upset with you for having disturbed him that night, and you look up to meet his eye finally, trying to give him a brave smile, “Please do not be upset with me. I did not know you had company, which would have been entirely your private business, to which I know I am not entitled. But if I must be honest, I do not particularly enjoy imagining you with other women.”

Pero has to stifle a laugh; if only you understood the war that raged in his chest every time a suitor placed his hand on your waist for a dance or when you would laugh at their jokes with that twinkle in your eye he loves so much – then you would not feel as if you had to hide these feelings from him.

Stroking your jaw gently, Pero tips your face to his, “Dulce, I could never be upset with you. Firstly, you are entitled to all my business, private or not. Secondly, the women to which you refer were not there by my invitation – Lord Ridlington had sent them to my house that evening as some sort of prank. In his words, maybe if the Barón got laid, he would not be such a stick in the mud. Nothing happened with those women, I promise, mi amor. When you arrived, I was right in the middle of arranging for a carriage to take them home. And thirdly,” Pero walks you backward until your back hits the wall; he braces an arm above your head, and towering over you, grips firmly onto your waist with his other hand, “how could I ever even think of another woman when there is you? You with your pretty face, and your sweet smile, and your heavenly laugh. You with your witty quips, and your melodic voice that says the smartest things, and this gorgeous body…”

Pero’s voice trails off as he starts to kiss down your neck and his strong hands start to move up and down your sides in unison, then separating so one can reach up to massage your breast and the other down to grope your ass. Your head tips back to allow Pero more access as you melt into his touch - he’s everywhere at once, overwhelming all of your senses. Kissing down to your breasts, Pero finds them available to him in a way he has yet to experience, your thin night dress much flimsier than the gowns you wear during the day; he can already see your nipples poking up through the fabric, hard and inviting. Without warning, he ducks and takes one in his mouth, teasing and sucking in tandem with your loud gasps and moans.

“Oh Pero, right there, oh- nghhh, please that feels so good!” you cry out breathily. Spurned on by your praise, Pero frantically rucks up the skirts of your nightgown and slots his thigh between your legs, pulling you down to sit. The pressure and friction on your cunt sends a wave of pleasure through you, amplified and extended by Pero’s tongue and lips laving their attention on your breasts. He encourages you to rock against his thigh, using his grip on your waist to help you find an enjoyable rhythm, and once you’ve found one that catches your clit on the flex of his leg, his hands leave you to your work and travel up your body to pull down the front of your night dress, exposing your tits to the cool night air and Pero’s darkened gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, as he leans back to admire everything before him: your naked curves, your hardened peaks begging for his attention, and the sight of the woman he loves getting off by rubbing her pretty pussy all over his thigh. He thinks he’s minutes away from combusting.

Instead, he dives right into your chest, mouth and tongue licking, kissing and nibbling, hands groping, pinching and pulling all your delicious parts so that he can bring you to your second orgasm of the night. While tugging at your nipple with his teeth, he hisses low, “Were you jealous, Dulce?”

Half out of your mind from pleasure you gasp back, “Yes!”

Growling, “Good,” Pero sucks in a mouthful of your breast and kneads what he can’t fit into his mouth with his hands, panting out words when he should be taking in breaths of much needed air -

Now you know how I felt.

When some other man would touch you.

When you would smile at your suitors.

When you didn’t know I would burn the world for you.

You cry out at his confessions, gripping the back of his head and pulling him closer to you still; increasing your rocking, you’re chasing your own high when your knee brushes up against something hard, something big. When it jumps at your touch, you use your knee to stroke Pero’s length with every pass of your pussy over his thigh.

Your breasts now wet from Pero’s mouth, the cool night air’s chill against your skin causes you to tighten in Pero’s arms as he continues to electrify you with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, his words -

Never need to be jealous ever again, Dulce.

There’s only you.

Never want anyone else.

Don’t need anyone else.

You’re my everything.

Mine.

You come to his loving and possessive declarations, singing back your own - Yours, yours, yours. Body violently seizing and shuddering, Pero holds you close as you ride out your high. As you continue to buck against him, he crests to your desperate whimpers and breathless panting – his eyes never leaving your face, mesmerized by the sweet blissed out expression that he pulled from you. Finally opening your eyes, you grin lazily at the sight of your lover smiling at you, calming down from his own summit; and when you feel the dampness of his trousers against your bare knee, you giggle in pride and pull Pero back to you lips for a flutter of happy kisses. As he walks you to the door to the waiting room, you hardly give him a moment without a light peck on his lips, cheeks, neck – not sure you’ll be able to stand being apart from Pero for even a few hours of sleep.

Before he leaves you, Pero cups your face in his large hands, whispering against your lips, “I’m yours,” and you smile back and press your mouth to his before returning, “Mine.”

You marry at the end of the season in late June with the blessing of the Spanish king to do so in England. The ceremony itself is wonderful and your gown is gorgeous, but you hardly remember anything save for how handsome Pero looks waiting for you at the end of the aisle and how he and the Count both had tears in their eyes for most of the wedding. What you remember much more vividly is the fun you and your friends had when preparing for the nuptials. Days and nights filled with laughter, play fighting over flower arrangements, tearful promises to never let distance impact your friendship – you thank the Bridgertons over and over for their love and support during this season and bringing you to Pero; you can never repay them. When you board the ship to your new home, it’s not without tears as you say goodbye to your friends and father; everyone sends you off with mirroring sentiments and promises to visit soon.

If the Tovar estate servants had any concerns or misgivings about having a foreigner as mistress of the house, you soon win them over with your kind and gentle nature; your cheerful and easy-going demeanor overriding any language barrier, which with their help and your dedication, you were overcoming more and more every day. And if there were any remaining whispers, be they among the members of the Spanish court, villagers, or any one else, they were quickly quieted once the concerned party bore witness to the ferocity of your love for your husband and his obvious and complete devotion to you. The older house staff observed quite readily that they hadn’t seen the Barón smile as much as he did since he was a boy. The newer servants declared that prior to his marriage, they had not seen him smile at all.

One morning, only two months after landing in Spain, you wake to find yourself alone in bed for the first time since you and Pero got married. Deciding it unnecessary to ring for your ladies’ maid (Lucia, a delightful woman whose English was improving as much as your Spanish), you throw on a dressing robe over your night dress and pad downstairs, sure you’ll find your husband in the dining room having breakfast.

As usual, you’re right; for a few minutes you remain standing in the doorway, admiring your handsome hulk of a husband as he shovels the remainder of his breakfast into his mouth. You love the way he eats… everything - with voracity, unabashed hunger, like he can never get enough. Strolling in only when you see him push aside his empty plate in favour of a pile of letters and paperwork to begin reading, you thank the footman who had already seen you and plated you a warm breakfast, before you approach Pero’s chair. Dancing your fingers across his broad shoulders, you slide onto your husband’s lap before laying a soft morning kiss to his lips, “Buenos días, mi rey.”

“Buenos días, mi reina,” Pero kisses back, turning his full attention to you as he always does.

“Te echo de menos esta mañana (I missed you this morning),” you pout, although you’re not really upset with him in any way.

Pero smiles at you indulgently, “I thought you might like to get some extra sleep.” He nuzzles your ear and you can hear him smile, “Considered you might be tired after your activities last night, Baronesa.”

You giggle and pull him in for another kiss, your cheeks get hot just thinking about the multiple orgasms that Pero pulled from you with his talented fingers, mouth and cock; you purr back and pepper his scruff with kisses, “Very thoughtful of you, Barón.” Your eyes soften, “No me gusta despertar sin ti, Pero (I hate waking up without you, Pero).”

Pero kisses your temple, “My apologies, Dulce. How can I make it up to my pretty wife?”

You squirm in his lap; a thrill still runs through you when you hear him refer to you as his wife, and you start to plant breathy kisses to the spot right behind his ear that you know drives him crazy.

“Already? Is my wife so insatiable?” chuckles Pero, though his voice his has dropped to that low baritone register that makes your stomach flip. You nod into his neck and start to run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging impatiently at the ones at the base of his neck.

“Déjanos por favor (leave us please),” Pero calls out politely. The servants in the dining room leave at once and close the doors, some smirking - all the servants having gotten used to their master and new mistress’ voracious appetite for one another. The younger servants were mainly amused and some even found it romantic; the older servants acting scandalized, but secretly pleased to see such a happy marriage on the estate after so long.

“Sit up here, mi amor,” Pero pulls you off his lap gently and directs you up onto the dining room table; you move his papers aside and push his flatware out of the way. Teasing him, you quip, “I thought you already had breakfast, my lord?”

“I’m ready for seconds,” growls Pero as he pulls up his chair and seats himself between your legs. Licking his lips greedily, he unties your robe and peels it open to reveal your lacey nightgown underneath. Lifting up the skirt to reveal your already wet and waiting naked cunt, he murmurs, "Delicious," before lowering himself to meet you where you already need him so desperately. Aware that you might still be sensitive from the previous night’s sex, Pero is careful with you – his licks and strokes to your folds are gentle and slow, he mouths and sucks your clit with tenderness and reverence, and when he presses two, then three fingers into your tight hole, he does so with restrained worship. It’s only when you cry out for more, more, more, that he quickens his pace and fully presses his mouth to you, tongue tangling with your sensitive bud before nibbling it between his teeth. Your moans and debauched sounds of rapture have never been restrained in this house, your house – and you come with a desperate and enchanting scream befitting the blinding pleasure now electrifying your body.

Kissing up your nightgown and planting loving open mouth kisses to your breasts before letting you taste yourself, Pero licks into your mouth and whispers, “Te amo, mi reina,” before standing back to unlace his pants.

Your mouth waters as you watch your husband free his cock; no matter how many times you’ve taken him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt, you’re still in awe of its size and the things that Pero’s length can do to you. Whenever you feel the stretch of him entering you, you always recall the first time and how gentle he was as he pushed in. When you remember the tenderness in his voice and face as he made sure you were comfortable, putting your pleasure before his – your heart always blooms with overflowing love for this man. How did you get so lucky? Pero would of course always say that he’s the lucky one, and then show you just how deep his affection for you runs by thrusting with intensity, punching that spot inside that makes you see stars, over and over – the exact way he’s doing so now. “¡Cómo te amo, Pero!” you whimper again and again, and by the way he continues to drive into you, you know he believes you. Folding himself over you so that he can bury his face into your neck and nip at the delicate spot at the base, Pero's pants and groans have you arching your back and fisting his hair just for something to hold on to lest you float away.

“I’m close, Dulce. Come with me,” Pero growls, snaking a hand between your bodies and finding your clit with ease. Drawing quick circles over your swollen nub, you feel the coil beneath your belly tighten and tighten until it snaps and you throw you head back chanting your husband’s name as you fall over the cliff. Not far behind, Pero’s pace falters before he spills into you with a long and low grunt in your ear that shoots straight to where you’re joined as one.

Weak, limp and perfectly satisfied, you let Pero pull you into a sitting position and kiss him deeply and sweetly as both of your breaths start to even, the heaving of your chests slowing in unison.

Forehead resting against yours, Pero catches your still dazed eyes and gives a small nod towards the papers that had been pushed aside and forgotten, “Dulce, I’ve been charged with accompanying His Majesty’s naval fleet to Naples, Italy. Would you join me?”

Smiling because you know he already knows the answer, you nod, “Of course, mi amor. I’ll start making the necessary arrangements today.”

Pero tilts his head, eyes soft and reassuring, “Are you okay with leaving? We will have only been home for a few short months.”

Cupping your husband’s face in your hands, you gaze adoringly into his eyes, “My home is where you are, Pero.”

Pero closes his eyes and pulls you flush against him, with him still softening inside you, you’re as close as two people can be. He tips your face to his and whispers, “You’re my home, Dulce,” and all you can do is sigh in unsurpassable happiness as he presses his lips to yours once again.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @stcrrjoon @anoverwhelmingdin

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#pero tovar #regency!pero tovar #bridgerton au #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar smut #pero tovar series #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #no y/n

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221bshrlocked · 4 months ago

Text

Let All My Love Keep Silence

Pairing: Vampire Pero Tovar x Witch Fem!Reader

Words: 21,640

Warning: Angst to Fluff to Smut. Mutual Pining. Angst to Smut to Angst to Sort of Fluff. Forbidden Love!! Bath sharing-ish. Dirty/Sweet Talk. Minor Hair-Pulling. Oral (female and male receiving). Creampie. Fluid Exchange Kink. Mentions of Blood in a sexual way (go away if you don't like that). Penetrative, Unprotected Sex. Creampie. Reader and Tovar getting off on the idea of ruining each other's biology because of their coupling.

Summary: When two strangers meet in the mystical land of Egypt, they are transported back to a moment filled with nothing but hurt and pain. Neither wishes to accompany the other, but duty requires both of them to travel together, and on occassion, fight alongside each other. A string of curious events continues to befall the company, and a staggering revelation leads them to think they may have met long before that chance gathering in the qahwa weeks prior. And an even more shocking confession brings the once sworn enemies together...or perhaps, finally returns them to one another.

A/N: This is for the lovely @artemiseamoon who's also taking part in the @pedrostories Secret Santa Event and whom I have to thank for being so very patient with me. I hope you like this babes, I've included what I thought would be a good mixture of the prompts you gave me so I hope you enjoy reading this. I apologize profusely that this is a few days late, but I wanted it to be as close to perfection as possible!! Side note, this is set sometime in 15th century Egypt. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays :D

“All your fury is to hide a fragile heart.” —Ghassan Kanafani September 17th, 1422

There was a strange air about the tavern tonight, one that made it rather difficult to focus on the reason behind your visit to this specific village. No sooner than you had walked in did you notice the shadows flickering around a particularly secluded corner within the busy establishment. And although the drunken laughter and obnoxious swearing filled the inn, you could not help but dwell on the ominous silence that danced along the walls of said corner as you slowly sat down and studied the patrons within the room. It was almost instantaneous, the way your eyes met his through the vigorous crowd, and you knew immediately that the tempest storming in those dark eyes were but a mere reflection of the curiosity and caution swimming in your own.

But it was not curiosity alone that made him stand from his seat and approach you. No, it was the unspoken understanding of the lives you led that forced him to make his way to you with a purposeful grace unlike any you have ever seen. You arched an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of your lips as he took a seat opposite of you. His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the wooden table’s surface, a sign of the ancient wariness that has passed between your kind and his own for centuries. Silence stretched between your cold smirk and his furrowed, nearly angry eyebrows, thickening the tension and the weight of history you were sure would make things more complicated—on your end at least.

Yet beneath the surface of unpleasant memories, you could recognize a flicker of something else—a shared, albeit grudging respect of the mutual abilities and prowess you both shared, however different they were. Your gaze was unwavering,

You didn’t dare blink, afraid the momentary blindness would bring about your demise. So sure that he would want to rip your neck to pieces, your eyes widen in horror when he holds his hand out for you to take. You look between him and his limb, unsure of what game he was wanting to play with you. Not wanting to show him any weakness, you smile cautiously at him as you extend your own, the sudden touch of his skin making you flinch as unfamiliar memories flood your mind’s eye. You cannot let go of his hand, not because you do not want to, but because the grip he has on your palm tightens as similar, unfamiliar images crash into him. You both look at each other, unsure whether you are both seeing, and experiencing, the same painful evocations.

It lasts for longer than you care to admit, and when his hold finally loosens, you let go and return your back to rest, unable to hold back from clutching at your chest when you feel an invisible bolt of lightning strike through you. You gaze up into his eyes then, and find his grimace deeper, except it is not one of anger but contempt. Whatever he has seen of you was far from favorable, and you knew he presumed similarly.

“What brings you here?” His voice is low, the sneer on his expression reminding you of something from a long time ago, a past life perhaps. You shake your head, wanting to rid yourself of whatever was attempting to come to the forefront of your mind. There were matters more important.

“Do not flatter yourself. I did not come for you, but for a posting.” You cross your arms, watching him as he looks to the side, perhaps wondering if there were more of you around.

“I am alone.” You are not sure what pushes you to tell him such a dangerous fact, but you watch as his shoulders visibly relax at your admission. He returns his gaze to you, and if you didn’t know better, you would think his eyes could see right through you.

“That makes two of us bruja.” He responds in kind, and you wish you weren’t so obvious in your own inquiries.

“A Spaniard in Cairo? Are you here for business or pleasure?” The question is not to his liking, and you chuckle at the prospect of this man thinking that you weren’t knowledgeable enough to place his mother tongue, let alone his accent.

“Business, though pleasure is not too far.” It’s menacing, the way his smile stretches so easily and reveals his sharp cuspids. You are aware he is purposeful in his warning, and if you were wiser, you would have turned away from him, perhaps even stood up and walked out of the qahwa. But you narrow your eyes at him, challenging him without thinking of the consequences. The serenity that befalls him is irritating and you nearly comment on his surly behavior when a man interrupts the two of you and pushes your ‘companion’ aside.

“I leave you for a few minutes and you find yourself a lovely woman to terrorize. When will you ever learn Tovar?” The name makes you flinch. You swear you have heard it before, and your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the man in front of you. Except, he misunderstands your response for something else, and you know instantly why the smile drops instantly. You should not intimidate him more, but you choose to, wanting to relay a message of pure, unadulterated hatred to him.

Reaching out, you shake Tovar’s friend’s hand, introducing yourself and letting him know that Tovar was far from threatening.

“It is lovely to meet you, lass. My name is William Garin, and this ray of sunshine is my old friend, Pero Tovar.” As soon as Tovar’s full name is known to you, you sit back and giggle as anger radiates off of him.

“It��s a pleasure William, and…Tovar.” You smirk at him, not bothering to react to Tovar as he stands aggressively and walks away from your table.

“Maybe the coffee didn’t agree with him.” You comment in passing, shrugging your shoulders when William apologizes for his friend and asks to buy you another drink.

“That is thoughtful of you, but I think I have had enough for the night. Perhaps you could buy one for your friend?” You ask in passing, your eyes never once leaving the entrance of the establishment.

“I would but unlike me, the man refuses to drink. Come to think of it, I rarely see him consume anything other than that damned drink he always carries on him.” You scrunch your nose at the fact, wondering whether William knows the true nature of his friend.

“Nevermind him. What is a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He leans over, smiling devilishly at you when you mirror him and push into his space.

“I’m flattered William, I really am. But there is more to me than meets the eye.” You swirl around the drink in your hand, tilting your head to the side when you notice Tovar entering the qahwa once more. He doesn’t join you though, and you suspect it is because you now have his name.

“I can see that, love.” William’s smile drops and you watch as he points down to the several daggers he can see attached to the inside of your robes. You lean away from him and purse your lips, letting him know that you should have seen his plan coming.

“What do you want with Tovar?” His voice should be menacing, but you choose not to laugh at him out of respect. Unlike his friend, the man was genuinely being protective, and you admire that about him. You have always admired that about humans.

“Contrary to popular opinion, I am not here for him but for a proposition.” You don’t bother elaborating as you take out a piece of paper and slide it across the table. William reads it slowly, giving it back to you and looking behind him to see if you had any company.

“As I told your friend, I am here alone. I work alone, usually.” You finish your drink and leave a few coins on the table, enough for William to notice that you are covering his payment as well.

“You are aware this commission is for a group of mercenaries?” He asks, and you nod instantly, folding the paper and pushing it back into your pocket.

“Yes, I am. I may prefer to work alone but circumstances led me here and I- I find myself wanting to take part in this…expedition.” You do not elaborate, not wanting to raise any flags for William as to what you are. Thankfully, he takes your word and refrains from inquiring further about the subject.

“Have the two of you met before?” The question catches you off guard, and you turn to face Tovar, wondering the same thing as you find his eyes already gazing upon you.

“I would remember if I have, but no. I- I have not met him before.” You blink away the faint memories from earlier haunting you once more, returning your attention to William and offering him a friendly smile.

“Hmm, something tells me things did not get off on a good start for either of you.” William says as he glances at his friend, raising his drink in an attempt to persuade him to join the two of you, but to his disappointment, Tovar turns away and glues his focus on the wall.

“I have known him for years, and I assure you, he is never so hostile to someone he has just made an acquaintance of.” There is a warning laced between those words, and you nod in affirmation, not wanting to have two men in the company against you.

“I understand. I must confess, I am not often met with kindness wherever I go…so I fear there is some effect I am having on him. I assure you, however, it is not my intention to anger. I merely wish to…let him know he should steer clear of me as I will of him.” Again, you are unsure why you confess such a sentiment to William and it must not be what he expects to hear from you because he raises a curious eyebrow before laughing out loud. You’re thrown back by the reaction but you say nothing as William stands to his height and nods in appreciation.

“In that case, lass…should he bother you, do not hesitate to come for my aid.” He silently thanks you for the drink as he finishes it quickly before placing it down on the table. You eye the goblet for a few seconds, hating that he placed it in front of you…and Tovar.

“That will not be needed, but thank you for the offer. I will keep it in mind.” You retract your hands from the table, placing them on your lap to avoid any misunderstandings with Tovar.

“See you tomorrow at the port.” He calls after you as he leaves, patting Tovar on the back twice on his way to the stairs. Wonderful, they were staying in the inn as well. You rub your temple harshly, wondering why those visions plagued you for months on end, only to bring you to such a man.

A vampire of all creatures.

Could he not, at the very least, be a lycan?

Your racing thoughts are interrupted by none other than the man himself, and you ground yourself before you meet his gaze once more. He wastes no time before he grabs William’s drinking cup and pulls it out of reach.

“You need not worry, I am not interested in him. Or you!” You blink tiredly, knowing that your meeting was due to a mission and not something else.

“That is hard to believe, maga, when you explicitly asked for my name.” His expression is hard, and you swear you see the whites of his eyes turn a deep shade of gold for a moment, but you know he would never act irrationally in such a crowded place.

“If you recall, nightwalker, I did not ask for your name. It was given to me freely by your friend, whom I suspect, does not know of your true nature, or else he would have refrained from giving me both his name and yours.” You hiss at him, your behavior making him frown harshly and clench his jaw tightly.”

“I suspect you heard everything, and against my better judgment, I will put your mind to rest. You seem older than others of your kind I have met before, so you know it is not possible for me to lie to another…creature. I have no use of your names, nor will I use them to my benefit.” Your revelation comes as a shock to him, because as soon as the promise leaves your lips, his demeanor shifts, and he no longer radiates violence but a sense of understanding.

“But make no mistake, if I so much as suspect anything from you, I will choose my safety…and whatever that entails with it. Do you understand me?” Too long a moment passes between you, but you wait with bated breath until he nods in agreement before you stand and step away from him.

“As I told your friend, I do not wish to have anything to do with you. And I will happily remain out of your way to offer you similar courtesy.” Your voice is unwavering, and Tovar studies you closely, his eyes as fixed as your message. He stands opposite you and for a moment, you are distracted by his broad shoulders and firm presence. But you brush the thought aside and blink slowly when he nods in affirmation one last time.

“Sleep well, bruja.” He bids you a good night and walks away, leaving you more confused and concerned than when you first entered the qahwa an hour ago. Looking around the voyagers in the room, you cannot help but think of leaving the country altogether. You are confident that should you stay, things would only grow more complicated, and you have no desire to live in anxiety until this mission is finished. But you know you should not ignore your visions, nor should you move past what you saw when you took Tovar’s hands.

You could not place this need to know who he is to you. Nor did you wish to ignore the sense of familiarity that washed over you when you held his hand in your own.

The feeling was unlike anything else you have ever experienced, and the desire to place him grew exponentially over night, keeping you awake until the sun shone in the sky. You pushed the windows open at dawn, allowing the prayer call to put your mind at ease as you prepared for the day.

A part of you had accepted what the next few weeks, perhaps months, could reveal. You knew you should listen to your mind, allow it to care for your well being and drive you away from this task. But as you exited the inn and found Tovar waiting upon a camel and eyeing you as you approached the men he was surrounded with, you knew your heart had won this time.

You would not leave. You would not run away. And you certainly would not allow Tovar to have you question your sanity.

“Who brought the girl?” You walked to your horse, patting her neck as you fed her the carrots you bought the previous night. Ignoring the question, you continue to softly rub your companion, whispering words of encouragement as she ate every last bit of food you offered her. Expecting the man to move aside when no answer was offered to him, you glance quickly to the side when you hear him approach closer than you appreciated, and as he reached out to touch your hair, you dragged a dagger across his chest and pinned it just beneath his neck, holding his arm in between the two of you and staring at him until his eyes were filled with nothing but shock and fear.

“If you value your neck, I suggest you keep the rest of your limbs to yourself.” The warning is breathed lowly, loud enough for him to hear, and the rest of the men to wonder about. It takes him a little over a minute to respond, and you push him away aggressively, making your lack of patience known to the others. You wait to see if anyone else is willing to test you, and when they all return to their conversations, you attend to your horse once more.

As you mount her, you chance a look at Tovar and find him attempting to hide a smirk from you. Unsure of what he could possibly be smiling about, you pat your horse and ask her to move towards the dock, not bothering to wait for any of the company.

Passing the busy markets of Cairo, you admire the crafts and tools being sold throughout, and you make a stop when you notice Tefnut eyeing the ripe strawberries ahead. You jump down and walk towards the older woman, collecting a fair amount of strawberries and putting it on the scale to see how much it costs. She holds out seven fingers and you nod in gratitude, giving her the coins she requested and then some. She pats her chest in return, handing you another few strawberries to which you refuse, silently letting her know that you do not need any more.

Making your way back to your horse, you stop in your tracks when you see Tovar and William flanking your horse and conversing. Not wanting to create a scene, you approach Tefnut and take her reins, bringing her forward and away from the two men so she can eat in peace.

“What do you think you are doing with my horse?”

“If you value your companion, lass, perhaps do not leave her by herself. We were behind you when we saw a man attempt to take her away.” William starts, holding his hands up to ensure you do not misunderstand his kindness for something else. You look between him and Tovar, and you cannot help the shock written on your features when you find him relishing the sunlight as it begins to warm the day.

Tovar knows immediately why you are stupefied but he shakes his head, refusing to give in to whatever inquiries you now hold for him.

“Vámonos,” he paces away on his camel, calling after William who continues to wait for a response from you.

“Noted, thank you.” You say nothing further, knowing that explaining why you are not worried for your horse could open potential lines of questioning from both him and Tovar. As you watch them move closer to the port, you wonder how Tovar is able to bask in the warmth of the sun without instantly setting into fire. Pushing the rest of the strawberries into Tefnut’s mouth, you mount her and follow the two men, already meditating on the different spells that could offer such protection.

You were sure it was a spell, but you were also aware that only a powerful witch could hold such abilities in her hands. Not only that, but he would have needed to either compel her or do something so honorable that she granted him this in return. The question was, did Tovar receive this gift through coercion or offering.

When you finally reach the port and find the rest of the company surrounding a gentleman standing high on a ship, you get off Tefnut and walk towards the back, listening to who you presume is the headhunter of this mission.

“Now, you may ask yourselves why there is such a large number of you, the answer of which lies in who and what you are meant to be protecting. For the coming weeks, you are tasked with protecting the merchant caravans traveling along the Nile. Our merchants will be carrying several goods, the most important of which are textiles and gold.” You listen carefully in an attempt to find answers to your questions. You are unsure whether you were brought to this land for the sole purpose of protecting said merchants, or something in association.

“Before I go any further, you all must understand something very important. Should any one of you grow greedy and tired of your travels and decide to steal something for yourself, I assure you, I will ensure your death comes soon after by none other than the rest of the company, who will be paid double upon their return. Do not test me.” He refuses to smile throughout his speech, and you know then that he may have been double-crossed by mercenaries before. A familiar sensation crosses over you and you turn around in time to see Tovar refusing to look elsewhere. You maintain his gaze for a moment out of habit, and only when the headhunter continues his speech do you finally turn away.

“Expect bandits of many allegiances along the route. And under no circumstances will you allow others in your company that have not been hired by me. You will each receive a quarter of your share now, and when you have reached Aswan, you will have the rest of your payment.” You notice several men raise their hands to inquire after their task, but you pay them no mind as you approach the merchants and introduce yourself. Two men nearly huff in humor when you tell them you are one of their protectors, but the third man quiets them instantly, letting them know what he has seen earlier in the morning.

“Good day to you all,” you bid them a farewell before returning to your post, watching as each man receives his share from the gentleman on the ship and makes his way back to the merchants. When it is your turn, you say nothing but your name, to which the older man nods and continues on. As you move back to your horse, you walk past Tovar, and for a split second, his scent seeps through your senses and halts you in your steps.

Myrrh and Oud.

The combination is distinct, one that you are sure you have been in the presence of before. And as you turn around to look at the man you informed the night prior that you wish to steer clear of him, you get the sense that your desires would soon shift and lead you into temptations. Or perhaps, trouble.

Shaking the intrusive thought away, you lead your horse to the back of the company and wait for them to move. If Tovar notices the way you meditate on him throughout the morning and well into the afternoon, he says nothing of it and does as he promises.

You speak to no one as you move up the Nile towards Atfeh, and by nightfall, you find that you are nearly reaching the end of Cairo. As the winds shift and the air grows colder, you hear the leader of the merchants speak to several of the men in the company. Knowing that you are probably resting for the night, you hop off of your horse and lead her towards the shallow end of the Nile, telling her to remain there for the night until you come in the morning.

“Enkotk hahten,” you pat her a few times and back away from the waters, aiming to find a nice tree to make your cot beneath so you can avoid remaining with the men. Not looking behind you, you bump into someone’s chest and slowly turn to find Tovar looking past you and towards your companion.

“Am I mistaken in assuming that you just put a spell on your horse, hechicera?” You are aware his question is not one of nosiness but curiosity, yet you grow irritated at his questioning gaze, mostly due to the fact that he was forcing his scent upon you once more, a scent which you grew to enjoy with each minute that passed in his presence.

“Am I mistaken in assuming that you can walk during the day because of one of my people’s spells?” You retort and notice the manner in which his body grows rigid instantly. He had not expected your question, that you are certain of, but what throws you off is the somber, almost lonely spirit that comes over him at your inquiry.

“I- I do not know.” You furrow an eyebrow at him, unsure of why your heart clenches tightly at such a sad expression from him. Not knowing what you should do, you step away from him to clear your mind, not wanting his musk to distract you any further.

“I make sure she remains where she is, and anyone who means her harm is gifted with an unkindly kick to the face.” The comment seems to fulfill its purpose and you watch as Tovar nods once before moving his camel towards the water as well. You are not sure what about him that seems so fascinating to you, but you move away from the company regardless, not wanting to partake with any of the men as the night grows colder and lonelier.

Lying below a tree at the edge of the company, you glance around to ensure that no one is nearby before reaching out both of your hands and envisioning the tree above you.

“Come, O Isis, mighty in magic, protector of your son Horus! Deliver me from all evil, harmful things, from the serpent, from poison, and from any harm that comes my way. Let him who knows no evil against me enter.” Whispering the words into the night air, you open your eyes and watch as a soft haze only you can see falls around you. Glancing out into the Nile, you see Tovar push his camel near your horse and pat Tefnut on her back. Unlike the others, she responds kindly to him, nosing at his armor and forcing a graceful smile onto his features. The moment is cut short when he suddenly turns to look at you, and before you can turn away, he steps away from your horse and bows his head, silently apologizing for presuming familiarity with your companion.

Pulling the blanket over yourself, you shut your eyes and surrender to a deep sleep. It has been long since you allowed yourself any respite, but something about the previous night’s meeting, and today’s long journey, pushes you briskly into an intense slumber.

You dream of ancient dunes and majestic monuments. You dream of the running waters of the Nile River and a sunrise unlike any you have ever seen. You dream of long-forgotten touches and soft kisses.

But perhaps most importantly, you dream of a pair of brown eyes, following you everywhere you go, gazing through your soul longingly, begging you to return the love etched deep within them.

Hoping. Hoping for salvation.

“All roads lead to you, even those I took to forget you.” —Mahmoud Darwish October 30th, 1422

“¡Cuidado!” You stoop to the ground in time to avoid a dagger to the neck, and without hesitation, you pull the weapon through the air, aiming it straight into your assailant’s chest and watching as he falls to the ground with shock and fear written on his expression. There is no time to dwell on the reason behind your enemy’s attack, and you swiftly end one man after another, noting the unique ways they move and speak in hopes of understanding more about them.

Chaos continues to unfold around you, and you do your best to remain beside the merchants and their goods, refusing to allow anyone near them. There is a strange air about the field, one that you cannot help but recognize instantly. You would know that presence anywhere in the world, and as you take down the men approaching those you are meant to protect, you miss one strutting from behind you, and when you finally feel his spirit lingering just against your back, you are met with a pair of strong hands, ones that push you aside and receive a silver dagger in your stead.

A painful howl rips through your chest, and you watch in horror as Tovar reaches behind him and drags the weapon from his back, not caring for how beastly he must look as he penetrates the knife three times into his enemy’s jugular. He turns around and studies you, and the shock of his actions must be apparent because he nods once and moves on to the next unfriendly visitor.

You are unsure of how to think of what he has willingly done for you, but you waste no time and stand to your height, continuing to battle alongside him in hopes of returning the favor should it be needed. There is no way of knowing how long the company spends fighting off the bandits, but by the time you are done, the sun slowly begins to set past the horizon and you are left with a multitude of bodies to either bury or scavenge from.

When you are positive you are no longer needed, you walk towards the nearby village, wanting to find the source of familiarity brushing over your mind ever since you entered Asyut. Moving through the quiet streets, you call out to the spirit of the witch, hoping she has enough strength to respond in kind. Not a few moments later, you watch as a soft, green thread loops around you and slowly pulls you forward. You follow without delay, watching as the thread grows into a deeper shade the closer you approach the hiding place. As soon as you stand in front of the broken down building, you push through doors and run into the property, not caring for the possibility of more bandits.

Making a sharp turn to the left, you come to a halt as you look upon a face you have not seen in decades.

“Petra,” you call out for her, running to her side as she breaks down into tears and reaches for your arms. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you wrap yourself around her, and you briefly feel a sense of trepidation take over you, but you give the thought no time to linger, wanting to nurse your friend’s wounds as soon as possible.

“What are you doing here?” You pull away and hold her cheeks in your hands, looking in between her bloodied and bruised eyes as she continues to sob in your arms.

“I- I do not know. They never told me what they wanted with me, only that I was useful to them in some way. But now that I know you are here, I suspect they are after you. Please, sister, tell me you are safe. Tell me they are not after you.” She speaks haphazardly and you quiet her down to the best of your abilities, not wanting to give her any reason for more panic now that you saved her.

“I am well, dearest. Do not worry,” you smile at her, pulling her to her feet and breaking the chains around her wrists to lead her away. Only when you reach the door to the abandoned home do you look up and find Tovar waiting for the two of you. You do not get a chance to explain yourself asTovar sniffs the air deeply and releases the unholiest of growls, aimed not at you but your coven sister.

“What- what is he doing here?” She shakes in fear and hides behind you, and you throw a protection spell around her for precaution, not wanting to lead attention to the three of you.

“He will not hurt you, I promise.” The words do not leave your mouth for more than a few seconds before Tovar menacingly walks towards you, his eyes turning a deep shade of fiery gold that reminds you of what he is.

“Do not test my patience, Tovar.” The command is barely louder than a whisper, yet he refuses to back down, offering you a similar order in kind. “Do not mock my kindness, maga.” The display of his canines would shake you to your core had you not spent the past few weeks traveling with him and knowing him just a little bit more.

Neither of you seem to back down, and only when you feel your friend descend to the floor and clutch at your feet do you finally push Tovar away and warn him with a snap of your fingers. A fire engulfs the inside of the building instantly, and you watch as his demeanor shifts to one of caution. He looks around him briefly and returns his focus on you, not bothering to say another word as he backs away and holds his hands up in defeat.

“Remember the headhunter’s words, she cannot join us.” He warns as he walks out of the smoky room and out to the street.

“I will vouch for her.” You retort immediately, letting him know that your decision is not up for debate. He shakes his head at you and glances at Petra one last time, breathing in her scent one last time as he returns to the company.

“Why are you traveling with that- that thing?” Petra inquires when Tovar is out of reach, and you turn to her, patting her on the neck one last time as you lead her to your group.

“It was not my decision. I- I joined a company tasked with protecting a group of merchants and he happened to be one of them.” You weave your hands around her skin, silently breathing healing and protection spells that would alleviate her pain and wounds quicker.

“Do you know him?” There is a strangeness about the question she asks and for whatever reason your mind conjures, you shake your head in an instant, a part of you letting you know that it would be unwise to tell her of the familiarity you feel with him.

When you reach the company, you speak with the merchants, letting them know that you found your sister by chance, and that she would only accompany you for a few days before she feels better. As they inspect her, you barely manage to hide the smile from your face at how helpless she makes herself appear to them, and only when they nod their approval do you take her away and ask her to ride on Tefnut.

The rest of the day is met with more silence, the company beginning to wonder why the bandits have increased suddenly. This was the fourth attack in the span of three weeks, and although your numbers did not noticeably decrease, you also cannot help but think of how abnormal things have become the closer you grow to your destination.

You speak with your old friend, asking her about what she has accomplished in the past few decades, and responding in kind when she wonders where you have been and why the coven has not seen you for nearly a century. You do not know how to answer her, knowing that you could not lie to her if you tried. You tell her you had people to help across the world, sites you wished to visit at least once in case the wars of the New World reached your place.

When night falls, you choose to bring her to an inn, telling her to remain within her room for her own safety. And if she wants to ask where you will go, she does not get to it as Tovar’s presence suddenly becomes known within the confines of the small tavern.

“I assure you, he will not harm you in any way.” You shut the door behind you, locking it and casting one last spell out of fear of other, non-creature visitors. Heading down the stairs, you find Tovar seated by himself at one corner of the cafe, the scene reminding you of that fateful night a few weeks prior. You approach him slowly, not wanting to trigger his anger any further.

As you sit down opposite him, you find the color of his face graying, and nearly reach out to touch him but remember how little you know each other. He sneaks a glance at you, but says nothing, the somber expression he offers you forcing your heart to beat faster out of sympathy.

“Are you unwell?”

“It is none of your concern.” His answer is laced with venom, and you cannot blame him for the hostility, knowing that had he brought more of his kind near you, you would be as uncomfortable, if not more.

“I promise she will not grow near you.” You are not sure what pushes you to offer him such a vow, but the manner in which he recoils into himself and winces at your words lets you know he is not appreciative of the gesture.

“Do not make promises you cannot keep, bruja. You and I know of the past our kinds have suffered through.” His voice is tired, and you attempt to ask him once more if he is unwell.

“Tovar, what you have done for me today-”

“Save it, I do not care for your gratitude, nor do I have any use for it.” He pushes you aside as he walks out of the inn, and you are left speechless, afraid of why your chest tightens at the prospect of him getting hurt for your sake. You have questioned the action all day long, trying your damnedest to find a reason behind the selfless act he performed without so much as a blink of an eye. Nothing has changed throughout the past few weeks, apart of course from the occasional hello and silent sharing of space.

Looking outside, you find the sun setting across the village, and you choose to spend the night walking about the town, wanting to rid your mind of the thousands of questions roaming about Tovar and Petra’s presence.

Gods, why was she here of all places? There was never a reason for someone like her to go so far from her home, let alone travel outside of the coven. There was an oddity to you running into her in this land, more so at being captured by men dressed in attire you have not seen before.

Venturing deeper into town, you surrender to the relief that washes over you the farther you move away from the inn. A part of you feels guilty for not spending more time with your coven sister, but you decide to listen to your heart once more, already ruminating on why reluctance flooded at you upon your first sight of her.

“Goddess divine, please tell me. I am your servant, and I long to know.” The prayer is whispered into the night air, and you decide to ignore the matter and look for more healing herbs, knowing that you should enforce your aid on Tovar the next time you see him. That dagger would be nothing had he fed, but you have not seen him drink an ounce of blood throughout the past few weeks and you would hate for any sickness to befall him because of your lack of focus.

So engrossed in the concoctions of herbs and potions you are collecting, you completely miss the thread of green calling for you, and only when it begins turning into a soft shade of red do you finally recognize it. You drop the powders in your hand and race to the inn, regretting ever leaving Petra by herself. Deep down, you knew there would be an issue between her and Tovar, but you had hoped that he understood you were not to be trifled with.

By the time you reach the inn and run up the stairs, you find the door to her room unlocked and broken off of its hinges. You gasp when you find Tovar bloodied and heaving, his hands clasping onto your sister’s neck as his fingers dig deeper into the skin.

“Tovar,” you try to warn, but the look he offers you is nothing less than murderous.

“Tell her…tell her what you told me.” He is breathing heavily, and you note the way he refuses to loosen his hold on her.

“Unholy animal-” She hisses at him, only to be met with a snarl and a threat of a bite to her neck. You are not sure what he is referring to, but seeing her eyes widen in shock and horror lets you know that it must be important enough for Tovar to test your patience so openly.

“Tell her, what you told me.” He orders once more, his eyes never leaving your own as you snap your fingers and create a door to the room, one that remains shut tightly to avoid any visitors.

“Tovar, unhand her.”

“I cannot do that, bruja.” He shakes his head, his retort not leaving you much of a choice.

“Petra, please. Give him whatever he wants.” You plead with your friend, wishing she is a bit wiser than others of your kind.

“If I tell h-her, she…she will not believe. I am her sister, and you are…nothing. You are nothing to her. She will not believe-” You step forward when you hear an agonizing screech escape her throat and you watch as Tovar delivers a harsh bite to her shoulder. He unclenches his jaws from her a moment later, licking his lips once and shutting his eyes to better envision what her blood offers her. There is a moment of silence as Tovar sees in her memories what he has been seeking, and only when he is satisfied does he push her to the ground and grip her hair tightly.

“If you do not tell her, I will show her. Which do you prefer, capulla?” At the mention of her memories, her eyes seek you out and tear up, leading you to tilt your head to the side and approach the two of them slowly.

“You must understand, we- we couldn’t…” She attempts to make excuses but Tovar was never known for his patience, and he twists her neck once, signaling another bite to her shoulder should she refuse to obey him.

“Tell. Her.” His voice is menacing, and you nod at her with a smile, wanting her to understand that it will all be well.

“In my pocket…reach for the paper in my pocket.” She signals for her right pocket and waits with bated breath as Tovar snatches it and throws it at you. You inhale deeply, unsure of what either of them is referring to.

Slowly unfolding the flimsy piece of paper, you read the top line of the letter and flinch at the familiarity of the date.

“What is this?” You ask Tovar, unsure of what he is attempting to show you. His body grows tired by the minute, but he pays it no mind as he maintains his hold on your sister and responds to your question.

“This is the reason why you cannot recall any memories since the last time you were here,” he finds more knowledge of his statement in your eyes than he thought he would, and he takes a deep breath before continuing with his revelation, “and why I cannot remember anything before 1249.” Once again, the date is not unknown to you, and your eyes widen in realization as you come to understand what he is referring to.

“That was-”

“Yes, the same year you were here.” He cuts you off, pointing at Petra to let you know of her involvement. When you do not make a move to read the letter, he nods towards the piece of parchment and asks you to read it one more time.

“Read it. Out loud, please.”

“December 24th, 1249. An equilibrium, at last, has been attained.” The sentence is bothersome, and you turn to look at Petra, finding more fear in her eyes now that you had hold of the letter than before, when it was only her and Tovar.

“Por favor, continúa.”

“I pen these words with a trembling hand, for the events I am about to recount are of such grievous nature that they shake the very foundation of our order. The traitors have been uncovered, and what we beheld defies comprehension. Upon first encountering them, our hearts were struck with disbelief, for it was assumed—nay, taken as truth—that our coven’s esteemed leader bore envy for her gifts. How deeply mistaken we were! Alas, the fault lay with us all.” You bite your lower lip in anticipation of what’s to come, gazing at Tovar to find any inclination of what the contents of this letter mean to you, either of you. He is nearly trembling but he remains steadfast in his stance, not once letting go of the witch in his hands as you continue to read the words so close to you, yet so far.

“Until the night of her final sighting, we labored under the notion that she had been cruelly abducted. But, oh, how far this presumption was from the truth! When at last we found her, it was in the arms of the devil himself. Not as his prisoner, nor his thrall, but as his equal, his beloved.” You look up to Tovar once more and find him refusing to meet your eyes, as if seeing you would break him for eternity. “She had not been coerced, nor, as his own kind did divulge to us, had he been ensnared by her enchantments. Together they stood, bound by their own volition, in a union both repugnant and unholy. How vile such a betrayal is to witness!” At the mention of the relationship, a flash of an unknown, distant memory crashes through your mind, and you are met with visions of your arms wrapped around the golden skin of a man, one who resembles the vampire standing not a few steps away from you.

No, it cannot be.

“Let it be known that on that cursed night, witches and vampires, long foes, stood as one to halt an abomination. It was a spectacle both harrowing and grotesque—to see the depths of her devotion to him, and his to her.” You are not aware of the tears streaming down your cheeks until you shakily gaze at Tovar and find similar sadness rolling down his face and onto his armor. The words ripping through your chest are of similar torment to him, but he does not budge to grow closer to you, instead furthering his painful grip on Petra out of heartbreak and anger.

“More abhorrent still were his pleas, his promises of eternal torment should harm befall her. In the end, it was their own affections that wrought their downfall. Unable to endure the sight of her bloodied form, he cast aside all pretenses of strength and supplicated himself for her sake—not his own, but hers alone.” You cannot find it in yourself to read it further, the retelling of those events twisting a knife deep within your heart that you swear you may die should you continue.

“Read on, querida.”

“In response to his desperate entreaties, we offered him a choice, though it pained us greatly to do so. It was then he understood why their bond could never endure. A single glance sufficed to convey our intent, followed by but a whisper: she was to forget him, utterly and irrevocably, until the very earth itself crumbled into dust. And thus, he consented, knowing it was their only reprieve. He resolved to undertake the task himself, loathing the mere notion that another might exert such power over her. He could not, would not, permit any other soul to carry out so dreadful an act. It was a torment of unimaginable cruelty, and he alone would bear its weight.” You can feel Tovar’s spirit burst into little fires, and you know then why his hurt runs deeper than your own, why you longed to be near him all those weeks ago but chose to stay clear of him out of a hidden inclination, as if growing closer to him made you burn.

“When his turn came, the coven encircled him, our enchantments weaving an intricate web about his mind, until her name was lost to him entirely. The very notion of her existence was swept away, as fleeting and insubstantial as the sands of the Egyptian dunes beneath the relentless desert wind. Perhaps he welcomed it, for the burden of love was too great even for one such as he. Yet, I confess, I do not believe the spell was entirely imposed upon him. A creature of his power could never have been subdued against his will. For this reason alone we sent her to him, to bring about his end. How little did we anticipate the depth of their bond, for it became evident they would be one another’s undoing.” There is no doubt in your mind on who the letter is referring to, as each word delivers a long lost memory you have begged your soul to recall countless of times. You can envision him so clearly in your mind—his laughter as you drew circles on his chest, his eyes gazing at you longingly as you kissed your love across his skin, his hands as they broke you apart and bound you together with affection and loyalty, and above all, his spirit as it promised to never leave yours, not even if the gods themselves ordered you apart.

He was yours. And you were his.

“I recount these dreadful events as a record of the night in Luxor, that it may stand as a warning to all who come after. We ensured that no offspring could result from their cursed union, for such a progeny would herald the ruin of all creation. Yet, I implore you, vigilance must remain eternal. They were not easily subdued, and should fate ever conspire to reunite them, it will herald the death of us all.” Tovar kneels to the ground, his mouth whispering promises of evil into your sister’s ears as you finish the letter and finally read the betrayal of the writer.

“Yours in eternal duty, Petra A.”

Silence fills the room as you allow the history within the letter to settle in your mind. You fold the letter and place it in your pocket, not caring for anything but the woman kneeling in front of you.

“You betrayed me. You- my own people, betrayed me? How could you do it?” You ask her as you crawl towards her on the floor, not once asking Tovar to ease his grasp on her.

“You have to know why. Your…union is- it is unforgivable.” Her hatred disgusts you, and you frown at how easily she attempts to explain her actions.

“You speak of our union so simply, as if you yourself did not join my brothers and ask them to aid your conquest.” Tovar growls his own concerns to her, not caring for how violent he is becoming as his nails bleed her skin further. Her sobs are silent and she shuts her eyes when you stand and move away from her.

“I need you to know Petra that- that my lack of forgiveness is not due to your betrayal, but because you enforced your pathetic values over my happiness, over his peace. I will find you in every lifetime, and I will rip out your soul with my bare hands…and send you to the goddess without powers, and without explanation.” Before you can respond to you, you reach out your hand and grab hold of her mind, weaving intricate designs around her body until you find what you are searching for and tugging it from her physical presence.

Tovar watches as a yellow cloud forms around the room, and with a snap of your fingers, a mixture of fire and water storms around the yellow shadow, encircling it until it turns into ash and drops to the ground. You twirl your finger around the dust, collecting it into a small pouch and shutting it tightly.

If he is in awe of what you had just done, he says nothing and stands to his height, kicking the lifeless body at his feet to ensure she is no longer alive

“What will you do with her?” You ask as you watch Tovar drag her body from your room and throw her into his own that is across from you

“Scatter her across the Nile.” He shuts the door to his quarters and returns, settling down on the bed beside you quietly.

“My own people betrayed me.” The admission hurts more than you care to admit, and you turn to look at Tovar, only to find him wiping the streaks of tears away from his cheeks.

“Only because mine told them.” He responds instantly, and you hate how little he seems to be affected by his own revelation.

“What happened?” You are not sure what brings you to ask him such a question, but a part of you wishes to know whether he knew beforehand or if her presence alerted him to so sinister a plot.

“I sought you out after our conversation, to ask if you can aid me with…it does not matter. When I could not find you, I came to rest, and found the door unlocked, your friend spewing words that seemed too familiar for me to ignore.” You make a mental note of asking him later what he required from you, and you watch closely as his lips quiver with what happened while you were in the village.

“She did not appear too taken by my presence, but when I passed into your room, her fear stenched the room instantly, and I knew then that- that what I felt initially was not intuition but truth.” He looks to you then, and you find the brown of his eyes so expressive, a reminder of how he looked at you before…all those years ago.

“She must have seen realization dawn on me and felt it unnecessary to continue her lies. She had come with those bandits willingly, bandits which I should let you know, are of my own kind. They feared our paths had crossed in this land and wanted to ensure we did not remember what had happened before. Before I can ask her what she was referring to, she did…this.” He points at the lashes across his face, the deep cuts covering his arms and chest, wounds you hurt to think of. Without much thought, you stand and approach your bag, collecting the herbs you managed to purchase before the events of the night unfolded.

“What are you doing?” He stands instantly, only to sit back down when you turn around and silently ask him to rest. Tovar remains quiet as you bring your bag to him and remove as many of the healing herbs as you can.

“Can you please remove your armor and tunic?” You ask once, refusing to look into his eyes as he begins the slow, agonizing process of taking his clothes off. Neither of you say anything as you wait for him to throw his belongings to the floor, and you let him know that you will fix them as soon as you are finished administering the medication to his skin.

“This may hurt a bit. I- forgive me.”

“It is nothing, hermosa.” You do not dare ask him why his names for you changed, but you wait patiently as he continues to tell you what Petra informed him of.

“She knew my wrath would fuel me, and by the time I had my hand wrapped around her throat, she spilled her secrets easily, telling me of everything your kind and mine had done to us 173 years ago. She- she spoke of their success as if it was destined by God himself, as if our lives meant nothing. I knew I would rip her throat to pieces if she did not call you, so I led her to believe that I will release her when you come.” He hisses in pain when you rub a brown salve across his chest and arms, turning the other way to avoid showing you his fangs.

“And then I came.” You distract him, letting him know that you understand he does not mean to snarl at you.

“And then you came.” His body shakes the lower you apply the herbs, and when he is sure you are finished, he stands and walks away from you.

A loud gasp spills into the room when you see his back and the wound he received because of you.

“T-tovar.” You whimper his name, and it takes every ounce of control to not throw your arms around him and apologize for your lack of sight.

“I am not worth your tears, sabia.” He turns around and smiles sadly at you, reaching for your cheeks and wiping the tears away. You step closer to him, and only when Tovar scents your body does he come to his senses, quickly backing away from you and reaching for his tunic.

“Wait- Tovar, please wait. I- I can heal this.” You lead him to the bedside once more, and kneel on it as you ask him to face away from you.

“Do not worry yourself.”

“You and I both know that this silver will only spread, and unless you feed now, you will not be able to heal quickly. Please, let me heal you.” Your voice breaks at the end, and Tovar can do nothing when you plead with him. He nods silently and shuts his eyes as he feels your hands skim across the skin of his back. Your touch is so familiar yet so distant, and he suspects that similar emotions tunnel through you, but he pays them no mind, not wanting to abuse your kindness and have you think he wants more from you now that-

Now that you both knew the truth.

“O Isis, great healer, mother of Horus, deliver your humble servant, Pero Tovar, from all evil. May the breath of life fill his lungs, and may your light heal his wounds. By the power of Geb and Nut, the father of the earth and the mother of the sky, may your body be restored. Let the sacred words cleanse your mind and body, and the breath of life renew your soul and spirit.” Tovar can feel you touch his skin in strange patterns, and he nearly asks why you are choosing the old gods of this land when he feels a kindle of fire radiate across his back. He haunches over in pain, but says nothing as you continue to touch his back, your skin softer and hotter than anything he has ever felt in his life.

He is unsure how long he remains in your bed, and only when he feels you let out a long sigh does he turn around and find you slowly falling over.

“Cariño, you are hurt!” You smile at the worry in his voice, chuckling at how different everything seems to be now that you both put a name to the mixed feelings you experienced all those weeks ago upon your reuniting.

“It…I am well, P-pero.” The whisper of his name could send him flying if he was capable of such a feat, and he swallows thickly as he lays you down and covers you with the bedsheets.

“Rest, mi luna. And I will come to wake you tomorrow.” He smiles down at you, the expression letting you feel a safety you have not known in so long. You nod absentmindedly, letting go of his hands and falling into a deep sleep as Tovar collects his belongings and leaves your room. He locks the door behind you and makes quick work of his clothes, his body rejuvenated with more than your words and herbs.

Entering into his room, he is met with the lifeless body of Petra, and he cannot help but sneer at everything she has done to him and you. Without wasting another moment, he carries her body and shuts his eyes, racing down the stairs and out to the Nile bank in a matter of seconds. He glances around to ensure no one can see him, and when he is positive he is alone, he quickly shreds the witch's body to pieces, scattering them across the river as he promised you until nothing but her blood remains on the soiled ground.

Looking out into the dark horizon, he allows himself a moment of respite and clarity, wanting to bask in the knowledge of what he has felt ever since he laid eyes on you in the qahwa was nothing but his heart’s memories begging him to remember you.

He had known then it was no coincidence, the way your scent was so familiar to his senses, and he was aware that this same recognition was what drove him to seek you out after the battle and know why your sister’s blood was so fundamental to his memories.

Tovar did not know what would become of either of you, but after your little tricks minutes ago, and the way you wept as you read that letter, he dared to hope.

Hope for a chance to prove his loyalty to you.

Hope for the possibility of finding love in your eyes once more, the same deep affection he has felt for you all those years ago, and the one that drove him to remain near you ever since your paths crossed.

“The voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses.” —E. E. CummingsDecember 3, 1422

He was different, much less wary than before, and more interested in keeping your company throughout the journey. You could not refuse his kindness, nor his friendship. So much has passed between the two of you in the past few weeks. From fighting bandits alongside each other, to sitting quietly around the fire at night, your shared experiences grew with each passing day, and before you could place a word on it, your fondness for him evolved into something deeper, something you reminisced about and wondered if it was new or based on past feelings.

The memories returned, one by one, and as you trotted alongside him throughout the day, you stole glances of him, often finding his brown eyes aimed at you before you attended yours on him. He would smile and turn aside, embarrassed you had caught him openly dreaming of you.

And with those memories came a sense of possessiveness. You could not keep silent when he was approached by the bedouin women you met along the way, and he certainly could not keep his mouth shut when other men in your company sought you out late at night. There was an unspoken rule between the two of you, an understanding that you were not available to others, and you desired to speak of its finality, but it appeared that he wanted to address said rule long after the mission was finished. He preferred to keep you at arm’s length, afraid to speak of the matters that befell you on All Hallows’ Eve. You told him later of your reluctant thoughts on whom you thought was a close friend, surprised to find him answering you about your own kind’s heightened powers during this time of year. He recalled things you were sure only a witch would know, and smiled as he realized how he knew such matters.

The more time you spent together, the more you understood of your past life, or, the life you held before they made you forget each other. You learned about his past, and in turn, realized things within your own life. Tovar too became more aware of his behavior the more you spoke of what you envisioned each night. Of course, you would never tell him of the more intimate moments your mind’s eye recollected, but you got the sense that he knew. The mischievous smile that graced his features and the shy demeanor that overtook him each time you recollected a day from your past lead you to believe that he saw similar dreams, or perhaps, imagined said sentiments when he rested his body late at night.

Yet, with those shared experiences, you had to continue pretending that you were not more. As much as he hated to admit it, Tovar was a shy soul, and you were not one to speak of such matters with someone unwilling to actively take part in such a conversation. So, you let him lead, praying each night that he would begin to notice the way you look at him, the longing filling your hands whenever he is near, the wildness of your heartbeat as it whispered his name over and over again.

But he never crossed that line, and you pushed his reluctance aside as you took your belongings and made your way to one of the hamams. You had invited him earlier, letting him know of the privacy you can afford with your earnings. Then he brushed off your offer, mumbling something or other about not trusting the open space about the establishment. But you could see through the excuse; something was bothersome to him, and you hoped you had not done anything to upset him. He may have been a nightwalker, but he held a sensitive soul, one you remembered vividly from before. When neither of you moved following your invitation, you looked upon him, silently asking if he was bothered by something you may have done. He shook his head then, as if to tell you he can read your thoughts and does not wish to dwell on the matter.

“The waters in these baths come from the oasis nearby, they have healing abilities.” You attempt to tempt him, but he does not budge, refusing you once more as he walks away and disappointedly responds to you.

“Déjalo.”

You were not sure if it was possible to be more plain; sure, if he wishes to discuss your situation after the commission, you could take him up on the offer then. But he does not bother to explain himself to you, the hot and cold behavior throwing you off and raising anxious questions in your mind. You pray to the gods you had not accidentally pushed him away. It would break you.

A part of you wanted nothing more than to blame him, but you could not. His kind was never confrontational with matters of the heart, and you guessed it took you a long time before to become so intimate with him.

Reaching the bath you rented for the night, you smile at the woman sitting outside and let her know that another, more brooding gentleman may or may not join you. You ignore the smirk on her expression, silently entering the vapor-filled room and shutting the door behind you.

It is more exquisite than you initially thought, and you set your towels aside, stripping down to nothing and throwing the dress atop your towels before stepping into the hot water. It does wonders to your body, the immense and quick relief allowing you to momentarily forget why you had originally wanted to spend some time here. The quietness of the room, and the marvelous architecture engulfing your tired soul, allow you to doze off. You whisper soothing spells across the waters, wanting to feel more relaxed in preparation for the journey tomorrow.

As you float around the small space, you feel a familiar presence grow closer to you, and not moments after your eyes flutter open do you hear the door to the hamam open wide, signaling the arrival of none other than Tovar. He reluctantly enters the cloudy area, adjusting his sight to the space until his attention falls directly on you.

Silence fills the room as you both acknowledge the other’s presence, and before you can ask him what has changed his mind, Tovar places his belongings beside your own and asks you to turn around. You give him a moment of privacy and face the small window at the end of the little opening within the wall, watching the stars twinkle outside in an attempt to focus on anything other than the nude man touching the same waters you are resting in.

“Are you decent?” You cannot help but smile at the question, and when a gruff consent vibrates across the walls, you turn around and finally meet Tovar’s eyes. Although you have healed him weeks prior, the sight of his golden skin littered with old wounds and scars sets you on fire, and you have to force your gaze away from his chest to avoid embarrassing yourself.

“I am glad you came,” your attempt at making the moment less awkward fails, as Tovar does not bother to respond to you but steps around the water silently and lets the heat heal his weary soul.

You are unsure how much time passes, but you let Tovar lead the space, afraid his anxiety would force him out of the waters. You can tell he is watching you closely, and you do not bother to behave any differently than if you were alone, knowing that he much prefers the quiet enjoyment of the intimate moment over anything more involving. He allows himself to relax soon after, and you throw him a soft smile as you pass the palms of your hands across the waters and heat it just a little bit more. His skin grows a little red, and you worry it may not be to his liking.

“Is it uncomfortable?” You inquire, hoping he would not shy from telling you his true feelings.

“Está bien,” he breathes lowly, and you cannot help the shiver that courses down your spine when his deep voice reaches your skin. Tovar notices the effect he holds on you, and without dwelling much on the appropriateness of his actions, he approaches you, his gaze never once wavering as the water dances around your bodies. You hold your breath, afraid to break whatever haze that befell you, and when he is a mere hair-breadth away, you look up and into his eyes, allow your chest to rise and fall rapidly as shallow breaths come and go, signaling your excitement and nervousness.

You watch him closely, and in turn, Tovar studies every movement of your body, as if you were a prey he has been seeking for ions. He never once looks beneath your neckline, and you credit his immense self-control, knowing you are incapable of offering him similar comfort. When your back touches the cold tiles of the wall, you swallow the lump in your throat and quiver, lips shaking at the prospect of whatever the vampire in front of you has in mind.

His eyes are dark with promises only you know he can fulfill, and as stares into you, you are suddenly taken back to a similar moment, one that has you regret ever hurting him. Focusing on the scar across his eye, you raise your hand and slide it over his temple and cheek, frowning at imposing such lasting violence on his skin.

“Forgive me,” there is nothing more to say, the history you find in his eyes letting you know he remembers what you have done to him upon your first meeting. He shuts his eyes and nuzzles into your hand, unaware of the way his hand reaches out to grasp at your upper arm. Tovar pulls you closer until you are breathing the same air, and when he opens his eyes and finds tears rolling down your cheeks, he wipes them away, his attention seeking your lips when a droplet of water sticks to the lower skin. Sliding his thumb across your mouth, he parts his own lips and tilts closer to you, until nose nudges yours and forces you to look up.

So very close to feeling his mouth steal your breath away, you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces when Tovar suddenly moves to the other end of the bath, his back turned away from you and his muscles rippling with an anger you have not seen for weeks.

“Wha-”

“I cannot understand you.” He is seething, and had you not been sure he was finally going to claim you, you would have thought this was all a dream, a very sick, twisted dream.

“What…what do you mean?”

“You allow me such…liberties, and yet you- you seek out the merchant boy whenever you can? As if we are nothing but- but…” Tovar trips over his words, and your frown deepens when you finally piece together what he means to say to you.

“Tovar, if there is a concern you wish to address, do so plainly.” You approach him then, voice wavering slightly when he turns around and stares somewhere behind you, as if he could not bear looking into your eyes.

“Do not play coy with me, bruja.” The name he breathes, one that slowly turned into something that makes you smile, now sounds nothing more than an insult, and you feel a pang of hurt at the insinuation behind his words. You try to maintain your composure, but the manner in which he is set in his mind lets you know he may not see past his perspective at this moment.

“I am not one to jest, Tovar, and until you are willing to speak freely and listen in turn, I will waste my time. Enjoy the bath…alone.” You attempt to move past him but he reaches out for your arm and pulls you back, causing you to snarl at him out of fear of getting hurt any further.

“Do not touch me!”

He removes his hand immediately, staring at fiery eyes as you narrow them at him in irritation. You know you should leave, not speak another word that may be misconstrued or worse, one that cannot be taken back. But his anger lights your own and you walk towards him, pushing your finger into his chest as you part with nothing but lies.

“If you were vain, I would justify your anger as such. But this is different and whatever jealousy you are falling into is unnecessary.”

“And what if I am?” His question is unexpected, skin buzzing with energy now that you have spoken of what his mind has been thinking of for the past few days. You attempt to convince yourself to retract whatever thoughts brewing deep within, but seeing him react so strongly to your proximity and assertiveness pushes you further and before you can control yourself and walk away, you retort with a hiss.

“If you were, I would tell you that you have no reason to be. I am nothing to you, and I am certainly not interested in this swine of a man. This behavior will only-” Perhaps the universe decided against your response and wished to avoid any further misunderstandings because just as you are readying yourself for an outright battle, the doorkeeper walks in and interrupts your conversation.

“Yajib ‘an tughadiron,” she requests for both of you to leave, and you suspect it may be because of the hamam’s rules, the ones you chose to ignore for Tovar’s sake. Shaking your head at him, you do not care for your nudity as you leave the waters and haphazardly wear your tunics once more, apologizing to the young woman for any inconvenience you may have caused and leaving before Tovar can so much as think of another sentiment against you.

Only when you reach the dressing rooms do you allow Tovar’s concerns to settle in, and you settle against the wall, eyes looking into nothing when it occurs to you that he has plainly admitted to feeling jealous of your conversations with the merchant. You are unsure why he would allow his mind to tread towards such thoughts when he can plainly hear your words and understand your inquiries are nothing more than shared interests in the trade products. Your journey was close to an end. Edfu was a few days away from your destination and you wished to see what goods you can buy from the merchants that may be of benefit to you once you leave.

There was absolutely no reason for Tovar to ever waste a moment on why you are conversing with the man, and you shake your head in disappointment, knowing this could all be avoidable had he asked to speak with you on your…relationship.

Putting on your clothes, you swear beneath your breath at the thickness of that man, knowing that it was probably as difficult to get him to confess his feelings to you before as it was now.

“Goddess help me,” you speak to the empty room, only to flinch when you hear heavy breathing emanate from behind you. Turning around, you find Tovar’s chest rising and falling angrily, as if the mere sight of you caused him extreme discomfort. Not caring for the display of intensity, you pull on your tunics and avoid his gaze, allowing him another moment of respite before you truly rip into him. He surprises you, though, when he approaches you and waits for you to look at him before he speaks.

“No, you are wrong. You are not nothing to me, and…I- I am jealous bruja, I have been jealous for weeks now.” The way in which he murmurs his confession disarms you, and you stop moving altogether, eyebrows furrowing at his choice in words and their timing. You cross your arms and meet his gaze head on, refusing to back down as you have done so weeks prior.

“Who could you possibly be jealous of, Tovar? I rarely speak to anyone in our company.” You know better than to interrupt him, but you cannot help the question from leaving your lips, wanting him to think through his next words carefully to avoid irritating you any further. Then he shakes his head and swallows the lump in his throat, and you are, once again, mollified at how easily he affects your mood.

“I am not jealous of those men, I- I am jealous of-” You can tell he is struggling to find the right word to speak, because his hands clench and unclench, jaw set in place and lips pursing with impatience, as if he hated himself for not being capable of speaking his mind freely. You wait for him, knowing that you may never have him so forthright ever again, and as his breathing calms, you are suddenly hit with a wave of defeat and hurt, feelings you were positive are not your own but his.

“I am jealous of the rain.” The words escape his lips, barely above a whisper, yet heavy to feel like a confession of the soul. For a man of his stature, you are shocked to see a shaking ripple descend down his form, his hands ball into fists at his sides, the knuckles turning white, as though he is holding himself back from closing the distance between you. When he finally musters up the courage to look at you, you are met with a vulnerability you never thought you could see in him again—a rawness that strips away the hardened exterior he wears like armor.

His brows knit together, raised in despair, as if willing you to understand the storm inside him without him having to explain. You blink in confusion, unsure what he wants to convey. Tovar mistakes your quietness for indifference, clearing his throat to give himself enough time to find the necessary sentiments in hopes of forcing your heart to beat for him. When he speaks again, his voice is steadier, though no less anguished.

“I am jealous of the rain, mi amor. I am jealous of the rain because it touches you so intimately, night after night, when I cannot.” His shoulders, broad and strong, sag ever so slightly as if they can no longer bear the weight of his emotions. And you feel your breath hitch, his words settling like an ocean of water on your chest, heavy with longing and need. He does not stop, the floodgates of his emotions now open and unreserved, begging to be released for his sake and for a glimpse of hope from yours.

“I am jealous of the rain because it kisses your skin continuously when I dream of nothing else but that very thing.” Tovar takes a step closer, the space between you trembling with unspoken yearning. You can feel heat radiation from him, the fire in his words burning brother with every syllable. And your eyes, full of wonder and curiosity, pull him in further offering him a glimpse of what he held in his arms centuries ago. He was not a man of faith, far from it, but seeing the manner in which your body leans into his space, Tovar is sure his prayers have been answered, and your spirit finally felt the desperation of his very essence.

“I am jealous of the rain because…” His voice falters, his jaw tightening as he struggles to continue, afraid you fear the depth of what he desires from you. “Because every time it comes, you welcome it with open arms and smiles, letting it do whatever it wishes with your body…when I am desperately-” A single tear trails down his cheek, and you see his composure shatter as his hand briefly reaches towards you, only to stop mid-air, retreating as though he’s afraid his touch might burn you.

Or worse, your skin sets him into an eternal fire.

“When I am desperately wanting to be the one you welcome, the one you grace with upturned lips.” Tovar’s revelation hands in the air, raw and unrelenting. You feel your heart ache for him, but before you can respond, he surges forward again, his voice rising with an almost pained intensity. You dare not flinch, knowing whatever has hold of him will soon overflow through you and push you to put him out of his misery.

“Do you know what it feels like, bruja? To be so close to you and yet so far away? To burn every time you laugh, every time you speak, knowing that I am nothing but a shadow at your side? One that you despise because of what my kind has done to you.”

He steps back as if his own confession has wounded him, his hands shaking at the thought of you denying his heart, the one he had no choice but to bear to you, uncaring of what you may do to it. His next words are softer, almost fragile, as if spoken into a void he is confident will only face him in return and ignore him.

“I am jealous of the rain…but I am terrified as well. Terrified that you will leave once I-”

“Pero,” you interrupt, trembling at the intensity of his feelings, and the knowledge that he more than reciprocated your own but was drowning in a sea of helplessness.

Pero freezes, his dark eyes widening with disbelief at hearing you call him by his given name. You step forward, lips parting in anticipation, and for the first time, your voice breaks through his storm of self-pity.

“You have been jealous of the rain, and all this time, I have been jealous of the moon.” His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his features at hearing you return his confession in kind. But you continue, growing steadier the closer you move towards him.

“Watching how it lights up your face at night when I wish to be the one you look to.” His breath catches as your words settle between you, and you press on, your own emotions spilling forth like a river breaking through land.

“Longing for you to see me the way I see you. Praying to every god known to man that you will look past my nature and find my heart, the one that speaks your name with every beat.” Pero’s expression shifts, his guarded walls crumbling as he steps closer. His voice is shaking with uncertainty as finally allows himself to touch you. His hand finds your cheek and he leans forward to rest his forehead against your own, shutting his eyes to ensure that this was not a dream, that you were in his arms, returning his love and more.

“How can you be jealous of the moon…when you are mi luna?” He pulls away then, searching your eyes for any lies and finding nothing but unadulterated truth. You bite into your lower lip as his eyes pierce through you, leaving you breathless and needy for him. Swallowing hard, you cannot hold back any longer and throw your arms around him, letting your body sag against his embrace as he holds you against him and tightens his arms around you.

“I—I cannot breathe when you are not near.” Pero releases a deep sigh of relief at your confession, his breath a ragged whisper as he nuzzles into your neck and scents your intoxicating skin.

“Dios mío, bruja. You will be the death of me.” For the first time in decades, the weight of longing gives way to the lightness of surrender, and you dig your nails into his back, wanting him to know that you cannot ever allow space between you now that it has finally disappeared.

“I think I am finally starting to believe you mean that.” You chuckle against him, and as you feel him pull away, you look at him and search his face for any hint of hesitation. But all you find is sincerity, his eyes fixed on you, dark and unwavering, as if you are the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

“And if I do?” Pero asks, his voice low and tinged with an unguarded mischievousness.

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his tone, the unspoken please woven into his words forcing your heart to pound against your ribcage. The warmth of his presence pulls you in, and you swallow nervously, wanting to ensure you have his undivided attention before you reveal your deepest desires.

“Then I beg you to show me.”

His eyes, once filled with mischief, convey disbelief, and he simply stares at you as though he cannot comprehend what he is hearing. The air around you feels charged, heavy with unspoken hunger that neither of you dare to release just yet.

“Amor,” he says, ceasing to breathe until he is certain of what you are asking of him.

“Pero, please.” You clasp onto the collar of his tunic, eyes locked onto his as you will him to understand that you mean your request with every ounce of your being.

The conflict in his eyes is palpable, his jaw clenching as he fights some internal battle, his physical needs pushing past all else.

“You wish for me to-” He stops himself, his words faltering as if he is afraid to say them aloud. Pero brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, the touch featherlight, yet intense enough to send a shiver down your spine, the moment making it impossible to look away.

“Yes,” you nod, praying he can move past any reluctance and see your desire for him as clear as day. “I need you, Pero.”

For a moment, he simply looks at you, as though trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, with a deep sigh, his gaze softens and he grazes your cheek with his fingers.

“If I have you,” he says quietly, wanting you to understand how fervent his feelings for you are, “I will never again let you out of my sight. I will fight the heavens and the earth to keep you by my side.” His promise should terrify you, the possessiveness and loyalty he displays making you think twice before you completely surrender to him. But the opposite occurs, and you find yourself willing to forever be at his mercy.

“Pero, I am yours,” You reply, balancing yourself on your toes as you tilt your chin up to offer him a final answer. “I have always been yours.”

His lips curve into the faintest smile, a bittersweet expression that speaks of all the pain, longing, and love he has carried for so long. Slowly, he leans in, parting his lips as you both shut your eyes and finally give your hearts away.

Again.

The world around you fades into nothingness as your breath mingles with his own, your lips touching with a mixture of tenderness and desperation. The soft kiss is thick with emotions, and you dare not let go of him, terrified he might disappear should you release him. Pero must feel a similar fear, his hands rough and trembling as he holds onto your waist with one and cups your neck with the other. You both tilt your heads to the side with need to deepen the kiss, and no sooner than you part your lips does Pero, with fierce and unapologetic rawness, collide against you. He presses against you with a fervor that steals the air from your lungs, the hand around your neck slipping into your damp hair and tangling in the strands as he pulls you impossibly closer. His body molds into yours, a growl escaping his throat when he feels your hand find their way to his chest and clutch at him as if your own life depended on his presence.

And when his teeth grace your lower lip, a spark of intensity ignites something primal between you. Your heart beats erratically at the shameful thought storms your mind, and you find yourself wishing with every bit of you that Pero could see through your need and give you what you desire without you needing to beg him for it.

Pero must sense the wanton ache threatening to make itself known because he finally breaks away, not to pull back, but to study your expression and take pride in the effect he holds on you. Your lips tingle, swollen and red from the raw intensity of the exchange, and you cannot help but stare at his fangs, wondering what they would feel like as they sank deep into your skin until he gorged himself on you. Then you meet his eyes and are taken aback by the golden rings piercing through you. It takes you but a moment to understand that he knows what you want from him, and he licks his lips dramatically, savoring the taste of you before he leans down and carries you in his arms.

“Whatever debauched desire you want from me, querida, it is yours.” You take note of the truths between the lines, flushing heatedly at being so seen by the man you have fallen in love with once and learned to love again.

“Take me.” The two words are whispered with assertiveness, and Pero does not need to be told twice, quietly pushing your head to rest on his shoulders as he rushes to his quarters. Neither of you say anything, knowing that should you speak another word, you would have each other out in the open without a single care. Only when you reach the hallway of your rooms does Pero stop and turn to you.

“Do you wish for my bed, or for your own?” The question is asked, not out of reluctance, but out of care. He wants to ensure your comfort, refusing to place you into a distressing space that may have you guessing his loyalty to you.

“I want to be in your bed. I- I want to erase the memories of our last goodbye, the silence that followed us like ghosts. I want to feel the world in your arms, Pero, and nowhere else.” The sentiment is heartbreaking, and Pero nearly falls to his knees at the depth of your emotions. He nods once and makes his way to his quarters, unlocking the door and walking inside as you snap your fingers to shut the door behind you.

He sets you down and gulps nervously, hands etching to strip you bare but waiting for permission to do so. You rest your forehead on his chest to quiet your mind, and when you are sure you can meet his piercing eyes once more, you raise your head and look at him. A faint glow of candle light dances shadows against the stone walls, the tension in the air simmering and threatening to overflow. You lock your gaze upon him, wishing to hear what he has dreamed of, hoping it is not too far from what your mind conjured up of him.

“What do you want?” You ask, allowing his presence to anchor you to the ground so you do not fall over from the proximity of his rigid body.

“I want…you.” Pero says, his hesitance born not from his feelings but the self-control he is fighting to maintain. “I have never felt as deep and as torturous a desire as I feel for you.” His confession pins you to him, and you suddenly feel like a prey ensnared with her predator, haunted by the thought of having him in such a way that the universe deemed unholy.

But how could such love be unholy, when all you seek to do is pray his name like a sweet benediction, and in turn, permit him to prostrate at your feet as he entreats for a glimpse of your affections.

Unable to bear the separation for another moment, you pull away and begin to undo the knots of your clothes. Pero bites into his lower lip, refusing to focus anywhere but your fingers as you unlace the fabric shielding you from his eyes. With each piece of fabric you throw onto the floor, Pero finds it a little more difficult to maintain himself, the last ounce of self-control threatening to evaporate into thin air.

Afraid of what he may do to you, he mirrors you and slowly unclothes himself, finding the fire in your eyes as heated and cardinal as the flame burning his soul. And when you are both left with nothing but your linen undergarments, Pero stretches his hand and takes hold of the band around your breasts, waiting until you nod to unwind it from your body. He slips his fingers beneath the white fabric and pushes it down, no longer able to keep his gaze appropriate as your skin is displayed for his hungry eyes. He looks at you, and he finds his mind conjuring up images of similar moments from a past life, ones that had him kiss and bite along the curve of your delicious breasts until you could not bear it any longer. He ceases to breathe altogether, returning his attention to your face as he steps closer to you and pushes your lower undergarment to the floor, finally allowing him to view you whole.

“You…you undo me. Every glance, every breath, every inch of you.” His voice quivers as he speaks, his hands grasping your waist and forcing you to shiver in return.

“Pero,” you place your hands across his chest, fisting the linen of his shirt and pushing it a little higher, signaling your need to see him. “I wish to see you…all of you.” You gulp anxiously, wanting to simultaneously rapidly surrender to him and slowly fall in his arms. His eyes darken, a mixture of determination and something more primal flickering in his gaze at your request sounding so melodious to his ears. He removes your hands from his chest and takes hold of the edge of his shirt, raising it high above his head and swinging it behind him as he stands in all his glory.

You finally allow yourself to properly view him, and you cannot help but gasp at the glory of his body, the muscles rippling when your gaze falls upon them and envision long nights of passion, soaked in sweat and pleasure.

“Goddess in heaven, you are…breathtaking.” You whisper, fingers training the sharp lines of his jaw, down to his neck and lower to his rigid stomach. His breath quickens beneath your touch, and you feel your heart threaten to beat out of your chest when he grasps your hand and pulls you against him, until your hard nipples brush against the hair on his chest.

“You have stolen the words from my lips.” Pero smirks at you, and you feel a bit dazed from the sudden, possessive touches, wishing he could end your misery then and there, push you down on all force and fill you with his gorgeous cock until you knew nothing but the sound of his name and the heat of his seed spilling inside you. You blink at him, distracted by thoughts of what he may do to you, only to find his grip loosening around your wrist and nearly pull away.

“Is there something on your mind?” Your voice drops, filled with worry at the thought of him doubting you.

“I- I do not wish to hurt you. I fear that should I…should we continue-” Pero hesitates for a moment, uncertainty creeping into his heart as he registers the dazed look about you due to his neediness. He fears what he may do should you continue to be so willing and pliant in his embrace. He knows, and remembers, all that you have done to each other centuries ago, but a part of him understands that this was then.

And you were here, now.

“I have wanted you, for so long mi cielo. I am unsure whether I can be gentle tonight.” You interrupt his train of thought, cupping his face with reverence, until his eyes focus on you once more, and ignore the flying doubts threatening to halt your union.

“You do not need to hold back,” you continue, voice assertive, yet filled with a desperate need that grows hotter the longer you remain so far from him, “not with me.”

“I do not need gentle, Pero. I need you.” You breathe with a finality, pressing your body closer to his until he sees and feels nothing but you. His lips part at your confidence, cock twitching at hearing what you crave from him.

“You will tell me to stop,” he says, voice laced with a warning that you know better than to ignore, “tell me to stop before I go too far.”

“I am yours, always.” your eyes never leave his, the trust between you simmering and reaching a zenith more powerful than any fear. He leans down, molding his lips with your own as he wraps his arms around your thighs and carries you, deepening the kiss when you cross your legs behind his back and swallow his moans. He kneels on the bed, but does not let go of you, slowly moving across the soft sheets until he lays you down against his pillows. You twist your head to the cushions beneath you, taking in Pero’s musk and filling your senses with his scent. He sits back and watches you lose yourself in him. Waiting for you to satisfy your cravings, Pero traces his fingers down your body, clenching his jaws tightly when he flicks a nipple and watches it pucker beneath his touch.

There is a glow about your skin that he cannot fathom, and he commits this moment to memory, wanting to create new visions grounded more in the present than the past.

“Your blood, it sings to me, mi bruja,” Pero groans, forcing a shudder across your very being as his words settle and pull you from your momentary haze. “I can hear it rushing to the surface, desperately pleading to touch my tongue.” He gives you no time to dwell on his promises, falling against you and attacking your neck with wet kisses and teasing bites. You drag your nails across his back, tangling your fingers in his hair as he holds onto you hard enough to brand you. Your scratches sends a new wave of pleasure down his spine, and he continues to lick and nip at your sternum, the top of your breasts, and at last, your hardened peaks. His fingers deftly pinch the other nipple, rolling it aggressively until you finally ask him what you have thought of since you knew who he was to you.

“Do it, please.” You moan, your body aching to feel his teeth sink deep within and drag your blood onto his tongue. He blows air against the cold, damp skin of your breasts, watching you squirm beneath him and shake with shameless lust.

“No, no little one. The first time my teeth sink into you,” he hums his pleasure against you, voice dark and seductive as he leaves a trail of bites down your stomach, “it will be when my cock is deep inside you, filling you with my seed.” He pushes your thighs apart, nesting his hips perfectly against you, his cock twitching against your heated core deliciously, the hard, velvety skin kissing your mound and silently asking it to wait…just a little bit more.

“Ohhhh g-gods,” your hands grip his shoulders tightly, and you muster up the courage to look down, wanting to watch his every move as he finally brings you to the deepest abyss.

“Por favor, mi hechicera, call for me. Call for me as you always have, as I have longed to hear again.” He urges as one hand descends down your body and draws patterns across your inner thighs while the other rests above your heart, wanting to hear it beat his name with each kiss he delivers to your flushed body.

“Pero,” you sigh longingly, the word slipping from your lips both like a prayer and a confession.

“Hmmm, again.” Pero groans, his touches growing more confident, reaching just a bit closer to where you ache for him. He roams his eyes across your body, finding the familiarity of your beauty melancholic yet intoxicating.

“P-Pero…oh-” Again, you moan his name with flagrant agony, suspended between pain and pleasure. He smiles at you then, watching as your spirit recognizes his own and reaches for some semblance of relief. When your eyes remember to open once more, Pero slips his fingers in between your folds and drags his middle finger twice to force your attention on him. You reach for the hand atop your breast, intertwining your fingers with his own and digging your heels into the sheets in preparation for what is to come. You mouth another plea, tears threatening to stream from your eyes as you feel another finger tease your entrance.

“Moan for me, little luna.” He commands, his teeth biting at your upper thigh as you flinch beneath him, the knowledge that he can bring your demise so easily soaking his fingers instantly.

“Please, touch me Pero.”

“Where would you like me to touch you?” Pero’s voice is rough with hunger, the beast within wishing to have you now etching to make himself known with each little whimper you gift him.

“Where I ache for you.” You attempt to bring yourself closer to his hand, fuck yourself on his fingers for some relief, but Pero shakes his head and pulls away, dragging your wetness across your thighs and pressing down on your hips to keep you still.

“Here,” he teases with a smirk, hands laying flat against your waist. “Or here?” He moves his fingers slowly across your stomach, just barely touching your skin, chuckling to himself when he sees how impatient you are becoming. “Perhaps…here.” Knowing he cannot hold back much longer, Tovar brings his hand back to your core, allowing you a single breath before he pushes two fingers deep inside your cunt.

“Yesssss, everywhere. Pero….everywhere.” You arch your back, lost in the sensation of his thick fingers as they prod at your inner walls. Torn between keeping your eyes on him and throwing your head back, you blink hazily at him until you can no longer maintain his gaze, the golden rings suddenly taking over his orbs driving your ecstasy further.

“Do you want more, my love?” He kisses your navel, nosing at the skin and breathing in your scent. His senses flood with your essence, and he drives his fingers deeper, pushing against a place that has you squirming beneath him and reaching for his arms.

“Please, Pero.”

“I have waited for this for centuries,” Pero murmurs, his voice raw with longing.

“As have I.” You barely manage to breathe the sentiment, unable to focus on much else apart from the pleasure he continues to ring from your body.

“You are exquisite.” You push your head aside, biting into the sheets to prevent more noises from spilling into the room. Tovar pouts at your timidity, and he stops moving altogether until you manage to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “No, do not shy away from me, mi bruja.” He feels the heat rise between you, and he drags himself lower, until you feel his breath fan over your wet cunt.

“Let me have you, querida.” He groans, knowing that you both have waited a lifetime to feel this intimacy once more. When you nod your consent, Pero dives into you, tongue licking at the sensitive nub until your nails dig roughly into the skin of his forearm.

“Nghhh,” you gasp in shock, the strength with which Pero delivers each stroke of his tongue signaling the ferocity of his desire, the wet movement igniting sparks of pleasure that ripple through your body and leave you trembling under his unrelenting touch. You whine his name, along with incoherent thoughts, one that has you wishing he could somehow sink deeper into you.

“Does that feel good?” His touch is possessive, as dominating and rough as his voice. You wonder how you have passed through life without feeling this each night, but you pay the sadness no mind, wanting to relish in finally being in his arms.

“Hmm,” you instinctively respond to him, skin rising with goosebumps as he wraps his lips around your aroused peak, grazing his teeth across the small muscle until he feels you lose your mind.

“That taste of you…it drives me mad with need, amor.” Pero confesses as he tongues at your folds, driving his fingers harder and quicker inside you until your walls begin to flutter around him, pulling him in deeper with each pass he expertly delivers to your weeping core.

“I can feel you, embracing my fingers, growing more heated and—tight.” The growl that escapes his throat is enough to push you higher to the edge, the desire laced in his words and his actions letting you know this was only the beginning. You look at him then, finding his golden eyes trained directly at you. The knowledge that such a powerful man has willingly chosen to surrender himself to you is intoxicating and you pray for him one last time, finding your past, present, and future in the intensity of his gaze.

“Pero, I-...I’m,” you stammer, the pressure building inside you threatening to spill over against his mouth. He does not let up once, continuing his ministrations until he feels you clench around him even tighter.

“Fall apart for me, amor.” Tovar commands softly, allowing himself a moment of respite before he returns his attention to your warm cunt. “Let me taste your pleasure—now.”

The order comes in between thick laps of his tongue against your folds and harsh thrusts of his digits into your aching core, the sensations overwhelming you until you are powerless. With a few more brushes of his fingers against your quivering walls, you submit yourself to the pleasure, a silent scream signaling your climax to Tovar, the expression of ecstasy on your glowing features forcing him to continue pulling more from your body.

He maintains his gaze upon you, his fingers halting as far inside you as he can reach until he feels a soft spot push against him. He rubs against the swollen bit of you a few times, enclosing his lips around your flushed pearl one last time and sucking as hard as he can. Had his arm not been against your chest, Tovar is sure you would have flown from him, and he maintains his strength against you as you continue coming in his arms, sobbing his name over and over again until he sees your tears wet his sheets.

Not wanting to turn the pleasure uncomfortable, he stops his attention and raises himself from your thighs, slowly slipping his fingers from your core and watching as more wetness seeps out of you.

“You are radiating.” Pero comments, waiting for your eyes to find him before dragging his fingers across his tongue and licking them dry. You let go of his arm and reach for your cunt, covering it with your hands embarrassingly as you attempt to sit up and feel his skin slide against yours. Might it be because of me?” The question is asked before you find his lips and slip your tongue inside his mouth, tasting your arousal on his lips and moaning at the filthy nature of what the two of you are doing.

“You- you know as well as I this is all for you, because of you.” You reply as you kiss across his chest, marveling at the sheer power hiding beneath the scars and muscles on display for your hungry eyes. Sneaking a glance at him, you wait until his golden eyes shine brighter before dragging your hand down his stomach.

“Ahh, b-brujita-” he moans in return, the warmth and softness of your palm holding him hard enough to have his cock still twitch against you. He kisses your temple as he shuts his eyes, feeling your touches grow more confident and teasing.

“Why do you enjoy calling me a witch so…sinfully?” You giggle when he hisses through gritted teeth, your fingers rolling his base right as you drag your nails to the flushed tip of his member.

“B-because you have spun your—oh, your spells upon my heart, bewitching it with your- your soft touches, and sweet words.” Pero admits desperately, his hands resting against your shoulders as you slide your hand back and forth.

“I do not recall doing such intricate designs…amor.” Your smile does wonders to him, the playfulness of your pleasure allowing him to remember nights he thought he could never recall again. Then you use his language, and he feels as if the world around him is passing away into nothing.

“No? T-then explain how madly bewitched I am by your very soul.” There is longing laced around his simple confession, and you cannot help but pull him against you, wrapping an arm around his neck and kissing him passionately as he pushes you against the bed.

“Pero,” the heat you feel in your core intensifies, but you know you want, more than anything, to hold the weight of his cock on your tongue before he takes you.

“Ahhh, hermosa- por favor, sácame de mi miseria.” You push him on his back and he falls willingly, fingers twisting in your hand instantly when he sees you descend down his body and continue teasing his cock.

“Will you let me have you as well?” You ask, kissing and nipping down his body, never once breaking his gaze as you lick down his navel and breathe against the base of his cock, waiting for him to give you permission.

“You do not need-” He begins to say but you cut him off with a kiss to the tip of his cock, claiming his as yours. The action shocks him into silence, and he throws his head back, revealing the sharp canines he tries his best to keep in hiding.

“Let me taste your cock on my lips, please!” You beg, mouth and hand aching to feel him against you.

“Soy tuyo.” He sighs in defeat, resting his thumb against your lips and rubbing the plump skin twice before nodding in acceptance. Not a second passes before your mouth wraps completely around him, and Pero is sure he has died and gone to the highest of heavens, the warmth of your throat proving to him that such wonders do exist.

“Ahhh diablilla,” his breath comes in ragged gasps, fingers twisting into your hair again as you look at him and continue to take him as far down as you could. A mixture of his arousal and your saliva streams down your chin, and Pero whines when he sees you drag it across the rest of him and massage his base, not caring for how filthy you may look.

“You look beautiful…with your lips wrapped around my cock.” He groans, hands tightening on your neck as you move your head up and down the length of him. When you are sure will not turn away, you lightly pass your teeth against the crown of his cock, watching as his hips push forward unintentionally and send him deeper inside you.

“How far are you willing to go to make me lose my sanity, woman?” He snarls at you, shaking his head in disbelief as you continue to pleasure you, as you know. You smirk as you worship him, removing your mouth from his velvety, hard skin for a moment to respond and returning your touches again to prevent him from retorting in kind.

“Far,” your eyes meet his with a spark of defiance and mischief, and Tovar is powerless beneath you, completely and utterly powerless.

“I- I fear you may not have to…I- I am,” he stammers, groaning in unbelievable rapture as he imagines what your cunt must feel like if your mouth flutters around his length like an angel’s wings.

“I cannot take much more, love…you feel too- too heavenly.” Pero admits shamelessly, his body trembling with the overwhelming sensations coursing through his veins. You shake your head then, watching as the action spirals him back against the bed once more.

“I thought I was your little devil?” You respond, kissing along his wet cock and watching as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“Oh god…the devil was once an angel, querida.” His voice is strained with need, and you are unsure if he wishes for you to continue or halt.

“If I am an angel, then you must be my god…my master.” You whisper to him then, moving your hands across him and pressing your breasts near the reddened tip to prove to him you are as dazed, if not more, by his existence as he appears to be by your own.

“No…no little one, it is you who is the master of this lonely heart. You and no one else.” You do not expect such a heartfelt revelation to break through the wanton desires swimming in his golden eyes, the words forcing you to stop altogether as you memorize the somber and hopelessly-in-love features gazing at you.

“Come here!” Pero uses your momentary distraction to his advantage, dragging you against his body and pushing you beneath him once more, nesting his hips perfectly in between your thighs and snatching both of your wrists above your head.

“But I-” you begin, but he silences you with a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth hungrily until he can taste his arousal in your mouth. The knowledge that you both swallowed the other’s essence deep inside of you sends his heart into a frenzy, and you must reach a similar conclusion because you respond to his vigor with as much madness, swirling your tongue around his own and praying he can finally put you out of your misery and take you.

“Another twist of your tongue and I would have lost myself in your mouth.” He warns as he kisses your jaw, laughing when he hears you question him through a fit of giggles.

“Is that so bad?”

“No, but if I am finally having you, then I am coming in your pretty cunt first…and then I will fill your other holes. ¿Me entiendes?” His voice drops with desire, eyebrows raised in determination as you finally allow his words to settle in your mind.

“Pero, take me. Now…and do not dare to be gentle.” You plead, burning with a need to feel his cock brand your cunt as his.

“I want you to ruin me,” you confess, hands balling into fists as you attempt to loosen his grip from around you. He growls at your request, letting go of your arms and smiling when your arms reach around his back in an attempt to pull him closer to you. “And put me back together…with your touch etched on every inch of my skin.”

“You will tell me if-” You cut him off one last time with a fierce kiss, nodding when you release him and reach for his cock.

“Look at me,” he drags your attention away from the space between your bodies to his golden eyes, staring at you closely until he ensures you are focusing on nothing but him. “And know that I am never letting you go.” His demand is low and full of promise, and before you can answer him, he removes your hand from his length and drags it twice across your folds, not wasting another moment before pushing himself into your tightening walls.

“F-fuck,” the expletive would shock him had he not known you, and he rests his weight against his hands, sheathing himself completely inside you until there is nothing but the air separating your bodies. He waits for you to breathe, and when he is sure you have adjusted to him, he pulls out as far as he can before pushing back inside with a groan.

“You are…my desires incarnate.” He groans, one hand gripping your hips as the other fists into the sheets beneath your head.

“Your cock is—it feels like a fire blazing inside of me. Hot, heavy and s-so fucking hard.” Your body arches towards him, and you cannot help but lose yourself in his eyes as his thrusts deliver with a steady, roughening pace. Your words undo him, and he cannot control his body from pushing harder into you, the feeling of your cunt, so warm and inviting, making him wish he can stay attached to you forever.

“I feel you in my soul, my love.” He nudges his nose against your chin, breathing heavily as your fingers tug on his hair and beg him for more.

“Ohhh, yes!”

Your cries match his groans, and as you find that familiar pleasure build once more, you are met with a vision not unlike the one you are experiencing now, one that has you looking forward to all the nights you would share with Pero now that you found him again.

“Your cunt is heaven, as if you were made for me. I fear I will never get enough of you.” Pero shakes his head as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, finger bruising your skin as your sighs grow louder in his ears.

“You have…completely undone me, Pero.” Your gasps are music to his ears, and he feels your core clench harder around him, pulling him in deeper with each push of his hips.

“How is that,” he asks, his voice gruff with need, “I can feel your heartbeat,” you tilt your head to the side as he sucks on your neck and marks you as his, “each time you clench around me?”

“Please,” unable to form more words, you plead for him to finally drink from you, wanting to be connected to him in every way possible.

“Has your body learned my touch already, mi bruja?” He chuckles at you then, watching as your skin comes alive the more he shapes your cunt to his length.

“Does it remember my cock when- oh fuck, when it claimed you time after another all those years ago?” His hand caresses down your side, until it rests against your thigh and pushes it higher. You cross your legs behind his back, his cock filling you deliciously.

“Pero, you are killing me.”

“No, little one, I am calling for your witch’s blood to pray for me.” His whole being is raw with need, and he grows crazed when your body responds to his madness and glows for him.

“Oh, she likes to hear how I crave her?” You want to sob at his teasing, but with each word he whispers to you, you feel yourself growing closer to the edge of release.

“Does that please you—knowing that, when I fill you with my seed, and keep you in my arms forever, that your witch will be ruined for all eternity? Does that make you wet, mi bruja traviesa?”

“Yes, oh- oh gods, Pero, please. Claim me!” You cry out at the sentiment, body shuddering with anticipation of what you are confident will be the greatest pleasure known to the world.

“Lord knows how fucking gratifying it will feel to have your blood course through my veins…knowing that I have feasted upon you, mierda- ah mierda…until you have ruined me.” His growls increase, as do his thrusts, and when you turn to look at him and find his eyes no longer golden but red, you beg him one last time, knowing he will not turn you down once more.

“I- I am close…so close.”

“Where can I-” He stares at your skin, unsure of where you would rather hold evidence of his bite. There is madness storming in his eyes, one that has you cutting him off and telling him to do whatever he wishes with you.

“Wherever you desire, my love.”

“I…love you, my beautiful witch. With every part of me capable of knowing such a feeling.” He confess, his hands trembling as he wraps his hand around your neck and tilts your head far back so he can gain access to the top of your breasts. Your body is prepared to explore in pleasure, and when you feel him kiss the top of your nipple twice, you ask him to join you.

“Pero, be with me.”

The moment his teeth pierce your sink, a strangely familiar warmth washes over your body, and you flutter around his cock instantly, the pleasure of your coupling and his feeding blinding your sight and sending you into a state of ecstasy you long to experience again already. You can hear him groan against you, his seed filling your womb with long, hot ropes of warmth that mirrors the heat beating against your chest. He gulps you down hungrily, enough to satiate the desire he feels for you but not to send you into a sleep. When he is sure he has had his fill of you, he clenches his jaw and pulls away, licking the wound twice to prevent it from bleeding any further.

Pero looks at you then, a part of him afraid of how you may react when you find the beast in him wanting for more. But as you always have, you caress his cheek gently and pull him down, kissing his lips one last time as you finally whisper those words to him.

“I l-love you Pero, oh so much.”

He nearly cries at the sentiment, unsure of what good he has done in his life that deserves such affections from you. Slowly, he pulls himself away from your body, wincing in discomfort when the sudden lack of your heat washes over him. You pout in return, wanting to remain filled with him until the morning, but knowing that you both needed a moment of respite if you were to continue through the night.

Pero falls to his back, not wasting a moment as he pulls you to his side, until you are intertwined in each other. Neither of you say anything, and Pero meditates on the words you whispered to him seconds ago, wondering if you were merely remembering your past or truly meant what you have conveyed to him.

The room feels suspended in time, the air heavy with the revelations you parted to one another throughout the night. He leans over and urges you with a question.

“What can you remember?” He asks then, wanting to know, more than anything, if you recall him the way he knows you.

“I feel as if I- I remember everything.” You look up at him and smile, fingers drawing patterns across his damp chest, wanting to be sure you were still in his arms.

“Tell me,” his breath fans over your temple as he kisses you once, reutrning the smile on your features and waiting to hear your response.

“I remember your eyes, how safe they always made me feel. And I remember your touch, the way you tended to be soft when you loved me, and the roughness you brought when you craved me.” Your heart pounds as you recall the visions that have plagued your mind for weeks on end. And Pero’s lips part, but no words escape him. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing as you continue to prove to him that, whatever your heart knows now, is more important that what you have felt for him before.

“Most of all, I remember how deeply you loved me and how I could not breathe without being in your arms.”

The silence stretches between you, heavy and intimate with promises of what is to come. When you speak again, your voice is tinged with an almost unbearable sadness, afraid of what his answer will be to the question that plagued your spirit for a while now.

“Where will you go…when this is all over?”

“I will find those responsible for our lost time,” his jaw is set with determination, tone cold and resolute when he offers you nothing but the truth.

“And I will kill every last one of them.” Your brows knit together when you see pain flicker across his face, the memories of what your kind and his have done to you pushing you to ask one last request of him.

“Let me come with you.” Your hand brushes against his, playing with the veins on his wrist as you wait for a response.

“I cannot, mi corazón.” He shakes his head and silently apologizes to you when he sees anguish etched into your very soul.

“Please?”

“Have I not promised you long ago that these hands were for you? That I would do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” He cups your cheek, the smile he aims at you letting you know that there is a future for the both of you when he is finished with his mission.

“Can I not offer you the same promise?” You lean into his touch, wanting to prove to him that, just as his hands are for you, your magic is for him, and him alone.

“Everything I do, my love, is for you. My anger, my wrath, my revenge…it is all for you. I will raise hell on earth if anyone strives to separate us once more. Why would you bloody your hands, when I care not for my own?” Tovar says firmly, wanting you to be certain that his love and loyalty will never pass away again, that he will surely return to your side when he is confident no one means you any harm.

“Because, Pero…I never understood love until I felt your hands on me, and I want your hands to carry my heart. But for you to do so, I must ask the same in return. I must drench my hands in the same blood, if only to feel worthy of caring for such a gift from you.” Your voice softens his expression, and you pray to the old gods that he sees how far you are willing to go to keep him safe from harm.

“You wish to carry my heart, when you yourself are my heart?” A storm of emotions swirls around his question, and he leans down to meet your lips in a chaste kiss once more, shaking with the thought of ever putting you in danger again.

“Pero,” you hold his gaze then, once again knowing that he will not refuse you now that he sees you are just as wanting to rid the world of those who hurt you as he is.

“Sí, mi amor?” He breathes, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Let me protect you as you once protected me.” You say with determination, and watch as his eyes struggle to comprehend your request.

“Please, my love. Let me.”

“I could never deny you any request.” With a sigh of defeat, he chuckles at you and nods in agreement, closing his eyes and surrendering to the knowledge that you will always hold him powerless in the palm of your hand.

“Mi alma, you are too entangled in my soul for me to ever be apart from you. Whatever you desire, you have it.”

“Te amo, mi bruja.” He murmurs, voice thick with emotion, and heart even heavier with the love he sees etched, not just in your eyes, but your very existence.

“And I love you.” Your words are a promise, a bond unbroken by time or circumstance, one that you solidify with a kiss to his heart before you allow the Luxor night air to lull you to sleep.

Translation: Maga - mage Bruja - witch Hechicera - Sorceress/enchantress Capulla - dumbass Querida - dear Hermosa - beautiful Luna - moon Cielo - heaven Cariño - darling/sweetheart Alma - spirit Vida - life Amor - love Corazón - heart Sácame de mi miseria - put me out of my misery Soy tuyo - I am yours Diablilla - little devil ¿Me entiendes? - Do you understand me? Bruja traviesa - naughty witch Mierda - shit

Pedro Pascal Taglist (and any of his characters):

@paste-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @wordsnwhiskey @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @marsplsstop @ezrasbirdie @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul @bii-aan-ckaa @nohartandsole @djjarins @giselatropicana @maziken @blackmarketmummy @laviipopii @ew-erin @fan-of-encouragement @melody13522 @clydesducktape @planetariumx @thirddeadlysin @leannawithacapitala @fangirl-316 @thou-creature-of-the-deep @what-iwish-you-knew @nabootycall @pascalsky @pedrostories @anaaaispunk @monocromaticstaircase @severinsnape @elegantduckturtle @gothicxbarbie @revengeisaconfesionofpain @hypnoash @pedritopascalito @eri16 @andiesturgss @snarwor @christina-loves @tintinn16 @persephones-garden @reaperofmen @heykathchuu @hotchlover @kaumalade @MSWarriorBabe80 @nakhudanyx @ezras-channel-rat @solemnlyswearss @thegirlnextdoorssister @alpaca-swimsuit @elinedjarin @yuukiblissthemusicwitch @dihra-vesa @pscalwhiskey @midwesternwitchery @daddymando @letskeepthislo-ki @xwalltoast @alexxavicry @ewoksrus @dear-fifi @nagassia @kirsteng42 @s-u-t @yourdragonsfire @girlofchaos @thisshipwillsail316 @squidwell @the-helmet-stays-on @mssbridgerton @buckybarneshairpullingkink @hungrhay @hugmedin @balck-rose-29 @trickstersp8 @happycupcakeenthusiast @daddypedritopascalito @onlinecementery @janebby @domaniquessidehoe @cassiepascal @lillianacristina @bitchwitch1981 @hallecarey1 @vee-bees-vlog @riddlelecter

P.S. If someone can let me know whether the tags are working, I would really appreciate it!!!

#pedrostoriesgift24 #pedrostories #pero tovar #pero tovar/reader #pero tovar x reader #vampire pero tovar #witch reader #vampire/reader #vampire x reader #pedro pascal #the great wall #tovar x reader #tovar/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar smut

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yomi345345345 · 10 months ago

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LOOK AT THEMMM

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absurdthirst · 3 months ago

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Fight to Get Home to You {Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: Hate sex, angry sex, derogatory comments, goading and bickering, anger, confusion and stubborn people refusing to talk, baby!, Pero is a girl dad, mandatory Pero bath, holding a baby for the first time, confessions, idiots in love, oral sex (female receiving), mentions of post baby body, lactation, vaginal sex, mentions of virginity, Pero has a heart, loving making, soft kisses and promises, happy endings.

Comments: Riding with Pero Tovar, you hiss and spit at him, even when he slides into your bedroll at night when the men are sleeping. Until the day you ride away to keep a secret from the prickly Spaniard. One that he discovers when he finds you after his journey to the East is complete. Learning that neither one of you really hated the other.

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.

The fire crackles, sending a warm glow that chases away the darkness that surrounds you. In the dark, you can hear the horses munching on the little brush that you had managed to find, stopping and occasionally neighing softly as they rest. Happy to have the saddles and bags off their backs for a few hours while the men who rode them slept. The snorts of the men sound like bears hibernating in caves, making you roll your eyes and huff silently, shifting under your blankets as you try to settle in to get your own rest.

A hand slaps over your mouth, making you reach for the sheathed dagger at your hip. “Fight if you want, amiga.” The chuckle in your ear is warm, making you hiss against his palm, other hand reaching around your body to tear at the laces of your breeches. “You seem to enjoy it more when you do.” Pero Tovar rocks his hips against your ass, pushing the hardness that has nothing to do with armor against you. His cock aching ready to sink into your cunt and he knows you are annoyed that he would climb into your bedroll right here in front of the fire where any man could wake up and see.

Pero pushes his hand into your breeches, knowing you love when he rubs that little pulsing bundle of nerves. He groans when you reach behind you to squeeze him through his breeches, blindly fumbling to undo the laces but he’s already ahead of you. All you have to do is reach in and pull his hard cock out. He groans into your neck when you squeeze him, loving the way you rock down onto his hand. “That’s it, hermosa.” He murmurs as he works on wiggling you out of your pants. “Please.” You beg, knowing you’ll regret it in the morning but right now, you’re soaking wet for him. He chuckles softly against your ear, “I got you.” You whine when he manages to push the material down enough for his cock to slide between your thighs and you reach down to help him notch himself at your entrance.

You choke out a grunt, trying to keep from being too loud as he pushes inside you. The Spaniard's cock fills you, he’s thick and long, making your eyes roll back when his hips are flush against your ass. You don’t know why you let him fuck you, when the sun is up, he ignores you or the two of you spit and grumble at each other. You don’t really like him, but you let him fuck you until your toes curl and your eyes cross in pleasure. “Fuck.” You roll onto your stomach, taking him with you and enjoying the way he presses you down.

He grunts, shifting to kneel behind you, his elbows on either side of your head as he starts to rock into you, pressing you into the bedroll and your hot walls grip his cock. “Fuck, hermosa. You feel - fuck.” He hisses into your neck, “taking everything I give you like a needy whore.”

That’s rich, coming from the man who would fuck every whore available if he had the coins. The first time he had taken you was leaning against a tree, the blood of the men you had both killed still splatter on your armor. “Fuck you.” You hiss quietly.

He chuckles, making you clench around him. His hips press against your ass as he grinds as deep as he can. “No, I’m fucking you, princesa.” He emphasizes and you reach behind you to grab onto his hair, making him growl and his cock twitch inside you.

You should not let him touch you, but you’ve grown addicted to the way he scrubs against your walls and presses deep. He’s handsome, even if you don’t like him beyond the sex. You get along with William, but he is not your type it seems. Pushing your ass back, you yank on his hair a little harder and smirk when he groans into your ear.

One of the men you are traveling with snorts and Pero freezes for a second until the man begins to snore again. He takes that as permission to go hard so he starts to fuck you, thrusting into your tight cunt and the noise of your wetness makes him chuckle into the nape of your neck. “You love it when I fuck you, don’t you, princesa?” He asks, his voice raspy as it vibrates against your skin.

You roll your eyes at his cockiness. “I could do better.” You huff, fingers curling into fists as he hammers away into your body. The sex is amazing but you can’t help but snark at him while he’s touching you.

Tovar scoffs, “your little fingers wouldn’t be able to reach where my cock does. They wouldn’t stretch you out like I do. I wreck this little cunt. And you fucking love it.” He rasps into your ear as he adjusts the ankle, chuckling when you gasp.

You shudder, unable to deny it even if it pisses you off. The best you can manage is a small snort that masks the next moan. The man across from you around the fire shuffles in his blankets but Pero doesn’t stop rocking into you. “You just like my cunt.” You hiss quietly when the other man settles down. “Better than your fist.”

Pero bites down on your neck and you hiss, “fuck.” He chuckles and licks the skin, “your cunt is better than my fist but I still love that my fist doesn’t throw insults at me.”

You snort and clench down around him. “Then fuck your hand.” You spit back, loving how he groans and twitches inside you. “At least until you can find another whorehouse.”

He hisses when you clench around him, pushing deep into your cunt and he is certain the men would hear if it weren't for the liquor they downed from their flasks before finding sleep. "Why would I when I have my own personal whore right here?" He counters with a growl.

His own personal whore. If it would not cause too much of a fuss, you would push him off of you. Instead, you tighten down as hard as you can around his cock, making him choke out a groan. “I don’t remember your coins becoming mine.” You whisper. “Make sure you give them to me on the morrow.”

He smirks against your neck, “I am the one doing all the work here. Maybe if you ride my cock next time.” He chuckles and pushes deep, needing you to clamp down around him before he finds his own pleasure. He may spit fire at you but he doesn’t want you to say he’s a bad lover.

You snort, knowing the cheap bastard would never give you money if he did not have to. You bite your lip, getting close and you wish that you had the type of relationship to demand a kiss, but that was not something you had done in all the times you gave fucked. “Tovar.” You moan his name quietly, about to cum and needing him to silence you.

He knows what you need so he reaches out to cover your mouth with his palm, loving the way your moan vibrates against his skin. “That’s it, princesa. Cum for me.” He demands roughly against your ear, biting down on your earlobe.

The sharp pinch of pain throws you over the edge. Your cry is muffled by his hand as your walls soak him. Clamping down around his cock and trembling violently while you shake in pleasure. Tovar always manages to make you cum, with the exception of one time and that was only because he had been too pent up, still he had rubbed your clit until you came around his softening cock.

The way you clamp down on his cock has his eyes rolling into the back of his head and he groans, "fuck, princesa. Mierda. I'm - fuck." He pants as he thrusts three more times before he's twitching inside you, painting your walls with his hot spend. He's been pent up all day and your heat sent him over the edge.

You hiss against his palm. You will have to sneak down to the river to wash now that he has filled you up instead of pulling out. Tovar hates to pull out, insisting that the herbs you take to prevent your flow makes it unnecessary for him to do so. Preferring to spill inside your cunt.

Tovar grunts as he relaxes above you, his cock softening and he pulls out before he ends up getting caught. He shifts to his knees and tucks his cock away, tying his breeches. Your ass is on display and he can’t help but smack it. “Good as always, princesa.” He chuckles and shifts to stand up.

You turn around and shoot him a glare. “You should have spilled your seed in your hand.” You hiss quietly. “Now I will have to piss and clean up your mess.”

He chuckles, shifting to stand up, “I know you love it when I fill you up.” He smirks, knowing you have begged him in the past to paint you with his cum. Sometimes, when you’re able to, he likes to see your tits shining with his seed but that’s a rare event to have enough privacy for it.

Huffing, you pull yourself up and drag your breeches up your thighs. “I hope your horse stomps on your foot tomorrow.” You growl, stomping off into the dark to go wash your cunt and give him time to settle down before you say something worse.

Pero snorts as he watches you stride off. He would never tell you but he usually sneaks around to watch your back, make sure no one attacks you while you are washing. He’s back under his blankets before you return and pretending to be asleep but he opens his eyes to look at you when you turn over on your bedroll. He never imagined he’d find a woman like you. He can never have you, not completely.

****

“I am leaving.” You had almost slipped away in the middle of the night, deciding to take the coward's way out and not have the conversation that you had been dreading. You had been thinking about it for weeks, but it’s time. “Today.” You look up from your seat on a broken log by the river where the horses are resting.

Pero frowns at the need, “leaving? Why?” He demands to know, wanting to know the reason. He doesn’t like the thought of you on your own out there. It’s dangerous. “What are you thinking? You’ll be killed.”

You roll your eyes. “I have saved your ass more than once, I will be fine.” You knew he would bitch about this, having grumbled when you joined the group. Now he was grumbling you were leaving. “I am going back to my home village.”

Pero looks over at William, the three of you the only ones remaining before you venture across the sea to the east. “You do not need to return there. Come with us to the east. We will care for you.” Pero demands and William smirks, having been aware of your dirty little secret but he’s never voiced it.

“No.” You shake your head. “I have made up my mind. If I leave now, I can be settled before the winter sets in.” You bite your lip, smirking slightly even though you don’t feel nearly as confident as you would like. “It will be the first night I’ve had peace since I’ve met you and I’m looking forward to it.”

Tovar shakes his head and opens his mouth to protest but William places his hand on the Spaniard’s shoulder. “Don’t, brother. Let her go.” He isn’t stupid, he knows what has been going on between you. “Besides, I thought you’d be happy to be rid of me.” You chuckle and Pero bites his lip, holding back what he wants to say but he’s spiteful when he says “only your cunt.”

You clench your jaw, biting back the angry words that come so easily when you talk to him. You had hoped that this would be easy, that he would be relieved that you are leaving, but obviously not. Or he truly only did like your cunt for company. “Well.” You slap your thighs and stand up, dusting yourself off. “Then I have nothing left to say.” Your horse is already saddled, like theirs are, and you have made sure to pack some of the rations for yourself, not too much, but enough to get you home. “Don’t poison the buzzards when they eat your carcass.” You snip, swinging up onto your mount’s back. “Be safe.” It’s directed towards William, but it’s meant for both of them. You know that the Irishman will watch Pero’s back.

Pero clenches his jaw, wanting to demand you don’t leave but he can’t do that. It’s not his place to control you, you don’t even like him. He sighs and shakes his head, “don’t die out there, princesa. Your body won’t rot away. It will be used.” He warns you, knowing how vile men can be. That’s why he wants to keep you close but he can’t. You hate him. That’s why you’re leaving.

You don’t say anything else, just nodding to the two men and urging your horse to start walking, turning his head away from the camp. Not looking back before the horse breaks into a run, eager to eat up the distance between here and home. You need to get away from Pero. You can’t be around him and keep your secret.

****

Pero is grumpy and ferocious from that moment on. After returning from the east barely alive, he’s pent up and wondering where the hell you are. William stayed with the General and Pero is alone. He hates being alone. Even if he’d never admit it. He tries to remember what you told him about your village and he remembers that it was at the bottom of a mountain in a valley about four days' ride from where you left. Pero decides to try and find you. He stops in every village, asking for you, to no avail. He sighs and shakes his head, making his way to the next village after spending the night in the whorehouse. He is a man with needs after all. He makes his way to the next village and the priest’s eyes widen when he asks after you, “she lives near the stream.” Pero’s heart pounds and he swings his leg over his stallion after tossing some coins to the priest, “for my sins.” He declares before he rides off. He finds the small cottage, it’s picturesque by the stream, the mountain looking behind it, and he swings off his horse, swallowing harshly. His boots crackle with the gravel as he makes his way to the front door and knocks.

Expecting the tanner to come and take the skins from the animals you had trapped, you wipe your hands and move to the door. It had taken some time to get used to wearing skirts again, but you still wore breeches when you were hunting or working in your vegetable garden. Usually keeping the more feminine wear for when you were going into the village or when the few merchants who would come to you would arrive. “I have quite a few-“ you stop dead as you open the door to reveal someone unexpected on your doorstep. “Tovar.” You hate how your heart pounds and you wonder why he’s here. “What are you doing here?” You demand. “How did you find me?”

Pero inhales sharply, you look just as beautiful as you did the day you rode away from him and William. "I - I wanted to see you." He says lamely, "we went to the east and William remained there so I- I wanted to see you and I-" He cuts himself off and swallows, "it was a bad idea. I'm sorry. I shouldn't - I'll go." He promises, starting to back away from the door when he hears a baby cry.

Your eyes widen, hoping that the baby would have slept through this surprise. “I-“ you don’t say anything else, just turning and rushing towards the screen that separates the bed from the rest of the house. The small cradle you had lain in when you were a baby is now holding your own child and you lean over and coo to her. “Why are you so fussy?” You hum softly, picking up your months old daughter and putting her to your chest while you pull down the front of your dress to give her your breast. “Is my little button hungry?” You coo, smiling when she immediately latches on and suckles hungrily.

Pero can’t help but enter your home, watching with rapture as you cradle the baby suckling on your breast. He frowns at her dark mop of hair and he counts the months. Wondering if - “is she mine?” He chokes out, curious and his heart pounding.

Your eyes flicker up to find him watching you, horror and curiosity burning in his eyes. “No, she’s William’s obviously.” Annoyed that the Spaniard would think that you were fucking anyone else while he spent the months you rode together fucking you. You look back down at her, her little eyes drifting closed and smile softly before you frown and glance at him again. “Why are you here, Tovar?” You demand. “Felt like fighting again? Or do the whorehouses not accept your coin?”

He’s speechless, watching you gently rock the baby and he swallows, his throat dry. “I- I can’t - she’s - a girl. Princesa.” He chokes as he takes a step over to you. “You were alone and I - I wasn’t here to protect you.”

“Yes, she’s a girl.” You narrow your eyes, angry that he seems disappointed that you did not birth him a son. “A girl bastard is better than a boy.” You hiss. “I was capable of protecting myself. I did. I gave birth with the help of a midwife from the village. What could you have done?”

Pero’s stomach twists and he shakes his head, “I never - I would’ve been here.” He promises, “but you left and - did you know? Is that why you left? Why you didn’t come to the east with us?” He narrows his eyes as he accuses you.

You snort and shrug, “What does it matter?” You ask. “It would have been dangerous for me, and I was only as useful as my cunt, so I would have just put both of you in danger.” You don’t add that he never would have known if he had not come to find you. “It is your fault for continuously spilling inside me.”

Tovar has the emotions to feel guilty but he swallows harshly and nods, “you’re right, princesa. I - I shouldn’t have gone. We were nearly killed. Several times and I- I got greedy. Tried to steal and it nearly cost me my life. I am sorry for putting your life in danger and leaving you full of my child.”

You’re surprised that he will admit that he was wrong, Pero never does that. “You? Greedy?” You snort, shaking your head. “I never would have imagined it.” You tell him sarcastically. The baby pulls off your breast and you shift her to your shoulder to burp.

He watches you as you burp her and then cradle her in your arms, rocking her as she sleeps, and Pero's heart lurches. "I am truly sorry, princesa. I - I'll go." He stumbles back, knowing he isn't wanted here.

The sun will set in an hour and you know the inn in the village will charge him an outrageous amount for a bed. You sigh and roll your eyes. “Stay.” You huff softly. “Unless you plan to camp outside.”

He frowns, “I was planning to. I didn’t - I never want to assume that you wanted me here. I figured you’d be spitting venom at me like you used to. I just…I had to find you. I will go if you wish me to.” He promises and bows his head slightly.

As if to protest, your daughter gives a small cry, her face screwing up in anger and looking just like the man who sired her before she settles back down in your arms. You look down at her and then back up at Pero. “You will need to bathe if you are to stay.” You huff. “I don’t want her to get sick.”

Pero is surprised you’re letting him stay but his heart thumps at the news and he nods, “of course. I have been traveling for many months. Let me - I can go to the stream.” He offers, not wanting you to go through any trouble for him when you are giving him a bed to sleep in.

“There is a barrel by the door.” You roll your eyes, aware that the man might be a pig when he travels, but he loves luxury. He paid for a hot bath at every inn you had stopped at. “Bring in water and we will heat it.” You instruct. “The stream will not get you clean enough.”

He nods, secretly relieved, and he sets his satchel down and makes his way over to the door to fetch the buckets of water. He really is filthy. He barely stopped in an inn to find you. He was desperate, especially since he’s alone. He sets the barrel down and watches as you set the baby in the cot, shushing her before you turn to start working on hearing the water for the tub in the corner of the room.

You feel that he is watching you. Making you aware that it’s the first time that Pero has seen you in skirts. “You said William stayed?” You ask as you work. “He’s not dead?”

He watches you as your skirts sway and he thinks you look beautiful. You seem to have a glow about you. Home life suits you. You’re clean and you look comfortable. “He’s alive. He decided to remain in China. He met a woman. She’s a firecracker. He loves her and I told him to stay. So he did.” He explains, “never imagined the poor bastard would be in love.”

Surprised to hear that, you hum. Whoever the woman was, she must have been special. “So now you are seeking another companion to sell your sword with.” You understand, nodding as you move to get the crock of soap and a drying cloth while the water warms. After that, you will make sure that there is dinner for you both. Tomorrow he will be gone and you can continue your simple little life.

He sighs and shakes his head, “I don’t know. I didn’t really think ahead more than finding you. I need - I want to be here. With you. And our daughter.” He declares, “I will go if you send me away but please let me try to be there for mi hija.” He pleads a little, knowing you’ve never heard that from him.

You almost snort, but you catch yourself. Arguing with Pero will just make him dig his heels in. Just to spite you, he will stay longer than he ever planned. Instead, you just hum. “I have not sent you away yet, have I?” You ask, knowing that he would be bored to tears in less than a week.

He shrugs, “I know you hate me, princesa. Even more so now that I left you with child.” He says and you snort, “I left on my own accord.” He stands, helping you fill the tub, and he groans as he starts to strip off the armor after the tub is steaming. “You left because of me. I- I know you still hate me.”

“You made your own feelings about me clear.” You remind him. “You wanted to steal my horse and leave me alone on the road when you discovered I am a woman.”

Pero snorts, working on his chest plate after setting his sword down. “You lied to us. You tried to steal. If you would’ve told us-” You scoff and spin around, “told you? You would’ve dropped me at the next village.” You spit and Pero nods, “and you would’ve been safer. The road is no place for a woman…even one as skilled with a sword as you.”

“I am no longer on the road.” You remind him, grabbing another bucket of warm water and setting it down next to the bath. “My sword is now only for protecting myself and my daughter.”

His stomach twists, knowing he has not earned the right to be called her father or for you to even let him into your cottage. He’s said some terrible things during your journeys together. “Then she will be protected.” He declares and reaches for the hem of his tunic after he sets his boots aside. Your eyes avert as you pour some oils into the hot water and his naked body is on display as he sets his dirty clothes aside.

You don’t look over at him at first, even though you have never seen him completely nude. Your liaisons had never had the privacy or time for such things. It’s not until he steps into the bath that you turn and look, getting a good view of his strong, scarred back and his small but nice ass. “My father died right after I returned.” You tell him. “So I had a home to keep her safe in. That is all that matters to me.”

He nods, groaning as he steps into the tub, “that’s good. I’m glad you had somewhere to live. I - I should’ve made sure you had somewhere to go but I was angry that you were leaving and-” He cuts himself off as he sinks into the water.

“I wasn’t your problem.” You remind him. “You couldn’t stand me, so I have no reason to believe that you would worry about my well being.” You turn towards your table to start cutting up vegetables for a meal.

Pero swallows, knowing he cannot disclose his true feelings. "You hardly felt warm and fuzzy for me, princesa." He reminds you, "you would spit venom at me with every breath you took." He snorts, "but I - well, it doesn't matter." He sighs and reaches for the rag to start cleaning himself.

You snort, busying yourself as you hear him splash behind you. “I know we did not care for each other.” You chop the root vegetables very fine and sigh yourself. “But I do not expect anything from you. Except a civil tongue around my daughter. When you find a wife and have legitimate children, I will not tolerate her being abused for being a bastard.”

Pero scoffs, “I do not wish to find a wife.” He insists, his eyes watching your back as you cut up vegetables. He continues to wash, “she is not a bastard in my eyes. She’s our child and I - I want to get to know her.” He declares, his stomach twisting as he imagines you laughing in his face and tossing him out with the bath water.

It surprises you and you turn around to face him, telling yourself not to look below the waterline. Even if you have seen it before, his cock is not yours to admire. “Have you ever even been around a baby before?” You ask curiously. He’s rough and quick to temper, easily goaded into a fight, which you do not want for your daughter. She will not tiptoe around in fear of her father’s wrath.

He shakes his head, "no. I have not had the chance. I have been too preoccupied with a sword in my hand but-" He lifts his hands from the water, "I would never hurt her. Once I am dressed, I would like to try...under your guidance of course."

“I can show you what to do.” You nod and turn back to your work. The cauldron is one your parents had cooked in all your life and it’s a comfort to know you will cook your own daughter’s meals in them. You bite your lip and move over to the meat hanging in the corner and cut down a larger chunk than you normally would, knowing Pero eats a lot. “She is still just taking my breast to eat.” You warn him.

He hates that his cock twitches at the thought of his child suckling on your breast and that makes him fluster slightly as he continues washing himself. “Would you mind cutting my hair?” He asks, his hair starting to get in his face.

It is almost instinctual to hiss at him to do it himself, but you need to temper your tongue. “Let me get the stew started and I will.” You nod, bringing the hunk of rabbit meat over to chop up for the meal.

He can see your back tense and he knows you are unhappy with him being here but he has a child and he can’t walk away. Not yet anyway. He sighs and continues washing while you work on preparing dinner.

Once the heavy pot is swung over the fire in the hearth, you cut up the remainder of your loaf of bread. Sighing softly when you realize you will have to bake more. “Did you find the black powder?” You had been swayed by the thought of the prize, but you could not risk your daughter once you realized you had missed your monthly.

Pero scoffs, unable to help himself. “I did. I- I was a fool. I tried to sneak it out from the wall with someone and he - well, he was a snake. I ended up in shackles but William saved me. I left with my life.” he shutters as he remembers the monsters and how he was nearly killed in the fight before he left the wall.

You snort. “You have always been greedy.” You muse. “It is nice to know that some things have not changed.” You move over to the trunk at the end of your bed, behind the screen and the leather straps of the hinge creak. Inside are some clothes that your father had. You wear them at times when you are lonely, but if you know Pero, he has no clean clothes. You also pull out the shears that you use when you are sewing and clothes from the trunk. “Are you ready to cut your hair?”

He nods, knowing it's matted and itchy from not stopping after he arrived back from the east. He desperately wants to feel clean and trim his beard. Despite a harsh life on the road, he actually prefers to be clean. And fed. “Yes, princesa.” He says as you come back over with the shears.

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t see that since you’ve already taken position behind him. “It looks like you did not cut your hair at all.” You grunt, starting to cut off large chunks of his hair.

Pero sighs, closing his eyes, “I got a haircut at the wall but I wanted to find you when I got on that ship. I didn’t care about my hair or clothes. All I wanted to do was find you.” He confesses softly, thankful you’re behind him so you can’t see his face.

“Why?” You frown. “You hated me, but you wanted to find me? It does not make sense. Did William put you up to this?” Your fingers still, tangling in his hair and you wonder if the man had been sent to you by his friend for some reason. William liked to tease you that Pero was charmed by you, even though he had nothing but contempt for you unless he was fucking you.

Pero flexes his fingers, his heart in his throat as clumps of hair flutter to the floor. “I never hated you.” He confesses, “you annoyed me. Frustrated me with your inability to listen and be fucking sensible. But I never hated you. I liked the way you’d spit at me, made my cock hard. I like the way you don’t take my shit. I- mierda. You know I’m not good at this kind of thing.” He shakes his head and opens his eyes, wishing he could see your face.

You are unsure of what he means. He's not good at talking to women? The women who like the dark looks of him have always been a bolder sort and you would watch him charm and flirt shamelessly when he thought you were a man. You were a woman who liked the look of him. Starting to cut his hair again, you swallow harshly. “I didn’t hate you.” You promise. “You seemed to not want anything to do with me unless you were inside me, so I would make you work for it.”

Pero sighs softly, knowing that your fighting was vicious but he never saw the vitriol in your eyes. “You spit venom at me as soon as I discovered you were a woman. It’s not my fault I came to the stream for a piss onto to find you naked and washing yourself. Princesa, I liked the fact that you stood up for yourself. I liked fighting with you because that was the only time you’d talk to me.” He confesses softly, “you’d speak to the Irishman but you wouldn’t even look at me unless it was to fire scathing words in my direction.”

“You made me nervous.” You admit with a rueful sense of irony. “You were handsome and quick, I thought I would be thrown out of your party. I would have been if those bandits had not attacked.”

Pero shakes his head, “I can’t believe…well, that’s history now. I’m here and you’re here and we have a child. I want to be there for her, princesa. I want to be her father if you’ll allow me the chance.” He declares and you pause cutting his hair, making his heart pound in his chest.

“You might not like being a father.” You remind him practically. “You sell your sword and travel. It is no life for a child.”

“I have sold my sword since I was ten and three years old. I do not wish to do it anymore. I’m old. That’s why I wanted to find you. The battle in the east…I was nearly killed several times. I’m exhausted, princesa. I don’t want to fight anymore.” He confesses wearily, “I have enough coins to see out the rest of my life.” He admits, knowing his satchel is full of coins and nothing else. “Do you wish for me to go?” He asks, not wanting to force himself on you.

Running your fingers through his hair, you sigh. “I will not turn you away.” You promise. “I know you will probably build a house, find a wife even though you say you don’t want one, but you can stay here until you decide.”

He nods, knowing you won’t want him to stay too long and he doesn’t answer you as you start to wash his hair with the soap and water you have next to the tub.

“Winter will be setting in soon.” You tell him softly. “I’ve got to put up the rest of the vegetables from the garden and run my traps.” You grin. “The tanner is supposed to come by and get the latest skins.”

“You are incredible, hermosa.” He compliments you, unable to stop himself. “You have done well on your own, especially with a child.” He says and tilts his head so you can wash his hair. “Whatever you want help with, let me know.” He orders and closes his eyes.

“Rest for now.” You murmur. “I know the journey was a long one. You have to be tired.” You had been exhausted after your own trip home and you had not even gone as far as he had. “Then I will order you around.”

He chuckles, keeping his eyes closed as he relaxes in the tub. He has to cut his beard and shave but for now, he rests knowing he’s found you and he isn’t fighting for his life.

Pero falls asleep in the bath. You’ve heard jokes about it, but you have never seen someone fall asleep until now. He starts to softly snore after you finish washing his hair and you decide to leave him there. Getting up from the side of the tub where you were kneeling and moving over to the fire to stir the stew before you take his clothes outside to soak. The clean ones are near his drying cloth and he will see them when he wakes up.

When he wakes up, the sun has set and the fire is going. The water he’s sitting in is cold and his toes are pruned but he wakes up feeling relaxed and safe. Something he hasn’t felt for so long. He grunts and looks around to find you cradling the baby, the pot of stew cooking and he rubs his cheek.

“There’s going to be a man’s voice.” You murmur softly. “He can be gruff, but he won’t hurt you.” You would never let him hurt her even if he wanted to. “He is your papa. The reason you are here.” Your daughter gurgles at you, waving a small fist and you laugh quietly. “I love you so much.”

Pero listens to you, his heart fluttering, and he bites his lip, wondering how he’s going to be a father to the little girl. He’s never even held a child before. He stands up, cold water dripping off of him, and he reaches for the sheet to dry off before he dresses in the dry clothes you left out for him.

You hear Pero and you look up from where you are sitting on your bed. You can’t see properly beyond the screen, but you can imagine. “Are you dressed?” You ask after a moment, wanting to give him privacy.

He works fast and says, “yes. I’m dressed.” His feet are bare and he slowly pokes his head around the screen. “How is she?” He asks, his voice soft and he’s nervous, hoping you will let him hold his daughter for the first time.

“She’s perfect.” You promise, smiling down at her again when she makes a happy noise. “I have changed her. So she is all dry and she’s in a mood to be entertained.” You look up at Pero to see the longing on his face. “Do you want to sit at the table and hold her while I finish cooking our meal?” You offer.

He nods, eager to hold his child, and he makes his way over to the table. He pulls the chair out and sits down, his heart already pounding in his chest as he looks towards you as you carry the baby over to him. “How - how do I-?” He asks awkwardly, unsure and not wanting to hurt her.

It would be amusing, since this is the first time you’ve ever seen the Spaniard panic, but you know his concern is for your daughter. “Hold her neck with the back of your hand, like this.” You shift her and hold her where she can look up at you. “And hold her bottom”

He nods, his palms a little sweaty as he wipes them on his pants before he holds his hands out and you gently place her in his hands, helping him position her. He inhales sharply when you step back and he gets a good look at his daughter for the first time. He takes a moment and then he’s smiling. “Hola mija, soy tu papá.” He introduces himself softly and she coos, making his heart swell.

There have been plenty of times that you cursed Pero. Especially when you were in labor and pushing her out of your body. Now, you feel like you are about to cry from the simple beauty of watching him with his daughter. “Her name is Oriana.” You tell him softly.

He mouths it at first, watching her squirm slightly before she relaxes into his touch, “Oriana.” He coos, unable to stop himself as he leans down to kiss her forehead. “She’s beautiful. You- you are so strong, princesa. Bringing your daughter into the world alone.” He murmurs in awe, knowing he can’t say his daughter when he wasn’t here.

“I grew her for months, pushed her out of my body and she looks just like you.” You snort, shaking your head. “She gets this fierce scowl on her tiny face that is just like yours. And she has your eyes. Staring through me.”

Pero stares into her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering as she watches him, and he can’t stop smiling but he manages to glance over at you, “I’m sorry. The Tovar breeding is strong.” He confesses, knowing he looks like his father and his father before him. “We made her.” He murmurs in awe.

“We did.” You wish you could remember this moment forever. He looks completely enchanted with his daughter. “On the road to the East, you managed to create a legacy.”

“My only legacy.” He sighs, “I didn’t find the riches I fought my whole life for but I did find enough to provide a decent living. I want to provide for her, give you enough coins that you never have to worry.” He declares without taking his eyes off her.

“We will make sure she is cared for.” You promise, not wanting his coin. Watching him with your daughter has changed your view of him. Making you think that he could put down his sword and raise a family. Or at least raise a daughter. “She will inherit this house, the taxes are paid, and the root cellar is starting to be filled.” You smile. “Having her papa around will only be a boon.”

Pero looks over at you again as he gently cradles her, "you will allow me to stay?" He asks and you nod, "of course. But there are rules." He doesn't argue, knowing you are the one in control right now. He must adhere to your wishes so he can be with his daughter, "rules?"

You look at Pero, your brow arched seriously and you start to list off your terms. “You will not fight, either selling your sword or getting drunk and brawling in the tavern like a barbarian.” You start. “Babies cry, often in the middle of the night. You will not grumble or get agitated with her.” You smirk slightly, “you will have to learn to have patience.” Pero nods, and resists rolling his eyes. “Is that all?” He asks, making you shake your head. “No sex.” You tell him firmly. “There will be no sneaking into my bed and planting another child in my belly. You are here to be Oriana’s father and nothing more.”

Pero clenches his jaw for a second, reminded of your haughty nature but he reels himself in and nods, "of course, princesa." He won't argue, especially when his relationship with his daughter is on the line. "I no longer wish to sell my sword. I am too old. I expected to be killed before now. I nearly died on the wall. I will not mock God by putting my life on the line again."

Somehow, you believe him. You nod and sigh. “There is a sleeping loft, but the space is narrow and you will not fit comfortably.” You can tell him this now that you said there will be no fucking. “You will have to share my bed until we can decide how to proceed.

He doesn’t argue, knowing the effort will be futile when you are as stubborn as he is and he wouldn’t mind being able to help when Oriana cries in the middle of the night. He wants to be there for his daughter. He looks down at her and her eyes are sleepy, a yawn escaping her lips that makes him chuckle, and he’s content to hold her as she sleeps.

“She has been sleeping much of the time.” You explain. “As she grows, she will be more active.” You move over to the pot and stir the stew. “Supper is ready, do you want to put her down?”

He nods, cradling her, and he’s nervous but you watch as he shifts to stand up, keeping her in his hands as he carries her over to the cot and he gently sets her down on the sheet, watching her stretch out before she settles down, still asleep. He can’t help but stare at her, seeing your features in her, and she’s beautiful.

You laddle up big bowls of the stew to put on the table with the basket of bread, knowing he will be starving. “I have some ale, or water to drink.” You offer.

Pero knows he shouldn’t drink, especially around the babe, so he says “water, princesa. Thank you.” He groans at the smell of the stew. It’s the first proper meal he’s had since he left the wall. “It smells delicious.” He murmurs, watching as you sit down with two cups of water in hand.

“There is plenty.” You promise him. “We don’t have to be as stingy with our rations as when we were traveling.” You snort to yourself and push his bowl towards him. “Eat. I know you are hungry.”

He picks up the spoon and digs in. He knows he looks ravenous but he’s been on the road far too long and he hasn’t had a proper meal during his journey to find you. He’s hunted and foraged but didn’t allow himself the luxury of an inn during his quest to find the woman who left him on her horse. “It’s delicious.” He confirms when he finally comes up for air.

It’s impressive that he managed to eat so much in so little time. You’ve barely eaten a portion of yours and you stand to pour him up some more. “I’m glad you like it. Cooking on the road when you stop to rest your horses for the night is never tasty, just filling.”

Pero nods, “exactly. I hunted and cooked to survive. My only goal was to find you.” He reveals, his eyes focused on you as you set his bowl down in front of him.

“Why?” That is the part that confuses you the most. He didn’t hate you - you now know - but Pero is not a man who enjoys socializing with people. His main reason for searching for you has not been very clear, clouded by the knowledge now that he is a father.

He bites his lip as he sets his spoon down in the bowl, "I- I missed you." He confesses softly, "I wanted to find you because...apart from William, you are the only person I've felt a connection to in between the killings and the chaos. I missed you." He states plainly, hoping you don't laugh in his face.

Your eyes widen slightly and you bite your own lip. Trying to rationalize that knowledge from what you had thought you knew about Pero Tovar. “I never thought I would see you again.” You confess, reaching out and touching his hand. “I cried as I rode away from you and William, but I thought it was the best thing for me, for our child.”

He can’t argue with that. “It was. Now that I know the truth, you made the right choice. If you had come with us and been with child during…I would’ve killed every monster, man, and being that came near you.” He promises, his eyes flashing as they meet yours. He would have been feral to protect you and the babe in your belly. He squeezes your hand, “you made the right choice, hermosa.”

“Monster?” You frown and tilt your head, unsure of what he means. “What happened on that wall?” You demand softly.

He closes his eyes as the memories flash past his eyes, “they - when we arrived…we were after the black powder but they attacked. Only William and I survived. They attack every sixty years. The Tao Tei. Fucking beings from beyond and they are vicious. We fought them and nearly died before we - us and an Englishman - made a plan to steal the powder. William, he changed his mind and I knocked him unconscious before we left with the powder. The English bastard betrayed me and left me for dead but I was found and arrested. William - he left to fight in the capital and for helping them win, he was offered the powder but requested my release instead. After I was freed, he decided to stay with his love and I came back to find you.” He tells the story solemnly and slowly, brow furrowed as he relives it.

Your eyes have widened as you try to imagine what he went through, mouth slightly opened. He could have died, probably should have if God had not intervened. “I see what you mean by not testing God.” You murmur slightly, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “I- I am glad you didn’t not die. Either by the monsters or by a hanging noose.”

Pero inhales deeply, looking down at your hand, “I have learned many things but the biggest lesson was to not let go of something you love and that is why I had to find you. Even if you sent me away. I just wanted to see you again.” He confesses, knowing his gruff nature has been pushed aside to allow him to be vulnerable.

“You love me?�� Your brow furrows, but you don’t pull away. “Pero- I- you love me?” You never would have imagined that. You cared for him, but you never imagined that he held a fraction of the affection for you beyond physical that you had for him. “Are you sure? I was a bitch to you.”

He bites his lip before he answers, “and I was a bastard to you. I watched you. Far more than should have been appropriate but you are so strong and - and unbelievably smart. You held your own against men in battle and you never wavered in your fight. You fought me verbally but that made me like you more. You weren’t scared of me. For my entire life…since I was given this scar as a child by my father who was drunk and furious that I stepped between him and my mother when he wanted to hit her…people have been afraid of me but not you. You weren’t scared to fight me and I love that. You are strong and beautiful and - and you’ve proven how incredible you are to bring our daughter into the world alone. I love you. Even if you do not return my feelings, I will always love you.”

“I love you.” You know that there is still so much to be uncertain about in this life, but there are never any guarantees. He never hurt you, he pushed you mentally and verbally, but he never hurt you. He’s not a drunkard, even though you’ve seen him drunk. If you can trust him with your daughter, you can trust him with your heart.

He inhales sharply at your confession, certain that you would reject him and laugh in his face, and he swallows harshly, lifting your hand up to his lips so he can softly place a kiss on the back of it. “Then allow me to be the man I should’ve been from the beginning.” He requests as he lowers your hand.

“What man is that?” You ask, curious to see if there is more to Pero than just the gruff and fierce mercenary. You’ve seen glimpses of it with your daughter but you never expected it towards you.

Pero looks down at the wood grain in the table that your father likely made. “I- I want to be the father I wish I had. I want to be the partner I wish my mother had. A good man. An honest man. I want to be a family man and not sell my sword to survive. When I was in my cot on the wall, I imagined being able to die warm in bed knowing I am leaving behind people who will cry for my death. To know that I loved and was loved.” He admits and his dark eyes glaze over and he avoids looking at you.

“Your daughter will grow up to love you.” You predict softly, your heart clenching and raw for the yearning you hear in his voice. “And I will be right beside you. If that’s what you want.”

Pero’s eyes flick up to you and his mouth drops in shock. He never imagined you’d be by his side, that you’d feel the same way. “I do. So much.” He promises and he can’t help but smile softly. You stand up and walk around the table, shifting to sit in his lap and you lean in to nudge your nose against his. He reaches up to cup your cheek and you lean closer, pressing your lips to his. His heart is pounding in his chest and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

You have just given him rules and you know that you will break them. You want to break them. They were for when you thought he didn’t love you and only wanted your body for release. Sinking your fingers into his hair, you moan softly into his mouth, not even able to remember if you’ve ever kissed before.

Pero has never kissed you and his mouth is gentle before he turns ravenous, his tongue sliding into your mouth. He moans into your mouth when you eagerly slide your tongue against his and he loves the hungry you return. His cock twitches in his pants but he doesn’t push for more, content to kiss you.

Eventually, you pull away, gasping for air as you stare at him. Chest heaving and your core is soaked because of how sexy that kiss is, how your entire body responds to Pero. Apparently you’ve both been fools but you don’t want to be anymore. “I have changed my mind.” You hum quietly. “I want to have you between my thighs when we go to bed tonight.”

Pero frowns at you, “are you sure?” He doesn’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. You nod and he groans, his hand sliding from your waist to your ass, “I missed you and I missed your body. Imagined you several times with my fist around my cock.” He confesses, starting to harden beneath you.

“I have not taken anyone into my bed since you.” You admit, biting your lip. “Could you- can it be a little more gentle than normal?” You ask softly. “Since I have birthed our daughter, I do not know how I-“ you break off, embarrassed.

He slides his hand back up to your waist, “of course. I do not wish to take you like I would. I want to show you how I feel about you, hermosa.” He murmurs, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to your jaw.

“Finish your food.” You kiss his lips and smirk slightly. “We will go to bed early so we have plenty of time before our daughter wakes up.”

He nods and you shift to move away but he keeps his arm around your waist. “Stay here, princesa. I want to hold you.” He demands, picking up his spoon and he starts to eat, even faster than before in his eagerness to have you again.

You hum and wrap yourself around him. “You always eat with a hunger I admire.” You chuckle. “Like someone is going to steal it if you look away.”

Pero snorts after he finishes his bite, “because my entire life has been someone attempting to steal food from me. I’ve had to fight for everything I have.” He confesses, “perhaps…being in your home will allow me to relax and enjoy my food.” He admits and takes another bite, slower than before.

“We will have to work for our food, but the village is peaceful. As long as the garden is prosperous and the hunting good, we will not be hungry.” You promise. Your life has been different from his, you have not had to fight for survival. “But if you are to stay, then this will be your home as well.”

Pero caresses your back, “I understand. I know that we will still struggle but I will never let you go hungry. I’ll work hard to provide a life for you and our daughter.” He promises and leans in to nudge his nose with yours, his empty bowl pushed aside as he focuses on you.

You smile and caress his cheek, your fingers running through the thick beard he hasn’t trimmed yet. “Do you want to bank the fire and I will get ready for bed?”

He nods, leaning in to kiss your chin before you shift off his lap. He takes the bowl and carries it over to the bucket of water to rinse it. “Go get ready for bed, hermosa.” He orders and he walks over to the fire to handle it before he retires to your bed for the night. He takes his time and gives you some space, his stomach twisting and he’s nervous. This isn’t some romp under some blankets in the middle of nowhere. This is your home. Your bed. This is love and comfort.

You check Oriana and tuck her in a little more snuggly, “goodnight sweetheart.” You whisper before you start to undress. You untie your skirt and let it drop before you step out of it and hang it on a peg that had been driven onto the wall to hang your clothes. You wonder if Pero will be disappointed in your cunt now that you’ve given birth. It’s not like you had talked to many about the intimacies in a marriage. Waiting for him after you pull off your shift and slide under the covers nude.

He walks behind the screen to find you under the sheets and his heart is pounding in his chest. He’s nervous and that’s an unusual emotion for Tovar. He reaches for his shirt, pulling it over his head before he walks over to the bed. He doesn’t pull the covers away and he shifts to kneel on the bed above you. “You are so beautiful.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss you softly.

You accept his kiss and his praise, your cheeks heating up. “It feels so strange we are not clawing at each other.” You admit with a sheepish grin when he pulls back, your hand sliding down his chest. “But I feel like this will be special for us.”

Pero smiles and he twitches in his pants, his cock hardening, “I think so too. I want it to be.” He murmurs and leans in to kiss you again as he shifts to lay down beside you. “I want you, hermosa. I want you to be mine. I always wanted you to be mine.” His hand slides along your side.

“I want that too.” You promise, reaching for the laces on his breeches. “I want you to be mine too. We will have and protect each other. Love each other. Pleasure each other.”

Pero pulls the cover down and he inhales sharply at the sight of your body. He groans and leans in to kiss you, kissing along your neck, and he caresses your waist, sliding his hand up until he’s cupping your breast.

This is so much different from the hurried, rough fucks you had while you were traveling together. His touch is gentle, like he has all the time in the world. You lean into the kiss, moaning softly.

He slides his tongue against yours, his cock aching in his breeches as you reach in to take it out and he groans, loving the way your fingers feel wrapped around his cock. “Princesa.” He whines and pushes your hand away, “let me taste you. I’ve never tasted you.”

You smirk slightly and squeeze him softly. Humming when you feel him twitch in your hand. “You know how?” You ask playfully, throwing him a doubtful look. “Eating a cunt isn’t like eating a bowl of stew.”

He smirks, “my first lover. She was a whore that my friend paid for. She spent three days with me. Took my innocence and showed me how to pleasure a woman. She showed me how to taste a woman.” He confesses as he pushes your hand away and he kisses down your stomach as he shifts to lay between your legs.

You bite your lip and look down between your thighs. “You look good there.” You moan, spreading your legs wider and wait to feel his tongue against your cunt. For all your bravado, you’ve never had a man do this for you.

His beard is long and brushes your thighs as he pushes them further apart to accommodate his broad shoulders. He leans in, his dark eyes focused on you as he parts your folds with his thumbs and slides his tongue through your soaking slit. He groans as the taste of your tangy arousal hits his tastebuds and he flicks the tip of his tongue over your clit.

Your eyes close and your head flops back down onto the pillow. “Pero.” You moan softly, not wanting to wake the baby, but you can be louder than a whisper now that you aren’t surrounded by sleeping men. “Oh fuck.”

He loves hearing your moan and it spurs him on. He slides his hands to your thighs, pushing them further back as he laps at your cunt, his nose nestled into the curls above your clit that he sucks on, making your chest heave.

The small cottage is still pretty well lit from the banked fire, the coals giving the open space a cozy glow that radiates beyond the screen. The door is barred and the baby is asleep. It’s the perfect moment and your own hands cup your breasts tenderly, careful not to squeeze so you don’t cover yourself in milk. They are bigger than the last time he had seen them.

He’s determined to show you how he feels about you, to show you that the venom he spat your way was his defense and not your fault. He wants to make you feel loved so he pushes his tongue deep and nudges your clit with his nose, starved for your whimpers and moans as the cabin glows around him.

Your hands slide down and tangle into his hair, rocking your hips up in pleasure. “Pero, oh god.” You whine. “This is- it is fantastic.”

He’s pleased you are enjoying his pleasure and he groans, his hard cock pressing into the mattress and he hisses at the way you tug on his freshly cut hair. He buries his face in your cunt, not caring about the need to breathe when his aim is to make you fall apart for him.

The pleasure coiling in your belly suddenly snaps. It’s so different from when he is pounding into you and making your knees weak with the force of his thrusts. It’s still powerful, making your hips rock up and your throaty cry rips from your throat. “Pero!”

He loves the way you cry out for him, making his cock throb, and he hisses when you squeeze his head between your thighs. He loves it. He loves you. He moans and works you through it until your grip loosens and you relax beneath him. “So beautiful.” He murmurs, kissing along your thighs as you inhale deeply.

Your body is humming pleasantly and you would want to go to sleep any other time, but you miss the feeling of him inside you. “Come here.” You tug on his hair lightly and kiss his lips, not caring that you can taste yourself on them. “I want-“ you push him away and onto his back. “Let me ride you this time.”

He looks up at you as you straddle him and he’s in awe of you. You’re so strong, so capable. You’ve survived on your own without him, giving birth and having your daughter, and he is honored that you’re not pushing him away. He loves you. His hands caress your waist as you settle on top of him, his cock pressed against your pelvis as you lean down to kiss him.

Your lips are pressed to his, moaning softly as you reach between you and wrap your fingers around his cock as you start to lift your hips. You want to keep kissing him, never want to stop, as you line him up and start to slowly take him inside you. His groan being pushed into your mouth is sexy and you give it right back to him.

He groans into your mouth again as you sink down onto his cock, enveloping his cock in your warmth and he swears he has come home. Gone is the frantic fuck paired with hissed insults and in its place is soft love making and murmured words of affection. He wants this. He wants you.

There is a moment where you just need to feel him, stretching you out. It’s not painful, but it has been a long time since you’ve felt this particular stretch and it’s wonderful. Your eyes flutter closed again and you murmur his name.

He kisses your chin as you take a moment before you start to rock on top of him. Your body is hot pressing against his skin and he’s missed you so much. So many lonely nights during his travels to find you have led him to right now and he’s so grateful he found you. “Amor.” He murmurs, “you feel so good.”

“I love you.” You moan softly. “I love you Pero.” Your hands are braced on his chest and you slowly roll your hips, loving how deep he is in this position. “I want you to stay with me. I used to dream of it, you knowing about Oriana and being happy to be a father. Settled and content.” You admit softly. “That you loved me and now you are here.”

“I’m here.” He promises roughly, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, princesa. I’m here for you and our daughter. I love you. So much.” He vows hoarsely as he lets you take what you want from him.

You whimper and roll your hips. Leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lip again and moaning against them when he twitches inside you. “You are here.” You pant, nodding as you clench around him.

He caresses your back, “and I’m staying.” He promises, his hands sliding lower to squeeze your ass and he loves the way you moan again when he twitches inside you. “Take what you need, princesa. I’m yours.” He vows softly.

You love how gentle he is. This is a man who never wanted you to take charge of anything and yet he is letting you control his pleasure. “I will.” You promise, kissing him again and sitting up to start bouncing on his cock again.

He watches you in awe, your breasts bouncing as you ride him and his hands caress every inch of skin he can reach. His toes curl when you clench around him and he swears his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

You lean back, closing your eyes and moaning softly. “Fuck.” You whimper after you grind down on him even more. “You- god, you have such a good cock. Every time it feels so fucking good.”

You rest your hands on his knees and his dark eyes are black as he watches you, his gaze drifting down to watch where he disappears inside of you. “It’s your cunt. Tight and wet and hot.” He groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

“You have fucked so many others.” You know he has not been a celibate man. “I- you have been my only lover.” You confess breathlessly. “I do not know why I didn’t bleed our first time.”

He freezes under you, his eyes widening, “I was your first? And I- mierda. I’m a bastard.” He curses himself with a hiss, “I should’ve - why didn’t you say anything?” He demands to know, stopping your movements above him.

“Because I wanted you.” You admit, embarrassed because he looks so upset. “I did not think it would matter. You were not marrying me, and I did not want to give you more to boast about.”

He grips you and turns swiftly so you are beneath him, “I wouldn’t have fucked you in the middle of a forest against a tree if I knew it was your first time. I am many things but I am not an animal, hermosa. You should’ve told me. I would’ve - well, I probably wouldn’t have touched you. I didn’t deserve you. I still don’t. Let me show you how I should’ve touched you that first time.” He begs softly, nudging his nose against yours as he rests his weight on his elbows.

“I didn’t mind.” You remind him, reaching up and stroking his hair covered cheek. “It was our beginning, no matter how you would change it, I would not.” You tell him. “Because if you hadn’t touched me, our daughter wouldn’t be laying in her cradle. But show me how you would have taken me.”

He sighs, knowing he can’t change the past but he feels awful for how roughly he took your innocence. He presses his lips to yours as he starts to move, slowly rocking his hips to show you how he would’ve taken you. His lips are soft and his tongue caresses yours, his body covering yours as he makes love to you.

The pace is even slower than the one you set when you were riding him. Your legs hitch up onto his hips and you moan into his mouth. It’s almost torturous as his cock drags against your walls. Teasing you.

He groans, loving the way you feel beneath him, naked for the first time ever. "Hermosa, mi amor, you feel - it's like nothing I've ever experienced before." He murmurs, kissing along your jaw as he rocks into you.

“You- I love you.” You pant breathless, unable to think of anything else while he slowly breaks you apart. If the rough and harsh pace had satisfied you, this is making you melt into a puddle on the bed. Your cunt gushing around him every time he pushes slowly into your body.

He groans as he presses kisses to your jaw until he pauses, "I love you." He murmurs and he rocks into you. He grips your thigh and pushes it higher, rocking into you, and he hisses when you clench around him. "That's it, hermosa. Want to feel you fall apart for me."

You whine, nodding as he continues to push you closer with every thrust of his hips. Holding you close and making your body cry for that burst of pleasure until it happens. Your squeal is cut short, slapping your hand over your mouth so you don’t wake the baby as you come apart on his cock.

He smothers your moan with his mouth after he quickly pulls his hand away from your lips so he can taste your cries against his tongue. You clamp down on his cock and he groans into your mouth, his cock twitching inside you as he gets closer. It’s been far too long without your body beneath his and paired with the newly confessed emotions between you, he’s closer than he’d usually be. He pants, his lips hovering against yours as he starts to feel his stomach clenching. He doesn’t know what you want so he pulls free of your warm cunt, his cock throbbing as he paints your mound and lower stomach with streaks of his hot seed.

You whimper, body shaking as he covers you in his seed. Thankful that he had been conscious of the possibility of getting you pregnant again. You hadn’t been thinking although the midwife had warned you that it was easy to do when you are nursing. You had dismissed the information because you hadn’t expected to see Pero again. “I love you.” You murmur softly as he pumps himself of the last drops.

He is cautious to not spread his seed over your skin as he leans in to kiss you, his heart thumping in his chest. “Te amo, princesa.” He exhales, shifting to lay beside you and he wraps his arm around you to pull you into his side. “We shall raise our daughter in love and warmth.” He promises, “and I will always protect you both.”

You know he will keep that promise. Pero Tovar has been many things. A liar, a thief and a killer, but now he is a father. He had done the impossible by surviving China and finding you. The rest of your lives will be much easier than that. Especially since neither one of you truly hates the other. It was just the aggressive form of love.

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