#pero tovar fanfiction

[chronically-ghosted]

iron and charcoal

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

*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. 

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!

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x ofc #pero tovar smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pero tovar fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #the great wall fanfic #pedro pascal #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar fanfic #pero tovar the great wall #tovar x you #tovar x reader #tovar x f!reader #tovar smut #tovar fanfiction #tovar imagine #pero tovar x fem!reader #1k celebration #follower celebration #1k followers

[604to647]

Fics that Live in My Mind, Rent Free (Pedro's Version) - Part 2

Welp! It seems there are link and tag limits? Who knew? Not this newb 😂😂 When I said that I've read so many good fanfics, I really meant it. Again, below the cut is a continuation of the list of some of my fave Pedro character fanfics that I've read on this site - ones I think about and revisit often. These are all fics I should have/would have reblogged if only I wasn't so weirdly nervous about it; in 2024 we will muster up some courage and reblog (it will be slow, probably, but I promise I will be trying!). This is a good time for me to also say that one of the reasons I am motivated to step out of my comfort zone on this is because of the genuine joy every comment/reblog/like has brought me this year as a new writer - thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the kind reception on anything I have ever posted. 🥹 ilysm 😘

Anyways, we press forward (Part 1 of Rent Free PPCU fics can be found here):

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian, GOAT)

Of Shadows and Roses by @the-scandalorian (Bodyguard!Din x Royalty!Reader)

All Mine by @mellowswriting (Possessive!Din after Reader uses herself as bait)

Narcissus by @bits-and-babs (Armour/mirror sex)

Looking out for you by @beskarandblasters (Jealous!Din after Reader uses herself as bait)

Cherry Liqueur by @decembermidnight (Reader teases Mando in public)

Breaking in the New House by @beskarandblasters (I love Husband!Din and Wife!Reader fics)

Javier Pena (Narcos)

Sweet Dreams by @javiscigarette (Javi can't sleep)

Phone Sex...amiright? by @tightjeansjavi (Reader calls Javi at work)

Sharing is Caring by @ezrasversion (Corrupt DEA Agent!Javi, Mafia AU!Joel Miller, Reader Threesome)

The Saint, the Sinner, and the Devil by @joelsgirl (Corrupt DEA Agent!Javi, DBF Mafia AU!Joel Miller, Reader Threesome)

MIA by @itsharleystuff (Jealous!Javi with Undercover!Reader)

Surprising Javi P with a Lingerie Set by @swiftispunk

Not here...not now by @gracieispunk (Reader visits Javi at work)

Bunny by @whatsnewalycat (Sex Phone Operator!Reader; Part 2 is great too!)

Ease by @javiscigarette (Javi takes care of Reader after a bad day)

Joel Miller (TLOU)

Say It Right, Peeping Neighbour, and Right Place, Right Time by @chaotic-mystery (All the DBF and BFD fics are amazing; these are my fave)

Quickie by @joelscruff (This falls in the middle of the Boyfriend's Dad series, but it's the first one I read and I was hooked!)

That Funny Feeling by @bluebeary-jay (Joel loves pet names 🥹)

I've Got Lust on My Tongue by @itgetsdark-x (Bratty reader a la Maddy Perez)

The Babysitter, Part 1 by @proxima-writes (There's a Part 2 as well!)

Under the Table by @toxicanonymity (A lot of good Joelkemons, but Speakeasy is a classic and maybe my fave?)

Online Friends, Sticking it to the PTA, and Caught Sunbathing by @walkintotheriveranddisappear (All of Emma's Joel fics are really hot [honestly you can't go wrong], but these are my faves)

Late Night Smoke by @bettercallwillow (Dbf smoking. sigh)

Calling Joel Daddy by @inkedells (I honestly love it when authors bold the dirty talk 🤭)

Gimme What I Want and In the Next Room by @atticrissfinch (The masterlist is some of the hottest Joel fic, if I may say so; these are my faves)

An Open Window by @velvetmud (Joel being a peeping tom; I also always hope for a sequel to this one!)

Crave by @toxic-seduction (Part 2; Reader finds Joel in the QZ)

Good Luck Charm by @javiscigarette (Joel watches the football game)

Ravish by @psychedelic-ink (Webcam Model!Reader; Part 2 is also incredible!)

I Know it When I see It by @bageldaddy (Pornstars!Joel and Readers. This series has me and everyone else, I think, in a chokehold. Reading, as well, the writer's thoughts and feelings about the porn industry and the care put into the characters is such a joy and makes the fic that much more rich)

Chaser series by @livingemkayde (Nanny!Reader and a love triangle; not finished but so good I'm happy to wait forever)

Right my Wrongs by @chloeangelic (Father in Law!Joel)

In A Feud with Her Neighbour by @proxima-writes (Read this delicious fic and the bonus scenes will be the icing on top)

Kiss and Tell by @toxic-seduction (Stepdad!Joel and mom goes away for the weekend)

Peaches and Cream by @javiscigarette (Joel buys reader peaches)

Didn't Cha Know by @chloeangelic (The Joel Reader has been pining for is her boyfriend's brother)

Gif to breakup the text block:

Camgirl by @phuckinphia (Another Camgirl but this time she's Sarah's friend 🫣)

The Right Wrong Number by @proxima-writes (Sarah's soccer coach!Reader)

Nightmares by @fruispunk (QZ!Reader has nightmares that Joel hears and mistakens for something else)

Damage Done by @bluebeary-jay (Joel accidentally triggers Reader; mind the tags. Heavy angst, heavy topic that is beautifully written)

Yes, Mr. Miller by pedropascallme (Babysitter!Reader, Part 2 Thank You, Mr. Miller is also excellent)

How Long series by @gracieheartspedro (Link is to Part 1; series is complete and wonderfully hot and emotional. Reader's boyfriend Tommy is a cheat😢)

Francisco "Catfish" Morales (Triple Frontier)

Fictional Death by @psychedelic-ink (Frankie comforts Reader)

Well Fed by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (Frankie is HAPPY 🥹)

Forest Ranger AU by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (I'm not an outdoorsy person but this AU makes me wish I was)

It's Always the Quiet Ones by @thot-of-khonshu (Frankie surprises Reader)

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

Kinktober 2022 - Breeding by @moralesispunk (Guard!Pero and Royalty!Reader)

Bodily Exchange by @absurdthirst (Mafia AU!Pero and daughter of mafia boss Reader)

Damnation or Salvation by @absurdthirst (Pero is sent to retrieve Reader)

Dying Wish by @absurdthirst (Pero makes Reader's father a promise; okay at this point, just all of Keri's Pero fics 🤭)

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

Beat Poetry on Amphetamines by @psychedelic-ink (Marcus comes home hurt)

#fic rec list #fic rec #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #pero tovar #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #marcus moreno #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno fic

[absurdthirst]

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

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.9k

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

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

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

William scoffs, “you tell him that.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**** 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**** 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen**

Another Pedro boy returns to the bakery universe, one that I had to give a second part because of how I left it. It took me a bit of time to write this one because it was threatening to turn into a whole series, but I want to keep the bakery AU a collection of short, fluffy stories so I contained myself at 8k....

There will be smut, soft Pedro boy, sourdough references and mentions of blood.

Every morning you check your jewelry box, look for your grandmother’s wedding band. And every morning it’s missing. You cling to that small truth. The wedding band is missing and that means Pero wasn’t a dream. He took it with him when he disappeared, and somehow it remained with him until his death, if the news article about the 11th century grave containing a 20th century ring is to be believed. 

You miss him. You miss him so much it hurts even though he was in your life for just a few hours. He was like no other person you’d met, and not only because he was from the 11th century. You have to stop yourself and think, was he really from the 11th century? Could it have been a trick? You almost wish it had been, because that would mean that he’s still here, in your time. You’d forgive him for tricking you, if only it meant you could see him again. 

But you never see him again, even though you look at every person you pass in the street. And when it storms, when thunder and lighting rolls in over the city, you can’t stay indoors. In your little car you scour the streets, the highways, the back alleys, looking for a dark haired man in strange clothes trying to make his way back to you. But a year passes, and you tell yourself you have to stop looking. The next time it storms you curl up in bed and try to remember every detail about him, from the viscous looking scar across his eye, to the softness of his lips. But you don't go looking for him, you force yourself to stay in bed. 

You fall asleep and dream about him, and it’s like you’re awake. You stretch in your bed, the soft morning light spilling through the curtains onto the other side of the bed where the sheets have been tossed aside. The smell of coffee drifts through the house and when you sit up, gold glimmers on your left hand. With wonder you twist the wedding band around your finger and suddenly you know who’s clattering around downstairs. In only your nightie you run downstairs and almost skid into the kitchen, and there he is. As dark haired and broad as you remember him, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration as he pokes the eggs in the pan. 

“Hermosa, you’re up! I was going to bring you breakfast in bed,” he huffs with a smile as he sees you and you hurry across the kitchen to wrap yourself around him when he turns and holds out his arms for you. 

With a jolt you jerk awake, your bedroom dark and cold and the dream fading as longing wells up inside you. You hold up your left hand and it’s as bare as it was when you went to bed and you can’t help the tears that well up, a sob wracking your body. 

Thunder rolls through the sky above your house and a flash of lightning briefly brightens your room. Before your mind has even considered it, your body has carried you out of the bed, and you’re running down the stairs, fumbling with the lock on your backyard sliding door. Wrenching it open, you hurl yourself out into the rain, shouting his name. 

“Pero! Pero!” 

In an instant you’re soaked, your pajama pants and t-shirt sticking to your body as you spin in place, searching for someone you deep down know isn’t there. 

“Pero…” you choke, sinking down on your knees in the grass, digging your fingers into the soggy surface, deep breaths heaving your chest as grief turns to rage.  

“Bring him back to me!” you scream, “Bring him back! Bring him back!” 

You pound your fists into the ground, screaming at the universe for letting you fall so fast and so hard, and then taking him away. Your voice rips, cursing all the gods for their cruelty, demanding that whoever is in charge brings him back to you. 

But the universe remains indifferent to your pain, your rage. The rain continues to fall, the thunder rumbles and nothing changes. 

Eventually you’re forced back onto your feet, shivering in your wet sleepwear. You turn and look around your garden one last time, as empty as always. You look back to the house, biting back a sob and a lightning flash illuminating the dark windows, and you stumble. The mud under your hands squelches as you smack down into it, splattering your shirt and face and you have half a second to think about how you don’t have mud in your backyard. 

“Down!” 

A man shouts right behind you, a hard hand forcing you down to the ground, and then he charges forward. You glance up, confused, and see three men readying for battle, sharp swords lifted in fighting positions. In front of them, a fourth man stands, the one who shoved you down, his own two swords lifted and twirling effortlessly in his hands. 

It’s a blur, the rain is still pelting down, the trees above you cast strange shadows, and the dark haired man moves so fast it turns into a blur. Dim light glints off his blades, but then one sinks deep into the chest of the first man, while the other slices open the throat of the second, and the swords are dulled by the thick liquid that coats them. The third man staggers backwards, dropping his own sword, but it’s pointless, he chokes as a sword slips through his neck. 

The fourth man stops, his back turned, swords raised as if he’s waiting for another attack. When none comes, he slowly turns and you stumble to your feet, wiping your muddy hands on your wet pants. You already know it’s him, who else would it be? But seeing his face floods your heart, both fear and love fights for space. Love for the man, fear that he won’t know you. But then he takes four long steps towards you, his blades sliding into their scabbards, and he’s on you. Hands cup your face, his mouth claims yours in a hard kiss and you almost stumble again, wrapping your arms around him. Your teeth clash, his lips will bruise yours, and his fingers dig into your jaw but all you want is for him to hold you tighter. 

“You’re here,” he mutters, still pressed against your lips, “you’re real.” 

“You’re real too,” you sob, tears welling up in your eyes for the umpteenth time this confusing night, and Pero kisses your cheeks, drying them with his thumbs. 

“I have so much to ask you, but now we must run, hermosa. Those men did not come alone and I can’t fight them all. Come!”

He takes your hand and hurries through the underbrush, leading you to a clearing where a horse is tied to a tree. 

“Can you ride?” he asks, giving you a hand up in the saddle. 

“Yes, but it was a long time ago,” you reply as he swings himself up behind you. 

“Just grip on to him with your legs, I won’t let you fall,” Pero says, gathering the rains and urging the stallion forward. He has one arm around your waist, one hand holding the reins and you can feel his legs guide the horse underneath you both. Soon you’re out on the road and riding hard, Pero urging his horse to pick up speed as your old skills come back to you. You rock with the rhythm of the horse’s gait, holding on to the pommel. Pero sweeps his heavy wool cloak around you both, trapping his body heat close to you. 

“You’re shivering, hermosa,” he mutters, just audible over the drum of the hoofs, “Of all the times to appear…” 

You can’t judge time, but Pero keeps the horse at a steady canter for what feels like an eternity. Not until dawn breaks and a small town comes into view does he slow down. The storm still rages and you are both soaked to the bone.  

“There is a good inn here, I’ll get us a room,” he says, “get us warm and dry.” 

“Are we safe now?” you ask with a yawn, the adrenaline is wearing off and you feel your eyes getting heavy despite the shivers that wrack your body. 

“Yes, bandits won’t follow into towns as big as this one,” he replies, tightening his grip on you, “And you’re safe with me, hermosa.” 

You just nod, your eyes widening as the horse slows to a walk and you ride through a large gate in the solid stone wall. The streets are fairly empty but some people are moving about, starting the day as the rain continues to fall. Your nose wrinkles as the smell hits you, the pong of dung from any number of animals, food scraps, unwashed clothes, human waste mixes with the aroma of fresh bread, food cooking and wood fires. 

“Where are we?” you ask, watching a young boy drive three pigs down the street and towards the gate. 

“Provins, in France,” Pero replies, “It’s a good town, I’ve been through here many times.” 

“When are we?” you ask in a lower voice, turning your head so that you can whisper in his ear. 

“1033,” he replies, “I ask every priest I meet these days, just in case.” He gives you a small smile, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling, “I cannot believe you are here, I’ve been looking for so long.” 

“You were looking for me?” 

“I could not figure out how to get back to you, so I thought perhaps you might be able to follow,” he says, “How did you do it?” 

“I don’t know,” you reply, honestly, “I was looking for you too, every storm I went out looking for you but nothing never changed. Then last night there was another storm and I was shouting at the sky to bring you back, but nothing happened. When I was soaked and cold I turned to go back to the house and the next thing I knew, I was face down in the mud.” 

“Maybe you will go back just as suddenly,” Pero says, his voice low, “but I will keep you safe until then, like you kept me safe in your world.” 

He turns the horse into the stable yard of an inn and halts. 

“Here, keep the cloak wrapped tight around you, do not show the clothes underneath to anyone,” he says, making sure you are covered, before he swings himself off the stallion. He helps you down, carrying you to the threshold of the inn when he realizes you have no shoes on. 

“Wait here, I will get the stable boy to take care of Guerrero.” 

He’s back after just a minute, the saddle bags slung over his shoulder, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pushes the door of the inn open with the other. The innkeeper looks over at the two of you and instantly recognizes Pero. 

“Tovar! My old friend! Come in, come in, so good to see you!” he calls, making his way through the mostly empty inn. 

“Guiscard, it’s been a while,” Pero replies, clasping hands with the man. “I would like you to meet my wife, we were caught in the storm and I need a room and hot water if you can. I need her to warm up.”

Guiscard looks surprised at the mention of a wife, slapping Pero on the shoulder with a booming laugh. 

“A wife, Tovar? You have been gone a long time! Madam, I hope this scoundrel makes you very happy,” he says the last at you with a wide, friendly, grin and you give him a weak smile in return. “And because this man saved my life and my livelihood, I will make sure you have the best room and plenty of hot water brought up. Come, this way.” 

The innkeeper leads the two of you up a flight of stairs and to a room at the end of the hallway. You all but stumble over the high threshold and Pero steadies you. 

“Merci, Guiscard,” he says, “I will be down in a little bit to speak with you.” 

“Of course, of course, take care of your wife first, Tovar, no rush.” 

He closes the heavy wooden door behind him as he leaves and Pero guides you to the bed, big enough for two, in the middle of the room. 

“I will get the fire lit but you should take off your wet clothes and get into bed. I have a spare shirt for you to change into but I will go out in a little while and arrange for new clothes for you,” he says, peeling back the heavy quilt on the bed. 

“I need to wash, I’m covered in mud,” you say, looking down at your bare feet, your hands and forearms dirty too. 

“Guiscard will send the maid up with hot water,” Pero kneels by the fireplace as he speaks, “you can warm up and get clean.” 

“What about you?” you ask, looking at the water dripping off Pero’s armor and pooling on the rushes that cover the floor, “You need to get dry too.” He soon has the fire roaring and you move closer to it, the warmth making your cold body shiver again. 

“I’m used to being soaked, but I’ll dry off when I know you are taken care of,” he says, unbuckling his armor and swords before pulling a dry shirt from his pack. 

“Take that off, hermosa,” he urges you again, “and put this on.” He hands you the large shirt, big enough to be a dress on you. “You can change behind the screen,” he says, pointing to the corner where a part of the room is shielded from view. “Clean up, and I’ll go see Guiscard about getting some food.” 

“Pero, wait,” you take hold of his arm, his wet shirt sticking to his skin, “I…I don’t know how long I have here, don’t leave yet. You only stayed a couple of hours in my time and it’s already been the whole night.” 

There’s a clap of thunder outside as if to illustrate how precious your time is, and you flinch, your grip on Pero’s arm tightening. He glances over at the window where the rain is pelting against the shutters, and then looks back at you, covering your hand on his arm with his own. 

“You’re right, I’ll stay, I’ll send the maid.”

“Then get dry, and I’ll clean up,” you say, reluctantly letting go of Pero’s arm, “and hopefully I won’t vanish too soon.”

Pero gives you a small, crooked smile, but you feel like it mirrors your own churning insides. You have so many questions for Pero, you want to spend so much time with him, and you feel like every second could be your last before you’re pulled back again. 

There’s a knock on the door and Pero lets the maid in, taking two buckets and a jug from her. Sending her back to the kitchen for food and drink, he fills the wash basin with the water and you roll up the long sleeves on Pero’s shirt. 

Quickly you wash the mud off your feet and arms, scrubbing the skin with the cloth the maid left. Behind you, you hear Pero’s wet clothes come off and he hangs them over a rack in the corner. When you crawl under the quilts in the bed he’s lacing up a dry pair of breeches and you’re momentarily mesmerized by the sight of his bare torso. He’s lean and muscular, as you expected by the way his body felt against yours. But you hadn’t thought he’d have so many scars, even a fresh one, still pink, running down his bicep. His chest has a viscous looking gash across the right side, on his shoulder sits an uneven knot of scar tissue, and another thin scar slithers down his side. It’s a map, a visual reminder of how violent his life is, and you’re reminded again of how easily he’d killed the three men when you first arrived. 

Pero ties the strings and looks up, meeting your gaze, catching you staring at his chest. He scowls, the first time you’ve seen him fall back into the face that was almost permanent on him when you first met. 

“Do they disgust you?” he asks, his voice a low growl and eyebrows pulled tight together.  

“What? No!” you sputter, “No, not at all!” You put your hand out towards him, reaching for him, but he’s too far away. “I was just thinking how different your life is from mine, how much more violent yours seems. Please, Pero…” You leave your hand out, pleading with him to come closer, and he hesitates for a few seconds, and then he moves, taking your hand and letting you pull him onto the bed. 

“No?” he asks, sinking down on the mattress, “you’re not repulsed by it?” 

You shake your head, trying your hardest to not trace your fingers across the scar on his chest. 

“You asked the same thing about the scar on your face and I said no then too.” 

“Your world is so clean and orderly, mine is dirty and violent,” he says, his hand still wrapped around yours. You can feel the rough calluses on it and the stroke of his thumb over your skin. 

“People still have scars,” you reply, glancing down over his chest again. How do you tell him now that you’re not really looking at his scars after all, but at the way his wide shoulders seem to dwarf you, and how the dark hairs on his stomach are tantalizing you with the way they disappear beneath the edge of his breeches. 

A flash of lightning brightens the dim room, thunder following only a few seconds behind, and you jump. Pero grabs you, both hands flying to your arms and digging into your flesh, and you’re suddenly pressed against him, your nose only inches from his. You know your eyes are wide as saucers as you stare into his dark brown pools, and he exhales, loosening his grip on you slightly. 

“I wonder if I’ll come with you if I hold you when you disappear,” he whispers as your arms wrap around him.

“Do you want to go back?” you ask and Pero shrugs. 

“I wanted to go back to find you again, now that you’re here, I don’t care, just as long as you don’t disappear again.” 

He pulls back the quilts and tries to tuck you in but you stop him. 

“If I’m your wife for only one day, then I want to share the bed with you, Pero,” you say, giving him a small smile as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 

“We’re not really married, hermosa, you’d share your bed with me anyway?” he asks, but he’s already folding, letting you pull him down into the bed, he doesn’t seem to have any will to resist. 

“Married or not, it doesn’t really matter in my time. My reputation won’t be ruined by sleeping in the same bed as a man who’s not my husband.” 

“I think I like your time better than mine,” Pero grins at you as you get comfortable next to him. 

“I like whatever time you’re in, Pero,” you smile at him, reaching up and gently stroking your finger across the scar on his face, making him briefly close his eyes. Another flash of lightning brightens the room, making you jump and Pero pulls you in tight as his eyes fly open again. 

“No leaving yet, hermosa,” he mumbles and you nod. 

“No leaving yet.” 

He’s so close, his worried eyes looking down at you, and you can see every shade of brown in his irises, the dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks as his warm breath touches your lips. Without thinking, you close the gap and kiss him, his soft lips parting as you touch them. The first kiss, the one in the forest when he first saw you, was hard, leaving bruises on your lips. This one is delicate, tentative, there is time to explore. Or at least you hope there is time, the thunder is still rumbling outside, it sits at the back of your mind that every second could be your last with him. Pulling him down, settling his weight on top of you, you make him wrap his arms around you, as you bury your fingers in his still damp hair. His body is warm, almost hot, driving the chill from your bones as he continues to kiss you, his tongue tasting your mouth as a small moan escapes. Pero pulls back a little at that, suddenly smiling down at you. 

“You like that, hermosa?” he chuckles in a low, hushed voice. 

“I do, I like your kisses a lot,” you reply, pulling him down again and he comes willingly with a wide smile. He nips at your bottom lip, chuckling against you when you moan again, before he continues his exploration. You can feel him grow hard against your leg, his well worn breeches doing nothing to contain his arousal. Shifting your body under him, you make sure your thigh brushes over his cock, and you’re rewarded with a strained groan from him. It makes you giggle and Pero growls at you as he pushes himself up a little. 

“You tease me, mujer,” he smirks, rolling his hips, “but I can tease you too, if you want to play that game.” 

“I’d love to play that game, Pero,” you reply, trying to pull him back down over you. But you’re interrupted by a knock on the door, the maid has returned with food. 

“We’re continuing this soon,” he smirks at you, pushing himself off the bed and going to the door while you burrow deeper into the quilts. 

You hear Pero thank the maid, and the smell of food wafting through the room makes you sit back up as he closes the door. Your belly rumbles, reminding you that it’s been many hours since you last ate, your dinner was in a whole other millennium even.

“Come, hermosa, eat something, I can hear your belly across the room,” Pero chuckles, and you join him at the small table by the fire. The maid has brought a pot of stew, bread and bowls. 

“I told them to give us bowls, not trenchers,” Pero says, “I didn’t think you’d be used to eating on them.” 

“Anything is fine, Pero, I’m really hungry,” you say, watching him ladle the stew for you. 

“Then eat, maybe not as good as that stew you served, but hunger usually makes the best seasoning.” 

You both devour the stew, scoping it up with chunks of the bread. You can’t help but stop and inspect it, your baker brain analyzing the loaf. It’s clearly sourdough, stone milled of course, a mix of rye and wheat you think. But the grain, you realize, is probably a variety that no longer exists in your time and the flavor is rich and nutty, tasting much more than any bread you’ve ever produced. You’re suddenly intrigued, and the thought hits you that maybe you’ll have time to visit a bakery here. 

Pero watches you with a small smile as you smell the bread and test the crumb between your finger tips. 

“I can see your mind working, hermosa,” he chuckles, sucking the last of the stew off his fingers and leaning back in the chair. 

“I was thinking about visiting a bakery, it’d be amazing to see. Do you think it’d be safe to go?��� 

“Sure, I’ll keep you safe, of course. Just refrain from mentioning your big cold box or metal kitchen and you’ll be fine and not accused of witchcraft,” he winks and you widen your eyes. You hadn’t even considered the possibility of being considered a witch. 

“I’ll have to keep my mouth shut,” you say, “or I might accidentally say something very wrong.” 

“You’ll be fine, if we even get that far,” Pero says, shaking his head, “You’ve been here many hours now, I don’t like it, but I think you’ll probably be leaving soon.” 

As if the thought has reminded him, he gets up and takes your hand, leading you back to the bed. 

“Do you still have the ring?” you ask, suddenly realizing it’s not hanging around his neck as the article had mentioned. 

“I do, it’s in my pouch,” he replies, grabbing the leather bag that had been on his belt, and pulling it out, “Do you want it back? I didn’t mean to take it from you.” 

You close his fist around the ring as he holds it out to you, and then sit down on the bed. 

“No, you should keep it. I…” you being, looking up at Pero as he sinks down on the bed next to you, still holding the ring. He’s so alive. Of course he’s alive, warm and real and yet you know where he will be buried and the thought makes your throat close up and you stare at his hand. He senses your unease and tilts your head up, two fingers under your chin. 

“Something troubles you, tell me, hermosa,” he says, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, as you sigh. 

“When you disappeared, I wasn’t sure what had happened was real. I thought maybe I was losing my mind, or that you’d played a trick on me. But then I saw an article, news written on paper, about how historians in my time had unearthed a grave from your time, from this time. And the man in the grave was wearing the ring on a chain around his neck.” 

Pero nods and gets off the bed, reaching for the leather pouch again. 

“This chain?” he asks, holding up a thin gold chain, one of the links broken. 

“I think so, it matches the description,” you reply, running it between your fingers. 

“I had the ring on the chain, but it broke a week ago. I was planning on having it mended while in Provins.” 

You both sit in silence for a while, Pero holds the ring and you hold the chain, both lost in thought as the time between the two of you is so clearly illustrated by the two objects.  

“Your historians,” Pero asks finally, “Did they say how old the man in the grave was?” 

“No, only that he was from the 11th century.” 

“And did it say where the grave was?” 

“Sevilla,” you reply, looking up at Pero who nods. 

“Then I am never going to Sevilla,” he says, a small smile on his face as the corners of his lips curl up. 

“Keep it,” you say, passing the chain back to Pero, “ and keep the ring on you, maybe you have to go to Sevilla sometime, don’t avoid it, I shouldn’t have told you.” 

“It’s a strange feeling, knowing where I die,” he says, putting the chain and ring back in the pouch. “And knowing I’ll die so many hundreds of years before you.” He sits back down on the bed as you crawl under the covers, scooting over to give him room as he joins you. 

“It’s a very strange feeling, I’ll go back and you…” you trail off, feeling your eyes well up, and Pero pulls you in, his arms wrapping around you so that your head is on his chest, as a long shaky breath comes from you. 

“You go back and when you’re in your time, I’m dead,” he says in a low voice, “I thought the same when I came back, except I knew you weren’t even born yet, and I would die many hundreds of years before you.” 

“It’s not fair,” you mumble as he strokes your back and you hear his steady heartbeat under ear. 

“Do you wish I hadn’t come to your bakery?” he asks, his voice low, and you hear the doubt in it. Pushing yourself up so that you can look down at his dark eyes, you shake your head. 

“No, not at all, not even a little. I’ve missed you so much, and I’ll be heartbroken when I go back, but I wouldn’t have it undone. We haven’t even spent that much time together but…you’re special to me, Pero.”

“You’re special to me too,” he replies, resting his hand on your cheek as you lean your forehead against his, “I hope you get to stay with me a little while longer. Sleep now, hermosa, the storm is over and I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.” 

“You can’t promise that,” you whisper as he moves you down to lie on his arm again, resting your cheek against his chest. 

“I promise it anyway,” he mumbles, his hand resumes its soothing motion up and down your back and you close your eyes, finally succumbing to the long sleepless night behind you. 

When you stir, hours later, you think you’re still in a dream. The roasting warm body behind you, a protective arm tight around your torso, legs tangled together, and his puffs of air against your ear, it all still feels too dreamlike. But your movements have woken him and he mumbles, half asleep, words you can’t understand, his arm pulling you tighter against his solid form. Slowly your mind catches up, the storm, yelling at the sky outside your house, falling in the mud and Pero’s sudden appearance. The ride, the inn and now, the bed, with Pero curled around you, it’s not a dream. 

Moving inside his arms, turning so that you face him, you giggle at his big yawn as he wakes up properly. 

“You’re still here,” you smile, wrapping an arm around his neck, and pulling him in for a kiss, morning breath be damned, it’s not like either of you will find a toothbrush here. 

“You’re still here,” he mumbles against your lips, “I thought I was dreaming.” 

“Me too,” you whisper, “but I’m still here and you’re still here.” 

“Siempre, mi amor,” he breathes, pulling you against his mouth, both arms around your back, his hand cupping the back of your head. It’s like he needs to reassure himself that you're still here, not a dream or a vision. And you feel the same, relishing the smell of the wood fire and the rushes on the floor, the unfamiliar noises from outside the room, all proving that you’re still in Pero’s time, with him. 

The kisses turn heated, arousal begins to thrum through your body as you feel Pero’s hard length against your hip, the kisses you share growing needy. He tries to hide his erection, pulling back from you, but you grab his hips and roll him over you, settingling his weight between your thighs. Pero groans into your mouth before he lifts himself up a little. 

“Cariño, don’t tempt me, I am only human.” 

“I want you, Pero,” you whisper with a smile, “you’re my husband, aren’t you? And we didn’t finish what we started before.” 

“You are sure?” he asks, but even as he does, you’re pulling him even closer, and one of his hands grips your thigh, soft flesh under his rough fingers. 

“Very sure,” you mumble against his mouth, as he groans and rolls his hips into your core. His hand slips further up your leg, finding only warm skin, gripping your waist and pushing up your shirt. It gets bunched up around you, so you let go of him and tug it over your head, revealing to Pero that you’ve got nothing underneath, and he groans again. 

“Beautiful,” he mutters, the soft scratch of his scruffy beard dragging over your neck as he begins a trail of wet kisses down your chest. His hand leaves your waist and gently closes over one of your breasts as his mouth closes over the nipple of the other. You can feel him grinding into the bed beneath you, and you reach down, twining your fingers in his short curls, wild from sleeping. The scratch of your fingers in his hair seems to make him melt, he flicks his tongue over your breast in lazy strokes, slowly caressing the other one as he rests his head on your chest. 

“Cariño,” he mumbles, his mouth pressed against your skin, “you’re so soft, tan suave...” he trails off, groaning as he buries his face against your breast, drawing a deep breath. 

“Pero, come here,” you whisper, tugging gently at his hair, making him lift his head and make his way back up to your mouth. His hand slips between your legs, caressing you softly, coating his fingers with your silky liquid, and each moan he pulls from you, makes him kiss you harder. 

You’re not sure what you’d expected from Pero in bed, a rough mercenary from the 11th century. To be honest, you might’ve thought that he’d need a bit of education in how to make you feel good, that norms in this time dictated that the man’s pleasure was the only thing that counted. But he proves you wrong, maybe he is the exception. Because he slides his fingers through your slick folds and circles your clit with his thumb, finding it without guidance and treats it gently, watching your face as he teases the sensitive nerves. Gently he pushes a finger deep inside and curls it back in the most delicious way. When you buck your hips into his hand, he chuckles, a deep low rumbling in his chest as he presses more kisses to your mouth. 

“Pero..” you moan, gasping as he slips in a second finger, “fuck…please…” 

“Please what?” he asks, the smirk in his voice evident even to your hazy mind, as he continues to move his fingers in and out of your heat. 

It makes you laugh, a breathless, half moaned laugh, at his cocky tone. He’s good, and he knows it. 

With a swift movement he pushes himself up and moves down your body, pushing your legs apart, making room for his broad shoulders. Before you have time to react, his hot mouth closes over your clit, his fingers still driving into you and curling back. He eats your pussy almost ferociously, burying his face and lapping long strokes before returning to your clit. 

Your body all but arches off the bed, and he grabs your hip with his free hand, chuckling into you. When your high hits, you throw your head back and gasp his name, throat raw as he works you through it, prolonging every shudder and tremble your body gives him. He releases his grip once your breathing returns to normal, and slowly works his way up your body, trailing sloppy kisses over your torso. Against your leg and then your hip, you can feel his steely hard cock, twitching as he hisses at the friction. 

“Pero,” you mumble, wrapping your legs around his hips and reaching down, closing your hand around him, “I want you inside me now.” 

He mumbles something incoherent under his breath as you coat the length with the liquid leaking from the tip, his breath catching, thrusting into your closed fist. The feel of him notching at your entrance causes you to tremble, and Pero takes your hand, pressing it down into the mattress next to your head as he begins to push in. 

“Does it feel good, esposa?” he asks, his voice low and strained, his jaw tight as he sets a languid pace, “Do I feel good inside you?”

You nod, hooking your legs up around his waist, urging him deeper, “Faster, Pero, faster, please, I can’t…” 

The snap of his hips forces the breath out of your lungs and it makes you laugh, a breathless giggle that turns into a moan as he does it again, his own face splitting into a wide grin. 

“So good,” he groans, half a chuckle in his voice too, “you feel so good, just as I thought, fuck…” he buries his head against your neck as he drives his hips into you, sliding in and out at a fast pace, breathing hard against your skin. “Thought about this so many nights, hermosa. Having you…having you back, with me, making…” He hisses as you squeeze down around him, you can feel the short, wiry hairs rub against your clit when he angles his hips and hits a new spot deep inside. He stutters, groaning into your neck, increasing his pace as you gasp his name. 

“Again, he growls, “come for me again, I need to feel it.”

And it hits you, arching your body up against his heavy weight as he drives himself deep inside, his body pressing you down as you wrap your legs tight around his waist. 

“L-let go…” he pants, wrenching himself away from you, pulling out fast and you feel his hot cum coat your belly as he gasps and groans above you. 

“Coño…” he hisses, tugging his cock, the last drops coating his hand, and he slumps forward, holding himself up on one hand over you, “Sorry, I couldn’t hold back any longer,” he mumbles, catching his breath, his eyes closing with a deep sigh. You pull him down over you, not caring about the mess on your skin, just needing his mouth on yours, feel his weight on top of you again. 

“It all feels so good,” you whisper into his ear, cupping the back of his head and kissing him as he hums, his hands slipping over your skin, caressing every part he can reach. 

He mumbles against your lips, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, giving you a gentle kiss, soft words in Spanish tumbling from him as he pulls back a little and looks down at you. 

“I will fight God himself, if he tries to take you away from me again,” he whispers, “I am not leaving your side.” His eyebrows are pulled together, his eyes serious, as if he’s challenging you to point out the flaws in his promise, but you just nod and let your fingers trail across his scowling face until it softens again and he lets you pull him down to your side. 

Later, when he’s cleaned you both up and wrapped himself around you underneath the covers, Pero tells you about his life, his travels and how he doesn’t have a home, not a real one. He’s always been working for one lord or another and after he returned from China he drifted. 

“But the past year, I stayed in this area, just in case I could go back, or you’d come to me,” he says, still holding you close as the late afternoon slips into evening, “Now, I’ll go wherever you want to go, I’ll protect you, esposa.” He smiles at the last word, softness in his face. 

“Can we stay here?” you ask, “At least for now?” Somehow, you believe that the storms decide when you’ll leave, and for now, the sky outside is clear. 

“In Provins? Yes, it’s a good town. And Guiscard will always be happy to have me near to protect his inn,” Pero nods and smiles as you absentmindedly let your fingers trail through the dark curls below his belly button, making him groan in a low rumble. You smirk at him, gently cupping his soft cock, still sticky from your combined release, and he growls, grabbing you and rolling so that you’re on top, your hands in his strong grip.

“You will drain me, mujer,” he scowls, no menace to his tone, and you chase his mouth with yours, giggling when he nips on your bottom lip.  

“I know a woman in town, Madam Callier, she’s an old friend of Guiscard,” he continues, once you’ve both had your fill of kisses, “She lost her husband last year, he was a merchant and owned a house and she’s been renting out the rooms. I could ask if we could live there, she asked me the last time I was in Provins. She could use a good soldier to keep the house safe.” 

“And you’re a good soldier,” you say, pressing a kiss to a scar on his chest. 

“Bad soldiers don’t get old,” he says, shaking his head, “but I don’t want to put you in danger, or risk leaving you alone here. So a quiet job, being a lady’s guard dog, will suit me well now.” 

“Maybe it’s foolish to say,” you begin, taking his hand and lacing your fingers through his, “but…I think..I think I don’t want to go back. I’d rather stay here with you now.” 

“Then we will be foolish together,” Pero replies, tightening his grip on your hand, “because I do not want you to go back either. Selfishly, I want you to stay with me.” He presses his soft lips to yours again, his kiss firm, insistent, and you repay him in kind, sinking all your feelings into the kiss, silently praying that nothing will take you away from him now. 

Pero leaves a little while later and comes back with clothes for you. You spend some time giggling while he tries to show you how to put them on. 

“I’m no expert in women’s clothing, cariño,” he huffs, “most women I…” he says and then falls silent, fiddling with the knots on the boots he’d traded for, an unusually pink tinge decorating his cheeks. 

“Most women what?” you ask him with a smile, you’re pretty sure where he was going with that sentence, and he looks up at you with a small scowl.

“You can guess,” he mutters, “you’re from an age where there seems to be no shame.” 

“Well, we still have whores and there is still shame surrounding visiting them,” you say, stepping closer to him so that you can press a kiss to his pink cheek. “I know soldiers will visit them frequently, even in our time. Just don’t visit one while I’m here.” 

He gives you such an offended look that it makes you laugh and he grabs you, growling into your neck as he marks you with a small nip. 

“Never, I would never do that to you,” he mumbles, his mouth still pressed against your skin. 

The next day you find yourself walking through the 11th century streets of Provins, next to Pero and his horse Guerrero. The lady with the rooms to rent lives only a few houses down from Guiscard’s inn but her house is much grander. At least it looks grand to you, with what little you know of 11th century architecture. Pero had said her husband was a wealthy merchant, the lady continuing his business after his death, and she was clearly was managing it well. You stood on the street and looked up at the place that would now be your home, at least until the next storm came through. A home in a new time, but with a man you already couldn’t see a life without.  

And as days passed into weeks, you settled into your strange new life in the new house, with Pero by your side. The cold spring you arrived in slipped into warm summer and still, you’re here. In Pero’s time, with him as your protector and guide. He uses the small fortune he brought back from China to make your life as comfortable as he knows how, and stays as close as he can, never letting you stray too far from his sight. 

The thought of suddenly being tossed back into your own time never really leaves. And as time passes that thought turns into cold fear. It scares you so deeply, to suddenly be without Pero, it makes panic simmer in your chest, the very thought of suddenly being without him. And every summer storm scares you, especially when they come at night, and you can’t even sleep, barely blink. Pero doesn’t say as much, but holds you nearly too tight while the thunder rumbles outside, never letting you go as flashes light up the room, his own fear of losing you translating into the almost suffocating way his hands grab your body on those nights. But then the storms pass and you wake up in his arms the next day. And the next, and the next, and the next. 

A year passes and you think less and less of suddenly being pulled back. You’re not sure which day you arrived, you know the date in your time but the calendar is different here and for a while you fear that maybe you’ll only be allowed to stay a year. But spring passes again, summer returns, and still you’re here, in your new little town, with a new life. 

Pero works, and you help where you can, learning more and more about medieval life. Baking, the profession that was your livelihood back home, returns to your life as you begin to explore the local bakery. Madam Callier does business with the baker, Pierre, and he seems intrigued by the multitude of questions you have about the bread he makes. Mostly he makes the rough, mixed grain bread almost everyone seems to eat. But he also makes soft wheat loaves for the few nobles in town that can afford it. Soon you’re sharing ideas with him, while you pick up Madam Callier’s bread, Pero hovering behind as he watches with an amused smile. When Pierre stumbles and sprains his ankle, it feels like fate. He asks you to help with the baking and from then on you’re back in your old profession. 

Pero is reluctant at first, doesn’t like leaving you at the bakery all day, but after a few days of almost scaring away the customers with his scowling appearance, he relents, and agrees that you’re as safe in the bakery as anywhere else in the small town. But he still insists on walking you to the bakery each morning, and comes back for you each evening. 

“I can’t let you walk alone, hermosa, even though it might be safe,” he says, when you question the need for him to walk back and forth to the bakery every day. It’s located on the outskirts of Provins, right up against the city wall, because of the fire hazard of the oven. “You’re my wife, and I promised to keep you safe in this time, let me do this.” 

So you tuck your arm into the crook of his arm, and walk with him through the town twice a day, getting strangely comfortable in this new life and time. Storms come and go and each time you fear them less, Pero still sleeps wrapped around you, but now it’s less because you might suddenly disappear, and more because that’s the way you both want to sleep. His warm, solid body pressed against your back, soft puffs of breaths against your neck when you wake. Your soft palm covering his scarred hand, holding onto him even in sleep. 

Life is harder in this time, there’s no doubt, and more fragile. But Provins is a prosperous town, seemingly spared from the harder conditions of this time, and so Pero and you remain. When Pierre passes away one particularly harsh winter, you take over the bakery and move there with Pero. With him as your ‘guard dog’, as he calls himself, no one dares question a woman running the bakery. The quality of the bread helps too and you thank your lucky star you understand sourdough baking and how the yeast bacteria work. Under your skilled hands, the cheap, rough bread for the peasants becomes even better than in Pierre’s time. And the expensive wheat bread for the nobles becomes so in demand that you can barely keep up, taking on a young woman of the town as your apprentice. 

Many years pass, the old life a memory that you sometimes talk to Pero about when you’re both tucked into bed. He asks if you’d want to go back to your time, and you don’t know what to answer. 

“Maybe?” you say, thinking about the few things you miss, indoor plumbing being the main one, “But not without you, never without you, Pero. I don’t want any life without you, I don’t have a life without you.” 

“You are my life now, mi esposa, mi amor,” he mumbles, pulling you in under his chin and you fall asleep with your head on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart lulling you to sleep, like all other nights in your new life. 

And then, the morning that you don’t wake, decades after you came back to him, Pero makes up his mind and plans for one last journey. His body aches, his joints are stiff and nothing remains of the dark brown color in his hair, it turned gray many years ago. And above all, his heart aches, the loss of you so physical, the pain inside his chest, he’s surprised his heart still beats even when the very reason for it to exist has left his life. 

He packs his old saddle bags one last time, his back protesting as he swings himself into the saddle of his horse and turns the nag towards the coast. The journey takes a week, the winds are good and the sailing smooth. But he can feel his health waning, whether from the grief that grips his heart, or the loss of his will to stay in this life. 

He travels to where you told him his grave is, to Seville, and he only has one hope left in his life; that you will come back to him when he closes his eyes for the last time. 

A/N:

I hope you loved, and maybe cried a little, over this story. I didn't have any particular feelings about Pero when I wrote his first chapter for the bakery but he's grown on me so much. He is now one of my favourite Pedro boys and I've rewatched the film which also gave me a whole new view of him. He plays a very specific role in story, but there are clearly layers to him and lots to unpack. I think the way Pedro chooses to portrait him too, some of the choices he makes in how he delivers lines, add a lot of back story that's not spoken out loud. I will most likely return to Pero and dive further into his 11th century life.

By the way, I totally ignored any language barriers, both between 21st century and the 11th century as well as them being in France this time. Maybe there's a Tardis parked nearby, who knows? But Provins does exist and is a UNESCO world heritage site for it's well preserved medieval town centre. From the 9th century and onward it was a prosperous town with large markets and influential merchants. Seemed like a good place to have a quiet life for Pero and his new wife.

Not much baking in this story but I had to sneak in a reference to sourdough as it was the way people baked for literally millennia before commercial yeast became a thing. It fascinates me and I'm going to make a whole separate post about sourdough baking but if you want to try it I can really recommend this as a starting point (Claire Saffitz is a baking goddess!)

Everything tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers 

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal #Youtube

[artemiseamoon]

What the heart wants

Pero Tovar x F Reader*

🤶🏾🎁Secret Santa fic ✨ for @blueeyesatnight !!! ✨ Happy holidays! (event hosted by @pedrostories )

Read below * or on A03

Words: 7,621

Summary: As Spring rolls around, you find yourself content with your life. Business is successful, you have all the independence you want and good friends to share life with. A man wasn't something you needed or were seeking at the time as occasional lovers fulfilled your primal urges. But it was clear, life had other plans as a handsome but dirty mercenary blew through your doors.

Warnings: some canon period misogyny (not much), Pero 😂, language, brothel mention & mild sexual content.

*Reader notes: there are some details!!! So it’s not a completely blank slate; reader is female, in her upper 30s, sturdy/curvy built (visualize as you please) & often wears pants not dresses. No skin tone/race mentioned but she does understand & speak some Spanish. *Feel free to read as an OC if you prefer*

AN: If you already know me, you know I no longer crosspost to this site, nor write reader inserts. Since this is a special occasion, it’s both a RC & crossposted (here & on my A03) 😁 happy reading! This was so fun to write.

You

Holding the cuff to the afternoon light, you examined your work closely, feeling satisfied with the end result. Growing up the daughter of a blacksmith, you learned several things, and though you could make a sword, you quickly found you preferred making jewelry; it filled you with joy, especially when you saw the end result and the look on people's faces.

You had kitchenware under your belt too, it was the kind of thing that always bought in coin, as it was a needed everyday item. Currently, you are perfecting your skills in armor making. You started to learn back in your early 20s, now in your late 30’s you could create decent work, but you wanted to be better. Never one to back down from a challenge, you made it your newest goal.

You just set the new cuff aside when the small bell chimed, filling the halls with the familiar sound. Stepping away from the desk, you peeked out of the doorway and down the hall, where you had a straight shot of the front door.

You quirked a brow as a man you’ve never seen before stalked in, the wind sweeping inside with him, along with a bad mood like a dark cloud overhead. Upon first glance, he almost seemed inconvenienced, yet you saw him walk in alone, no one forced him.

He was handsome with dark features, but dirty, and needed a good shave. The stranger wore the kind of scowl that would keep people ten feet away from him. His attire and the double swords strapped to his back gave his profession away, a mercenary. They often traveled through these parts en route to somewhere else and stayed a night or two; it made good coin for the local businesses when they did.

You thought about revealing yourself but chose to watch him a little longer. You observed him as he moved deeper into the shop, his eyes moving about the place as he took it in.

He scratched his beard, grumbling something you couldn’t hear, as he touched and poked at things along the way. He was a fascinating creature to watch, and one of the best-looking men you’ve seen in a long time, even under all the dirt and grime, and the sharp chip on his shoulder. That’s when you noticed the scar, one that made you curious about the how, and made him even hotter at the same time.

Even his walk was attractive, he seemed more like a wild animal than a man, like a feral wolf just wandered into your shop and right into your hands.

Pero (minutes ago)

Dragging his feet, Pero made his way through the town, eyeing signs on doors and windows, looking for work. He was tired, bone tired, his back hurt like all hell, his ass was numb from being on his horse so long, and he was annoyed. He was starving, he ran out of rations early this morning and was running on a piece of stale bread at the moment. He’d try one more place, then get some damn food, followed by a room, a bath, and a whore.

He was about halfway down the block when he noticed the blacksmith sign. In his half hour here, it seemed West Meadow had no work for him requiring his swords, but a man could always be useful in a shop like that.

Pero entered, his stomach grumbling and fighting with him. He expected to see a forge as soon as he walked in but was met with a plain room with a simple desk, two chairs, and a long table. Ahead was a hallway that likely led to some other rooms. The smells of iron, steel, wax, and fire met his nose, there was definitely a forge, maybe in the back.

Where the hell was everyone?

Patience wasn’t a friend of his. He called out and was only met with his own echo.

Cursing under this breath, he decided to ditch this plan for now, and just get some food. A door opened in the distance. He turned, expecting to see a man appear, but a man it wasn't.

Pero tilted his head to the side as his eyes raked over you. You were beautiful, with a face that was downright distracting, but that wasn’t all, when you smiled, you nearly knocked his bad mood right out of him. Your smile was so full and bright that he finally understood what that stupid saying, bright as the sun, meant.

You were well-built, sturdy, and curvy in the right places. That was clear even with the heavy apron you wore. Pero raised his eyes back to your own. Even the smudges on your face and a mask over your hair didn’t take away from your beauty.

Pero regained his composure, then asked gruffly, “who's in charge?”

Your smile dropped, “well, hello to you too.”

“Where’s your husband or father?”

“Are you serious?” you rested a hand on your hip.

His eyes dropped to your hand, you were wearing gloves, so he didn't know if you wore a ring or not, “Brother?”

An irritated laugh fell out of you as you shook your head.

“Unless…” he started, “you’re alone here?”

“I am the owner, you ass.” you held up your hands, then tore off a glove, “no husband either!”

He looked at you with disbelief in his eyes, “a woman alone, here? "his accent coming out even more now.

“Yes,” you growled back at him, growing more agitated.

Your initial sunny demeanor was gone, now you were like a cat with your claws out.

“Lo siento, “he held out a hand as he apologized like he was trying to calm a bull, “I’m just looking for work.”

He had a lot of questions.

A woman was usually married, which you weren’t, taken, or would be under her father's supervision, which you weren’t either. Or a whore, which you didn’t seem to be. You also claimed to run this business on your own, which was unusual. And you didn’t have a man guarding the door either, you were strange in fact, very strange.

“Not hiring,” you replied in Spanish, which made him raise a brow at you. “You can go now.”

You & Pero

What an ass.

You thought, sure he was hot, and you were very intrigued, but you didn’t need the attitude or the barbaric mindset. There were enough assholes in town who had opinions about you, and the kind of life you should live. You didn’t need some dirty mercenary putting his two cents in the matter.

You only made it a few steps away from him before stopping, you could feel him lingering, his eyes on you. You doubled back. You assessed him with your eyes and pulled the mask fully off your head.

Maybe he could be useful, you thought. “What are you good at?”

He smirked, taking a half step your way, “You really the boss?”

“Yes.” you hissed.

“Swords, blades, knives.” he paused, his eyes still on yours, even as he pointed at his suit, “repairs.”

“Hmmm,” you crossed your arms while continuing to study him. “I do all that. No need for you.”

He chuckled. Yeah, he liked you, he liked you a lot. Before he could stop himself, he asked,

“Is this really your place? No man is hiding back there?”

You rolled your eyes and pointed to the door, “see the name on the fucking sign, that’s my last name. My father is too old to work, I have no brothers, this place is mine. Got a problem with that?”

He smirked, liking the sass, this kitty scratches. “No problem.”

You locked in a stare with him, almost getting distracted by his eyes, you could lose yourself in them. In the back of your mind, you thought about the long list of things you had to do, and an extra hand around here might be good, but you weren’t sure if you’d reveal that to him yet.

You pointed to the door, “I’ll think about it. Come back tomorrow.”

Pero was about to say something when the door opened, he turned to see a man enter, then quickly looked at you again, seeing your smile return. Damn, it was a sight to see.

The man moved right past Pero like he wasn’t there and went straight to you. As you greeted each other, you pulled a pouch out of your apron and revealed a metal wristband.

“I was just about to send word, it’s finished,” you display your work proudly.

Pero grinned, a woman metalsmith, how odd. You continued to intrigue him by the second.

“Lovely work as always,” the man said your name while admiring it.

Your eyes darted to Pero’s. “Tomorrow,” you repeated sharply.

Pero huffed, then saw himself out.

.

Early Evening, The Three Bucks Inn & Tavern

As Pero parked himself at a table off to the side, he took in his surroundings. The Tavern was busy with locals, and a few people who looked like visitors.

“Can I get ya anything?” the barmaid asked as she stopped by this table, she spoke over the crowd, making sure he could hear her.

“Food and ale,” Pero answered while slapping the silver coins on the table.

She pocketed the coins. “Anything else?”

Pero sat back, really looking at her this time. The woman was good-looking, a little thin for him, he preferred them thicker. Like that woman from the shop, you were sturdy, you could handle him. He shrugged the thought away. A whore would be better anyway, get in, get laid, go to bed.

“A room and a whore,”

He’d been on the road for months, he needed to fuck a woman as bad as he needed a good bath and a shave. Plus, a good night's sleep, on a bed for once. He was getting older; all the years had taken their toll on his body. He was still skilled and quick on his feet, but he required more rest now.

“I’ll get ya a bed.” she pointed toward the door, “Take a left past the carriage house. Walk till you reach the end of West Street. Madame Mae’s is the last house on the corner. No missing it. Red door. Just about as subtle as you are.”

Pero frowned as the woman left to fulfill the order.

He was looking forward to a hot meal, real food, not the shit he was surviving on for the last few months. He hoped the whores at Mae’s were decent, he’d fuck what he could get, but someone nice to look at would be even better.

Well, you would be better. He tried to put you out of his mind, but like a phantom, you wouldn’t leave, he kept thinking about your smile, your form, and the way you shot venom with your eyes when he pissed you off. If you know how to forge metal, you could likely use a sword too, and the thought made his cock twitch.

The whore would have to do it, but you would be better.

.

Later, Pero

Now that Pero had a bath, a shave, and a satisfactory fuck with a decent whore, a good night's rest was next. But it was still a little early and he was feeling restless.

Mierda

Maybe he should have gone with William. But what the fuck would he have done with himself? His blonde-haired friend had done the foolish thing of falling in love and doubled back to the place they left behind nearly a year ago. After they left the wall, they spent months on the road, taking jobs and for Pero at least, trying to get China out of his mind.

Pero’s solo journey wasn’t going so well, and if had to spend another 3-5 months on horseback, starving, cold, horny, and bearing the weather, he’d kill someone. A lot of someones.

Pero wanted to stop moving, just for a little while, make some money at the same time. A lot of money, preferably. He already spent most of this year and last on the move, and if this town had no work, he’d just drag himself to the next.

Soon his restlessness, and busy mind led him to leave the bed. Leaving the inn, he stepped out onto the street, the townspeople were enjoying the weather, and the night market was still going, though some vendors were starting to pack up.

Pero only walked a few minutes before he saw you again. You were chatting with a vendor, a woven basket in one hand, full of various items. You were dressed in a dark tunic tucked into dark pants and boots, with a blade holstered to your right thigh. He expected to see you in skirts outside of the shop, but again, you were no ordinary woman, not by any stretch.

Pero lingered in the background, watching, soon he heard your laugh for the first time. Fuck, it was wonderful, just as wonderful as your smile. You were both the sweetest thing he’d ever seen, and mean as a snake when pressed, you also looked like you could throw a punch, and he liked that.

As the vendor made you laugh again, Pero felt something else and wanted to kick himself for it. He spent a total of 5 minutes with you, what the fuck did he have to be jealous about? He chalked it up to his sleep-deprived state, and maybe needing to get laid again tomorrow - that should calm him down.

There you were, his shadow, and all it took was 5 minutes. He thought about you all day, in the bath while he jerked off, and even when he fucked that whore. Pero felt ridiculous. Maybe William wasn’t the foolish one, maybe it was him.

Before he could stop himself, his feet were moving as he made his way over to you.

You

You felt eyes on you the whole time but could finally pinpoint the source. There he was, coming your way. All dark and broody and sexy as hell and cleaned up.

“Oh, the brute. Are you stalking me?”

He grunted, “No.”

“Sure?” You smirked as you shifted the basket to your other hand. “Because stalking is not a good way to get hired. In fact, it’s creepy.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, cariño. If I want a woman, I pay a whore.”

You raised your brows at him, what you were feeling wasn’t offense, it was something you couldn’t put your hands on.

“Well, the next time you go, why don’t you ask for a job. Maybe they’re hiring.” Without giving him time to respond, you were off, taking long strides away from him.

No matter how hot he was, he was irritating as hell. Brute, yeah, that was a good fit and that's what he was. The last thing you needed was to get involved with a guy like him.

No. Do not go there, you remind yourself. Even if he was hot as sin.

.

The next day, You and Pero

You were just setting up for a ring you’re working on, then the bell chimed.

It was much too early for clients, and there was only one person you could think of who would be here right now. You weren't sure if you hoped it was him, or dreaded the possibility. Leaving the work desk, you stepped out into the front room and saw him standing there.

“Ugh.” You sighed then headed back into the other room.

In the back of your mind, you thought of bringing your dogs next time, so they could watch the front door.

Pero took it upon himself to follow you inside. You leaned against the desk with crossed arms.

“What?”

“You said come back tomorrow.”

You were listening, well, half listening. He looked even better than he did yesterday, in the light of day, you could fully appreciate all the grooming he did.

As you noticed last night, he got a haircut, but it was still long enough to grab, to run your finger through. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes slid down his face, over his excellent bone structure, the cleaned-up beard, and down to his neck, even that part of him was sexy. You could feast your eyes on him for hours.

“Happy to see me?” He smirked, stopping in front of you, enjoying the way you greedily took him in.

“Not really,”

Pero's stance was confident, eye contact unwavering. “You need my help. Hire me.”

“What? So, you could protect me from men and beasts? I have a feeling you are both.”

He chuckled, fully amused, “I could,” he shrugged, “I am.”

“Besides, I’ve been in my share of fights. I’m good with sharp things.”

Fuck, Pero thought, your words hitting him right in his core and going lower. You were special.

“The team we’d make then, why not have the best swordsman on your grounds?”

You uncrossed your arms, "and you’re full of yourself, what a winner. I don’t need your help.”

Pero scoffed. “You’re short a man. Injury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, how did he know that?

Auden hurt his arm pretty bad last week, it was mainly you and him here, he was your main employee. You had two apprentices, but they weren’t where they needed to be yet, you were carrying the bulk of work on your shoulders. This handsome, grumpy stranger did his homework.

Still, he irritated you, so you said, “I don’t need you. You can go now.”

Pero hated that. He didn’t mean to be so rough when he reached out to grab your wrist, but he didn’t like being dismissed.

He didn’t even know what he was going to say, just grabbed you, making you spin around to face him. Your eyes burned with anger and something else more sensual behind that. Before he could speak, you slapped him, clear across the cheek. He was more impressed than mad.

As he rubbed his face and chuckled, you grabbed an unfinished blade from the table and pressed the sharp edge to his neck. His brown eyes widened as he stared at you.

“Get the fuck out.” You warned through gritted teeth.

Your lips, that’s where his eyes went, even with a blade to his throat.

Instead of a fight, a counter move, or a slew of curses, Pero's sultry gaze lingered on your lips, then met your eyes again. Despite yourself, you stole a glance of his mouth, and those kissable lips of his.

Sure, the mercenary was a pain in the ass. Whatever depths of hell dragged this man to your front door, you didn’t know. He was like a dog who kept coming back and you didn’t totally hate that. In fact, you -

The bell over the front door chimed as a customer came in. You both heard it, yet remained locked in a tense lust-filled stare. When you licked your lips, simply to moisten them, his eyes followed the movement. The bastard didn’t even flinch with the blade to his neck.

Why have a whore when he could have you? Pero thought, the idea followed by images that awakened him in other places.

“Hello?” The patron called out your name, you knew who it was by voice alone.

“One minute,” you shouted back, eyes still on Pero.

“Repairs, the two blades I told you about,” they said from beyond the door.

“I start now,” Pero stated with a smug grin.

“Are you fucking serious?”

He chuckled, finding your astonishment cute. Pero took one more indulgent, long look at you then stepped out into the main room.

Unable to move, the blade still in your hand, you stared at the door. Did he really just walk in here, hire himself, then look at you like you were a steak dinner? Yeah, he did.

“Pendejo.” You cursed, then pushed the door open. “I don’t even know his name…”

.

Two weeks later, You & Pero

Pero continued to annoy and intrigue you at the same time. He was a good worker, skilled, able to repair things and even knew how to make swords and blades. It was impressive.

He wasn’t a warm guy, which was obvious from first impressions, an acquired taste really. You kept him away from interacting with customers because of his harsh, curt demeanor, leaving him to mainly work in the workshop and behind the scenes, while you handled the front of the house, you, or your apprentices Nura and Robert.

You liked Nura the most, not that Robert was bad, he was a fast learner, and attentive worker. It was just extra special training another woman. You enjoyed seeing her defy the social norms and carve out her own path, same as you. You saw her like a little sister.

Everything ran smoothly at the shop, but the two of you still didn't know much about each other on a personal level. Pero didn’t talk about himself, or his life, nor did you.

Having him around gave you more free time, and you used some of that to dive into your other love, herbalism. One of your dreams was to open an apothecary, the town already had one, but you wanted your own, and you already knew how to make yours extra special.

This dream was on your mind when you cleared out a back room in the building and started to play around with tinctures and blends on your downtime. Pero made little comments along the way when he saw you in there, they gave you a few clues about him.

Being on the road, he knew a few things and recognized some of the herbs. He had a comfort there, but when you were creating potions as he called it, you noticed he’d get a little freaked out, and it didn’t take long to figure out he had a thing about magic and witches.

You weren’t a witch, but you knew how to make some things, and some days, just to fuck with him, you exaggerated.

- Flashback, to a few days ago -

You only stepped away for a moment but returned to see Pero observing the jars from a distance. He stopped at a corked bottle with an unusual purple hue, and some kind of clawed root at the bottom.

Pero picked it up cautiously, then put it down, “what kind of witchery is this?”

You leaned against the wall and crossed your arms in a relaxed way, “ingredients to turn you into a dragon.”

Pero whipped around to you with a suspicious look, “Are you joking?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “unless, you piss me off.”

“I always piss you off.”

"You better be careful then. And stop leaving your hair around, I’m collecting it.”

As you laughed and walked out of the room, he ran his palm over his hair, which only made you laugh more.

- Flashback over -

.

Three weeks later, Pero

The tavern was alive, packed wall to wall, and the revelry high; it was a special night as you threw Nura a birthday party.

Pero didn’t do parties, but it was better than sulking in his room alone, and he was pretty tired of the whores at Mae’s. He’s been here over a month now, fucked most of them all, and it did little to calm what he really needed and wanted, you.

Whenever he saw you laughing, having a good time, or flirting he was tempted to march over and claim you for himself, to kiss you in front of everyone and make it clear he would cut the head off any man who tried to win your affection.

Pero was sure you were attracted to him, he caught the stolen glances, still you never made a move or voiced your attraction. He knew you weren’t shy. Was it him? Were you doing this to torture him? What a wicked witch you were.

Even when he had two whores the other night, it only took the edge off. How you haunted him so. He felt defeated, maybe? But he wasn’t a quitter. He’d get you all for himself somehow. Pero wished William was here, the blonde would give him advice, advice he needed because Pero wasn’t good at shit like this.

Fighting, fucking, eating, and drinking, be had that down. But trying to win a woman’s heart, he had no fucking idea how to do that. He had to do this right. He didn’t want you just once, he wanted you for good.

Could it be, were you his...princesa? No. You weren't a princess. You we're tough. You looked after yourself and made your own way in life. No, reina, that's more fitting.

Where’s the Irishman when I need him? I could use your help amigo.

As a drunk man bumped into his table, Pero scowled at him, then lost himself in thought again, downing his ale at the same time. Things you like, yes, he’d start there. Women like gifts, right?

He noticed you enough at the markets to know some things, including your favorite dessert at the bakery. Good. A plan. He nodded to himself, then stood. He stole one more glance of you, across the way and having a good time, then made his way out of the tavern.

.

The next morning

Your head was spinning, too much ale. To make up for that, you pushed your work back to the afternoon and planned to take a nap upstairs once Pero got in. Last night came to mind, he was there, then he wasn’t. You were surprised he even came.

“Speak of the devil,” you said while rubbing your temples.

Pero nodded, looking a bit awkward, then put the bag he was holding for dear life on the desk. “Here.”

You poked the bag, “what is this?”

He scratched his temple, his brown eyes looking puppy-like, “uh, that sweet round thing, with cream and berries.”

You grinned, “from the bakery?”

“Sí.”

You bite back a full smile, then open the bag, “is poisoned?”

Pero sighed and then started to walk away.

“I’m joking!” you shouted back at him, “thank you Pero.”

He glanced back, and you swore you could see a little smile on his closed lips.

.

The week would be full of surprises. It started on Monday when he got your favorite dessert from Sweets n Breads Bakery. He was kind of awkward all day, didn’t say much to you, and seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts.

On Tuesday, there was another pastry waiting for you, and some of your to-do list was already completed. He explained he worked late and decided to get more done.

On Wednesday, you arrived to another pastry, and flowers with dirt and roots still attached, flowers you were sure he tore from someone's garden on the way over. Soil was all over the place, and you had to dust it off your papers.

He didn’t hand them to you directly, just busied himself in the forge while they sat on your desk. You waited until he was free to ask him about them. He was just finishing his lunch in the kitchen when you joined him.

“So, flowers.”

His eyes moved over you as he swallowed the last of his food, “women like flowers, yes? Even women who wear pants?"

Pero was panicking a little this morning, worried the pastry wasn't enough. On the way to work, he saw a guy give a girl flowers, and then get a kiss in return, so he figured, why not try. Even if he felt like a damn fool doing it.

You could see his mind going as you watched him. He was so cute, so innocent in this moment, you could kiss him right there. You also knew from the mix of flowers, they were from Mrs. Jennings' garden, and she was likely throwing a fit right now.

“Ever give a girl flowers before?” you asked as you sat next to him.

“No,” he answered, his eyes on you.

“Well, thank you,”

He shrugged, playing it cool, but you could see in his eyes he was hoping you liked his gesture.

“And the pastry, it was delicious, you’re buttering me up, Pero.”

“You like them. Yes?”

“I do.”

He smiled and relaxed back in his chair.

You leaned in closer, playing with his collar, “I won't say it's working but - “ you plant a kiss on his cheek. His eyes lit up as he smiled wider. “I have work to do.” You got up, taking one more look at him before leaving the room.

.

Thursday

Nura was organizing something when Pero came in, he walked in like he was in a hurry, and spoke in a low tone,

“I have a question.”

She looked up at him with a smile, knowing it was about you.

At first, she thought Pero was an ass, which he is, but she liked him now, he grew on her, and when it came to you, he was kind of adorable and an idiot at the same time.

“If it's about flowers, Mrs. Jennings is on a warpath, I recommend you stop taking them before she bites your hand off. She may be old, but she's mean as hell.”

He nodded, then came around the desk to join Nura.

“What else does she like? Boots? I could buy her boots?"

“She likes practical things. Maybe something she could use.”

“She likes swords.”

“She loves them, maybe a little too much.”

“What if I make her one?”

“Pastries and flowers are nice, so are boots, but if you make her a custom sword, that may do the trick. No promises, just sayin.”

Pero nodded, he grumbled a thank you, then headed back to the forge. Robert passed him in the hall and joined Nura.

“That's a man on a mission, nearly ran me over.”

“He’s smitten.” she handed him a note, "the supplies.”

“Somehow he seems a little less - grumpy these days.”

“Little by little, but I think even if he is in a good mood, he’d still be grumpy.”

Robert hummed, “I still don't get why she likes him so much.”

“I think I do; they’d be cute together.”

Not agreeing, but not going to argue either, Robert just nodded, then made his way out with the list.

.

Days later

You weren’t supposed to come in today, so when you came through the door, rushing like a bat out of hell, it took Pero by surprise. Not just because he didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow, it was the dress that shocked him the most. In all his time here, dark colored tops, pants, and boots were how you dressed yourself.

“I’m not here, ignore me,” you shouted as you rushed past him, then Nura.

The younger woman caught a glimpse of Pero’s expression and laughed.

“She’s wearing a dress..."

“Once in a blue moon, for special occasions. Her childhood friend is getting married today.” Nura explained.

Pero’s brows raised higher as you appeared again, a pouch in hand.

“A dress-" he repeated, taking you in with his eyes.

You hiked up the dress, he got a flash of your legs as you carefully slid the pouch into your high boot.

As you smoothed the fabric down, Pero feasted on you. To see you like this, so feminine as the soft flowing fabric hugged your form and for the first time, he had a good look at your cleavage, the fabric cupping your breasts in a way the loose shirts never did; he was a man ready to pounce, to scale the counter and claim you then and there.

“Fuck-“ you cursed,

He laughed. Strong and independent, a mouth like a sailor. A lady, and a warrior in one. His perfect woman.

“Can’t believe I forgot this. I gotta go,” you started to breeze past them, then stopped as you locked eyes with Pero. You grinned, eyeing him with the same sultry gaze he sent your way. “Like it?” You asked while giving a teasing spin.

“Sí, you should wear more dresses.”

“Maybe one more this year, if you give me a good reason to,” you winked at him then dashed out of the door.

“That woman -“ Pero shook his head as he stared at the door.

“Oh you are far gone Pero,” Nura patted his arm, “just tell her already.”

“Tell her what ?”

“How you feel. I’m sure you’ve noticed; she has other suitors.”

“And I’ll fight them all.” He grew serious.

Dammit, the thought. He came here for work, rest and to get laid. He didn’t expect this, he didn’t plan to -

Nura’s light laugh pulled him out of his head. “Just tell her. She likes you too.”

“She flirts with me but makes no moves.”

“You really are adorable when confused.”

“Adorable? I’m not adorable.”

She chuckled, “Have you considered that she wants you to make the first move?”

“She’s no weak woman, she makes swords and wears pants.”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn't want to be perused, she takes charge daily, maybe she wants someone else, you, to take the lead this time.” She playfully tapped Pero’s head

He groaned and swatted her hand.

“Take the lead Pero, don’t overthink it,” Nura advised, then laid her hands on the counter. “We have a lot of work to do, ready?”

“Ready.”

As they headed back, he asked something he was curious about. He started by saying your name,

“Are you the same as her? No husband?”

“No, and there won’t be. I’m gay.” She answered.

Pero quirked a brow.

She added, “I like women. And I do have a girlfriend, the bartender at three bucks, with freckles.”

Ah, Pero thought, he’d seen her before.

“This is a strange place indeed,” he muttered, “I’ve never been to a place like this, with such women.”

“I like to think our town is special. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have people with opinions or those who accuse us of devil worship or witchcraft.”

“Are you, a witch?”

“I know some things, “she grinned, “can I watch you finish that armored plate before I start my work?”

Pero grinned, “Sí, vamos.”

The kid, well Nura wasn’t a kid, she was 25 now, but he called her that sometimes; she had given him some good advice about you and handled his moods with ease.

In Pero’s time here, Robert still wasn’t a fan of his, but they had no fights between them minus some minor disagreements. Your main guy, Audin, was still in recovery but came in from time to time to help with smaller things. His role reduced until he got better. Pero liked the guy, what little he saw of him.

In these weeks, Pero found himself most fond of Nura, she was like the little sister he never asked for. He could see why you liked her so much and why you took her under your wing.

.

A couple of weeks later

Pero studied his work with a sharp eye, searching for any imperfections.

Any other time he made a blade, it was robotic, just doing something he knew how to do, but this mattered more than any of those times. It had to be perfect because he was shit with words, he hoped he could hand you this and you would know all the things he wanted to say to you.

Months ago, if someone told him a woman like you existed, he would have laughed and called bullshit. But you were real, very real, and meant to be his. For you, he’d move into this town for good, put the long journeys to rest, and figure out all that shit he avoided all his life, like how to win a woman's heart and share his life with someone. He was sure he'd fuck up, a lot, piss you off, and get it wrong, but as long as he had you, he would keep trying to get it right.

Once the blade was packed up, he made his way to your house on the edge of town. He was nervous, more than he'd been in a long time, and he felt foolish. He wondered what Willaim would say if he saw him right now.

.

Pero stared at the door, part of him wanting to knock, and the other wanting to run, to turn around and get the hell out of here before he got himself even more wrapped up in this, in you.

It had to be witchery; how else would you have such a hold on him?

What are you waiting for, get moving, Pero heard in his friend's voice, phantom William pushing him forward. He could hear the dogs barking and coming his way in the distance.

Pero knocked on the door…

Once Pero was inside, you offered him a drink. He sat at your kitchen table as you poured ciders then went over to him.

“A home visit, what’s the special occasion?” you asked as you sat.

“Visiting the dogs." he smirked.

"Of course," you shook your head and took a drink.

Over the last few weeks, you’ve seen a new side of Pero emerge, and it made you like him more.

You’ve made the first move before and thought about doing that with him, but it would be so much more fun if he did it. You wanted him to charge in here and ravish you, and you were hoping today was the day, but the sense of nervousness you’re getting off of him makes you unsure.

“I have something for you,” he pulled a wrapped item from his pouch. He placed it on the table as his eyes met yours. “A gift.”

“Really?”

Pero watched, holding his breath as you unwrapped it, revealing the most perfect blade you’ve ever seen. Down to the handle, and the engravings. In the past, you made a few for yourself but always felt like you were missing something. Pero, this man sent to you from the universe, somehow got it right.

You held the blade, running your fingers over it, admiring it as your lips parted slightly in shock. At first, Pero was worried you didn’t like it, but as your eyes lit up, he relaxed and dropped his shoulders.

“Pero - “ you breathed, your eyes flicking to his, then back at the blade. “This is perfect.”

His small grin turned to a full smile and before you could say anything else, he dragged your chair closer to his with one hand. While cupping your cheek, Pero leaned in, bringing his lips to yours.

Smiling as he kissed you, you put the blade down and grabbed his arms. Pero drew you into his lap as the kiss deepened, intensifying with each pass of each other's lips.

His kiss was passionate, consuming, desperate and you could swear, your body was feeling all the things he wanted to say to you and was too afraid to say; the floodgates blasted open and as your hands roamed, finally exploring each other's bodies, you knew there was no going back after this.

"Mi reina, I'll fuck you on the floor if I have to. But it must happen now."

The hoarse desperation in his voice only made you hotter for him.

You tugged his hair while teasing another kiss, “I prefer a bed handsome. Follow me.”

“Gladly.”

You held out your hand, he took it. As you made your way to the bedroom, Pero latched on to you, kissing and biting at your neck, his hands moving over your breasts as his cock pressed against your ass.

.

Hours later

Laying on your stomach, Pero beneath you, you traced his scar with your fingertip. He looked as good as you imagined naked; he was delicious, and you allowed yourself to feast.

He had a map of scars from his legs up to his face, he was beautifully shaped, from his hands to his cock, to his broad shoulders and bone structure. If you could only have one man in your bed from here on out, you’d choose him.

Pero felt calmer than he had ever been, relaxed after the come down from your second round some time ago. The first was hot, rough, and fast, like wolves in heat under the full moon. The second time was less rushed and even more enjoyable.

You traveled the length of the scar, then met his gaze. "What’s this one from?”

“A time I was left for dead. The bastards tried to take my boots. I took their lives.”

You grinned, imagining him out in the field, and all his adventures.

A comfortable silence fell between you for a while, until Pero broke it.

“- quite the game we played cariño.”

“Wasn’t it,” you lay on his chest, planting a kiss on his chin, then on his lips, “but, who says it’s over?”

“Meaning?”

“I haven’t seen your sword skills yet, we must duel.”

He chuckled, shaking you both slightly as it rumbled through his chest, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, and…” you kiss him again, “there’s a whole list of fun games we could play.”

He quirked a curious brow.

“Well,” you nibbled his ear before telling him what was on your mind.

“Dios mio - “ he said with wide eyes.

“You know you like it,” you grinned, then kept going.

“I do,” he confirmed, caressing the back of your neck as the games you whispered got filthier and filthier.

God, you were speaking his language, and he wasn’t sure if you were real - well if he hadn’t just fucked you twice, which was more than worth the wait, he'd think this was magic, witches work, but you, and this, were all real.

You continued, spilling your dirty thoughts in his ear while now stroking his length with your hand.

Fuck, Pero thought, he’d keep you forever, even longer after that. You would never know another man because you were his.

Pero took hold of you, pulling you into an earth-shattering kiss before holding you against him.

“Good thing for you, I'm not going anywhere. You're mine now.”

You smiled against his chest, “I think I might not object to that.”

“Woman,” he groaned with a slight laugh,

“For you,” you looked up at him and weaved your fingers through his, “I'll make an exception.”

“Now that we’ve come to an understanding, I want food,” he sat up, pulling you with him, “then we fuck again.”

“I like the way you think.” You straddled his hips, teasing him a little before getting off. “Come on my ravenous beast, I made stew last night, and I must say, it's damn good.”

You slipped on the tunic and then made your way out of the room.

Pero slipped on his pants and followed, “as glad as I am to eat, I’m more excited about dessert.”

As you busied yourself gathering bowls, Pero watched from the doorway. As good as it felt to have you, as happy as it made him to see your reaction to the blade, he couldn't shake his sense of worry. When he said you were his, you replied with a maybe, well, not exactly, you said,

“I think I might not object to that.”

Might not

That didn’t sit right.

He was all in, dead serious about it. If you’d have him, there was no one after you. But if you were unsure -

Pero called your name, prompting you to glance over your shoulder at him with that heart-stopping smile of yours.

“Yes?”

His doubts felt stupid, with the way you’re looking at him now, the light in your eyes, that smile. Still, he needed to hear it, he needed to hear it from your lips.

Pero came over to you, you could tell his mood had shifted. With concern, you turned to him and took one of his hands in yours.

“What's wrong?”

“I mean it,” he said your name as he cupped your cheek with one hand, his eyes big, brown, and vulnerable as he stared into yours, “You’re mine.”

Your eyes softened on him even more, “lo sé.”

“Say it,” he demanded.

You slipped your other hand around his back, pulling him closer, “I’m yours, Pero.” you leaned in, brushing the tip of your nose to his, then nibbling his bottom lips. “and you are mines.”

The grunt that left him at your words was primal, like a wolf claiming his mate, and before you could say anything else his lips were on yours. That was all he needed, this was home now, you were his home, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“What about dinner?” you giggled as he kissed the length of your neck and bunched the tunic over your hips.

“That can wait, I need you, now,” he growled, walking you backward to the table.

“Wow, I thought food was your first love,” you teased as you took his hardening length into your hands,

“It is, but now it has competition with you, mi amor.”

You smiled as he moved between your legs, “say it again.”

“Mi amor.” he threw the tunic across the room and quickly covered your breasts with his mouth,

You ran your fingers through his chocolate waves with one hand, guiding his cock inside of you with the other. You moaned together as he filled you,

“I love you too Pero,” you purred.

You closed your eyes, pleasure pulsing through your bodies as you moved your hips together. Thanking the stars and sky above for their gift to you; the very thing you didn't know you wanted in the form of a grumpy mercenary who stole your heart and set your soul on fire.

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This was a special occasion, so I cross posted. Usually I just put previews on tumblr, all my other work goes to A03. You will need an account to view my archive. Lots of my older stuff 2019 - 2022, for now, is still on my master list here too.

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[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ❤︎ 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

ㅤhistory professor!pero tovar x f!reader

genre: smut, dark academia, minors dni

word count: 2k

summary: you've been suspicious for a while from the way he speaks. talking about historic events with such an affinity as if he's actually been there. the thought refuses to leave your mind and brings you to his office where he gives you answers but not without a price.

prompt: Their history teacher had a way to talk about historic events, just like he had actually been there. (click here for the prompt list)

warnings: unbalanced power dynamics, professor/student, fingering, mild dubcon due to the nature of the dynamic, pero is a bit of an asshole, size kink, rough piv, age gap

requested by @dinjardin

**amazing gif made by the most talented fanna aka @pedrorascal xx

His presence is large within the office. You always found him to be intimidating with his broad shoulders and hard gaze. The intensity of it would always take you by surprise. It would make your stomach jump and skin crawl. You would always wonder how such a soft color could look so intimidating and angry. Pero doesn’t lift his gaze as you enter, seemingly unbothered by your sudden interruption. Briefly, you look around, taking in the sight of worn books and ancient artifacts. 

You swallow and look down, scanning the detailed lace of the end of your dress— maybe it was wrong of you to assume something so drastic, and frankly, unbelievable. Then again, the look in his eyes as he spoke of certain events…the way his gaze would grow cloudy and almost rueful as if speaking of a time he missed…you had to investigate, you just had to ask. 

Raindrops begin to fall against the glass panels, neither of you looks to watch the soothing droplets slither down. 

“How can I help you?” He asks, fingers deftly moving over the paper and scribbling down words you cannot see. “It is very unlikely for you to come and visit after hours. You must have a good reason.” 

Pero’s not asking if something is wrong or not, he’s not telling you to take a seat. Every single sentence is a statement, a hint of a threat, he’s telling you not to pry. You remain silent. All the words you wish to speak suddenly foreign to your tongue. His eyes flit between the stacks of paper and you, noticing your inability to speak, he sighs and leans back against his chair. Your eyes follow the vein meandering down the side of his neck, a sliver of sun-kissed skin peeking from under his white button-up shirt. 

“If you are too cowardly to speak, I suggest you leave,” the corner of his lips twitch into a cruel smile. “Some things are better left unspoken.” 

His words sting and you immediately know you can’t leave this room without confronting him. You’re not a coward. You’re not some little girl throwing a temper tantrum. You noticed something and you want to seek the truth. You hear the blood rushing to your ears, your veins expanding as your pulse quickens. He’s watching you intently, eyes glimmering with amusement as if he’s watching the breaking point of the heroine. 

“I’m not a coward, professor.”

“No?” 

“No,” you lift your chin and his smile widens into a grin. “Your words only prove that there is something going on.”

Something dark crosses his eyes, something that sends a chill down your spine, “How about this,” he starts, lacing his fingers above his belt. Your eyes instinctively drop to them, making you realize that he did it on purpose. It’s not much, but you still manage to witness the outline of his cock. “If you guess what it is that I am hiding, I’ll confess fully. But if not, I get to touch you how I please. You get two guesses.” 

“That seems hardly fair.” After a brief thought, you add. “And unprofessional.” 

He shrugs with a smile, “Then I wish you a good day. See you in class tomorrow.”

He knows you’re not gonna leave this room. And you know that he knows. There’s no way you’re backing down after coming this far. You fix him a half-hearted glare as if you’re thinking about another way to get him to speak. But in all honesty, you’re not at all appalled by the thought of his hands on you. Touching you in places he’s not supposed to be touching. He’s a handsome professor. One of the professors that the other students constantly remark about, and you’re not immune to his deep dark eyes and mischievous, teasing smile.

“Fine,” you answer through gritted teeth and he lifts two fingers, eyes full of flickering amusement. “Okay, my first guess is that you’re a time traveler.” 

His gaze lights up and for a second you think you’ve got it right, your heart starting to pound fast. Your mouth goes dry as you stare at the two fingers.

He lowers one, and slowly, he stands.

“Wrong,” he purrs, this voice thick. The professor rounds the desk and comes to a halt behind you, his body only a breath away. You hold your breath. “ Where should I touch you first? Here?” With both hands he cups your breasts, squeezing them lightly. Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening from where his lips hover an inch away from your neck. “Or here?” His hands slither down and slip to your back, he cups your ass, the plump flesh filling his palms.

A whimper is caught in your throat and he lifts one finger in front of you, “Tell me your second guess and final guess.” 

“Um,” all the answers you previously had feels silly to you now. “You’re a supernatural being, like a vampire or something.”

“Vampire?” He laughs, loudly. The sound booms in your ear, the thick hairs above his lip tickling your skin along with his warm breath. Embarrassment floods your senses and your eyes drop to his weathered desk. You feel the touch of his lips on your ear. “No. I am not a vampire,” he waits for a beat and then chuckles darkly. “You are out of guesses, senorita.”

His hands slip under your shirt and roam, taking in every detail of your burning body. He pulls down your bra, with his thumbs, he plays with the pebbled flesh. His touch makes arousal gather quickly between your legs. You squirm as you finally feel the full press of his body. His cock hard and aching between his legs. Some part of you wants to argue and say that this is more than a touch, but the other part of you is deadly afraid that he’ll stop.

You don’t want him to stop.

He pinches your nipples and slightly twists them, your body jolts, lips parting with a gasp, “Professor—“ 

“You really want to know what I am?” He mutters, dragging his nose down your cheek. You nod but honestly, with the way his hands are kneading you’re breasts, you realize you don’t care much about it anymore. “I am cursed to live out the rest of my days. Watching the times pass me by, watching everyone I once called a friend die.” You shudder at his tone, your body seizing at the sharp feel of his teeth. “I lived over and over. Now I am at a point where I do not care much about anything anymore.” 

Your eyes go wide as he kisses your neck. His lips are soft and slightly damp. It feels good against your skin. A soft whimper escapes your lips. it’s hard to register what he just said, to understand what he means. Some part of you feels as if you’ve already known this. That he lived a thousand lifetimes and will live a thousand more.  

Pero doesn’t give you a chance to speak. Before you can remark or offer some comfort, he holds you by the neck and shoves you down to the desk. His hips are pressed firmly against your ass, his erection tucked between your cheeks. Your breath hitches. With the corner of your eye, you see ungraded papers whipping around you and falling to the floor.

“One of the things that time has not changed is how even the most proper women become whores after I bend them over just like this.” 

He must be right because you end up grinding back toward him, wanting to feel more of his cock, body, and presence. He grins against your skin. With large hands, he pushes up your dress and exposes your covered thighs. It doesn’t take him long to rip away your stockings. Warm palms stroke the flesh of your ass, he slides your panties to the side, exposing your soaked pussy to the chilled air of his office. 

“Let’s see how wet this cunt is,” he teases, voice dropping. Two fingers spread your folds and push between them, your chest heaves as he slips them inside of you with embarrassing ease. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. He starts thrusting in and out, the wet sounds of your cunt flooding the room, burning your ears. It’s so loud. A fresh wave of arousal soaks his fingers, dripping down his wrist. “How hard do you want me to fuck you?” 

You push back against him, walls fluttering as you take his fingers knuckle deep. “Filthy,” he coos. “You’re a mess already. My sweet student is such a slut for her professor. Isn’t she?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, wiggling your ass. His groan rattles in your chest and you moan at the richness of the sound. 

He pulls out his fingers, his other hand still pressing you down by the back of your neck, “Gonna fuck this pussy until it's drowning in my come,” he says. “Then you’ll be coming here every day, asking—begging me to fill these pretty holes.”

His cock is so much bigger and thicker compared to his fingers. Your body coils tight. The head of his length stretching you incredibly wide. You moan through gritted teeth, a sound of both pleasure and pain seeping into the wood underneath your cheek. Your skin prickles as he presses forward, your jaw going slack. He feels so incredibly big. He reaches deep inside of you, stroking places that you thought weren’t possible before. You writhe underneath him. Your body clenching him tight. He moans loudly when he’s fully heated inside, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you. You let out a deep breath and force your body to relax. He seems to notice. The only kindness he shows is the soothing glide of his palms over your back. You hum and sigh at the feeling.

But the tenderness is short-lived. Pero pulls out until it’s only the tip remaining and with a deep growl he snaps his hips forward, filling you with one smooth thrust. You scream his name, your body burning from the inside out as he pounds harder and harder into you. You’re drooling all over his cock, your nipples tight from where they rub against his desk. He fucks himself deeper into the tight fist of your cut and takes. He takes and takes and takes until you’re lifeless like a doll underneath him. Pleasure licks the base of your spine.

“Come on you professor’s cock,” he rasps into your ear, cock sliding in and out of you with ease. Your body begins to seize. Pero straightens, whine tearing from your throat at the lack of body heat. He roughly takes a hold of your hips and hammers into you, skin slapping against skin, until you’re coming undone around his cock. You cry out and the entirety of your body twitches uncontrollably.

Pero continues to thrust into you, his grip on your hips never faltering as he rides out his own orgasm. His groans and grunts mix with your own moans and cries as he fills you to the brim just like he promised.

Your mind is a blur of pleasure as you feel his cock pulse and twitch inside of you. It's overwhelming and you feel yourself start to come undone all over again. Pero's hands move from your hips to your breasts, giving them a rough squeeze before his fingers pinch and tug at your hard nipples. He pushes even deeper, some of his release dripping from where his cock mercilessly stretches you. A soft whimper drops from your lips. 

He finally pulls out of you, your body limp on the desk. Pero stands up and looks down at you with a satisfied grin on his face. He watches you try to catch your breath. 

“You're mine now. All mine, even if you do not want to be,” he says, pulling his pants back up and adjusting himself. “And you will keep coming back for more.”

You're too exhausted and sated to even respond, but deep down you know he's right. There's no turning back now. 

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero tovar smut #pero tovar au #professor!pero tovar #the great wall fanfic #the great wall fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

[flightlessangelwings]

Ktober 2023 Day 1- Overstimulation

Pero Tovar x fem!reader

Word count- 1.3k

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

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

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

~

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

And he just walked through the front door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, however, Pero did not break away.

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

It was the first time that had happened to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#fawktober2023 #kinktober #kinotber 2023 #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x y/n #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #tovar x reader #tovar x you #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall fic #the great wall fanfic

[perotovar]

ásjá - a winter solstice story

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

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

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

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

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

god jól, everyone🌲❄️🌙🐺

It was fucking cold.

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

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

Not a problem.

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

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

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

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

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

Another whisper.

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

“Mierda,” he grumbled. (Shit.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warmth. He felt warm. And a pounding headache.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ingvar says–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like some food, mister-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pero frowned around his food and sighed.

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

“Scotland?”

“It is near England.”

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

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

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

“What is your name?” He asked.

“Sigrid,” she said softly.

“It sounds strong.”

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

Pero chuckled. “Hardly.”

Sigrid smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

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

“He is our Jarl. Our leader.”

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

“Not exactly. But no less powerful.”

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

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

“He cannot be that old, no?”

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

“You are a child, of course he has.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He asked your name,” Sigrid said softly.

“Tovar,” Pero narrowed his eyes. 

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

Sigrid translated quietly.

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

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

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

Sigrid spoke quietly and Ingvar seemed tired as he nodded.

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

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

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

Pero nodded and shrugged. “I understand.”

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

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

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

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

“How much longer is Yool?”

Sigrid went quiet.

“Sigrid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Helga.

He liked the name.

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

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

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

This was going to be tougher than he thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pero huffed a laugh and nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

“They are not the only ones.”

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

Helga hummed a noise for him to continue. 

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

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

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

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

“Who is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You leave tomorrow evening, yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You enjoy this?”

Pero raised a brow as he chewed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pero.”

“What?”

“My name is Pero.”

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

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

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

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

Would it be such a terrible thing to stay?

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

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

“Er du sikker?” (Are you sure?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Et øyeblikk!” (One moment!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A chill ran down Pero’s spine.

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

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

[leslie-lyman]

Menagerie

Part of the Euclidean Geometry ‘verse

Summary: Early on in their relationship, when everything is new and exciting and uncertain, Pero introduces their girl to his work as a glass artist.

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

Word count: 3.9k

Rating: Explicit 🚨 absolutely no minors!

Warnings: smut; mentions of sex between everyone in this polycule (Frankie x Jack x Pero x reader), but the actual smut is just Pero x reader; unprotected PIV; completely unregulated POV switching; that thing where I write all the dialogue in italics instead of using quotation marks because it just feels right for this series for some reason?; everything your author mentions here about glassmaking she learned from YouTube/Google

a/n: look mom, I actually finished a fic again! Maybe my ability to write hasn’t abandoned me after all…?

Masterlist.

———

She notices the sculptures the very first time they take her home. (Though not, she must admit, until the morning after, having been awfully distracted the night before by the attention Frankie, Pero, and Jack lavished her with on the way to their bed.)

Three glass animal figures sit together in a proud display in the living room built-ins next to the fireplace: a falcon, wings spread wide and claws poised to attack; a rearing horse, tall and magnificent; and a bull, one hoof raised and head lowered as it prepares to charge.

They are Pero’s work. In his post-Army career he now runs a small but highly regarded workshop of glass artisans, all veterans like himself.

His talent is obvious. Each feather in the falcon’s wings is rendered in exquisite detail. The horse stands on just his back two feet, perfectly balanced. The bull’s pose denotes a gracefulness underlying all that brute strength. They feel alive.

It’s the three of them, they tell her.

Frankie, the pilot, is the falcon. Precise, controlled, deadly. Vigilant. Protective.

Jack, the cowboy, is the horse. Proud, independent, wild. Confident. Courageous.

And Pero, of course, is the bull. Strong, stubborn, fierce. Masculine. Powerful.

There’s evidence of his work elsewhere in the house the three of them now share. Their kitchen cabinets are full of mismatched glasses, bowls, and plates, many of them early versions of new techniques or designs Pero worked to master before offering them as options to clients. The base of an end table in the den is a cresting glass wave nearly three feet tall. Brilliantly colored vases that sell for thousands at the workshop line either side of the back deck steps, filled with impatiens and begonias carefully tended by Frankie.

Pero asks her to come to the workshop with him one day, and she can sense without being told that such an offer is significant. It’s still early on in…whatever this is between her and the three of them. Early enough that it hasn’t solidified yet, it hasn’t settled. She wants them, all of them, and they want her (all of her), but whether the fantasy can manifest as reality is uncertain. Can they all rearrange their lives enough to build something lasting, something real?

Pero has been the hardest to figure out. He is the quietest of the men, the least quick to laugh, the last one to betray what he’s thinking. He fucks like he wants to consume her, devour her, and yet he can be as gentle as Frankie or Jack when he’s done, silently cradling her to his chest as long as she wants as they come down from their highs. He’s much less forthcoming about himself than the other two are, and she’s far less sure about what he wants.

It’s a chilly Sunday morning when she meets him at the workshop. It’s the first time she’s spent any real time with him alone, her stomach full of an odd combination of excitement and nerves.

He takes her in through the gallery of finished works at the front of the building. Bright lights and mirror-backed shelves show off the many pieces, from large imposing sculptures to tiny coupe cocktail glasses that sparkle and glimmer. The middle of the space is dominated by a sculpture of a dragon-like creature larger than she is, its many-fanged mouth open in a roar and its skin a rich rippling green.

Pero doesn’t give her time to linger, however, leading her quickly into the back where the workshop itself is housed. A tension in his shoulders loosens when they enter, and she gets the sense that he isn’t interested in showing off his finished pieces. It’s the process of creating that he likes, that he needs.

If the gallery is bright and shiny and polished, the workshop is a dark, gritty warehouse-like space. Multiple forges line one wall, and it is clear each artist has their own space set up here. Pero’s space is near the back, tucked into a corner. Various tools and implements hang from the walls and rest on tables: blowpipes of every length, tweezers, pliers, clamps, paddles, torches, molds. It looks a little like a medieval torture chamber.

Despite the cavernous feel of the space, it’s warm inside; the forge nearest Pero’s corner is already lit and glowing. She sheds her jacket, leaving her in a soft chambray button-down shirt and black leggings. Pero gives her a gruff explanation of safety basics and insists that she wear a pair of enormous clear safety glasses.

Really, Pero?

Do not argue with me, querida.

The endearment is new, and makes her shiver.

You make all the girls you bring here wear these, hm? She says it playfully, but there’s curiosity behind it.

I have only brought two others here, and Jack and Francisco wore the glasses without complaint.

That pulls her up short, but Pero merely hands her the glasses and busies himself with his tools.

She’d assumed at first that this would be entirely a demonstration on Pero’s part, with her as mere spectator. Normally the idea of a date spent watching a man show off some skill to try and impress her as a one-woman audience would make her roll her eyes. But Pero isn’t boastful about any of this. This isn’t about his ego. He’s letting her in, showing her things that are important to him rather than telling her.

And, she quickly discovers, she’s hardly expected to sit idly by and observe.

Pero loads the tip of a pipe nearly as tall as she is with a glowing lump of molten glass the size of a softball.

Glasswork is rarely a solo endeavor, he tells her. Large pieces often require an entire team of people working in sync. Even small pieces necessitate a partner. It takes not only speed and skill, but also constant communication and trust to successfully bring a piece to life.

As he speaks, he rests his pipe against the edge of a table and rolls it back and forth, helping the glass to keep its roughly oval shape.

Give it a try, querida. He offers the end of the pipe to her.

It’s heavier than she’d anticipated, the heat of the glass sinking through her clothes like the rays of a tiny sun. Her first few rolls of the pipe are too fast, but after a minute she begins to get the hang of how to keep the glass from bending and morphing under its own weight.

Good, Pero says, and suddenly there’s a flare of heat in her stomach. Keep that steady turn all the while, and bring it over here.

There’s a large tray set out on the end of the table, filled with tiny squares of glass in shades of blue and green and milky white. Pero instructs her to roll the glass on the pipe through the squares like a lint roller until there’s a rough coating covering it. It’s an oddly satisfying sensation, the molten glass acting like putty or taffy that grows steadily less pliant as it cools.

Now we take it back into the forge, Pero says, and she gives him room to take the pipe from her, but he merely gives her an encouraging nod of his head toward the forge.

The opening into the heart of the furnace isn’t terribly large, maybe a foot or so in diameter. But the heat roars from it with a power she can feel, rather than hear. It throbs and beats at her like a warning.

She hesitates, but then Pero’s arms are around her, gently but firmly grasping the pipe on either side of her hands.

Like this, he murmurs in her ear as he guides the ball of glass into the belly of the forge. She’s intently aware of every inch of him pressed up behind her, the firm wall of his chest and his slightly softer belly, so close she can feel him breathe.

He likes to fuck her from behind, she’s found.

Every time they’ve had each other, in the handful of times they’ve been intimate thus far, Pero’s put her on her hands and knees, his impossibly big hands holding her down as he fucks her with his impossibly big cock. He likes to wait until Frankie and Jack are done and spent, their cum dribbling out of her or dripping down her skin, before rolling her over and sinking deep into her heat. His grip is firm and possessive, his fingers insistent at her clit. He never fails to make her come with a pace just the right side of too much, the other men soothing her with soft praises of good girl and you take it so well for him, sweetheart.

It’s an automatic response now, the fire that blooms in her belly when she feels him at her back that has nothing to do with the flames licking the molten glass in front of her.

————-

She somehow manages to concentrate on the tasks at hand enough to safely move through the rest of the process.

Fire the glass, roll it, shape it, fire it again, push, pull, fire, roll, shape, fire…

How did you learn to do this? She asks Pero, holding the pipe steady for him while he plucks at the glass with a massive pair of pliers.

My father, is all he says at first. She lets the ensuing silence be, lets him decide if he wants to elaborate. He does.

My father was a glassmaker. When I was a boy in Spain, I would spend every spare minute in his workshop. He taught me everything he knew. I would watch him craft beautiful things out of nothing, shaping and coaxing the glass to his will in an act of creation. He was like a god in my eyes.

She tries to square this information with the little she already knows about Pero’s life.

Why did you leave Spain?

He plucks the pipe from her hands and returns to the forge. His grip is so sure, his movements so fluid. When he returns to her, he passes her the rod and picks up the pliers.

My father died. I was fourteen. My mother moved us to America, and I was full of grief and teenage rage. A combination I was all too happy to let the US Army exploit.

This part she’s heard. Twenty years in the Field Artillery, operating mobile rocket systems and infantry support guns, leading men and their weapons into combat zones across multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. A life lived under fire.

But you found your way back to this, she says.

He looks up at her from where he crouches over the glass, now taking shape as a small vase.

It is the only other thing I know how to do.

She frowns at his modesty, but before she can respond he beckons her around the other side of the table they’re working at. He’s rolled and pulled the glass until no more than a slim column connects the bottom of the base to the pipe. He puts on thick heat-resistant gloves and cradles the vase, instructing her to tap ever-so-gently at the connecting sliver of glass with a small mallet.

With a barely perceptible chink the column breaks, freeing the vase. Pero then fires the bottom of the vase with a handheld blowtorch to smooth it out, and settles the vase into the bowl of a large round kiln for the final cooling process.

The vase stands maybe ten inches high, vaguely v-shaped with a flat bottom. The once bright orange ball of molten glass is now a brilliant turquoise, speckled with the tiny green and blue and white fragments she’d rolled it in. The rim is uneven, pulled and twisted by Pero’s pliers and it makes her think of the edges of a crashing wave.

She stands next to him and looks down at it before he closes the lid to the kiln. It’s small and simple and doubtless less polished than what Pero could have made with a more experienced partner, but it’s theirs.

We made that, she says, turning and giving him a shy smile.

His lips quirk up - not quite a smile, but there’s a softness to his expression that makes her breath catch.

A satisfying process, no? He asks. She nods. The moment stretches between them, the silence not awkward, but instead full of a warm, quiet intimacy.

Come on, pretty girl, Pero murmurs, reaching up to gently remove the safety glasses from her face. Let’s clean up.

Somehow she finds even the sight of him returning every tool back to its proper place, knowing exactly where each piece goes so that it’s ready for the next time he needs it, terribly attractive.

She catches his hand after everything’s put away, pulling his focus.

Thank you, she says, for this. Thank you for letting me in, for revealing this part of you, she doesn’t say, but hopes he knows that’s what she means. I’d…I’d love to do this again sometime.

He brushes his other hand across her cheek.

Anytime you like, querida.

She moves in to kiss him and it’s soft in a way she hasn’t felt from Pero before. He pulls her flush against him and simply holds her there, lazily exploring her mouth. He smells like sweat and heated metal, and she turns her head to lick the salt from the skin of his neck. A sound rumbles from deep in his chest, and the moment goes white-hot in an instant.

Touch me, Pero, she whispers. Put your hands on me.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He slides one hand to the back of her neck to yank her lips back up to his, the other disappearing into her leggings to grab a fistful of her ass. He swallows the pleased little gasp she makes, greedy for more.

He backs her up against the side of his workbench, moving to unbutton her top. Once he has access he pulls down the cups of her bra and turns his full attention to her breasts, kneading the soft flesh with his hands and laving his tongue over her nipples.

Her fingers run through his hair, longer than Jack’s but with curls less unruly than Frankie’s. His hips press against hers and she squirms against the bulge in his jeans, searching for friction.

Need more, baby? He coos up at her, a wicked glint in his eye.

Need you, Pero, she whines.

He straightens and turns her around to bend her over the workbench, curling his fingers in the waistband of her leggings to yank them down and expose her gorgeous ass to him…

Wait.

He freezes.

Could we…I want…

He runs a soothing palm over her hip.

What do you want, pretty girl?

She twists back around to face him. He lets himself be nudged backward until he feels the edge of a nearby chair behind him and sits. She towers over him now, and he looks up at her with one brow raised.

I want to see you, she says shyly, and his blood heats. He slowly spreads his legs in invitation.

She slips out of her shoes and shimmies her leggings and panties off, then similarly loses her shirt and bra. He reaches for her with a growl and hauls her into his lap. She goes willingly, wrapping herself around him as his hands rove over every inch of her skin. This time their kiss is messy and desperate, and when Pero trails a hand down her stomach and finds the soft hair of her mound to pet at her clit, she whimpers into his mouth.

You want it? He rasps. She nods frantically, their noses brushing.

Then take it out, pretty girl.

She undoes his jeans and frees the stiff length of his cock, pumping him slowly, drawing bead after bead of precum from the tip.

But then her grip falters.

This is okay, right?

Pero frowns at her, confused.

What I mean is…I know we talked about it, and you all said it was okay, that we don’t always all have to be together, but…

Ah, so that’s her concern. Something wild and beastly claws at his ribcage in triumph at the realization that he’ll be the first of them to have her all to himself.

It is more than okay, he reassures her, smoothing a thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. We told you we can each take our pleasure from the others whenever we wish, and none of us is a man who says things he does not mean. Least of all to those we care for.

He can feel her body relax at that, and he tilts her chin and draws her in for another kiss. Her hand starts to move up and down his cock again, the tip of him grazing the pillowy skin of her inner thigh with each pass, and a hiss leaves his mouth at the sensation.

This will not go the way you intend if you keep that up, he warns her. A newfound deviousness unfurls itself in her grin.

Maybe this is what I intend, she says. Maybe I want you just like this, hard and aching in my hands until I make you come all over yourself -

He cuts her off by crashing his lips to hers, stilling her movements on his cock and hooking one hand under her ass to push her up until his length prods against her entrance.

Perhaps, he murmurs, perhaps one day if you’re a very, very good girl, I’ll let you have such a way with me. But for now - he notches himself just inside the slick rim of her pussy - put me inside you.

She obeys, working herself down on him inch by inch. When he’s fully seated inside her she sighs as if in relief, a dazed look in her eyes. There’s a distant thought in the back of her head that despite the workshop being closed today, one of the artists could still walk in unexpectedly at any moment, but she can’t bring herself to care.

They make twin sounds of pleasure at the first swirl of her hips. As her body adjusts to his size she finds her rhythm, bracing her hands on his shoulders as she rides him.

And god, what a sight.

She knows what sex with Pero feels like. She knows what it sounds like, smells like, tastes like. But none of those things has prepared her for what it looks like. What he looks like, as they move together, face-to-face for the first time.

The clench of his jaw, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The tendons that pop and strain in his neck. The dewy sheen of sweat across his brow. And his eyes…

She could fall forever into the endless black abyss of his eyes, she could lose herself entirely in their depths and never look away and would be thankful for it. How could she not be, when he looks at her with such unrestrained want that she feels it like a physical thing…

She brushes a thumb over the scar that bisects his left eye, as if she could soothe the long-ago wound with present tenderness. She knows it’s far from the only scar he carries, and would that she could heal them all through sheer force of will.

Pero swirls his thumb around her clit, bracing his feet as he begins to meet her hips with thrusts of his own. Her movements stutter as her control over her body wavers. She becomes nothing more than molten desire in his hands, to be molded and shaped and consumed by flame as he sees fit. The pressure he puts on her clit is unrelenting, and this is familiar, the way he doesn’t coax an orgasm from her, but demands it. It builds and builds in between her legs and when she would close her eyes and tip her head back to welcome it he grabs her chin to stop her.

Look at me, he pants. Look at me when I make you come, querida. Look…

It starts as a command, but ends as a plea.

The tension bursts inside her, and her cry of his name and the way her climax tightens her pussy around him like a vice pulls him headlong over the edge with her. He cums with a roar, pulling her down on his cock as he empties himself as deep as he can inside her.

It’s a long minute before they both fully come back to themselves, breathing hard as their bodies milk every last drop of pleasure from each other. She collapses into his chest, and he’s content to hold her there for as long as she wishes.

We can do that again anytime you like too, he says quietly in her ear, and she smiles into his neck.

——————

There’s no big reveal, no fanfare or presentation when it happens. She simply comes home one day (and funny, how she’s started to think of it as home, how her apartment has become merely a place where most of her things are, including the vase she’d made with Pero, but not where she lives) and there it sits on the shelf, catching her eye immediately.

The falcon, the horse, and the bull, now clustered around a fourth statue.

A lioness.

She moves towards it as if pulled by gravity. The beauty of it steals her breath. The great cat is posed sitting, tall and elegant, her body at a three-quarters position but her head turned to look straight out at the viewer. Her tail is wrapped neatly around her, and her tiny delicate ears are alert.

What do you think? says a soft voice behind her. It carries an uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty.

She doesn’t turn, doesn’t need to look to know the man behind her is the one who made this.

She’s gorgeous, she murmurs.

Pero hums low in his throat, and comes to stand over her shoulder.

You can ask, he says. I want to tell you.

Why a lioness? she whispers.

Pero is silent for a moment.

She is strong, and graceful. Clever, and brave. Loyal. Beautiful.

A tingling warmth floods her chest. It feels like too much, the implied praise too high.

They’re remarkable creatures, she replies.

They ain’t the only ones, darlin’, Jack drawls from the doorway. He’s flanked by Frankie, who has one arm wrapped casually around Jack’s waist.

I don’t know what to say. Tears prick her eyes as she turns to face them.

You don’t have to say anything, Frankie tells her.

Just be ours. Pero says it so softly she almost doesn’t hear him. As we are yours.

She pulls Pero in for a kiss, her answer whispered like a vow against his lips:

I already am.

———

Fun fact I learned about glassblowing equipment during my research for this fic that I wasn’t able to work into the story but absolutely need to share with you anyway:

Did y’all know that the furnaces like the one Pero uses here to heat the glass are called GLORY HOLES?!?!?!? Swear to god. Be careful googling that if you don’t believe me. 😂

#Pedro pascal #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #the great wall fic

[brewsterispunkk]

marriage of convenience: part 5

pairing: pero tovar x f!reader

WC: 10.1k (longest part yet!)

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

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

series masterlist

PART FIVE

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

“Yes?” You threw over your shoulder, already halfway out the door. 

“Will you see Lisbeth today?”

“I expect so.”

“Give these to her for me,” she handed you a bundle wrapped in linen–herbs, of course. Your mother was practically an apothecary at this point. “They’re for her mother’s headaches. And when you stop by Olga’s today, see if she has any of the lemon-honey concoction she uses during the cold months.”

You puzzled. It was late May–your family would not be in need of such a thing until mid-autumn at the latest. 

“Why? Will she even have some? It is early summer.”

“I expect she will,” Your mother walks in from the kitchen. “She always has some reserves for the occasional late spring cold. It is for your father. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Your stomach turns to stone, but you force yourself to nod as you take your basket and leave through the rickety front door.

Of course. Of course it was for your father. You silently said a prayer to whatever god was listening for his recovery, like you always did whenever he took a turn for the worse. 

He had always had issues with his health, ever since he came back from the war when you were twelve. 

It began with a leg injury that never really recovered–he’d taken an arrow to the shoulder and fallen off his horse, breaking his leg in the process. If your mother had been there, he would have healed almost completely and even been able to walk again, but the encampment he had been in had no one with healing knowledge. The wound had festered, according to your mother, and your father was lucky to be alive. He hadn’t walked fully since. 

The injury had caused your father to have to sell his blacksmith’s shop in town–the one Tovar apprenticed at now. 

His health had been slowly declining ever since. Last winter, he suffered a chill and a bout of a coughing illness that took his ability to breath unencumbered, the winter before that, he’d suffered fainting spells and lost feeling in his injured leg. Until recently, he’d been able to hobble down the stairs with the help of your mother, but in the past weeks, he has been too weak to even make it downstairs for supper. You feared the worst, as you always did. 

Graciela and James, your two siblings with enough sense to know something was wrong, were more hopeful than you. 

“He will recover soon. He always does.”

Grace had told you the night before, over mending by the fire. Your mother was so weary these days that the two of you had to do much of the household chores. “Womens’ work,’ Petyr called it. You dreaded it and found it odious, but it was your duty. You would not let it fall to your mother, who had enough on her plate keeping the family afloat.

You wished you could believe your sister, but you were always the more cynical one. 

You’d spent the better part of your life waiting for the next hammer to fall; waiting for the day when your father didn’t recover and the family was left in the care of the next male relative in line. Petyr. The very thought made your blood turn cold. 

If Petyr treated you the way he did now, when your father was alive and coherent, you had no desire to discover what horrors would await you when your father departed from this world. 

There had been a time when you dreamed of marriage; yearned for it, even. There had been years when you and Lisbeth, on May Day, had gathered ten different kinds of wildflowers and put them under your pillow to dream of your true love, a practice your mother swore led her parents to find each other. 

But as you grew older, more well-versed in the ways of the world, it dawned on you that real life was rarely like the tales that bards sang of. At least, for people like you. You also knew that if you ever dreamed of escaping your village, of seeing all the world had to offer, marriage would end all aspirations of that. 

You squared your shoulders as you stepped out into the fresh morning air in front of your family’s small home, urging all thoughts of your father’s illness to the back of your head. 

“Took you long enough,” Tovar grunted from where he leaned on the small wooden fence meant to keep the family goat in. “We will be late. The blacksmith will not like it.”

You rolled your eyes, opening the gate and walking past him onto the small road that led through the forest and into town. 

“Then remind him who it is you live with. He will have no qualms.” 

It was one of the things you hated most about him; his tendency to take everything so seriously. 

“Just because your father trained him does not mean he will extend me grace,” Tovar grumbled from behind you. You could hear the buckles bump against the metal of his armor. 

That was something that puzzled you; you didn’t know why he still wore it—he wasn’t at war, and nothing so exciting as a sword fight ever happened in your village. 

“And why not?” You asked, entering the treeline. The trees cast shadows on the dirt road in the early morning light. “He would do so with William or any one of my brothers if they expressed interest in the family trade.”

Tovar huffed in annoyance from behind you and your lips curled into a smirk. It had become one of your pastimes in the weeks that he’d been escorting you to and from the market. You liked to see how annoyed he could get. 

“I am not like your brothers,” he said. “Or William for that matter.”

You chuckled—that much was obvious. Your brothers and your cousin were much more open, more kind than Tovar, who barely expressed any emotion besides annoyance and occasional anger. 

“That I know,” you threw back at him. “No one would ever accuse you of being as sunny as them.”

“That is not what I meant.”

You puzzled and turned behind you, realizing what he was implying. 

“You think it is because you are foreign?” You asked in disbelief. “From another kingdom?”

Tovar kept walking, face impassive, not betraying any emotion but annoyance. 

“It is the same in this part of the world as it is in others,” he says like it’s nothing. “They need but look at me for a moment to tell that I am unlike them.”

You rolled your eyes. So dramatic. 

“This village is used to foreigners,” you said matter-of-factly. “We see strange people from strange places every day. People trade everything from silk from the far east to salt from the continent to the south. You aren’t so special.”

Tovar just leveled you with a dry look, and you took it as a sign to keep talking. 

“Your scowl and that armor don’t help,” you added with a smirk, swinging your basket back and forth beside you as you walked. 

“What is wrong with my armor?” Tovar sounded puzzled. You stifled a laugh.

“Really?” You turned your head to stare at him, but found his brows furrowed in genuine confusion. You sighed. “You walk into the village everyday in full armor. Like you expect someone to put a dagger in your side at any moment. You do not smile, do not try to speak with anyone unless it is for trade. You should not be surprised people are wary of you.”

“I wear my armor everywhere except when I sleep. It is—”

“A habit, I’m sure,” you finished for him. “But still, this is a peaceful village. The most violence we see is from a brawl at the tavern or a rowdy group of traders on leave. Wearing full battle armor sends the message that you don’t trust us. And that makes people nervous.”

It was true—there hadn’t been even a skirmish on your lands in years. Not since the war, when the old Lord died and power passed to his son. Since then, your land had known peace. 

Tovar huffed what you almost thought was a laugh, but when you looked back at him, his mouth was downturned and his eyes were narrow. 

“I don’t trust you.”  

At that, you laughed, a deep thing from deep in your stomach. If someone told you Tovar slept with a knife beneath his head, you’d believe them. You weren’t even sure he trusted William.

“That I believe,” you shook your head and continued down the dirt road to town, leaving a grumbling Tovar trudging behind you. 

—-

In the recent weeks, you and Tovar had begun to form a kind of begrudging companionship.

You still didn’t like him–not in the least. He was uncouth and rude. He never exchanged pleasantries with anyone at the market and you were sure you’d never seen him smile. Not even once. And the two of you often bickered. So much so that your mother had taken to seating you on opposite sides of the table at dinner to avoid as much conflict as possible. 

Hence, the begrudging part. The companionship merely meant that you had begun to be able to tolerate his presence. Barely. 

Your brother hadn’t reared his ugly head in the recent weeks either, being either too drunk or preoccupied with other things to notice you. That was a blessing in and of itself. You still hadn’t really gotten over the embarrassment that had come over you at Tovar seeing your bruises. You knew it was what caused him to volunteer to escort you to town daily and still, you hadn’t addressed it with him. 

Still, as May slogged into June, you were stuck with him. Unless you wanted your drunk, unpredictable, brute of a brother to accompany you to the townsquare every other morning, you had to learn to endure the company of the quiet Spaniard. 

And endure you did.

You’d learned not to ask questions; whenever you did, you were either met with silence, or a stilted, annoyed response. In fact, the conversation you’d shared this morning was the longest conversation you’d had with him.

That was just one thing that set Tovar apart from your cousin, William. Both men had seen so much of the world, lived so many different lives, and while William spoke of his time abroad with bright eyed and excited words, Tovar’s past hung over him like a heavy cloud. You didn’t know what the grizzled mercenary had experienced during his time traveling, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it. 

Which was difficult for you—you could listen to William talk for hours about his time on the road. But, you’d heard all of William’s stories. Tovar kept whatever tales of his travels closer to his chest than his armor. And you resented him for it. 

You resented that with all the freedom in the world, with a lifetime of stories and lived experiences under his belt, with the blessing of being born as a man in this world, he had the nerve to act the way he did: angry at the world, scowling at every kind face. 

The absence of that—of freedom—pulsed and throbbed deep in your chest. And all you could feel was anger.

The sights and smells of the town’s center flooded your senses when you reached the market. You took a deep breath and tried to savor it: the aroma of spices from far-off places, the sharp smell of lemons from Arabia, the colorful hues of silk and fabric, the bustle of business and trade. It was as much of the wide world you were afforded, so you took it in with wide eyes and a smile. 

You looked down to your basket, mentally going over the deliveries and trades you had to make before meeting with Lisbeth by the bakery. You were fingering a sprig of stray lavender when Tovar nudged your shoulder, breaking your train of thought. You turned and glared at him. 

“I will leave you here,” he mumbled, looking around you and scanning the faces of the people bustling by. “You will meet me at the blacksmith’s when you are finished.”

“I will, will I?” You asked, feeling your temper flare. You hated when he gave you orders–like you were an animal and not a person. 

Tovar leveled you with a dry look, before rolling his eyes himself. 

“Do not be late,” he said, before adjusting his satchel and walking away. 

You glared at his back as he went, cursing the broad expanse of his shoulders. Not only was he an ass, but he was a handsome ass. That was even worse.

With a sigh, you set about making your first delivery, already planning on being late to meet Tovar later in the day.

- - 

By the time you’d completed your second delivery, the sun was high in the sky and strong. You could feel the back of your neck glisten and knew that when you looked in the mirror at the end of the day, there would be freckles dusted across your cheeks. 

You’d already delivered one order of tea to the miller’s wife, who promised you a satchel of grain in return by week’s end, and traded the town seamstress for some new thread. Your stomach buzzed with excitement at the news you’d heard as you left the seamstress’s parlor. 

It had been a normal business dealing: the seamstress, an elderly woman who had been a friend of your grandmother, had long been a customer of your mother’s. You knew her well. Your mother had sent you to get new thread for mending, but you always stayed for a cup of tea whenever the seamstress, Agnetha, whenever you traded with her.

“You look more like your grandmother every time I see you,” she said, sitting down gingerly on a stool behind the wooden counter at the front of the shop. 

You smiled at her. You’d never met your paternal grandmother, but you had always been told that you resembled her—the same facial structure, the same hair, the same stubborn spirit. It warmed you to hear it from someone who knew her so well. 

“Thank you,” you said, finishing the cup of herbal tea and setting it down. “And thank you for the thread. My mother sends her regards. She apologizes that she can’t be here to see you in person.”

“Oh, pay it no mind dear,” Agnetha’s gnarled hand pats yours. “With a household to run and that business with your father, god only knows how she can manage it all.”

You clench your teeth at the mention of your father. That was what it was like living in a village of this size: no one’s business was private. 

“I was sorry to hear about your father, dear,” Agnetha continued. “Do let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“Thank you,” your lips spread into a tight-lipped smile. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the sentiment–you did—it was just that you had grown tired of hearing the same sentiments from everyone. It was suffocating, having everyone know the trials of your family. 

“I must take my leave, I’m afraid,” you said after a beat. “I must make haste if I am to finish all my business by day’s end.”

“Of course,” Agnetha waved you off, but then held one finger up, turning back to the back room of her shop. “But give me one moment! I had forgotten—I have something for you.”

You puzzled but obeyed, your interest piqued. What could she possibly have for you?

After a moment, the white-haired woman reappeared with a bushel of flowers with small, white petals: yarrow. She held them out to you. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. 

“What is–”

“For tonight, my dear,” she leaned in and smiled at you like you were in on some secret. Your confusion grew.

Nothing save for seasonal festivals and feasts ever happened in your village. Besides, if there was anything happening tonight, you were sure you’d know about it. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean—”

“Oh, hush,” Agnetha cackled. “I remember it all too well when I was your age. Your grandmother and I snuck off to Geris many a time when we were girls. These are for your hair. It is said they will bring you good fortune and a happy husband if worn on the feast of Saint Julia.”

“Geris,” you mumbled, all of it clicking into place.

Geris was a neighboring village—a town really—nearly an hour walk north of your own. It was larger and a bigger hub for trade than your own home, as it bordered the sea. Petyr would often go there to drink or gamble with his friends, sometimes not returning for days on end. You had never been. 

“There is a festival in Geris today?” You asked Agnetha, who now looked as confused as you had been moments ago.

“Why yes,” she laughs. “The largest one of the year—Saint Julia is the patron saint of Geris. I–did you not know?”

“No,” you laughed, suddenly giddy with excitement, already plotting in your head how you could sneak off to experience it for yourself.

“How the times have changed,” Agnetha hummed. “When I was young, it was every mama’s worst nightmare for her daughter to sneak off to the festival of Saint Julia.”

“Is it still as grand as you remember it?” 

“I imagine so,” she smiled. “The dancing is what I loved the most.”

“Well then,” you smiled at her. “I believe I shall have to dance, won’t I?” You took the flowers from her. “With flowers in my hair.”

Agnetha smiled a secretive grin and patted your hand. 

“Do, dear. Twirl a little extra for me,” she said. “Now, be on your way—and be safe!”

You thanked her and left, walking out into the balmy warmth of mid-morning, feeling all-of-a-sudden more hopeful than you had that morning.

- 

You met Lisbeth by the miller’s pond just before noon, like you’d planned. It had been your meeting place whenever the two of you were in town for years. Growing up, since your father’s property bordered here, you’d often meet in the forest. But, once you’d become old enough to do some of the household work trading in the village, you’d had to find a place to meet during the day. 

Now, you buzzed with excitement, the news of the festival on the tip of your tongue. 

Recently, you’d been itching to do anything to distract yourself from the monotony of life in your village. As the days got warmer, more and more traders passed through, bringing with them goods and stories from far-away lands. Lands you longed to see, but knew you never would. You longed to stretch your wings, if only a little. Sneaking off to Geris would be the perfect opportunity to do that. Now the only issue was convincing Lisbeth.

You wiggled your toes in your shoes as you saw her approach, eager what you’d heard back to her. You just hoped she would be willing to go with you. 

While Lisbeth understood your desires to leave, explore, and see the world, they were not desires she shared. She had always, ever since you could remember, wanted to be married. She sighed at tales of princesses and knights, longed to fall in love and have children. And you knew that when she did that, it would be beautiful. Still, a small part of you envied her for her dreams. You wished that that could be enough for you. 

As she approached you, Lisbeth rooted through her basket, looking for something buried in its depths. 

“Please tell me you have the herbs for my mother’s headaches,” she groaned as she came to stand beside you, leaning on the wooden fence by the pond. “If I have to listen to her moaning for one more day, I will bash my skull against the wall.”

You grinned at her. 

“What?” She asked, finally looking at you. She furrowed her eyebrows. “Why do you have that look—”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh dear God,” she sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Before I begin, you must promise to at least consider my proposition,” you raised your eyebrows. Lisbeth sighed your name. “Promise.”

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll consider it. Now tell me, I am withering away in suspense.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “We always complain that nothing ever happens here, right?”

“Yes.”

“And we moan about wanting to see more of the rest of the world, of the rest of the country—”

“I would say you complain more than I—”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” you waved her away, causing her to laugh. “Tonight, there is to be a festival in Geris. If we leave after sunset, when our families go to sleep, we can be home before dawn—”

“Geris?” Lisbeth’s eyes widened. “That is madness—”

“It isn’t!” You assured her. “We have walked further distances many times to trade before. The only difference is—”

“It will be night!” Lisbeth shook her head. “After reports of criminals in the woods in the surrounding villages, do you really think it smart to go venturing to Geris after dark?”

You sighed. 

“No,” she raised her hand. “Do not try to argue. You have a chaperone now because of the dangers. Even your father can see we are at risk.”

Your heart sank. 

“Lisbeth,” you reasoned. “That happened weeks ago. Nothing more has happened–it was likely ruffians passing through. Traders, nothing more.”

“You are mistaken,” she folded her arms. “I heard tell this morning of another attack on a young couple. At a village only a few leagues away.”

“What?”

“It was a farmer’s daughter from Frayley,” she elaborated. “She snuck away in the night to meet with a boy from the village. Her lover was killed, and the girl was ruined. Her honor sullied, barely living.”

Your breath left your chest, a familiar clamminess taking over your hands. 

This story was nothing new; when you were younger, before the new Lord of your county had taken power, such attacks were commonplace. The forests around your village had been infested for a time—small bands of ruffians and criminals who would carry maidens away in the night and burn houses to the ground after looting them. There were several girls in your village who had been abducted and held for ransom, and one who had even been forcibly taken to wife. By the time the Lord of the county had gotten word, they had already been married in the eyes of god. There was nothing to be done. 

It had been something that had enraged your mother. You were too young to worry about such things, but you have vivid memories of the doors being always bolted shut, your mother sleeping with a dagger beneath her pillow. 

The thought of such uncertainty and violence returning to your land made your stomach turn. 

“I see,” you said. 

“Yes,” Lisbeth sighed. “I wish to explore, but not at the risk of our lives and honor.”

You smiled at her sadly and nodded. 

“Two women alone in the wood at night is a recipe for disaster anyway,” she continued. “How I envy men.”

You threw your head back and laughed at that, having had the same thought multiple times.

You wondered often what navigating the world would be like if you weren’t seen as a target simply for your sex. You would ponder what the world would look like if you could walk alone, unaccompanied, how different your life would be if you were able to work, own land, travel alone. If you had the liberties afforded to the likes of William, of Tovar. The very thought of it made your stomach turn with envy.

That’s when it hit you: William. Tovar. And you knew what you had to do.

- - 

When you arrived at Olga’s little stone cottage at the edge of the village, your brow was damp with perspiration. 

The sun was high, well past mid-day, and you knew you had to meet Tovar soon. You would be late, just like you’d planned. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d kept him waiting and you knew that he’d be in a sour mood for the rest of the day–well, sourer than usual–and that was detrimental to your plan. You needed him agreeable if it was to work. 

You sighed as you made your way up the dusty road to her door. 

Olga was someone who you held fondness for. She was an old woman, a widow with white hair and a thick accent. Her husband was a merchant who left her a reasonable sum of money when he died, so she lived comfortably and alone, something you’d never seen a woman do before her. She was from a country from the far South, Aragon, and she had forsaken her homeland for her husband. For love. It all sounded so romantic to you that you almost forgot your own personal objections to marriage. 

You have memories from your younger years of your mother and her exchanging herbal wisdom over tea. She educated your mother on the herbal remedies of her homeland and in exchange,  your mother shared her knowledge of the plants native to your own kingdom.

As you approached her cottage, you heard the faint sound of voices conversing inside made you puzzle. Olga was a generally reclusive woman–it was rare for her to have visitors. 

You approached her door and knocked gently, calling inside. 

“Olga?” You called, hoping your voice would carry through the open window. 

“Ah, yes! Come in, come in,” she called back, voice painted with laughter. 

You nudged open the door and took in the small sitting room in her cottage. On the wooden table in the center there was a clay bowl filled with oranges, no doubt traded from a merchant. Your mouth watered. You knew oranges were commonplace in the South, but here they were a luxury few could afford, including yourself. 

“In here,” Olga’s voice called, louder now, from the adjoining room which served as a kitchen. 

What you saw made you stop in your tracks. 

There, standing in Olga’s well-furnished kitchen, leaning against the worn brick of her stove, stood Tovar, arms folded in front of him, across his face a genuine smile. A smile. It was the first time you saw one cross his face. Your breath left your chest. 

Of course he’d have a gorgeous smile, you thought spitefully. 

You hadn’t realized you were frozen until a warm hand on your shoulder startled you. 

Olga looked at you expectantly, the lines on her face graceful in the early afternoon light. You blinked.

“What?”

“I said, have you met Pero, mi amor?” She smiled at you softly. “He is a blacksmith’s apprentice in town. New.”

You stumble over your words for a moment, tongue like lead in your mouth. 

“Si, Doña.” Tovar–Pero’s–eyes caught yours from across the room. “We are acquainted.”

“Ha!” Olga laughed, throwing her head back. “Doña he calls me. You flatter me, caballero. I am no Doña.”

You smiled at them, shifting on your feet. You knew nothing save a word or two of the strange language they spoke. Castillian, you thought. 

“He speaks to me as if I am a high-born lady, child,” Olga said, sensing your confusion. 

“You are mistaken,” Pero smiled slightly at the older woman. “I know una mujer honrada when I see one, Doña.”

Olga leveled him with a wry smile and held up a finger, wagging it at him. 

“You watch out for this one,” she looked over to you. “He is a charmer.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped your lips. Of all the words you would use to describe your surly bodyguard, a charmer was not one of them. Pero shoots you a withering glare at your laugh. 

“What is so humorous?” He tilted his head.

“Forgive me,” you smirked, sensing his wounded pride. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘charmer’ to describe your countenance.”

Olga tilted her head, hands finding her hips. 

“How exactly do the two of you know each other?”

“I am a companion of her cousin’s,” Pero’s gaze moved to the woman in between you. “We have traveled together for… too long. Her family is providing us with lodging until we are able to find work and continue on.”

“Well, a small world indeed,” she smiled. “How have you found our village, then? Quite different than Toledo, no?”

Pero chuckled, shaking his head and looking down. 

“Quite,” he said. “In truth, it has been a long time since I have journeyed home. But compared to other places my trade has brought me, it is not so different. Though I have found the people of this kingdom more skeptical of outsiders than my own homeland.”

The admission surprised you; you had spent months trying to pry any bit of information out of Tovar you could to no avail. And now, with Olga, he was an open book. It made you wonder: was it just you that he had an aversion to sharing with? You bristled at the thought. 

“Yes, it is something to adjust to,” Olga patted Pero on his shoulder. “They are not used to Southerners here. We must stick together.”

Olga turned to you. 

“What brings you here, child? Do you bring me more concoctions from your mother?”

Your smile thinned and you clasped your hands in front of you. 

“No,” you admitted. “It’s my father. I was sent to see if you have any of your lemon-honey tonic left from the cold months. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Olga’s lips pressed together in a sympathetic smile. 

“Of course,” she said. “I keep some reserves in the cellar. I’ll go get them now, and I’ll have another batch brewed specially for him in a fortnight.”

“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself–”

“Hush, it is no trouble at all.” She walked over to you and grabbed your shoulders, her eyes sparkling as she regarded you. “With my Louis gone, there is no one for me to look after. I daresay I have missed it. Besides,” she placed a soft palm on your cheek. “Your family has shown me true kindness in the years I have known you.”

You smiled a tear-filled smile at her. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

“Think nothing of it,” she patted your cheek. “It seems your family has a habit of adopting strays.” 

With a wink, Olga flitted away to the wooden door that led to the cellar, leaving you and Pero standing awkwardly in her kitchen. 

“So,” you began before an awkward silence could settle. “What brings you here?”

“A delivery,” he huffed. “A new lock for her door.”

“I didn’t know Colm has you running deliveries now,” you picked at a fingernail. “I thought the whole point of being an apprentice was to learn.”

Pero rolled his eyes at you, annoyance clouding his features. He leveled you with a glare. 

“I know my way around a forge better than that man,” he hissed at you. 

You smirked. You always knew how to set him off—how to wound his pride just enough that he would lash out. 

“I have been an apprentice since I could walk. I have nothing to learn. It is only an easy way to earn coin.”

“Your father was a blacksmith, then?”

Pero’s eyes narrowed at you before he sighed, seemingly tired of your antics. 

“Yes,” he said. “He taught me his trade before I took up my sword.”

“Hm,” you said. “I always wished I would’ve learned the trade. But no, it was too unladylike for me. My mother forbade it.”

Pero snorted at that. You bristled again and shot him a venomous look. 

“What? You think it silly for a girl to want to learn something other than sewing or weaving?”

“I think it silly that people in your kingdom think that is all a girl is good for,” he countered. “A waste. My father made sure my sisters knew a trade before he died.”

You blinked.

His response surprised you. A sentiment like his was rare, especially in a place like here. But more than that, it was the first time he’d said something remotely kind to you. In your mind, he was a brute, with no compassion or regard for others.

“You have sisters?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. It wasn’t often you could squeeze information out of him; you wanted to see how much you could get before his mood turned sour again. 

“So many questions,” he shook his head. 

“Forgive me for trying to make conversation,” you replied dryly. 

“It does not matter,” he huffed after a moment. “They are gone now.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Olga’s footsteps nearing the kitchen stopped you. 

“Here we go,” she said kindly, handing you a clay jar sealed shut. “This will help. Come back next week for another batch, or come tell me if it gets worse.”

You smiled at her kindness. 

“Thank you, Olga.” You said. “Your kindness will not be forgotten.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Thank you, Doña, for your hospitality. But I’m afraid we must be going if we are to make it back in time for supper.”

“Of course, of course.” Olga waved her hands, ushering you to the front door. “Be safe. I’ve heard tell of bands of criminals in the woods as of late.”

“We will,” you waved as you left her house, basket in one hand and the tonic for your father in the other. 

“No preocupes, we will be home before dark,” Tovar said over your shoulder from where he walked in front of you. 

He seemed more chipper as he walked down the dirt road, beginning the journey home. You silently thanked the gods for it–you’d need him in a good mood for your plan to work. Even though you knew the deciding factor would come down to William, you still needed Tovar to be there in order for Lisbeth to feel safe enough to journey to Geris. You would be futile in convincing him, you knew; he hated you. But, though he put up a front, you knew that William could convince Pero of anything. 

As the two of you walked home, you silently hoped that your plan would work. 

- - 

“You are out of your mind,” Pero’s eyes were wide as he regarded William, hands on his hips in front of the fire. 

It was well past sundown, and your family had gone to bed already. You hid in the loft, peeking down into the large room below where William stood speaking in hushed tones with Pero.

You’d pulled him aside before dinner with your proposal: to sneak off to Geris in the night for the festival and be back before dawn tomorrow.

You knew he was your best chance. You’d begun to recognize the signs of restlessness in him–the twitching of his fingers, the brainstorming with Pero about where they would go after the harvest ended in the autumn. He and you were alike in that way: always longing for adventure. The only difference was that he actually had the freedom to seek what he longed for. 

Either way, after some badgering, he’d agreed. You always had that effect on him–he couldn’t ever say no to you, even as a child. Besides, you’d already told Lisbeth to meet you after dark in front of your family’s house, with the promise that the two mercenaries would be there to protect you on the road. 

Now, the only one left to convince was Pero. 

“Come, brother.” William reasoned. “We have had nothing but work for weeks. Don’t you fancy a drink in a tavern? A change of scenery?”

“There is a tavern here,” Pero ground out, throwing up his hands. “There is no need to traipse through dark woods in the dead of night for an ale. I have spent my day laboring in front of a hot forge and acting as a sworn sword to your child of a cousin. All I wanted was to come home, fill my belly, and sleep. Now you ask this of me.”

You felt a pang of hurt at the belittlement, and a surge of resentment toward the Spaniard. You were not a child; you hadn’t been for quite some time. You’d practically had to be the man of the house in the months before William arrived, with your mother so preoccupied with your father’s help and Petyr drowning in his cups. That was a responsibility you suspected Pero would never have to shoulder. 

William’s voice called your attention back to the men by the fire. 

Pero had moved, sitting in the wicker chair to the left of the kitchen, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. His eyes looked deadly trained on the blade. William stood with his arms crossed next to him.

“She is a woman grown and you know that,” William said, sighing. “I do not know why you dislike her so. She is a fine young lady.”

“You watch her then.”

“Really, Pero. Why do you let her affect you in such a way? You can face the enemy’s sword without so much as a flinch, but put you in the presence of a maiden and you tremble like a leaf.”

“I do not tremble,” you heard Pero seethe. “She is insolent and foolish, and cannot follow a schedule. I am always late because of her.”

William laughed at that. 

“You are bothered too easily, friend.” 

Pero grumbled in response, eyes still focused on sharpening his longsword. You heard a rustle from outside the opened window and realized with a start—it must be Lisbeth. 

You hurried over to the window and peeked out, catching a glimpse of Lisbeth’s auburn hair in the light of the fire that showed through the downstairs window. She was hidden by a long dark cloak, no doubt belonging to one of her brothers. 

A surge of pride shot through you at the sight of her. You knew she was risking a lot–much more than you–by sneaking off into the night like this. She was of a higher station than you, and would soon be wed to some far flung lord, or even a duke. She risked her reputation being tarnished. And yet, here she was, brave as ever. 

“If you do not agree, you will force my hand,” you heard William’s voice. You hurried back to the loft to spy yet again, knowing that soon you’d have to go fetch your friend who watched from the downstairs window. 

You saw that now, William stood in front of the fire, blocking the line of light Pero needed to sharpen his sword. 

“Move, amigo. I’m not in the mood.”

“And I lament that, but you are coming with us.”

“Us?”

“Yes—”

“I should have known she was behind this. No. If my mind wasn’t made up before, it is now. I will not go with her—”

Your laugh interrupted him, and gave away your hiding place. Pero’s eyes, full of ire, snapped to you. You stood up and raced down the stairs, conscious to not make too much noise, lest you be discovered by your family. 

“Oh, please Tovar,” you said, approaching where he sat. “It will be fun.”

He looked at you with a dry expression. 

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” He gritted his teeth, standing up to come and stand toe-to-toe with you. You flushed at how close he was—you could see every wrinkle, every freckle, every dimension of his scar. It made your throat dry. 

“Why?” You asked, voice packed with as much irritation as his.

“I am driving myself mad escorting you to and from town every day, Señora.” He spat the word, making you blink. “I will not spend another moment more than necessary in your presence. Not unless forced.” 

“I’ll call in my favor, then.” William drawled amusedly from in front of you. 

You started, having forgotten that he was there. You took a step back from his counterpart. 

“Pardon?” Pero turned to William. 

“My favor,” William smirked and tilted his head. “You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing—”

“Remember Vienna, Pero?” William’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already–”

“I’ve forgotten nothing.” Pero’s glare would scare even the fiercest of knights, but William didn’t even look phased by it.

“Then it’s settled,” William clapped his hands together. “We will leave immediately. We’re losing moonlight already.”

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” you piped up, already pulling your satchel over your shoulder. 

Pero looked like a deer caught in the headlights. William moved to follow you, picking up his sword from where it was leaned against the brick of the fireplace. 

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” he repeated after you, smiling at his companion, who glared into the side of his head. You giggled. 

“Make haste, Pero,” you called over your shoulder. “Or we’ll miss the festivities.”

Wordlessly, he sheathed his sword and stood, glaring at you. The glare didn’t scare you though. You knew it was one of annoyance—one you often drew from Pero. 

He grumbled to himself before shouldering his sword and following you out the door.

- - 

William had convinced Pero that the horses could handle two riders, with the distance being so small between your village and Geris. Besides, the two mares had gotten little to no excitement since the two mercenaries made their way into your small village. William reasoned it would do them well to stretch their legs. 

So, you were two to a horse each. And since Pero intimidated Lisbeth, you were stuck with him while Lisbeth rode comfortably with your cousin. The two made small-talk as you trotted through the kingsroad by moonlight. You gazed over at their shadowy figures as they talked, Lisbeth sidled up to William comfortably in the saddle behind him. You smirked. She had always thought he was handsome, ever since you were children. She was quite at her leisure. In contrast to you, who was trying to sit as far away from the grumpy man steering the horse in front of you. 

You jostled as the horse trotted over a bump in the road, yelping and grabbing roughly onto Pero’s waist. 

“Alright there?” William called from a few steps away. You nodded a yes. 

“Hold on,” Pero grumbled. “You’ll break your neck, and your mother will have mine.”

You had no quick-witted response to that. If there was anything in this world that could cause an experienced mercenary to tremble in fear, it was your mother. So, you simply tightened your grip around his waist, locking your hands together. He stiffened as you did. 

You hated how comfortable his broad back felt pressed into your front, how his scent overtook you. He smelled of fire, the forge, sandalwood, and leather. It was a far-cry from the rank stench that followed him and William when they arrived.

Lisbeth laughed from her place on the road beside you while William regaled her of stories from his travels. You frowned at the grumpy man in front of you, silent save for the way he mumbled under his breath to the horse  in his mother tongue. 

“Does your horse have a name?” You asked. 

“Hmm?” He grunted, turning his head a bit to face you. 

“The mare. What is her name?”

“Horse,” he replied shortly. 

“Horse?” You asked incredulously. “Her name is horse?”

“She has never needed a name,” he said.

“All animals need names,” you sighed. “All of mine do.”

“Hm,” he hummed, not unkindly. “I suppose I wouldn’t know what to name her even if I desired to.”

You paused and thought for a moment. This was perhaps the most civil conversation you had ever had, and it was about a horse. Still, you were loath to see it end. 

“She is quite fond of the clovers that grow by the barn. I often see her grazing there. What about clover?”

“Clover,” he repeats, turning the words over in his mouth. He hums. “It is better than Horse, I suppose.”

After that, the rest of the ride is filled with comfortable silence save for the sound of the hum of conversation from the couple on horseback beside you. Despite yourself, you smile. Perhaps you and the Spaniard could find middle ground after all. 

- 

The festival was like something from a fairy story. And as you stood there, even Lisbeth, who had grown up surrounded by nobles and visits to court was in wonder at the gaiety of it all. 

As soon as your group had approached the city gates, you could hear the music—upbeat and lilting, with clapping and voices singing accompanying it. Your heart had leapt at the sound.

Dancing. There was little in life you enjoyed more than letting the music take you and spinning away. 

As you took in the city, you didn’t know where to look. There was light everywhere: torches and lamps making the streets seem like they were glowing. You could hear strange languages on the tongues of passersby as you walked, making sure to keep close to your group. The smell of the sea breeze lingered in the air, telling you you were close to the sea. You smiled at it. You’d never seen the ocean, and though you knew you wouldn’t tonight, the smell of it awakened something in you. Above the thatched roofs above your head, you could make out the shadowy figures of the tops of sails—boats, resting in the harbor.

You and Lisbeth followed William and Pero to a stable near the heart of the city, where William payed to have the two mares quartered for the few hours that you planned to be there. 

When you reached what must’ve been the town square, Lisbeth gripped your arm tightly, face beaming as she took in the grandeur of it all.

There were countless stalls set up around the perimeter of the cobbled town-center, tents and poorly-built shacks selling all manner of trinkets and gifts. There were food-stalls, jewelry, flowers, tapestries—too much for you to fully take in. In front of one of the taverns that bordered the town center, there was a group of people, sitting in rickety wooden chairs and stools, playing music. There was an old man with a mandolin, hair graying and beard long, a young woman with a lute, a lumbering man sitting behind them playing a violin with startling precision. 

In the center of the square, countless couples danced in tune with each other. It was a popular dance in your part of the world—an upbeat ballad about a hare and a tortoise, one you’d been dancing at harvest and midsummer festivals since you were a child. 

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. 

“Look!” Lisbeth cried, turning to you, grip still on your arm. “Do you remember when were ten and you had to dance with—”

“Eldon!” You winced, remembering the handsy youth only a few years older than you that you’d been forced to dance with by your mother. There had been a time that she was hopeful for a match between the two of you, but he’d ended up marrying a girl in a neighboring village and moving there to take over her father’s house. You were glad of it; he’d been an unpleasant boy.

“The candle-maker’s son?” William smirked from the other side of Lisbeth. 

“The very same,” you groaned. 

“Oh, he was the most odious boy,” Lisbeth added. 

“Really?” William asked. “I remember him being quite shy, if a bit ill-,mannered.”

“Ill-mannered doesn’t even begin to describe him,” you countered, remembering his wandering hands and leering gaze. “I don’t know if I can remember someone else whose face was so vile.”

“Are we remembering the same boy?” William asked. Beside him, Pero’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking bored with the conversation. “I remember him differently.”

“Because he wanted to be you, cousin,” you smiled at him. “He was positively disgusting.”

“He had a scar that cut across his forehead,” Lisbeth added. “From a riding accident.”

At that, Pero stiffened and his jaw clenched, his eyes finding you as William and Lisbeth continued talking. 

“Yes, that’s the boy,” William nodded. “Was he truly so bad?”

You opened your mouth to respond before being interrupted.

“Ah yes,” Pero snapped, surprising you. The sharpness of this tone was something you were unused to. His lip curled as he addressed you. “Because a scar is truly what makes a man’s character. How unfortunate for you that you had to look upon the face of someone so…what did you say, Senora? Disgusting.”

He spit the word at you like it was poison. You gawked at his tone, at the malice in his voice, before feeling your own ire bubble in your gut. William and Lisbeth stood perplexed between you. 

“He was disgusting,” you countered, taking a step toward Pero. “Because of his untoward behavior and hands that had a habit of wandering up ladies’ skirts. The scar had nothing to do with it. Though how good it is to finally know your opinion of me, Tovar.” 

He just opened his mouth, gaping like a fish, before you grabbed Lisbeth’s hand and began to walk toward the crowd. 

A new, more slow, group number had begun to play, and you and Lisbeth fell in line with the masses enjoying the festival. From behind you, you could faintly hear the sound of William scolding his companion. 

“I see what you mean,” Lisbeth said to you after a moment. 

You looked at her in confusion, before turning into the next step of the dance. 

“He is unpleasant,” she elaborated. “And rude. No matter how handsome he is. I am sorry for ever thinking otherwise.”

You sighed and linked your arm with hers, as the dance called for. 

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “You couldn’t have known.”

She returned your smile and squeezed your arm. 

“I wonder why he is so…”

“So…uncaring? Aloof? Unkind?”

“...melancholy.” She finished, and you started. 

Of all the words you would use to describe Pero Tovar, melancholy was not one of them.

“What?” She asked, noticing your confused look. “You cannot deny he has a sad air about him. Besides, to think someone so cruel as to call a young boy disgusting because of his scar? To think that you could be that cruel? He must have a sad outlook on life indeed.”

You hummed, reflecting on her words.

Lisbeth was right—as she so often was. It hadn’t been a point of view you considered before. Perhaps the reason why Pero’s countenance was so impatient and dreary was because of something else, something out of your control. As soldiers, he and William had seen the worst of mankind. You remembered what he’d said to you earlier that day, about his sisters. It doesn’t matter, they’re all gone. Perhaps there was a reason he didn’t wish to discuss his travels.

You rid all thoughts of the Spaniard from your mind as you finished the dance; you didn’t want your one night of freedom ruined. 

As you and Lisbeth exited the center of the town square, you spotted Pero, sulking and leaning up against a wooden beam that supported the awning to a tavern. You suppressed a smirk at the glowering look on his face. William must have scolded him for speaking to you how he did. 

Good, you thought.

“Pero,” Lisbeth called cheerily once you got close enough. “Where has William got to?”

Pero’s eyes flickered to you for a moment, clouded with something you didn’t understand. He opened his mouth to say something, deep, dark eyes still trained on you, when William’s booming voice interrupted you. 

“Cousin!” He called jovially, four frothing metal cups in his hands. They were overflowing with an amber-colored liquid. 

“That had better not be beer,” you wrinkled your nose, always having hated the grainy-tasting drink. 

“Mead, cousin. Come! Let us make merry while we can,” William looked as if he’d had a drink himself already. “I would beg of you both one dance before the night is through. I cannot bring the most beautiful women in the land to a festival and not demand a dance.”

You rolled your eyes fondly at your cousin’s silver tongue. Beside you, Lisbeth blushed behind her cup. You took your own drink, the metal cool beneath your fingers, and relished in the sweet, honey-flavor of the fermented drink. Mead was a delicacy to you. Your family was rarely rich enough to afford more than ale, and you had long been wary of it, not wanting to fall prey to the cup like your brother. Tonight, though, you drank eagerly. Behind his own cup, Pero’s eyes remained trained on you, full of an emotion you couldn't place. 

- - 

After her dance with William, Lisbeth pulled you aside. 

Her pale cheeks were rosy with exertion and with drink, her breath sweet and smelling of mead. You smiled at her, glad to see your often high-strung best friend relaxed for once. 

She stepped on an uneven stone and lost her footing, stumbling into you with a giggle.

“Oh!” She exclaimed through a laugh, leaning into you. “If my mother could only see me now. She would be aghast.” 

You giggled with her, pushing a stray auburn hair away from her eyes.

“Her high-born lady, absolutely ruined,” you teased. 

“And dancing with a mercenary, can you imagine?” 

“What ever shall we do with you?”

Lisbeth just laughed. It was a deep laugh, coming from her belly. One you didn’t hear often. Once she caught her breath, Lisbeth sighed, resting her head on your shoulder. The two of you watched as the people danced in the square, content.

“Thank you,” she mumbled after a moment. “I have had a wonderful time. I am glad to have had at least one night like this before—”

Lisbeth stopped herself, clamping her lips shut. You paused. 

“Before what?” You asked. 

Lisbeth pulled away from you, wringing her hands together in front of her, gaze trained on the cobblestones below your feet. 

“Before what, Lisbeth?” You asked again.

When she looked up at you, her eyes were teary. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth before she spoke. 

“I am to be wed,” she said, voice warbling. “Before midsummer. My father just told me this morning.”

“What?” you asked, all breath leaving your chest. 

“I wanted to tell you right away,” she said, a tear streaming down her face now. “But when I tried, I just couldn’t. Then, I wanted to enjoy tonight. I thought if I’m to move away and become a wife, I’ll at least have tonight.”

You blinked, processing what exactly this meant. 

Of course, she’s to be married, you thought. It was strange enough that she wasn’t betrothed at the age of ten and nine. Her father had finally made his decision. She was a lady of high station, the daughter of a Lord—this was her duty. One she was excited for, even. She had always wanted to be the mistress of her own house. You should be happy for her. 

So why did you feel so sad?

“Who,” you croaked, before clearing your throat. “Who is he?”

Lisbeth smiled weakly. 

“A Lord,” she said, laughing a little. “He lives a two-days ride to the North. My father says he is kind.”

“Have you met him?” You asked.

“Once,” she smiled. “But I was little more than a girl, and I barely remember.”

“Will you have time to…be acquainted before…”

Before the wedding. The words hang in the air between you. 

“Yes,” she nodded. “He will come visit in a fortnight.”

You nodded dumbly, realizing the reality that faced you: your best friend would be leaving you to begin her life, and you would be left behind. The thought brought tears to your eyes. 

“And he’s not…old, is he?”

It had long been one of Lisbeth’s fears that her father would wed her to a man too many years her senior—an old, country lord who she could never grow to love. If she was to be sold off like a broodmare to a man old enough to be her grandsire, you didn’t think you could stand it. 

“No,” she smiled shakily. “He is young—only nine years my senior.”

You breathed a sigh of relief at that. Little mercies. You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders, willing the moisture to leave your eyes. You would not cry in front of her. 

“And, are you happy with the arrangement?”

Lisbeth considered it a moment. 

“I am… relieved he is not old. It is too soon to tell without actually meeting him, but I trust my father’s judgment. I am his only daughter. I do not believe he would part with me for someone unworthy.”

You smiled at your best friend–your ever constant, loyal companion. Her auburn hair shone around her head in the yellow light of the evening. Her eyes shone with hope. She was ready for this, you knew it. You ignored the pang of melancholy in your stomach and squeezed her arms. For now, you would be happy for her. You would save your tears for later. 

“No, I daresay he wouldn’t.”

 You pulled her into a hug. She sighed against you. 

“You shall be at my wedding,” she declared once she pulled back. “I will refuse to be wed without you.”

You laughed at her. 

“Me, surrounded by lords and ladies,” you snorted at the idea.

“Hush,” she smacked your arm. “We are not so different from you lot. Besides, I much prefer your company to theirs any day.”

You smiled at her, linking your arm with hers as you ventured into the square to find your companions. 

“Come, let us enjoy the rest of the night,” you said. 

“Let us,” she replied jovially. 

As the two of you continued on, you ignored the pit in your stomach at the idea of Lisbeth’s impending nuptials. 

- -

Your group departed with hours left until sunrise—plenty of time to return to your beds without your families noticing. 

The hopeless feeling that struck you at the revelation of Lisbeth’s engagement stuck with you, though, even after you bridled your horses and began your trek home. 

Beside you, William hummed a tune while Lisbeth dozed off behind him. Your arms were loosely wrapped around Pero’s waist as he rode silently. The two of you still hadn’t exchanged a word since the tense encounter in Geris’s town square. Still, you hadn’t been on the receiving end of any of his glares for the rest of the evening. 

You pondered what your life would look like after Lisbeth left. You couldn’t help it. For as long as you could remember, it was you and her. Your mother has acted as midwife in Lisbeth’s birth, and ever since, her mother had been a loyal patron of your mother’s herbal remedies. You and her had been friends since infancy. And now, she was leaving. Entering and finding her place in the wide, expansive world. And you were going to be stuck where you’d always been: caring after your ailing father and serving as a punching bag for your drunken brother. 

The thought of Lisbeth’s absence from your life made your eyes fill with tears, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks. 

You turned your head away from William, knowing if he saw you cry, he’d make a fuss. You took a few shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself, but failed. Before you knew it, you were shaking with tears against Pero’s back. 

You knew he could feel your sobs, but couldn’t find it in you to care. He was going to judge you no matter what you did—he’d made that much clear tonight. You might as well let yourself weep. 

After a moment, though, he surprised you. You heard Pero breathe your name, so quietly you scarcely heard it. 

You sniffled, trying to cover the sounds of your tears. You mumbled an apology, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. But instead of pestering or making fun of you, Pero only hummed in acknowledgement, before wrapping a rough palm around your own and squeezing. 

His hand remained wrapped in yours the rest of the way home, a silent show of support. It baffled you, but you didn’t have time to even begin to question it. Instead, you just let yourself cry, leaning against the Spaniard for support. The rest could wait til the morning.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar x reader #pero x reader #pero tovar fic #the great wall fanfic #the great wall fanfiction #pero tovar x y/n

[prolix-yuy]

ok bangathon request

gentle romantic after argument sex missionary.

im so boring but there it is

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

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Position: Missionary

Word Count: 900

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

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

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

They’re only partly right.

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

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

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

Get your hands off me.

Oh don’t be so dramatic, Pero. 

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

So five men against you is fair odds?

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

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

Being a real woman somewhere far from here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

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

[604to647]

Mi Galleta

Modern AU Pero Tovar x fem!reader

Mi Galleta (Spanish for “my cookie”) is a 4 part mini-series about Modern AU Pero Tovar, a Grumpy-Bouncer for exclusive high end restaurant 'Lin' and Sunshine-Rich Girl with a Heart of Gold™️ Reader. Pero rides a sports bike cause it makes him even hotter but this isn’t a Biker AU 🏍️😊 (Fluff throughout, Angst = 🥠, Smut = 🍪)

Each part is named after a cookie:

Part 1 - Ginger Molasses

Part 2 - White Chocolate Macadamia (light 🥠, 🍪)

Part 3 - Salted Caramel (light 🍪, 🥠)

Biker!Pero Boyfriend ✨Vibes✨

Hello Kitty

Sugar Drop (April Showers Challenge one-shot) new!

Part 4 - Oatmeal Raisin new! (🥠,🍪)

This series was born from a very vivid dream I had so maybe it doesn’t make any sense, but let’s just go with it and I hope you enjoy! Pero is my OG PBoi fanfic love and it’s been fun writing for the one who started it all 🥹

(Accidentally deleted the masterlist and had to repost 💀😅)

#no you didn't see that #masterlist #pero tovar #modern!pero tovar #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern au #no y/n

[absurdthirst]

The Mercenary and the Whore {Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: Sex work, prostitution, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, bathing Tovar, bath sex, riding, parting company, angst, confessions of love, oral sex (female receiving), mentions of child planning

Comments: When Pero Tovar comes to your brothel, he makes sure to monopolize your time. Wanting to spend every second he can between your thighs. Unable to tell you how he feels before he leaves for the East and you are sick with worry for your favorite client who is much more than that to you.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

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

It’s getting closer to when he will arrive. The mornings are getting shorter, the chill of the air starting to make your breath a white cloud in front of you when you do what chores you need to before you have to work. He always comes when the weather turns. Once then, then again three months later. Sometimes he would visit often during the summer if he had taken work nearby. But he always came during the colder months. You anticipated his arrival, knowing he would monopolize your time and keep you from taking other clients. Pero Tovar was greedy for his time between your thighs and it left little time or energy for anyone else. 

Pero grunts at the matron of the brothel, giving her your name, and she nods, realizing who he is. He strides up the stairs, two at a time, his armor and weapons clanging, and finally he’s knocking on your door. When you answer, his stomach twists and he feels like he’s home. Something he would never admit to anyone else. He offers you a rare smile, saying your name. “Hola, hermosa.” He murmurs, his eyes trailing down your body, covered by the thin tunic but he knows what’s underneath, has dreamed about it since he last left your bed.

“I know you are eager to strip off your armor.” You purr, giving him a winsome smile and stepping back so he can push into the room that you live and work out of. It’s not ideal, being a whore, but it keeps the roof over your head and your belly full. All things that you had been in sore need of before you had arrived at this brothel. He won’t bathe yet, too desperate for you, and you will let him touch you despite the grime from the road. “It has been too long, Tovar.” 

“Too long, hermosa.” He murmurs, working on the ties to his armor as his cock starts to harden . Even just the smell of you has him aching for you. “I thought of you. Many nights.” He promises, not wanting to tell you about the days. Riding on his horse with his thoughts for company once William had run out of things to ramble on about, he thought about you and what you are up to. He sets his armor down and reaches for his tunic, pulling it over his head.

“You thought of me while you were between another woman’s thighs?” You have no delusions about this thing with Tovar. He pays for your cunt, even as well as he treats it and despite your own traitorous heart, he does not want a life with you. “That is not well done of you.” You chide playfully, pulling your thin tunic over your head so you are bare when he throws his own to the floor and glares at you. 

Tovar shakes his head, “no one else. There was men only and I am not that way inclined. Some are. I only dreamed of your wet cunt.” He promises, shoving his trousers down after kicking off his boots. When he’s bare before you, he steps closer to grab your ass, dragging you against him and he presses his nose into your neck. “Always smell delicious.”

Closing your eyes, your fingers find and tangle into his dirty hair. Not caring that it is slightly oily. You have him here, even if it is just for a week or so before he disappears again. “Just for you.” You hum, knowing that he enjoys the clean scent of your skin and the flowers that you press into the soap you use. Letting you scrub him with the same soap when he finally gets into the tub that will be brought to your room. “My wet cunt is ready for you.” 

Tovar slaps your ass and growls, ready for you and he will be rough this first time. Your pleasure won’t be his priority but he always makes it up to you in the sex following this frantic coupling. He guides you over to your cot, laying you down and he spreads your legs so he can see your dripping cunt. Humming in contentment, he slides his fingers through your slickness, “who made you this wet, chiquita?”

“You, Tovar.” You aren’t lying, although you can see that he doesn’t believe you. His shoulders are broad and his body is fit. The body of a mercenary, littered with scars and you know that one of the days he will occupy your bed, you will trace them making note of any new ones and fussing slightly over them. You whimper when he presses his fingers to the little nub beneath the curls of your sex. His cock is jutting out and the thick head is purple when he pulls the skin back. “How do you want to fuck me, Tovar? Like this? Or do you wish to watch my ass while you fill my cunt?”

“Yes.” He hisses, “from behind. Want to - fuck. Want to see your ass.” He murmurs and pulls his hand away, jerking himself slowly while you shift onto your hands and knees. He groans when he shuffles closer so he can notch his cock at your entrance and he pushes into you with a low whine, eyes closing as your hot walls envelop him.

You keen, always loving the pinch of pain when it comes to taking Pero for the first time after so long apart. You won’t claim that you are as tight as you were when you were innocent, but the Spaniard has a big cock. “Yes.” You moan, eyes rolling back when his hips hit your ass and he's buried to the hilt. “Missed this cock, Tovar.” You admit breathlessly. “Now,” you look over your shoulder. “Ride me hard and work out the need you have for me.”

Tovar groans, low and loud as he twitches inside of you. “It’s been too long without this exquisite cunt, hermosa.” He murmurs as he caresses your spine until he’s gripping your hips, grinding impossibly deeper before he pulls out. Pushing back inside in a quick motion, he sets a harsh pace, grunts escaping his lips as he watches your ass jiggle and your asshole flutter as he pushes deep into your cunt.

Tovar’s pace takes your breath away, all you can do is moan and hold on. Making sure he does not push you too far forward onto the cot. You love how frantic he always is this first time, the ache he leaves you with always growing with each time he takes you after. Long after his last time, you will feel him between your thighs even after you have bathed away the sweat and cum, washed your sheets and taken another man. If you could, you would daydream about the dark, dangerous mercenary with a long scar on his left eye while you are under another man as he grunts away. “So good, b-Tovar.” He doesn’t like you using pet names with him, so you don’t flatter him like you might another customer.

“Always good.” Tovar groans, his fingers digging into your flesh until they slide up to cup your tits. He bends over your body, enjoying how you clench around him, and he’s close. He goes months without a hot cunt around him so he struggles to last during his first encounter with you. “Hermosa. I- I won’t last. Where?” He asks, always wanting to make sure you decide.

“Inside.” You rarely go a day without drinking the tea that will prevent a child and you know how much he hates to pull out of your body to spill his seed. Unless he is in your mouth or wants to paint your skin with it when he is feeling particular. “Fill my cunt up and show me how much you have missed it.” 

“Shit.” Pero curses, his eyes clenched shut as he buries himself deep and spills his hot seed onto your walls, a low groan escaping his lips. “Fuck.” He pants, slowly rocking his hips as he rides his pleasure and he leans in to kiss your shoulder. “Gracias, hermosa.”

You smile and hum, looking over your shoulder at his panting frame. “Always my pleasure.” You tell him, knowing that even if you did not experience pleasure this time, you will several times before he leaves again. The first time with him is always quicker than the rest. He says it’s because your cunt is so good and it’s been so long since he’s had it that he cannot pace himself. 

He caresses your back and presses kisses to your skin. Beyond your doors, he is a hardened killer, a survivor, but with you, he is soft and gentle. He allows himself to be tender with you. Unbeknownst to you, he leaves his heart with you when he leaves but he would never confess that.

Your eyes flutter with pleasure. He always touches you in small ways that makes your heart quake and you fall deeper for a man you could never have. When he finally pulls his softening cock out of your cunt, you shift to your side and look at him. “Do you want me to have the bath and a meal sent up?” You ask, knowing his preferred method of relaxing.

Tovar nods, shifting to lay down on the bed and he stares at you, admiring your features. You’ve always been so gorgeous and he loves how you make him feel. He wants to feel like this all the time but he can’t. He has to sell his sword. “Have you been busy?” He asks, running his knuckles along your spine.

“Busy enough.” You shrug one shoulder and roll your eyes. “A group of Lord Crowley’s men came in a month ago.” You tell him. “Luckily it was my monthly, they put Adrina and Gwen out of work for nearly two weeks.” The men had been brutal and it had taken time for their injuries to heal.

Pero frowns, his touch freezing on your skin. He worries about you when he’s away, scared that the next time he returns he won’t find you because someone strangled you during a passionate encounter. “Men are animals. They do not realize how lucky they are to have a beautiful woman in their company. They should pleasure, not harm.” He shakes his head and worries that you will get hurt by someone one day.

“Most men do not think like you.” You remind him. “They only think of their own pleasure and Crowley’s lot have no control because their lord is just as bad.” You know that you were lucky to have been indisposed and because of that, you had shared your pay with the two girls while they were recovering.

“Bastards.” Pero hisses, shaking his head again. “They should be killed.” He murmurs, knowing he’d love the pleasure to kill them but he doesn’t have a reason to hunt them down and he doesn’t want to leave your side until he has to. “Are you hungry?” He asks, wanting you to eat if you’re hungry.

You smile, knowing he must be hungry if he is making hints. You lean in and kiss his cheek because you don’t allow kissing, not even Tovar. “I will go order your bath and meals.” You tell him before you climb off your cot and stand, reaching for your tunic to shrug on. You can clean up his seed when you come back. “Do you want ale too?” 

“Is that even a question?” He scoffs playfully and you giggle, making him smile. He winks at you and watches you disappear out of the room to tell the matron to bring the tub and the meals. He will happily pay for your meals while he is in your company.

Coming back up the stairs, you meet a giggling pair of your friends. “So we will not see you for at least a week?” Gwen asks. “We saw Tovar bolt up the stairs to your bed.” 

Adrina nods, smirking at you. “It is funny that he stays so long since I have already pleasured William and he is now drinking. I think your Spaniard is in love with you.” 

You scoff and shake your head, your cheeks burning and wishing that it were true. “He just enjoys my touch.” You tell the girls, adopting a saucy wink. “He is a creature of habit, if he had found your bed first you would be the one having your time taken up.”

The girls shake their heads at your naïveté but they don’t push their thoughts on you anymore. Pero looks up when you come back into the room and his stomach twists with the way you look at him. He doesn’t want to leave for even a second. “You’ve ordered food for yourself too?” He checks, wanting to make sure you are fed before he has you again.

“I did.” He is too generous to you sometimes, making sure you eat a proper meal while he is with you. Some men who spend hours with you don’t care if you even drink at all while they are with you, but Pero makes sure your needs are met. You move over to the wash basin and smile over your shoulder. “The bath and the meals will be up shortly. Are you already ready for the next round or should I clean up?”

Pero shakes his head, “you can clean up, hermosa. We have plenty of time. I want to talk. Tell me about how you’ve been - business aside.” He demands, wanting to listen to you talk.

“Agnes had her baby, he is so adorable.” You clean up while you talk. “I got to see him the next day, and since the baby is a boy, Eldon has decided that he would claim the babe as his own.” You don’t think much of that, but Agnes was happy. “They married when the boy, Caspian, was two months old. She moved into the house with him and his mother. We haven’t seen much of her, except when we run into her at the shops. Eldon doesn’t want her visiting with us now that she’s married.”

Pero is surprised to hear that the man took the babe on but he is glad to hear it. “He should allow her to see her friends.” Pero says, “but at least he did the decent thing and married the girl.” Pero says, knowing that it’s always a risk to get a whore pregnant but most men would abandon their bastards and leave the village.

“Yes, she’s allowed to attend church.” You roll your eyes and huff. The priest loudly damned you all to hell every time he saw you on the streets but he would sneak in the back several times a month. Thankfully, he had never come to your bed. “But at least Caspian has been baptized.”

Pero snorts, “I am not a religious man, hermosa. We sin and we die.” He says, knowing his devoutly Catholic mother would be turning in her grave but he doesn’t believe God would be so cruel as to allow some of the sins he has seen committed, some of his own doing. “You…you are my angel.” He says softly, averting his eyes.

“Then I will be your angel.” Your heart softens and you wish that you had met Pero under other circumstances. Despite his claims he would be a horrible husband, you know he would not. He’s gruff, yes, but he’s also tender. You often daydream of a little cottage, making a soft, warm home for him to rest in when he comes home. The knock on your door makes you smile, “and now your angel brings you food.” You tell him as you walk to the door to open it.

“Finally.” Pero grunts playfully and you look back at him before you open the door. The trays are carried in and Pero covers himself with the sheet while the tub is brought in with the steaming buckets of water. “We will fill it ourselves.” You tell Gwen, knowing she came in to see how Pero was lingering in your room. 

“Of course.” She says, offering you a smirk that makes Pero frown, wondering what the look was for. 

“I am starving.” Tovar groans as you set the tray down in front of him.

“Eat then.” You tell him with a small smile as his eyes roam greedily over the overloaded tray. You make sure that Pero’s portions are generous because you have seen how the man loves his food. “I will fill the tub and it can be cooling slightly while you eat.”

He nods, knowing his mama raised him with better manners but it’s been too long since he had a hot meal and he eagerly digs in. Shoveling the food into his mouth as you pour the buckets into the tub.

You hum as you set out your soap and get some of your drying cloths. You know he will want to soak in the bath, and you don’t blame him. Moving over to claim your own tray, although you hand him the bread, since he has already devoured his. You normally don’t eat it anyway, and rarely take any.

Pero knows what you are doing and he doesn’t like it. Knowing you’ll protest, he splits the bread in half and hands you back the larger piece. “You’ll need your energy.” He reasons with you and you nod, taking the bread from him. He hums in satisfaction and digs back into the stew.

He eats fast, as if it might be stolen from him. Your own meal is eaten at a more sedate pace. “How was your travels?” You ask him, as if you were his wife inquiring about his trip while he is home. “William kept out of trouble?”

Tovar snorts, “you know he can never keep himself out of trouble. Always has to show off and it gets us in trouble.” Pero shakes his head, “and then I have to save his ass. We made it back though. With plenty of coins. Always the main thing.” He says and proceeds to suck and lick his fingers clean. His mama raised him with manners, doesn’t mean he always used them.

“That is good.” You never pry about the money he spends while he is here, but it is a lot. Monopolizing your entire days while he is in your bed, he even sleeps in your room. Not that you mind. His arms wrapped around you and his face tucked into your neck while he snores softly is the safest you ever feel. “How long are you here?”

“It depends. The winter is coming and we need to earn enough coin before we seek shelter for the snow. I am thinking at least a week. More, if William can keep himself out of trouble.” Pero chuckles, “are you going to take other men?” He asks softly, wanting to know where you stand beforehand.

“While you are here?” You scoff and shake your head. “I would not have the time or the energy.” You tease him playfully. In truth, you would happily never let another man between your thighs if you could have Pero, but that was not something that was possible. He was a mercenary and you are a whore.

Pero is reassured, worried that you’d go off while he is sleeping or bathing. It���s selfish but he wishes to keep you all to himself, prepared to pay whatever it takes. “I want to bathe.” He says and stands up from the bed, the sheet falling from his body and he moves fast to step into the hot water, a low groan escaping his lips. “Do you wish to join me, hermosa?”

“What if I wash you?” You ask, finishing up your own meal and moving the trays to the door to place outside. You remove your tunic and walk naked to the tub. “When you are clean, I will join you and mount your cock while you soak in your bath.”

Tovar nods, grabbing the bar of soap so he can begin cleaning himself up. “Can you cut my hair, hermosa?” He asks, wanting to smarten up to be in your company for a week.

You had expected his request. He always wants to have his hair cut and shaved. Humming as you get out your scissors, you kneel down by the bathtub. Running your fingers through his hair and start to cut.

He tilts his head and lets you snip away at the matted locks, enjoying your fingers massaging his head and you grab the soap once you’re done to wash his hair. He groans, closing his eyes as your fingers work his scalp and his cock starts to harden at the ministrations.

“You need someone to take care of you.” You chide softly, massaging his scalp and enjoying the way that he groans. “I can see you enjoying being treated well by a wife, or mistress.”

Pero snorts, his fingers gripping the edge of the tub. “Who would wish to be mine? I am the son of a farmer from Seville. I have been selling my sword since I was fourteen when my parents died and I had nothing. I am a nobody. I own nothing. I do not have a home for a wife or a mistress.”

Your fingers still in his hair and you want to tell him that you would want to be his. Although he would not want a whore. “You will have a home one day.” You predict. “You will stop coming to see me because you have a wife with a babe under her apron and a warm bed to sleep in.”

Pero frowns, not liking to think of a life without you in it. He doesn't answer and he allows you to rinse his hair and he already feels so much better. You grab the scissors again and work on chopping off the excess beard that had become matted during his travels. "You are too good to me, hermosa." He murmurs as you grab the sharp knife to begin styling his mustache.

“You are good to me as well.” You remind him, arching a brow at him playfully before you look back down at his face as you cut the tiny hairs over his lip. Your fingers brushes his lips gently and you hum in satisfaction and lean back. “Now, so handsome.” You tell him, completely honest. He’s one of the most handsome men to you, even more appealing than William.

He blushes slightly under your intense stare and he averts his eyes as you set down the knife. “Are you joining me?” Pero asks and you nod, stepping into the tub and you straddle him, his cock now hard and aching for you. “Hermosa.” He sighs in bliss, his hands caressing your back and he leans in to nudge his nose against yours.

“You don’t have to flatter me.” You promise, whispering the words between you, and your fingers toy with the curly ends of his now shorter hair. “I want to ride you slowly.” You admit, knowing he might prefer a faster pace. “Let you relax while I do all the work, milking your cock for you.”

He can't argue with you, nodding slowly as you reach beneath you to grip his cock. You sink down onto him after notching him at your entrance and you take his breath away. "Fuck." He sighs, tilting his head back at the feel of your warm, soft cunt enveloping him.

Moaning yourself, you take advantage of the vulnerable skin of his throat, leaning in and pressing your lips to his pulse as you grind down on his length. Feeling him pulse inside you as your walls flutter. “Your cock is so good.” You praise, kissing along his jaw and neck while he relaxes into the bath. Making sure that you don’t slosh water too badly, you start at a slow pace that seems to let you feel every vein in his cock.

"Your cunt - it's incredible." Pero murmurs, caressing your spine and he imagines a lifetime with you, relaxing in a warm home...you as his wife. You with his child. It's a beautiful dream but one he can never have. He's a dangerous man who has sinned. His blood soaked hands could never have you as their prize.

Soft groans and ripple of the water is what fills the room. The moment is so tender you wish you could break your rule and press your lips to his. It’s almost love making, although you have never experienced that, you think it would be like this. His hands running over your skin and the soft grunts of pleasure making you moan.

He wants to call you 'amor' but he doesn't know if you'll understand him and he can't take that risk. His cock twitches inside of you and he ducks his head to take your nipple into his mouth after cupping your tit and lifting it towards his face.

You whimper when his teeth scrap over the sensitive skin, your fingers tangling into his shorter hair and tugging gently. “So good, Pero.” You moan, not even realizing you called him by his first name. You normally just call him Tovar because that is what he told you the first time he had visited your bed. You use his Christian name when you are touching yourself thinking about him.

He groans into your flesh, wrapping his lips around the nipple and biting down before he soothes it with his tongue. His other hand squeezes your other breast and he leans back, pushing them together with his palms. "So fucking beautiful." He rasps, cock twitching inside of you.

You moan again. “Pero, fuck.” You love how attentive he is, one of the few men you’ve ever had to care about your pleasure. You circle your hips and clench him right. “Love how you feel.”

His hand slides down your body to your clit. He was taught during his first sexual encounter with a whore to pleasure a woman and he’s never forgotten, wanting to feel that delicious tight grip on his cock. He wants you to cum so he finds that bundle of nerves and rubs circles around it.

“Ohhh, ohhh fuck.” Your own head tilts back, enjoying the pressure against the bundle of nerves and your hips jerk in response. “Pero, I- oh baby, I’m gonna soak you.” You warn breathlessly.

"That's it, hermosa. Come on, soak my cock." He grunts, thrusting his hips up so he can push even deeper and he groans your name when your walls start to flutter around his cock.

You fall forward into his chest, pressing your face into his neck and moaning as you hang on. “Oh, oh Perooooooo!” You cry out, your cunt clenching down around him.

He groans when you clamp down on his cock, making him hiss your name, and he swears he nearly cums right then but he holds strong. He strokes your back as you shake above him and he kisses along your neck.

Your hips rock as you force yourself to keep moving, loving how each roll of your hips shoots another little fissure of pleasure down your spine. “Cum for me, Pero.” You beg, “fill me up again.”

He can’t deny you, his hand leaving your clit and his hand squeeze your ass, slapping it as he rocks up into you. Water sloshes and he groans your name, so close to his orgasm. “Fuck, hermosa. I’m gonna - I’m gonna -” He pants and squeezes his eyes shut as he cums, painting your walls for the second time.

You whimper, enjoying the rush of heat as he fills you. Always loving how thick and how much Pero cums. You run your hands through his hair and sigh softly as he rocks himself through his pleasure as you flutter around him.

He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in with a deep inhale, and he swears he could die right now and be a happy man. You’re his sanctuary and he never wants to leave this moment. “Gracias, hermosa.” He murmurs into your skin, feeling more relaxed than he has in many moons.

“Anytime.” You promise, closing your eyes and laying your head on his shoulder while he holds you close. “I am happy you are here. You are safe.”

Pero doesn’t respond, knowing that any day could be his last. He caresses your spine and enjoys the feeling of holding you close. “Come on, hermosa. The water will get cold and I don’t want you becoming ill.” He says and pulls away from you.

You lift off his cock and quickly clean yourself up and swipe the cloth over his groin as well before you stand up, wrapping another cloth around your body before holding his. “Do you want me to dry you?” You ask, wanting to make sure he is relaxed and enjoying himself with you.

Pero shakes his head, “No gracias, hermosa. I can dry myself.” He offers you a wry smile and stands up once you’re out of the tub. He takes the cloth you hand him and he dries off, suddenly exhausted. “I want to sleep. Can you lay with me?” He asks, wanting to wrap himself around you.

It is times like these that you feel you cheat Pero. He pays good coin for your company and he wishes to sleep? “Of course.” You nod, moving to set the trays outside the door and hang your cloth up to dry. You will sleep nude and you are thankful you had fresh sheets on your cot. He deserves a good rest in a clean bed. “Anything you wish.”

He hums in delight when he lays down and you lay down beside him, pulling the sheets over you both. His arm wraps around you and he nuzzles his nose into your neck, breathing you in until he’s softly snoring into your ear.

You stay awake for a long time after Pero starts to snort. Holding him close in the dark as the sounds of the brothel filter dully through the walls. Closing your eyes and imagining the sounds of the woods, animals outside of a small cottage. Cozy and secluded, just the two of you, together every night. You fall asleep and dream of Pero.

**** 

“Fuck, hermosa.” Pero groans when you clench around him. His eyes watch you as you gyrate above him and he slides his hands up to cup your tits. “So fucking beautiful.” He murmurs, his dark eyes nearly black with lust. He has spent every moment in the past week with you aside from the hour he left to speak to William. He isn’t sure if he wants to leave when the time comes but he has to. He needs to earn more coins.

Riding Pero has always been something that you enjoy but this week you have been frantic for it. “So fucking good.” You moan, leaning back and letting him play with your tits. “God, Tovar, you are so perfect inside me.” You’re greedy, knowing he will be leaving today or tomorrow so you want him to remember this.

"Fuck, hermosa. Amor." He pants, lost in the pleasure and unable to think about anything but you. He moans your name again and wraps his arms around you, dragging you into his chest. He thrusts up into you, wanting you to cum for him, and he buries his face in your neck.

Your moan is loud, gasped out when he calls you amor, although you try to reason that he is caught up in the sex. Your arms tighten around him and you whimper his name. “Perooooo.” His cock hits perfectly inside you and you shatter, clenching down around him like a vice as you soak him with your juices.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He growls, his fingers digging into your flesh as he thrusts up into you, moaning your name and it doesn’t take him long to cum. Painting your walls for the umpteenth time, he bites down on your shoulder to stop himself saying the words that linger on the tip of his tongue.

“Pero. Pero, oh god.” You cling to him, making your eyes and panting breathlessly at how good it feels. Your eyes water behind your lids and you bite your lip to keep from weeping. You know he is leaving and you don’t think you can bear it.

He caresses your back, kissing the spot he just sunk his teeth into, and he relaxes beneath you. Pulling you down to rest on his chest, he doesn’t say a word, wanting to enjoy this last time before he has to leave.

You sense the fact that he doesn’t want to talk so you snuggle into his embrace and sigh softly. Listening to his head beat in his chest and his breathing whoosh in and out slowly after he catches his breath. Wondering when he is going to leave and how you are going to handle not seeing him again anytime soon.

Pero isn’t sure how long he lays there, now soft but still inside of you, and he breathes you in until there’s a knock at the door. He groans, not liking his peace being disturbed, but you pull off of him and grab your tunic, pulling it over your head so you can open the door. William stands there and nods at you, peeking his head in at his Spanish companion. “It’s time, brother.” Pero nods, stomach twisting as he shifts from under your crumpled sheets to begin getting ready to leave.

Your heart plummets to the floor and you want to slam the door closed and pretend William isn’t there, but there would be no point. Pero isn’t yours. He wasn’t going to stay with you. You bite your lip and look towards Pero. “I will have them pack a bag of food for the road.” You announce before you rush down the stairs, leaving the two men to talk.

Pero speaks to William about the plan to venture East to find the black powder and he isn’t sure if he likes the idea but the coins sound too good to turn down. He would be set for life. He could return to you, marry you, start a life with you. He nods when William tells him to get ready and he takes his time dressing, looking up at you when you step into your room.

“Your food will be ready when you go down to saddle your horse.” You hate the sight of him strapping his armor to his body. The thick leathers changed him from lover to ruthless mercenary. Instead of crying, you move to the water bowl to clean yourself. You will have to go back to work after he leaves, taking other men into your bed.

After finishing tying his boots, Pero stands up to face you. “Gracias, amor. Por todo.” He says and reaches for you to drag you into his chest, his hand cupping the back of your head to keep you as close as possible.

You hate how cold the leathers are, wishing to feel his body again. “Safe travels.” You murmur against his chest. You can’t ask when you will see him again, it is not your place.

Pero slides his hands down your body, committing it to memory, and he leans in to nudge his nose against yours, desperately wishing to kiss you but he knows you have your rules.

You almost do it. You lean in to kiss him but he knows you have to keep that off the table. Instead, you nudge his nose back and inhale steadily. “Be safe, Pero.” You murmur quietly. “I will see you then next time you decide to see me.”

He nods as he pulls back and he stares at you for a moment. ���Hasta luego, hermosa.” He murmurs and grabs his satchel, walking away before he falls to his knees and begs you to let him stay.

“Goodbye, Pero.” You murmur softly, watching him walk out the door and listening for his boots thumping on the stairs before your tears start to fall.

It takes everything in him to leave on his stead alongside the Irishman who knows the feelings Pero has for you. He knows you are the woman he loves and he understands why Pero cannot take you as his own. The Spaniard is a complicated man and his emotions are even more chaotic. "She will be there when you come back." William says and Pero just grunts his response.

**** 

He must be dead. Your heart aches every time someone comes to your bed and it’s not him. Every time the door opens and it’s not the Spaniard, your sighs get a little heavier. Your friends have worried about you as you silently grieve. Pero has either fallen on a battlefield or he has found a wife like he deserved. Either way, the time for him to visit had come and gone four times. A year has passed and you finally admit to yourself that you will never see him again.

Pero looks up at the sky before he steps into the brothel. He’s been gone a year. It’s been a long time and he has gone through so much in the past twelve months. He gives your name at the desk and the matron looks weary but escorts him to your room, knocking on your door and Pero inhales sharply at his first glance at you after so long. “Hola amor.” He murmurs, his heart pounding in his chest.

You freeze, shocked at the sight of Pero in your doorway, looking tired but whole. “You are alive.” You choke out, sure that you would never see him again. You had cried so many nights when your last client had left your bed and the seasons had changed with no word from him. Swallowing harshly, you wonder why he is here now.

“Lo siento, amor.” Pero feels guilty that he didn’t send a rider to give you warning of his arrival but he’d been a little busy trying to not die in the far east. The matron glances between you and decides to leave you to it. Pero shuffles from one foot to the other, waiting for you to make a move.

You bite your lip, trying not to cry because all you want to do is hold him close and kiss him. Then slap his face because he worried you so badly. Clearing your throat, you send him a bland smile. “I am sure you are wanting a meal and a bath?” You ask, trying to keep things as they were before. “You must have been very busy.”

He can tell you’re not happy with him and he frowns, “that would be nice.” He nods and you step aside to let him into your room. “How have you been, hermosa?” He asks softly once he’s sitting down:

“I have not been the best.” You admit with a careless shrug. “I was feeling poorly early this year.” You move towards the door so you can order his bath and meal, none for yourself. “But I have survived.”

Pero frowns even more at that news, worried that he could’ve lost you before he returned. “Good. Always good to survive.” He offers you a small smile that you don’t return and you leave to go order his meal and bath. He sighs, rubbing his neck, and when you come back, he takes out the coins he had in his purse. “I want to pay for your company for a week.” He says, holding the pouch out towards you.

Your hand reaches out while you stare at him. Taking the payment for your body without even really reacting to it, beyond your heart breaking. The confirmation that it had never been more than a physical release for him. You look down at the decidedly heavy pouch for a moment before you reach back and heave it towards him as hard as you can. “I do not want your coins!” You yell, tears immediately flooding your eyes and you are blinded by them.

Pero’s eyes widen and he catches the pouch from his quick reflexes, watching you start to sob. “I- I’m sorry, hermosa. I’ll go. I won’t - I will leave you alone. I thought you wanted me here but apparently you wish for me to leave. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” He promises with a choke, heart breaking as you reject him.

“I- I thought you were dead!” You sob, rushing forward and slamming your fists against his leather covered chest. “M-my heart was broken and you-you walk back in as if a year hasn’t passed and pay for my cunt.” You know you aren’t making sense, you are just a whore to him, but he was your love. You loved him, love him still.

He reaches for your wrists, trying to stop you from hitting him. He pulls back to look at you, “amor. Amor. What - I was in China. I nearly died and I couldn’t get word to you. I- I wanted to return to you. Every night. Wanted to come home to you. I needed the coins so I could lay down my sword and return to you, to give you all of me.”

“Liar.” You sob, shaking your head and trying to pull away from his grip. He won’t let you go and you hate how much you are crying. “If-if you wanted to be with me, you would not offer coin.” You stop struggling and collapse against his chest. “I do not want your coin, I want your heart.” You whimper.

Pero’s chest clenches with frustration and he pulls you into his chest, “you have always had my heart. Since the first week I spent in your company. I gave you my coin, I give you my coin, because I wish to take care of you even in my absence, even when I cannot be here. I wish to provide for you because I - because I love you.”

You close your eyes and sob even harder. In relief, in distress for time that you have missed out on. “I love you, Pero.” You whisper. “Mi amor.” You know that you had been foolishly telling yourself that he had not meant it when he called you his love, you hadn’t dreamed to hope. “I have been saving every coin I could, wishing to leave this life behind.” You confess. “I did not think you could love a whore.”

“I don’t love a whore. I love you. Whatever you do, who you are…means nothing to me. I love you.” He murmurs, caressing your cheeks and he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “Can I kiss you?” He asks, wanting to feel your lips against his for the first time.

You lick your lips, finding them dry as you press closer. “Yes.” You moan softly. “Kiss me, Pero. I need you to kiss me.” You know that you haven’t kissed much, but he is the only man you want to kiss, to touch you, from now on.

Pero leans in, pressing his lips to yours, and it’s a little awkward. He’s never been an affectionate lover until he met you and now he’s aching for your kiss, for your touch. “Te amo.” He murmurs against your lips before he cups your cheek, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss.

You moan into the kiss, your cunt clenching when his tongue slides into your mouth. Sliding your hands up to tangle into his long hair, you pull him close and kiss him back just as fiercely.

His hands let go of your wrists so he can slide his hands down to grab your waist. It’s sloppy and clumsy as he slides his tongue against yours but he feels like he’s home. He feels like the battles he’s endured have been worth it to just have this moment with you in his arms.

When the kiss breaks, both of you are panting softly. “I love you.” You murmur again. “I- I want you to leave with me.” You sigh. “I want to leave the brothel and find a village where I can just be another woman.”

“I have coins, hermosa. That’s why I left. I wanted to return to you with enough coins for us to build a home together in a village. Get married.” He reveals and he lets go of you, fumbling as he reaches beneath his tunic to pull his gold chain out. He takes it off and reveals the ring he has worn there since he left. “It was my mother’s. I want - I want you to have it. For you to be my wife. Will you?” He asks, eyes widen and lower lip pouting as he waits for your answer.

“Pero….” You gasp, looking down at the simple, yet beautiful ring and then back up into his eyes. “I, yes, of course I will marry you.” You promise, beaming before you lunge forward and press your lips to his again.

He feels relieved and happy, for the first time in a long time, he’s happy. His lips press against yours and he pulls back for a moment so he can slide the ring onto your finger. “I need you, amor.” He murmurs, the fire growing in his belly as his desire for you comes to the forefront.

“You always need to fuck me when you come back from the road.” This time, you are giggling as you pull back and take his hand, dragging him towards your cot. “Come, amor, I have missed you between my thighs.” You admit. “And you will be the last man between them so you should service me well.”

“Not yet.” He murmurs, gently pushing you away. “I want to be clean for my wife. Have them to bring the tub and let me clean up before we lay together. I don’t want to risk you.” He says, knowing he had to care more for your well-being now - the woman that he would lay down and die for.

Your brow raises but you do not argue. Instead, you kiss him once more and rush to the door, eager to have the bath brought in. He loves you. He wants to take you away from here and have a life together. You bring up a pail of water yourself, rushing the boys who brought the tub and other buckets inside out the door and latch it behind them.

Pero works fast to strip off, sinking down into the tub after helping you pour the water in and he groans when the steam curls up around him. “Amor, can you cut my hair again?” He asks timidly, almost shy now you have his ring on your finger.

“Of course I can.” You nod as you move towards the scissors, getting them out and smiling as he relaxes and leans back against the rim. “I like your hair shorter and your beard trimmed.” You admit. “But I will take you however I can get you.” Kneeling down behind him, you pull off your tunic and run your fingers through his hair to start cutting it.

Pero smiles softly, "even with my scars?" He asks and you nod, "especially with your scars." Pero's heart thumps and he reaches for your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it. "I love you." He murmurs and you caress his cheek before you continue working on chopping off his hair.

Once you are done, you wet his hair down and lather soap into it. Smiling when he groans and leans back. Enjoying your fingernails scrubbing his scalp. “Does it feel good, amor?”

“Sí, hermosa.” Pero murmurs, closing his eyes as you wash his hair. “I want to do this for you.” He says, cock twitching when your nails scrap his scalp. He loves it. You finish washing his hair and work on trimming off the excess beard. Pero drinks you in, admiring your features, the way you bite your lip as you concentrate.

When the soap is wiped clean from his face, you smile, running a finger down his cheek. “So handsome.” You coo, “do you want me to wash you as well?” You ask, even as you reach for the clothe and the soap again. The quicker he is clean, the quicker he can touch you.

Pero nods, wanting your touch even though it’s selfish to make you wash him. He groans your name as you start to drag the cloth over his skin and his cock starts to harden. “Te amo.” He murmurs, watching you and his hand comes up to cup your breast.

You moan softly when he squeezes your breast. “Te amo.” You murmur in response, your heart bursting with happiness. You will let Pero rest as long as he needs, but then you will venture to find a place to settle, to build a life together. Your hand wraps around his now clean cock and you pump him gently.

“Mierda.” Pero groans when you squeeze him and he shakes his head, “amor. I want - I want to be inside of you. Please. Let me get out.” He says, pulling your hand off of his cock.

You’re surprised that he doesn’t want you to ride him in his bath, but perhaps he wants this time to be in the cot. Something more meaningful than the times before. You still pout as you stand and reach for the drying cloth as he steps out of the tub.

Pero quickly dries himself off and tosses the cloth aside, reaching for you. He pulls you into his chest, his hard cock trapped between you, and he cups your cheek with one hand as he leans in to press his lips to yours.

It’s softer and sweet, yet the kiss makes you moan. Knowing that this is real. That Pero is here and wants to make you his wife. Your arms wrap around his neck and it’s you that starts to guide him back towards your cot. “I need you.” You beg breathlessly.

Pero needs you too. Desperately. You’re all he has thought about for months. He murmurs your name as he shifts to lay you down on the cot. “Let me make love to you, amor.” He pleads softly, leaning down to wrap his lips around your nipples after positioning himself between your thighs. “I want to taste you.”

“Pero…” you start to protest, knowing that it has been only a day since the last man had been between your thighs but he silences you with a look. You’ve bathed since then, so you lean back and let him do what he wishes with you.

He spreads your thighs as he kisses down your stomach, cock twitching with the thought that it will someday be full of his child, and he inhales deeply when he settles between your thighs. “Fuck, such a pretty cunt.” He mumbles, his hands caressing your soft skin and he leans in to slide his tongue through your folds, not wanting to waste another second.

You keen, back arching your hips would rock up if it weren’t for his body and strong arms pinning you down. “Pero!” You’ve never felt a man’s tongue on your cunt and it’s a delicious sensation.

He knows this is something he will be doing again and again now that you are his. His tongue pushes deep into your walls and he groans as his nose presses against your clit, curling his tongue until he’s pulling back to flick it over your bundle of nerves.

Your eyes close and your fingers twist into the sheets as you start to chant his name. Already close to cumming and finding it to be so much better than his fingers rubbing your clit. “So good.”

He sucks on your clit, desperately wanting you to cum for him. He groans your name into your flesh and pushes two fingers into your cunt as he sucks on your clit a little harder.

“Pero!” Your scream is loud, letting everyone in the brothel hear as you come apart for him. Thighs shaking around his head and your cunt locking down around his fingers while pleasure rushes through your body.

He nearly cums when you gush around his digits but he keeps working his fingers inside of you to keep you pleasured until you’re pushing his head away. He kisses along your thighs as you pant, your chest heaving, and he kisses your stomach up to your breasts, pressing kisses on every inch of skin.

“I love you.” You whimper softly, running your fingers through his hair and smiling softly. You press your lips to his just as soon as he is close enough. Tasting yourself on his lips and humming at the sensation. “I love you so much.”

He smiles against your jaw, “I love you too, mi esposa.” He murmurs and shuffles between your thighs. Reaching down to grip his cock, he pulls back his foreskin and swipes the head against your clit. You whine and he chuckles, positioning himself at your entrance and slowly pushing into you with a low groan.

He feels even bigger, better than he ever had. It might just be your imagination, but it feels that way. Moaning softly, you pull your legs back to take him even deeper until he is buried inside you. “After we marry, I can stop drinking my tea if you would want.” You offer breathlessly, imagining being filled with his baby.

“Yes. Fuck, yes. I want - I want that.” He confesses, imagining you full of his baby has him stopping to control himself. He leans in to nudge his nose against yours, his breathing heavier. “Mi amor. Mi esposa. Mi vida. La madre de nuestros niños.” He murmurs, lost in thoughts of the future until he starts to slowly rock his hips.

“Yes.” You moan quietly. Wrapping your legs around him and sighing softly as he treats you as if you are made of glass. You can feel everything, and it’s exquisite.

He moves slowly inside of you, not wanting to rush this. He murmurs your name again and again, like a prayer, as he makes love to you. His ring on your finger as it glistens in the candlelight and his heart pounds in his chest.

This moment is one that you want to remember forever. Every kiss, ever whispered word of love between. You caress his face and look up at him, finding him even more handsome than ever.

He has fought long and hard to return to you, his lover, his reason for fighting so hard. He rocks into you, his hand gripping yours and he wants to hear the sweet cries of your orgasm. He shifts his weight to one forearm and slides his hand between you so he can rub your clit.

“Pero.” You gasp out when you feel the pressure of his fingers against your clit. “Please, amor.” You beg softly, your body getting closer to cumming with every thrust. You never want to be away from him again. Wanting to spend the rest of your life with your Spaniard.

He works your clit a little faster, wanting you to fall over the edge and it doesn’t take long for you to clamp down on his cock. He doesn’t hold back, he can’t after going so long without you. He paints your walls at the same time you soak his cock and he groans your name as he pushes deep, pressing his lips to yours as he rocks you both through your highs.

You whimper as he rocks himself through the pleasure and sigh when he collapses on top of you. “I love you, Pero.” You whisper softly, heart bursting because your feelings are returned. The mercenary and the whore, a love story that shouldn’t be, but is.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar smut #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar the great wall #tovar x you #tovar x reader #tovar x f!reader #tovar smut #tovar imagine #tovar fanfiction

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Nine

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

Hello!

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

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

Series Master List

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please.” 

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

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

“Of course, I didn’t mean to-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In Spain?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, it was very good bread.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want to help?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Modern ring found in 11th century grave

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

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

Part Ten

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

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

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

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

[palioom]

day thirty - free use

pairing: pero tovar x f!reader

word count: 652

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; free use, blowjob, face fucking (?); facial (not the beauty kind)

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

“Come here, hermosa.” Pero’s gruff voice appeared beside her, his tall form standing next to where she sat on the ground. “Open your pretty mouth for me.”

She didn’t even blink, just turning her head and smiling up at him when she took his thick cock into her mouth. Her fingers still working on the worn down clothes in her hands, something she had wanted to tend to for a while now.

They had settled down here for the night after a long day of riding, with Pero having started a bonfire before leaving to hunt for something to eat. All while she had used the time to begin to mend their torn clothing, stitching them together as well as she could. Completely forgetting the world around her until he had come back.

Clearly pent up and needing some release.

Just shoving his cock into her mouth, groaning as his hand threaded into her hair. He loved that she was so eager, accepting his advances every time without complaints.

No matter where and no matter when, always ready to take him whenever he wanted. And in return receiving the same from him. If she wanted her hungry cunt filled, he would do so, it didn’t matter what he was doing at the time. If she wanted to suck him off for her own satisfaction or have his mouth on her, he would do so.

Just like now, moving her head how he saw fit, pushing himself in all the way, feeling her throat constrict around him as she whined, then pulling back again and keeping his thrusts shallow.

Sometimes he would just wake her up in the night to fuck her, other times he just pulled down her breeches when she cooked or tended to the horse.

She loved it, the spontaneity of it, always excited about when he would do it again, taking her own in the meantime.

“Fuck, that feels good.” He groaned, his head thrown back and looking up at the stars. This little agreement of theirs would never make him tired. “You love it too, hermosa?”

Her agreement came in the form of a moan, vibrating around his thick, sweaty cock, her hands finally stilling in her lap. Simply letting him move her head, feeling herself get wet.

She loved the danger it brought sometimes, in the middle of nowhere where people could simply attack them.

“Want me to spill down your pretty throat?” He asked with a deep grunt, looking back down at her. Taking in how spit pooled at the corner of her lips, some of it already dripping down her chin. “Or want me to paint your face?”

It wouldn’t matter what she wanted, it was part of the deal. And he would really love to see her face covered in his cum.

She simply hummed, a hum that could mean anything, and he sped up until he felt himself right at the peak, the slick sounds echoing between them in the silent night.

Pulling out and holding her head in position as his other hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it until he spilled himself all over her with a loud groan. She gasped when the first ropes laid over her face, sticking out her tongue to catch the rest of it.

Eagerly taking what he gave her with a hum, licking her lips once his cock had stopped pumping, one of her hands coming up to take him into her mouth to clean the remnants off of it.

Pero could only watch with a wide grin, putting his softening cock away once she was done and letting go of her.

“My pretty, pretty girl.” He said, admiring his work on her face. She shook her head with a quiet laugh, her hands beginning to mend his shirt again.

As if nothing had happened, while he began to skin the rabbit he had caught.

#pedro tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x ofc #pero tovar imagine #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #kinktober 2023 #my writing

[psychedelic-ink]

For the writing game darling - meet ugly + time travel + PERO ❤️ Thank you!

Thank you for requesting bby!!! I'm not sure if the meet was ugly enough, but hopefully you'll enjoy luv u ❤️❤️❤️ this could be way longer tbh but i stopped myself since it was meant to be a drabble lmaosvfd

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓

pairing: pero tovar x fem!reader

genre: meet ugly + time travel, romance, a bit of angst

word count: 536

summary: Three times in Pero's lifetime, fate intertwined your paths. Once in his twenties, then in his thirties, and yet again in his forties, you were brought together, your lives intersecting in ways you couldn't predict.

i.

You just appear in front of him. Just like that. No warning. No puff of smoke. Pero was younger back then, a troublemaker. He was thrown out of the tavern, bat drunk, leaning against the dirty wall. 

Then he saw you. 

You just stood there, confused, shaking, wearing clothes he couldn't quite understand. He couldn't focus. One moment he was looking up at you, the second he was hurling, bile burning his throat as he crouched towards the ground. 

When he looked back up again you were gone. A cold wind blew. Your scent still lingered in the air. 

ii.

The next time Pero met you was ten years later. You’re looking less confused, more curious. You spotted him through the busy street and waved. Pero raised an eyebrow. His suspicion grew. His first instinct was to move away and disappear from your eyesight. But against his better judgment, he stood there. You approached him. 

“I remember you,” you said. “You’re the guy that puked ten years ago.” 

“You have quite the memory,” he grunted. “And an odd way of speech.” 

“Oh…well,” you cleared your throat. “I’m new.” 

“Where are you from?” 

“Uh…a town close to hear.” 

Pero grinned then. He leaned forward, crowding your space. He enjoyed the way your eyes widened, a slight fear swirling in them. You licked your bottom lip, and touched something on your waist. He didn’t bother to look down at it. His smile was wide and mocking. 

“You lie,” he answered. “I can tell.” 

The silence that followed was amusing to him. Your body locked up, eyes flitting between his. Enjoying the way you didn’t avert your eyes, Pero lets out a chuck. Crossing his arms over his chest, he backed away. 

“Come with me,” he said, pointing to a tavern with his head. “I wish to learn more about the woman that is riddled with mystery.” 

iii.

You appeared in a field this time. Pero, now older in age, made his way to you in haste. His home was riddled with memories of you. The stuff you bough, the books you chose. Only to not be touched for years. His eyes become wet as he wrapped his arms around you. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling you, etching you into his memory before you were lost to him again. 

“Pero,” you sighed, fingers toying with the soft curls that dance over his name. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, amor,” he whispered, warm breath fanning your skin. He felt the way your hands trembled. His knees buckled, both of you falling promptly to the field. His smile widened as you giggled, your face hovering an inch above his. You stroke his beard, gently pinching his chin. 

“You’ve grown handsome with old age.” 

“Does that mean you found me ugly before? I am hurt, rosa.” 

“No silly,” you leaned in, pressing your lips tenderly into his. “I’ve always found you handsome.” 

“Whereas you haven’t aged a day,” he answered, licking your bottom lips. “Stay. Don’t go.” 

You let out a sigh, and his heart sunk into his chest. After a silence that stretches, you kiss his neck. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I will.” 

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fanfic #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall fanfic #the great wall fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters