#pedros12daysofchristmas

[all-the-things-2020]

Summary: When you land on a backwater planet for a routine job, your feelings for your bounty hunter boss are revealed, thanks to a local holiday tradition.

Rating: PG-13 (implied sexual activity but everything happens off screen)

Notes: This was written in 2020, before we knew Grogu’s name. I wrote it for the Pedros12DaysofChristmas gift exchange on tumblr as a gift for @djarinslover.

Word count: 3600+

Tags: @morallyinept Jett, please add to your Festive Fic Rec List 🎄❄️🎁

The wind whipped across the plain that lay outside the little town. You huddled into your coat, which was not thick enough for this weather. Din’s cape plastered itself to his back and the Child he carried whined at the cold. “It’s not far,” Din said. “I’ll keep you warm, kid.” The green child snuggled closer and made an inquiring noise. “And we’ll get something to eat. I promise.” The Child cooed and snuggled closer, his tiny clawed hand clutching at the smooth beskar of Din’s breastplate. You marveled at how well the two communicated, considering the Child couldn’t talk yet. Of course, you and Din were often able to communicate without words, even though his face was always hidden by his helmet.

The ramp rumbled closed behind you as the three of you made your way to the gate of the town. It was another nondescript settlement on a nondescript planet; somewhere that should have been a safe hiding place for a being on the run, but Din was a relentless hunter and very rarely failed to find his quarry. You were surprised that he hadn’t simply left you and the Child on board while he checked out this new lead, but you had learned not to question him when it came to bounty hunting. That was his area of expertise, not yours.

There was a gateway of sorts over the road into town, and it was bedecked with boughs of some evergreen plant that smelled spicy and stringent. Bunches of red and white berries were tied here and there with bright yellow ribbons.

You stepped a bit closer to Din as you entered the town. The houses looked empty, although some had colorful lights hanging in the windows, and most of them had boughs hanging over the door frame. “Where is everyone?” you asked, disconcerted by the lack of people and the empty echoes of your feet against the walls.

Din shifted the Child in his arms and grunted. “Must be in the center of town for the festival,” he said briefly.

“Festival?”

He nodded, but kept walking. “It’s the Midyear Festival. Winter solstice or something like that. I thought the kid might enjoy seeing it.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of credits, which he handed to you. “There’s sure to be some food for sale. Maybe you can find him a toy or something, keep him from stealing the knob off my gearshift all the time.”

You hid your smile, knowing that Din would just get brusque and dismissive if he saw it. You took the pouch and slipped it into the inside pocket of your coat. “And it gives you a good excuse to be here, too,” you said. “Bringing the kid to see the festival. Who’d be suspicious of that?”

Din turned his helmeted head slightly and you just knew he was rolling his eyes at you; the man could convey a full range of emotions with just a tilt of the head or shift in body weight. You’d learned to read him well during your time aboard the Razor Crest. You just wondered what it would take to get him to express the emotions you were almost certain were lurking just underneath the surface of what he’d allow himself to feel.

The town square was packed with beings of all kinds, eating and drinking and shopping at the booths that had sprung up around the perimeter. They were all decked out with the same evergreen boughs and berries. Din handed the Child to you. “Here, find him something to eat and look around at the wares,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. It shouldn’t take me long to get the information I need and then we can move on.”

You held the Child close as the two of you watched Din walk away, his cape swaying behind him as he strode across the square. He didn’t have to weave his way through the crowd; they parted in front of him. You felt a swell of … not exactly pride, since it was mixed with a healthy dose of lust ...Din looked good as always, and you had to remind yourself that so far he’d treated you as no more than a crewmate.

“Come on, kiddo,” you said once Din had been swallowed up by the crowd. “Let’s get you something yummy to eat.”

The Child made it clear that he wanted one of the large, sugar dusted cookies that several children were carrying around, and you quickly found the booth that was selling them. You purchased two and found a place to sit down. You and the Child nibbled at your treats, watching everyone in their festival finery. “They sure are dressed up, aren’t they?” you said. The Child continued to munch on his cookie, but he pricked his ears up, so you knew he was listening. “Think we’ll ever have money to waste on fancy clothes like that? Yeah, probably not. Your dad’s pretty tight with the purse strings. And fuel and ship repairs are expensive.” You sighed. Life was better now that you were traveling with the Mandalorian and his strange little foundling, but it was never easy in this part of the galaxy.

Once the cookies were gone (and part of yours might have mysteriously found its way into the kid’s hands), you picked the Child up and wandered around the square, looking at the sights. At one booth, you found an assortment of wooden toys which you found charming but which barely got a glance from the Child. What he did like were the shiny ornaments that hung from a large bough in the next booth over.

“Those look awfully fragile, kiddo,” you said doubtfully.

“But you would be wrong,” said the young woman behind the counter at the booth. “They are made of durasteel, hand painted and beautiful, but guaranteed to withstand the wildest gaggle of children and/or beasts.” She took down the one that had caught the Child’s eye, a silvery globe just big enough for both of his little hands to grasp, painted all over with geometric shapes in a brilliant azure blue. As the Child reached desperately for it, you knew you’d never hear the end of it if you didn’t get it for him.

“How much?” you asked, sure it was going to be outrageously priced and Din would be mad at you for spending so much on a useless bauble.

“Five credits,” the woman said. She tilted her head, taking in your patched trousers and the raggedy hem on the Child’s robe. “Let’s say four. Can’t let a kid go without a Midyear present, can we?”

You would have gladly paid five, but bit your tongue. A credit saved was a credit earned, after all. You handed over the money and the Child cooed as he examined the beautiful ball in his hands.

“And what about for you?” the young woman asked. “Do you have your sprig of laramin yet?”

“My sprig of what?” you asked.

She nodded. “Figured you for an offworlder,” she said, reaching up to pull a bundle of blue and white leaves down from a rack at the back of the stall. “Laramin,” she said, holding it out to you. “Almost sold out, so you’re just in time.” She held it up above her head. “It’s a tradition. At midnight on Midyear Day, you try to get your sweetheart under the laramin. Legend has it, if you kiss them under the laramin leaves at midnight, they’ll love you forever.” She gave you an appraising look. “I saw you come into the square with that tall fellow in the shiny armor. I’ll bet you’d like to get him under the laramin.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, but still asked the price of the bundle of leaves. One credit, and she threw in some silver ribbon to hang it from. “Little guy might want to play with it, after. Since it matches his ornament and all,” she said. You thanked her and tucked the sprig of laramin in your pocket next to the credit pouch.

You took another turn around the square, but the Child only had eyes for his ball, and soon you settled back down on a bench to wait for Din. You’d bought a couple more of those cookies, but hidden them away from the Child. You wanted to save at least one for Din, although who knew when he’d have a chance to eat it. He always snatched a bite here or there when you and the kid were asleep or busy.

Finally, you saw his shiny helmet weaving its way through the crowd, swiveling back and forth as he scanned the crowd for you. You suppressed the urge to stand up and wave; Din was a skilled hunter and he’d find you and the Child easily enough. Besides, you didn’t want to seem desperate or anything. You thought guiltily of the sprig of leaves in your pocket and your face got hot. It was ridiculous and a waste of money, but at least you’d saved the credit you spent on it when the vendor cut the price on the Child’s bauble.

Din reached you. “Come on,” he said, motioning for you to stand. He picked up the Child, who held out his new treasure for inspection. “Hmm … very nice, buddy. You do like shiny things, don’t you?” The Child chirped his agreement and returned to admiring the blue and silver ornament. Din turned to you. “Did you get yourself anything?”

You were flustered. “Um, I bought the kid and me each a cookie earlier, and I got a few more to take with us. So you can have one later. They’re pretty good.” You were rambling, but you didn’t want to admit you’d bought the laramin sprig. You’d toss it in the trash compactor when you got back to the ship.

Din simply nodded and began to walk. “We can stay overnight and head after the quarry in the morning,” he said as you followed him through the crowd. “I don’t think he’ll be on the move for a while, according to the intel I got.”

The ship was quiet and cold when you arrived, but that was normal. It just seemed darker than usual because you’d come from the brightly lit festival. Din closed up the ramp and busied himself with a check of his arsenal. “Keep an eye on the kid,” he said. “He’ll probably be busy with his new toy, but still, I don’t want him getting near the weapons.”

You nodded and took the Child into the tiny bunk where he and Din slept. The Child had a hammock strung from the ceiling; the sleeping area took up the entire bottom of the bunk, which you secretly thought looked more like a storage closet than a bedroom, but it wasn’t your ship. Your own sleeping area was a pile of blankets on top of a foam pad tucked behind some crates between the main hold and the carbonite freezer. It wasn’t fancy, but at least you had more room than Din and the kid had.

You sat with your back to the bunk entrance, with the Child in front of you, so he was blocked from getting out. The little womp rat was stealthy and you’d learned that unless you could see him at all times, he was capable of slipping past you and getting into trouble. Right now, though, he was enthralled with his new shiny toy and happy to sit and burble at it. You slid the packet of cookies out of your pocket, worried they would get crushed. The Child perked up at the sight of them, but you said, “Not right now. Wait until your dad’s done, then we’ll all have one, okay?” His ears drooped a bit, but he returned to the toy with only a tiny sigh.

You also pulled out the credit pouch. You would return it to Din when you gave him his cookie. The sprig of laramin came with it, the silver ribbon tangled around the pouch.

“What’s that?”

Din was almost as sneaky as his little green kid. “Oh, just a decoration,” you said, hiding your face by looking down at the Child. “The girl who sold us the ornament insisted I take one. No charge.” You dropped the laramin on the bed and held out the pouch. “Here’s what’s left of your credits.”

Din held out his gloved hand and took the pouch gently. He didn’t open it, or even test its weight, even though you knew he was always careful with his money. “Don’t lie to me,” he said firmly.

“What?”

“I told you when you came aboard, I don’t tolerate lying,” he said, tucking the credit pouch back into a pocket. “I know what that is.” He pointed at the bedraggled bunch of laramin leaves. “It’s some sort of love charm or something, isn’t it?”

You took a deep breath before you spoke. “It’s a decoration,” you repeated. “You hang it up and if you can kiss your sweetheart under it at midnight on Midyear Day, then the legend says they’ll love you forever. It’s silly. I just took it because the girl insisted. We can throw it away.”

You reached for the leaves, ready to crumble them into a wad, but Din was faster. He picked up the bundle and dangled it over your head by the silver ribbon. “No, let’s hang it up,” he said. “We could use some decoration in this old bucket.” You turned around in the bunk, wondering what he was going to do.

He reached up and tied the ribbon over an exposed girder. “There,” he said. “Festive, don’t you think?” Then he turned abruptly and headed up the ladder to the cockpit.

“What was that all about?” you asked the Child, who had crept up beside you. He stared at you for a moment, then shrugged and went back to admiring his ball.

You could hear Din moving around up in the cockpit but he wasn’t planning to move the ship until morning. Had he gotten embarrassed by the laramin? Was he trying to pretend nothing had happened to spare your feelings? You’d tried your best to hide your attraction to him, but the man was a hunter; he noticed details. He was probably well aware of the way you watched him, the way your eyes lingered over certain parts of his anatomy as he moved. And you were sure he knew how you tensed up when he moved close to you, how hard you resisted leaning into his touch when he laid a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at the wilted sprig of laramin, just hanging there mocking you.

It was getting late, so you arranged your bed, which usually got messed up during the day, either from the movements of the ship as it flew, or the feet of the Child, who pattered around the hold when he got restless. The kid slowly followed you, his eyes starting to droop. When he yawned, you scooped him up and tucked him into his hammock. “Your dad will be down pretty soon,” you told him, even though you didn’t know what the hell Din was doing up there.

With the kid in bed, and Din busy, you pulled off your boots and got ready to crawl into your nest of blankets. You had just untied the string that held your hair back out of your face when you heard Din’s boots on the ladder. You looked up. He glanced briefly at you and then ducked into the bunk. Oh, well.

“Here,” Din said, suddenly looming over you. He was holding out a scrap of old blanket.

“What?” You took the piece of fabric, wondering what was going on.

“Put it on,” he said curtly, making a circling motion around his head. “Cover your eyes.”

“Um, okay,” you said, twisting the fabric and wrapping it around your face. You tied it behind your head. It was an effective blindfold; you couldn’t see a thing through it’s tight weave.

“Good,” Din said. He reached out and took your hand. “Stand up.” When you did, he moved his hand to your shoulder. “Over here.”

You shuffled after him in your stocking feet. The floor of the hold was cold and hard through your socks. Din carefully adjusted your position and then stood quietly. “What’s going on?” you asked, but he shushed you.

“Almost time,” he said. When the alarm on his chronometer beeped, you heard him take a deep breath, followed by the click and slight hiss of his helmet being detached. You held your breath. Was he … was he really …

A gloved hand stroked your cheek and slid behind your head, holding it steady. “I’m not sure how to do this,” Din said quietly. His voice wasn’t distorted by the vo-coder in the helmet and you heard a nervous quaver in it. “I’ve … I’ve never done this before,” he whispered.

Your heart was pounding. It was happening. “That’s okay,” you said softly. “Just do what feels right.” You lifted your hand to touch his face, the face you’d imagined so many times. You gently traced the curve of his cheek, the sharp ridge of his nose, the soft pillows of his lips. You felt his breath hitch as you slid your fingers back and forth against his lips. Then he brushed your hand out of the way and pressed those lips against yours.

It was everything you had imagined, and more. His lips were soft and clumsy as he kissed you, his fingers tightening in your hair as he held your head in place. You lifted your other hand to the back of his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, giving a gentle tug as he pulled back from the kiss. “How was that?” he asked breathlessly.

“Not bad,” you said. “But you definitely need practice.” You pulled him closer and kissed him harder, sliding your tongue along the seam between his lips, until he parted them and you were able to deepen the kiss. When your tongue darted into his mouth, he gasped and his free arm wrapped around your waist. You responded by pressing your body against his armored chest, wishing he’d shed more than his helmet.

After a few minutes, you came up for air. “Happy Midyear,” Din said, his voice raspy.

You laughed and pressed your head against his shoulder pauldron. “Was that my present?” you teased.

“The first of many, I hope,” Din said hesitantly. “I … I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way about me, but when I saw the laramin sprig, I thought, what the hell.” His arms tightened around you and pulled you closer to him, squishing you against his armored body.

“Is the kid asleep?” you asked.

“I think so,” he replied. “I closed the door to the bunk.”

You chuckled. “Good idea. He doesn’t need to see this.” You pulled Din’s head down for another kiss, and started backing toward where you thought your bed was. Din steered you by the shoulders until you felt the edge of your foam pad under your feet.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said. “I’ve been dying to find out what’s under all that beskar.” He laughed and kissed you again.

**************************************

When you woke the next morning, you were alone. Your blindfold was gone. Your clothes were folded neatly on a crate next to your bed. You could hear Din talking softly to the Child in the cockpit.

You got up carefully, stiff and sore in places that hadn’t seen much activity recently. You got dressed and made your way to the ‘fresher. After you’d splashed a little water on your face, you climbed the ladder to the cockpit.

“Good morning,” Din said quietly. He was in the pilot’s seat, the Child perched on his lap, watching as he entered coordinates and ran through the pre-launch sequence. The new durasteel ball was clutched in the Child’s hand and the knob had been returned to the lever where it belonged.

“Good morning,” you replied. Din waved you closer and as you came alongside the chair, he slid his hand to the small of your back. You leaned down to greet the Child, who babbled to you about something.

Din sat back in the pilot’s seat. He gently placed the Child on the floor. “Get in your chair and buckle in,” he told the small creature. As the kid toddled toward his seat, Din tilted his helmet up to look at you. His hand returned to your waist. “Last night …,” he began.

You cut him off. “It’s okay if it was just the holiday,” you said. “It’s okay if it never happens again.”

He shook his head. “No, it … it wasn’t just the holiday. I’d like it to happen again. It’s just … I can’t let you see my face. It will have to be like that.” His hand slid gently up and down against your back.

You leaned over him and pressed a kiss against the cold beskar of his helmet. “It’s fine,” you said. “I know how important The Way is to you. I would never ask you to abandon it.”

Din was silent for a long moment, then nodded his head. He pulled away from you. “Okay, then. You’d better get buckled in. We’re taking off in two minutes.”

You took your seat next to the Child. Din finished the last few checks and pressed a button to ignite the engines. As the ship began to lift off the surface, you noticed something dangling above the control panel, jiggling with the vibrations of the ship. A bedraggled sprig of blue and white leaves, tied tightly with a silver ribbon.

#the mandalorian #star wars #grogu #baby yoda #fanfic #din djarin #holiday themed #friends to lovers #din djarin x reader #din Djarin fluff #tooth rotting fluff #festive fic rec list

[thirstworldproblemss]

Fic: It’s All About What You Want, p1

Fandom:  The Mandalorian Pairing:  Din x F!Reader (no Y/N) Length:  11,131 words in part 1,  ~21k total  Rating:  Mature (Explicit in part 2)    Summary:  Omega!Reader starts to feel differently about her Alpha employer, Mando, during a stopover on a planet with an unusual social hierarchy. [Set between seasons 1 & 2]

Warnings:  A/B/O fic;  this part contains scent-marking, confusion, implied f masturbation, and lots of UST;  author doesn’t know how plots work  [Part 2 has a drugged drink and the alpha/omega heat sex (p-in-v sex + knotting)] 

Notes:  This is my extremely belated Secret Santa fic for @lark-cale who has been absolutely the best possible sport about my extended tardiness, and also wrote this absolutely lovely Marcus Pike fic for me. Here you (finally) go, love. Thank you for your patience!  I hope it you like it.

I also owe so many thank yous to @keeper0fthestars​ who repeatedly listened to me rant, talked me down, and picked me back up when I was ready to quit (and also read all 20k pre-editing which deserves a goddamn medal) and to @yespolkadotkitty​ for yet more encouragement (I needed a LOT), the beautiful custom banner, and beta’ing this beast!

It’s All About What You Want - part 1

[  twp’s Masterlist  |  Part 2 >>  ]

— 

Din stares at his reflection in the small mirror in the fresher.  

“Pull it together, di-kut!” he tells himself, and then quickly shoves his helmet back on so he doesn’t have to see his stupid lovesick face any more.  After all, only a complete idiot of an Alpha would fall in love with an Omega that didn’t love them back. 

—

“So, where to next?”  you ask Mando as he pilots the ship up though Duron’s atmosphere.  “Do you have another bounty or are we going back to Nevarro?” 

From the copilot’s seat, you watch as the blue-green sky fades to the black of space.  The baby is tucked comfortably in your lap playing with his favorite control knob.

“Another bounty. Last known location Reglan II.”  Mando says, but doesn’t elaborate right away, and that’s fine.  Over the half-cycle you’ve been working for him, you’ve learned not to take Mando’s silences personally.  He always gives you what you need eventually.  

Sure enough, once the ship is out of atmo and presumably pointed in the right direction, Mando turns to you, pulling up a holomap of the galaxy and zooming in on a section near the Mid Rim.

“Here,” he says, pointing out the dot labeled Reglan II.  A quick tap, and an info card for the planet appears.

You look it over, narrating for the baby’s sake.  You don’t know how much he actually understands, but he babbles back happily.  “A temperate climate—that means not too hot or too cold—that will be nice!  Moderately developed.  Ooh, maybe there’ll be someplace we can go shopping and get you some fresh fruit.  And it’s a... a gynocentric omegarchy?  What does that mean?”

“It means there’s a rigid social hierarchy.” Mando answers you. “Omega females at the top; Alpha males at the bottom.  Should be safe for you and the kid to go out alone.”

“Wait, you mean Omegas are in charge?” you ask, surprised, and he nods.  You try to imagine how that could possibly work. Usually it’s the asshole Alphas that have all the power because they’re willing to use their biological advantage and what or whoever else they can to get it.  Of course—you eye the back of your employer’s shiny helmet—not every Alpha is a complete bishwag, but enough of them are to make an Omega-run society sound implausible.  Nice, but implausible.  

Something else occurs to you.

“And Alpha’s are on the bottom rung?  Will that cause problems for you when you’re trying to catch the bounty?”

“I’ll manage.”

You imagine he probably will.

Arriving dirtside on Reglan II is uneventful... for all of about five minutes.  

After getting your things together, you follow Mando down the ramp, and out into the space port, the baby tucked into a carrier slung across your front. The grey-jumpsuited ground crew working in the shipyard mostly ignores the three of you, at least until you get within scenting distance.  You watch bemused as a short, furry Beta whirls around to stare at you with wide yellow eyes.  They scent the air, then turn their back, speaking urgently into a com link.

You can’t make out the words, but Mando probably can.  When you see his shoulders tense up, it’s enough to have you stepping a little closer.  A few cycles ago, you’d have laughed at the idea that proximity to an Alpha could mean safety, but that was before you’d started working for Mando.  It had seemed like the best of a bunch of bad options at the time, but he’s never given you cause to regret it.

“Let’s go.”  He grabs your arm, urging you back towards the ship.  You start to retreat, but before you can make it to the Crest, you’re intercepted by uniformed guards.  

Mando sweeps you behind him with one arm, crouching slightly.  You step in close and clutch the baby protectively, watching the guards warily as some of them spread out and circle around to surround the three of you. They’re all armed but none have their weapons drawn. Yet.

“Is there a problem?”  Mando asks.  His voice is calm, but the hand that hovers over the gun holster on his hip tells a different story.  You’re sure the guards notice too.  The baby whines into the tense silence, wiggling in protest against your too-tight hold.  You shush him without looking down, trying to keep an eye on Mando and the guards at the same time.

“There doesn’t have to be,”  one of the guards says, stepping forward with hands raised in a deliberately non-threatening way.  She seems to be the one in charge.  “If you come with us. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

Mando turns to you, and you feel him hesitate.  Can tell he’s weighing the likelihood of being able to shoot his way back to the ship with you and the baby without anyone getting hurt.  You give a slight shrug, trying to let him know you’ll follow his lead.  You trust him to calculate the odds better than you can.

After a long moment, Mando turns back to the guard leader and nods. “We’ll come.”

The guards relax, and so does Mando, but you notice his hand doesn’t stray far from the gun on his hip.  You resolve to stay alert and make a point of sticking close to his other side—just in case.

You’re escorted into one of the buildings surrounding the spaceport, down a long hall, and through a set of double doors flanked by another pair of guards.  Security headquarters, you assume, based on the sheer number of uniformed guards in the room.  Oddly enough you can’t smell a single Alpha among them, only Betas, and even a couple of Omegas which is weird.  You’ve never heard of Omegas being part of a security force before, but maybe it has something to do with the social hierarchy Mando was telling you about.  

The leader of your pack of guards keys you through a heavy duty blast door and into yet another hallway.  This one is narrower and dark, featureless except for a row of doors with small windows in them.  You jump as the blast door clangs shut behind you.  Kriff.  You don’t like being so cut off from the outside and your only means of escaping this planet if things go bad.  You hug the baby close and scoot a little closer to Mando.  You don’t like this at all.

“It’s okay,” Mando says, quietly.  You turn a deeply skeptical look on him, but he looks the same as he ever does.  The armor blocks most of his scent, but what little you can smell seems calm—overly so, like maybe he’s putting out calming pheromones.  Or is he just so used to terrifying situations that they don’t affect him anymore? 

Before you can question him, one of the doors along the hallway opens, and a tall, white, androgynous alien in an even whiter robe steps out.  

“Mistress Omega, this way, please,” they say, putting their four arms to good use as they prop the door open with one hand, hold a holopad in another, and gesture you through with the remaining two. 

A moment later, the guard leader says, “Mandalorian, you’re with me,” as she opens the neighboring door.  Your anxiety spikes as you realize they mean to separate you. 

“But...” You cast a pleading look at Mando.  Realize with a start just how little space there is between the two of you.  You wonder if you’ve been subconsciously edging closer to him or if he closed the distance himself.  Then he wraps one large gloved hand around the back of your neck and squeezes, and you freeze in shock. 

Your mind catalogs the feel of worn leather, cool and smooth against your skin, and the way his scent is suddenly filling your senses.  Then Mando lets go and steps back; gives you the smallest of nods, like nothing out of the ordinary has happened; and follows the guard through the door.

You stare after him.  Did that really just happen?  Mando’s never touched you like that before.  He hardly ever touches you, much less to scent-mark you like some storybook Alpha comforting a skittish packmate.  Kriff, you kind of are a skittish pack—er—crewmate, aren’t you?  Was he trying to make you feel better?  If so, it seems to have worked.  You’re still not happy to be here, but you definitely feel less nervous now.  You kind of hate that.  

Stupid Omega biology.  Stupid feelings. 

“What was that?” you grumble to the baby.  He just babbles back as you finally get your ass in gear and follow the polite white alien through the door they’ve been holding open for you.

The room you enter is… nice.  Welcoming, even.  There’s soft lighting, framed art on the walls and a comfy-looking couch and two armchairs that sit on a large, fluffy rug in the center of the room.  Except for the lack of windows it wouldn’t look out of place as some rich family's living room.  However intimidating the hallway had been, this room was obviously designed to put people at ease.

“Please. Have a seat,” the alien offers.  Now that it’s just the two of you, you can smell that they’re also an Omega, which makes you feel marginally better about being stuck in here with them.  They watch as you sit gingerly on the couch before settling into one of the arm chairs.

The baby cranes his neck in an attempt to look around the room—no doubt checking to see if there’s anything edible.  You free him from the carrier, settling him on your lap where he begins to fidget with your fingers.   

“So what happens now?” you want to know. 

“Now I ask you a few routine questions. The goal of this interview is to gain information about the intended purpose of your visit to Reglan II, and to verify your safety as an unmated Omega traveling with an Alpha.”

“Oh. Huh.”  You’re not quite sure what to make of that, but you suppose it can’t hurt.  “Okay.”

They smile at you encouragingly, then read the first question off the holopad.   “Are you being coerced, restricted, restrained, or otherwise influenced against your will in any way by the Alpha you are traveling with?”

“What? No!” you exclaim, “He wouldn't do that.”  You’re almost offended on Mando’s behalf, but.. well... you know how the universe works.  

Your interviewer nods and makes a note on the holopad, smiling faintly.

“I am required to ask. Then you are traveling with this unmated Alpha Mandalorian of your own free will?”

“I… Yes.”  Those are actually some pretty important questions, you realize.  Maker, you wish they’d ask questions like this in more places.

“Good.”  They nod again.  More tapping at the holopad.

“What would happen if I... wasn’t?”  you ask, thinking grimly of all the horror stories you’ve heard over the years.  The ones you’ve seen firsthand.

“Then we would help you regain your autonomy.  The government of Reglan II believes in an Omega’s right to self-determination without compulsion, and our society works to ensure the comfort and autonomy of all Omegas.  If you were being held against your will, you would be offered sanctuary, and your attacker would be permanently expelled from the planet.”

“Oh,” you hear yourself say.  There's an odd feeling buzzing in your chest at the idea that there is a whole planet working to protect people like you.  It feels a little like fury and a little like grief and a whole lot like joy.  Your lips tremble and stretch in an unfamiliar way.  You think you’re smiling, but it feels strange, sharp.  Your voice comes out unintentionally vicious when you continue, “I think I’m going to like it here.” 

The alien Omega smiles back, a touch of the same sharpness in their smile, and a moment of understanding passes between the two of you.

They’ve just looked back down at the holopad to ask the next question when the baby lurches suddenly to one side, almost falling off your lap completely before you manage to grab him.

“Whoa! You okay there buddy?” 

Big eyes slowly blink up at you, and he leans heavily against your arm. 

“Are you getting tired? It’s almost naptime.” He’s usually a pretty good sleeper, but you have to wonder if he’ll really be able to go to sleep here in such an unfamiliar situation. 

You look back up at your interviewer. “Do you mind if I walk around with him while we do this?”

“Not at all.” 

So here you are, walking in slow circles around the couch, rocking the baby as you answer questions:

You came to this planet because Mando’s hunting a bounty. 

No, you don’t know who he’s hunting.  A female twi’lek Beta... uh... you think?

You’re pretty sure the plan is to stay until Mando catches the bounty, maybe a little longer. 

It’s almost embarrassing how little you know, but plans are really more Mando’s department.  Your job is to watch the baby and be an extra set of hands when needed.  In exchange you get to travel the galaxy with Mando.  It’s a pretty good deal, actually.

At this point you’re answering questions mostly on autopilot, more focused on keeping your voice quiet and trying to project a calming aura in hopes of lulling the baby to sleep.  It all seems pretty routine, until...

“What are your heat preferences?” the alien asks.

Wait, what?  You look over at them, confused.  “What preferences?”

“Heat preferences. For a partner.”

You blink stupidly for a moment, trying to make sense of the question.

“I can put your Mandalorian companion down as your preferred heat partner,” they prompt.  Your face or scent must give away your shock, because they quickly continue,  “Or social services has a selection of safe, clean Alpha partners in a variety of genders on call.  There are also well stocked isolation rooms available if you prefer to work though heats alone?”   

“I…”  You’re still stuck on the first option.  Mando? Sex with Mando?!   

“But I have a suppressant implant!” you finally manage to squeak.

“You will still need to make a selection. We are required to have one on record so that your consent is not violated in the event of a breakthrough heat.”  

You duck your head to stare down at the baby.  Thank goodness he’s already dozed off, because you’re sure as shit not projecting calming energy anymore.  

“I—  Can I think about it for a minute?” 

“Of course.”  Long white fingers begin tapping away at the holopad, and you’re grateful your interviewer is giving you at least the illusion of privacy. 

You take a minute to tuck the now-sleeping little one back into his carrier, trying to decide what to do.

It's not like your answer will matter at all.  You’ve been on suppressants for a long time without any issues, and your current implant is good for another three years.  You haven’t had a heat since your very first ones as a teenager!  

They are still expecting you to answer though, so you should probably at least try to take this seriously.

You close your eyes and take several deep breaths in through your nose, blowing them out through your mouth, trying to fight down the semi-hysterical laughter that wants to bubble up as you consider the offered options. 

Mando? You snort. Yeah, No.

And definitely not some random Alpha. 

You think about those “well stocked” isolation rooms.  They’re almost guaranteed to be a damn sight nicer than the shitty rooms you’d locked yourself away in to ride out your first few heats.  That was a long time ago, but you still remember how miserable it had been.  The heat and the longing, the aching emptiness that eventually turned to cramping pain when nothing you tried could satisfy the need to be filled.  It had been unbearable.  You’d done everything you could think of—scrimped and saved and worked your ass off—to be able to buy suppressants as soon as you could, and you’d never looked back.  You’d sworn at the time that you’d never feel that way again, and the promise of some fancy isolation room isn’t enough to change your mind.  

But you also can't imagine letting an unknown Alpha help you through your heat. Your stomach knots up just thinking about being that vulnerable with someone you don’t know, and you have to take a few more carefully measured breaths to fight down a sudden bout of queasiness. 

That leaves…  Mando.  

You’ve never really thought about Mando that way.  Not after you got over your initial worry that he might try to take advantage of you like some other Alphas might have.  Mando is just Mando.  Your solid, dependable employer.

You might trust him enough, but you don’t even know what he looks like; barely know what he smells like under all that armor.  But... The feel of his hand on the nape of your neck comes back to you, and you try to imagine that feeling, but more.  What would it be like to be close to Mando, surrounded by his scent?  To have him between your legs, pressing against you?  What would it be like to have him inside you?  The image comes easier than you’re expecting, arousal shooting though you hot and sudden. 

You gasp, eyes flying open.  You meet the politely questioning stare of your interviewer, feeling somewhat appalled with yourself.  Your cheeks are burning, and you wish you could blame the heat there on embarrassment alone.

“I’ll just put you down for an isolation room, shall I?” they say, obviously sensing your distress.

“N-no. No.” You try to sound more certain than you feel. “Put the Mandalorian I’m travelling with down as my preferred heat partner, please.”

The interview wraps up quickly after that, and all too soon, you’re heading back out into the hallway, brand new temporary ID bracelet shimmering on your wrist.  Mando’s already there, looking shiny and solid as always, but your all-too-recent thoughts about him fill your head, making it almost impossible for you to look at him.  Out of the corner of your eye you see his helmet tilt forward slightly as he looks you and the baby over, and a shiver goes through you.

When the guard opens the door to escort you out, you’re glad for the excuse to turn away. 

Mando’s silent on the way out.  You think you feel his eyes on you, but you still can't look at him.  You keep your head down and try to think about anything other than the bracelet around your wrist, which, among other things, lists Mando’s Bounty Hunters Guild identification number under ‘preferred heat partner.’ 

Once outside and out from under the watchful eyes of the guards, Mando immediately pulls you aside.  Your stomach clenches in a not-entirely-unpleasant way when he presses in close, his bulk crowding you back against the wall of the building.

“Are you okay?” he demands, his voice low and raspy over the modulator.  Has it always been that deep?  Have his shoulders always been that broad?  You catch yourself leaning in unconsciously, and okay, you need to stop.  Mando is your employer.  Your crewmate.  A comrade—yes, a friendly one—but nothing more.  

He raises a hand with—Kriff!—a matching ID bracelet to hover near your shoulder uncertainty.  Is he going scent-mark you again?  You inhale, trying to get a better handle on what is going on, then you narrow your eyes at him.  He smells unsettled.

“Are you?”  you ask, turning his question around on him.  You wonder if the guards asked him any uncomfortable questions, or if he’s just reacting to the turmoil in your scent.  It’s common knowledge that Alphas have a strong drive to protect those under their care.  You’ve seen Mando go into worried protective mode over the kid before.  You stare up at him, a little disconcerted to realize that you want him to get all protective of you too. 

“I’m fine.” he says gruffly, hand dropping as he steps away.  “Let’s go.”

Shit. You had to go and make it weird, didn’t you? 

You tell yourself not to be disappointed that he didn’t touch you again.

—

The spaceport turns out to be on the edge of a good-sized town, which is also the bounty’s last known location.

You walk side by side with Mando on the road from the spaceport, content to follow his lead in silence.  You’re trying to use the quiet time to sort out what’s going on in your head.

Okay, so you’ve had some unexpected thoughts about your employer.  And that’s fine!  It’s normal, even, for an Omega to think about an Alpha they spend a lot of time around.  It doesn’t have to be a big deal.  It's not like Mando’s interested in you that way, so as long as you don’t do anything to make things awkward, it should be fine!  You just need to relax and forget about it.

You tilt your head back, trying to let the warmth of the suns beating down on you and the gentle weight of the still-sleeping baby wash away the lingering tension.  Spaceport security aside, this planet is actually really beautiful.  The sky is wide and bluish-purple, twin suns peeking out from behind feathered white clouds.  The low buildings that line the road are painted in a rainbow of colors, green plants springing up between them or hanging from their balconies.  It’s… peaceful.

You turn to look at Mando and find his helmet titled in your direction.  You smile at him, and he looks away. 

As you get further into town, the road starts to get more crowded, and some of the sentients you pass shoot alarmed looks at Mando.  You wonder if the Alpha thing, the Mandalorian thing, or the giant rifle strapped across his back.  Probably all three, you think with pride.  He is pretty intimidating.

The road eventually spits you out into a wide open square filled with row after row of colorful booths and stalls and shops.  A marketplace!  Your lips quirk up.

“Do we have time to look around?” you ask Mando.

He nods, adding, “I’ll ask around about the bounty while you shop.”

You shoot him a grin, taking off towards one of the rows of stalls.  You have some pay saved up, and you’re excited to see what you can get with it. 

You look over the contents of each little shop and stall carefully as you make your way down the aisle, stopping occasionally for a closer look or to ask for or argue over prices.  

You’re surprised by how friendly everyone is.  Strangers nod and smile and move out of your way, and the shopkeepers all seem to want to chat, some even spontaneously offer you a discount.  Everything is going so well that when you start to feel nervous, it takes a little while to figure out why.  Everyone is being too nice.  It makes you feel like you should be waiting for the other shoe to drop.  

Then it does, but it’s not the shoe you were expecting.  

“I don’t have anything to say to you, Alpha.”  The sharp words make you look back at where Mando was trailing a little ways behind you.

Now that you’re paying attention, you see the way the crowd has parted around him, people tense or outright glaring, and it’s… odd...  to see your own general mistrust of Alphas reflected in the faces of these strangers in the marketplace.  They’re treating Mando like chopped convor liver, and it makes you want to defend him—to announce to these random market-goers that it’s okay: he’s trustworthy; one of the good ones.  You don’t, of course, because that would be ridiculous, but you have to do something.

“There you are!” you call, backtracking to Mando and smiling up at him.  “C’mon, there’s something I want to show you!”  You hope the smile on your face looks more loving and less frantic than it feels.  You’re trying to make it clear that you’re here with him, and, more than that, that you’re happy to be here with him.  You are happy to be here with him, you remind yourself, trying to swallow down your nerves so your scent doesn’t give you away.

After a moment some of the tension melts out of the crowd.  It’s working!  Disgust fades into disinterest, and people start to move on with their shopping.

You tow Mando away, thankful that he follows your lead back to the stall you’d been exploring before the interruption. The seller tenses a little as the two of you enter, but relaxes when you start up a conversation, chattering about the colorful blankets he’s selling.  A lot of heavy praise, a few minutes of bargaining, and one purchase later, he even condescends to answer a couple of Mando’s questions.   

“Thank you,” Mando says quietly as the two of you step back out into the marketplace.

“You’re welcome!”  You realize that you’re still holding his arm, and you give it a small pat before letting go.

After that, you pay more attention to how Mando’s being treated, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he collects nasty looks anytime he falls too far behind.  One particularly rude Devoronian Beta even spits at him! 

And after that, you hold onto his arm at all times, practically gluing yourself to his side.  Things start to go a lot smoother like that.  Everyone is just as polite to you either way, but they’re a whole lot more likely to answer Mando’s questions if you’re right there looking equally interested. 

Once the baby wakes up, you discover that parking him in Mando’s arms works almost as well.  But only almost, so you continue to stick close.  You’re glad you can do something to protect Mando for once.  It’s usually the other way around.

—

You stay at the marketplace until dinner time.

You and Mando have split up—he’s taken the baby to look for a fruit seller, and you’re in charge of finding the rest of dinner.  You’re standing in front of two promising-looking food stalls, trying to decide between them, when a voice comes from behind you.

“Go with the one on the left. They don’t cut corners with their ingredients.”

You turn to see another Omega woman about your age, gesturing at the non-offending food stall.

“Oh, thank you!”  You get in line, and when she joins behind you, you turn and introduce yourself.

“Lovely to meet you,” she says after you give your name.  “I’m Aitana.”

“Nice to meet you too!  And thanks for saving me from possible food poisoning.  Do you have any recommendations for what to order that will survive a walk back to the spaceport?”

She does, as it turns out, and recommends a couple of types of stuffed bread, one with savory filling, the other spicy. 

“Just make sure you ask to have them put in different bags,” she tells you.  “If they sit together for too long the scents spread and it dulls the flavors.”  

You thank Aitana for her help and place your order. You’re hoping to chat more with her after she orders, but by then both Mando and your food have arrived.

It’s time to go home.

—

Later that night, after the baby’s asleep, you and Mando sit together in the cockpit.  He’s been telling you about some of the different worlds he’s visited, and he just finished a story about an ice planet where a giant sea creature apparently tried to eat the Crest.  You think he must be pulling your tail, and you tell him so.  

“It’s the truth,” he swears, then, “I’ll take you there someday if you like.”

“I don’t know,” you tease. “The ice planet I’d like to see. The gigantic hungry sea monster, not so much.”

“Good choice. Two words: fish breath.”

You can’t help but laugh out loud at that, but it also reminds you of something.  Something you were thinking about earlier because of scents and prejudices and delicious bread. 

“Oh!” you turn towards Mando suddenly, surprised to see he’s leaning in, closer than you expected.  

“Do you think I should scent-mark you tomorrow?” you muse.

“Wh-what!?”  He sounds so incredulous that it makes you giggle.

“No, really,” you tell him, liking the idea more the more you consider it.  “Think about it!  Everyone in the marketplace treated you much better when I was nearby today. The baby and I can’t go within you all the time, but people also treated you better once you smelled like me, even if I wasn't right there! So all I have to do is rub on you in the morning. You should have an easier time of things once you smell like you’re mine. Uh… Mando? You okay?”

He’s been getting progressively more and more tense as you babble on, finally ending in a strangled sound during your last sentence. Your stomach swoops when he doesn’t answer. Oh kriff, you’ve probably offended him!  Why didn’t you just keep your stupid mouth shut.

“I mean, I could scent-mark you, if you think it would be helpful?” you try to backtrack, “But we don’t have to! If… if it’s weird or you’d rather not, then that’s fine, and oh Kriff—I’m sorry, Mando. I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t do it yourself or needed my help or…”

Mando’s hand covers yours and you fall silent.  You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for his judgement.

“It’s a good idea. Thank you,” he says, deliberately, before getting up stiffly, and disappearing out the door and down the ladder.

You sit there for a few minutes staring after him and wondering what just happened.  It’s not until you get up to head to your own bunk in the storage space behind the cockpit that you realize you still have a goofy grin on your face.  

He thought it was a good idea! 

Of course, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea the next morning when you actually have to do the scent-marking.

You’re barely awake, just out of the fresher, and still in your ratty, threadbare pajamas, when Mando catches you in the hold and announces,  “I’m going out. I should be back by dark.”

You cross your arms over your chest and stare at him for a moment, trying to get your brain to wake up.  “Oh….kay. I guess I’ll take the baby back to the market today. If… um… if that’s okay? I can take the com link in case we need to contact each other.”

“That’s fine,” he says, but he still doesn’t make any move to leave.  He’s just standing there facing you.  If he were anyone else you would say he looked expectant, but… oh, kriff!  Your conversation from the night before comes back to you, and your stomach swoops as you think about actually making good on your offer. 

He must be able to smell the way your scent goes wonky or maybe your hesitation shows on your face, because Mando steps forward and lays a hand on the back of your neck again.  Squeezing just like he did at the spaceport yesterday.

It’s simultaneously better and worse than last time.  The gesture helps to settle your Omega, but it also reminds you of your thoughts from the day before, and heat blooms in your cheeks and the pit of your stomach.

“It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind,” comes his reassuring voice.  And how does he do that?  How does he always seem to know what you’re thinking?  Maker, you sure hope he doesn’t know everything that you've been thinking.

“No. I do want to—“ you have to pause to swallow down the impulse to say mark you.  Why is he still touching you?  And why do you like it so much!?  You ignore the way your skin tingles as the heat from his hand seems to leach through the glove, and finish instead, ”I want to help. Sit down, please?” 

You gesture somewhat frantically to one of several crates scattered around the hold, and he finally, finally releases your neck and sits down facing you.

The newly released skin at the back of your neck prickles, goose bumps spreading outward from where his warm glove has been replaced with the cool air of the ship.  You do your best not to shiver visibly under his gaze.  

You circle around behind him, hoping to gain a little privacy.  It takes a few false starts and a little bit of flailing on your part, but you do eventually run your hands across the back of his wide shoulders and down his arms.  You stroke over the folds of his cape too, and hope that will be enough.  It’s the best you can do, unless…  You hesitate for a moment, then lift your hands to rub over the scent glands on the sides of your neck before bringing them down to mark the cowl around his.

A staticky exhale comes from the helmet, and Mando stands abruptly, spitting out a low “thank you” as he heads for the already-lowering rear ramp.  You barely have time to call out “you’re welcome” and “good luck!” before he’s gone, the ramp beginning to rise again as soon as he’s clear.

“Okay, that was weird,” you say to the baby, who had poked his head out of Mando’s bunk when the ramp started lowering.  You scoop him up, trying to ignore the way your hands still tingle where they touched Mando’s clothes.  Your stomach feels a little shaky too, but you're glad you did it.  Mando’s out there smelling like you, and it’s going to make it easier for him to find the bounty.  Fierce pride spills through you.

It was a damn good idea, after all.

—

A supply run is also a good idea.  A necessary one, you discover when you go looking for breakfast and come up empty.  You dress quickly, pack up the baby and some sturdy bags, and head back out to the market.

You return to the same food vendor as yesterday, ordering more of the savory bread for the two of you.  It was the baby’s favorite last night.  You wonder how difficult it would be to make.  

You’ve just snagged a spot at one of the long tables situated nearby, when a friendly voice calls out “you again!” and you’re thrilled to see Aitana, your acquaintance from yesterday, heading your way.  

“So where’s your Alpha?” she asks, sliding in across from you, a steaming, yummy-smelling pastry in hand. 

“He’s not my Alpha!”  You concentrate on doling out bites of bread to the baby so you don’t have to look at her.

“No? Big shiny dude from yesterday? I’m pretty sure my nose says different!” she teases, and then smothers a laugh when you try to surreptitiously sniff yourself.  You actually do smell just the tiniest bit like Mando.  You try to ignore the thrill that shoots through you at the discovery.

Upon hearing you’re there for supplies, Aitana offers to give you a tour of the marketplace and help you find the best deals.  The three of you set off after breakfast, the baby cooing happily in his carrier, and you very quickly realize that you’ve gotten lucky.  Your new friend knows exactly where to go to get the best prices.  She also seems to know all the best dirt on the shopkeepers.

Your first stop is a clothing stall. According to Aitana, the owner likes to get drunk off his ass every night and keeps trying to climb onstage to sing along (poorly) with the band at the local cantina, but his prices and wares are good.  That’s good because you need some new pajamas—your encounter with Mando has driven home just how worn your current pair has gotten—and maybe see if you can find a jacket small enough for the baby. 

After looking around a bit, you’ve found both and are now debating the relative merits of buying the baby a tiny cape to match his dad’s when Aitana calls your name.

“What about this?” she says, holding up a beautiful black wrap dress. The cut is nice as is the quality, and you're sure it would make anyone, even you, look elegant and beautiful.  You make the mistake of running your hand over it, and discover that the fabric is thin and floaty without being see-through and one of the softest things you’ve ever felt.  It’s not even all that expensive.  Unfortunately it’s also not something you need.

You admire it for a long moment, before gently returning it to the pile. 

“You’re not going to get it? It would look so nice on you!”

“It is lovely,” you agree wistfully, “but I don’t need it or have anywhere to wear it.”

“What about wearing it for your Alpha?”  She’s teasing you again, but you can’t help but imagine it anyway.  

What would it be like to stand before Mando wearing just that dress and nothing else?  The image of him unwrapping you like the galaxy’s biggest Life Day present steals the breath from your lungs, and you have to shake your head to clear it.  

“He’s not my Alpha,” you repeat, not sure if you’re reminding her or yourself.  You give the dress a last lingering pat—it is very soft—then you make your purchases and move on to the next shop on your list.

It’s mid afternoon by the time your shopping is done, much more cheaply than usual thanks to your local guide.  You thank Aitana profusely for her help and her lovely company, then head off towards the spaceport, weighed down by your purchases and the baby dozing in his carrier.  

And if you make one extra stop at a certain clothing stall on the way back to the Crest, well that’s no one’s business but your own. 

—

That night, you’ve just finished preparing dinner when Mando comes up the ramp.  He seems to be in a better mood than this morning.  His footsteps are lighter, and when the baby goes running to him, Mando chuckles and scoops him up easily.

When you ask, he helps you move a couple of the big crates in the hold, making a place for you to sit across from each other.  You realize you can still smell yourself on him, just a little.  It surprises you how much you like it, and you remind yourself sharply that he’s not really yours.  He’s just your employer.

But as he sits with you and the baby, keeping you company while the two of you eat, you think he might also be your friend.  The idea makes you smile.  

Mando trails off in the middle of telling you about visiting the local cantina, just staring at you.  At least you’re pretty sure he’s staring at you.  You can’t see his eyes, but the weight of his gaze makes your skin prickle with awareness.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?” you ask, shifting self-consciously.

“No, I just—”  He pauses.  “No.”

You wonder what he was going to say, and cast about for something to fill the suddenly-awkward silence.

“So the hunting went well?

“I didn’t locate the bounty yet, but I have some leads,” he says.  He also thanks you again for scenting him.  “It was a good idea.  I don’t think I would have made as much progress without it.”  

“You’re welcome. I’m glad it worked.”  You smile at Mando again, proud that you could help him.  When his visor stays trained on you, you imagine that he’s smiling back, and it makes happiness spread like liquid honey through your chest.  You only wish you could smell him a little better, or that he could take off his helmet and share a meal with you. 

You try to imagine what it would be like.  He’d come home to you just like he did today, but once the door of the Crest was shut, he’d remove his helmet.  You can’t imagine his face, but you can imagine the way his scent would be that much stronger.  The way he might step forward and wrap a hand around the back of your neck again, only this time, he’d use his grip to pull you in, kissing your lips gently before ducking his head to lick and suck gently at your neck.

An indecipherable noise from Mando interrupts your daydream, and you realize with a guilty start that you’ve been fantasizing about the poor guy right in front of him.

“I—”  his voice is hoarse over the modulator, and he clears his throat and tries again, “I need—”

He stops.  You stare at him, taking in the tense set of his shoulders and the way one of his hands is gripping his knee so hard the leather squeaks, and will him to continue.  You try not to imagine all the ways that sentence could end,  ‘I need… you.’  It could end that way, right?  Yeah, it could, but ‘I need you to stop stinking up the ship with your pheromones’ was probably more likely.

Oh, Maker.  He probably can smell you.  Shit!  So much for not making things awkward!  Your already heated cheeks burn hotter as embarrassment curdles in your stomach.  What are you even doing, thinking about him that way?

“I need to go eat,”  Mando says curtly, interrupting your panicked thoughts.  He stands abruptly, grabs the bowl you prepared for him, and heads for the cockpit where he usually retreats to eat his meals in private.  He hesitates for just a second as he passes by the crate you’re sitting on, and you feel the slightest brush of leather over the nape of your neck.  Then he’s gone up the ladder with a soft “thank you,” leaving you staring blankly at the baby, breath stalled in your chest as warmth seems to ripple down your spine from the place where he touched.

What is he even doing??

—

You think it over carefully, lying in your cot later that night.  You catalog the ways you've reacted to him.  The things you’ve been thinking about.  The way you decided not to shower tonight because you didn’t want to wash away the tiny hint of his scent that lingers on you. 

And okay: you’re definitely attracted to Mando, and you might—might—be developing feelings for him.

That’s… not great, actually, since there’s absolutely no way he’s interested in you.  Your chest clenches, and you roll onto your side trying to shake off the hopelessness weighing you down.

He’s been nothing but completely professional since he hired you, all those months ago.  You consider it a win that he’s warmed up enough to have a friendly conversation with you, but there’s been nothing to suggest he considers you more than a valued employee.  Except… well…  you run your hand over the back of your neck, thinking about the times he’s touched you there over the last few days, and then you have to press your other hand to the surging ache between your legs.  Yeah.  You chuckle humorlessly to yourself there in the dark.

You’re totally screwed.

The next morning comes too soon, and you stumble out of bed and down the ladder to the fresher in a daze.  Mando and the baby are sitting side by side on one of the crates in the hold, the baby munching on something from a little tray.  

At least, you think blearily to yourself, I’ve got my new pajamas on this time.

Once you’re finished using the fresher, you wash your hands and stare at your anxious face in the tiny mirror.  Now that you’re a little more awake, your stomach is in knots at the thought of facing Mando after your moment of... self discovery last night.

You make yourself take a couple of deep breaths and splash a little water on your face.  Then you practice smiling at yourself in the mirror until it looks almost natural instead of half asleep or terrified.  Okay, you can do this.  One last deep breath, and you open the door smiling a hopefully-not-obviously-terrified smile.

You can’t quite force yourself to look at Mando, so you focus on the baby instead, making your voice as cheerful as you can.

“Good morning, little one. What have you got there?”

The baby coos and lifts his little tray up to show you.

“Oh I see.”  You make a show of bending down and very seriously examining the contents, overly aware of Mando watching from beside him. You force another smile. “Looks like dad got you a good breakfast.”

Mando makes an odd sound at that, and you turn towards him, somehow surprised at how close he is.  And, oh shit!  You take an involuntary step back when you realize what you just let slip.  You’ve been calling him the kid’s dad for a while now, but you’ve never said it in front of him before.

“Oh, sorry! I know that he’s not— That you’re not— I—”  You try to fumble your way through an apology, but he only lets you mumble on for a few moments before cutting you off gently.

“It’s okay.”

You just shake your head, still feeling awkward and horrified at your lapse, because he explained this to you when he hired you to look after the baby.

“It’s okay,” he says again, standing and wrapping that big hand around the back of your neck again, and you can’t help the way that your eyes flutter shut and your head tips forward.  He must be trying pretty hard to pump out calming pheromones, because even with the layers and helmet you can actually smell him clearly for once.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you relax under the weight of his hand, your head dropping even further forward until it’s almost touching his chest plate.  It feels so nice that you guiltily resolve not to move a muscle so that you can continue enjoying the feeling of his hand on your neck for however long as he’s willing to stand here.  It turns out to be a pretty long time, his scent slowly fading from calming to just calm.

Eventually a loud clang breaks the silence, and you both jump back from each other and stare down at the baby’s little tray, now on the floor, food scraps scattered around it.

“Oh no, buddy!” You say at the same time that you hear Mando swear.  You drop to your knees and pick up the tray, trying to sweep up all the little bits of food. 

“I have to go,” Mando says from above you.

“Alright,” you respond automatically, distracted trying to pick a particularly stubborn piece out of the floor grating.

“Would— will you—”  Mando stumbles over his words, and heat rises up to fill you when you realize what he’s asking for, nearly stealing your breath.  He’s asking you to scent-mark him before he leaves.

You set the tray on the crate with forced calm and stand, awkwardly brushing your hands off on your pants.

You step up in front of him, trying to ignore the way the heat is pooling in your cheeks and… other places.  You don’t dare look at his visor, so you stare at his chest plate instead.  Just like yesterday, you start by rubbing your hands across his shoulders and down his arms, but it’s so much more intimate when you’re standing face to face.  He’s so broad and tall.

Mando stands solid and still as you touch him.  You’re not even sure he’s breathing as you run your hands down his chest plate.  Some madness seizes you, and you step forward and press your face to it, beskar cool and hard under your overheated cheek.

You hear a raged inhalation from under his helmet, and it brings you back to yourself.  You can’t believe you just did that!

You start to step back, having embarrassed yourself yet again, but Mando has you by the back of the neck before you can go too far.  You can hear someone’s heavy breathing rasping in and out, but you can’t tell if it’s you or Mando or both of you.

You realize that you want to scent-mark him.  Not just so people will be more polite to him, but because you want every bit of him to be absolutely covered in the scent of you.

You are suddenly very aware of every inch of your body and his and the places they connect.  And the places they don’t.

With his hand on your neck, his vambrace is lightly resting on your shoulder almost touching the scent glands on the side of your neck.  You tilt your chin up, unconsciously angling your head until they make contact with his wrist, then arching your body to rub along his glove and vambrace.  

Mando groans like you’re torturing him, and his other hand comes up to grip the side of your jaw, fingers splayed cover the scent gland on that side, lifting up and forward.  The pressure forces your head back at a sharp angle, and you go up on your tiptoes without meaning to, every part of you straining forward towards him.

Then just as suddenly he lets go and steps back.

“I— I have to go,” he says again.  And for the second morning in a row you’re left watching Mando’s back as he beats a quick retreat out the rear ramp.

You’re not sure how long you stand there staring blankly at the rear of the hold, your body still twitching and shivering and begging for him.  Eventually you’re distracted by something squeezing your ankle, and you look down to see the baby hugging your leg.  You pick him up, and he squeaks and coos at you excitedly. 

“He just ran away, right buddy? That was running away.”  You close your eyes, trying to get your body under control.  “What am I doing?  I have got to stop getting distracted and making your dad uncomfortable.”

The baby coos again, and you smile at him.  It feels a little stiff around the edges, your mind still focused on Mando.

At least you’re damn sure he smells like you today.

—

After the scent-marking debacle, you can’t stand the idea of staying on the ship with only the baby and your thoughts for company.  Somehow you manage to pull yourself together, finish cleaning up the spilled food from the floor, and get both of you ready to go.  You decide to head back to the marketplace, hoping Aitana might be there again today.  You could use a friendly face.

She is there, sitting at one of the long tables, and you're so relieved to see her, you feel like you could cry.  When you sit down next to her, she greets you cheerfully and offers you one of the pastries off her plate.  You thank her, and share it with the baby.  It’s delicious.  You wonder if Mando would like it?  You rub a palm over your face.  After this morning you’d better hope Mando still likes you, or you’re going to be right out of a job.

Aitana, more observant than you might like, asks if you’re okay. 

“I…. I don’t know.  I’m just so confused.” The whole situation with Mando is confusing—much too much so to try to explain in the middle of a busy marketplace.  Instead you ask if she can take you somewhere less crowded, “Maybe somewhere that the little guy can stretch his legs?”

“Of course. Come with me.”

She leads you through the marketplace and down an alleyway that cuts through several rows of colorful buildings before delivering you to the edge of town.  

You step out of the shadow of the last building and gasp.  A wide meadow of gently waving green and grey grasses stretches out before you, scattered yellow flowers are being visited by delicate pink butterflies, and the perfectly clear blue-purple of the sky arcs overhead.  It’s so beautiful that you actually stop and stare for a moment. 

The baby seems to be enjoying the view as well.  He babbles excitedly as you walk out into the meadow.  You stroll along until you find an area with slightly shorter grass to let him down on, and you and Aitana sit nearby, smiling as you watch him roll happily through the grass and chase the butterflies.  You have a small moment of terror when he starts munching on one of the yellow flowers, but your friend quickly reassures you that they’re safe to eat.

“Even for people,” she says, picking two and taking a bite off one before offering you the other.  You take it, but decide against eating it, tucking it behind your ear instead.

She asks you again if you’d like to talk about what’s bothering you.  

So you do, trying to borrow a little of the serenity of this perfect place to bridge the gap where your own inner calm is failing.

You tell her about everything that’s happened: getting detained by spaceport security, thinking about Mando that way for the first time, the way it’s only gotten harder not to think about it, and how your bright idea to scent-mark him so he wouldn’t be mistreated is not helping!

Aitana looks sympathetic at first, but more and more amused as you go on, until she’s barely hanging onto her composure by the time you’re struggling to describe how Mando keeps…. keeps…. 

“He keeps running away every time I do something awkward!”  

Aitana loses it at that, the bright peals of her laughter ringing out across the meadow.  And maybe it’s a little rude of her to laugh, but here under the gentle warmth of the twin suns you can’t quite manage to be annoyed. The situation can’t be all that bad if your friend is laughing, and… and Mando did look pretty silly this morning, cape streaming out behind him as he made his escape off the rear ramp.  

The memory makes you snort, which sets Aitana off even more, and soon the two of you are laughing hysterically together.  After a few minutes, she seems to master herself and sits up, gazing seriously at you, but as soon as she opens her mouth, she starts laughing again, which sets you off again, which, well...  It may not be getting you any closer to figuring out your feelings, but you can’t help but feel better for the release of tension. 

After several long minutes and false starts, both of you are finally calm again.

“You’re going to be fine,” Aitana begins, and you're hoping that maybe she’s finally going to give you some insight into the situation when the tranquility of the meadow is interrupted by a shout of your name.  

Mando comes bursting out of the mouth of the alleyway, and you're up on your feet, already scooping up the baby before you even realize you’re moving.  

You look to Mando for some clue of what’s going on, and quickly realize you panicked over nothing.  The way Mando’s moving, his arms swinging loosely and the tiniest bit of bounce in his step, tells you that he’s bringing good news.

“Mando!”  You shout, and wave, and his ground-eating stride covers the distance between you quickly.  The baby’s hover pod trails along behind him.  By the time he reaches you, you’re certain:

“You found the bounty, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Because you’re excited” you tell him, but that only seems to confuse him further.

“How— How do you always...?” 

You just shrug and then make a face at Aitana who seems to be laughing at you from behind Mando’s back.

It occurs to you that they’ve never officially met, so you do a quick round of introductions.  You’re glad to see Aitana treats Mando politely.

“My younger brother is an Alpha,” she explains. “He moved offworld many cycles ago.” 

The baby reaches for Mando, so you hand him over, watching with a smile as he shows him the yellow flower he has clutched in one tiny green hand.

“Very nice,” Mando tells him, then immediately starts cursing when the baby shoves the entire thing in his mouth,  “Spit that out you little—”

“It’s okay. They’re edible,” you reassure Mando, patting his shoulder, then looking at him in confusion when you feel him tense up.

“I did find the bounty,” he spits out, then hesitates before elaborating, “She’s holed up in the local Omega Club.”

“The Omega Club?” Aitana looks him over incredulously. “You’ll never get in there without—”

“Without an Omega,” Mando says, looking at you.

“Okay, wait. What even is an Omega club? And why do you need me?”

Mando hems and haws for a few moments until Aitana takes pity on him and explains.  

“Omega Clubs promise to cater to any and all Omega needs, but they mostly exist to provide relief to Omegas in heat since there aren’t enough Alphas to go around.”

You wonder if that was where you’d find the “well stocked isolation rooms” mentioned back at the spaceport.

“Solitary Alphas aren’t allowed in unless they work there,” Mando says, “so the only way I’m getting in without a firefight is as your bodyguard.”

“Or your lover,”  Aitana adds, and it sounds like Mando chokes on his tongue.

“Oh.” You very deliberately do not think about that second scenario.  “What about the baby though? Won’t it be dangerous?” 

You can’t imagine leaving him on the ship alone, but bringing him with you doesn’t seem viable either. 

“I won't let anything happen to you,” Mando says quietly, and the hand he brushes over the back of your neck short circuits your brain before you can tell him you were worried for the baby, not yourself.

He turns to Aitana and looks her over appraisingly, then asks, “Would you be willing to watch the kid until tonight? I can pay you.”

“This little tadpole? I’ll watch him for free.” 

She and Mando argue briefly about payment until she eventually accepts a small handful of coins to cover the cost of their dinner.

You and Mando walk Aitana home, the baby trailing behind you in his hover crib.  She tells you a little bit more about the local Omega Club on the short walk, but it’s not enough that you really feel prepared.  All too soon you’re giving the baby a kiss and waving goodbye.

Then all that’s left to do is go back to the Crest and get ready.

—

It had sounded so simple earlier:  just get dressed up and go with Mando to the Omega Club.

“Sure. Simple,” you mutter to yourself, trying to check your appearance in the fresher’s tiny mirror.  

You make a face, feeling self-conscious in the unfamiliar clothing. The wrap dress is simple but elegant, and far nicer than anything you’ve worn in years. You mostly stuck with drab, utilitarian clothing after you'd presented as an Omega during puberty, not wanting to draw any extra attention.

The dress is lovely though.  You run your hands down your sides, enjoying the way the soft fabric settles over your hips. You adjust the neckline one last time to make sure you’re covered.  Here goes nothing.

Mando is standing by the open weapons locker, and he turns to look at you when you exit the fresher.

You freeze in the middle of compulsively smoothing the dress over your hips, as heat rises under your skin and locks the breath in your lungs.  He seems to be frozen too, and the moment stretches out until Mando finally gives himself a shake and turns back to the weapons locker.  If it’s going to be like this all night you’re not sure you’ll survive.  You’re just so aware of Mando, and you like having him look at you more than you should.  You wonder what it would be like to submit to him. 

“Good,” Mando says, and you shudder at the thought of it before you realize he’s talking about your dress.  You stare down at yourself, and run your hands over the fabric self-consciously, smoothing imaginary wrinkles and ruthlessly squashing the urge to preen for this particular Alpha’s attention.  

“Here. Put this on under the dress. Just in case,” Mando says, handing you a small bundle.  

You stare at the leather wrapped metal in your hands for a minute before you realize that he’s just handed you a mini blaster and a holster for it.  You try to straighten out the straps, but the weight of Mando’s gaze on you makes your fingers slow and clumsy.  After the second time you nearly drop the stunner, you give up, looking for a place to set it down before you accidentally shoot yourself in the foot. 

Mando must have reorganized the hold, because the crates you’d been using as seating are now lined up neatly by the rear ramp.  The only flat surface left at this end is…  Swallowing hard, you walk over to the open hatch of Mando’s bunk.

You look back at Mando seeking… something—permission, maybe?—but he’s closing up the weapon locker and doesn’t even glance in your direction.

Feeling like an intruder, you lean into the bunk just enough to set the gun down gingerly on the mattress.  Mando’s rich, earthy scent seems to permeate the small space, along with a jumble of Alpha pheromones and traces of leather polish and gun oil.  Your body responds, thighs trembling as you lift a foot and brace it on the edge of the opening.  Making sure your back is to Mando, you fold back the open edge of the wrap dress to expose your thigh.  Kriff.  This feels way too intimate, too personal, being so exposed here in Mando’s space, but it’s too late now.

You puzzle over the mess you’ve made of the holster, straps twisting every which way around the formed leather piece.  Thankfully it doesn’t take long to sort out the two straps and secure them around your leg, just above your knee.  The holster sits oddly though, and you poke at it, trying to figure out why.

“It’s too low.” Mando’s voice comes from close behind you—much too close. 

You panic, trying to spin to face him and flip your dress closed at the same time, and nearly fall on your face when your foot gets caught on the edge of his bunk.  Only his big hands gripping your upper arms save you, but that mean he’s even closer!  (Not nearly close enough, a little voice in your head insists.)

“Oh,” you breathe, trying to right yourself, too stunned by his nearness to even feel embarrassed.  Once you find your balance, he releases you, one hand sliding up to wrap around the back of your neck.  Warmth seems to radiate from his gloved hand, and a wave of heat rises up from your stomach to meet it, skin tingling in all the places he’s no longer touching you.  You feel both calmer and paradoxically more on edge the longer you stand here, and you have to take a step back before you do something stupid like stepping forward to rub up against him.

“It’s—” Mando clears his throat, then continues, “It’s also upside down.”

What’s upside down?

“Can I?”  he asks, inclining his helmet toward your leg. Oh, right. The holster!

“Uh huh,” you manage.  You part the edges of your dress far enough to provide access to the holster, then wait, stomach feeling shaky with anticipation and not entirely sure what, exactly, you just agreed to.

Mando drops to one knee in front of you, and all you can do is stare down at his helmet as his hands reach for you.  He makes contact just above your knee, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. 

“Here.”  His voice is going to be the death of you.  Low and rasping and deeper than before, it makes your stomach clench.  The fire there burning hotter as his large gloved hands make quick work of releasing the straps and flipping the holster.

“Like this,” he says, directing you to spread the edges of your dress wider.

You do as he asks, baring more of your leg to him.  Kriff, this isn’t fair!  Then his hands slide the holster high up your bare thigh, and you forget to breathe entirely.

Your entire being focuses, laser-like, on the feel of his leather covered fingers brushing across your sensitive skin as he wraps one of the straps around your thigh and buckles it.  If it were any other man—any other Alpha—touching you like this, you would have been doing your best to incapacitate them and run for the hills, but with Mando you just wish he would touch you more.

A second later, you get your wish, as Mando reaches between your legs to position the other strap. Oh, Maker.  Your whole body clenches.  Then you jump as the cold metal of his vambrace makes contact with your inner thigh.  You spread your legs a little wider to give him more room and try not to pant audibly.  This is torture.

There’s a staticky gasp over the modulator, and Mando’s hands fumble for just a moment.  Then they’re moving again, ghosting over your skin as they finish securing the second strap in place.

Shit.  You’re so turned on that you can feel how wet you are.  You close your eyes in mortification.  Don’t even want to think about what Mando must be smelling down there.

Stupid Omega hormones.  Stupid Alpha sense of smell.

Thankfully, Mando doesn’t comment, just smooths the material of your dress back into place over your thigh and stands, mercifully retreating to the far side of the hold.  You stare after him, feeling overheated and shaky, but still mostly in control of yourself, until...

“Come here,”  Mando demands gruffly, beckoning you over with two crooked fingers.  No Alpha in his voice, just a dangerously pleasant rumble that makes you shiver all over again.  “I want to see if it shows when you walk.”

You cross the hold towards Mando slowly.  It pleases you more than it should to be obeying him.  Mando stands stock still as you approach, but you know he’s watching you—watching your thighs—as you walk, and you can’t help but put a little extra swing into your hips.  Fuck.  Have you completely lost your mind?

“Looks good,” he rasps, and your body clenches.  “Time to go.”

You’re not sure you’re going to survive the night.

.

—

[  Part 2  >>  ]

[ Alternative p2 Links:  Reblog or For Desktop ]

Edited to Add: The links above work fine for me, but apparently some people are having trouble with them, but you should still be able to copy & paste one of these addresses into a web browser):

https://thirstworldproblemss.tumblr.com/post/640140098884812800/itsallaboutwhatyouwant2

https://thirstworldproblemss.tumblr.com/post/646157327064580096/fic-its-all-about-what-you-want-p2

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/thirstworldproblemss/640140098884812800

Want more to read? twp’s Masterlist | twp’s Author & Fic Recs  

——

End Notes:   Part 2 is finished UP!  The whole thing is finished, but I split it because I can’t handle trying to deal with a 21k post, and so that it’s easier for people who don’t want to read the accidental drugging scene that happens in the next bit to skip it (see the end notes of part 2 for more specifics).

SW References Used:  Mando’a database, The Wookiepedia

Adorable Planet Dividers made by @whimsicalrogers

—

Tagging: (See my Tagging Lists Page to be added or removed)

@agirllovespancakes @heatherbel @keeper0fthestars @knittingqueen13 @lark-cale @pedropascalito​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @songsformonkeys​ @yespolkadotkitty

(Unsolicited tagging of people I think might be interested):  @absurdthirst​ @frannyzooey​ @fromthedeskoftheraven​)

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #a/b/o #omegaverse #pedros12daysofchristmas #(but i'm so late it's actually the 12th day of the new year) #pp stuff #star wars #din x reader #my fic #fanfic #slow burn #because these idiots are almost too stupid to get to the lovers half of #idiots to lovers #mutual pining #ust #(resolved in p2) #it's all about what you want

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

You make it feel like Christmas

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Content: Christmas celebrations, kissing, mostly-non-explicit sex (18+ only please), a swear, mention of food, the vaguest of timelines, DEA agents get to go home for the holidays because someone please give this man a break

Word count: ~2500

Note: A Secret Santa gift for the lovely @maxiarapamaya​​ for Pedro’s 12 Days of Christmas 🎄 I hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @beccaplaying​ @songsformonkeys​ @emesispo​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @flightlessangelwings​ @keeper0fthestars​ @writemessystarwars​ @bestintheparsec​ @wille-zarr​ @punkpascal​​

--------------------------------

The jostle of Javier shifting in his seat beside you drags your attention from the pages of your book.

He’s arching his back, stretching broad shoulders that pull the fabric of his shirt into puckering wrinkles with the motion as he looks out the tiny window at the brilliant white clouds below. With a sigh, he slumps back into the narrow seat, hands flexing restlessly in his lap.

You reach for one of them, lacing your fingers with his. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” His thumb makes a reflexive stroke over the back of your hand. “I should have brought those files Stoddard put together before we left.”

“Javi, it’s Christmas vacation. You’re not supposed to be working.”

He tilts his head in concession. “How’s your book?”

“Forgettable.” You shrug, slipping it back into the carry-on bag by your feet. “Unlike you.”

That earns you a lopsided smile that brings his dimple out of hiding.

The near-brush of your lips with his is interrupted by a flight attendant with a brittle smile and a small plastic cup. “Your drink, sir.”

“Thanks,” he says, sitting up straighter to take it from her. She glides away down the aisle and he sips the drink, grimaces. “For what the tickets cost, you’d think they could serve better whiskey.”

You take the drink from his hand and try it, wincing as the harsh burn of the liquor stings your throat. “Well, we are a captive audience.”

Javier takes another stubborn swig. “Whoever said getting there is half the fun was full of shit.”

You can’t help but laugh at his grumbling. “You might want to practice watching your mouth, Agent Peña. There’ll be lots of little ears around at your dad’s house.”

“Don’t I know it. I hope you’re ready to be mobbed.”

“Beats drowning in paperwork and hearing again about the time Feistl almost got shot by the Jamaican,” you say mildly. “I think the bullet gets closer to his head every time he tells that story.”

He huffs out a laugh, dismissing the half-finished drink to a tray table.

You can see the shift in his thoughts as his dark eyes roam over your face to settle on your mouth with a speculative gaze. The slow, unconscious tease of his tongue at his plush lower lip is hypnotic.

A lift of his chin and his eyes go half-lidded, sultry. “Come here.”

As always, you’re a moth to flame.

It’s a restrained kiss, just a soft, lazy press of his lips that toes the line of appropriateness in public, but it’s enough to spark a tendril of warmth that unfurls like an opening flower in your chest.

Especially with the hitch in his breath when your fingertips wander to the firm muscle of his inner thigh.

Javier breaks the kiss with a knowing smirk, eyes molten with the unspoken promise of later, and a grin pulls at your lips.

“I guess the DEA’s golden boy can’t really risk being caught with his girlfriend in an airplane bathroom, huh?”

“Stechner would have a fu-- a freaking field day,” he amends at the teasing quirk of your brows. With a kiss to your temple, he leans back in his seat again, checking his watch.

You tuck your feet underneath you, turn sideways in your seat to smile at him. “I’m going to make it my mission to have you so relaxed by the end of the week you’ve forgotten Stechner exists.”

He laughs, reaching for his jacket to rummage for his pack of nicotine gum. “Do your worst, querida.”

***

Chucho Peña’s barn is as expansive as his personality, and it’s been transformed into a festive haven for Christmas Eve. Lights and decorations dress up the plain space, Javier’s aunts preside over tables groaning with food, and the music that blares through speakers blends with the buzz of conversation and children’s laughter. You sit at a table with Javier, catching your breath after a round of mingling and introductions and watching the handful of revelers who’ve taken to the impromptu dance floor in the center of the barn.

It’s...peaceful. Despite the whirl of activity around you, you’re more relaxed than you’ve been in ages, and Javier hasn’t heard the name “Escobar” all night. He’s still Laredo’s hero and probably always will be, but the novelty has lost enough of its shine that people are beginning to treat him like the boy who grew up there instead of the man who came back.

“You get enough to eat?” Javier passes you his bottle of beer. “They’re bringing out another round of pies.”

You take a sip, resisting the urge to press the dewy bottle against your warm cheek. “I’ve been eating since we got here. Nobody could go hungry with your family.”

“Wait ‘til you see the spread for lunch tomorrow,” he says, with a wry grin.

A strong hand rests on your shoulder and you turn to find your host smiling down at you, white cowboy hat like a halo in the glow of the colorful fairy lights all around.

“You two having a good time?”

“Yeah, Pops.” Javier pushes a chair out beside him. “Join us.”

Chucho shakes his head, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Came to ask the lady for a dance.”

His fatherly kindness warms you, as it has from the moment you arrived in Texas. Javier is so different from his father in so many ways, and yet you can see Chucho’s shadow in his unguarded moments of selflessness and generosity.

Handing Javier his beer back, you get to your feet with a smile. “I’d love to.”

Chucho is a patient partner, waving off your apologies when you step on his toes and finally settling into a sedate sway when your efforts to keep up with the rest of the clan prove hopeless.

Between snippets of conversation, you catch a glimpse of Javier back at the table. He’s gained new company in your absence.

Four-year-old Emilia, the daughter of a cousin whose name escapes you now, has made herself at home, elbows resting on Javier’s knees and a bedraggled Barbie doll trailing from one hand while she regales him with animated chatter.

Your heart swells at the picture. Javier’s eyebrows leap at something the little girl says, punctuated with a wave of the doll. His dimple makes an appearance even as his jaw steadily works his gum -- because, bless him, he really is trying to quit -- and he chucks her under the chin with amusement crinkling his eyes.

“He’s happy with you.” Chucho’s voice breaks into your thoughts, and you find him following your gaze. “More than I’ve ever seen him.”

“He deserves to be happy. Convincing him of that is a work in progress,” you admit.

“Sometimes I worry about him...worry he won’t leave Colombia with his soul,” he confesses, keen eyes meeting yours. “But seeing him with you gives me hope. You keep taking good care of him.”

“I will. I promise.” You squeeze his hand. “Thank you for having me here for Christmas, Chucho. You’ve made me feel like family.”

His rugged face wrinkles with a smile. “I hope it’s the first of many Christmases, mija. You’re always welcome here.”

“Can I cut in?”

Javier’s voice materializes over your shoulder, husky and warm, sending a thrill down your spine. Your stomach fills with butterflies just like it did the first time you ever saw him, and you’re struck by how effortlessly handsome he is with the tension gone from his shoulders and his lush mouth softened by a smile.

With a pat of your cheek and a clap to Javier’s back, Chucho disappears in the direction of the pie table and you drift into Javier’s arms.

“Did you get to the embarrassing childhood stories?”

“I did hear one about you and your cousins and a stolen pack of firecrackers.” You give him a teasing grin. “But I have to admit it’s hard to imagine you as a little kid. You seem like someone who just sprang into existence with a perma-frown and a nicotine problem.”

“Smartass.”

“You love it.”

He can’t stifle a smile when he leans in to kiss you, because yeah, he does.

His lips are slow to leave yours, coming back for little lingering pecks before you finally break away to nuzzle his nose with your own.

“Careful, we might scandalize your tías.”

“If they didn’t want kissing, they shouldn’t have put up mistletoe.” As if in defiance, he plants another chaste kiss on your mouth. “Besides, if I know Tía Lupe, she’s already asked you when we’re getting married.”

“The direct quote was, ‘you’re not getting any younger, honey, you want to give him babies.’ I think she and my grandmother are using the same playbook.”

He laughs, looking away across the crowd of his assembled relatives and family friends. “Told you they’d like you.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, his arms coming a little more tightly around you as you lean your head on his shoulder and breathe in the scent of him.

“I’m glad we came, Javi,” you finally say. “Thank you for bringing me.”

He presses a kiss into your hair, exhales a deep breath against you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

***

A cheery little tabletop tree casts multicolored puddles of light around the guest room in Chucho’s ranch house. 

It’s after midnight when the festivities come to a close and the various family members go their separate ways until Christmas lunch. You and Javier had walked with Chucho back to the house, where you promptly changed into pajamas, brushed your teeth, and flopped onto the comfortable bed.

Javier has stripped to his jeans, standing bare-chested in the doorway. “G'night, Pops,” he calls into the darkened house.

Chucho’s voice echoes back, “’Night,” and the shaft of light in the hallway shrinks and disappears with his bedroom door closing behind him.

Javier shuts your own door and you’re alone in the sanctuary of the cozy room. Of each other.

He’s at ease, maybe more than ever before. You see it in the lightness of his brow, the loose set of his arms, the fleeting freedom from the burdens of his job taking years off of him and enveloping you both in this temporary peace.

His jeans are slung low on his hips, their button carelessly undone, and you watch him walk to the dresser, envious of the dim lamplight that kisses the sculpted muscle of his back.

He takes something from the top drawer and comes to sit beside you on the bed. With no preamble but a lift of his brows, he hands you a small box wrapped in brightly colored paper.

“What’s this?” You let a coy smile hint at teasing him.

His mustache twitches with amusement. “Well, it is Christmas.”

“Christmas Eve,” you remind him in mock seriousness. “Santa hasn’t been here yet.”

“I can take it back if you want.”

You clutch the package to your chest, and he laughs.

“So open it.”

You do. And find, nestled in tissue paper, a bracelet of silver links interspersed with cabochons of moonstone and turquoise.

“Javi,” you whisper, touching the delicate stones.

“It was my mom’s. I, uh--” His jaw ticks to the side as he watches you take it out of the box. “I asked Pops for it. He liked the idea of you having it too.”

He doesn’t talk much about his mother, even to you, and despite his attempt at a casual air you feel the weight of the gesture.

“Javi, it’s beautiful. I’m honored to wear it.”

You slip the bracelet onto your wrist, let his stroking fingers admire it, revel in the spark of possessive pride that heats the fathomless depths of his eyes. The silver shines against the darkness of his hair when you slide your hands into it to kiss him.

“I love it,” you murmur against his mouth. “I love you. Thank you.”

His arms come around you, warm hands slipping under your tank top. Large palms flatten over your back and drift slowly to span your ribs. He lets his thumbs graze the soft underside of your breasts, so lightly he’s barely there, but the feathery contact sends desire arrowing through you, sharp and sweet, to bloom hot at your core.

He catches your needy sigh of his name with his lips, lets it drip over his tongue like honey. Greedily plunders your mouth for more as quick hands whisk the thin fabric over your head and a shift of his weight eases you down onto the bed.

Your hand trails over the smooth, golden skin of his chest, skimming the thatch of soft hair low on his belly as he pushes himself to stand, unzipping his jeans and shucking them off. At a tap of his fingers on your hip you arch off of the mattress to let him slide your sleep shorts off, and then he’s crawling back onto the bed to sit beside you. With a touch as gentle as it is firm he draws you to him, folding long legs to coax you to his lap, your thighs bracketing his in a warm press of bare skin and your arms settling around his shoulders.

“Looked so pretty tonight.” The words are muffled against your throat, laced with small, sucking kisses. “Damn near left the party to bring you back here.”

Javier is not a man for poems or flowery declarations. But it’s when you’re together like this, when his hands and lips map your tender skin and your nails bite into the muscle of his shoulders as you tremble and shatter under his touch, that his tongue is loosened in his own language of love.

When he finally fills you, wraps you in his strong arms and gives himself over to the refuge he finds in your body, it’s a steady stream of praises panted into your skin, rasped against your lips: you’re so good for him, you take him so well, you’re the only one he wants, corazón, te quiero.

I love you.

You’re his safe place, and he’s yours.

“Come with me, querida.” His gritted command pierces the haze of desperate, spiraling need and your body obeys, his name a gasp in your throat as blinding pleasure replaces the blood in your veins with fire.

He surges up once, twice, muscles tensing to steel with a sound like the breath has been punched out of him.

And then he collapses, going pliant against you, the grip of his arms slackened around your waist. His heavy breaths fan hot and damp over your neck while you hold him inside you, hands tracing idle, soothing patterns on his sweat-slicked back. Your lips find his temple, his hair, and he answers with gentle nips at the soft skin of your jawline.

Reluctantly, he separates from you, a low groan escaping him at the loss of your warmth. With the last of his energy he stretches to flick off the lamp, leaving only the muted glow of the tiny Christmas tree.

Dropping to his side on the bed, he reaches for you, tucks you close to his broad chest. His smile is lazy, sleepy-eyed with perfect relaxation as he sweeps stray strands of hair away from your face to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll give you your other present in the morning,” you tease, still a little breathless.

A soft huff of laughter, and another brush of his lips, just above your brow. “Baby, I’ve got everything I need right here.”

You’re almost floating, drowsy and light, a mirror of Javier’s contentment.

He’s closed his eyes, dark lashes resting on his cheeks and the creases in his forehead smoothed as his fingers stroke gently over your hair.

“Querida,” he murmurs.

You hum in answer, slipping a foot between his.

“Maybe Tía Lupe’s got the right idea.”

If you thought you couldn’t be more in love, he’s proven you wrong.

“Maybe we should talk about it in the morning,” you whisper through a giddy smile.

The shadow of a dimple darkens his cheek with his minute nod.

You kiss his neck, nuzzling into the steady thrum of his pulse, the metronome that keeps the time of your own heart.

“Merry Christmas, Javi.”

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #narcos #pedros12daysofchristmas #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #javier peña x female reader

[absurdthirst]

The Advent Calendars {Catfish x Reader}

#Pedros12daysofChristmas Secret Santa Fic Exchange

For @princessbatears​ You write your Were!Frankie so beautifully, I hope that you enjoy the softer side of things. 

Rating: Soft and Fluffy

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: Sugary sweetness and love. Frankie being a fantastic boyfriend.

Summary: You are spending your first Christmas with Frankie after moving in together and you want to share one of your favorite traditions with him. The Advent Calendar. Except they are sold out. 

It was the time of year that you loved most. Christmas was always your favorites holiday. The lights and music give the nippy air a joyful feeling. Fires crackling in a fireplace and hot chocolate with tons of marshmallows to warm the soul.

It was baking and present wrapping, decorating and the house smelling like mulled cider and pine needles. For you, it was the most wonderful time of the year. This year was even better. It was the first year you were celebrating it with Frankie. Moving in together had been the next step in your relationship, and you were enjoying sharing your traditions with him. His time in the service didn’t allow for much celebration with family, a lot of his holidays were spent overseas and away from home.

You wanted everything to be perfect. You had started well before Thanksgiving, digging out decorations for the tree you were planning on getting and already had half of his Christmas hidden in the spare bedroom closet. Somewhere he would never go.

Frowning, you look at the website where you had planned to order your advent calendars like you did every year. It was the one thing that you hadn’t been able to find so far and they were sold out.

Advent calendars marked the days for you. It was fun, a little treat to look forward to everyday as you count down the days to Christmas. Frankie had a sweet tooth and you wanted to share in the indulgence of this tradition. “Man, what do I do now?” You ask yourself.

“What’s the matter, baby?” You jump slightly, thinking that Frankie was out tinkering in the garage. He leans over the back of the sofa and presses his lips to your cheek gently. You turn and give him a proper kiss, enjoying the way that he lingers over it with a smile playing over his lips.

“They are out of advent calendars.” You sigh, turning back to the computer screen and clicking on another page. “I really wanted to share this with you. It always marks the days.”

He comes around the end of the sofa and plops down next to you, throwing his arm around your shoulder and looking at the screen. “Oh I remember those.” He says. “We got a couple of them in the care packages. Filled with chocolate, right?”

“Yeah, most of them are. Others have different things in them, but the ones I love have chocolate in them.” Leaning your head over you rest it on his shoulder and close your eyes, breathing in the scent of him. The laundry detergent mixed with his soap and his own scent never failed to calm you down. Now it was combined with the cinnamon and cardamom that you had used to make the cider you had brewed this morning. Frankie peering over your shoulder and sneaking tastes when he could.

“We could always make our own.” You lift your head to look at him. His eyes are focused on the screen as he looks at it thoughtfully. “Yeah. It shouldn’t be too hard.” He looks at you and grins. “Then you can have more than one piece of chocolate.”

“You want to?” You ask, excited about the prospect of still being able to share this with him. Making the advent calendar sounded fun, and it was something you could do together.

“Yeah, baby.” He presses a kiss to your hair. “I want us to enjoy the holiday. And if you love these calendars, let's make one.”

“How about we each make one? I’ll make one for you and you can make one for me.” You suggest, typing in ideas and bringing up the search page. “It doesn't have to be fancy.”

He chuckled and pointed at one picture. “Why don’t we do it like that?” He asks. It was a simple design. Cups glued together in the shape of a Christmas tree and covered with colored tissue paper.

“That’s perfect!” You click on it and marvel at how simple the design is. “We have everything we need.”

“Not everything.” Frankie smirks and nods towards the kitschen. “I might have eaten the rest of the candy last night.”

Rolling your eyes, you bump him with your shoulder. “I swear you can eat your weight in candy, Morales.” You tell him playfully. “Okay, we can go to the store and get the stuff to fill them and make our own.” You smile, already knowing that you are going to get Frankie’s favorite candies to put in your version of a calendar for him.

Half an hour later, you are back home. Bags of candy that each of you had bought, playfully hiding them from one another and claiming it was going to be a surprise. You hadn’t seen this side of him often. Playful and relaxed, it made his kind eyes even warmer and you loved how much that boyish grin lit up his entire face, showing off that sweet dimple.

Multiple glue sticks were sacrificed, but your tree shaped cup-calendars were built. You had giggled and cut tissue paper squares while Frankie had sworn and stuck his finger in his mouth every time he burned himself with the hot glue. Sometimes you had to laugh at him. Give the man a wrench and he can fix anything, give him a glue gun and he's out of his element. Even with that, the Christmas music still played and the mood was light.

You took your tree into the kitchen while Frankie stayed in the dining room. Each one of you decided that the other couldn’t see what was being put into the slots to make it a bit more special when you opened it. Carefully closing them up with tissue paper and a rubber band, you smiled at the result. You had gone the extra mile and written the days on tissue paper in scrolling numbers and were very happy with how it looked. It was honestly more exciting to make this for Frankie than you had imagined and hopefully he would continue the tradition with you.

Every night, the two of you would sit together and open your day, laughing at the candy or chocolate that the other put inside for you and most often it was followed by sharing the treat and kisses in front of the fireplace.

The lights from the tree twinkled and slowly the presents started to stack up around it. Small parcels and packages that each one of you had snuck in and wrapped when the other wasn’t looking. The tins of cookies sat on the table, ready to be delivered to the neighbors who had been so kind to you since you had moved in. Overall, it was the best holiday you could remember since you were a child.

Christmas Eve had finally come. You laughed when Frankie dragged you over to where the calendars sat, every one of them opened save for one. His eager expression made you lean over and kiss his scruffy jawline, just a touch neater than it had been this morning. Because he is so eager you let him open his first, the cup filled with all of his favorite candies and he immediately starts opening one to take a bite before offering the other half to you.

When you reach for yours, you feel him shift beside you, moving his weight from foot to foot. Tearing through the thin tissue paper, you find a velvet box instead of the chocolate you had been expecting. Pulling it out, the size and shape of the black velvet makes your eyes widen and you look at Frankie in surprise.

He’s biting his lip, his eyes watching you carefully to gauge your reaction. Reaching for your hand, he tugs you over a few steps to kneel down in front of the fireplace, the Christmas tree over his shoulder. “Baby, I- I’ve been trying to think of a way to propose to you, to show you how much I love you and ask you to be my wife. I want to spend every Christmas with you, making new traditions and celebrating your favorite ones. I hope that it’s okay, using your advent calendar for this.” He takes a breath and smiles at you. “Will you marry me?” He asks, reaching up and opening the box in your hand to reveal an engagement ring.

“Francisco.” You nod eagerly, choking out his name as tears build up in your eyes. “Yes. Yes I will marry you.”

He smiles in relief, standing and kissing you passionately. His mouth pressed to yours as he holds you against him. You can feel his heart thudding in his chest and know he must have been so nervous, but he shouldn’t have been. Your answer would always be yes.

He pulls back and cups your cheek, his eyes just as emotional as yours as he smiles again, pressing his forehead against yours. You look down at the ring in the box and then back up at him. “I think this is my favorite advent calendar of all.” You whisper. “Even if I didn’t get chocolate today.”

Frankie laughs and kisses you again. “I’ll share mine with you, baby. Don’t worry. We have so many more Christmases together.”

As he slides the ring on your finger, you know that every single one of them will be special. You get to spend them with the love of your life.

#pedros12daysofchristmas #Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfic #catfish x you #catfish x reader #triple frontier fic

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe

This is my secret Santa story for @storiesofthefandomlovers​ for the Pedro’s 12 days of Christmas! I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it!

MERRY CHRISTMAS Charlie!!

A/N: Thank you to my darling @yespolkadotkitty​ & @justanotherblonde23​ for beta reading! You guys are the best!!

Pairing: Javier Pena x F! Reader

Warning: 18 + ONLY (Oral M & F receiving, light cum play, p in v sex, language)

Word Count: 3.2 K

My Masterlist

Javier was exhausted. The sweat from the never relenting heat stuck to him like a second skin; he smelled like leather and cigarette smoke. He flicked the butt out the window and rolled it up before turning off the jeep. He sighed; looking at the blinking red numbers on the clock it was well past midnight, and he had missed Christmas Eve.

Although it was late, the city was alive. Candles adorned in red and white flickered against the windows and the church he drove past swelled with the music and life of people attending midnight mass.

He opened the door and gazed up at his apartment. The same flickering candles adorned his own window and he let out a soft smile, thinking of you. How the hell he got so lucky he would never understand. You had met one afternoon at the markets, Javier had been chasing a sicario through the bustling streets and literally crashed head first into you, letting out a frantic apology and taking off again. You had never expected to see him after that, but the next weekend he was there almost waiting, watching for something.

Or as you came to learn someone, you.

He had apologized and asked you out for drinks, which then led to dinner and the most mind-blowing sex of your life. It should have just been a one night stand but you both became addicts like those of the drug he spent his life hunting, in thrall; searching for your next fix.

Javier was not a man that believed he deserved love. One night after another passionate affair, you both lay breathless, and as the curl of smoke from his cigarette lingered in the air, he told you about his job.

The men he hunted, the death and destruction he had seen and even been subjected too. “To catch bad people, you have to do bad things,” he had once said, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried in your hair. He quietly inhaled the sweet scent of citrus and flowers that clung to you and left his pillow with the faint scent of your locks. You understood right then that he loved you. That giving up that part of himself he kept so buried and hidden in his heart was his way of showing you that he’d relinquished his heart to you.

Six months into your endeavor and your work was shot up by sicarios going after your boss for making a bad deal with the Narcos. Javier had busted down the door wearing that bulletproof vest and shooting anyone in his path to get to you. He was a man possessed. When his hand intertwined in your own he used his own body to shield you to safety. Not giving a shit about the world watching, he devoured your lips against the side of the van, his hands tangling in your hair and pulling you impossibly closer. “Te amo,” he whispered against your lips.

Murphy’s gentle touch on his shoulder shattered the glass and he pressed his forehead into your own, eyes closed breath hollow. “I love you,” you whispered against his lips and he pulled you tighter to his chest. Almost tight enough to be painful but you wouldn’t have pulled away for the world. How a man who chased down Narcos, carried a gun, could make you feel so safe was a question for another day.

That night he took you home to his place where he reminded you what he struggled so much to say. That he loved you.

His tongue and lips clamped down onto your aching clit as his fingers worked you through your third orgasm. The pleasure was blinding as he sucked and fucked you with his tongue. And when he slid his cock inside you, tears landed gracelessly on your face as he thrust slowly and achingly into you. You reach up and place your hands on his face, neither of you needing to speak;  only needing the gentle touch of the other to ground you. And when he came inside you, groaning as his eyes stayed locked on your own, clenching around him, you knew that this was it. No one in the world would ever compare to Javier Peña.

After that night you didn’t return home to your apartment, except to pack and give your notice. Javi, Steve, and Connie helped you move your things into his apartment and nothing was ever said again.

Javier stared at the flickering candlelight and sighed -  he should have been home hours ago, but paperwork and the never ending bureaucratic bullshit of the embassy had kept him late. Even Steve had gone home early, although he had a child so he had more of a reason - but still. Christmas was the time to be with family and even though it was small, you were his family.

Javier crossed the street and climbed the stairs two at a time, reaching the door in record time. He unlocked the door and quietly stepped inside. Putting his keys in the blue and white ceramic bowl you bought at the market a couple of weeks ago and taking off his shoes next to the small pile. The light flickered from the TV in the living room, sounds of an over the top telenovela wafting through the space. Over the top of the couch sat a red and white novelty Santa hat and Javier smiled until the hat moved. He approached cautiously coming around the couch; breath catching and cock hardening at the site.

You were sprawled out on the couch Santa hat laying precariously on your head. One of his white button-up shirts unbuttoned and underneath peek-a-booed a red lingerie set lined with white fur trim. The crotch missing from the panties, your cunt on full display for him, and glistening in the flickering light from the candles. All clipped carefully into the white garter belt and stockings ending with the sharp black heels with a large gold buckle. The gift you had teased him on the phone with hours ago laid out before him. Waiting to be unwrapped.

He slowly peeled off his leather jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall onto the couch, pulling off his socks and tossing them. Javi uncrossed your ankles and gently placed your feet a bit wider giving him room to drop to his knees before you. He licked his lips as he watched your chest rise and fall with each breath. He scooted closer and placed a warm hand on your inner thigh, kissing the skin over the stockings gently. Taking the time to worship your thighs and legs that he adored before moving closer to your heat. Taking one finger he gently ran it through your folds, collecting your slick and putting it in his mouth, sucking it off the moisture, and groaning in delight at the sweetness.

Never taking his eyes off you, he nudged his sharp nose against your clit as he tasted you with his tongue. Flat wide strokes before circling your nub with the tip of his tongue and back again.

*******

You groan in your sleep and move to turn when he grabs hold of your thigh keeping you spread before him. Your eyes snap open and make contact with his own as his lips suck your clit into his mouth while he works one finger into you. Inch by inch until you are quivering beneath him, he adds a second finger and curls them hitting that spongy part inside you that causes you to see stars.

“Javi?” you question as his tongue works you again with wide broad strokes soaking up all your sweetness. His fingers sound obscene with how wet you are as he pumps them into your aching pussy.

He pulls away and grins, “Yes, honey? This is my present, no? It’s Christmas morning after all,” he teases before plundering your cunt with his tongue bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your eyes roll back into your head when he groans and the vibrations send a shockwave through your body. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, and Javi works you through it adding a third finger and curling them into you as you pulse and clench around him.

“Javier!” you scream and dig your fingers tugging hard on his short locks. He pulls away and you watch as he sucks all of your juices off his fingers, pulling each one out with a pop.

“Merry Christmas baby,” he grins at you before moving up your body and kissing you gently, tasting the sharp tang of yourself on his tongue. His hands continue running up and down your thighs over the stockings. “Why don’t we move into our bedroom and I can unwrap the rest of my gift?” You can only nod as he takes  your ankles in his hand and flips the clasp on the left heel pulling it off and carelessly throwing it to the floor. He repeats with the other shoe and then he is pulling you up from the couch and tossing you over his shoulder. You squeal in delight and hang on to him, and he chuckles before tossing you onto the bed, your breasts bouncing in the tight fabric. His hands move to unclasp the garter from the stockings and you grab his hand and push it away. Sitting up, you remove his shirt and throw it, taking his jeans in your hands and unbuttoning them, and dragging down the zipper. Your finger runs along his cock as it springs free from the confines of his jeans. Dropping to your knees and looking up at him through your lashes he smiles down at you. “I want to taste you, Javi, is that ok?”

“Shit...cariño that is more than oka-” his voice cracks on the last syllable as you take just the tip past your lips, running your tongue in small circles. You reach for his hands and place them gently on your head and he groans, his head dropping back as he pushes you further down onto his cock. He takes his time and inches himself deeper and deeper into your mouth as his breathing gets heavier. One of your hands comes up to massage his balls and the other grabs his ass tightly as he pants. You hollow your cheeks, tongue running up and down as he hits the back of your throat. Breathing deeply through your nose, you gag a little, tears beginning to pool in the corner of your eyes as he fucks your mouth.

“Fuck, I love your mouth...shit.. I’m close.”

You pull him deeper into your mouth and he whimpers as you press and swirl your tongue around the tip, using your hand to pump him in time with your mouth. His grip on your hair tightens and he pulls you all the way forward, choking you on his cock. His hot, salty cum coats your tongue as he climaxes with a groan.

You swallow every last drop and open your mouth to show him, “Such a good girl,” he praises and lifts you to your feet. He kisses you deeply and you sigh as his hands roam over your skin, warm to the touch. “Sit down on the bed,” he instructs and you do so, “now let’s unwrap the rest of my gift  shall we…”

He moves to his knees and spreads your legs to lay  between them. Hands coming around to unclasp your bra and pull it away. He places gentle kisses on your hard nubs, his mustache scratching lightly against your flesh. “Fuck... this is the greatest gift I’ve ever received cariño.” Taking one nipple in his mouth he bites down gently and pulls out; you gasp at the feeling.

“Javi...please,” you beg, hands running through his hair as he takes his sweet time worshipping your breasts. His other hand kneading the other as he keeps his full attention on your nipples. The way he bites you will for sure have marks in the morning, but Javi loves marking you, claiming you as his own. Especially the visual ones, your neck is  usually covered in love bites, letting all the men at work know who you belonged to.

He switches his attention to the other breast and you drop your head back feeling a familiar rush of slick between your thighs. Javi chuckles against your nub and rubs his face between your breasts, his mustache scratching at the skin before he places a kiss between them. “Look at me, Cariño.” The words like honey on his tongue and you are aching for it.

Slowly, you bring your head back up and watch as he never breaks eye contact, snapping the locks from the garter. He sits back on his ankles and puts your foot against his chest, exposing your dripping pussy for him. He starts from the top and slowly rolls down the white stocking his lips trailing behind pressing wet kisses to your skin as he slides them off and tosses them behind him. He moves to the other leg and repeats the process, taking his time to lightly nip and run his tongue over your flesh.

He digs his fingers into the silky material of the garters and pulls them and your panties off leaving you completely bare before him and at his mercy. “Fuck,” he murmurs staring, “You’re perfect, cariño.”  

Taking your hands, he intertwines your fingers and pulls you down to kiss him. Running his tongue over your bottom lip, asking for entrance. His tongue snakes his way inside your mouth and he licks. You’re drunk off the taste of coffee and cigarettes; it’s distinctly Javi.

“Come with me,” he whispers against your lips and pulls you to stand before him. Taking your hand he leads you to the shower and turns on the water. “I need to shower, and I would really love for you to join me.” You nod and he pulls you in for another deep kiss. He tugs  you under the hot spray of the water, his mouth open as he sucks on your neck, pulling you into his chest. His cock is hard and pushing into your ass. He reaches around you and grabs the body wash squeezing a glob into his hands and working it before he rubs it all over you. Although he is cleaning you, you feel even fucking dirtier as his hands rub between your thighs. You turn in his arms and connect your mouths, biting down on his lower lip as he groans. You take the soap from his hands and run it over his broad shoulders, chest, and lower, taking him in your hands.

His forehead drops to your shoulder and he groans as you pump him a few times. “Turn around,” he groans and pushes your chest into the wall. You shiver at the change in temperature. He gently nudges  your legs apart and you feel him; thick and hot against your leg. “I want to fuck you, cariño,” his voice deep and husky.

“Then do it, mi amor” you whisper, and he wastes no time sliding inside of you, inch by glorious inch. Your forehead lays against the tile, and your hands spread out. His fingers leave imprints on your hips as he pushes all the way in and seats you on his cock.

“Fuck,” he pants, “always so tight for me.” He starts slow dragging almost all the way out before slamming back in, slowly driving you insane as he hits that delicious spot inside of you.

“More, Javi, please,” you beg and he speeds up his thrust. The slap of skin on skin is almost  drowned out by the water still pouring over you. He’s sure to leave bruises as he sets a punishing pace, slamming into you. One hand comes out and he starts rubbing circles on your clit, your hands tightening into fists and biting down hard on your lip to suppress your screams.

“Let go, cariño.  I want to hear you,” you clench tighter around him and he moans cursing and rubbing you in time with each thrust until you are pushing his hand away and screaming against the tile. “That’s it baby, cum on my cock,” he praises in that deep, bedroom voice breaks you and you flood his cock, tightening around him as he cums inside you; his thrusts finally slowing until he’s pulling you back flush against him, cock still nestled inside.

The water turns to ice and you shout as he runs to quickly turn it off, both of you laughing against the wall. He slides out of you and watches as his cum drips out onto the floor, dipping his finger and pushing it back inside. “Come on baby, let’s go to bed,” he grabs two fluffy towels and wraps one around you and the other around his waist, leading you both back to the bed. You dry off as best you can before dropping it and getting back under the covers, pulling Javier closer.

He nuzzles into your neck and inhales deeply before sighing, “I will never get enough of you,” he places a kiss below your ear and envelopes you. “Tomorrow...well today I am going to give you some real Christmas magic, cariño.”

“Oh yeah? What are your plans for me Agent Peña?” you tease.

“I’m going to kiss you under the mistletoe like all those corny Christmas movies you watch, just wait, cariño, this will be a Christmas you won’t soon forget.”

“I love you, Javier,” you whisper into the dark and he returns the sentiment with his arms wrapped tight around you.

The next morning you wake up the same way you did the night before, with Javier’s tongue buried inside your pussy. “Oh my God, Javi!” you scream as his tongue wraps tightly around your clit, two fingers pumping you through your orgasm. You feel yourself shattering around him and gushing on his fingers, his tongue eagerly licking up your juices.

You moan and push at his head, fingers digging into the soft curls of his hair, tugging him off. He smiles at you from between your thighs, his mustache glistening in the low light of the bedroom.

Kissing his way up your chest and nipping at one of your nipples, he reaches for his cigarettes on the nightstand, lighting up and taking a long drag. “You know when you told me you wanted to kiss me under the mistletoe, I thought you might mean in a doorway and my lips,” you tease.

“Well, technically, it was still your lips, just on your pussy not your mouth, and we still did it under the mistletoe.” You laugh as he points up and you see the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling above your bed.

He grins at you and takes another pull, the smoke curling up. “Then … do I also get to kiss you under the mistletoe, Javier?” you reach for his jeans and unbuckling them.

He puts out the cigarette and pushes his jeans off the rest of the way, grinning “Well, tis the season.”

Taglist: @josepedropascal​ @mrschiltoncat​ @mrsparknuts​ @zannemes​​ @ghostwiththemostbitch​​ @oldstuffnewstuff​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​ @heythere-mel​​ @justanotherblonde23​​ @artsymaddie​​ @anetteaneta​​ @a-seeker-of-imagination​​ @aellynera​​

#pedros12daysofchristmas #Narcos #javier peña #Javier Peña x reader #Pedro Pascal #Secret Santa

[writing-in-april]

Light My Cigarette

Javier Peña x Female Reader

Summary: After a rough work operation Reader is shaken up, Javier attempts to comfort Reader instead of letting them fall into bad habits.

A/N: This was my fic for the Pedro Secret Santa exchange, I had @aerynwrites - I wrote a hurt/comfort smut with Javier and Reader, I had a really fun time writing this and I love doing fic swaps (this is my like 3rd one and I'm addicted to doing them) I also decided to try and write the smut a little differently then I usually do and also tried to write in the second person for the first time- plus this is the first time I’m writing for Javier as well. Hope you enjoy! Requests are open!

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Smoking, Mentions of physical assault, Reader is a bit mean to Javier at first, Some crying, Oral sex (f receiving), Penetrative sex, Unprotected sex

Main Masterlist Word count: 1.5k

“Can I have one?” You said to Javier who was standing at the steps outside the embassy. He seemed confused at first about what you were talking about until you pointed to the cigarette he held between his fingers.

His eyebrows furrowed even more once he understood your request, it was well known that you despised the way him and Steve always had a cigarette hung around their lips. When you had first joined the duo at the embassy you imposed a strict rule on your first day that the windows had to be open if they wanted to smoke, either that or smoke outside. He still obliged your request despite his confusion, handing a fresh one over to you.

Your fingers shook unintentionally as you brought the cigarette up to your lips, beckoning Javier to lean in and light it. He again obliged your request, leaning in towards you with his lighter flicked on setting the stick aflame.

Javier’s questioning gaze still didn’t leave you while he lit his own. He was undoubtedly questioning your behavior after the last raid, being captured for a short while was part of the plan, it was fine, you were fine. The only visible marks you had from the encounter was a bruise that had quickly blossomed along the side of your cheek and a slightly bloody lip.

“Lets get you home.” Javier spoke with an uncharacteristic softness making you bristle even more, the only reason he was acting like this was because of your bruised figure. You scoffed to yourself slightly after taking your last puff before stubbing it out on the ground with your shoe. You were fine.

---

The drive back to the apartment complex that the embassy owned was almost completely silent, the only noises that reached your ears was the soft hum of the engine and any quiet noise from the dwindling traffic. Javier kept glancing back at you every so often, you couldn’t really tell if they were from genuine worry for your wellbeing, he wasn’t really well known for his compassion for others. The only time you had seen a similar look on his face was when he rescued Helena. You shrunk from his gaze a little once you made the connection in your head, Javier and you may be close but you certainly didn’t want his pity.

It shouldn’t change anything, again, you were fine. You only had been briefly roughed up by Escobar’s men, they hadn’t been able to do much in the short time that they had you before Javier and Steve had shown up with Carillo to ‘rescue’ you. It had all gone according to plan, you had gotten the needed information and walked away with minimal injuries. Again- you were fine.

---

“Are you ok?” Javier’s words cut through the thick air rife with tension in your apartment as he dropped you off at your door. You had been practically climbing the walls of the inside of his car before he pulled up outside the apartment complex in order to escape his lingering looks. Even going so far as to ask for another cigarette from him just for a bit of escape in the moment, though this time Javier didn’t oblige you. Unfortunately, he also had felt the need to follow up behind you even though his own apartment was at the other end of the hall.

“I don’t want your pity.” The snarl in your voice and the slam of your door seemed to catch Javier off guard, the tone you had adopted was usually reserved for your encounters with sicarios. Even if you found Javier infuriating at times you still never spoke to him in that tone. You actually regarded Javier as a close friend, maybe even a little bit more.

“I don’t pity you.” You even caught the add on I care about you that he mumbled at the end but there was no quelling your inner turmoil. Javier didn’t care about you, at least not in the way you wanted him to. The both of you were standing an arms length apart in the middle of your living room the tension begging to be broken.

“Is it because I’m a woman? Is that why you keep looking at me like that? I’m fine, they barely touched me.” You were just ranting at this point, unfairly taking it out on the first person in front of you which happened to be Javier. Hot tears started to prickle in your eyes threatening to spill over into large crocodile tears dripping down your cheeks.

“I don’t pity you.” He reiterated to you before continuing, “It’s ok if you’re not ok.”

Biting your lip at his words you shrunk back in on yourself crossing your arms around your midsection with even more tears falling. Ok- you definitely weren’t ok, you admitted to yourself. The way the men had beat you, even if it was only a little had in reality shook you up quite a bit. The worst part being that you could still feel their hands on you, you wished that the feeling would be replaced with more caring hands.

Javier took a hesitant step towards you, opening his arms and beckoning you in close for a hug. Your own steps towards him were equally as hesitant, but the resistance towards someone helping you, namely Javier, was slowly melting away.

After a few quiet minutes just standing in your living room basking in the comfort given to you you looked up at Javier only to find his eyes already on you. His lips parted slightly as your own gaze started to bore into his own, the tension so thick now that you could cut it with a knife. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips before leaning in slightly, very willing to give into the tension yourself.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you.” His words only served to make you want him more, to pull him close and never let go.

“You’re not I promise. I just want to feel you, to have you hold me close.” You snuck your arms underneath his leather jacket to gain a bit more of the warmth that he radiated around him bringing you ever closer to the comfort you desired.“I just want you.”

When his lips hit yours the first thing that stood out to you is that Javier’s lips were unexpectedly soft. His other movements were just as soft as he slipped his tongue into your mouth gently while bringing his hands to cup your cheeks. The two of you had always danced around the unspoken chemistry in your relationship never really fully acting on it, until now.

The scent that always clung to his clothes invaded your senses a mixture of whiskey, the cigarettes you had both smoked, and something you couldn’t name that was distinctly Javi. Both of you made your way back to your bedroom never really breaking apart from one another unless it was to come up for a quick breath. He made you fall apart on his tongue slowly piece by piece pulling away a few times before finally letting you fall over the cliff.

When he finally sunk into you your back was pressed against his chest with your side pressed into the mattress, and his large hand wrapped around your thigh to hike it up towards your chest. Though you were not facing each other in the position you two had chosen, you felt completely connected with him, your bodies moving in sync with each other perfectly. You let out a loud whine of his name when he dropped his fingers down to your clit and started to rub slow devastating circles into you.

Even if it was the first time that you and Javier were sleeping together you could tell that the softness in the way he rotated his hips and the way he cradled you softly was uncharacteristic of Javier. You could quite literally feel the love from him which made tears again prickle at the corner of your eyes, though for a much better reason compared to beforehand.

“Mi corazón.” Javier wasn’t a man of many words, in his day to day life and also while you slept together the weight of his words fell deep in your gut and the droplets that clung to the corners of your eyes spilled over. A second orgasm washed over you, in response to being completely overwhelmed by his actions. Javier rocked into you a few more times before spilling onto the back of your thighs, then quickly angling your face towards him to envelope you into a breathless kiss.

“I’ve got you, mi corazón.” He quietly whispered to you while pressing kisses to your temple after cleaning you up, then rejoining you in your bed and pulling you to rest on his chest. You felt true comfort in his arms as you drifted to sleep not feeling any desire to have another cigarette.

---

Mi corazón- my heart

#pedros12daysofchristmas #javier peña #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier peña smut #pedro pascal fic #secret santa #narcos #pedro pascal smut

[comrade-kenobi]

All You Ever Wanted- Din Djarin x Reader

Dear @hellcaster901​

Happy Holidays, love!  Here’s your gift, I hope you like it! You get Din a little Life Day present and he doesn’t know what to say. Also for narrative purposes Grogu is chillin with his Aunt Peli.  

The title is Pedro’s favorite Black Keys song...

Tags: Mostly fluff, with allusions to some spice. 

Word Count: 1,582

Din held you close to his chest; close enough to feel the rapid thrum of his heart as he came down from the high of love making. Absolutely mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of your breaths. With blissed out eyes he watched as his rough fingers ghosted up and down the soft skin of your spine, leaving delicate goosebumps in their wake. 

“I love you,” he breathed, as he drank in the tender warmth of your skin against his. 

“And I love you,” you smiled, then nudged his crooked nose with your own. 

He replied by kissing you, soft and deep. It was easy for him to get lost in your kisses. The softness of your lips, and the way they moved against his, like that's what they were made to do. Sometimes he got so lost, he could swear he was dreaming. Before you came along he had convinced himself he was destined for a life of solitude. Wandering from planet to planet, bounty to bounty with no real place to call his own. But when he held you like this; tight to his chest-- he knew he was home. 

You nipped playfully at his bottom lip and broke him out of his reverie. The smile you’d given him when he pulled away sent a flow of warmth through his entire body. Radiating out from his heart, to the tips of his fingers, and down to his toes. 

“OH!” you exclaimed, as you pulled away from him abruptly. Taking the bedsheets, and all of the warmth with you. “I almost forgot!” 

Din’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he watched you dart across the floor of The Crest to your duffle bag. The stolen sheet flowed behind you, like a ladies elegant cape, as you went. You rummaged through the sack for a moment or two. Exclaiming “AH-HA!” when you finally found whatever it was you’d been searching for. 

“Happy Life Day!” you yelled, as you held a small package out for Din to see. Your eyes gleamed in the dim lights of the hull as you ran towards the nest of blankets the two of you had started calling a bed. 

“Life Day?” Din asked, his eyebrows had shot so high they nearly disappeared under the shaggy brown curls plastered to his sweaty forehead. 

“It’s a Wookie tradition. Like a holiday.” You explained as you gestured wildly, the gift still held tightly in your hands. It’s contents clanged around in the small box.

“Since when are you a Wookie, riduur?” Din chuckled, he had been with you for a while now, and even a year into marriage you still managed to surprise him. “You’re not nearly hairy enough.” 

“Shut up,” you replied; and swatted at his chest with the ghost of a smirk threatening to spread across your face. “My best friend in the rebellion was a Wookie. Now do you want the present, or not?” 

“Of course I do.” He replied as tried, in vain, to still the laugh in his chest, and force a serious expression. 

“That’s what I thought.” You sassed as you crawled into his waiting lap. With your chest puffed out with pride, you waved the small box in Din’s face. Tempting him to grab it. But when he reached for it you pulled it away with a frown. 

“Kiss me first.” You insisted, as your lips pulled into a childish pout. Din rolled his eyes but happily obliged. 

“Thank you” you beamed, appreciatively running your thumb over his plush lips when he pulled away. 

“What is it?” Din asked with a frown. He ran his fingers over the paper covering the box and admired it for a moment. The paper was plain and brown, but you’d taken the time to decorate it with tiny, hand drawn, trees. On the top it read, “For my riduur.” In what Din assumed was your fanciest script. 

He went to rip off the paper and felt, almost, dirty doing it. You had clearly put a lot of effort into making it look nice, and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin that. So he carefully went along the seams, and peeled the paper off without making a single tear. 

When he opened the box, he found a fancy looking vibroblade inside and what looked like some spare parts. 

“What are these?” Din asked, holding up some of the cold metal pieces. 

“They’re for the vibroblade,” you explained, reaching into the box that was settled between the two of you to pick the blade up. “I can mod your vambraces with them, so the vibroblade pops out of the bottom.” 

“I-I, uh, don’t know what to say…” Din stuttered, not quite sure what to make of the whole thing. He’d never celebrated a holiday before, or gotten a gift. When it came to things like this, he had to admit, he was always more than a little lost. 

“Look at the blade, love.” You encouraged, taking his hand in yours and carefully placing the sharp blade on his rough palm. 

His calloused fingers traced over the smooth, cool, metal before he turned it over. On the other side he found his signet, a Mudhorn, carved perfectly into the side. 

“Did you…?” He started, but trailed off. Utterly distracted by the pure beauty of what he held in his hand. 

“I engraved it,” you finished for him, “it’s why I was so twitchy whenever you dropped into the hull this week. I wanted it to be a surprise…” 

The words you spoke barely registered on Din’s radar. He was far too busy admiring his gift. No one had ever gotten him a gift before, let alone one with this much thought put into it. The blade was shined to absolute perfection, and the signet was carved in deep. Adding it to his armor was the icing on the cake. Now he could carry a part of you within his armor forever. The thought of it brought a tear to his eye. 

“Do you like it?” your timid voice broke back into his thoughts. But he still couldn’t speak. How was he supposed to put how he felt about this, about you into words. So instead he dropped the vibroblade and took you into his arms. Pouring all of his unspoken feelings into a kiss. 

It was fiery and sweet. His tongue hungrily swept over your bottom lip, begging you to let him in. And let him in you did, opening for him with a pleased groan, the kind that got his blood pumping, and sent shockwaves down his spine. 

He tangled his hands into your hair in an effort to bring you closer to him as his tongue danced over yours. No matter how close he brought you to him it would never be enough, he always wanted to feel you closer. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You panted, pulling away so you could catch your breath. Din nodded fervently, and chased after you for another kiss. You laughed at his enthusiasm and suddenly he felt a twinge of guilt in his chest. You’d gone through all this trouble for him, and he had nothing for you. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, as if sensing the sudden change in his mood. 

“I- you, you got me this perfect thing and…” he trailed off, leaning back from you and rubbing the back of his neck, “and I didn’t get you anything.” 

“Din,” you took his face in your hands and forced him to meet your eye line. Instinctively he leaned into your touch, sighing at how gently you touched his face. The feel of your fingers on his cheeks easing his worries to almost nothing. 

“It’s okay, I have you, and that’s enough.” You assured him, the certainty in your voice made his heart skip a beat in the best possible way. As you spoke your fingers played absently at the beskar mythosaur skull hanging from his neck, and he got an idea. If he could carry a part of you with him, he wanted you to be able to do the same. 

“Here,” he began, lifting the worn leather cord from his neck, and placing it around yours. “I want you to have it.” 

“Din,” you started, emotions welling up in your throat, “you don’t have too…” 

“I know.” Din cut you off, running the rough pad of his finger along your chest, admiring the way the necklace looked on you. “I want to. I want you to have a piece of me, just as I have a piece of you.” 

“Mhi solus tome, Mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You whispered, in near perfect Mando’a and Din’s heart soared. 

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.” Din repeated in basic as the tears that rimmed his eyes threatened to fall. 

“Happy Life Day, Riduur.” You said, pressing your forehead to his in a keldabe kiss, just as you would before you were married. 

“Happy Life Day, Cyar’ika.” Din replied, closing his eyes as he soaked in the moment; your wedding vows still buzzing around in his head. If there was one thing in his life he was absolutely certain of, it was you. And he was never letting you go. This would be the first of many Life Day’s together, and next year he would make sure he bought you a gift.

#pedros12daysofchristmas #din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #Pedro Pascal #din djarin x you #din djarin fic

[starlight-starwrites]

home for the holidays

agent whiskey x female reader wc: 4.3k summary: jack daniels has been away on a mission, but promised he’d be back in time for christmas. sure enough as the holiday arrives, he returns and you welcome him back. warning: fluffy smut!! oral (f recieving), piv sex, creampie, some biting, jack talks in bed, you swear at him, dirty jokes note: Merry Christmas from your secret santa @whatanoof​ !!!! i did not mean to post so late but here we are. i hope you enjoy this one, i really liked writing it!

The menu in front of you offered a plethora of options, but you didn’t need to look at them. You already knew you’d order your usual dish. The drink options however…you scanned those intently. You had the time to anyway, since your date seemed to be late even though he insisted it would take no time at all for him to report to headquarters and then arrive at the restaurant. You’re not surprised he’s taking longer than usual.

The dining room is gorgeous, the ambient lighting and the tall ceilings setting a romantic feel. You were distracted by the twinkling crystal chandeliers at first, but as time passed, your hunger made you focus on the menu instead. Your eyes flit over the page, choosing to ignore the hard liquors to glance at the wines instead.

“Will it just be you tonight?” The voice pulls you from your reading, and you smile up at the young waitress.

“Oh no, I’m just waiting for—”

Before you could continue, you were distracted by a pair of soft lips pressed to your cheek. “Evening, darlin,” Jack slides into view, flashing you a winning smile as he takes a seat across from you. “I hope I’m not too late.”

You sigh in relief at his presence, eyes following his hands as he unbuttons his suit jacket and gets comfortable.

“Just waiting for him.” You smile at him before turning back to the waitress. “Could we get a bottle of your finest wine? Red, please,” you say to her, and she smiles and nods, leaving you two to have a moment.

“Finest red?” Jack leans forward in his seat, still smirking. “You sure know how to spend my money, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I’m not spending your money, Agent Whiskey.”

“What, you buying dinner tonight? My lucky day.”

You laugh. “No, no, dear. This dinner is courtesy of Statesman.”

“Is it now? I didn’t realize this was a work meeting.” He raises an eyebrow, and you notice his smile fall for a moment, as though he really believes you’d bring him here for anything related to the agency.

You giggle again and reach to hold his hand across the table. “As far as Statesman is concerned, I never said it wasn’t…”

The waitress returns, filling both your glasses and leaving the bottle at the table.

“Ain’t you a devious little thing. Alright,” he lifts his full glass, toasting to you. “To Statesman. For dinner with my best girl.”

You lean forward as he rubs his thumb across your knuckles, clinking your glass against his. “To you coming back to me in one piece,” you say earnestly. It’s a moment of honesty, and he catches it, smiling at you with teasing eyes.

“You really that worried about me, darlin?” He pulls your hand closer to him, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile on your face. “Stop that,” you scold him, pulling your hand back to intwine your fingers on the table. “I thought you were smarter than that, Agent.”

He laughs before taking a sip of the wine. He squeezes your hand. “I missed you.”

His eyes flick across your face, and you take in his, admiring his warm, brown eyes, the neat mustache over his plush lips. He must have shaved before he came here you think. His hair is mostly hidden under his black Stetson, but you can see the sides from how he wears his hat. It looks damp, he must have showered too. You smile at the thought, rememorizing the curve of his nose and the crease in his brow.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

You smile at each other, relieved to just be in each other’s company, with no more worries for the rest of the season. The waitress comes back in a moment and you order while Jack quickly peruses the menu, too caught up with you to remember the reason for being at the restaurant in the first place. The two of you catch up over the meal, Jack telling you everything that went down—though you believe he may be sparing you some of the details. You let him know what has been happening at HQ while he’s been away, but the two of you eat quickly. There are other things you’d rather be doing.

The waitress returns just as you finish, making sure everything is all right. The food was delicious, and the wine bottle now sits empty at the side.

She picks up your empty plates. “Can I get any dessert for you two?”

As good as some of the options sound, you’re full already, and you give Jack a look.

“I think we’ll be having dessert at home,” he winks at you, and your heart beats faster.

It only takes moments to pay on Statesman’s dime, and then Jack takes his hand in yours to practically drag you away.

He holds your hand as he pulls you out of the restaurant and into the cab, keeps your fingers interlaced as you enter your apartment building and run up the stairs, clasps you tightly as you step into your home, bringing you close and tightening his grip on your hand.

The two of you easily settle in, shedding your coat and shoes before he pulls you back into him. He tells you how good you look, hands roaming over your body as you walk him further backward into the apartment, tells you how much he thought of you as you loosen his tie to unbutton the collar of his shirt.

He ducks his head to kiss you without bumping you with the brim of his hat. His lips were warm and soft against yours and you hum. It’s a sweet, chaste kiss that he repeats before pulling away to look at you.

“Missed you, darlin.” He unbuttons his jacket, shrugging it off and tosses it on the back of the couch without ever looking away from you. His large hands came to cup either side of your face as he leaned in to kiss you again. “Been waiting for this.”

His next kiss leaves you breathless, his mouth moving against yours and taking command. You take the hat from his head, tossing it like a frisbee to the side, not caring where it lands. He leans in as he parts your lips, making you take a small step backward. He follows you closely, walking you across the living area and toward the hall to your shared bedroom.

His hands drift from your face, one moving to cradle the back of your neck as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. You could still taste the fine wine on his tongue, feel the heat of his breath as he breathed you in. Your stomach fluttered as his other hand drifted down to feel you, sweeping over your shoulder and down your back before he took a handful of your ass. Tensing in his tight grasp, and you laughed into his mouth and reached up to muss his hair. You felt the curve of his lips and the tickle of his mustache on your skin as he smiled back, a deep rumbling chuckle warming you from the inside out.

“Jack.” You whispered it against his smile, relishing in every brush of your lips against his as you spoke. “Take me to bed.”

He grinned at that, and you reached up to fondly trace over the dimple in his cheek.

“Yes ma’am.” His hands came to grip around your waist, spinning you around as you stumbled to the door, the two of you laughing like idiots. Your arms came around his neck, holding your body tightly to his as the two of you passed down the hall, threw open the door, knocking into nearly every piece of furniture as you kissed.

Not wanting to waste another minute, Jack’s arms tightened around you before he nearly tossed you onto the king-sized bed. You bounced onto the plush mattress, laughing at his eagerness, and just barely propped yourself up on your elbows before he was crawling on top of you and pushing you back down.

The soft bed beneath you was much more comfortable when Jack was here, and his passionate kisses erased the memories of lying in his bed alone, praying he would come back safe. Your hands greedily took hold of him, reaching for any and every part of him—you threaded your fingers through his hair, pushed down on his shoulders to press his chest to yours, splayed a hand on his abdomen and slid it up to his collar. Even though his tie dangled between you and got in the way, you took advantage, grasping the red silk—an early gift from you—and using it to pull him back into a kiss when he tried to mouth at your neck.

“Jack, honey, as good as you look in the suit, you are wearing way too much right now.”

His nose bumps yours, and he takes your bottom lip between his teeth. You feel his hands run down the length of your body, over your breasts and down your sides to grasp at your hips, tugging up the skirt of your dress.

“I ain’t the only one, sweetheart.” His lips go to your ear, the words sending shivers down your spine. “I believe I was promised dessert.”

His fingers trail over the skin of your leg, slipping under your skirt and massaging the inside of your thigh, reaching higher and higher until he touches the velvet that covers you. His eyebrows raise and mouth opens as he feels it, quickly looking up at you in surprise.

You smirk at him and lie back, placing a finger over his lips before he can ask. “Why don’t you get me out of this dress then, hmm?”

You know it’s what he’s been thinking about all through dinner, likely long before dinner if you were being honest. He smiles under the press of your finger, excitedly reaching for the zipper in back, pulling at fabric and making you move under him so he can pull it off you, the two of you laughing as you shimmy out of the tight burgundy dress, stealing kisses as though this was still new.

He takes his time getting you comfortable as he presses kisses along your face and neck, eagerly tasting any skin that is revealed. He marvels for a moment when the dress is finally tossed in the corner, looking at you splayed beneath him, wearing one of the sexiest matching sets he has ever seen.

Black lace trim and straps stretch over the slope of your breast and the curve of your hips, but it’s the deep red velvet matching your dress that covers you just enough to make him lose his mind that does him in. He groans and leans back to admire you, certain that this is the best Christmas present he could receive. Arguably, it may be even better than the lingerie he got for you, still waiting and neatly wrapped under the tree.

Now with you uncovered, he finds himself much too overdressed for the situation. His tie comes off first, flung somewhere along with your dress, and he only gets a few of the top buttons undone before his impatience gets the better of him. He rolls up his sleeves before diving in, mouth going to attack the inside of your thighs. The sounds you make turn something in his gut, heading lower as he tastes you. His pants are starting to feel much too tight, but he’s much too distracted by the feel of you under his hands, your legs around him to do something about it. His mouth makes a path up your thigh, he takes his time to kiss over your stomach, loving every inch of your body he had missed so much.

His large hands come up to feel the velvet over your breasts, squeezing you gently and rubbing his thumbs over your nipples through the fabric. You moan, trying to shift your hips to find any friction, but it seems Jack was purposely keeping you spread open, without the contacted you so needed.

“Jack I swear to God if you don’t stop teasing…” he hummed as he kissed along your skin, stopping to plant a kiss right over your heart before his face tilted up and he captured your lips with his. You nipped at him, tightening your legs around him to pull him closer, but he had other plans.

A hand slipped in between your bodies, pressing right between your hips so you were pressed back to the mattress. He gave you one last peck before grinning over you, his mussed hair dangling on his forehead as he gazed down at you, and you slipped a hand under his shirt feeling his bared chest, the other wrapping around his arm.

“I missed you,” you tell him again. It’s the truth, and it feels good to say it even if you have ulterior motives for saying it now. “Missed having you in our bed. Missed your body, missed your mouth—”

He surges forward then, kissing you fiercely and slipping his tongue in your mouth before ducking his head to bite at your throat and quickly moving back down your body. You know he’s straining, surprised he’s lasted this long already. His hand moves lower to cup between your legs, stroking the soft velvet over your core. He’s focused now, no longer gentle and playful touches, reacquainting himself with the feel of your body. No. Now he’s intent on getting to you, getting you off.

You gasp when his fingers skip under the material, swiping at your slick folds, briefly teasing your clit before returning to your entrance. You shift under his care, impatient for more but appreciating the feel of his weight on you, the strength in his hands, his shoulders. You reach to touch his hair, running your fingers through the soft locks as he kisses your hips, a finger sliding in to stroke you and you sigh.

He starts of slow, building you up, but soon enough you’re grinding your hips in time with his strokes, pulling at his head from where he’s focused on making marks along the inside of your leg to where you need him most. You had intended on removing the lingerie, making it easier for the two of you to continue, but Jack apparently doesn’t feel the same. Though he does stop sucking a bruise at the apex of your thigh, he only slides the thin strip of fabric to the side and dives in.

You whine at the sensation of his mouth on you, his finger joined by a second as he swirls his tongue around your clit. Your body jerks for a moment, overwhelmed by his touches. You moan again, leaning your head back into the pillow as you clutch his head tightly, arching toward his mouth and fingers. He finds a spot deep inside you, stroking you gently with gaining speed, and he continues to suck and lick at your bundle of nerves, making your body shudder under him.

You had nearly forgotten just how good his mouth was when he wasn’t running it. He’s learned your body well, and you remember just how fast he can have you shaking and screaming around him. You moan his name, warning him of the rising pressure inside you. His fingers continue in their rhythmic motion, and you can hear just how wet you are. His tongue dips to lap at your folds before returning to your clit, drinking from you like a man starved. You can see him moving too when you glance down, knowing that he must be grinding his own hips into the mattress. He groans into your core, making you shudder again.

“Jack,” you cry his name, “Jack, fuck please.” You’re getting closer, legs clamping around his head. He doesn’t mind it, you know for a fact he enjoys it, and his faze nuzzles further into your heat when you do. He pumps his fingers faster, and even you can feel how fucking soaking you are. “Fuck, Jack, I’m—”

It comes quickly, his lips around you and sucking while his tongue still teases your clit. Your legs become a vise around his head as you press your hips to his mouth, your own opening in a silent scream. His hand is tight on your hip, the only thing keeping you grounded, as his fingers and mouth don’t cease in their movements, keeping you at your high.

You choke out a gasp as you hold his head to you still, unable and afraid to pull him away. He’s so good, so fucking good with that goddamn mouth swirling around and his large fucking fingers pumping into you just right and oh fuck, he’s isn’t stopping and you’re shaking, your legs are shaking, and you think you’ve stopped breathing, but you’re so fucking wet you can feel it on your legs, but shit—can he even breathe with his face buried in you like that?

Just like that it becomes too much. Your legs drop from around him and your hands that once held him tightly to you now shove him away. His face comes up so you can see him, and he immediately gasps for air, panting as he pulls his fingers from you, and you flinch at the loss of him inside you. His hands immediately go to his belt, and he manages to unbuckle it and open the front of his pants to lessen the restraint on the cock tenting his pants.

You still shake even without his touch, panting just as he is as you go through aftershocks. You realize your face is wet, a tear running along the side of your face. You can only stare up at him, mouth agape as you watch him, kneeling between your spread legs. His face is soaked, hair tousled so it lies over his forehead, his usually neat part nowhere to be seen. Your slick coats his mustache and chin, and you can see a sheen of sweat over the top of his chest. His eyes are glazed with lust, but he still smirks down at you looking almost as wrecked as you feel.

“What’s the matter darlin? I finally manage to silence your smart mouth?” It makes you angry that you can’t respond, mind too dazed to come up with a response.

Without his body near you, you shiver from the cold air you feel, legs still trembling. You can’t do anything but eye the bulge still under his boxers, knowing that despite how hard he just made you cum, you still want more.

“Jack Daniels, you shut the hell up, and you get over here and fuck me right,” you snap.

His eyes widen in shock for a moment, but then he’s grinning like he’s won the world, dropping his pants enough to free his hard and heavy cock, and he pounces. He never bothered to take off his shirt, or his pants, or likely even his shoes you realize. You don’t care at the moment, too needy to think of anything else as his lips meet yours and you feel his length at your hip. You can taste yourself on him as you kiss him, but you don’t mind it.

He’s hot and solid against you, and your hands slip under his open shirt to claw at his back as he takes himself into his hand and pushes into you. You both moan together, his lips on your cheek. He’s large, stretching you more than his fingers and it feels right. This is how you were meant to be, filled like this, overwhelmed by the stretch and the feel of him inside you. His hand comes behind you knee, lifting your leg to rest at his side as he pulls out and pushes back in. At this angle, you can feel every ridge, the velvet of his skin, and your legs start shaking again. He gazes down at you with wonder, watching as your breasts move with his thrusts, the way your eyes glaze over as you stare up at him, jaw slack and making little sounds for him that make his cock twitch as he fucks you.

“Fuck baby, you look so good like this.” He looks down to where you two meet, watches as he disappears inside of you again and again and again. He can feel the pull in his gut, straining to hold out. “You should see how good you take me, how good you make me feel, oh fuck—” He nearly loses himself right then, feeling you clench tighter around him. “Damn, you can’t just do that to me,” he groans, picking up his pace, unable to control himself.

It’s rough, and you feel like he’s pushing you deeper into the mattress, the feel of his cock reaching deep inside you. The moan that comes from your throat is uncontrolled, and the sounds of you moving together overwhelm you. You don’t know if you can cum again but fuck, he feels so good like this, your entire body warm and tingling, calling for his touch. He leans forward, hovering over you and you try to pull him even closer.

“You’re so wet, baby, so wet for me. Look at this,” he takes a hand between the two of you, pace stuttering for a moment before picking back up again. He brings his slick covered fingers to your face, and you don’t hesitate to take them in your mouth. He tenses, rolling his hips into yours. “I’m not gonna last, sweetheart, uhng—” You bring your legs around him, pulling him in as you grind back into him. “Missed you too much, baby, I can’t—” He stops, his face pulling tight into a grimace as he struggles to hold on.

You give one last suck to his fingers before you pull them away. “Then come baby,” you say, voice hoarse, “fill me up, Jack. Need to feel you again. Feel your cum inside me.” Your voice is nothing more than a whine, begging really. It has been a while and he’s always had this power to make you so weak for him. As he moves, you feel the warmth spread throughout your body, and you hold him close, arching your back, legs at his thighs to push him into you again.

His mouth drops open, and after a particularly hard thrust, he’s coming. You feel the way his muscles tense, feel the warm spurt inside you and the two of you moan together. He drops to his forearms above you and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as he comes down from his high, rocking gently into you, and the tension leaves his body. He rests his forehead on your collarbone, and you turn your head to press kisses into his hair. You feel spent and exhausted, and you know his day has been longer than yours.

“Goddamn darlin, you know how to wreck me,” he says into your neck. His breath on your skin tickles, and you smile up at the ceiling. Before you can respond, his finger reaches down to where you are joined, and you clench.

“Ohh,” you catch yourself for a moment, leaning up to press your teeth to his shoulder. “You watch yourself, Daniels, don’t start something you can’t finish.”

He laughs, rolling off of you finally, both of you tensing as you part. You hear the familiar tell of his shoes hitting the floor, and he slides off his pants fully to toss them off the bed.

“I most definitely plan on finishing.” He looks to the side as he lays on his back, meeting your eyes and grinning at you. “So why don’t you take off that pretty little lace for me and get on back up here, cowgirl.”

You look at him in shock for a moment, expecting him to pass out for the night, not pat his lap for round two. “You sure about that, old man?” you ask him, knowing you’re wandering into dangerous territory.

His arm snatches out, pulling you on top of his chest, and you push the rest of his dress shirt off his shoulders and dump it on the floor. “You won’t be calling me old in a minute,” he teases back, and sure enough, you feel him begin to harden behind you.

You quickly remove your bra, dangling it over him before that too is tossed to the floor and you lean down to press your chest to his. He holds you tight to him, and you press messy kisses to each other’s faces, relieved to be back in this feeling of having your love in your arms.

The kisses slow, and you enjoy the feeling of his lips moving languidly against yours. “Merry Christmas,” you whisper to him, even as you grind back down on his cock.

“Mmm,” he hums under you then leans up to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Merry Christmas, darlin.” You melt into the touch of his hands running along your bare back and down to your ass. “This is what I needed right here, just you. Right here,” he whispers to you, before pulling you down for another kiss.

You kiss him back with fervor, pouring in your love for him. The apartment had been decorated and gifts wrapped long ago, and even now, soft flurries fell from the sky, perfect for the season. But to you, all that mattered was being with him, and having him here, home for the holidays.

#pedros12daysofchristmas #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels #agent whiskey fic #kingsman the golden circle

[forever-rogue]

Hearth & Home

A/N: Hello friends and mainly my secret santa @marvel-and-mischief​! Zoey, this is this for you and I hope you enjoy! It was so nice getting to know you and you are such a sweet, kind person. It’s not much, but I hope it brings a smile to your face and I hope you have a fantastic Christmas! Lots of love and hugs! 

(disclaimer - this is my first time writing for Pero, please be gentle!)

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Snow was falling outside the window gently, coming down in soft, fat flakes. The ground was coated in it already, creating slick icy walkways and dusting the gardens you had so lovingly tended to in the spring and summer. The sudden cold front had come unexpectedly, neither of you had much time to prepare, so you decided to let it be. If come the new year and spring, the flowers decided not to make an appearance again, you would simply have to plant new ones. Things always worked out how they were supposed, even if it wasn’t the most conventional of ways. But you already knew that and had known that more some time. 

Your husband was proof of that in himself. 

Speaking of which, you paused as you were in the middle of washing the pots and pans, shaking the warm, soapy water from your hands as you looked outside and spied Pero tending to the animals. The sheep and goats followed him closely on his heels, which he always insisted he hated, but you knew he secretly enjoyed. He had a soft, gentle soul, even if the exterior did not match that whatsoever. A walking contradiction, a balance of rough and soft, but he was your everything. 

Almost as if he could sense your eyes on him, Pero stopped petting the sheep at his side and turned to look in the window, a small smile stretching across his features, highlighting the singular dimple you loved you so much. Cocking an eyebrow in amusement, he waved at you as you responded in kind, feeling a flush of warmth wash over you. You’d called him your husband for several years now, but sometimes even the simplest of looks caused the heat to pool low in your belly and make you feel like a maiden again. 

Before you got too wrapped up in your little daydream fantasies, you turned back to your dishes, grabbing a cloth to dry them. You enjoyed days like this, the ones that brought a chill and allowed you to light candles all over your small home, along with a big fire in the main living area. There was something so welcoming and cozy about it, that it caused your heart to settle and feel warmth and content. On top of all that, it gave Pero an excuse to remain at home as well, instead of going into town to work at the blacksmith shop. No one was going to need any sort of armor or equipment in this weather. 

“Mi Sol,” the sound of his warm, gruff voice caught your attention as you turned to find him coming inside, taking off his overcoat and hanging in near the door. You stopped what you were doing and walked over to him, grinning at him as you brushed some of the slowly dissipating flakes out of his dark curls. He made a small, contented sound in the back of his throat as he keened into your touch. 

“Pero, you must be freezing,” you touched his cheeks, flushed red from the cold along with his nose. Before he could argue or contest what you were saying, you pressed your lips to his. Despite being slightly dry and chapped from the wind and chill, his kiss was still soft and gentle. His hand went to the back of your neck as he held you close, taking his gentle time to kiss you. When you pulled back, your hands went to the lapel of his shirt as you pulled him further inside towards the hearth where the fire was merrily crackling away, “relax and get warm, my love. I’ll go and get you a sweater.”

“Thank you,” he nodded softly as he took a seat near the fire, letting out a long sigh as he relaxed and let himself comfortable. He was not a young man anymore, after long days of working his bones ached, particularly his back, and the cold weather wasn’t helping. Luckily he didn’t even have to say anything, you just knew. You knew you and you helped him without needing to be asked, causing a warmth to wash over him. He was not a man of many words of openly gentle displays of affection, but you never doubted his love or devotion to you. 

Nor he with you. You easily had the choice of many men to agree to have as a husband, but you had chosen him. He hadn’t even been an option, not truly, but you still chose him; you were a steadfast, stubborn little thing, he had always claimed and you had definitely proven that to him and everyone when your engagement was to be announced to the public, and you shocked everyone and chose him. It hadn’t been an easy thing; not by any means.

Choosing Pero meant losing your family and everything you had known. The reckless mercenary and the lady of polite, gentile society - a juxtaposition in every way. You were meant to marry a man of wealth and taste - culture, everyone liked to call it. But you had known in your heart since your little love affair had started with Pero that he was the one for you and there was no one else. For a few while he had wondered if you would end up regretting your decision or loathing him, but you never did, you never once had even a single regret over choosing Pero. When it came down to you, you would have chosen him again and again, every single time. 

Love was the end, you always insisted, despite what the world seemed to think. 

You gruff, stoic mercenary agreed, even if he didn’t verbalize the statement.

“Here you are,” you returned quietly, warm padded feet shuffling quietly along the wooden floor. Pero pulled his gaze away from the fire and turned to you, a smile slowly covering his face. Pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, you held out the sweater to him before moving to grab some more blankets for the two of you. Pero was silent, uncharacteristically so for him, as he watched you. Turning slowly, you met his dark eyes and gave him a curious look, “Pero? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he promised as you lit a few more candles near the heath before joining him and sitting down on the soft couch, pulling the blanket over the two of you. Placing his arm around you, he held you close, breathing in the quiet comfort your presence provided, “are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeated as you pulled gave, a puzzled expression crossing your features. You had no idea where this was suddenly coming from, but you reached up and put a hand on his cheek, “of course I’m happy, my love. I am very happy. I hope nothing in my actions has done anything to cause you to believe otherwise.”

“Of course not,” he huffed lightly, studying you with a quiet intensity that made you want pull him into you then and there, to become whole and one with him. Taking your hand from his cheek, he brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to your knuckles, “sometimes I just wonder if this is enough for you. If I am enough for you.”

“You are many things, husband, including a silly man,” you laughed at him, setting his soul at ease as he relaxed at your words of reassurance, “I am happy, nothing could make me happier. And you? You are everything. I don’t want anyone - I could not even dream of it.”

“Not even-”

“Not even some governor, or lord, or anyone could make me as happy as you do,” you closed the small distance between your bodies, practically crawling into his lap, “Pero, I chose you then and I still choose you and I would always choose you. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” any remainder of the tough exterior and façade he had melted away at your words. He held you close, pausing for just a moment before you decided to take matters into your own and kissed him. You were fully seated in his lap at his lap at this point, his large hands finding purchase on your waist as your arms wrapped around his neck. It wasn’t often that the two of you that were able to enjoy the quiet silence of a winter’s afternoon or to take such solace in one another, knowing that neither of you had any duties to attend to you. Pero pulled back after a few moments, his hands wandering up your body and pausing and your face, “I know I do not say often, mi sol, but I do love you very much. You make me happier than I could have ever dreamed.”

“I know it to be true, sweet husband,” you beamed at him, shining as bright as the sun on a mid-summer’s day. He’d given you the surprisingly tender nickname shortly after you’d met by chance at the farmer’s market one early spring afternoon several years ago. You’d brightened his day and instilled a sense of hope into his heart, he had told you, just like the sun - mi sol, “you don’t always have to say it. I know you mean it.”

You nuzzled your nose against his, admiring his quiet beauty for a few moments, pressing your lips against his cheeks, forehead, nose, and stopping at his lips before wrestling him down on the couch so he was flat on his back. 

“I love you,” you whispered softly before moving to straddle his waist, “now let me show you how much.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“It looks like the snow is starting to let up,” you commented as you opened the door to look outside, pulling your coat tighter around you. Gone was the harsh snowfall from the evening before, leaving everything covered in glittering white powder, but with a less harsh chill settling over everything. Pero came up behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist before pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, “it looks beautiful out there.”

“Almost as beautiful as you,” he commented as you playful sighed at him, “what do you say we go out and look for some holly and ivy today? We can decorate for the holiday properly.”

“Do you mean it?” you asked, eyes wide with excitement as you turned to him. He nodded as he moved to go and fetch your thick woolen outer coats and boots, “everything will look so lovely and festive! It is almost time to welcome the end of the year and halfway point of the winter.”

“Then we shall plan a big feast and everything to celebrate,” he grinned softly as your heart melted. He wasn’t normally a big fan of festivities, always going along with what you wanted to do, but never really having a preference one way or another. But this year, something in him had shifted and he seemed even more in the holiday spirit than he normally was….not that you were complaining at all. You loved to see him happy and smiling; despite all of his time with you and resigning himself to a quiet life, you knew things from his past life often still haunted him. 

“I think that will be lovely,” you agreed as he held out your coat for you to slip into, followed up by him draping a warm scarf around your neck to keep you warm and toasty. You couldn’t help but grin as you buttoned up his coat, slapping his hands out of the way as you grabbed a scarf for him. He remained silent, watching you with reverence as fretted over him. When you were done, you took a step back and admired the handsome view that he provided, “there. All warm, Pero?”

“Wonderful,” he agreed as you opened the door again and stepped outside, holding your hand out for him to take. He wasted no time in enveloping your hand with his much larger one, smiling to himself as you swung your clasped hands together. He liked this - your humble little life, and getting to spend his days with you. It was nothing grand or overwhelming, but none of that mattered; all that mattered was you and love you shared. 

“Pero?” you paused when you noticed that he was lagging behind, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he insisted as he caught up to you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “nothing at all.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Humming under your breath, you finished setting up the rest of holly and ivy along the hearth, taking a moment to admire how it looked all around your small home. Even the small staircase leading to the second floor was covered with candles and greenery, casting a soft gentle glow around the whole place. It was nothing over the top or grandiose, but it was still beautiful and warm, and you loved it more than anything. 

Standing on the stool under the doorway separating the kitchen from the living area, you carefully tacked up the mistletoe you had found. It was more for a small laugh, a fun little folly one of your friends had told you about, but you had still wanted to surprise Pero. 

Just as you finished tacking it up, the front door opened and Pero came inside, immediately shaking out his hair to get the remainder of the snowflakes out. You were so startled by his sudden appearance that you stumbled slightly and almost fell off of the stool. Pero, ever the fighter and quick on his feet, was faster and at your side in just a second, catching you in his strong arms before anything could happen.

“Hello,” you grinned at him as he held you in his arms, a look of concern momentarily crossing his features. When he saw that you were okay, he relaxed, the rapid beating of his heart already slowing down as he set you on your feet. You leaned up and kissed his cheek, “thank you my love. You’re always my hero.”

“Are you alright, mi sol?” his hand found your face as he gave you the once over you and you nodded, “what were you even doing?”

“I was just putting up some mistletoe,” you pointed to the top of the doorway, watching as a look of confusion crossed your husband’s features. He reached up and touched it, giving it the once over as  he brushed his fingers over the lush, dark green sprigs. 

“Isn’t this poisonous?” he cocked an eyebrow as you nodded, “then why one earth…”

“It’s not for eating or anything,” you stated the obvious with a small laugh, “it’s for decoration. And besides, there’s a sort of tradition about it that I heard…”

“Pray tell, what could this so-called little tradition be?” he asked you as you pulled him closer by the lapels of his coat. He made a small sound of surprise as you let your lips linger near his.

“If two people are caught under it,” you explained, “you are supposed to kiss, and it is to bring good luck if you do and then bad luck if you fail to do so.”

“Ahh,” he laughed lightly as you nodded, “what an odd little thing. I’ve never heard of it before.”

“I hadn’t either,” you admitted, “another one of the ladies in the village told me about it today and gifted the mistletoe to us. I figured it might seem silly, but there’s not harm in trying, right? Besides that, I don’t quite fancy setting ourselves up with bad luck.”

“I definitely do not want to do that either,” his lips brushed yours as they quirked up in a small smile, “what do you propose we do about it?”

“I think you should kiss me, dear husband,” you suggested with coaxing, eager eyes, “and if it should please you, you can do even more than that.”

“I would not be opposed to either,” he put his hand on either side of your face as he offered you a gentle peck, leaving you hanging on for more, “how lucky I am to call you my wife, mi sol.”

“I love you, Pero,” you promised him, “you and only you.”

“And I you.”

“But now I really do need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Kiss me,” you insisted, “and then some.”

“As you wish.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#Pedros12DaysOfChristmas #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #the great wall #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #tovar x reader

[flightlessangelwings]

The Comandante and the Agent

Comandante Veracruz x gn!anget!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: cursing, injury, mild violence, enemies to lovers(?), non descript smut, no y/n, no gender indicators, Veracruz is an asshole, reader is a badass, some pining, only one bed

gif credit: @thewaythisis​

Written for the Pedro 12 days of Christmas Secret Santa fic exchange. Enjoy @shadow-assassin-blix​!

~

You hated Comandante Veracruz. Not only was it your job as a federal agent to catch and detain people like him, but every time you got close, he always managed to taunt you and slip away. After it happened several times, you were sure that even if it wasn’t your job to hate him you would hate him anyway.

The way Veracruz grinned at you tauntingly as he got the upper hand on you and knocked you down on your ass made the rage burn in your veins. You were so close this time; you had him cornered and alone and you thought you could easily take him in hand to hand combat. But, you always forgot that Veracruz played dirty, and the advantage turned in his favor when you got tired.

“I like you at this angle, agent,” he blew you a kiss as he towered over you before he sauntered away, “Until next time,” his voice echoed down the empty space as he left you alone. For some reason, Veracruz always left you alive, but you didn’t let yourself dwell on that.

“Fuck!” you slammed your fist against the ground as you watched the one person you couldn’t seem to catch walk away. Again.

With a heavy sigh, you got to your feet as you slowly made your way back to the rest of your team. You knew you were in for a lecture from your superiors for your failure once again, and you weren’t looking forward to it. They weren’t going to be happy with you, and you knew you were low on chances to bring Veracruz in. But, you didn’t want to be taken off the case, so you just had to come up with another strategy.

The meeting with your superiors went just as badly as you expected, and after a few days of recon in the jungles, you decided to take a few days off. You retired back to your little house that you rented on the edge of the city while you were in Colombia. It wasn’t much, but after several months, it became home to you. It was small, just a one bedroom one bathroom with a little living space, but it was cozy and just what you needed after a hard day.

You made your way to the kitchen for a much needed drink, and you frowned at your mostly empty refrigerator before you grabbed a bottle of tequila and poured yourself a shot.

Just as the glass touched your lips, your phone rang. You rolled your eyes and downed the shot before you answered with your title, “What is it?”

“They got him,” the gruff voice of your superior said simply on the other end.

You let out a gasp as your eyes went wide, “What?” you were breathless as you slumped down on the nearby stool. You only nodded as your superior explained that another team had finally managed to capture the comandante that escaped your grasp for months. 

You should have felt relieved, but you didn’t. You almost felt mad that someone else swopped in at the last minute and stole your glory. It should have been you to bring him in. Veracruz and his team had caused a lot of trouble for many countries with his weapons trade, but the arrogant side of you wanted him in your custody, not anyone else’s.

Once you hung up the phone, you let out a heavy sigh and poured yourself another shot. You looked around the room as the silence felt heavy on your mind. All your hard work felt like it was for nothing, and though you should have been relieved that Veracruz was in someone’s custody, you still felt like a failure. It was your job, your assignment, and you couldn’t get it done.

After one more shot, you decided that a warm, relaxing bath would be more helpful than just drinking your sorrows away. The warm water felt nice on your achy muscles, and you exhaled heavily as you leaned back and closed your eyes.

Between the alcohol and the warmth of the bath, you must have fallen asleep because when you opened your eyes again, the water was freezing cold. You shot up to sit and counted yourself lucky that you didn’t accidentally drown yourself in the tub. That was just what you needed to add to your list of embarrassments. 

It was the middle of the night, and the neighborhood was quiet as you slipped on shorts and a tank top. You had just put the half empty bottle of tequila back when you heard a knock at your door. You froze; you weren’t expecting anyone, and the only people who knew where you lived were members of your team. And they had no reason to show up unannounced at 2am.

With furrowed brows, you quietly made your way to your door and stopped to grab your gun on the way. You peeked around the little side window to try and figure out who it was when you heard a familiar voice call your name.

Again you froze with your gun aimed at the door. What was Veracruz doing here? You just got the call hours ago that he was arrested. This was impossible. And how did he even find you in the first place?

“I know you’re in there, agent,” Veracruz called out again. This time, you noticed how strained his voice sounded. When you looked through the window again, you saw that he leaned against the doorframe and you thought you saw blood drip down his arm.

Now you had a choice to make: you could cuff him and turn him in or you could help him. You swallowed hard as you listened to his labored breaths on the other side of your front door. Either way, you had to open it, so you kept your gun up and swung it open. You expected to be met with his own weapon on the other side, and you were surprised to find that Veracruz was unarmed.

The two of you stared at each other for several moments, and you felt like time moved slower than normal. Veracruz leaned against the pillar of your little porch and clutched his side. Cuts and bruises adored his body, and you were sure it looked even worse under his clothes. He tried to keep his expression in his usual cocky smirk, but you saw that he faltered just slightly.

“You look like shit,” you finally said as you kept your gun pointed at him. Veracruz may have been injured, but you still didn’t trust him.

“And you look sexy as ever,” he gave you a short laugh before he coughed in pain, “I’ve never seen that much leg on you, agent.”

You felt your face heat up, and you faltered for a moment before you regained your composure, “Shut up,” you snapped as you took a step toward him and checked him over for any hidden weapons, “What are you doing here, Veracruz?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” he snarked back sarcastically, “Thought I’d drop by.”

You clenched your jaw as you kept a fierce gaze on him, “How did you find my house?”

He laughed again, and this time he didn’t try to hide the way he flinched in pain, “I’ve known where you live for some time now.”

“Comforting,” you dead-panned. You used your gun to gesture to his slumped over body, “What happened?”

“Are you going to interrogate me?” Veracruz interjected, “Or are you going to help me?”

“Give me one good reason why I should help you.”

The comandante was about to answer when he fell forward and drifted in and out of consciousness. Out of instinct, you wrapped your arms around him and caught him before he hit the ground. Panic rushed through you for a moment and you looked around to make sure no one was around before you dragged Veracruz inside. 

You set him down on the floor before you rushed to lock your door and you let out a heavy exhale as you stared at him. Veracruz laid still, and you saw blood pool underneath him. Everything in you screamed to call someone: your superior, your agency, anyone. And yet, you heard another voice in your head that told you to help him.

No matter how much you hated the man in front of you, there was a part of you that just couldn’t let him die. With a dejected sigh, you ran into your kitchen and grabbed your first aid kit. You weren’t the best with wounds, but you knew enough to close and clean the large gash on Veracruz’s side before you worked on his smaller wounds on the rest of his body.

“What the fuck am I doing?” you whispered to yourself as you watched over the unconscious comandante. Although you couldn’t deny how handsome he looked when he wasn’t scowling or trying to kill you...

The next morning, Veracruz woke up with a grumble. He looked around and he tried to piece together the events of the previous night when he heard a rustle of movement. It hurt to move, but Veracruz managed to pull himself up and he was quickly able to find your gun where you left it on the coffee table and aimed it at you.

You were just a few feet away in your little kitchen when you heard Veracruz wake up, but you weren’t fast enough to get to your gun first. You raised your hands in surrender before you slowly moved one arm to turn off the burner that had breakfast simmering on it. The two of you held eye contact in silence for several moments before you finally broke.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” confidence lined your voice. 

He snarled, “Why is that?”

You took a tentative step and when he didn’t move, you took another one to close the distance, “Because I just saved your life,” you stepped even closer until you were within arm’s length, “And because I can do this,” you smacked Veracruz’s side where he was injured.

Veracruz yelped in pain as he dropped the gun and hunched over. You dove for your gun right away and pointed it at him. He glared up at you before he huffed, “Fine,” he grumbled as he conceded. 

Satisfied, you pointed towards your couch with your gun, “Sit down, the couch is more comfortable than the floor,” you said as you went back to the kitchen.

He glanced down at the floor and noticed that there were still bloodstains where he laid. Veracruz remembered that he came to your door late last night, but everything was a blur after he knocked. He didn’t think you’d actually help him and let him stay the night, and he couldn’t help but watch you move around your kitchen as you finished breakfast.

“You look like shit,” Veracruz finally spoke, which made you turn around.

“Well, someone had to show up at my door injured in the middle of the night,” you snapped back as you brought two plates over and sat down next to him on the couch, “You have a lot of explaining to do, Veracruz.”

He stared at you, dumbfounded. Though the two of you were on opposite sides of a conflict, Veracruz never fully hated you. In fact, he always had it in the back of his mind that he could get you to come around to his side at some point… or at least in his bed. However, he was well aware how much you hated him. Yet, despite that, you patched up his wounds, let him stay at your place and served him breakfast. 

Veracruz also couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted down to your bare legs as your shorts rode up when you sat down. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned when you saw his eyes drift down. You weren’t sure if he fully remembered what happened last night, but you didn’t want a repeat of his comment. Nevermind the way your face felt warm when he looked at you that way.

No, you hated Veracruz. You hated him, and the fact that you saved his life last night was a fluke. You told yourself that you only did it so you could be the one to turn him in yourself.

“So,” you changed the subject, “Explanation,” you repeated. 

“I thought you could figure it out on your own, agent,” he snarked back. When you just stared at him, Veracruz let out a heavy sigh and sank back against the couch, “Your agency isn’t what you think it is.”

You gave him a pointed look but stayed silent.

The comandante ignored your glare as he went on, “They did this,” he declared simply.

All the fight left your body as your eyes went wide, “No… We don’t operate dirty like that.”

He let out a short laugh before he inhaled sharply from the pain, “You’re a good person, agent, but not everyone is like you.”

You pressed him to explain more, but Veracruz passed out as he mumbled incoherently. With a sigh, you checked over his wounds while he slept before you sat back and thought about his words. You always thought you did the right thing, and you tried to be a fair and just person. But Veracruz’s words threw you for a loop. 

Soon, you shook your head as you tried to physically chase the thoughts out before you went to clean up your space. It was late into the afternoon and the comandante still didn’t wake, so you decided to shake him to make sure he was still alive. He groaned in his sleep, but did not wake up.

At least he seemed to be ok. You decided to let him sleep for a few hours before you woke him again. 

“What the hell, agent?” Veracruz growled at you as he sat up and grasped his side where you slapped him to wake him up, “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” you retorted right away, “You need to shower before your wounds fester and I have to get a new couch.”

The comandante gave you a half smile before he slowly got up and made his way into the bathroom. You paced your living room while you listened to the shower run as you contemplated your next move. 

But you weren’t prepared for when Veracruz emerged from your bathroom in nothing but his boxers. You froze and you knew your mouth hung open, yet you couldn’t help it. 

“Like what you see, cariño?” the smirk on his face mocked you.

You quickly shook your head and regained your composure as you cleared your throat, “You wish,” you paused and when the comandante opened his mouth with another smart comment, you blurted out, “We need to share the bed.”

That stopped him in his tracks.

“You’re still injured and I don’t have a guest room,” you gestured to your bedroom, “I don’t want you dying on me now, comandante,” you addressed him in a mocking tone.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, agent,” his tone matched yours but he followed your lead into your bedroom and you both settled into your bed.

You placed yourself as far away from him as possible, and you made sure your gun was within reach. “Try anything and I’ll make those injuries look like child’s play.”

Veracruz grunted in response, but you missed the grin on his face. Just that little bit of movement seemed to tire him out though, and the comandante passed out within minutes.

Since when did you actually care about him? You told yourself it was just because you didn’t want him to die, but something tugged at the back of your mind that told you otherwise. In all the times you clashed in the past, there always seemed to be some tension between the two of you, but until now you ignored it. Maybe it was partly because Veracruz had numerous opportunities to kill you, yet he always left you alive. What exactly was it between you and him?

It was the middle of the night when Veracruz woke up again. He blinked a few times to adjust his eyes to the darkness and he looked around, confused as to his surroundings. It was then that he remembered you allowed him to share your bed, and he looked over to find that you were sound asleep next to him. 

Veracruz watched you for several minutes, and you had never looked more peaceful. You had to have been tired to be able to sleep next to him, and he wondered how long you stayed up the previous night when you tended to his wounds. He honestly expected you to call your superior and turn him in, but he had no other options when he escaped custody. 

The comandante grinned as you let out a deep breath in your sleep. He reached out and gently brushed his hand along the side of your face, careful not to wake you, “I knew you had a soft spot for me, agent.” 

Your brows furrowed together, “Keep dreaming, comandante,” your voice cut through the darkness before you opened your eyes. When you did, you were met with Veracruz’s face only inches from yours.

Both of you stared at each other in tense silence for several moments before Veracruz closed the space between you with a chaste kiss. He didn’t lean any of his weight against you to give you the opportunity to push him away. Instead, however, you wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him closer. You parted your lips for him, and Veracruz eagerly deepened the kiss.

Carefully, the comandante shifted himself so that he was positioned between your legs. He gazed down at you, splayed out on your back in just a tank top and shorts, and you looked even better than he ever imagined, “I like you at this angle, agent,” he teased in a low voice before he leaned in and kissed you again.

Your comeback was muffled by Veracruz’s lips, and the more he kissed you, the less you cared about anything other than his body on yours. The comandante clawed at your clothes, and he had you stripped naked in no time.

And when he fucked you, it was unlike anyone you had ever been with before. Veracruz was rough, yet passionate. Even a large wound on his side didn’t seem to hinder him or slow him down. You arched into his touch and wrapped yourself around him, desperate for as much contact as possible. 

The comandante filled you so well, and fucked you into your matterss so throughly. You tried to keep your moans down at first, but he managed to coax the sounds out of you with his touches and kisses. And Veracruz didn’t stop until you came multiple times.

Exhausted and spent, you and Veracruz both fell asleep quickly after that. True to your stubborn nature, you rolled away from him when you dozed off, determined not to fall into his arms. However, during the night, you turned over in your sleep, and Veracruz took the opportunity to pull you in close to him.

The next morning, the bright sun woke you up. With a grumble, you stirred in your bed and blindly reached out for Veracruz with your eyes still closed. You patted the bed a few times before your eyes shot open and you gasped when you realized you were alone. Quickly, you grabbed the closest piece of clothing and draped it over your body as you rushed out of your bedroom to look for the comandante.

You called his name as you dashed into your living room, but you were only met with silent stillness. 

“Mierda,” you cured to yourself as you ran your hands across your face, “I’m so stupid,” you added in a more hushed voice as your eyes dropped down to your coffee table.

That was when you noticed a note in the middle of the table. You crossed the room and picked it up. With a scowl on your face, your eyes scanned the page:

“I appreciate what you’ve done for me, agent. Your company wasn’t so bad. But now our little game is back on. Until next time, I’ll think of you often.”

You sighed deeply, “Fucking Veracruz.”

~

Notes: Something different for Veracruz lol! But I had fun writing this, and I enjoyed the enemies to possibly lovers angle here. And I kept the smut brief cause this got too long already and I wanted to keep this as a gender neutral reader. I hope you enjoyed this!

#comandante veracruz #comandante veracruz x reader #pedros12daysofchristmas #comandante veracruz imagine #comandante veracruz x you

[benedictsvestcollection]

Pedro fans.....

I’m gonna ask this again and I REALLY NEED feedback to know if we’re gonna do this again this year.... 

As in, I NEED you all to reblog with your actual thoughts/comments if you want to do this. Or send me an ask/DM me (on or off anon I don’t care which lol) if you’re interested.

Do ya’ll want to do Pedro’s 12 Days of Christmas again this year? I need to know ASAP so I can start planning and find someone to help organize with me and probably set up a sideblog where everything can post, etc

Please guys.... I need ya’ll to let me know ASAP if people are interested or not. 

#Pedro Pascal #Pedros12DaysOfChristmas #psa

[whatanoof]

Cold Hands and Warm Bodies

Merry Christmas! This is a Secret Santa gift for @autumnleaves1991-blog!

There’s a sequel now!

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Whiskey x Reader

Word Count: ~4.7k

Content: fluff, dancing, swearing, oral sex(female receiving), rougher sex, fluffy, smut, there’s a part at the beginning where Reader rejects a man’s advances but it doesn’t get past name-calling

A/N: I liked the idea of a lonely Christmas in a new city turning into something much better through unexpected events, especially since so many are going to be celebrating with less people than normal due to the pandemic. The music referenced is Gasoline by Halsey from her Badlands album.

Your parents had begged you to not complete the move over the holidays, surely it could have waited a couple of weeks so that you could celebrate with your family. But you were decided, and the timeline of your new employment was not up to you. Staying in LA for Christmas wouldn’t have benefited anyone. The confidential nature of your job meant you couldn’t talk about your job with your family, and that’s all that families really want to know besides if you have a boyfriend yet. This left more rumors flying between the aunts than bullets around a battlefield. At this point, you’re pretty sure that your own mother thinks that you’re a prostitute.

Alcohol is an easy option to curb loneliness. The drink burns on the way down, but you savor it. It’s been cold in the new city, and you haven’t been able to shake the chill since moving. Your current choice of atmosphere is the bar closest to your house, leaving you with the freedom to slam as many drinks as would let you forget how alone you are at the time of year when no one should be alone. You don’t have to drive home this way. But now, inside and looking around at the excessive Christmas decorations, you begin to wonder if this was the best way to avoid the holidays.

There are Christmas wreaths all around, draped over as many surfaces as possible. Mistletoe hangs near the corners of the cleared section of floor, and you wouldn’t be surprised if some of those corners were soon occupied by drunk dancers. Lights dangle over the bottles behind the bar, and the bartender is wearing a Christmas elf headband. And to top it all off, most everyone inside has a partner, making you stick out like a sore thumb. Your sole point of luck is that the bar isn’t Western based. 

“Well, hello good-looking.”

The moment is shattered by the stranger’s arm around your shoulders, pulling you too close for the small amount of liquor in your body. The brunette man smells like spearmint, but his breath clearly reveals his state of mind. 

“The name’s Grey. Now, I heard a little birdie that told me that you’d be coming home with me tonight.” His grin appears genuine, but something glitters in his eyes that sends an icy distrust through your gut.

You turn away. “No thank you.” Better not to give him any attention, drunks are never reasonable if you let them believe for even a second that they have a chance.

“Now that’s not very kind. I was being civil, and you rebuff a poor man who just wants a warm bed tonight. May I at least get the lady’s name so that I can address her properly? Where’s the Southern hospitality? ” You catch a concerned look from the bartender, though there’s no need to worry. This isn’t your first rodeo.

“Nonexistent, Grey.” You grab his wrist, yanking it off of your shoulder. 

For a blissful second, the contact is gone, then it returns, and now his fingers are digging into your bare skin. His hands are cold. The handheld taser in your pocket is burning, and you reach for it as he snaps, “Now, there’s no need to be a bi--”

“Hey now,” The new voice is sudden, but there’s a distinctive Southern drawl to the baritone voice that sends pleasant tingles down your spine. Now that is a voice that you could listen to the rest of the night. “The lady said no. And last I checked, Southern hospitality doesn’t apply when said person isn’t Southern.” 

The arm around your shoulders vanishes and you slowly reach for your bag. Angry voices echo behind you, but you’re too preoccupied with leaving to worry yourself with the brewing argument. Goddammit you had only come for drinks, and now you might have to duck out before a fight starts.

But the angry voices lower and the normal barroom din returns. You slowly release your bag to rest once again at your feet, and a new man appears on the stool at your elbow. 

“Good evening.” It’s the rumbling voice of your faceless Southern gentleman. 

He saved you, but that doesn’t mean you can trust him. Feigning disinterest is more difficult now, but you take a sip of your drink and focus hard on how the light from the glass catches the amber liquid. “Thank you for stepping up. Doesn’t happen often.” 

“Unfortunately. Mostly for the men if you end up pulling that taser.” The casual observation catches your attention.

You turn and finally look your gentleman in the eye. Oh. You weren’t prepared for him to be so-- gorgeous. That’s really the only word you can summon to your scattered brain at the moment because, damn. Dark hair brings out darker eyes that glimmer warmly in the lowlights of the bar despite the cowboy hat. A mustache accents plush lips. Tan skin and bold features draw you in, and you don’t want to stop looking except he clears his throat and you realize that you’ve been staring for much longer than the appropriate time.

“Is there something on my face?” Your eyes dart back up to his face and you’re struck by how unfair it is that someone can be so effortlessly attractive.

“N-- no!” Stammering, really? Dammit you’re a full grown woman, pull yourself together. “How-- how could you tell I’m not from around here?”

He beckons a finger to you, and you lean in. “I am an undercover operative working with an American based agency that deploys me worldwide to handle top-secret missions.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back to take him in again. The jacket over the tight shirt shows his athletic build rather well, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it were true, “Really?”

“No. It’s the accent.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. The pleased smile spreading over his face matches the one sneaking over your own. “You’re right, I just moved here.” A thought strikes you, “What are you doing alone in a bar during the holidays? No family or friends to visit?”

“None left that mean enough.” The statement is casual enough, except there’s a tension in his voice that makes you hesitate. “And I could ask you the same thing. What motivates a lady to move to a new city, all alone at Christmas?” The tension passes and he waves at the bartender, who immediately turns and starts making a drink. He’s a regular here, apparently.

“A job,” You swirl the remnants of your drink lazily before finishing it, “I’m starting tomorrow.” The last dregs slip down your throat, and the burning buzz will last for now.

“Ah, a beautiful woman and a hard worker. It’s too much for my heart.” 

“If that alone is too much, then this is going to be a short evening indeed.” The subtle innuendo doesn’t fly over either of your heads, and you don’t miss the smile spreading across his face when you flirt back.

“I think I may surprise you, darling. We’re both willing to work for what we want.” His drink arrives, and he takes a sip. Heat pools in your core at the implications. “If this evening is going to continue, may I have the lady’s name so that I can address her properly?”

You hum low in your throat in response. You’ve never brought a man home at the first meeting, never allowed flirting to be anything more than that on the first night. But something’s different about this one. In a split second decision, you give it to him. 

He repeats the syllables after you, rolling them around his tongue in a way that sends a thrill through you as you wonder what else he can do with it, “Gorgeous. George, another drink for the lady, on my tab.” 

You tilt your head back, catching his eyes, “And may I then have the gentleman’s, so that I may know the name of my fearless knight in… shining leather and spurs?”

He laughs, “Jack Daniels.”

“Jack Daniels, like the whiskey brand?” 

“Something like that.” His grin is mysterious and seems a little too practiced, but that’s fine with you. You smile back anyway. Your drink arrives, and you raise the glass to Jack as you take a sip, though you find that the burn of the whiskey doesn’t leave you with the same satisfaction.

A song starts playing in the background, and you straighten up and glance over your shoulder at the dance floor. “Wait, I--”

“--love this song.” You both finish the sentence together. You look back at him hopefully, and he looks at you with a bit of a challenge in his eyes. 

The stool scrapes across the floor and he rises, extending a hand to you, “Would you care to dance, sweetheart?”

“Depends. Are we going to square dance?” 

“Only if you want to, darling.”

“Yes to the dancing, no to the square dancing then.” You accept his hand and walk with him to the center of the dance floor. Your drinks remain abandoned at the bar.

The bassy thrum of the music and crooning vocals keep your hips undulating against his, but Jack has other ideas. He hasn’t let go of your hands, and your arms are crossed over your chest when he draws them up and over your head. Your arms extend and you spin, meeting his eyes as you grasp his hands. 

The alternative pop song doesn’t translate perfectly to the style that he brings, but you can hardly complain. Around you, people are grinding against each other, but a small space clears for him to sway and turn with you. It’s surprisingly fun compared to what you knew of night dancing in a bar. 

The tempo slows and you step inside his reach so that your back is against his chest. 

‘Are you strange like me?

Lightin’ matches just to swallow up the flame like me?’

His breath catches hot and heavy in your ear as you press back into him, savoring every breath and drop of sweat that is your effect on him. The verse fades, and you allow him to lead once again. The melody swells in your head, drowning out everything around you until it’s only him and you. But this time the lyrics make you wonder about the man holding your hands.

‘Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.’

The music ends with a crescendo and a final spin, and you’re left panting as your gaze locks with Jack’s. He’s holding you firmly, one hand on your waist, and your bodies feeling like they’re steaming in the chilly air. The spell breaks with a single glance upwards from him. 

“Well that’s a fine addition to an already wonderful night.” There’s a tinge of amusement in his voice, and you follow his gaze.

The mistletoe hangs directly overhead. You glance down, a thrill of nerves running through your body at the intensity in Jack’s stare. Something must have shown in your eyes or body language, because he relaxes and loosen his grip on your waist.

“Only with your permission of course, darling.” He’s fighting it, but disappointment clouds his tone, and he withdraws. “I understand if it’s not something you wan--”

You cut him off by snagging his collar and pulling him close. The surprise on his face gives way to a smirk as you quip, “Don’t mind if I do, cowboy.”

Then his lips are on yours and you’re melting into him. The bar fades into the background and you lose yourself in a man that you had met three hours ago. He tastes like your drink. Tingles spread through your body as he deepens the kiss, warming you to the tips of your fingers.

Then you’re being pressed backwards until you hit the wall, hands instinctively flying up to tangle in his already messy hair. Something soft and firm brushes your fingertips, and you snag it on instinct, lifting Jack’s hat to plop it on top of your own head. He breaks the kiss, a soft smile spreading over his face when he pulls back to look at you. 

“Do I make a good cowgirl?”

“Looks better on you than me, darling.” He kisses you again, hands sliding over your waist down to your ass, and you don’t think that’s a lasso pressing up against you. A low moan rumbles out of his throat, and you stifle a whimper at the sound. He chuckles, “Want to get out of here, cowgirl?”

“Yeah.” Lust boils in your stomach. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his kiss-swollen lips that part ever so slightly so you can see his tongue flick over them.

“Got any friends to notify of your immediate departure?” His breath ghosts over your skin and his dark eyes flick up from your lips to meet yours, warming your body as you lose yourself in the deep brown.

“No, too new to the city.” You whisper back, the noise of the club fading into the background while a wave of heat crashes over your body, swelling between your legs.

“Your place or mine?”

---

Funny enough, Jack didn’t bring a car either, but he doesn’t explain and you don’t question it. You don’t regret walking the short five minutes to and from the bar, especially when Jack pulls you close to his side as you walk. You’re just passing under the bridge on your street when he stops walking.

“Stop, do you hear that?” You instantly freeze, eyes darting around for any perceivable threat. There’s too many potential hiding places, the shadows of the bridge supports could hide a man of any size and--

“Listen closely…” He hums the tune from the bar and steps away, tugging you forward a couple of steps. He pulls you back into him, and you’re able to hear the melody through the vibrations in his chest. 

‘You can’t wake up, this is not a dream.’

You find your rhythm. The tempo picks up, only a shadow in your mind as you sway to the invisible beat. He matches you easily, and the two of you move with an unpracticed ease out from beneath the shadow of the bridge into the streetlight glow. The melody swells, and you laugh when a breeze ruffles your hair. You sing the last line to him.

‘Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.’

You end up back in his arms, breathing hard and smiling up at Jack. His fingers slip down to interlock with yours, “I can help with that.” You should be freezing, but heat throbs under your skin in time with your racing heart. 

He leans in, but just before his lips touch yours, you whisper, “Jack? We’re here.”

His eyes shift over to your front door briefly, then back to you. He grins. “Nice place.”

---

You laugh as you stumble through your front door, your back hitting yet another wall when Jack pins you to the side of the living room. Heated kisses trail down your neck and a muscled thigh slides between yours. You shudder at the contact against your clothed pussy, your heartbeat throbbing between your legs fiercely.

“Jack, bed’s that way.”

“Oh sweetheart, that would be the end goal for sure.” Hands support your rear, and you fold your legs around him. You’re vaguely aware of him walking you towards the door that you indicated, but you can’t bring yourself to pay attention when he’s licking into your mouth and he’s so close and so warm and right there for you to enjoy. He lays you gently on the bed, legs dangling off the edge. 

“You want this?” The question is so starkly unexpected that you blink and sit up for a moment. He’s standing there between your legs, hair disheveled and shirt half unbuttoned. His pupils are completely lust-blown and his shoulders are heaving with the heavy breaths he’s taking, and you’re struck with the thought that this is the first time someone has thought to ask. But you’d have to be half-dead to say no now. 

“Yes.”

And then he’s undoing your pants and dropping to his knees in front of you. Warm breath ghosts over your exposed skin after he gently peels your pants off. You squirm as large, warm hands rub over your inner thighs. “Beautiful.” But he is too, with the way he glances up at you from between your legs. He’s absolutely beautiful, as he carefully pulls your panties to the side and drags his tongue through your folds. 

“You taste better down here, sweetheart.” He immediately concentrates around your clit, tracing lazy circles around the sensitive nub and you forget how to breathe. 

Your hips roll against his face, trying to gain more friction than what he’s giving, and you whimper as his mustache leaves a tingling trail on your skin. The heat pooling within your core is begging for more, and you’re close to doing the same as he continues to patiently taste you. 

“Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. I’m going to make you feel so good, darling, you’re going to be screaming my name.” A thick finger rests against you, gathering your wetness and continuing to massage against your clit while his tongue finally dips to press against your entrance. You flutter in response, a whine scraping against the back of your throat. His tongue presses deep into your core, and you clench around the insistent pressure.

“Ja-Jack I’m go-gonna--” The words refuse to come smoothly, but he seems to sense your urgency. His tongue returns to your clit, sucking and kissing the flesh while his finger slips into your pussy. 

“Come, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” Every flick of his tongue against your clit pulls another whine from you. Fuck, something inside you snaps and then heat is burning through your body. The wave crests, and you dimly hear a choked moan when your floor muscles convulse and heat drips from you.

He continues to taste you long after you’ve stopped convulsing, while the light fades from you vision and you regain feeling in your limbs. And you understand something. He’s tasting you simply to taste you, giving for the sake of giving. You know why you allowed it to get past the flirting stage.

“You doing good, darling?” He climbs up over you and kisses you, lips molding to yours like they were made to. He tastes like you.

You can’t respond, don’t want to when it means pulling away from this moment right now. The only thing you want right now is to stay like this, to stay in this perfect warmth, where the only thing you know is that he’s kissing you and you’re floating on the sheer feeling of being able to give because you feel like it.

Then he shifts, and you feel his erection brush against your thigh. And your gut tells you it’s his turn now. You move your leg, bringing it up between his thighs. It bumps against his length, and he tenses, pulling away and dropping his head to the crook of your neck. And you take the moment to flip the two of you, straddling his hips. 

“Give me a second, darling, have to find a condom.” His arm reappears from the edge of the bed with his wallet, but you stop him.

“I have an implant. Are you clean?”

“Last checkup, yes. And I haven’t been with anyone since.”

You smirk, “Well then I see no need.”

He exhales, arms going behind his head as he grins up at you, “I’d have to say, as enjoyable as that just was, seeing you like this?” He shakes his head, “Best part of the night.”

“It’s about to get better.” His dick is velvety hard between your thighs, and you can’t help grinding down on it just a little. 

“I’ll believe it when I feel it.” He groans, head falling back against the pillow. 

The challenge floats in the air, and you grab both it and his length in a single moment. He’s going to be saying your name soon. Notching it at your entrance, you sink down in a single motion. He drags against your insides so perfectly, fitting to you and filling you so completely. Your back arches at the burning stretch, but all you can focus on is Jack’s groan when your butt meets his hips, how his body seizes under you, and how his hands fly to clutch at you. 

But his cock inside you isn't enough, you need more contact, need to know that he’s right there with you. You grab his wrists and drag his hands up to your breasts, relishing the moan that escapes him as he squeezes them.

Your name echoes through the air, followed by his gasping breaths as you raise yourself off of him and sink back down. The heat starts building inside you again. His hips jerk up into you, seemingly unintentionally. “God, fucking perfect. Feel so good around me. Not gonna last, not after earlier, please sweetheart.”

You grind down onto him, finding your rhythm again. The fire inside of you is constant and overtaking you. It swells on its own without needing anything else besides Jack, who’s looking up at you like you’re the only star in the sky. 

“You look so good bouncing on my dick, cowgirl, but I’m going to have you under me, squirming for me while I get you to keep making all of those cute noises. I’ll be-- fuck!” His breath catches and his hands dig into the flesh of your hips, and a voice in the back of your mind tells you that you’re going to have bruises tomorrow. You can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

You fight to retain your own rhythm, but it’s unsustainable, and your screaming muscles wear down in the face of Jack’s strength. They give out, and you’re caught in the rhythmic slapping of skin as Jack takes over.

“Ja- Jack! Fuck!” You can’t organize yourself enough to think, let alone acknowledge him while he continues to drive up into you. The ragged cries ripped from your throat lose all coherency. It’s too much, and the orgasm rising through your body is taking your mind with it. A hand detaches from your waist and presses directly against your clit, rocketing you further towards your climax. “Jack!” 

“Come on sweetheart, I know you’ve got another in you. Let go. Let me take care of you.”

Your own orgasm hovers at the edge of your mind, but you shove it away in favor of tripping his. His breaths are coming heavier now, and his hips continue to slam upwards into yours. He’s going to outlast you at this rate, unless--

A hand grips your neck just enough that you register the pressure, and he drags you down against his body. The world flips around once more, and then you’re underneath him instead and his arms are planted on either side of your head as he-- fuck. The pace increases, no it must multiply by some large number because your body is shaking with every thrust, and the headboard is slamming against the wall and you’re glad that you don’t share these walls with anyone else. Your cry is muffled by his mouth, but the new angle causes him to drive up against something inside you that you swear makes you see a corner of heaven.

It spikes with a fury, driving you over the edge as you clamp down around him. Your body seizes, arching against Jack as the shockwaves claim your body. You’re rocketed somewhere high above the clouds for the second time tonight, and all you can really comprehend is how happy you are that you brought him home. And through the haze, you faintly hear him purring in your ear, “Good girl, pretty girl, gorgeous. Gorgeous.”

He keeps fucking you through your high, and you need him to cum. You need him to feel the same bliss that you do, and you know how to do it. The idea barely crosses your mind before your body accepts it, and your floor muscles clamp down almost of their own volition. He falters, and a gasp is the only sound you hear before he’s coming. His hips piston out and in one last time, and then he’s spilling deep inside you.

When the light fades from behind your eyes, you feel yourself being shifted. Your combined juices trickle down your leg as he pulls out, and your back is pressed against his chest. You drift, blinking in and out of consciousness. You feel him rise from behind you and then hear the sound of running water. He returns moments later, and there’s a damp cloth cleaning between your legs before he’s back in bed behind you, arms locked around your waist and pulling you close. His fingers intertwine with yours over your belly, and as they brush against the skin of your stomach, you realize that they aren’t cold anymore. He drags the comforter over your bodies.

The world around you is dissolving in a haze of exhaustion, but his voice rumbles through the fog. You’re so comfortable and warm, and by all rights you should be asleep. But you force yourself back to the world of waking, enough to hear him thanking you as he plants slow kisses along the back of your neck. The delicious warmth of his skin against yours draws you farther under and stifles the confusion at the statement, and you finally surrender to the exhaustion pulling at your body. 

---

Your phone alarm wakes you the next morning to an empty bed. 

Realistically, you shouldn’t have expected him to be there, shouldn’t have hoped that it could have been more than a one time thing. Right? You’re a certified badass, a top-rated handler at Statesman Distillery who has guided multiple agents and friends through life and death scenarios. You deal in realism and pessimism. You have had one night stands before, none of which led to any kind of connection. You don’t need emotional connection to function. This shouldn’t be any different. Right?

Except you know how you normally feel after one night stands, and this isn’t it.

You’re on autopilot as you shower and dress for your first day. All you can think about is the warmth of his hands as they ran over your skin, his smirk as he caught your eye, mouth glistening with your release. His quiet ‘thank you’ last night as he curled his body around yours before falling asleep. If you could have had a say, you would have wanted more than one night. A second chance, maybe, but it’s not like you get many of those these days.

Statesman Distillery is across the street from last night’s bar, and the brisk air helps to clear your head and prepare you mentally. As soon as you walk through those doors, you’re Agent Seltzer, not a girl pining for a man whom you barely know beyond his name. You hesitate under the bridge on your way to work. The music echoes in your ears and chest. You keep walking. 

The receptionist directs you to your new office. Top floor, third door on the left. It’s roomier than your last one, though now you’re at HQ, not the LA branch office. A woman meets you at the elevator. She is slight, but her steely composure and short cut hair give her an air of maturity and ability. 

“Good morning and Merry Christmas, Seltzer.” She’s holding a basket with a label that reads ‘Happy First Day!’ “I’m Ginger Ale, the head overseer of the base-side handlers, and I’ll be giving you the basic acclimation on your first day. Sorry that it had to be a holiday, but an impending crisis in Chicago has just taken a turn for the worse. The mission briefing has been sent to your tablet.”

Your brow furrows slightly, and she continues as if she could read your internal question. “This isn’t usually my job, but it’s the holidays and most of the other agents trained in onboarding are on leave. We’re throwing you into the deep end on your first day, unfortunately, but your superiors at the LA branch assured us that you would take to it naturally.”

She sets the gift basket on your desk, and you notice the largest item in the basket is a bottle of the famed Statesman whiskey. You idly take it out and study the label. “Interesting first day gift.”

Ginger shrugs with a faint smile, “That’s directly from your assigned field agent, Agent Whiskey. He gifts those to his new handlers.”

“Any reason why?”

“He--” She seems to start to say something, then stops herself, “It’s an early apology. He’s experienced, and he operates as he sees fit. He burns through handlers faster than a hot knife through butter.”

The challenge floats above your head at the explanation, and you take it. “I’m assuming that I will get to meet Agent Whiskey before our official briefing?”

“Yes,” Ginger checks her watch, “In about… two seconds.”

“Sweetheart.” The voice is achingly familiar, and memories of last night crash over you like a heatwave. Second chances, hm?

Part Two if anyone cares for it

#pedros12daysofchristmas #smut #fluff #agent whiskey #kingsman #statesman #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #ginger ale makes a cameo and is a tired badass

[clonecaptains]

Hiding

a javi peña x reader fic~ for the pedro secret santa exchange!! this is a gift for @filthybookworm !! cris i really hope you enjoy this and ive loved getting to know you via anon for this!! 

rating: m - slight smut themes

word count: 800

You’re hiding. It’s not a good hiding place – you’re on the bed under a mountain of blankets. Your shape DEA boyfriend is surely to discover you. But you’re still hiding. From your thoughts, from him.

When Javi asked you to come to Colombia with him, you said yes instantly. He never asks for anything like this, but you knew it was important to him. And you’ve provided solace and a calm for him over these hard times. You’ve carried the weight of his stress, seen the horror in his eyes after a bad day.

That’s just the thing, most of them are bad days. The evil he’s seen. The harm done to others.

Miraculously you’ve been able to shoulder it, keep him steady.

But last night after a nightmare, the thoughts won’t leave you alone. The panic, the gut-wrenching fear that something will happen to Javi.

It’s not as if you haven’t thought about this before, in fact it’s often on your mind. But day after day he comes home. And things are okay.

But that gnawing anxiety, what if he doesn’t come home? What if that luck is running out?

So.

You’re hiding.

You know the sound of Javi when he comes home, it’s always the same. Keys jingling outside the door. The turn of the lock. Quit click of the door behind him when he steps inside. A quiet sigh of relief when the door is closed and locked behind him. He’s safe. Then you hear the keys and badge and gun, he sets them all down on a table near the door.

It’s always the same.

And even hearing it now faintly through your blanket mountain gives you comfort. But it’s not enough. You need to see him, touch him. Hear his voice. Just to make sure he’s real. And you need that knowledge that he’s here, that he’s safe – at least for tonight.

Your heart beats faster when you hear his footsteps down the hall, then louder still when there’s the slight creak in the bedroom door.

“Baby?” his voice rasps. He must have just smoked a cigarette.

“I’m hiding,” you mumble, there’s slight humor in your tone.

“From?” you can’t see him, but his eyebrow has risen high in confusion and amusement.

He takes a step forward; you can faintly smell his cologne. How does he always smell so good?

“You.”

“Me?” he sits down on the bed, his weight shifting you. “Why from me?”

That’s when the tears fall. Why are you hiding from him if he’s the one you want to see the most?

“I’m scared,” you sniffle, pushing the blankets down so you can see each other finally. He sees your eyes filled with tears, and you see his handsome face. He looks tired, but not exhausted. Now you have guilt, you want to comfort him when he gets home.

“Scared of what baby?” he slowly peels the covers back. He leans over you, resting his arm on your pillow, petting your hair softly as he hovers over you.

“That I’ll lose you,” you blink the tears away and look up at him. There’s a softness in his eyes, that look you love so much. That twinkle in his big brown eyes. “I had a dream.”

“Dreams can’t hurt you,” he leans down to kiss your forehead. “And baby, there are dangerous things out there. I have a dangerous job. But I’m safe, and so are you.”

His eyes are gentle, then that twinkle turns to mischief. Another look you know all too well.

He starts to kiss down your body over your clothes. You don’t resist when he pulls your shorts and underwear off. Your legs spread for him in anticipation, and his mouth is quick to find its destination.

He has you moaning under his tongue and lips, he doesn’t stop until you’ve released twice. The dream is forgotten, and so is any other coherent thought. All of them drift back to him. The sweet man between your legs.

When he lifts his head, there’s a pleased smile on his lips. Your essence is smeared on his chin and mustache. His hair disheveled from your pulling on it. He looks perfect you think.

“Feel better?” he teases kissing your bare thigh.

“I think you know,” you laugh and shove him away with your foot playfully. He growls back and crawls up to kiss your lips.

“Do you?” he whispers above your lips.

You nod, you do. You know that every day in his life is a risk for danger, but you can’t worry about the future. Only about the present, and right now he’s about to pull you into the shower for round two. And that’s worth getting out of bed for.

tagging: @punkpascal​ , @pascalz​, @tinygaydemonbby​, @velvetmel0n​, @tintinwrites​, @pajamasecrets​, @huliabitch​, @flightlessangelwings​, @shadow-assassin-blix​, @mylifeliterally​, @agentpike​, @dindjarinscape​

#javi peña #javier peña #javier pena x reader #pedros12daysofchristmas #my writing #mine #my gifs #LGJKSLGSGK AHHHH

[marvel-and-mischief]

Field of Surprises

This is my Secret Santa that I've also combined into a birthday fic for @lilkermit14 Happy Birthday!! I really hope you like this and are having a fantastic 19th birthday!!💓

Title: Field of Surprises Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader Summary: Pero takes reader to a beautiful field of flowers for a birthday picnic, but the pollen has an unusual effect on the two of them Warnings: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!! This is the dirtiest thing I've ever written, SEX POLLEN so dubcon naturally but there is a conversation about consent, p in v heterosexual sex, graphic sexual imagery, swear words, rough sex, hand job, breeding kink if you squint, cockwarming, unprotected sex (but it’s the times) Words: 2884

Your day of birth was particularly special this year as it was the first year you could celebrate it with Pero as your husband. He woke you up with sleepy kisses and passionate lovemaking, before insisting you let him bring you breakfast as you relaxed in bed. It was the perfect start to the morning, being treated as the special woman you were to Pero. 

The rest of the day saw Pero hurrying to take over the chores from you, instead ushering you into the chair in front of the fireplace.

“Let me do that, mi amore,” Pero would whisper and leave you with your feet up on a cushion covered stool as he carried on with whatever you were attempting to do around the house. 

All that relaxing sent you into a peaceful slumber, from which Pero gently woke you up in the early evening.

“Mi amor, wake up for me, I have one more surprise for you this day,” Pero’s fingertips softly tickled the side of your neck whilst he pressed sweet kisses to your forehead. You woke up refreshed and feeling good from your sleep. 

“You have already done so much for me today,” you smiled, stretching out your limbs and standing from your chair. Pero moved to grab your cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders and tying the string at the front for you. 

“Just one more. I took a different route back from market the other day and found a field with these beautiful flowers I have never seen in all my travels,” Pero picked up a wooden basket from the table, and you spied that the napkin on top covered a heaping pile of what you could only assume was food for your trip, “it is not far, we can sit and eat as the sun goes down over the hill. What do you say?”

Your beaming grin was response enough as you leaned over to place a hungry kiss on your husband’s lips. 

“You treat me so well,” you breathed, grin back in place as Pero hurried you through the door.

It didn’t take long to reach the field Pero spoke about. It was off the beaten track, hidden behind overgrown hedges and tall trees at the edge of the forest. The sight of the flowers took your breath away. They seemed to positively glow in the setting sun, shades of oranges and reds and yellows like the flames of a fire. The smaller flowers were around the size of a strawberry, the petals closed up to a sharp point at the top. The larger flowers had bloomed to the size of a round loaf of bread, the petals spread wide to reveal long stamen thick with powder the same color as the flower. 

“It is like walking through a dream, isn’t it?” Pero observed, coming up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I have never seen anything like it,” you replied, in awe of your surprise. You could see over the other side of the field was the hill to sit and watch the sun going down over the town, so you took Pero’s free hand in yours and stepped into the field.

The sweet, floral smells hit your nostrils as you walked through, and you found yourself raking your hand along beside you, fingertips sliding over the silky petals and catching on the powder inside. Next to you, you saw Pero was just as enraptured with your surroundings, head tilted down to smell them as he passed by. 

You plucked a flower, heavy and yellow and put it to your nose. It smelled like a sweetbread and was so bright it shone against your skin like a flaming torch. You turned and held it up to Pero’s nose for him to smell, and he replied with a hum and a pleasant smile. 

“This is all so perfect, Pero,” you sighed happily as you came to a patch of grass clear of flowers and saw Pero set down the basket at your feet. 

“Sit, get comfortable,” Pero instructed, and pulled you down next to him on the grass. He leaned into you as you opened the basket, setting down a piece of cloth to place the food upon. 

From your place on the hill you could see the town a little walk away, a few guards were scattered around keeping everyone who had stayed to frequent the taverns in order, others were lighting the torches along the town wall. You could hear the trickling of the river in the distance and birds tweeting in the trees. Otherwise, you were completely alone in the quiet of the prettiest, most peaceful field you had ever seen. 

“Eat, mi esposa,” Pero placed something in your hand whilst you were observing, a broken off piece of cheese on a chunk of cut bread and urged you to eat. As you bit down, you noticed Pero wasn’t eating, instead he was scratching at the back of his neck as though irritated by something. 

“What is wrong?” You asked, concerned by the agitation on Pero’s face. He rolled his shoulders back to try and alleviate the ache and sat up straight, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

“Maybe I’m allergic,” he grumbled, trying to ignore what felt like a thousand insects creeping along his neck. 

“We can leave-“

“No, mi amor, I will feel better when I have eaten,” he insisted through gritted teeth. Now that he really thought about it, it wasn’t an irritation he was feeling but more of a burning heat running along his skin. He felt it travel over his shoulders and down his chest, spreading lower until it reached his cock, making him glance over in your direction.

You were struggling with your own problems as you took the last bite of your food and tried to swallow it over the lump in your throat. You felt yourself getting slick between your legs when you had been staring at Pero’s neck. Of course you often felt attracted to him, his lean body with muscle built from years of wielding a sword, his handsome features, strong body, even the scar across his eye did things to you. But the attraction had never been as strong as this. 

You needed him. Like you needed air to breathe and food in your belly. You felt greedy, for his hungry eyes on you, for his deft fingers to work their magic on your body, for his mouth on your breast and his cock thrust to the hilt until he breached your womb. 

Your mind was a fog of images of all the times Pero had taken you in the heat of passion. You wanted to rip his clothes off with your bare hands and run them all over lean muscle and soft flesh and through silky hair and coarse hair. You needed to taste his skin, his sweat, his cock, his seed. 

You felt yourself growing hot with embarrassment then. You were thinking like a common whore, not that you thought Pero would mind. He enjoyed your confidence in your shared bed, his eyes always lit up with desire when you asked, no demanded, what you wanted from him. He encouraged you. But this seemed inappropriate.

Pero had brought you to this wonderful field to be romantic. To be slow and to show his love, not his lust, for you on your special day. And it made you feel dirty that all you wanted to do was shed him of his clothes and impale yourself on his fat cock. 

“Mi amor, is something wrong?” Pero’s voice was strained from trying to keep himself together for your sake. He saw a distant look in your eyes despite the fact you were staring directly at him. He knew something wasn’t right, and maybe it was the same something he was feeling. That itch that needed scratching, but could only be cured by fucking you senseless in the middle of this field. 

“I don’t… I erm…” words weren’t coming easily to you as you fixated on Pero’s curved lips. You couldn’t hold yourself back and before you knew what you were doing, you had launched yourself into his lap and began licking desperately into his mouth, moaning obscenely at the taste of salty cheese on his tongue and the smell of smoked wood on his skin. 

Pero’s arms pulled you flush against his chest, feeling the swell of your breasts against him. Your hands painfully gripped handfuls of his hair, the sensations making Pero groan from the back of his throat. You could feel his cock, hard and hot against your clothed core and all you could think about was the too many layers between your skin and his. 

You pulled back reluctantly, chest heaving with breathlessness and saw Pero in the exact same state as you. His eyes were cloudy with passion, his jaw tense with restraint as thoughts of ravaging you like a wild animal overwhelmed him. 

“I don’t know what has come over me, mi amor,” Pero’s gravelly voice made you whimper with want, rubbing your core against his cock to feel some kind of friction. His hands held your hips still against his thigh, away from where he wanted you most. Something was happening that he couldn’t explain, and he didn’t want you fucking him where anybody could walk by if you were going to regret it afterwards.

“Listen to me,” Pero growled, waiting for you to make eye contact with him before he continued, “I want you, and you want me, but are you sure you want to do this here?”

His stern tone cleared your head for a moment as you took in your surroundings. The sounds of the town had disappeared to almost nothing, and the sun was setting low enough that nobody would be walking through a field at this time of evening. 

“I want to. I need you Pero, please,” you leaned forward to kiss sloppily down the slope of his neck to a spot beneath his ear that made Pero buck up into you when you sucked there, “fuck me, husband.”

With a moan, Pero ripped at the ties that held your bodice together, pulling it free enough that he could pull down the front of your dress and free your breasts. You gasped as he took the nipple of one breast into his mouth, sucking and nibbling at the pliant skin whilst roughly massaging your other breast. The vibrations from his mouth and the roughness of his calloused hand brought you embarrassingly closer to your first orgasm as you rubbed your clothed crotch against his thigh. With a final cry of his name you shuddered under his touch as a rush of wetness flooded over Pero’s breeches. 

Pero pulled away from you to frantically loosen the front of his breeches and release his aching cock. It sprung up, the tip an angry red like the flowers that surrounded you, and hit his stomach, Pero sighing in relief at the cold air soothing its heat.

“I need it,” was all you could say, eyes trained on the cock you knew so well. You wrapped your hand around it, earning you a hiss from your lover, as you used the precum to aid in pumping up and down, from base to tip. 

That desperation that had been temporarily sated from your release was quickly rising up once more, your breath hitching, your core clenching in need. Pero could see the conflict in your eyes, his own need to feel you around his cock almost overwhelming as he grabbed your hips and moved to hover you over him.

“If we do this, I will not be able to stop myself, mi esposa,” Pero warned, but it was what you wanted, for him to drill into you until all of your senses were Pero and nothing else. You responded by lowering yourself suddenly onto him, a loud cry of relief leaving you as Pero bottomed out in you making him cry out your name. 

Pero pulled you tightly against his chest as he swiftly switched your positions, laying you on the ground to hover above you. You moved your legs to wrap high around his waist, chanting his name urgently. Pero didn’t need telling twice, immediately assuming a rough rhythm that had you clawing at the grass beneath you. You could barely make any sound at all, only silently gasping into the air as you received exactly what your body craved. 

Pero’s face was hid in the crook of your neck and he chased his release, the only thoughts in his mind of you and how warm and tight you felt around him, how he needed to thrust deeper and deeper, to fill you up so much his seed had no choice but to spill out of you, and even then he wanted to fill you more. 

His heart was beating harder than he thought possible, the sound in his ears and the panting of his breaths louder than the sounds you were making. But he knew you were enjoying this just as much as he was when your legs on his back urged him impossibly closer and your fingers dug into the skin of his ass, leaving red and white marks that would be there for many days to come. 

Pero dared to raise his head to see the state of bliss on your face, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, your eyes scrunched closed as you chased another orgasm. He found your wrists and held them above your head, making you look up at him with dark, lustful eyes.

“You fuck me so good, Pero,” you whined, and without breaking the rhythm of his hips Pero bit down on the soft skin of you neck, sucking a bruising kiss there. 

He kept your wrists in a tight grip with one hand, and slipped his other hand between you to find your clit. You cried out when he started rubbing circles just how you like it to bring you closer to the edge.

“Come for me, come and I promise I will fill you up better than I ever have. I will spill so deep inside you, you will feel me for weeks, hermosa,” Pero groaned into your ear, and that was the final straw to have you clenching hard around his cock, arching your back off the ground and whimpering through your release. You saw white behind your eyelids as you shook through the best orgasm of your life. 

Pero continued to rut into you a few more times before one final thrust saw him spilling his seed deep within you whilst biting down on the thick flesh of your shoulder. His body relaxed on top of you whilst he caught his breath. After a few moments he rolled you both over, laying your body on top of his with his cock still seated comfortably inside you. 

You could have fallen asleep like this, mind soft with love, body pliant and deliciously used, Pero surrounding you inside and out. You were completely sated, exhausted in the best way.

“Mi amor, talk to me,” Pero urged, your silence not at all comforting him. 

“I feel wonderful,” you lifted your head and showed him your goofy, tired smile, making him chuckle. 

Pero took the time to sweep the area, the mercenary in him wanting to ensure you were both safe in your surroundings. The field was empty except the two of you, the tall flowers creating an ominous, intimidating sight in the rapid darkening of the sky. It was then Pero frowned and thought of the beginning of the evening and how sudden your attractions had been to one another. 

“I think we should go home and clean up, maybe continue this in the safety of our marriage bed,” Pero whispered, eyeing the flowers suspiciously. 

You hummed in agreement, the promise of more activities encouraging you to pull yourself off Pero’s cock with a soft mewl and make yourself presentable. 

When Pero had packed up the basket and taken your hand he paused to kiss you tenderly, a stark contrast to how rough you had both been moments before.

“I hope your special day has been just that.”

You smiled, a warmth fluttering in your breast as you took in the love in your husband’s eyes.

“It has,” you assured him with a nod. You attempted to lead him back through the field towards your cottage but he stood rooted to the spot.

“No,” Pero tugged you in the opposite direction, “let us go down the hill.”

“That is the long way round,” you said confused, watching as Pero shot a frown towards the beautiful flowers behind you. 

“Trust me, I think it would be wise to stay clear of this field from now on.”

You laughed and shook your head at his quirkiness. Maybe he just wanted more time with you, to prolong this day. 

Now the strangeness of the evening had left, in its place was love and adoration for the man you called your husband, and you saw those same feelings towards you in the soft curve of a smile and the sweet looks he was shooting your way. 

#pedros12daysofchristmas #Pedro Pascal #Pero Tovar #Pero #Tovar #Pero Tovar x Reader #Pero x Reader #Tovar x Reader #The Great Wall #Field of Surprises #tw: dubcon

[ahopelessromanticwritersworld]

This is my extremely late fic for the Secret Santa exchange for @flightlessangelwings!!!

I’m excited for you to read this, and I really hope you like it!! I have a second part planned for this, so that is in the works!

This was inspired by @softpedropascal’s own pirate!Pero! AU, and I highly recommend everyone go check it and all of her work out! Everything she writes is *chef’s kiss* magnificent!!

Thank you so much for your patience! 💙💙💙

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Fem!Reader

Warnings: blood, violence, maritime action, lack of maritime knowledge, lots of Spanish in places

Ángel de la Muerte

As Pero felt the warm blood of his blade’s latest victim, he closed his eyes for a brief second. In that time, he prayed that perhaps today, of all days, would be the day that he finds the answers he was searching for. The man that he had just struck down had also been the last man that had taken part in taking you aboard a rival captain’s ship.

Pero had discovered your kidnapping when he stopped at your home city’s harbor and went to call upon you. When he arrived, what he found was utter destruction. Your door had marks in it as though someone had tried to axe their way through. All your furniture was overturned and thrown about the room. It was obvious that someone had either broken in recently, and you hadn’t had a chance to clean up yet, or…

Pero still shudders when he remembers his reaction to the second, more likely scenario as to why your home was in such disarray. He roared with a primal rage so unlike anything he had ever felt; not even the overwhelming adrenaline of a raging battle upon the sea got him this worked up.

After quickly interrogating your neighbors and learning some of the men’s names who had stolen you away as well as the name of the capitán they served under and the ship they had sailed away upon. He also learned that at least a week had passed since you had been taken, which felt as though someone had driven their sword through Pero’s chest, making his heart stutter and his breathing falter.

Now knowing that he was already working with a disadvantage for catching up to you and the dead men currently awaiting their visit from La Parca, Pero quickly made his way back to the docks and his ship, Ángel de la Muerte.

Pero was proud of his crew that they were able to mobilize so quickly; he couldn’t care less if it was because they feared him and his reputation, or if it was due to the fact that you took such good care of their capitán and they feared for what might happen to them if you were not around him any more. He was able to quickly set a course based on reports given to him by other seamen he trusted in the harbor who saw the rival pirates set off with you.

Pero was loath to admit it, but this rival capitán knew how to make it difficult to track himself down. Pero and his men were still searching for you, and it had been about two months since you had been taken.

At each port they stopped in, they gleaned another vital clue, whether it was a direction of travel or the name of one the men that had taken you. But it seemed as though each clue was smoke in the air: helpful right when he got it, but utterly useless when he began tracking again. The longer they searched, the more desperate Pero became because he refused to consider a world without you in it.

So whenever he or his men tracked down a lead, Pero had his second in command, William, write it down in a book to return to when plotting the next leg of their journey. That way, La Parca would have a ledger of all the men that had had any part to play in daring to steal away his tesoro and strike them down.

Finally, after four months of searching, he and his men were able to catch up to this rival’s ship. Pero was unable to stop the crooked smile emerging on his lips as he thought with glee of how he would cut these men down before coming to you with the blood from the dead men still warm on his face.

He was able to send a cabin boy to deliver his personal message to the capitán.

It read: “You have something that I want. You may think you have an idea of what you have in your possession aboard your ship, but I assure you that you do not. She will soon be back with me. She means more to me than you will ever know. You will not live long enough to rue the day that you crossed La Parca because I will kill you and every single man who touched a hair on her head. You may think you can flee, but know this: no man can escape La Parca.”

At first, Pero was sure that his reputation would ensure that the crew surrendered to him, but the longer they took to respond, the more his hackles rose. Then, the man on lookout called out because he saw them preparing to sail off as well as preparing their cannons. This made Pero and William share a quick glance. They both had no doubts that Ángel de la Muerte would emerge triumphant, but if they were forced to engage in cannonfire, there was no way to ensure your safety.

And this made the two men extremely uneasy.

Pero barked out the order to go after the ship, with his blood beginning to boil the longer he gave chase with you so close yet so far away from him. However, before Pero could engage in battle with this cobarde, the ship was pulled into a scuffle with a British Navy vessel.

Pero could only watch in horror as his rival’s ship was battered beyond belief by cannonfire, and his hope that you would escape unscathed dwindled to a quiet flame burning in his chest. Before his eyes, he watched as the ship was scuttled, and the victors began to sail away.

As Ángel de la Muerte made its way to the wreckage, Pero scanned his eyes among the flotsam for any signs of you. The longer he searched, the more he realized that you might not be alive. That didn’t stop him from desperately calling out for you as he and his crew continued searching for any sign of you. But when he came to that wrenching conclusion, Pero began to feel desperation and disbelief warring within himself.

There couldn’t exist a world where you did not live. Absolutely not! If you, his tesoro, had passed into the next realm without La Parca at your side, he would drag himself to the depths of el infierno and demand that you be returned to his side. And if he couldn’t bring you back to the living, he would demand from whatever immortal being he had to to strike him down. If only so that he could then join you in the after life.

Then, he could once again pull you into his arms, breathe in your sweet scent that was ambrosia to him, and reassure his sweet princesa and himself that you were really there, that you were safe and that there was nothing that he wouldn’t do to ensure your safety.

But right now, as William gave him a look and a subtle shake of his head, he had to come to terms with the fact that all souls were lost on this ship.

Now Pero gasped for air as his grief drove into him and made him feel as though his worst enemy had driven their sword through his chest. How was he to go on without his tesoro? You were the best thing that had ever happened to him, and now he was to accept that you were gone? NEVER!! He would never, in a hundred years, accept that you were gone.

Pero Tovar, capitán of Ángel de la Muerte vowed to all the gods listening that he would scour the ends of the earth and all the seas to find anything to bring you back to him, or he would die trying. And at the moment, he didn’t have a preference for either outcome. All he knew was both ways would eventually lead him to be reunited with you. Whether in this realm or the next, he didn’t care.

Pero glared up at the heavens, where he knew that his tesoro would be temporarily residing, if you had indeed left this mortal coil. He knew what he now had to do. He would track down a relic that he had heard only whispers about, a stone that was said to return the dead to life. And if it worked as it was rumored to, the stone would restore you so that it would be as if you had never left this world at all.

The groans from the man wounded at his feet brought Pero out of his reminiscing. For three years now, Pero had been searching for this stone that could revive his princesa, his tesoro and return her from muerte’s icy clutch. Before his personal quest began, he would have scoffed at such talk surrounding a mystical object; however, now he prayed that all the stories about this resurrection stone were true so that he could be reunited with his estrella, his North Star that served as a beacon to bring him home, no matter how far apart they were.

He barely spared a glance at the man lower than a barnacle in his eyes as William came up to him.

“My friend, look what he had in his cabin.” He opened up a journal, which had maps and scribbling in it.

“From his writing, it looks as though he and his crew lost something or someone valuable three years ago in Port Royal.”

Pero’s eyes slowly rose from the pitiful bottom-feeder to William.

“That could possibly be your beloved, amigo.”

Yes, Pero thought, I’m not an idiot. As soon as he realized that he might have gotten the biggest possible lead in his quest to be reunited with you, Pero crouched down so that he could be eye level to the scum.

“You will tell me what I want to know, then I will decide whether or not I should kill you. But if you dare to play me for a fool, I will take great pleasure in killing you so slowly that you shall be begging La Parca and Ángel de la Muerte to come visit you.”

The man whimpered, but did little else.

“What exactly did you lose at Port Royal?”

It seemed to take a great effort out of him, but the man finally wheezed out “a woman.

The captain wanted her, so we stole her away.”

“Where did you steal this poor, unfortunate woman away from?” Pero had to fight to keep his stoic composure in place when the man breathed out the name of the port city you used to call home.

“And did any one of your men or even you yourself touch her after stealing her away?”

“Never! I swear to God!”

Pero now felt that small, flickering flame of hope he had been nursing within himself for three years begin to grow warmer. However, before he could indulge in the heat emanating from this renewed sense of hope, he had to deal with the situation at hand.

Now that he had no use for the man, he quickly drew his dagger.

“Thank you for being so helpful.”

At first, the cobarde relaxed as though he honestly thought that Pero would allow him to live after admitting to such crimes against the capitán’s woman.

“But you see, you dared to harm mi princesa, mi preciosa tesoro.”

The man tried to move away, his eyes widened in fear. Pero’s hand coming down hard upon his shoulder prevented the scum from moving any further away.

“And for that, for touching what wasn’t yours, for stealing something away from La Parca, you must pay. For situations such as this, only one payment will satisfy this debt. A life for a life.”

Now this pathetic excuse of a man was begging for his life before Pero’s own eyes, and while he might have had some sympathy toward his fellow pirates since the harsher crackdowns by sanctioned ships in any other case, Pero was nowhere near ready to allow one of the brutes who stole away his tesoro to remain on this mortal shell.

Pero swiped his hand out and drew his dagger quickly across the scum’s throat. As the man began gurgling and choking on his own blood, Pero wiped the blood off on the man’s shirt and rose, keeping his eyes on the dying man in front of him.

It seemed an age, but the cobarde finally died and not a minute too soon. Perhaps that was only because Pero was so eager to see the demise of the man in front of him. As soon as he saw the light leave the man’s eyes, he turned to face William once more.

“Come, amigo, we must make our way to Port Royal.”

With that, the two comrades clasped their hands on each other’s shoulders before heading back to Ángel de la Muerte. Without another glance backward, Pero barked out orders to his men to throw the body overboard and feed it to the sharks.

As the ship changed course to begin making her way to Port Royal, Pero slowly climbed the stairs to the helm to overlook the crew working to ensure that they set sail as quickly as they could. He watched for a minute or two before he went to the railings and pulled out the chain that had resided around his neck for almost four years now.

A locket that had been caressed so many times by Pero’s fingers that he had worn the metal smooth over time hung at the bottom. Pero rubbed his fingers over it once more, knowing that a lock of your hair also resided inside but not daring to chance opening the locket for fear that a strong gust of wind would sweep the precious gift away from him.

Opposite your hair in the locket was a cameo as well, to aid the memory when he was away at sea, the shopkeeper had advertised. Pero had scoffed, as if he would ever require assistance to remember your stunning visage. But now that he hadn’t gazed upon your beauty for years, he was eternally grateful you had talked him into the luxurious purchase all those years ago.

Next to the locket hung the ring he had purchased with the hope of placing on your finger one day. And with this latest clue, Pero had renewed hope that this ring would soon make a home upon your hand. He raised the locket and ring to his lips and placed a reverent kiss on both before looking out at the sea once more.

“Te extraño, mi tesoro. Espero verte pronto. Te amo, mi amor.”

Translations:

1. capitán- captain

2. Ángel de la Muerte- Angel of Death

3. La Parca- the Grim Reaper

4. tesoro- treasure

5. cobarde- coward

6. el infierno- Hell

7. princesa- princess

8. muerte- death

9. estrella- star

10. amigo- friend

11. mi princesa- my princess

12. mi preciosa tesoro- my precious treasure

13. Te extraño, mi tesoro. Espero verte pronto. Te amo, mi amor.- I miss you, my treasure. I hope I will see you soon. I love you, my love.

Tagging people I think may be interested: @gamingaquarius @miraclemoreno @absurdthirst @scribbledghost @aerynwrites @storiesofthefandomlovers @f0rever15elf @cinewhore @softpedropascal @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @agent-whiskeys-sweetheart @flightlessangelwings @hopelikethemoon @jawabear

#pedros12daysofchristmas #pero tovar au fic idea #pero tovar #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader

[benedictsvestcollection]

I know it’s only almost October but I want to ask now since we try and get things figured out/assigned by like November so..... Would ya’ll want to do another Pedro’s 12 Days of Christmas this year? I feel like last year’s was a big success! 

Would love asks & feedback about this!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedros12DaysOfChristmas #fic exchange