#pero tovar series

[604to647]

Scherzo (a Barón Tovar Takes a Wife one-shot)

3.1K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader

Scherzo - a short composition – sometimes a movement from a larger work such as a symphony or a sonata

Summary: Your husband takes care of you when you get hurt during your travels.

Warnings: None! All fluff, though reader gets cheeky with her husband cause I mean, it's Pero? Protective!Pero, Soft Husband!Pero (I NEED HIM). A little bit of violence is described where reader gets physically hurt, nothing graphic.

A/N: This was written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge; please see #jettsflora&faunachallenge for all the other amazing works by some wonderful authors (I didn't do much with the meanings of the flowers, was just going for ✨vibes✨ - hope it's okay!). I tend to always miss my babies after I complete their series, and can't help but write little one-shots for them to see what they're up to. This is our Regency couple from Barón Tovar Takes a Wife, but you don't need to read it (although it would be cool if you did - I'm kind of proud of this one 😭) - just know our happy Barón and Baronesa are doing what they love the most, which is travelling on the high seas together.

Beautiful Bridgerton inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Truth be told, Naples is not one of Pero’s favourite places to visit in Italy; the Barón much preferred the rolling vineyards of Tuscany or the cultural diversity of Milan.  At least it will be a short stay, too short to even arrange for lodging in the city; it was much easier for everyone on the ship to remain staying in their onboard quarters while he oversaw some Royal fleet business with the Italians.  It would be just three short weeks before they're set to raise the sails again, this time charting a course up the western Italian coast to the Civitavecchia Port of Rome.  He realizes the last time the two of you were in Rome had been when you said your final goodbyes in his youth, parting ways and not meeting again for over ten years; Pero looks forward to strolling the cobblestone streets together once more, this time with you as his bride.

In the meantime, he would try to expedite the matter before him – if the Italian dignitary sitting across from him would acquiesce, perhaps he can still save enough of the day to take you to do some sightseeing before nightfall.  Just as the stout man’s mustache twitches at something he’s read on the document Pero gave him, someone bursts into the office, violently banging open the door.

Recognizing one of his trusted footmen, Pero exclaims, “Miguel, could this wait?  Signor Romano and I are in the middle of something.”

“No!” cries Miguel, alarmingly, “My apologies, Barón!  It is the Baronesa...”

Pero reacts with blinding speed, his chair knocked to the ground from the force with which he stands, “What has happened?!”

“There was a commotion in the square, my lord.  Your wife was hur-”

Pero is already out the door, running as fast as he can towards the city square where he knows you and your lady's maid, Lucia, had planned to do some exploring while he was away at meetings.  Wind rushing past his ears, he can hear behind him the faint thundering footsteps of Miguel the footman trying to keep up with his master.

When he gets to the square, Pero is stunned to find it in a mild state of chaos – several shops have been vandalized and an overwhelming number people seem to be in a state of mild panic, crying.  He scans the crowd and when he finally spots you, he nearly falls to his knees.  You’re sitting on the ground next to Lucia who is crying loudly, comforting her the best you can; and while Lucia is clearly emotionally distraught, she appears to be physically unharmed - the same cannot be said for you.  Your dress is torn in several places and covered in blood; whose blood Pero does not know, but he realizes, stomach dropping, that some of it at least must be yours when he sees the long bleeding cut down your left forearm.  Your beautiful face has at least one messy scrape across your cheek that he can see even at this distance and your lip looks like it’s starting to discolour and swell.

You spot Pero when he is a but few steps away and instantly feel a wave of relief wash over you at the sight of your strong, handsome husband (though you do hate to see the look of panic and terror on his face).  Dropping down to your side, Pero immediately cups your face in his warm, bear paw hands, careful not to disturb any of your injuries, “Dulce!  How are you?”

You don’t want to tell Pero that your heart is still beating fast from how scared you had felt during the stampede, or how the cuts on your arm and face sting and that your sides and back have started to ache.  You know that doing so will only make him feel worse - but you’ve never lied to your husband in all the years you’ve known him so you simply say, truthfully, “Better now that you’re here, Pero.”  Melting into the soft tender kiss he presses to your mouth, you try not wince when his soft lips meet your bruised ones but fail miserably.  Trying not to shatter in front of you when he hears your pained whimper, Pero wills himself to pull back with a silent reminder to handle you with more care; as he starts to check over your injuries, he asks delicately, “What happened, mi amor?”

One of the sailors who had joined the footmen in accompanying you and Lucia starts to explain before he’s silenced by a glowering look from your husband; Baronesa Tovar is not a woman who needs others to speak for her.

You give the poor sailor a reassuring smile before drawing Pero’s attention back to you and recount for him what happened in the square earlier.  Noticing that the Barón's hands have been cold in the mornings as of late, you had headed out today with a mission to purchase your husband some gloves made with the fine leather craftsmanship that the Italians are known for.  While admiring the buttery softness of a pair of large leather gloves handed to you by a lovely stall merchant, a fight had broken out across the square between a mob of over twenty large and angry Italian men.  The fighting horde continued their bout while moving across the square, barreling into families and unsuspecting people just trying to go about their day.  Caught unawares, the pedestrians scattered and ran panicked in an effort to get out the way of the oncoming melee.  The fleeing crowd had ran in your direction and you and Lucia could not get out of the way fast enough – pushed down to the ground, in your attempt to shield Lucia as the two of you tried to crawl to the side of the street and away from the mob, your dress had been torn by the flurry of feet as runners stampeded, your body kicked more than once.  At one point, someone had produced a pistol and shot at several buildings; and while that effectively ended the fight, several windows had shattered and some of the errant glass had fallen and cut your arm.

Pero feels absolutely sick at the picture his mind conjures of you being physically pushed and kicked, imagining how scared you must have been; he wants nothing more than to sweep you into his arms and comfort you, but without knowing the extent of your injuries, he settles for pressing his forehead to yours and whispering that everything will be okay now.  You believe him.

With some difficulty, Pero helps you stand and brings you back to the ship; both of you agreeing that when the doctor is called, it should be to the safety and comfort of your own quarters.  Though ever gentle with you, the fearsome scowl on Pero’s face clears a path from the square down to the docks – the deep furrow of his brow accentuating the faded scar over his left eye, as if to challenge anyone who would get between his wife and her safe haven.  Calling out for medical supplies and hot water as soon as he’s onboard, Pero leads you to your chambers and sits you on your shared bed before falling to his knees in front of you.  Slumping, tension in his strong frame finally dissolving, Pero lays his head in your lap and lets a few tears fall at the relief of finally getting you back home, safe.  You stroke your husband’s soft curls lovingly, understanding all of him and letting his devotion wash over you - it brings you a calm that you haven’t felt for several hours now.

In silence, you let Pero tend to your cuts and scrapes, eyes never leaving his handsome face as you watch him concentrate on being gentle with his big, sometimes clumsy hands.  Pero washes your face and hands, wiping away all evidence of the time you spent on the hard stone streets of the square, then takes care to thoroughly clean your injuries.  When you hiss at the sting from the salve he applies to the cut on your arm, Pero murmurs, “Be good for me, Baronesa,” and distracts you momentarily from the pain with that sweet smile of his that he knows makes you melt.

Finally comes the point that Pero has been dreading; he undresses you carefully to tend to the injuries on your body, hoping none will be too serious.  Once he has you stripped to the barest of your undergarments, he takes in the bruising that’s starting to show on your legs, hips and back and thinks he might cry again; his beautiful wife, so brave and strong – he cannot believe you sustained these injuries and still allowed him to move you about as he has without complaint.  As if reading his mind, you run a finger through your husband’s scruff that you love so much and try to lighten his mood; nodding towards your discarded dress on the floor, you joke, “I do not think I will be wearing that dress again.”

Half serious, Pero replies, “I think I will bring it to the Polizia tomorrow, when I demand answers for how they allowed what happened in the square to transpire.”

“Pero.”

“Or we throw it over the side of the ship,” he shrugs, a little bit a light returning back to his eyes when he sees your good humour is unscathed; permitting himself to hold you close, Pero breathes his first calm breath since Miguel interrupted his meeting, inhaling your soft perfume.  Seeing Pero in a better mood instantly lifts your spirits, and while in the safety of his loving arms, you give him a playful little wiggle and press your barely clad body to his. 

“Dulce,” he warns, voice dipping low at your giggles.  To show him it’s just a little bit of teasing, you straighten up immediately and allow Pero to run the warm cloth over your body and finish cleaning you up before dressing in your most modest nightgown without any more shenanigans. 

The doctor who is called leaves a short while later, declaring that both you and Lucia will be fine and that a few weeks of lightened activity and rest should heal your injuries without issue.  It’s not something you’re looking forward to, but you agree with Pero that for the remainder of your time in Naples, it would be better if you recovered from the safety of the ship.

For the first few days, you enjoy the calm and quiet of your vessel, many of the sailors and staff taking the opportunity to enjoy some leave while docked.  But as the days go on, with Pero away for most of the day on business, you find yourself getting restless.  You read your books and write your letters.  You play your piano and even entreat Lucia and whomever remains onboard to play cards with you.  From the ship’s deck you can still see much of the city, and even though you have no particular wish to return on this trip (your experience in the square still too fresh), it unfairly beckons to you like a siren.  You’re bored.  And despite loving your ship, you’re starting to feel cooped up.

Pero does his best each day to finish up his work as quickly as possible so he can return to you, enjoying the warmth of your company and checking for himself that you’re recovering properly.  The Barón brings home delicious treats and pretty trinkets for his wife everyday, leaving no doubt that you’re ever on his mind even when apart.  And while you love your husband dearly for his thoughtfulness, you cannot help, while enjoying his gifts from within the boundaries of a ship that once represented freedom to you, feeling a bit envious at being unable to go out and procure them for yourself.  Pero can tell that you’re feeling a bit out of sorts, not your usual cheerful self; he so hates to see the wings of his pretty dove clipped – it saddens him just as much to see you try to hide your melancholy from him.  And although he cannot agree to lift the current restrictions on your movements, he deeply wishes for a way to make your so-called confinement as pleasant as possible.

The morning that marks the start of your last week in Naples, you wake to an absolute ruckus coming from the ship deck; for a moment you feel a stab of fear, unused to such loud noises and voices without having been given some forewarning.  You must still be feeling some effects of your recent scare, you think; upon listening a bit more carefully, you relax to the realization that the voices are primarily instructive and even calm.  But it’s still much too early for this level of activity from the deck – the footsteps and voices you hear must be from at least double the amount of people you would normally expect to be up at this time of day.  Also unusual is that you’ve woken up to an empty bed; every day following the incident in the square, you’ve woken up to your husband curled around you, arms and legs thrown over your body like protective amour.  You don’t think you particularly like today’s change, but it makes sense – you can’t imagine whatever is going on outside to be taking place without your Pero’s permission.  Not especially looking forward to another day of doing the same things again within the same confines of the ship, you lay in bed for a while longer, at least until the noises start to die down and your curiosity gets the better of you.

The sight that greets you as you open the door to the deck nearly knocks you off your feet.  Somehow, it’s not a wooden ship’s deck that you’re now gazing upon, but a colourful and enchantingly idyllic scene, something that could have been painted by a great master of the arts.  For a moment, you have to pinch yourself, is this a dream? 

You step through the doorway from the ship’s hold into an ethereal garden – blooming flowers have overtaken every inch of the ship’s deck: thick braided garlands of roses, violets, and peonies wrap wondrously around every one of the ship’s railings, big bright pots of lilacs, azaleas and irises line the sides of the ship and surround a makeshift sitting area where some garden furniture you’ve never seen before has been arranged.  Even the mast has been decorated to look like a spring maypole, intertwining vines of clematis and jasmine crisscross all the way down from the crow’s nest so tightly you can barely see any of the dark wood that normally centres your great vessel.  Every bow is positively dripping with wisterias, reminding you for a moment of your beloved Bridgerton House.  You walk slowly through the dreamlike scene, weaving between the lush plants and the fresh, bold flowers.   Brushing your hand over the railing as you meander, your fingertips flutter at the soft feel of the blooming petals and your eyes brighten at the rainbow hues that paint every perimeter inch of the ship.  Your nose breathes in the sweet and intoxicating floral scent that now dances lightly in the air.  You close your eyes and inhale.  Your eyes open again with a soft exhale.  Repeat.

You’re turning around slowly, trying to take in the entirety of your magical surroundings when your eyes land on your beaming husband, standing like a handsome faerie king holding an exquisite bouquet of your favourite peonies in his hand, waiting for his pretty queen to take in all his hard work.  Despite the residual pain you still feel a bit in your sides, you launch yourself into Pero’s arms, throwing your own around his neck and passionately press your lips to his.  Mouth opening, you let Pero lick in and explore, before pulling yourself up onto your toes and suck on his tongue eagerly.  Pero pulls you in tightly and when he feels your tongue stroke behind his teeth, lets loose a deep vibrating hum of want that reverberates through you, straight to your core.  With a quick nibble to your bottom lip and a few chasing flutter kisses, Pero reluctantly pulls away; he’s sure there are curious eyes all over the ship deck, even if they are currently concealed by the splendid greenery that’s overtaken the space.

When he steps back look at you, the expression on your face almost gives Pero enough reason to throw modesty and decorum out the window, grab at your enticing curves and throw you down amidst the lush fauna he’s brought onto the ship to have his way with you.  Almost.  Your eyes shine bright and twinkle, there’s a fresh glow to your cheeks, and your smile is the widest that he’s seen in weeks: you’re alive again.

“Pero,” you cry in bliss, “what is all this?”

The Barón gently cradles your head in his hand and reverently strokes the soft hair of his beloved Baronesa, “Mi amor, I could tell that staying confined to the ship has not been agreeing with you.  If you cannot go out to explore and play in the wide world, then I will do my best to bring the wide world to you.  Now, instead of a cold, dreary ship deck, I hope you will enjoy the remainder of the week before we set sail in your own private garden.”

You could cry – what did you ever do to deserve the love and devotion of your perfect husband?  He forever thinks of your comfort and the wellness of your heart – but he does so much more than just take care of you or do things that make you happy, he’s the reason for your joy, for your very being.  You cannot stop murmuring, Thank you thank you thank you, into his chest as he holds you close, not only to him but for him.

The flowers last a week which is precisely how long you need them to last.  During those final days before your fleet sets sail, you find yourself soothed every time you enter or sit in your personal secret garden; second, by the tranquility and peacefulness of your botanical hideaway, and first, by the knowledge that you have the love of the kindest, sweetest man on earth.

Leaning now along the once again bare wood railing, with the salty sea wind blowing through your hair, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist.  The patchy facial hair of your husband tickles your cheek as he presses a sweet kiss to your temple and whispers in your ear, “Happy to be on our way, Dulce?”

Turning in his arms, you snuggle into his safe hold; tucking yourself under his chin, you sigh into Pero’s neck, “Just happy, mi amor.”

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

[morallyinept]

FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST 💐

💐 A collection of Pedro Boy stories featuring flowers. Smut -🌶 Soft - ☁️

Helianthus - Ezra 🌶

Azalea - Lucien Flores 🌶

Rockford & Roses - Tim Rockford ☁️

Sweet Pea - Joel Miller

Poppy - Frankie Morales

Heliotrope - Jack Daniels

Daisy Chain - Dieter Bravo

Hibiscus - Dave York

Pink Velvet - Marcus Pike

My Tiger Lily - Pero Tovar

Wisteria - TBC

Cherry Blossom - TBC

💐 Jett's Flora & Fauna Writing Challenge 2024

Flora & Fauna Challenge Info May 2024

Flora & Fauna Challenge Masterlist May 2024

💐 Extras:

Pedro Boys & Flowers

Pedro & Flowers

MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #dieter bravo #marcus pike #frankie morales #ezra prospect #agent whiskey #dave york #pero tovar #lucien flores #tim rockford #flora & fauna series #flowers #jett's writing

[bluestar22x]

The Outcast Masterlist

Summary: You found him near death in the snow. Saving him changed everything.

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Series Rating: 18+

Warnings: Eventual explicit smut, slow burn, some sexism appropriate for the time period, pov changes, fowl language, modern swears used in a time period most of them probably didn't exist. Lots of this story might not be time period accurate.

Author’s Note: This one just popped into my head out of nowhere. I have so much writing for other fics that I should be doing instead, but my mind had to make this up. Oh well.

xxx

Lost And Found

Getting Acquainted

Falling

Something More

Epilogue: The Future

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Pero Tovar #The Great Wall #Pero Fanfic (Mine) #The Great Wall Fanfic #Fanfiction #Mine #X Reader #Pedro Pascal Character Fanfic #The Outcast Series #Complete

[absurdthirst]

Breaking Point {Werewolf!Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: NON-CON mentions, pregnancy, voyeurism, masturbation, mentions of oral, werewolf fucking, unprotected sex, cream pie

Comments: Pero is slowly losing his mind around his mate, craving her as the full moon looms close. Trying to resist the animalistic urges of the monster. Until he finds her in the woods, in the spot where he had planted the babe in her belly and that night the wolf takes control again. 

**Thank you @wheresarizona for the lovely beta!

DEAD DOVE - DO NOT EAT: This is a monster fucking fic. If you can’t handle the fact that non-con is a part of this, please roll on by. 

|| The Wolf Series MasterList || MasterList ||

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

He smells her everywhere. That scent permeates his nostrils, both as the beast and as a man until he finds himself going mad. Cloying and sweet, often laced with the tangy scent of a wet cunt, arousal. Making his cock stiffen and his countenance even gloomier as he tries to ignore it. To pretend that he doesn’t smell her pheromones rolling off of her in waves. Like a siren beckoning sailors to their water graves on the craggy rocks. He had never believed his kind were real, so why could sirens not be? 

Guilt keeps him from acknowledging it. Guilt, and the fear that it is not actually what she wants. The wolf, he knows it, his presence under Pero’s skin shimmers, urging him to take his woman. To provide what the air is telling him so clearly what she needs. To satiate her on his cock and fill her womb again and again until the air is permanently mixed with a combination of their fluids. Until it marks every corner of the clearing and fills her cabin so that no other creature would think that she was not his. 

He has never been a man who was easy to get along with. His friend, his only friend - William, having to put up with his sarcastic humor and often dark temperament. He had a hard life, as did many others, and it had not made him a gentle man. 

Like many of his kind, he had killed for survival from a young age, stealing and scraping his way through his younger years until he was taught the art of war. Illiterate men are useful when they have a face that makes others wary and can swing an axe with his skill. He follows the coins, the squabbling of rich men never concerned him much beyond who would pay the most. 

Survival was what mattered. Coins to buy food to fill his belly, occasionally pay for a tumble with a woman when his hand no longer sufficed for pleasure. He was a rough, simple man who had not expected to live to see his fortieth year. 

When he had been attacked, when the change had occurred, those needs changed. He had become more animalistic, even though he had never filled another woman on his rare treks to the village. He had been unwilling to risk this. A child or creature born of his curse. Yet the wolf had now decided for him. 

She is carrying his child. His offspring would be born soon. The need to improve the little space that she carves out for herself every day drives him to work tirelessly. The wolf gives him strength and stamina that he hadn’t had when he was a mercenary. He could only imagine the coins he would have if he had been, although his monthly change would have gotten him killed eventually. 

Still, he chopped wood and expanded the clearing of her cottage. Stacking cords of kindling in neat rows and grunting in satisfaction every time the thud of the axe rang out in the forest. The deer and rabbits no longer nibbled in her vegetable garden. The little nuisances kept clear once he had marked the area. She had babbled at him one day about it, how she can’t believe that she isn't losing any crops this season. 

Moss was shoved into the chinks in the logs of her home with his dagger. Stuffing them full so that the fierce winds would not blow in when they came. The cave would have been better, he knows that no wind will get inside, she would be warm and safe, but he couldn’t demand that she leaves her home. This cottage was her safety, she was comfortable here and he can’t make his mate worry. Not in her condition. 

Mate. He tries to rationalize the word. She had never said she would be his. The wolf had decided, taken her for his own. Still, Pero tried to resist. To cling to the remaining humanity he possesses and keep his distance while she grows round with his child.  

When she leaves the clearing of the cottage he follows her. Never seen, he stays back, giving her the space she deserves but he would never leave her unprotected. Not when there are other things in the forest that could hurt her or the babe. He watches over her as gathers berries for the mouthwatering jams and fruit pies that she makes. Her little cellar is overflowing and he’s already planning on digging her out another one. 

He never disturbs her, never wanting her to feel as if she doesn’t have her freedom. It’s more that the wolf that is inside him screams to protect her. As if his mere presence will prevent her from falling and twisting an ankle. 

****

Silence, the woods around him are always filled with silence. His mere presence means that not a creature dared to stir near him. He could smell them, the rabbits and other small creatures that made the woods home. All hiding in their dens as if he were on the prowl with the moon shining overhead.

Maybe that’s why she slipped from his sight. He was too busy listening to the silence. Or maybe it was because he was caught up in the heady thoughts of how she had taken him, in his wolf form. Or how she had unfurled for him like the most delicate flower under the hot laps of his tongue. Just thinking of her brought the taste to his lips, making him lick the dry skin. 

When his head turns, he doesn’t see her. His entire body stiffening and every well honed sense comes alive as the creature inside him demands to know where his mate is. Clawing to get out with the coming moon. 

It doesn’t take long to find her. While his senses are never as sharp as when he becomes the monster that lurks under his skin, it is still better than when he had been a mere man. Following the hunger that lingers in the air, another wave of arousal hits his nose and makes his cock twitch painfully beneath the breeches that chafe since he has started wearing them more. 

When it had just been him around his cave, he had spent several days after his night as the wolf just wearing his skin. Settling back into himself. He hadn’t wanted her to be uncomfortable with his nudity. Not when he had shown up at her doorstep bare assed and announcing that he was the wolf that had impregnated her. 

Tovar slips through the wood quietly. His footsteps are sure and light, barely stirring any of the foliage that litters the floor and no sticks breaking give away his position or approach. He moves like the mist through the trees and in the past he would have been proud of his ability to move so undetected. He could have charged more coin for his skills. 

Now it doesn’t matter. Not when his eyes land on her. Widening slightly as his nostrils flare. Both exhaling harshly at the sight and inhaling deeply, reveling in the way that her sweet cunt seems to saturate the very air in the clearing. 

She is lying on the forest floor. He would have feared that she had fallen and hurt herself if it was not for her position. Legs splayed and skirt and shift pushed up over her swollen belly, her fingers between her thighs. Rubbing that little bundle of nerves that was so responsive to his touch the last time he had lapped at it with his tongue. 

His mouth waters, cock throbbing and twitching as he watches. He shouldn’t, just like he shouldn’t have done a lot of things to her, but he doesn’t even blink. Listening to her soft moans, her eyes closed and biting at her lip until it is plump and swollen as she tries to quiet herself. 

Her belly is in the way, making her hitch her legs higher, spreading them wider so that she can reach her cunt like she wants. He swallows harshly, reaching down and squeezing himself through the leather pants as she dips her fingers into her cunt, wishing that he was sliding inside her as he was now. 

He remembers how it felt around the monster’s cock. Oft wondering how she would take him as he is right now. Would she feel as tight, as hot as she had that night when she cried out so loudly that the heavens heard. His groan is quiet, not disturbing her as her hips start to move, aiding her fingers. 

“Pero…” His eyes pop open, expecting to see her staring at him in horror, but her eyes are still shut, brow knitted in concentration as she stuffs her cunt full of her fingers and pump them in and out frantically. “Pero. Fuck- more.” 

She is thinking about him. His heart pounds in his chest and he wants to rush into the clearing and sink into her. To take her again and this time look in her eyes when she cums on his cock. He doesn’t, instead he watches while she whines and fingers her cunt, working herself closer to cumming with every roll of her wrist. 

It’s beautiful, wild and base. His growl surprises him, rumbling out softly and he feels the part of him that he can’t control clawing to the surface, itching to get out just as soon as the fat, waxy moon breaks. 

He doesn’t feel bad about watching her pleasure herself, instead he’s proud that it’s his name that is pouring from her lips in small gasps. That what he is doesn’t make her fear him. He had honestly expected fear or revulsion, but she is different. The idea that it is because she is his mate is one that the werewolf inside him tries to continuously drive home. 

His breathing is uneven as he hears the wetness of her cunt, tasting it in the air as she pulls her fingers out of her little hole and starts rubbing her clit again. Her pants echo in his ears, calling for him and he remembers the sweet sound of her screaming her pleasure both times he had heard them. 

Her cry of pleasure is soft, slow and he knows that she isn’t fulfilled. She had bucked and screamed under his body and then last month - his tongue. The small tremor of her body wasn’t enough of his inner beast demands that he take care of his mate. 

Still, he doesn’t make his presence known, keeping silent as she stands slowly and lowers her skirts down again. Knowing that moment had been for her and he didn’t want to embarrass her. Watching her walk off into the woods towards the cottage. 

As soon as he can no longer hear her, Pero is moving. Rushing out from the trees that had given him cover and over to the patch of mossy floor that she had just lain on, his fingers rip at his breeches. The smell of her cum is overwhelming, filling his nostrils and flooding his senses as he pulls his aching cock out. 

Pero doesn’t even spit in his hand, just starts to furiously stroke his cock, pulling his foreskin down and using the precum that has coated the tip for some slickness. It’s drier than her cunt would be but he doesn’t mind, prefers it as he tugs on it with quick, hurried motions of his hand. So built up it doesn’t take more than a dozen strokes before he is cumming. 

Spilling onto the ground where she had touched herself, Pero marks it. Ropes of cum spurting out onto the moss and the dirt while he growls out her name to himself in the forest. Panting slightly while his hand starts to slow down, making sure every drop of his seed is worked out of his cock and falls into the earth. 

He tucks his softening cock away and wipes away a few drops of his cum on the leaves of a fallen tree before he turns to make his way towards the river. He doesn’t want her to see him come from the same area that she had been in, and wanting to wash properly so the scent of his cum was not covering her sweet smell. Pero huffs to himself as he treks through the forest. The hour of the wolf is creeping closer. 

****

“You must stay inside.” Pero repeats the same words he had spoken last month. Ignoring the way that she huffs and rolls her eyes as her hands stroke the roundness of her belly. “Do not come out until I have changed.” 

“Pero…” His skin quakes when she murmurs his name, remembering how she had cried it just this afternoon when she had cum on her fingers thinking of him. The beast growls, making his eyes flash yellow instead of his normal brown.

His mate falls silent, obviously feeling nervous about what she was going to say. It makes Pero huff slightly, and step closer to her. He doesn’t touch her often, never wanting her to feel uncomfortable with him. To pull away from him. Now though, he reaches out to cup her belly and then her cheek. “I will not risk hurting you or the babe.” He reminds her, his heart racing when she nuzzles slightly into his hand. “Leave your shift off so I do not rip it.” 

The sounds she makes is nearly a whimper, making his stomach clench and his cock twitch in the breeches he still wears. He will strip bare before he starts to change, unwilling to ruin them as his body and bones break and reknit together in the form of the beast. Her breath catches and he nods when he sees that she understands. Her own eyes blowing wide in anticipation and his hand flexes against her face for a moment before his touch softens again. 

She wants it. The knowledge of her lust for him makes him burn, anticipating the change with an eagerness he’s never experienced before. The pain would be worth it, every agonizing second of his transformation will be worth it to have her want him. 

The sun is starting to lower in the sky and he sighs softly before he drops his hand from her cheek. “Go inside.” He orders, not wanting her to see his transformation into the werewolf. He has no idea how it would look to someone, the only living being that has witnessed it is his horse and he cannot speak. His other fear is to somehow hurt her. Even if the beast is protective of her, he is not in complete control of himself. 

He watches as she obeys him. Turning and walking towards her cottage and the safety within. Grunting to himself as he starts to strip down. The absence of the material on his skin feels better and he folds the clothing neatly to set in his camp area. 

Minutes tick by, his heart pounding and he hears her move around inside the cottage. He wants to see what she is doing, see her as she moves about her tasks. Is she stripping down like he is now? Is she waiting until he scratches at the door like he had last month?

Oftentimes the idea of domesticity makes his heart ache. The simple tasks that the two of you manage for the other days of the month and yet it is not enough. He wants to watch you wake up, see you smile at him when your eyes open and to caress the rounded skin of your stomach while you sleep. 

His heart speeds up, sweat breaking out over his skin and the hairs on the back of his neck start to raise. The tell-tale signs that the cursed moon was about to break over the horizon. The beast is eager to be released, to be free to move about in his skin and to guard his mate, believing that he needs to take care of her better. 

The ringing in his ears starts, making him gasp as the first wave of pain crashes over him. Making him understand that the wolf would be tearing through quickly and he looks towards the door one last time through his human eyes, wondering if she is ready for the beast.

****

Sharp claws scratch, slowly to not gouge the wood too deeply, he throws his head back and howls. Proclaiming the woods and everything in them are his once again. Sending out a warning for all that lived in the woods to be wary tonight and seek their dens. 

Except for her. The door opens and his yellow eyes focus on her with the same intensity that he had watched her that first night. His cock already hardening when he sees that she is naked just like he had told her would be best. The tangy scent of her wet cunt makes him lick his chops, but he doesn’t push her to the ground like he had before. He was eager to taste her, but there was more that he wanted. 

He wanted her again. Her stomach is swollen, the evidence of his potent seed showing and making him growl as he leans in, his nose bumping up against the flesh and sniffing the babe that is resting in her womb. It’s growing, nurtured in her body under her breast and his tongue drags over her skin for one moment to taste it before he turns and starts to walk away from her. 

“Pero!” He growls, deep in his chest when she calls out to him, turning his head and seeing her confusion written on her face. It’s heavy enough in the air that the distress is rolling off of her in waves. Making him stand straight and stalk towards her. 

For her part, she doesn’t step back in fear. Her nipples are hard and her breathing heavy, but it’s not fear that has her panting. Her eyes are fixed between his legs where his cock had stirred and hardened. Her pretty lips parted and the whites of her eyes larger than normal. It makes the very human part of the beast imagine her lips around his length. 

That will not happen though. He has a destination in mind. Hands - claws, gently reach for her. Mindful that his mate is delicate, that she would not bear his marks if it could be helped. Her gasp is loud in his sensitive ears as he lift her, her weight nothing as he starts to carry her into the woods. 

He wants her back in that spot. The clearing that he had watched her just this morning. The mossy floor where he had fucked his seed into her womb would see the werewolf again. Not the man who had spilled his release over the ground earlier, but the wolf who had taken her so many moons ago. The howls and screams different this time. 

He moves swiftly, sensing that she is confused but her heartbeat pounds in his ears as if he had one pressed to her chest. It’s fluttering in her chest and her fingers brush over the coarse fur that covers his body. Tentative and then almost stroking it as if she were petting him. Another little rumble vibrates in his chest, pleased that she is curious. 

His cock swings wildly, still hard and the tip leaking as he breaks through the trees and sets her down. It aches and he wants nothing more that to push her to her knees and drive his cock deep into that tight cunt again, howling in pleasure the entire time. 

He won’t though. This time, the need to protect to comfort is greater that his own. He won’t risk harming the babe in her belly with his harsh thrusts. He’ll let her use him if she wishes. 

Laying down in the same spot she had just hours before, the werewolf settles on his back. His cock rests against his stomach and his yellow eyes watch as she bites her lip and flusters at obviously being back in this spot with him. 

“You- why did you bring me here?” She asks quietly, stepping forward and looking around while one hand drifts towards her stomach. She does that a lot, rubbing the babe when she is thinking or going about her day. He can’t answer her with words but his cock twitches and there is another low grumble in his chest. 

She should know why he brought here her. He tasted her cunt last full moon and then left her to rest, hunting for another deer to process when he had changed back into his human form. She had awoken to find him already working, processing the animal to save for the coming snows that were just a month shy of arriving. Soon it would be too cold to be nude out in the forest, and she would be too large with the babe. It was already surprising that it has stayed warm for as long as it has.

He wants to satisfy her needs. Her body screams for pleasure and it’s his duty to provide it for her. Memories of her fingers deep in her cunt makes him growl, his cock leaping up and another thick pearl of liquid seeping down into his fur and darkening it. 

Those eyes drift back down to his cock and his own narrow, pleased that he sees desire pooling in their depth as she licks her lips and inches forward again. “I- “ She doesn’t finish what she is thinking and he just watches her. Waits for her to move forward again. This is her choice.

It doesn’t take long for her to move beside him. Slowly creeping forward and finally touching his side with her leg. He grunts, making her eyes leave his throbbing cock, one that she had felt inside her, and move up to his face. 

He bares his teeth, not to scare her, but show his throat. Stretching it out, he shows her weakness. His most vulnerable place being presented to her as he sniffs the air. The slight crispness in the air added to the scent of lying leaves and bark, mixed with the earthy, loamy forest floor. Mixed with her arousal, now shiny and sliding down the inside of her thighs, it is intoxicating. 

It takes long minutes of staying still, not moving a muscle before she is on her knees beside him. Her fingers flexing as they reach out, freezing in midair before she touches him again. Fingers sinking into his fur and sliding down along the natural grain as she inches towards his cock. 

He growls again, making her freeze but his cock jerks up and she inhales sharply. Looking up at him again. “I- I have thought about this.” She confesses, making his chest swell slightly with pride. He knows she has, but admitting it to the wolf is brave. His mate is brave, taking him like she had and then allowing him to care for her. Now this. “Wondered what the cock that split me open looked like.” 

He grunts, watching her carefully and nudging his chin forward. She can explore if she wants, touch him however she wishes and use the cock that is hard for her pleasure. His growl turns to a low whine those fingers wrap around him. Tentative at first and then firmer, squeezing him and stroking up and down his overheated skin covering the stiff length. 

Still he doesn’t move. Letting her move at her own pace. Even if he huffs, bracing his body to attack her to flip her over and mount her again. His teeth snap together and his claws dig into the earth underneath him. 

Her moan at his restraint makes him whine, desperate for her hot cunt around him. Or even allowing him to lick her again. Something to satisfy this ache that is clawing inside him and making him want to bay at the moon. 

The wolf snarls when her leg lifts, swinging over his torso and sliding down to where his cock butts up against her ass. She doesn’t freeze this time, too needy to be fearful now that he hasn’t moved while she stroked his cock beyond the slight shift of his hips that had thrilled her. 

When she lifts her hips up, the wolf tenses again, anticipating that moment where the thick, slick head of his cock slides through her folds. He’s larger than her, he could cover her and overpower her at any moment but right now he watches as she lines him up and slowly starts to sink down on his thick, monstrous cock. 

Her moan fills his ears, panted out with every inch of flesh that she takes. Her cunt lips are stretched wide and he sees that it looks like she couldn’t possibly take him. But she can, he knows that she has and it was far less gentle that right now. He doesn’t thrust up even though instinct demands that he does. The need to protect his mate overrules it. 

Only when she is fully sat on his cock does he howl. Loud and long, his howl rings through the trees and the forest for all to hear. Calling out that he has been claimed this time, rather than being claimed. 

Growling and snarling, he watches her move. Lifting and lowering herself on his cock under her own power. Wanting to have him inside her. Wanting the wolf. 

Her cries start soft, pinched with slight pain as his girth stretches her out. Slowly getting louder as her inner muscles relax, the frown between her brows smoothing out and her mouth dropping open while her hands brace on his chest, tangling into his hair. 

His mate is riding him. Grumbling out happily while his hips shift up just once, making her bounce and another loud moan ripping out of her throat. Rocking back and thrusting her tits out while her belly stands out between them. Still he doesn’t take over. The monster content to let her use him, craving the hot clench of her cunt, the slickness of her cunt when she cums. 

She bounces on him, her own pace getting rougher and faster. Gasping out mewls that fill the air and sound desperate while her fingers dig into his flesh. It would look incredible if the wolf didn’t know that they were alone in the forest for miles. A large grey werewolf on his back while a smaller human fucks herself on his cock. He growls and watches as she reaches up to gently cup her breasts. 

Slowly his claws slide toward her skin, careful not to slice into her as they grip her body. Holding onto her hips as he starts to take over. She’s getting tired, her pace faltering and he can feel her cunt fluttering while she gallops towards an orgasm. 

His thrusts take over, making her wail out and nearly collapses down onto his chest. Only her burgeoning belly prevents it, but he doesn’t stop. Feeling her cunt lock down around his cock and flood it with heat and slick while he snarls loudly, rocking up into her harder. Instinct taking over and the need to cum all that is present in his mind. 

Feeling her shudder around him while his own need sharpens, panting out snarls and growling in exquisite pleasure for another have dozen thrusts before he is bucking up and holding her tight, another howl - softer this time - dragged out of him in the same pulsing tempo of his cock twitching. 

Flooding her already occupied womb with another torrent of his seed, the wolf huffs. He had reached his breaking point, giving into the desires of the monster and the human - although he tried to deny it. Pleased that he had satisfied his mate. 

#pedro pascal #the wolf series #werewolf pero #werewolf!tovar #werewolf au #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar smut #pero tovar fanfiction #tovar x reader #tovar x you #tovar x f!reader #tovar smut #tovar imagine #tovar fanfiction #pero tovar the great wall #tw non con #tw dubcon #tw monsterfucking #tw pregnancy #tw noncon

[psychedelic-ink]

kinktober '22 ║ ⅠⅠ

pairing: pero tovar x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 1.9k

summary: despite the fact that you shouldn't, you can't help but continue to visit the prisoner that you still didn't know the name of. An unexpected visitor shows up.

warnings: dry humping, squirting, dirty talk, pero being a little shit as always

a/n: this is part of the ego & black powder series, you don't need to read the first part to read this but it'll add more context if you do! the masterlist isn't out yet but I'll be getting to it soon 💜

part one | series playlist | taglist form | series masterlist

You’ve been sick before. 

You got poisoned, stabbed, got the flu, woke up with a sore throat– You hated it, for sure, but you knew that eventually those misfortunes would pass, one way or another. 

But this isn’t the case when it comes to him. 

Ever since your little…relief session with him, he’s been quiet, suspiciously so. You hadn’t expected him to honor the agreement you forced him to make. The silence irritates you. It shouldn’t but it does. He’s like sand. You remember finding it everywhere after coming back from training when you were a kid. No matter how many times you bathed yourself it didn’t matter, the sand would still be there. It would be on your bed, the floor, still lodged deep in your scalp. 

And that’s exactly what he feels like. No matter what you do, the ghost of him lingers across your skin. He visits you when you’re alone in your bed, touching yourself, remembering how his cock tasted on your tongue, and in those moments you can swear you hear him laughing at you, teasing you for being weak. 

Everytime you enter his cell, you want him to say something, anything. You never thought that you would miss the sound of his voice so much. 

And just like the days before, when you open the heavy door to his cell to feed him, he’s silent, only his eyes following you as you move. You bring the bowl of soup to his lips, he promptly opens up and allows you to feed him. When you see the pink of his tongue, you’re reminded of how soft it felt against your fingers.

“I am done, princesa,” 

You blink, trying to comprehend what he just said. Your gaze falls to the empty bowl that is still pressed against his lips, swallowing, you swiftly pull it back, cheeks feeling warm under his intense gaze. When you continue to stand there, frozen after hearing his voice, his lips twist into a sly smile, eyes shimmering with amusement. 

“Have you been lonely?”

Your heart sinks into your chest. The way he makes you feel is indescribable, confusing. You’re happy, yet you also want to rip your heart out and throw it at his feet. 

“No,” you whisper, eyes looking down. “Why would I feel lonely, I have my comrades,” 

He scoffs at that, smirk shifting into a wide grin. “Comrades?” he repeats gleefully. “I barely hear you talk to any of them. Do not lie to me, I know you were lonely before I came into your life, and you are lonely still,”

The words sting. He’s right. He says it nonchalantly, as if he’s just stating a fact. Despite being a prison guard for as long as you can remember, you never felt like you belonged. The men don’t enjoy you being there, it doesn't matter if you are good at what you do. It doesn’t matter to them if some of their commanders are women. You’re not that high up in the food chain to gain their respect, and despite knowing some of these men since you were a child, they always give you dirty looks, mumbling, muttering. It always happens behind your back. To your face they act normal, laugh with you, eat with you, complain about the disgusting men that lay on the other side of the iron gates. 

But none of it matters when they prefer you gone. 

“You must be tense…” 

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. It’s clear to you that he wants to say more, instead he bites into his bottom lip instead, tongue licking over the dents. The air between the two of you crackles with unspoken words, the hairs across your body lifting at the ghost-like sensation. You swallow, heat building between your legs. No matter what you did your fingers never felt enough after tasting him. Every night you wonder how his cock would feel buried deep in your cunt. Placing the bowl in its place, you eye the closed door before walking up to him, standing only an inch away. 

“What are you saying?” you whisper, you can feel your pupil diapering as you look at him, gaze raking over his jaw and stopping at his throat. You want to bite into him. “What are you proposing?” 

“I propose–” he stops to swallow, his voice thick with want. “You relax and take what you want for a change,” 

The words send a shrill, unsettling feeling up your spine, it settles in your bones. “Take what you want” as if it was ever that simple. You don’t know how to answer him, or what he actually means, until the chains rattle and he spreads his legs. Your eyes follow the movement, hunger spreading within your gut. 

Hands shaking, you take another step, balancing yourself by bracing the wooden pillory, his head between your hands. His back is flushed against the stone cold wall, looking up to him, worry settles across your face. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask, chewing the inside of your cheek. 

“I can barely feel it,” 

He grins, pushing up his thigh at the best of his capabilities. You shiver at the sudden pressure, brows knit together in concentration as you experimentally grind your hips down on to him. Nails scratch the wood as you repeat the movement, a jolt of electricity shooting up your spine. The flimsy trouser he was given to wear barely hides the muscles underneath, he’s strong and steady underneath you, which prompts you to move faster, your breathing becoming uneven. 

Five minutes barely pass and you feel absolutely soaked. You managed to angle yourself in a way that each time you grind down, your puffy clit is caught against the shaft of his thigh. Your moans become louder, more frantic. With the corner of your eye you see him smiling, it annoys you, it annoys you even more when he tries to kiss you. Not slowing down your hips, you pull away. 

“No kissing,” you hiss. “You’re a thief,” 

He laughs at that, head falling back against the pillory as he watches you desperately rut against him. 

“Princesa,” he says, trying to level with you. “I can feel how wet you are. The fabric is shade darker, is a kiss really where you draw the line?”

“Yes,” you breath out, arms shaking. “A kiss is something personal. It requires feelings. Which is something you wouldn’t understand,”

He laughs again, but this time with less humor. You’re too dazed to care, your head falls against his chest, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Everything feels so damn wet. Heat builds between your legs, the coil tightening as the roll of your hips becomes sloppy. Your chest tightens. 

“That’s it,” he purrs, lips dangerously near your ear. “You are so wet, have you been thinking about this for long? Cum for me, want to feel it all,” 

You clench around nothing, you want to look up but refuse to do so. Instead, you furiously shake your head into his chest. You bite back your moans, everything is so intense. He continues to whisper utter filth into your ears, telling you how good your wetness feels, how it could fill the rivers. It’s too much. The tone of his voice is too much. 

You cum with a cry, silencing yourself by biting his chest. You vaguely hear him hiss but you’re too far gone to actually care. You’re positive that you black out for a second, cunt gushing around nothing as the intensity of your orgasm continues to cascade over you. When you’re done, you nearly fall, barely able to pull back. He’s smiling as your gaze travels down, seeing the mess you made. 

“Good girl,” he rasps. “Now show me,” 

You blink in confusion, “Show you what?”

He licks his lips, his eyes out to devour you. The tingles of your orgasm returns, you’re not satisfied with just grinding against his leg. 

“Show me the core of the mess. Bend over and let me see that beautiful pussy of yours,” 

You still, a sudden flush of embarrassment heating up your skin. Chest stuttering, you notice the thick outline of his cock, a small dot of wetness staining the front of the fabric. Then, with a sudden bravery, you lower your own trousers, turn and bend over, just like he said. 

He groans at the mere sight of you, chains rattling as he thrusts into the air. 

“Spread yourself for me,” 

Reaching out, with two fingers you spread your folds. You don’t dare to say anything, you fear something might happen as soon as you open your mouth. The chains rattle again. You squeeze your eyes shut, desperately trying to calm your raging heart. It’s deadly silent now, you can feel yourself dripping. 

In the end it isn’t you talking that breaks the spell, it’s a series of footsteps that’s heading your way. 

“Fuck!” you gasp, pulling your trousers up. At the same time you run towards the water bowl and fill it with water. You can hear him chuckling behind you. 

“I told you you were mine. And now our real story begins, mi vida,” 

Before you can pry and ask what he means, the door opens. The water sloshes inside the bowl as you turn, some of it spilling over the bowl and wetting your fingers. You look absolutely dumbfounded. A man you don’t know and a guard walks in, you remember his name being Jungfeng. He eyes you suspiciously, but he’s quick to shrug it off as he leaves you and the new arrival alone in the cell. 

The stranger ignores you completely, an amused glance appearing as he stares at the prisoner. 

“Tovar,” he says, voice full of humor. “So, how’s life without me?”

Tovar. That must be his last name. It feels odd to know. 

By the air alone you can tell that these two have known each other for a while. Tovar sheepishly grins, moving a bit. His eyes flicker to you, lips curling up. 

“A little slow,” he answers, eyes still locked to yours. 

Finally the stranger turns, eyes wide as he finally notices you. His eyes briefly scans your body, observes your expression and turns back to Tovar. 

“Seems like it,” he grins, you feel heated within the stifling cell. You want to leave but you can’t. 

“You’re a hero after all,” Tovar says, your presence forgotten. He looks away then back to his friend. “So what are they giving you for all of your troubles–” 

You zone out, not wanting to hear the rest. With the way your heart is beating, you doubt you would be able to hear them properly anyway. He’s going to leave and you’re going to be alone, all over again. It was nice while it lasted, however, you wouldn’t mind if it had lasted a little bit longer. You’re not sure who this newcomer is, but his mere presence makes rage bubble inside of you. 

“Are you coming, princesa?” 

You jump at the loud voice. Looking up to Tovar, you blink before shaking your head. The stranger is amidst freeing his right arm, Tovar grins at your confusion. 

“I said would you like to join us,” he, you can only assume, repeats himself. “It would be good to have someone who knows the land after the cavalry leaves us,” 

“Me?” you say, your mouth spitting cotton. “Come with you?”

“Yes, it’ll be fun,” 

When he stands, actually stands, only an inch away from you. You feel lightheaded. He’s much taller than you anticipated, his presence towering and intimidating. His gaze is playful, lips twisted in an amused smile. You can tell he’s enjoying himself. He reeks of danger and heartbreak. 

So it surprises you when you accept his offer. 

He doesn’t seem at all surprised. 

kinktober tags: @tusk89 , @amneris21 , @witchisenpai , @pedrito-friskito , @tom-whore-dleston , @lola766 , @batdarkladyvampir , @dindjarinswhore , @dnxgma , @eyelessfaces , @queenofthefaceless , @softtdaisy , @saintlike78 , @timpletance , @xdaddysprincessxx , @stardust-galaxies , @spacecowboyhotch

ego and black powder tags: @/tusk89 , @/amneris21 , @/pedrito-friskito , @/batdarkladyvampir , @/dindjarinswhore , @/timpletance , @/xdaddysprincessxx

#pero tovar fanfic #pero tovar x you #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero tovar x f!reader #kinktober day two #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #kinktober '22 #the great wall fic #the great wall fanfiction #ego and black powder series

[grogusmum]

FEBRUARY: In The Belly

A Hedge Witch and the Mercenary Story for Imbolc

PERO X F!READER (nicknamed reader)

WORD COUNT: 1700ish

RATED: M

SUMMARY: This is a one-shot for The Hedge Witch and the Mercenary series, though, I don't think you have to read the entire series to enjoy this fic. If you care to read the series here is a link to the series masterlist

Pero and his hedge witch, Mariposa are ready for Imbolc and for the babies conceived on last Beltane to arrive.

WARNINGS: pregnancy, beginnings of labor

A/N: Here is the February installment of The Wheel of the Year, my theme for @yearofcreation2023. Organized by the effervescent @oonajaeadira and @writeforfandoms February brings us the funny little holiday of Imbolc, living on today for non-pagans as Groundhog Day, Candlemas, and St Brigit's Day. Very like Groundhog Day it is all about the anticipation of spring- including prognosticating when spring will arrive. Included is a Gaelic proverb from Scotland.

Pero returned to the cottage, after stacking newly split wood under the shelter he built in the fall, arms full of firewood. He was proud of the structure, not only for its sturdiness but the idea- close to the home easy to get, even in poor weather. Keeping the crickets and other insects outside all the while keeping it dry.

“It is still light out,” he remarked, shutting the wind outside the door.

“So it is!” Your belly was full and round, the rite of Beltane having done its work. “Spring is truly on the way, husband.”

“The lambs will be here any day,” Pero grunted as he dumped the wood on the hearth. 

“This is good, we'll be able to milk the ewe and make cheese.” You said with a sigh, food stores were low and three feet of snow sat resolute on the ground. “We need to give an offering to Brigid at the well tonight, for tomorrow is Imbolc, my love.”

“I will do this, Mariposa. You, too, are due any day.”

You raised an eyebrow- 

“Pero you have cleared a path to the well, I can get there.”

Pero came to your rocking chair, placed a slow kiss on the top of your head then knelt before you. His hand found your belly and a kick from within responded. You both smiled looking down as if you could see the culprit. 

“Mi hermosa brujita, mother of my children,” Pero placed open mouth lingering kiss on yours; it made you ache for more, “you are your own worst midwife, she has told you you must be in bed, not even in your chair, let alone at the well in the snow.” 

You rolled your eyes, and let Pero help you up, you were big, you and the midwife both knew there was more than one child to be born, though no one would have guessed three. You laughed as you waddled to your cozy tick. Pero set you up so you could sit, wrapping a wool blanket around you and covering you in fur. Then he gave your belly a kiss and rested his head there, murmuring sweet nothings to the little ones, in his native tongue. Then his dark eyes met yours-

“Do you have everything ready?”

“Aye,” you sighed, “All but the wash tub.”

“ I will bring it in so we may start to fill it, Mariposa,” Pero smiled. “But you will stay right where you are.”  This was his favorite part of the Rites to Brigid. When you had told him that you would bathe each other, he was concerned that it was to be a sponge bath as it was on Beltane, the cottage was warm, but one finds every draft when standing undressed and wet, it would have to be rushed. But you assured him you would use the beautiful tub he had traded for in the fall. 

“Very well,” you smiled knowing Pero loved caring for you.

You finished weaving a straw Brigid’s cross and a dolly from the bed while Pero brought in the tub and snow to heat over the fire, it would take some time, but well worth it.

Pero listened carefully to all your directions, he took the basket full of items he would need to take outside, and tried not to show any nervousness about doing the rituals himself. Of course, you did your best to instill confidence, telling him you had complete faith in him. And if the faeries did not turn him into a boar already, they were not going to tonight. 

He began by hanging the cross over the door, and with a quick look back and a finger pointed at you to stay put, he set off. Needless to say, you snuck out of bed only a moment or two after he left, but only to move the heated water to the tub and place more melted snow on the hook arm in the fire. Then you set the cradle Pero had built next to the hearth and slipped back in bed. You picked up some of your handwork and waited.

Pero has very specific instructions. First, he laid a bundle of slit logs and sticks on his ax yard stump - an offering for Cailleach (kəˈlʲax) the crone who is nearing the end of her reign-

“For your hearth Cailleach, may you rest and allow for an early end to winter.”   

Pero approached the well, looking around as if to make sure he was alone. Then walked sunwise around it. The blessing he learned only a murmur at first but gained strength as he went-

“Thig an nathair as an toll

Là donn Brìde,

Ged robh trì troighean dhen t-sneachd

Air leac an làir.”

(The serpent will come from the hole

On the brown Day of Brigid,

Though there should be three feet of snow

On the flat surface of the ground.)

keeper of the flame

“Brigid, blazing in the darkness of winter,

We honor you, light bringer,

healer; exalted one.”

He set out the loaf of bread with honey and a cup of mead, then continued -

“Bless us now, hearth mother,

that we may be as fruitful as the very soil,

and our lives as abundant.”

Then Pero left the path, stepping up on the deep snow. He settled his weight finding the snow can hold him, only sinking a few inches. He walked over to the sleeping apple tree, one of the reasons you and Pero chose this spot for your home, and tied a strip of linen to a limb.

Then clasped his hands and said his own prayer.

“Please.” Pero began, his voice hitched slightly, “please keep my mariposa safe when she bares our babies. Brigid, Good Neighbors… God- whomever, all of you…”

Pero could feel his ire going up, transforming his fear into anger at whatever powers might be listening as if he could hear them making excuses not to grant his plea. But wisely, he ends his “prayer” quickly as he was close to giving them an ultimatum. Instead, he took a breath and gave his thanks for you, this life he never thought he deserved, and the babies that were to come. His last task was to hang up some clothes for blessing, but before he moved to hang them he heard the low of the pregnant ewe, not in the stable but by the well reaching with her mouth for the bread.

“Mama, what are you doing here?” Pero looked around, wondering how she could have gotten out there so suddenly, as he approached the sheep. After all, she was almost as wide as she was long. The sheep waited, her calm eyes on him. 

“This is no food for sheep, sí?” he admonished. 

She bleated her own admonishments. 

Pero looked around, thinking of all you had taught him of the old gods, of the fae, and he took a piece of the honeyed bread and gave it to her.

“There you are, mama. Now let's get you back where you can rest.” He led her back to the stable and added some straw to her bed before heading back to the house. He heard some voices and something moved in his periphery. He did his best not to smirk, but to his ears, they seemed pleased. 

Finally, he returned to the warmth of the house, and you- his home.

He swung open the door, sure he would catch you out of bed, but you looked at him innocently from the bedstead.

Pero made no mention of the water he could see had been moved, nor the stool with a pitcher, washcloth, and soap. The two lengths of linen from Beltane were now warming by the fire. He finished the job, filling the large tub with melted hot snow and adding more. 

After the water was ready he came to the bed. 

“Come, mi vida,” he said his voice low. He helped you out of bed and out of your shift, and you helped him out of his shirt and unlaced his britches. The firelight set a warm glow on your bodies, Pero wondered if he would ever stop being in awe of yours.

As you stepped into the tub, you let out a sigh, Pero settled you in before climbing in himself. His eyes on you were worshipful, he loved every change your body has gone through, your belly rounding like the moon, your breasts swelling with pre-milk to nourish your babies, his babies. Our babies. He knew he would love your body after, he could not ever imagine not wanting his hands on you all the time. Pero pulled you forward so he could tuck in behind you. 

You reached for the small pitcher and pour a thick liquid into the tub, as Pero reached for the washcloth and soap he began washing your shoulders, neck, and back.

“What potion is that, Mariposa?”

“Ewe’s first milk, sacred to Brigid, good for purifying baths,” you said simply.

“That reminds me, the ewe was by the well.”

“Matilda? When?” You made a small splash as you turned to look at him.

“Yes, she just appeared after I said the blessing,” Pero said with as much curiosity as one might have if they saw the baker outside his shop in the village. 

“Auspicious,” you mused, smiling.

“I gave her some bread,” Pero began washing your front, his arm wrapping around you. You could hear he was pleased with himself.

“Good,” you smiled, looking over your shoulder at him, “Brigid will be pleased.” Your kiss on his cheek was interrupted by a small moan as he paid special attention to your breasts. Circling gently as he knew they were tender at this point. He kissed your neck, and your moan turned to a groan. This sent a zing of excitement down his spine. His kiss turned to a bite, but you stiffened in a way that did not seem right. You were still a stone -

“Marimosa?” 

“I think it is time, Pero. You are soon to become a papa!” you smiled.

Your hands went to your belly, and Pero knew. You had talked to Pero, and so did Yedda, the midwife, assuring him that at the very start of labor, you had time for him to ride to Yedda’s village and back. He was sorry you did not have time to enjoy your bath, but he knew what to do. 

THANK YOU FOR READING! 💚 HAPPY IMBOLC!

If you enjoyed this, you can find more Pero and my writing in general on my masterlist and if you would like to be tagged in future work, please go to my taglist form.

#pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar #hedge witch and the mercenary #imbolc fic #wheel of the year series #wheel of the year #year of creation! #pero tovar x you

[sirowsky]

Driving Mr. Tovar

Chapter 1 - Don't Get Comfortable

Description: We’re introduced to Reader, as you drive out of the city to meet the reclusive billionaire Samuel Rose, hoping to go to work for him at his estate.

Author’s Note: I chose to make reader in her 40’s because I wanted her to have history to bring to the table. This is a slow burn romance but will feature no pregnancies/babies.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero x female reader, cursing, slight angst, Pero being mildly threatening. Word count: 3231 (335 words added) Masterlist (this story) Author’s Masterlist

   You were never late. That was a fact of your existence. You always started too early, just in case, and your mind was always ten steps ahead, to make sure you didn’t miss anything.    This morning, you’d gotten up at 4 am, to have time to do your yoga, go for your run, have breakfast, shower and get ready, and manage the hour-long drive from your apartment to the estate, all before 7 am.

   In truth, you hated getting up early, and you absolutely despised morning workouts. It took time for your body to wake up properly, which made it feel a bit like trying to run whilst drunk. Nothing responded the way it was supposed to, and that put you off balance and made your body feel heavy and sluggish.    You’d started the pre-run yoga routine in order to make sure your body was at least moderately awake by the time your feet hit the pavement, and it did help, but you really didn’t enjoy it.

   So, why go through all that trouble?    Because you thrived on discipline and descended into complete disarray without it. You might have hated it, but you needed it to stay sane. And quite possibly, alive.

   You’d spent many long years making your way through the workweeks on caffeine and little else, and over time, it had worn you down to the point where your health had become an issue at just 40 years old.    Your doctor had urged you to make some changes to your life, starting with your job, to get your internal stress under control, and he was also the one who had suggested you force your body into new routines.

   You’d always been good at taking orders, as well as organizing and planning (as long as it wasn’t for yourself), so when he’d made it clear that if you wanted to live past 60, his admonishments shouldn’t be considered suggestions, you’d obeyed.    You’d been a personal assistant to the owner of a bank for the better part of a decade, and she’d come to rely on you to keep her life outside of work on track. So much so, that her teenage children had been heartbroken to find out that you’d quit.    You’d practically raised them.

   But you did want to live to see retirement one day, and you’d begun to search for other jobs, trying to find something you might be good at that wouldn’t require you to keep another person’s entire life under minute control, whilst burying and disregarding your own.    And that was how you’d ended up driving to an interview at the crack of dawn, in the middle of nowhere.

   The application had been for a live-in driver but didn’t specify any more than that.    But it was way out in the country, a lone estate on a huge property owned by a tech-genius, and you were a good driver, even if you’d never contemplated doing it for a living before.

   You arrived at the huge, locked gates, nestled into the twenty-foot-high stonewalls that surrounded the main property, fifteen minutes early, and you were about to park the car a bit to the side while you waited for your appointed time. But just moments after you got there, the gates begun to swing open.    No one was there to ask for ID or check your car for anything dangerous, you were just silently invited to enter.

   This made you wonder two things: firstly, what piece of advanced technology had already determined your identification, and where was it? And second, what type of weaponry was being aimed at you, right now?

   You drove inside, and the massive iron gates closed behind you, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit like a mouse in a trap. But then, that was probably the point.    A sharply dressed man was standing by the foot of the front steps to the main house, directing you to park right in front of him, before opening the door for you as soon as you came to a stop.

   “Good morning, miss,” he greeted politely.

   He was probably in his mid-fifties, tall and just a bit plump, with an air about him that suggested he was at least somewhat trained as a butler, although he seemed more like someone that had been groomed by life, than school.

   “Good morning, sir,” you answered. “I’m a bit early.”

   “That’s fine. Mr. Rose appreciates the respectfulness and consideration for his time. He’s having breakfast at the moment, but he won’t mind starting the meeting early.    I’ll show you to him. My name is Coulson.”

   You gave him your name in return and thanked him as he led you up the stairs and held the front door for you.    The main house was… huge. Some twenty rooms, you guessed. And while the outside design of it gave the impression that it was old but perfectly reconditioned, you knew that Mr. Rose had had the place built just ten years earlier, and the inside of it clearly reflected that.

   The entry-hall was massive, with a large black granite staircase winding its way up to the second floor, taking up most of the rear half of the hall. And the placement of the rooms, the size and shape of them, all indicated that a modern designer had been involved with the architecture. It was efficiently designed and tailored to fit the needs of its owner. And most of the materials were modern and sustainable.    It was beautiful.

   Coulson led you through the left side of the house, past what appeared to be a smaller ballroom, and then a dining room that connected to the kitchen, in which Mr. Rose was indeed sitting, having breakfast and reading a newspaper.    He was younger than you, mid-thirties, and average built but with an impeccable posture to help him carry the tailored suit he wore. His skin was almond colored, and his black hair was cropped short, simple and efficient, and the only jewelry he wore was a watch of a brand you didn’t recognize.

   “Your seven-o-clock appointment, sir,” the butler announced while gesturing for you to approach.

   “Thank you, Coulson,” Mr. Rose replied to him.

   The butler just nodded and left, the same way you’d come in, and Mr. Rose gestured to a chair opposite him at his small breakfast-table.

   “Welcome. How was the drive from the city?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested even in such a bland subject.

   “It was good, thank you,” you answered, before trying to find a more rewarding reply. “I had plenty of time to go over just how many ways to screw up an interview, so if I still do, I’ll really have to kick myself.”

   He chuckled a little and folded the newspaper away.

   “I’m sure you have some questions. Feel free to ask them.”

   “Um, well… When your assistant called me to set the meeting, I kind of expected to get some more information on what the job really is, but she said that I’d have to ask you about that.”

   “First off, I don’t have an assistant, the woman you spoke to is my housekeeper, Laura. You’ll meet her later,” he explained, making you wonder why he would introduce you to the staff before even hiring you.

   “Secondly, the application was quite vague,” he carried on, “but that was intentional. I didn’t want to narrow the applicants too much.    I’ve learned that merits on paper do very little to tell you which person is going to fit any given position, so I like to keep the options open.    Also, this job is going to be… challenging. I doubt that any previous merits would do anyone much good with this, although I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have some experience with assisting… shall we say demanding individuals.”

   “That’s pretty much all I’ve ever done,” you conceded. “But I get the feeling we’re not talking about you, here?”

   “No. But before we get to that, I’d like to talk a little more about you," he redirected, and you were instantly self-conscious. "From your records, I can see that you’ve been a very diligent worker your entire adult life. There’s nothing but praise for you from your previous employers. In fact, most of them cited you as being irreplaceable.    So, why the sudden change?”

   “Because it turns out that I’ve been a little too diligent. Sacrificing not just my personal time and social life to my jobs, but my health as well,” you explained. “I need a change of pace and if it comes with a change of scenery too, that’s probably just for the better.”

   “I see,” he said after a brief pause. “What about family?”

   “I have a sister, but we’re not close, we never really have been.”

   He stayed quiet and just studied you for a few beats, before he spoke again.

   “Okay, any other questions?” he asked, making you mentally start preparing for the end of this conversation, since that was what it sounded like you were heading for, and no three-minute interview had ever landed you a job before.

   “Just about the security of this place,” you shrugged, “but I doubt you’d wanna share that with me until you’ve decided if I’m hired or not.”

   “Oh, you are,” he said without pause, as if it was completely obvious. “Assuming you’ll still want the job once you’ve learned what it really is.”

   You stared dumbly at him, feeling quite confused, since you’d just dismissed your own chances completely.

   “I-I am…?”

   “That surprises you?” he asked, looking somewhat bemused.

   “Well, yeah. I mean, I assumed you’d have other applicants, other interviews to do before you made up your mind. Holy shit…” you breathed, truly staggered at this turn of events, while the billionaire across from you merely smiled softly and shook his head slowly a couple of times.

   “It’s rare that I like a person on paper. Even rarer that I continue to like them after thoroughly researching them, and downright unique that my interest in them only grows as I meet them.    You weren’t the only applicant, but you are the only one being interviewed,” he explained calmly.

   “Oh,” you said, genuinely struggling to find any actual words to offer in return. “Sorry, I don’t know how to respond to that.”

   “That’s okay,” he said with a small chuckle. “And about the security, there’s plenty of it, but it’s specifically designed not to be easily detectable, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t share the details of it.    But, sufficed to say, I knew exactly what time you’d be arriving.”

   “I assumed so. And I also assume I was allowed onto the premises without any obvious screening, because there are security measures in place that wouldn’t have allowed me to escape, had I come here with malicious intent?” you shared your observations, and that earned you a fuller smile from him.

   “Exactly right. You’re gonna fit right in here, if you chose to stay.”

   “You don’t seem very confident that I’ll want to…” you prodded, and his smile went from mildly impressed, to a bit annoyed.

   Affectionate, but annoyed.

   “Yes, well I suppose I can’t put it off much longer,” he sighed. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

   He got up and led you back to the front entrance, and outside where he walked along the right side of the house, around the corner and onto a gravel path that led to a smaller side-building, nestled in between four big old oak-trees.    It was small compared to the main building, but it was still a full-sized house. One floor, probably four or five rooms, plus the kitchen, and a big porch at the back.

   Mr. Rose knocked on the door, and a muffled male voice called for him to enter. He nodded at you to follow him inside, and then started chatting as he walked into the kitchen.

   “Morning, Tov. How’s your hand?”

   You stepped into the hall, and just a few feet in, the living room opened up to your left, while the kitchen was a little further in, to the right, past the coat-hangers and closets in the hall.    You stopped to admire the beautifully furnished living room, with a big fireplace taking center stage, while the tv was surpassed to the right wall.    There were positively packed bookcases as well as glass cabinets filled with movies and LP-records, on every wall of the room, and the sofa and the two pulpy-looking armchairs just screamed leisurely comfort.

   “Fine. Don’t tell me you came down so early to check on a few cuts, jefe.”

   The grumpy, deep voice, with a thick Spanish accent, snapped you out of your reverie, and you quickly followed the sound over to the kitchen.    You came into view behind Mr. Rose just as the unknown man turned from the kitchen counter, grasping a coffee-mug and bringing it to his mouth.

   “No, I came to introduce you to your driver,” Mr. Rose declared.

   The mug froze a few inches from the man’s lips as he saw you, and when he heard his boss declare who you were, his arm dropped all the way down to his waist, and a downright scary looking scowl came over his scarred face.

   “Hijo de puta…” the man spat between tight jaws.

   “Tov, we talked about this.”

   “And I told you: I don’t need help,” the man snapped, getting angrier by the second, but Mr. Rose took it in stride.

   “Since you refuse to get a driver’s license, you need a driver, you know that. I can’t keep sparing people from other positions to help you run errands.”

   “Errands? I do not run errands, I do what must be done.”

   “As do I,” Mr. Rose returned, and there was suddenly an authority to his voice that made the other man hold his tongue. “This is not a debate, Tov. I’m your boss and I’m telling you – this woman is your driver from now on.”

   He gave the grumpy man your name, at which point he turned away from you, as though he could make you disappear if he just couldn’t see you.    Mr. Rose seemed to stifle an eyeroll as he angled himself more towards you.

   “I apologize for this man’s less than polite behavior, but if it’s of any comfort to you, he treats everyone like this.    His name is Pero Tovar, and he’s what you might call the manager of this estate. His primary function is to take care of my horses, but he seems to just generally know everything that goes on here, from who the gardener’s dating, to which one of the housekeeper’s granddaughters just took up ballet.”

   Mr. Tovar was busying himself with needlessly rearranging and fiddling with the things on his counter, anything to not have to turn around and acknowledge your presence.

   “I have eyes and ears. This is all it takes,” he grumbled, but his employer just huffed at him.

   “Honestly, I haven’t ruled out the possibility that he’s some form of sorcerer. But he’s also a skilled fighter, and his attitude of just not giving a shit if people like him, makes him good at weeding out bullshit. Which is just one of the reasons why I like to bring him along as my personal security from time to time.    Now, since he doesn’t trust anyone else to tend to the horses, he’s in charge of making sure they have everything they need, which means weekly trips into town to restock on their feeds, treats and anything else he feels that they are lacking.    And since he meddles in all other aspects of this estate as well, he usually ends up running errands for Coulson, the gardener, the cook and the housekeeper too.”

   Mr. Tovar still had his back to you, and he grumbled something you couldn’t interpret, but Mr. Rose just ignored him and kept going.

   “The problem is that he keeps borrowing people from my security team in order to run said errands, which was fine a year ago when I didn’t have that much need for them, but my circumstances have gotten more delicate, and I need them where they are.    Obviously, that’s where you come in. And just so we’re clear: Tov is one of very few people I trust, and that makes him invaluable to me.    So, in addition to driving him anywhere he wants to go, I’m expecting you to look after him, however much he protests, since he’s hopeless at taking care of himself.    I have a room ready for you here, and I’d prefer it if you lived here while you work for me, even if it does mean sharing house with a brute.”

   Right. Okay. This was so not what you’d expected.    But, despite his gruffness, the Spaniard had something appealing about him. He was scarred and troubled, and inherently distrustful, as well as surprisingly easily offended for someone who was obviously held in the very highest regard by his employer.    Still, he clearly took great pride in his work, and that was something that you understood, and respected.    You squared your shoulders.

   “Thank you for your trust, Mr. Rose. I won’t let you down.”

   He seemed relieved that you didn’t just turn around and run away, making you wonder if there had been others that had.    He thanked you in return, and told you to take the day to get familiar with everything, before he said something in Spanish to his friend, and then excused himself to get started on his workday.    Allowing you and the brute a chance to hash it out.

   “Just to be clear, Mr. Tovar; I won’t expect or ask you to like me, only that you respect that I have a strong work-ethic, just like you.    I like to earn my keep, and I’m not afraid of hard work.”

   He scoffed as he finally turned back towards you, to thoroughly look you over, head to toe and back again.

   “A woman as soft as you, has not known hard work.”

   “How would you know how soft I am?” you challenged.

   “Your hands,” he replied with a sneer. “They are smooth, not used to toiling, no dirt under your nails. You are soft. No probado.”

   Oh, was that how it was gonna be? Fine. You could play this game too.

   “I might not have any battle-scars that you can see, but there’s more than one way to know hardship.    You know nothing more about me than I do about you, so how about we get the pissing contest over with: Since you’re the only dick present, you’re automatically the biggest one.    I am in no conceivable way any threat to you, so just let me work, okay?”

   He just glared at you, still with something conniving in the depths of his eyes.

   “Would you at least show me which room is mine, so I don’t wander into yours uninvited?” you asked with a mildly exasperated sigh.

   He finally sipped his coffee, then pushed off the kitchen counter and headed off towards the bedrooms.    He led you to the last room in the hall, and then just leaned against the doorframe while you walked inside and looked around. It was almost bigger than your whole apartment.

   “Don’t get comfortable, blando. You won’t be staying.”

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

Link to Chapter 2

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

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

#driving mr. tovar #driving mr. tovar series #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero x reader #pero tovar x ofc #modern!pero #modern!au #the great wall modern au #the great wall fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #sirowsky stories

[beecastle]

It's loving The Voice hours 😌

@writeforfandoms

#welcome to this new series #it's called drawing while doing homework #so i don't end up paying attention to either #but look a Pero! #i was rereading the voice last night #but only got a few hundreds words in #it was just as good as I remembered #wait no #it was even better #the voice #pero tovar #bee castle art

[simpingcowboy]

I am once again plotting to make a ranchero song based Pero Tovar fic >:] my mexican-ification of him continues

#i may or may not have a pero tovar ranchero playlist #is this gonna end up as like a mini series???? #anyways Spaniard disclaimer blah blah whatever he's very mexican to me idc #am talks

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen

Series Master List

A collection of fun and fluffy one shots set in the same bakery. Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stories, twelve recipes.

Part One - Dieter Bravo

Part Two - Din Djarin

Part Three - Joel Miller

Part Four - Oberyn Martell

Part Five - Ezra

Part Six - Javier Peña

Part Seven - Marcus Pike

Part Eight - Jack Daniels

Part Nine - Pero Tovar

Part Ten - Javi Gutierrez

Part Eleven - Dave York

Part Twelve - Frankie Morales

Part Thirteen - Frankie Morales returns

Bonus chapters:

Part Fourteen- Ezra returns

Part Fifteen - Pero returns

A Sourdough TedTalk (not a fic, just me indulging in my favourite type of bread)

#a bakers dozen #pedrostories #dieter bravo #din djarin #joel miller #oberyn martell #prospect ezra #javier peña #marcus pike #jack Daniels #pero tovar #frankie morales #javi gutierrez #dave york

[604to647]

Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

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

Series Summary: Three part mini-series that follows our dear reader making a delayed debut for her first social season, not expecting to run into her childhood best friend, the Barón, on the marriage mart. (Fluff throughout, Angst = ⚓, Smut= 🍬).

Each part is named for a sonata movement:

First Movement (Adagio sostenuto)

Second Movement (Allegretto) (⚓)

Third Movement (Presto agitato) (⚓,🍬)

One-shots (same AU): Scherzo (Flora & Fauna Challenge) new!

A/N for the series: The story is written as a reader insert, with no physical description other than having hair and she wears dresses in the style of the time. I'm ever grateful for Bridgerton being cast the way it is because many years ago, I wouldn't have been able to write a story like this without feeling like there wasn't a place for me in them, but now more things than not feel possible. The reader, however, will have a backstory, and I think that sort of makes sense since none of us lived in Regency times so our imaginations in this respect can be stretched 🥰

I also ran a poll wondering if the SAG Award pics could serve as inspo for a childhood best friend to lovers story where there is no large age gap; for the record, the age gap is 8 years - reader is 23 and Pero is 31. But we all know that 23 today and 23 during the Regency Era is very different so feel free to imagine reader’s mental age/maturity to be whatever you like 😊 (in other words, she's you! 😘)

#pero tovar #regency!pero tovar #masterlist #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar series #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[morallyinept]

Welcome to my Pedro Pascal Character Writing Masterlist.

©️ All my writing is protected by an officially registered copyright. I do not give you permission to copy, redistribute, translate, plagiarise, post elsewhere or feed my work into AI software.

Enjoy rummaging around here. I hope you find something you'll like! 🖤

Scoville Smut Ratings🌶️

MAIN MASTERLIST | PEDRO BOY RAMBLES | JETT'S DOODLES

Buy me a Ko-fi ☕️ If you like my work and enjoy what I put out there, you have the option of buying me a Ko-fi, if you'd like to. It's never expected, but always greatly appreciated. 🖤

See my specific Pedro Boy character lists below 👇🏻

Ezra Masterlist

Joel Miller Masterlist

Dieter Bravo Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

Javier Peña Masterlist

Marcus Pike Masterlist

Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Dave York Masterlist

Lucien Flores Masterlist

Max Phillips Masterlist

Agent Whiskey Masterlist

Javi Gutierrez Masterlist

Detective Tim Rockford Masterlist

Din Djarin Masterlist

Pero Tovar Masterlist

Fancy a small read? My GIFLETS™️ are 500 words or less, and feature a variety of the Pedro Boys, including smut, fluff & a mix of F! & GN! Readers.

Multi Series & Collections Masterlist A mixture of Pedro Boys in story collections.

My Pedro Boy Rambles Masterlist Includes themed cocktails, head canons & fun with the Pedro Boys.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #fic rec #joel miller #ezra prospect #dieter bravo #din djarin #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #oberyn martell #marcus pike #marcus moreno #max phillips #maxwell lord #silva strange way of life #dave york #javi gutierrez #javier peña #agent whiskey jack daniels #agent whiskey #comandante veracruz #detective tim rockford #pero tovar #jett's pedro boys #self care with dieter & jett #jett's writing #pedrostories #pedro pascal stories #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal smut

[bluestar22x]

The Future

The Outcast - Epilogue: The Future

Summary: Just like winter, the end is just the beginning

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2,700 (ish)

Warnings: Mention of a baby goat (kid) having died, angst, pregnancy plot, non-graphic labor and birth, fluff, pov changes, quintessential happy ending

Author’s Note: This is a very self indulgent bonus part - you can read the first four parts and have a satisfying ending if this kind of ending isn't your thing. For those who do like this kind of ending guess what my favorite line(s) to write was.

Also, any names I used in this fic were themed and/or meaningful. And if one of my running themes of relating winter with life instead of death wasn't apparent, it should be now.

xxx

Death is far from a stranger on a functioning farm. Even though you usually sold your old, infertile goats to the nearest village's butcher instead of culling them yourself, that still left a whole slew of other ways for you to witness it. Illness, lethal injuries, stillbirths, and difficult deliveries that ended badly for the doe or her offspring or both had all occurred on your farm more than once.

You'd accepted it, and your need to hunt, a long time ago, because you loved the simplicity of this kind of life. You loved being mostly self reliant, knowing you could be fully self reliant if need be, and you loved the companionship of the animals you were dependent on.

Sometimes though, the deaths still hurt. Like when River, your first horse and Meadow's mother had died a few years after you'd moved onto the mountain, due to colic. She'd been in so much pain for so long you'd been forced to end her misery with a knife. The senseless guilt you'd felt after had lasted for weeks.

That was the most you'd ever cried over losing an animal, until one spring morning a year after Pero had decided to stay.

You tried to hide how upset you were by the latest death on the farm when you returned to the cottage to cook a morning meal for you both, but as soon as he followed you inside after an hour of chomping wood, you uncharacteristically started sobbing on sight of him.

Eyes filled with concern, your husband silently approached and gathered you up in his arms, kissing your temple as he did so. You took a deep breath and focused on his soothing warmth, his reassuring broad hands that slid up and down your spine, trying to put yourself back together.

"What has you so upset, mi esposa?" he eventually asked, nuzzling the side of your face, his short beard scraping against it lightly.

You stepped away from him, leaned against the kitchen counter top on one hand, and looked back to him. "It's one of Sweets' kids, the one who was sick, I found her dead this morning."

"I'm sorry cariño," he said quietly, dark eyes serious. "I know how hard you tried to save her."

You shook your head and separated yourself from him to look at his face. "It's not that, I could handle that, it has happened several times before, but it's the way Sweets reacted when I removed the body from the paddock. She started beating and desperately searching for her, even though she had her other new kid alongside her, even though the body had been cold when I discovered it. Hearing those sounds from her broke my heart."

"It doesn't help I kept thinking -," you paused, eyes widening as you realized what you'd been about to say.

Pero frowned at the way you'd cut yourself off. "It doesn't help what?" he prompted gently.

You sucked in a deep, shaky breath. You figured you might as well not hide it from him. "It doesn't help I kept imagining what she was feeling. Putting myself in her place. I don't think I could handle it if I lost the baby that way."

"The baby," Pero repeated, lips parting in surprise. He reached out to you and tugged you back to him, his arm looped around your waist. "Mi amor, are you saying what I think you are?"

You nodded, fresh tears flooding your eyes, joy overcoming your trepidation. "I am. It's still early, I'm probably only two months or so along, but I'm certain."

You hadn't bled in that time, and had felt nauseous many times over the previous month, neither of which was normal for you. Your emotions had been all over the place lately too. You'd never been a super stoic character, but you were usually far from the emotional wreck you felt like that morning.

Pero beamed at you and the shock of it left you breathless. It was a rare sight, his smile, let alone one that obvious. He leaned forward and kissed your cheek softly, lovingly, showing more affection than you'd once thought him capable of. "Everything will be alright, cariño," he reassured you.

It was not something he could actually promise, no man could act as a god, but his words comforted you anyway.

"I'll need to find a midwife who would be willing to stay the winter with us," you told him nervously. "If I'm correct, the baby will be born in the final days of the year or the early ones of the next. The passage will be closed off by then. When my sister visits I'll ask her to help me search for one."

Pero caressed your cheek with a thumb. "I'm sure an older one without family to care for would agree to stay with us in exchange for coin and free room and board. If not, I will convince them."

You arched your eyebrows, understanding what he meant. "I appreciate the offer, but please don't threaten any of the village midwives, especially the elderly."

"I cannot make any promises, mi amor."

x

Winter had never come faster. Not because it actually arrived sooner, but because there was so much to do before then. In the late spring you and Pero planted your garden and a part of the field with enough crops to keep all the animals and yourselves through the winter.

In the early summer your sister and her husband visited with their four children, two girls and two boys, and for a week the tiny cottage was chaotic. The children were always running off doing something adventurous while your sister helped you milk the goats and Pero and your brother in law worked together to build an additional room to the cottage.

As summer neared its end and your belly rounded, you began to focus on smaller tasks. You still cooked and cleaned, you still took care of the horses and goats, and some of the weeding in the small garden behind the cottage, but Pero assisted you and he took on the tasks that were more dangerous by himself, like hunting. He did the extra work gladly, wanting to do everything he could for you, never feeling like he could do enough.

Harvest came around and your brother in law returned to help with the crops, the midwife your sister had found for you in tow. Her name was Franny, and she was strict about what you could and could not do, having you rest most of the day when she wasn't helping you knit baby clothes, but she was kind, reminding Pero of the one grandmother he knew for only a decade before she passed. It took him time to get used to another adult being in the cottage for so long, but he figured a newborn would be an even bigger adjustment, so he adjusted.

The first snowfall was almost a shock, the months having flown by in a blur, and Pero began to feel anxious. Even with Franny in the spare room, what would later become the baby's room, being closed off from the village for a whole season with you in your condition and eventually a newborn worried him. So many things could go wrong, you of all people knew that, but you would have never agreed to leave the farm. As far as you were concerned if Franny couldn't help you, nobody could, and he supposed you were probably right.

Your prediction about your due date turned out to be precise, your first pangs of labor beginning during an early afternoon at the start of the new year.

He'd found you in the barn, sitting on a square bale of hay with an arm curled around the huge swell at your abdomen, grimacing as you endured the first painful wave.

And then everything moved far too slow. He helped you into the cottage and watched as Franny got to work, prepping for the delivery, clueless about what he could do. Franny was no help there. Traditional as could be, she would've shooed him out of the cottage for the day, no matter the cold, if you hadn't insisted he stay.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to stay, as useless as he felt, as fearful as he felt, but he did it for you. He scraped his mind for ways to help all the while, assisting a dubious Franny in setting up the bed for you, gathering enough firewood to keep your home warm for a couple days, and caring for all the animals on his own as quickly as he could before returning to your side to let you squeeze his hand as your contractions continued to strengthen at an agonizingly slow pace.

It wasn't until morning the next day that Franny declared it was time for you to push. She had you sit up in bed and undress halfway with Pero's help before she prompted you to spread your legs and bend your knees. You pressed your back to Pero's chest after, using his body to support your own.

Through gritted teeth you bore down with several contractions, panting and breaking out in a sweat from your efforts. Pero kept his face close to yours, murmuring encouragement into your ear as you struggled. And when you reached back and grasped one of his a thighs tightly in an attempt to distract yourself, he let you, not caring whether or not it bruised under your fingertips if it helped you cope.

As the minutes passed, as you tired, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your legs trembling, he became concerned something might be wrong, but Franny remained calm, continuously urging you to keep going.

"A couple more," she promised you. "A couple more good solid pushes and it'll be over, sweetie. Don't give up now."

Pero saw it in your eyes, the moment you mentally and physically dug your heels in and began pushing with renewed determination, and he was awed, not sure how you'd come by the reserve.

Finally your laboring paid off and you slumped backwards into his arms, relief washing over your face as a sharp wail pierced the air.

He glanced from you to the small, wet infant flailing in Franny's arms, and his world shifted.

Outside, snow began to fall.

x

Ten years later...

"Why do I have to go?" the seven year old girl before you bemoaned. "Why can't I stay here?"

"You're not old enough to stay here by yourself, Stela," you explained. "Your brother wouldn't even be allowed to stay by himself and he's three years older than you."

"He's old," she stated and you couldn't help but chuckle.

"Maybe, but still not old enough."

Stela pouted at you then continued to put on her winter coat and boots, a long dramatic sigh slipping from her as she stood up from the kitchen chair she'd been sitting in. You thought she was far too young to be turning into a moody teenager, but guessed it was the part she'd inherited from her father breaking through.

You finished assisting her five year old sister, Lene, with her coat before leading them both outside into the frigid night. Lene immediately dove head first into the fresh snow layered on the ground gleefully, while her older sister folded her arms and stomped her way over to the front of the barn where Pero and her brother William were waiting for them.

Out of all of your children, William looked most like his father, his eye shape, chin, and nose all miniature copycats of Pero's. Stela had his eyes, but was more like you, physically, and Lene reminded you of your sister. However, they all shared Pero's dark hair and eyes.

"Ready to ride?" Pero quizzed Stela as she trudged right past him. He frowned when she showed no sign of hearing him and met your eyes. "What is she upset about this time?"

"She's angry about being outvoted," you replied. "Said she didn't want to see the stupid lights again and wanted to stay home. She's definitely your daughter."

Pero chuckled and pulled you against him at the hip with one hand as you both trailed your children into the barn to saddle up the horses.

Lene assisted her father with Orion, a four year old colt who was the youngest offspring of the since retired Clover and Thor, grandson to the deceased Meadow, and Pero's new mount. Like his sire, Orion was jet black in color, except for the small crystal shaped star marking that was usually hidden under his forelock. His surprisingly calm disposition was more like Clover though.

Your latest mount, a five year old solid bay mare named Aspen who was Orion's full sibling, was equally as quiet once she'd settled into adulthood, and you had her tacked in no time as Stela watched, still moping.

Last was Thunder, an eight year old bay gelding with a stripe shaped like a lightning bolt running down his face. The most well behaved and eldest offspring of Clover and Thor, Thunder had been assigned to William when he got old enough to start riding on his own.

He was still too tall for William to saddle him, so Pero flung it over the horse's back for him, but the young boy took care of the rest, a true horseman despite his youth.

Once you, Pero, and William led your horses outside the girls approached, Stela hesitantly letting Pero boost her up onto Orion, and Lene begging you to set her in Aspen's saddle. You and Pero climbed on your horses so you were behind them while William found a stump to help propel himself onto Thunder's back.

Someday the children would learn how to ride bareback, but it would not be that night, so you lived with it, though the wind was making you shiver and yearn for the shared body heat.

You led the way up the mountain as was tradition, your family making the trip at least once a winter, more if the children wanted to ride out that far in the dark.

Lene loved it. Loved everything, really. The girl had more positivity and enthusiasm than you and Pero could've ever had combined.

William enjoyed it as well, already into nature as much as you were, and just as quiet about it.

And Stela, well, she often spent most of the ride brooding and complaining about the cold. That night was no different.

Once you reached your destination, you, Pero, and William slowed your horses to a stop a few yards from the edge with your horses shoulder to shoulder so everyone had a great view of the lights.

While the children had grown older (far too quickly), and you and Pero had long since started to grey, the lights had remained the same, seemingly everlasting, tying the years of memories you'd shared together as they shimmered in the sky.

You looked to each of your children in turn and smiled at the delight on their faces, even Stela's, before you glanced to Pero, who was studying your face. You hoped he would never tire of it, cause you certainly wouldn't tire of looking at him, especially when he was holding your middle child by the hip to steady her, to make sure she wouldn't fall off Orion. He was always watching out for his children like that and whenever you witnessed it first hand your heart always threatened to combust.

Fate was not something you'd believed in when you were young, but the older you got, the more you weren't so convinced there wasn't something bigger out there at least nudging you towards the future you were supposed to live out. How else could you have been so lucky to find Pero in time? How else could he have been so lucky to have been chased up your mountain instead of any of the others in the chain that were uninhabited?

One change in events and you'd have never met, or he'd have never turned back come spring. And then you would've never married, and your children would've never been born. You would have spent the rest of your life in tranquility, happy, sure, but never quite fulfilled.

Whether or not fate was real, you were grateful.

You stretched your hand out towards Pero's and he automatically intertwined his fingers with yours, having long lost a hesitancy he'd had towards sharing that kind of intimacy with you.

"Let's head back home," you said simply, and he nodded, turning Orion away from you, for once choosing to take lead.

Guiding you into your future, like you had guided him home.

xxx

Tagged: @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Pero Tovar #The Great Wall #Pero Fanfic (Mine) #The Great Wall Fanfic #X Reader #The Outcast Series

[covetyou]

Thank you to everyone who sent me their favourite butt sex/anal play fics! If you'd still like to submit something, please check out the original post.

Now, no more dilly-dallying, onto the butt stuff. I've listed some key contents of each fic where possible, but not all warnings - please see individual fics for all warnings. All fics are with reader characters unless otherwise specified.

Din Djarin

birthday bunny by @604to647 modern AU - butt plugs this endless friction by @corazondebeskar-reads BDSM - double penetration (toy)

Frankie Morales

bunny by @gasolinerainbowpuddles double penetration (toy) weeknights drabble by @frannyzooey first time anal open waters/ashore by @gaiuswrites first time anal - double penetration (fingers)

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

inter-agency cooperation by @ghostofaboy with Javier Peña double whiskey on the rocks by @ghostofaboy with m!OC - anal fingering

Javier Peña

keep me in your glow by @atticrissfinch first time anal tovar's desires by @absurdthirst threesome (with Pero Tovar) - double penetration - rimming - more 🍑 from absurdthirst on ao3

Joel Miller

MDKT 2023 day 8 - bondage by @theywhowriteandknowthings double penetration (fingers) another time, baby by @swiftispunk butt plugs - double penetration (fingers, toys) the saints can't help me now by @atticrissfinch butt plugs - anal fingering - dom!Joel craving by @velvetmud double penetration (fingers) knuckles deep by @ozarkthedog anal fingering make a move on me by @freelancearsonist first time anal mine by @the-scandalorian first time anal - rimming sparks fly by @ezrasbirdie rimming what's in the bag by @thetriumphantpanda first time anal - butt plugs - double penetration (fingers) a day in the filth by @toxicanonymity double penetration (toys)

Others

reaching for the sweetest, sweetest peaches by @psychedelic-ink Oberyn Martell x f!reader - modern AU - first time anal

Series

baby, I'm-a want you by @perotovar multiple Pedro characters - pornstar AU bloody kisses (part two) by @perotovar Tim Rockford x Shane 'Dio' Morrissey - first time anal in the dark (chapter 9) by @frannyzooey Ezra x f!reader - anal fingering something wretched about this (part 2) by @covetyou anal fingering - rimming playdate by @daddy-dins-girl Marcus Pike x f!reader x Dave York

blackmail (part 1 and 4) by @milla-frenchy

Joel Miller x f!reader x Javier Peña - rimming - double penetration

#pedro character perfect peach #the buttening #fic recs #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #coveted recs #buttstravaganza #🍑 stuff

[psychedelic-ink]

Hello everyone! this month was both fast and stressful for me, so much so I remembered this morning that I haven't made a rec list which is why this is posted on the second and not the first. Thank you to all the amazing writers who give us stunning stories that we can find comfort in. Love you all 💜💜💜

please show your support by commenting and/or reblogging!

categories include: pedro pascal characters (pero tovar, ezra, frankie morales, marcus pike, jack daniels, jack daniels, din djarin, tim rockford, frankie morales, javier p), the last of us (joel miller) marvel (steven grant, tasm!peter parker)

as always don't forget to check the warnings before reading!

click here for last months fic recommendations

PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS

Bekväm by @whataperfectwasteoftime (ezra)

spring fling by @/whataperfectwasteoftime (marcus pike)

Between the Raindrops by @jazzelsaur (frankie morales | series)

Pretty Please by by @/jazzelsaur (dieter bravo)

home is wherever i’m with you by @saradika (din djairn | series)

Learned Something New by @wheresarizona (jack daniels)

mando + breeding drabble by @the-scandalorian (din djarin)

you make loving fun by @redahlia-writes (frankie morales | series)

Relaxation Techniques by @mandoblowmybackout (marcus pike)

Psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat (dieter bravo | series)

weeknights drabble by @frannyzooey (frankie morales | series)

Only Backwards by @pennyserenade (dieter bravo)

untitled by @boliv-jenta (tim rockford)

neon demons by @pedrito-friskito (javier p)

kudzu by @beskarberry (ezra)

Jack Daniels x tattoo parlour AU by @fuckyeahdindjarin (jack daniels)

Dieter Bravo x Roommates AU by @/fuckyeahdindjarin

Saturday’s with Javier: Sleepless Nights by @wildemaven (javi p)

The Secrets We Keep… by @/wildemaven (dave york)

Meant To Be by @radiowallet (oberyn martell | series)

untitled by @intheorangebedroom (frankie morales)

Sex, Lies and Videotapes by @astroboots (frankie morales, santiago garcia)

More Sex, No Lies but still a Videotape by @/astroboots (frankie morales, santiago garcia)

indecently dishonest by @lavendertales (javier p)

one step at a time by @foli-vora (pero tovar | series)

little black dress by @inklore (javier p)

warm up by @ezrasbirdie (dieter bravo)

Rockford & Roan by @littlemisspascal (tim rockford | series)

TLOU

Break by @toomanystoriessolittletime

Short Days, Long Nights by @frannyzooey

start carvin', darlin' by @nexusnyx

Threads by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Adjustments by @softlyspector

Old soul by @/softlyspector

surrender by @ezrasbirdie (series)

MARVEL

Cherry Lips by @astroboots (steven grant)

'til kingdom come by @pedrito-friskito (tasm!peter parker)

#.sil's monthly fic recs #april recs #fic recs #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #steven grant x reader #frankie morales x reader

[leslie-lyman]

Menagerie

Part of the Euclidean Geometry ‘verse

Summary: Early on in their relationship, when everything is new and exciting and uncertain, Pero introduces their girl to his work as a glass artist.

Pairing: modern!Pero Tovar x Frankie x Jack x nameless!OFC/f!reader (written in third person, reader is only referred to as she/her, with no physical descriptors)

Word count: 3.9k

Rating: Explicit 🚨 absolutely no minors!

Warnings: smut; mentions of sex between everyone in this polycule (Frankie x Jack x Pero x reader), but the actual smut is just Pero x reader; unprotected PIV; completely unregulated POV switching; that thing where I write all the dialogue in italics instead of using quotation marks because it just feels right for this series for some reason?; everything your author mentions here about glassmaking she learned from YouTube/Google

a/n: look mom, I actually finished a fic again! Maybe my ability to write hasn’t abandoned me after all…?

Masterlist.

———

She notices the sculptures the very first time they take her home. (Though not, she must admit, until the morning after, having been awfully distracted the night before by the attention Frankie, Pero, and Jack lavished her with on the way to their bed.)

Three glass animal figures sit together in a proud display in the living room built-ins next to the fireplace: a falcon, wings spread wide and claws poised to attack; a rearing horse, tall and magnificent; and a bull, one hoof raised and head lowered as it prepares to charge.

They are Pero’s work. In his post-Army career he now runs a small but highly regarded workshop of glass artisans, all veterans like himself.

His talent is obvious. Each feather in the falcon’s wings is rendered in exquisite detail. The horse stands on just his back two feet, perfectly balanced. The bull’s pose denotes a gracefulness underlying all that brute strength. They feel alive.

It’s the three of them, they tell her.

Frankie, the pilot, is the falcon. Precise, controlled, deadly. Vigilant. Protective.

Jack, the cowboy, is the horse. Proud, independent, wild. Confident. Courageous.

And Pero, of course, is the bull. Strong, stubborn, fierce. Masculine. Powerful.

There’s evidence of his work elsewhere in the house the three of them now share. Their kitchen cabinets are full of mismatched glasses, bowls, and plates, many of them early versions of new techniques or designs Pero worked to master before offering them as options to clients. The base of an end table in the den is a cresting glass wave nearly three feet tall. Brilliantly colored vases that sell for thousands at the workshop line either side of the back deck steps, filled with impatiens and begonias carefully tended by Frankie.

Pero asks her to come to the workshop with him one day, and she can sense without being told that such an offer is significant. It’s still early on in…whatever this is between her and the three of them. Early enough that it hasn’t solidified yet, it hasn’t settled. She wants them, all of them, and they want her (all of her), but whether the fantasy can manifest as reality is uncertain. Can they all rearrange their lives enough to build something lasting, something real?

Pero has been the hardest to figure out. He is the quietest of the men, the least quick to laugh, the last one to betray what he’s thinking. He fucks like he wants to consume her, devour her, and yet he can be as gentle as Frankie or Jack when he’s done, silently cradling her to his chest as long as she wants as they come down from their highs. He’s much less forthcoming about himself than the other two are, and she’s far less sure about what he wants.

It’s a chilly Sunday morning when she meets him at the workshop. It’s the first time she’s spent any real time with him alone, her stomach full of an odd combination of excitement and nerves.

He takes her in through the gallery of finished works at the front of the building. Bright lights and mirror-backed shelves show off the many pieces, from large imposing sculptures to tiny coupe cocktail glasses that sparkle and glimmer. The middle of the space is dominated by a sculpture of a dragon-like creature larger than she is, its many-fanged mouth open in a roar and its skin a rich rippling green.

Pero doesn’t give her time to linger, however, leading her quickly into the back where the workshop itself is housed. A tension in his shoulders loosens when they enter, and she gets the sense that he isn’t interested in showing off his finished pieces. It’s the process of creating that he likes, that he needs.

If the gallery is bright and shiny and polished, the workshop is a dark, gritty warehouse-like space. Multiple forges line one wall, and it is clear each artist has their own space set up here. Pero’s space is near the back, tucked into a corner. Various tools and implements hang from the walls and rest on tables: blowpipes of every length, tweezers, pliers, clamps, paddles, torches, molds. It looks a little like a medieval torture chamber.

Despite the cavernous feel of the space, it’s warm inside; the forge nearest Pero’s corner is already lit and glowing. She sheds her jacket, leaving her in a soft chambray button-down shirt and black leggings. Pero gives her a gruff explanation of safety basics and insists that she wear a pair of enormous clear safety glasses.

Really, Pero?

Do not argue with me, querida.

The endearment is new, and makes her shiver.

You make all the girls you bring here wear these, hm? She says it playfully, but there’s curiosity behind it.

I have only brought two others here, and Jack and Francisco wore the glasses without complaint.

That pulls her up short, but Pero merely hands her the glasses and busies himself with his tools.

She’d assumed at first that this would be entirely a demonstration on Pero’s part, with her as mere spectator. Normally the idea of a date spent watching a man show off some skill to try and impress her as a one-woman audience would make her roll her eyes. But Pero isn’t boastful about any of this. This isn’t about his ego. He’s letting her in, showing her things that are important to him rather than telling her.

And, she quickly discovers, she’s hardly expected to sit idly by and observe.

Pero loads the tip of a pipe nearly as tall as she is with a glowing lump of molten glass the size of a softball.

Glasswork is rarely a solo endeavor, he tells her. Large pieces often require an entire team of people working in sync. Even small pieces necessitate a partner. It takes not only speed and skill, but also constant communication and trust to successfully bring a piece to life.

As he speaks, he rests his pipe against the edge of a table and rolls it back and forth, helping the glass to keep its roughly oval shape.

Give it a try, querida. He offers the end of the pipe to her.

It’s heavier than she’d anticipated, the heat of the glass sinking through her clothes like the rays of a tiny sun. Her first few rolls of the pipe are too fast, but after a minute she begins to get the hang of how to keep the glass from bending and morphing under its own weight.

Good, Pero says, and suddenly there’s a flare of heat in her stomach. Keep that steady turn all the while, and bring it over here.

There’s a large tray set out on the end of the table, filled with tiny squares of glass in shades of blue and green and milky white. Pero instructs her to roll the glass on the pipe through the squares like a lint roller until there’s a rough coating covering it. It’s an oddly satisfying sensation, the molten glass acting like putty or taffy that grows steadily less pliant as it cools.

Now we take it back into the forge, Pero says, and she gives him room to take the pipe from her, but he merely gives her an encouraging nod of his head toward the forge.

The opening into the heart of the furnace isn’t terribly large, maybe a foot or so in diameter. But the heat roars from it with a power she can feel, rather than hear. It throbs and beats at her like a warning.

She hesitates, but then Pero’s arms are around her, gently but firmly grasping the pipe on either side of her hands.

Like this, he murmurs in her ear as he guides the ball of glass into the belly of the forge. She’s intently aware of every inch of him pressed up behind her, the firm wall of his chest and his slightly softer belly, so close she can feel him breathe.

He likes to fuck her from behind, she’s found.

Every time they’ve had each other, in the handful of times they’ve been intimate thus far, Pero’s put her on her hands and knees, his impossibly big hands holding her down as he fucks her with his impossibly big cock. He likes to wait until Frankie and Jack are done and spent, their cum dribbling out of her or dripping down her skin, before rolling her over and sinking deep into her heat. His grip is firm and possessive, his fingers insistent at her clit. He never fails to make her come with a pace just the right side of too much, the other men soothing her with soft praises of good girl and you take it so well for him, sweetheart.

It’s an automatic response now, the fire that blooms in her belly when she feels him at her back that has nothing to do with the flames licking the molten glass in front of her.

————-

She somehow manages to concentrate on the tasks at hand enough to safely move through the rest of the process.

Fire the glass, roll it, shape it, fire it again, push, pull, fire, roll, shape, fire…

How did you learn to do this? She asks Pero, holding the pipe steady for him while he plucks at the glass with a massive pair of pliers.

My father, is all he says at first. She lets the ensuing silence be, lets him decide if he wants to elaborate. He does.

My father was a glassmaker. When I was a boy in Spain, I would spend every spare minute in his workshop. He taught me everything he knew. I would watch him craft beautiful things out of nothing, shaping and coaxing the glass to his will in an act of creation. He was like a god in my eyes.

She tries to square this information with the little she already knows about Pero’s life.

Why did you leave Spain?

He plucks the pipe from her hands and returns to the forge. His grip is so sure, his movements so fluid. When he returns to her, he passes her the rod and picks up the pliers.

My father died. I was fourteen. My mother moved us to America, and I was full of grief and teenage rage. A combination I was all too happy to let the US Army exploit.

This part she’s heard. Twenty years in the Field Artillery, operating mobile rocket systems and infantry support guns, leading men and their weapons into combat zones across multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. A life lived under fire.

But you found your way back to this, she says.

He looks up at her from where he crouches over the glass, now taking shape as a small vase.

It is the only other thing I know how to do.

She frowns at his modesty, but before she can respond he beckons her around the other side of the table they’re working at. He’s rolled and pulled the glass until no more than a slim column connects the bottom of the base to the pipe. He puts on thick heat-resistant gloves and cradles the vase, instructing her to tap ever-so-gently at the connecting sliver of glass with a small mallet.

With a barely perceptible chink the column breaks, freeing the vase. Pero then fires the bottom of the vase with a handheld blowtorch to smooth it out, and settles the vase into the bowl of a large round kiln for the final cooling process.

The vase stands maybe ten inches high, vaguely v-shaped with a flat bottom. The once bright orange ball of molten glass is now a brilliant turquoise, speckled with the tiny green and blue and white fragments she’d rolled it in. The rim is uneven, pulled and twisted by Pero’s pliers and it makes her think of the edges of a crashing wave.

She stands next to him and looks down at it before he closes the lid to the kiln. It’s small and simple and doubtless less polished than what Pero could have made with a more experienced partner, but it’s theirs.

We made that, she says, turning and giving him a shy smile.

His lips quirk up - not quite a smile, but there’s a softness to his expression that makes her breath catch.

A satisfying process, no? He asks. She nods. The moment stretches between them, the silence not awkward, but instead full of a warm, quiet intimacy.

Come on, pretty girl, Pero murmurs, reaching up to gently remove the safety glasses from her face. Let’s clean up.

Somehow she finds even the sight of him returning every tool back to its proper place, knowing exactly where each piece goes so that it’s ready for the next time he needs it, terribly attractive.

She catches his hand after everything’s put away, pulling his focus.

Thank you, she says, for this. Thank you for letting me in, for revealing this part of you, she doesn’t say, but hopes he knows that’s what she means. I’d…I’d love to do this again sometime.

He brushes his other hand across her cheek.

Anytime you like, querida.

She moves in to kiss him and it’s soft in a way she hasn’t felt from Pero before. He pulls her flush against him and simply holds her there, lazily exploring her mouth. He smells like sweat and heated metal, and she turns her head to lick the salt from the skin of his neck. A sound rumbles from deep in his chest, and the moment goes white-hot in an instant.

Touch me, Pero, she whispers. Put your hands on me.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He slides one hand to the back of her neck to yank her lips back up to his, the other disappearing into her leggings to grab a fistful of her ass. He swallows the pleased little gasp she makes, greedy for more.

He backs her up against the side of his workbench, moving to unbutton her top. Once he has access he pulls down the cups of her bra and turns his full attention to her breasts, kneading the soft flesh with his hands and laving his tongue over her nipples.

Her fingers run through his hair, longer than Jack’s but with curls less unruly than Frankie’s. His hips press against hers and she squirms against the bulge in his jeans, searching for friction.

Need more, baby? He coos up at her, a wicked glint in his eye.

Need you, Pero, she whines.

He straightens and turns her around to bend her over the workbench, curling his fingers in the waistband of her leggings to yank them down and expose her gorgeous ass to him…

Wait.

He freezes.

Could we…I want…

He runs a soothing palm over her hip.

What do you want, pretty girl?

She twists back around to face him. He lets himself be nudged backward until he feels the edge of a nearby chair behind him and sits. She towers over him now, and he looks up at her with one brow raised.

I want to see you, she says shyly, and his blood heats. He slowly spreads his legs in invitation.

She slips out of her shoes and shimmies her leggings and panties off, then similarly loses her shirt and bra. He reaches for her with a growl and hauls her into his lap. She goes willingly, wrapping herself around him as his hands rove over every inch of her skin. This time their kiss is messy and desperate, and when Pero trails a hand down her stomach and finds the soft hair of her mound to pet at her clit, she whimpers into his mouth.

You want it? He rasps. She nods frantically, their noses brushing.

Then take it out, pretty girl.

She undoes his jeans and frees the stiff length of his cock, pumping him slowly, drawing bead after bead of precum from the tip.

But then her grip falters.

This is okay, right?

Pero frowns at her, confused.

What I mean is…I know we talked about it, and you all said it was okay, that we don’t always all have to be together, but…

Ah, so that’s her concern. Something wild and beastly claws at his ribcage in triumph at the realization that he’ll be the first of them to have her all to himself.

It is more than okay, he reassures her, smoothing a thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. We told you we can each take our pleasure from the others whenever we wish, and none of us is a man who says things he does not mean. Least of all to those we care for.

He can feel her body relax at that, and he tilts her chin and draws her in for another kiss. Her hand starts to move up and down his cock again, the tip of him grazing the pillowy skin of her inner thigh with each pass, and a hiss leaves his mouth at the sensation.

This will not go the way you intend if you keep that up, he warns her. A newfound deviousness unfurls itself in her grin.

Maybe this is what I intend, she says. Maybe I want you just like this, hard and aching in my hands until I make you come all over yourself -

He cuts her off by crashing his lips to hers, stilling her movements on his cock and hooking one hand under her ass to push her up until his length prods against her entrance.

Perhaps, he murmurs, perhaps one day if you’re a very, very good girl, I’ll let you have such a way with me. But for now - he notches himself just inside the slick rim of her pussy - put me inside you.

She obeys, working herself down on him inch by inch. When he’s fully seated inside her she sighs as if in relief, a dazed look in her eyes. There’s a distant thought in the back of her head that despite the workshop being closed today, one of the artists could still walk in unexpectedly at any moment, but she can’t bring herself to care.

They make twin sounds of pleasure at the first swirl of her hips. As her body adjusts to his size she finds her rhythm, bracing her hands on his shoulders as she rides him.

And god, what a sight.

She knows what sex with Pero feels like. She knows what it sounds like, smells like, tastes like. But none of those things has prepared her for what it looks like. What he looks like, as they move together, face-to-face for the first time.

The clench of his jaw, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The tendons that pop and strain in his neck. The dewy sheen of sweat across his brow. And his eyes…

She could fall forever into the endless black abyss of his eyes, she could lose herself entirely in their depths and never look away and would be thankful for it. How could she not be, when he looks at her with such unrestrained want that she feels it like a physical thing…

She brushes a thumb over the scar that bisects his left eye, as if she could soothe the long-ago wound with present tenderness. She knows it’s far from the only scar he carries, and would that she could heal them all through sheer force of will.

Pero swirls his thumb around her clit, bracing his feet as he begins to meet her hips with thrusts of his own. Her movements stutter as her control over her body wavers. She becomes nothing more than molten desire in his hands, to be molded and shaped and consumed by flame as he sees fit. The pressure he puts on her clit is unrelenting, and this is familiar, the way he doesn’t coax an orgasm from her, but demands it. It builds and builds in between her legs and when she would close her eyes and tip her head back to welcome it he grabs her chin to stop her.

Look at me, he pants. Look at me when I make you come, querida. Look…

It starts as a command, but ends as a plea.

The tension bursts inside her, and her cry of his name and the way her climax tightens her pussy around him like a vice pulls him headlong over the edge with her. He cums with a roar, pulling her down on his cock as he empties himself as deep as he can inside her.

It’s a long minute before they both fully come back to themselves, breathing hard as their bodies milk every last drop of pleasure from each other. She collapses into his chest, and he’s content to hold her there for as long as she wishes.

We can do that again anytime you like too, he says quietly in her ear, and she smiles into his neck.

——————

There’s no big reveal, no fanfare or presentation when it happens. She simply comes home one day (and funny, how she’s started to think of it as home, how her apartment has become merely a place where most of her things are, including the vase she’d made with Pero, but not where she lives) and there it sits on the shelf, catching her eye immediately.

The falcon, the horse, and the bull, now clustered around a fourth statue.

A lioness.

She moves towards it as if pulled by gravity. The beauty of it steals her breath. The great cat is posed sitting, tall and elegant, her body at a three-quarters position but her head turned to look straight out at the viewer. Her tail is wrapped neatly around her, and her tiny delicate ears are alert.

What do you think? says a soft voice behind her. It carries an uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty.

She doesn’t turn, doesn’t need to look to know the man behind her is the one who made this.

She’s gorgeous, she murmurs.

Pero hums low in his throat, and comes to stand over her shoulder.

You can ask, he says. I want to tell you.

Why a lioness? she whispers.

Pero is silent for a moment.

She is strong, and graceful. Clever, and brave. Loyal. Beautiful.

A tingling warmth floods her chest. It feels like too much, the implied praise too high.

They’re remarkable creatures, she replies.

They ain’t the only ones, darlin’, Jack drawls from the doorway. He’s flanked by Frankie, who has one arm wrapped casually around Jack’s waist.

I don’t know what to say. Tears prick her eyes as she turns to face them.

You don’t have to say anything, Frankie tells her.

Just be ours. Pero says it so softly she almost doesn’t hear him. As we are yours.

She pulls Pero in for a kiss, her answer whispered like a vow against his lips:

I already am.

———

Fun fact I learned about glassblowing equipment during my research for this fic that I wasn’t able to work into the story but absolutely need to share with you anyway:

Did y’all know that the furnaces like the one Pero uses here to heat the glass are called GLORY HOLES?!?!?!? Swear to god. Be careful googling that if you don’t believe me. 😂

#Pedro pascal #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #the great wall fic