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wardenparker · 1 year

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Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 12

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems. ✨ Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 13k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** Angst, hurt/comfort, loss, questionable use of dialect, mention of infertility, pregnancy, childbirth. Summary: Pero will do whatever it takes to get back to you. Notes: Sorry this is posting later in the day that usual - my husband was diagnosed with Covid yesterday and it has shaken my timing and routine on a fundamental level.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11

“Sassenach!” His hands are bleeding as he slaps them against the stone, shouting your real name and your nickname alternatively while hot tears stream down his face. Buckled to his knees in front of the monolith that had taken you from him. He was supposed to have gone with you, protected you. The fear of the future disappearing in the horror of losing you to time.

His hand had been flat on yours with you tight in his arms as he pressed your palm to the Stone, and they had all thought that that would be enough. Briac doesn’t dare approach Pero as he screams, but Arwena falls to her knees beside him as her own tears fall - the grief of a sister beside the other half of your soul as it breaks upon the ground.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there. Resistant to moving despite the fact that the sunlight is fading. Aware of the movement around him but not caring. The crackling of a fire can be heard but he doesn’t move, can’t move from where he is keeping his hand against the Stone, praying for the first time in years that he be allowed to follow you.

No one interrupts Pero's prayers, leaving him to beg and plead with God in his own words, even after Arwena moves back to Briac's side. Father Malcolm takes her place, draping a blanket over the Spaniard's shoulders to guard against the cold and bending his own head in prayer. He does not speak aloud, though he has been asked to by parishioners previously, so that Pero can continue his mournful begging in Spanish for as long as he needs.

He sleeps next to the Stone. One bloodied hand pressed against it when his body finally gives way to exhaustion. Taking no food or water before he succumbs to his grief and lays curled on the ground.

It is only the next day that anyone tries to speak to him. Well after the fire has been revived and bread has been broken, Arwena lays her small hand on Pero's arm and gently clears her throat. "We should seek Father Malcolm's clan," she suggests, echoing what the three of them had discussed the previous evening. "They may know secrets of the Stones that we do not."

Pero shakes his head. “I am not leaving.” He growls out, eyes gritty and swollen. His throat is dry and voice cracking from how much he had shouted the night before. “I cannot leave.”

She expected him to say as much, but did not tell Briac or Father Malcolm what she planned to say when he protested. The other two men were focused on what was right to do, and did not understand - or else did not want to admit - how immovable Pero would be. "Then I will stay with you," she tells him in a voice that will accept no argument. "We will send Father Malcolm and Briac on to his clan to find out what they can, and I will stay here with you."

“No.” For the first time since you disappeared from his arms, Pero looks towards Arwena. “I cannot protect you. You can’t stay.”

"I can protect my—" The words dissolve on her tongue when she looks up, seeing into Pero's eyes desperate eyes clearly in the morning sun, but seeing something far more distressing on his face than his sadness. "Holy Mary..." she breathes, tears springing to her own eyes immediately.

Pero frowns, brows scrunched together for a moment at Arwena’s tears but figures it is just the grief of losing her friend. “Go with your husband.” He urges her, turning back to the stone and wincing in pain from the rawness of his palm.

"Pero." Her hand on his arm tightens, and she swallows thickly. "Your—your scar..." If leaving her life in Brittany behind was difficult, finishing this sentence feels downright impossible. "It is…gone."

If it’s possible to feel anymore broken, it’s this moment. The moment where he realizes that the connection with you is gone. The scream of agony that rips out of his throat sounds like an animal, harsh and wild until his voice completely breaks. Collapsing against the Stone once more with a weak curse and fresh tears.

Arwena tries not to flinch, but her tears are silent compared to Pero's roaring despair. She sits beside him, unmoving, a silent pillar of support as he rails against God and time and all of the powers of the universe. What can she even say, when her own heart is broken as well?

His voice is hoarse, cracking as he sobs. Making his entire body shake with intensity, he wonders if this is a curse on him for his sins. Or if the Stones had heard him when he said he didn’t want to go to your time. He had been wrong. He would follow you anywhere, as long as he was by your side.

Eventually, she manages to get him to stop screaming for even a moment, and the two of them kneel with Pero leaning against Arwena's side like she is the wall that will hold him upright. "I will stay beside you," she promises him, hushed words between two people in grief. If his scar has disappeared, then there is no power in this world that could move her and Briac from his side. They will not abandon their family.

“She is gone.” Pero chokes out, eyes burning and throat raw. “Dead or in her own time, both maybe.”

"Which is why we should seek the Father's clan," she insists, finally wrapping Pero's broad frame in her small arms. "To find out how to get you to her."

He doesn’t have the will or strength to fight anymore. His will beaten down and his soul crushed. Instead of answering, he just gives a nod, pulling his hand away from the Stone and blinking owlishly down at his split skin.

"Here." Placing her palm carefully over Pero's, Arwena murmurs a few words under her breath and feels warmth course through her, her heartbeat moving through her skin to Pero's and closing the open wound there after just a few seconds' time. "It will still ache," she tells him as she helps him stand on weak legs. "But it will no longer bleed."

“Thank you.” It’s a hollow and whispered thanks, but he gives it anyway. Sluggish and stumbling, he comes over to the fire and sits down heavily on a log that the fire had been built near.

Father Malcolm says nothing at first, simply setting bread and cheese in front of Pero and settling the last cup of wine in the grass at the man's feet. If anyone in the world had ever earned the solace of a cup of wine, it was Pero Tovar in this moment. When Pero does not eat or drink, Malcolm prods the fire that Arwena lit with her fingertips and stares into its flames. "I cannot imagine your pain," he says after a long time of silence between the four of them. "But I will do whatever is in my power to help you find her again."

“My soul is missing its other half.” Pero croaks, staring down at the hands that had held you until the second you disappeared. “Her mark— it’s gone.” The only sliver of hope he retains is that he did not get any of your marks until you arrived in this time. “The others will be as well.”

"There is a woman in my clan who collects stories of the Stones." Malcolm tells him, looking up. He does his level best not to gape at the smooth skin framing the Spaniard's eye - marred by that deep and unforgettable scar until so recently. "My grandmother. We will see what she has to say."

“I will go back.” Pero will get through to your time or they will find his bones moldering at the base of the Stones. There are no other options for the Spaniard.

"Aye." Arwena agrees wholeheartedly, but she also nudges the food closer to him when she nods. "We will find out everything we can about how the Stones work, and how to get you through them. But you'll need your strength for the journey."

“We will go to Spain. Get you settled.” Pero decides, knowing you would want to know that your friends, your family really, were set up properly. “You will be carrying a babe soon.”

"After we see Malcolm's clan." Arwena insists. There is enough likelihood that she is with child already, and if that is the case then it does not matter where she is. Her discomfort and her joy will be equal no matter what. "They are so nearby; it would be a mistake not to."

Pero turns to the priest. “How far away are they?” He demands. He is not traveling for days in the wrong direction.

"A day. No more." Malcolm assures him, sensing that this is a point of contention. "West of here. I was raised on an island called Skye and my clan remains there."

“Yes—fine.” Pero grunts, rolling his eyes. What was one more day in the long term? He doesn’t know how to get back to you and maybe they can help.

"Briac and I will ready the horses, then." The young priest stands, wiping his hands on his robe and nodding to Arwena. "We ride when the two of you have eaten. A weak rider will only prolong the journey." And that is something that he can tell Pero Tovar will not stand for.

Pero would have sworn he couldn’t eat. That he was too emotional, which for him is unusual. However, as soon as he takes a sip of the wine and a bite of his bread, he turns ravenous. Tearing into the simple meal ferociously and wolfing it down like he had so many times before he had come to be at your cottage.

It is Arwena who only nibbles, her grief being so different than his, but when the time comes to ride she is stoic and true. What she cannot stomach she wraps in a cloth and tucks away before putting Binx’s sling around her neck and coaxing the melancholy cat into her arms. The unique little creature seemed almost to understand the reason for everyone’s grief, and had spent hours of the day before yowling mournfully in her own right while Briac pet her softly and cried his own silent tears.

“Let me have her.” Pero insists gruffly for a moment before his tone softens. “Please. She— Sassenach—” he breaks off and shakes his head, unable to articulate why he needs to hold the cat now but he knows Arwena will understand.

“Aye.” There is not even a moment of hesitation in her before she takes the sling from off her neck and gives the cat over to Pero’s safe keeping for the journey ahead. “Go with your papá, gato,” she tells Binx quietly, knowing the usually opinionated feline will not protest.

The sling goes over Pero’s neck and the cat immediately leaps from it, claws digging into his leathers as she winds herself around his neck and meows several times while head butting him. “I know, Gato.” Pero chokes out, his fingers scratching her ears. “I know.”

They paint a mournful picture, but the whole party resembles something of a funeral procession as they mount their horses. The crossing to the Isle of Skye is not far and they will be welcomed, but it does not mean that any of them have cause for cheer. He doesn’t have the energy to look mean, to cast a wary and warning eye towards anyone who crosses their path. Instead he’s almost catatonic as he moves with his horse, trusting the animal to correct any mistakes he makes.

******

It is late that night when the party arrives at the barge that will take them to the isle of Father Malcolm’s childhood, and they find out quickly that if they had arrived without the priest they might have had trouble.

“‘Oo goes?” Asks the figure on the water’s edge.

“Malcolm MacLeod.” The priest is at the front of the group, and leads his horse forward a few more steps. “Ye cannot scare me, Alistair MacLeod. We are come to see Seanmhair Ede.” Binx is now in her sling, asleep from the gentle rocking of the horse and she stirs slightly and pokes her head over the material to see what is going on.

“Malcolm?” The man at the water draws his hood down and steps forward, squinting in the light of his own fire before bounding forward jovially. “God’s graces, man. We never did think to be seein’ ye again.”

“I wish it were for a happier reason,” Malcolm admits. “Please, will you take us across? The journey has been weary and there is much to say when we are safe inside Dunvegan’s walls.”

Alistair seems to eye the rest of the group for only a moment. That seems to be all he needs to determine that Malcolm is not lying or withholding anything important in this moment. “Aye,” he nods, waving the group forward. “Yer Da will be glad to see you well. Come on, then.”

Pero doesn’t speak, instead he just sighs and shifts in his saddle. Not interested in a family reunion in the slightest. He just wants to know the secrets of the Stones. How to get back to you.

The barge here is far friendlier than the one they had crossed from Brittany into England on, and Arwena crowds Briac’s space as Malcolm nods along with his kinsman’s jovial chatter. There is only a little while left to ride, the priest explains when they are firmly on MacLeod land, and at the end of the journey will be a warm bed for each of them and food enough for kings. “And answers,” he promises Pero, when no other enticement moves the stoic warrior.

“Good.” Pero grunts out, paying little attention to anything else. He knows he made the right decision to send you back, you were dying. You would have done the same. He hopes.

Alistair rides with you to Dunvegan Castle, leaving one of the younger men in charge of the barge for the rest of the night, and heads first to the kitchens for food and wine before anything else. “I will show ye to beds for the night, but my own good mother may disapprove and know of somethin’ better in the morning.” He chuckles as if it were a joke, and Malcolm shakes his head, but no one else laughs. “I will go to my brothers,” Malcolm offers. “We need only two beds. These soulmates were wed just days ago.”

“I can bunk in the stables.” The last thing Pero wants is to listen to Briac and Arwena, not having his own sweet wife with him. He doesn’t want to leave Binx and they may not allow him the cat in the castle. “Got the cat.”

“Nonsense.” Alistair shakes his head. “There’s room enough for all.” Though he does sense a hesitation in the man, and glances at the young couple. “If ye prefer not to listen to yer daughter and her husband, we’ll just bunk ye separately. No harm there.”

“Thank you. They—deserve to be unworried about me being close.” Pero makes out like he is doing them a favor.

No one protests for even a second at the identification of being a family, and soon enough find themselves inside rooms with beds and fires with trays of food and their packs by their sides. “We will speak with my grandmother first thing in the morning,” Malcolm assures Pero at his door, knowing that the next thing he says will be met with a dubious response. “Sleep if you can.”

“Thank you, Father.” The words are whispered and Pero doesn’t even have the energy to scoff. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and just wants to be alone.

“Good night.” He wants to give words of comfort. That is part of the mantle he took up when he joined the clergy – to be the port in every wayward storm. But this is a grief unlike any other man has known before. So rather than harp on the pain, he will pray for the strength to be Pero’s guidance in the days and weeks to come.

Once the door is closed, Pero lets Binx out of her sling to sniff and inspect the room. It’s a room you would love. He imagines you moaning as you fall back into the thick mattress and giggling to yourself at the fact that you are in a castle.

Binx shakes herself off, prowling the borders of the room before weaving her way around the sparse furniture and finally leaping up onto the bed to situate herself firmly in front of one of the two pillows. On the side of the bed you normally sleep on. The cat does not hesitate to take up her place warming your spot, snuggling into the furs there as easily as if it were your own bed in the cottage.

The sight of the cat soothes him and yet it also makes him miss you more. “Do you expect me to talk to you like she did?” He huffs, bringing the tray of food over. He should eat, but he was going to give her the choice of meats - even if they were cooked when she prefers raw.

Binx tips her head and meows, a clear and decisive ’yes’ to answer his question. The food, of course, is a help, but she will keep him close just as she kept you.

It’s not a laugh, more like a slightly amused huff. Pero uncovers the tray and spies some roasted pheasant on the tray that’s been baked into a pie. “Have some bird here for you.” He says, unsheathing his dagger and cutting away the thick, flaky crust. He picks up a piece of the meat and holds it out for her. “Well? Come eat, I know you are hungry too. Or are you going to catch a fat mouse while I’m asleep?”

The cat raises her head, sniffing the air with interest before stretching forward and getting up again to retrieve the offered meat. She mews her thanks and butts her head against his hand, but it will not stop her from catching a fat castle mouse during the night. She may even leave the prize for him to find in the morning if she feels like boasting.

Pero lets his fingers trail over her back, stroking her fur. “Are you going to yell at me to eat?” He asks, feeling slightly better just having your familiar with him still.

She headbutts his hand again, her mouth currently occupied with eating, but she nudges closer to him and settles down facing him as though she intends to keep an eye on him.

“Fine.” Pero grumbles, moving away from the bed so he can bar the door and strip out of his armor and clothes. The cat has seen him in the nude more than she’s seen him dressed so what did it matter how he ate?

The sound Binx makes it almost a huff, and when Pero settles in bed with his tray she nestles herself directly against his side. Fool, she calls him with an exaggerated feline glare. You have no fur of your own to keep you warm.

Most of the meat goes to the cat, while Pero eats the bread and cheese, drinking the mead in greedy gulps and trying to forget that you love mead. “We will learn the truth of the Stones tomorrow.” Pero murmurs once finished.

Purring softly, Binx butts her head against Pero's side affectionately, as if she were suggesting that she would be at his side for things to come. In actuality, her attachment to him has become a fierce one, and if she were human rather than feline Pero might have two young women that the world sees as devoted daughters. As she is, your familiar nudges him once more and then rests her head on his hand and shuts her eyes - Binx's instructions on what he should do next are very clear.

“I know I need to sleep.” Pero murmurs as he leans over and blows out the candle without disturbing the cat’s place on his hand. The only light in the room comes from the fire now. “I just don’t know if I can without her.” He admits to himself. “Not anymore.”

******

The next morning comes with a knock to Pero's door and the young priest's familiar voice rousing him to the waking world many hours after sunrise. Binx is curled into the shape you had described as a cinnamon roll on the second pillow beside his head after a successful bout of mouse hunting in the middle of the night. The world of Dunvegan Castle is bustling outside his room, but Father Malcolm does nothing except knock and call his name before moving on again. If the Spaniard is able to sleep, he should. Rest has not come easy of late.

It had been a long time before Pero’s eyes had closed, but he feels better after the little sleep he did get. Pulling on his clothes and hissing at how cold it is, he is unbarring the door and stepping out within a few minutes, eager to talk to someone about the Stones.

Binx springs off the bed to keep at his heels, winding her way through the corridors that Pero cautiously navigates, following the sound of Father Malcolm's voice to the Great Hall where Malcolm, Alistair, Arwena, and Briac are sitting before a spread of food and drink with an old woman who appears to be appraising Arwena with all the authority of a queen.

Pero comes to a halt, shuffling slightly and wondering who to address. He hadn’t been paying attention with the priest had been talking as they traveled so he had no idea who this woman is.

“Here he is.” Arwena beckons Pero over from the table, still looking tired though she did manage to sleep a full night at Briac’s side. It is her best guess that she will feel exhausted a long while more - for that is what grief can do. The white-haired woman sitting next to her squints slightly in his direction but only takes a sip from the cup in her hands, saying nothing.

Walking over, Pero stands by the table even though there are seats aplenty to sit down at. He knows that he will be invited to sit or to be left to stand by the old woman and he is too exhausted to deny her that right. He won't hurt his chances of learning what he needs to know.

“This is your friend?” The old woman’s voice is strong and clear, and she smiles - which seems to surprise Malcolm and Alistair. “Come and sit, friend. Break your fast with us and ask me those questions I see swimming in your eyes.”

Pero nods respectfully and sits down beside Briac. The mead is poured for him, but he leans forward to watch the old woman steadily. “The Father said you could tell me about the Stones. I need to know.”

“But what do you need to know?” The woman holds his gaze steadily. “The Stones have many secrets.”

“My soulmate is from another time.” He doesn’t care how crazy he sounds, he needs answers. “She came through the stones nearly eight years ago and she was sent back yesterday but I—” His still raw voice cracks. “The Stones kept me here. Why?”

“Our Sassenach.” She smiles, a nostalgic look of fondness on her birdlike face. “I am sorry to hear she has gone.”

“That’s right.” Pero had forgotten in his grief that you had been sheltered here for some time. “Tell me how to get to her.” He begs, desperate. “I need— my— her scars are gone.” He needs to know what happened to you, even if you died. He needs to know.

“That is because she has not been born yet.” The old woman tells him matter of factly, and pushes his cup of mead closer to him before reaching for her own.

“Good mother…” Father Malcolm clears his throat gently to cut in. “Sassenach was near death when we brought her to the Stones.” He reminds her. “We are not simply seeking a traveler. We wish to know if there is any way we can see if she survived.”

Malcolm’s grandmother frowns, picking up a piece of bread to inspect before popping it into her mouth and chewing. “Well of course she survived,” she tells the whole group, seemingly offended that they would think otherwise. “Have you ever heard of a white witch being eaten by stone?”

Pero’s relief makes him shrink, sagging down towards the table and snatching up the mead to gulp down like he is dying of thirst. Audibly swallowing the mead in great gulps before setting down the cup a little harder than polite. “How do I get to her?”

“Do you have magic?” The question is straight forward. Not teasing or taunting or judgmental in any way, but the old woman’s face is full of curiosity.

Pero frowns slightly, thinking about the time he questioned you about conjuring the fire. If it could be taught. “If I do, I do not know it.” He admits, stomach sinking.

“I have never heard of a person without magic traveling through the Stones.” She admits, though she sees the pain it causes this man to be told as much. “You must find out what you are capable of, and then you will know if you can follow her.”

If it’s possible, his heart shatters again. Sure that he will be separated from his soulmate forever. “I see.”

“The Stones know what is needed.” The woman tells Pero, leaning forward in her seat. “If there is another witch in your past, seek her out. Learn all that you can. I cannot swear that the Stones will return you to your Sassenach’s side, but the stories say that traveling through them brings you home.”

“I can do it.” Arwena’s voice is strong and sure, her eyes moving between Pero and Good Mother Ede in her eagerness. “I am a witch. Sassenach taught me as others taught her. If you have magic, Pero, we will find it together.”

“Be careful admitting that so easily.” Pero tells her quietly, still not trusting any but his own people at the table. It’s one thing to take information, it’s another to give.

“All is safe within these walls.” Ede promises. “But you are correct, Pero Tovar. If you are to study witchcraft, you must do so quietly and safely. There are evil men in this world who would take it for granted. Or else, lash out in fear.”

“I have trained to be a warrior.” Briac assures the older woman. “To protect my soulmate and her gifts. Pero has taught me himself.”

That makes Ede nod, the approval on her face clear as day, and she reaches over to out her hand on Briac’s shoulder. “To be taught by a warrior who has defeated the Tao Tei is a great thing. You have already defended your family bravely.”

It feels like the air has been sucked out of Pero’s lungs. He has told one person about the monsters in China. And it wasn’t this old woman.

“The what?” Briac’s eyes track to Pero in confusion.

“The Tao Tei.” Pero looks at the older woman’s slightly smug expression. “How did you—?”

“I cannot weave spells as your wife did,” Ede tells him. “But I can see the truth that is written in your soul as clearly as I can see the nose on your face. It is a different kind of magic.”

“Fantastic.” Pero murmurs to himself, in awe of that ability. “Do you know if I reach her?” He asks, slightly desperate to hear it.

“It is not as simple as that.” Ede replies, obviously regretful of that fact. If she could assure him of his success, she would do so immediately. “But I can see you are destined for great happiness. That you will hold a newborn bairn in your arms. You will never again hunger or lack shelter. A beloved friend will be returned to you in time. And though there is still much travel in store for you, it will not be so hard as the journeys you have made thus far.”

Pero immediately bites his tongue, wanting to say that he will never hold a newborn babe because you can’t have children, but then he realizes that she doesn’t necessarily mean his own child. Instead he softens at the idea of holding the child of the two he has come to view as family before he tries to reach you again. “Thank you.” He murmurs, unable to express his gratitude. “Them?” He asks, nodding towards Briac and Arwena. “They are safe? Happy?”

“They have one more journey before their happiest days are upon them.” Ede smiles, a soft expression from a woman already a great-grandmother several times over. “And a legacy that will last far beyond the reckoning of anyone at this table. Beginning with the bairn already on his way.”

Arwena practically beams at the news that she is carrying Briac’s child and the man himself looks like he’s about to cry. “We will be well.” He whispers as if he is reassuring himself as well as Pero.

“Aye.” Malcolm nods, his presence at the table all but forgotten in the face of his grandmother’s conversation. “My grandmother is never mistaken in her sights.”

“You have journey enough too, Malcolm MacLeod.” Ede tells him, smirking when Alistair chuckles like his cousin has been scolded. “You will live in service of this family a while longer before your duty is done.”

Pero looks over at the couple as they quickly join hands and lean together, sharing their joy at the new life they will bring into the world. He knows that they will need protection, spiritually. “Come with us.” He decides suddenly, the fact that this priest accepts the magic for what it is - a gift - is a miracle and can ease their journey wherever they go. “To Valencia. There is always a need for a priest.”

“Returning to Gretna may be…difficult.” Briac admits, knowing that the priest is now associated with the deaths that occurred there simply by virtue of leaving with those who committed them. “Aye.” Malcolm nods with a moment’s hesitation. “I will write to the bishop and follow you, if that is your will. My life in Gretna had not yet begun and you…” His eyes travel between the young couple and Pero. “I feel I was always meant to know you, somehow.”

Pero does not doubt that, not when he was saved by you so many years ago when you came to this time. “It must be your will as well.” Pero reminds him. “But while I am learning magic, I will make sure you are protected properly as a man of the cloth and I know Briac will as well.”

“As a priest, I am a servant to God’s Will, and He has placed you directly into my path.” Of all the things that have been true about Malcolm’s life, his faith is the thing that has never wavered and always been his beacon. To ignore that now would be to ignore the way he has lived his entire life. “There can be nothing more divine than helping those in need.”

Pero nods and looks over at the old woman. "Thank you, for what you could tell me." He grunts, wishing it were more, but it would have to do. "I will be with her again."

“I know you are disappointed it was not more.” Ede offers Pero an apologetic smile. “Have patience with your path. Life is not as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.”

“It should be.” Pero grumbles, frowning down into his mead before he drains the rest of it. “We should leave tomorrow.” He decides, looking around the table. “Yes?”

“You should sail.” Alistair taps the table with blunted fingertips. “Land travel may be safer to some, but with a bairn on the way ye’d be better off getting there faster.”

As much as Pero hates the idea of sailing he knows it might be easier on Arwena, and faster. He nods and frowns. “Do you know of any ships sailing now?”

“Aye,” Alistair nods. “Me father’s bound for London in three days’ time. From there you can find passage to anywhere.”

Pero itches to leave now and opens his mouth to say so, but he glances over at Arwena and sees the way that her shoulders are slumped with grief and fatigue. He stops, closing his mouth for a moment and imagines what you would say if you were here. "Three days would give us time to rest and perhaps reshod our horses." He murmurs after a moment. "Perhaps get the girl looked at by the midwife?"

“Aye.” Alistair is eager to help, that much is clear, and when he taps on the tabletop again it is rhythmic and excited. “Not that I know much of the business meself, but me own good wife is a midwife’s apprentice. I’ll ask her to see that yer girl is looked after.”

“Good.” He looks over at Arwena. “Learn all you can in case there is not a good one nearby when we settle.” He tells her, knowing it might be him and Briac helping her deliver the babe.

“I will.” Knowing for certain that she is carrying her husband - her soulmate’s - child, Arwena feels a heavy mix of pride, joy, and a deep sadness that you are not here to be witness to the birth of the child you helped ensure. “And I will begin to teach you everything I can as soon as you are ready.”

Pero nods and turns towards Briac. "We should make sure the horses are ready for travel, especially on a ship, while the Father spends some time with his family."

“I will make sure we are ready to travel in three days’ time.” Briac would do anything for Arwena’s comfort and safety, and taking care of their precious animals is the least of things.

******

Three days later, Pero is better rested but his heart still aches for you. Determination to learn magic so he can journey back to the stones and find you is what keeps him from losing his sense of purpose, although Arwena and Briac are also counting on him. "Thank you for your hospitality." He murmurs to Ede, nodding gratefully as she stands on the steps leading into the castle, her shawl wrapped around her bony frame to ward off the cold.

“When you see our Sassenach again, will you tell her she’s not forgotten?” Ede had always been fond of you while you sheltered with the clan, and she clasps Pero’s hand now as tight as her age-worn muscles will allow. “Go in good faith, Pero, and keep your family safe.”

"I will." He turns to Alistair and nods, offering his hand as well. The man had been very eager to help and it had been refreshing. The clan of this isle were good people. "Many thanks for the help."

“May yer new lives be joyous, safe, and prosperous.” The younger man returns Pero’s hold and nods before embracing this cousin. “And go in God’s graces.”

Pero turns towards the younger couple and takes Binx from Arwena. She has been taken to spending time with the pregnant woman and in Pero’s mind, it’s a good thing. She will stay behind when he leaves for the stones again and protect his family in this time. “Ready, Gato?”

Against Pero's chest, Binx sits straight up in his arms like a soldier at attention - not her normal personality but her own way of showing him that she understands her duty. True to form though, she purrs deep in her chest and butts his chin with the top of her head, that sign of deep affection being something she reserves just for him.

“I know.” He scratches her ears and smiles slightly. She has helped him not miss you quite so much, some of her own personality a reflection of the woman who she had guarded. “We will see if you like to travel by boat, eh? See where I come from?”

Her eager meow makes Arwena laugh softly, and Binx crawls from Pero's arms to sit on his shoulder like a dutiful look out as the party sets out for the docks on the edge of the island. The walk is not far and the meal they shared before leaving the castle will still be sitting warm in their bellies by the time they board the ship.

The horses had already been put down into the holds of the ship, sent on ahead with their supplies and bags. Pero isn't eager for the voyage, always slightly unsettled on the water but he is eager to get to his homeland. To get settled and to learn what he needs to get back to you.

“There’s a cabin for ye young ones.” The captain tells them, ready to have his passengers tucked away safely so they can get under way. “There’s hammocks enough with the crew for our Sassenach’s husband and Malcolm.” The only reason he even agreed to take passengers at all was because it was Ede’s orders. His mother is a formidable woman - always has been - and is even more so with every year that passes.

"Gracias." Pero nods, sending a small smirk towards the younger couple. They were still very much in the celebration stage of their marriage and privacy was needed for them. Especially since Braic is proud as a peacock about his wife's state.

“Aye. Thank you.” Arwena’s grip on Briac’s hand is tight, smiling and grateful despite being nervous. The barge passing from Brittany to England was the longest she had ever been on the water before now, and this voyage was meant to span nearly ten full days. Only for them to have to charter another ship in London to make it all the way to Spain.

“I’ll take you below.” Father Malcolm offers, nodding toward the hold. “I crewed this ship for my uncle as a teenager. Anything you need, you can ask me instead of interrupting the crew.”

The cabin is tiny, holding nothing more than a built-in bunk and small table with the crockery fitted into holes to keep it from crashing to the floor in rough seas. Not meant to be inhabited for more than sleep, but she is grateful to have this. "It's perfect."

“If the bairn makes you ill on the voyage, Briac will see you anything you need.” Malcolm is sure of that, after now spending a week with the newlyweds. “The crew sleeps just beyond your cabin, and the galley is across the hold.”

“I’ll make myself acquainted with the ship after we are under way.” For his part, Briac is probably the most excited of the group. This adventure bodes only the best things for him and his small family, and he is grateful to keep his mentor by their side a while longer.

Pero and Binx stay on the top deck, the cat watching the commotion as the crew prepare to get the ship underway. "They will be happy to have you eat all the rats running around the holds." Pero murmurs to the cat, knowing that she had been highly praised in the three days they were with the Father's clan. She had left several vermin at the end of the bed for Pero's inspection every morning and there was evidence she had eaten her fill as well. She was several pound heavier and he had lovingly teased her about turning plump.

Binx mews proudly, situated in her now customary perch on Pero’s shoulder. You would have laughed and teased her to see her so well behaved with him, and perhaps if you were here she would be less so, but that does not mean she would even think of leaving his side now. The only person your familiar loves as much now is Arwena.

After boarding, it’s another hour before the ropes are cast off, the ship pulling away from the dock and Pero stands there, watching the land get farther and farther away. Remembering the time he was with you on the barge and wishing you were in his arms now.

“Pero?” Arwena’s voice behind him surprises him, but she steps around his broad form on the deck and lays a hand gently on his arm. “I know you are eager to begin.” He had given her the time and space to learn from the midwives while they were still at Dunvegan Castle, but she can feel the impatience rolling off him in waves more insistent than the sea beneath them.

“I am.” There is no denying that, not when that is going to bring him closer to getting back to you. “But we should not test the crew’s superstitions.”

“Come below decks,” she insists, smiling encouragingly. “We will use the cabin. And focus on something other than flame.”

Pero nods, turning and following her down the steep steps that lead below the deck and he loses sight of land and water.

“I probably know the answer.” Arwena hums, shutting the door behind the man everyone acknowledges as her father and sitting down on one end of the bunk she will share with Briac come nightfall. “But is there anything in particular that you have interest in learning? I know you are determined, but this could also be enjoyable.” They both know that it is possible Pero is without magic. Ede’s confidence that defeating the Tao Tei shows he is able does not completely squelch their fears.

“I—I asked Sassenach about the fire.” He admits to Arwena with a rueful grin. “Before we learned you have the gift. She had said she did not know if it could be taught.”

“She doubted her own abilities.” Arwena admits, the sadness in her tone apparent. “She should not have. I can teach you fire if you desire it, but I think that would not be wise while on board a ship of wood.”

“Very astute of you.” Pero snorts, shaking his head at himself. “What would you teach me?” He is curious to know what else he could be taught, having spent most of your lessons with the girl outdoors with Briac teaching him how to survive.

“With how you ride, you may be more akin to the air than to fire.” Arwena suggests, shifting in the cot so that her legs are folded under her - the way you would sit when you were comfortable in front of the fire. “You may be more inclined to lifting and moving things with magic rather than setting them aflame.”

“That would be useful.” Pero admits, imagining the relief his back would feel if that was the case. He is disappointed to not use fire, but he does not wish to burn the ship down.

“Choose something small and light to begin with.” She sits back to try to give him space, knowing that if he is not successful it will be a very long journey full of great sorrow.

Pero twitches nervously and looks around the cramped space. “Your bag.” He points to the small bag with Arwena’s herbs and the book you had written for her. “How about that?”

“Aye.” She reaches for it, setting the bag between them on the bunk so there is nothing between Pero and the bag. “Sassenach says that the key to magic is balance.” She tells him, keeping her voice quiet in case a crew member should pass the cabin. “And Ede said that it is desire made real. For my part? I can tell you that it is something that you feel…though I do not know how much that will help you in the beginning.”

“I have desire.” Pero huffs, although he knows Arwena is well aware of how much desire he has to learn what he needs to get back to you. “Do I just…see the bag lifting?” He asks in confusion.

“That is part of it.” Nodding, Arwena pays no mind when Binx crawls from her space beside Pero and into the girl’s lap. The cat seems content to watch as things unfold. “Close your eyes first. Focus on the way the air feels around you. If the hairs on your arm are moved by it. If you can feel it move past your face.”

Pero is not a patient man, but his eyes squeeze shut instantly and his brow pulls together as he tries to feel the air around him. Jaw tight, his hands bunch into fists.

“Softly.” Arwena has her own worries about whether or not these lessons will work - if she will be a good enough teacher to help him achieve his goals - but those are not for sharing. Not with Pero, anyway. With him, she reaches out and takes his hands, encouraging him to loosen his iron grip. “You can’t feel the air above the boiling of your own blood.”

Pero exhales roughly, knowing she is right and tries to relax. “I am not going to be able to do this.” He murmurs, giving voice to his greatest fear.

"You cannot know that." It is all of their fear - their collective and joined terror - that Pero will be entirely without magic and not be able to follow you through the Stones. But as you soothed her and guided her through the most terrifying time in her young life, Arwena is resolute in guiding Pero through this. Even if he meant nothing to her, she would do it for you. But he is her family and she will not fail him. "It may not be easy, but Ede was confident that you have magic in you. We must have faith that it will show itself with time."

He taught Briac to fight, to survive, he reminds himself. It takes time to learn something, especially as nuanced as magic. Blowing out a breath, he nods. “Sí, sí.” He agrees quietly, his heart aching as he hears your voice underneath her words, as if you are speaking to him. “I will need to remember that.”

"I will remind you whenever you need." She can promise him that easily. She would promise him anything that she knew was true, and even a few things that she cannot verify, if only it would help him to have hope. "I simply...I cannot imagine a world so cruel that it would bring you together for such a great love only to separate you again. I truly cannot."

“I would deserve it.” He murmurs quietly, still believing that his past crimes would warrant being unhappy. “Despite what Sassenach would believe, I am not a good man.”

"She would tell you that you have repented enough." Arwena reaches forward and takes one of his large hands in both of her smaller ones. "And that is without ever knowing that you avenged her on her attacker. You are far better than you think you are, padre." She knows what fathers are called in Spain. She had asked you months ago. But until this last step toward their new life in his homeland she had never felt it appropriate to use. Families, though, can be chosen. And Arwena could not possibly think of a man she more wanted to stand in place as her father than this ornery mercenary with his hidden virtues.

Pero’s eyes fly open in shock and he nearly chokes when she calls him that. It’s true what he told you, he had never imagined fathering children so he hadn’t been disturbed when finding you are barren. These children – not really children, but children - were the closest he has ever been to younger humans and he loves them. Would give his life for them. What’s the best the world has to offer them. Is that what being a father is?

"After all that we have been through together, it is only fair that you know how I think of you," she tells him, squeezing his hands gently. "If it is not what you wish...for me to use that title...I will respect it. But I feel it with all my heart."

“No—” Pero quickly shakes his head. “I— it’s okay. I— I like it.” He promises, a decidedly shy smile on his face. “I feel the same way.”

"Then perhaps Briac will not be so afraid to ask you if we might become la familia Tovar when we arrive in London." His acceptance makes her light up from within, the warm glow of happiness spilling out of her so much more easily than any of the rest of them despite everything she has been through. "He wants to thank you for everything you have done. Without you and Sassenach..." Arwena's smile turns soft with a hint of melancholy. "Well...your grandchild should bear your family name. Family by choice and not by blood, as she would say." And how many, many times you had said it.

“Only—” Pero had to swallow, the emotions stealing his voice. “Only if that is your wish.” He assures her. “I am honored.”

"I wish it wholeheartedly." And she would never have him think otherwise. "And I will do everything in my power to send you back to madre." She smiles again, softer still. "If only you will remember to tell her how much we love and miss her when you see her again."

“That is an absolute.” Pero murmurs. If he could, he would demand they all go, even if he feels as if he will be a burden to you in your time. A fish on land.

"If it was possible for us all to go, I would want nothing more," she murmurs, as if reading his mind. "But there is no way to know if the babe will be able to go through the Stones, or Briac. And I could not imagine my life without them."

“No, you must stay here and protect your babe.” Pero would never want Briac to go through the same angst and heartbreak Pero is experiencing. Plus, there is this feeling that it is necessary that his family stays in their own time.

"And you must venture forth to find your wife." Sitting back again, Arwena smooths her hand over her bag and nods to Pero with imagined authority. "Now. Try to feel the air around you, padre."

******

“We are coming up on it soon.” Pero shifts in his saddle, his eyes bright, although they would be even more so if you were by his side. His excitement of seeing his childhood home dimmed by the fact that he still has not produced any magic and it has now been nearly three months since you disappeared through the stones.

"There?" Briac points at a farmhouse in the distance - sitting confidently on top of a small hill amidst a valley of trees that are only just starting to blossom. Almonds and oranges, Pero had told them, were what his family had grown for many generations. And animals, of course.

“Yes.” The smile is bittersweet, seeing the overgrowth on the house, obviously not in use. “My mamá and papá are buried underneath the largest tree.” He knows that the priest in the village would have honored his father’s wishes.

"Padre Cristoval seemed excited to have a younger priest in the parish." Arwena had noted the gratitude in the old man's eyes when Father Malcolm had explained traveling to the area with la familia Tovar as they were now known. Culla, Padre Cristoval explained, is a growing village that could only benefit from more spiritual guidance. He had welcomed the young foreigner with open arms. "He was also excited to see padre." Arwena laughs, running one hand along the underside of her belly. It is growing larger every day and she will be glad for a few days of rest. "I thought he might fall to his knees and weep for the sight of you all grown into a man."

“The priest held my baptism.” Pero grouses, even though he is smirking slightly. “We will get to the house and clear away the brush to get you inside. Make sure we clear out the vermin.”

“Binx will have them under control before we know it.” Arwena commends, remembering how fast the feline had taken care of the mice on board both ships even if she had openly disliked being in the water. “But I think she will be glad to be on land again permanently.”

Pero chuckles and looks over at the cat who is contently perched on Arwena’s saddle. As her pregnancy has become advanced the feline has spent more time with her, especially when she is traveling.

Binx meows loudly and proudly, far preferring the sight of land to that of water, and nuzzles Arwena’s hand. “We are lucky to find your homestead.” She remarks, letting her mount drift closer to Pero’s. “It would have been quite a battle over land as beautiful as this.”

“I am surprised that no one has claimed it.” Pero admits, wondering why. It was a solid house, although the roof needs some new thatching by the looks of it.

“I, for one, will not question such a gift.” Briac shrugs happily and reaches out to touch his wife’s shoulder. “Welcome home, bonita.”

It warms him to hear them use his native tongue. Making him smile, even if it is slightly bittersweet since you are not also home where you belong. “I am remembering the big bed being large.” He tells Briac and Arwena. “My parents were lucky and there was a separate space for their bed and the loft was where I slept. I will sleep there again, give you privacy.”

“It has been many years since you were last here.” It pains Briac’s heart in a kind of melancholy sorrow that you are not here beside them, but he knows that this is the right place for them to be. “Thank you for sharing this with us.”

“You are mi familia.” Pero looks over at the boy with a grin. “We will see how much you are thanking me when we are breaking our backs getting things ready for the little one.”

“Our child has a home because of you,” Briac reminds Pero, his hand tight on Arwena’s shoulder. It is now his silent motion of thanks for all she has given him. “I will thank you every day for the rest of my life.”

“El niño deserves a safe place to grow.” Pero insists, wishing that he could assure that it would stay safe for his family, but he has given Briac the knowledge to protect them whatever may come.

“Pero.” Arwena says the name matter of factly as their horses slow to a walk at the bottom of the small hill that supports their cottage. Like a castle overlooking its kingdom, the orchard spreads out around them with welcoming arms. “Perito, while he is small. While his abuelo is still here to dote on him.”

Pero takes a shuddering breath and nods, tears wetting his eyes and he blows out roughly as he tries to compose himself. “The babe will have everything I can provide.” He promises, his voice thick with emotion.

“We will build our life here.” Arwena hums softly and looks between the men on either side of her before settling her eyes on Pero. “The wind here tingles. I think your lessons may improve.”

Pero scoffs slightly, a little frustrated with his lack of talent. The girl had picked up magic so easily and he still could not even make an object move.

“Do not fret.” She assures him, as optimistic as ever despite hardship. “We have come this far. We will continue forward.”

“I am trying.” It’s all he can do at this point, try. He watches at the house and trees grow larger and he hums. “It has been some time since someone harvested the fruits.”

“Then we will have a plentiful season.” Briac has no qualms with living the life of a farmer, never having had much love for the life of a cobbler’s son before this.

“I do not think it will be much work to get the fields ready. The ground is fertile and the trees established.” Pero looks around remembering running through the trees as a boy.

Arwena sighs, petting Binx with two fingers as she holds the reins of her horse. “Welcome home, padre,” she hums happily.

“I should be saying that to you, mi girasol.” Pero smiles at the younger woman, having chosen that nickname because of her beautiful light and brightness despite the horrors she has faced. “You have found where you belong.”

“Sí.” She cannot and does not deny it, feeling the contentment blossoming in her chest. “I believe so.”

******

“Concentrate.” Arwena huffs, placing her hands on her thickening waist before immediately stroking the noticeable bump under her dress. Pero rolls his eyes under his lids. “I am.” He grumbles. “Eres mandona.” You are bossy. The wind rustles through the trees, against the growing fruit that is starting to weigh down the branches of the orange trees that they are sitting under.

“Soy incómoda.” I am uncomfortable. She grumbles back, though she is much more lighthearted than he is. It is now six months since the day you disappeared through the Stones and Pero is no closer to performing his own feats of magic. “Lo siento.” I’m sorry. “Try again.”

“Sí.” Pero nods and closes his eyes again, the small branch in front of him is the target, all he needs to do is move it. He visualizes it, the small, three armed kindling being lifted into the air and moving from its spot on a nice sized rock. The wind stirs around him again and for a moment hope flares in his chest and his eyes open, only to find branch is undisturbed. “Fuck.”

“Do it again!” Arwena squeals excitedly, looking up into his eyes when he opens them. Her heart is pounding and skin tingling, the air feeling thick and charged around her. “You almost had it! I could feel it!”

He is doubtful, but he closes his eyes and tries again, concentrating harder this time. “Fuck!” He shouts, angry and frustrated.

Like a sudden gust, the air that whips between Pero and Arwena seems both to dance and to have a destination. It is more than a breeze. It cracks through the air with impatience and force, launching the small piece of kindling off the rock Pero had been trying to lift it from with such strength that it nearly breaks. “Pero!” Arwena nearly weeps at the sight of it, six months of hard work and the high emotions of pregnancy making her vulnerable to crying at nearly everything these days. “Mira!” Look!

His eyes fly open, almost afraid of seeing the stick on the stone and they widen when he doesn’t. “Where— where is it?”

“It is—” Once she would have scurried after the branch in excitement, but Arwena cannot move that fast now. “It is under that tree,” she gasps, pointing to one of the smaller orange trees close by in the grove. “You did it!”

He stares for a moment, almost suspicious that Arwena threw the branch but he would have heard her. After a moment, he starts to laugh. Doubling over as he nearly cries with relief and happiness. Of course his magic would be rooted through his temper.

"Padre, you have magic." Tears roll down Arwena's cheeks and she feels absolutely no reason to hold it in, in this moment. They have more than earned this shared outburst of emotion.

“Yes I do.” Relief so dense it nearly crushes him rushes over Pero and she stumbles over to where Arwena is sitting, falling to his knees and immediately pulling her in for a hug.

"This will work. We will learn to harness your emotions and you will be able to go through the Stones." She clings to him, as eager for him to be reunited with you as she will be bereft to see him go. In the almost year since they met, Arwena has come to rely upon Pero in so many ways. But this is beyond her needs in every way.

Pero pulls back, his hand – that battle scarred hand that has killed many men – caresses her stomach gently. A gesture he had come to love, especially when the little one is kicking. “I will not leave until the babe is here and you are recovered.” He promises, unable to imagine not telling you about the baby that will be his legacy.

"I cannot imagine you will ever be angry enough to use magic again once you are with her." Arwena bites her lip, hugging him harder. "Stay with us as long as you see fit, but once you are with her again...cherish every moment."

“We will think of you often.” Pero promises, smiling at the thought. “I will bring letters to her from you. The things you did not get to say when she went through.”

"Gracias, padre." That is all she can say about it now, as choked up as the thought makes her, and she nods into his shoulder. There is a chance that she may write several letters to you between now and the day Pero departs - more than a chance, really.

Turning his head, he kisses her hair and pulls away. “I need to practice more, yes? Make sure I can harness it better?”

"Yes." She nods, wiping the tears from her eyes and sniffling as she beams a smile at him. "We will have you practice as much as you can. Do you think you can bring the stick back to us?"

“I will try.” Pero nods, moving away from Arwena because he would never forgive himself if he hurt her or the child she carried with his determination to get back to you. “Let me see if I can do it without yelling.”

"Yes," she laughs, still so relieved that he was finally able to use some small amount of his own magic after months of trying. "That would perhaps be better."

Pero snorts and instead of closing his eyes this time, they focus on the branch. Willing it to move.

For one long, terrifying moment, nothing happens. And as Arwena fears that they may have been celebrating prematurely, the anger that swirls in Pero's belly whips the wind into obedience once more to send the stick back across the clearing toward where he and Arwena are sitting. "It really is your frustration," Arwena giggles, stifling a howl of honest laughter when it takes until he is red faced again to make the stick move.

“I have always been a crusty bastard.” Pero quips, shaking his head. “William would laugh his arse off at me.”

“She found it endearing.” Arwena rubs her round belly in soothing circles. “Teasing you made her laugh.”

“She has a sharp wit and even sharper tongue.” Pero admits, warmth flooding his body as he remembers the heated squabbles you would have and the inventive curses you used.

“And I think she never had more fun arguing with anyone but you.” She chuckles fondly. “She will be so thrilled to see you again.”

“Maybe.” Pero has wondered if you are happy in your own time. Maybe you look back on your time here as a nightmare but he has learned he can’t live without you. Understanding now why it seemed like his papá just seems to give up after mamá died.

“I do not doubt it for a moment.” Nothing could convince Arwena that you do not miss him. That your life is not lesser without your soulmate. It is impossible to think you are happy somewhere without him.

Pero looks over at Arwena and frowns. “You look tired. We should get you back to the house and let you rest.”

"I am always tired now." But despite rolling her eyes, she does not fight when he moves to help her up out of the grass. She takes his hands gratefully and allows herself to be hoisted up onto her feet with a groan of relief on her joints. "Perito will be an imposing man, if his size as a babe is any indication."

“I will bring the midwife to you myself if I have to drag her from her bed when your time comes.” Pero assures you. “The priest will be here too. For prayers of healthy delivery only.”

"Father Malcolm will be a most welcome sight." She wraps her arm around Pero's, leaning on him slightly as they begin the slow, long walk back to the farmhouse. "Briac thinks we should give Perito the second name of Malcolm. To honour him for everything he has done for us. For our family."

“That is something that would please the father very much.” Pero keeps his arm around her body and supports her as much as he can without lifting her. He hums. “The priest may cry when you tell him, I can invite him to dinner this week.”

Arwena laughs, shaking her head at how eager Pero is to witness Father Malcolm’s emotional reaction. “Tell him that there is much to celebrate, when you do,” she chuckles, eventually hissing under her breath when the babe moves in her belly. “He will want to know you have been successful.”

He will, the father had been surprisingly keen to witness some of the more healing aspects of Arwena's magic and he has already started to shift the messages given to people about the gifts that God bestows on some. "Aye." Pero's hand shifts to her stomach and he rubs the flailing feet under her bump. "Give your mamá some peace, bebita." He croons. "Soon you will be free to kick as you will."

“The midwife says it is a good sign,” she reminds him, though she is glad when Perito minds his abuelo and quiets. She does not relish being hastened about from the inside.

“It is good that the bebé is lively, but I know it causes you pain.” He continues to rub her stomach as they walk. Even though the child is not his, he is as protective as any papá or abuelo would be if it were his blood. Perhaps more so. “The cradle is repaired and Briac is cleaning it up.”

“We are an eager family, to be sure.” She admits, chuckling again at their collective enthusiasm. “The midwife says it will not be my time until closer to the harvest, but we are ready.”

"It is better to have everything waiting." Pero murmurs, knowing that the younger man is joyously awaiting to become a father, proud as a peacock when he gazes at his soulmate. It has been a pleasure watching them settle into the people they were destined to be. Briac has travelled for coin, becoming known to the local nobility as a level-headed warrior.

“Aye.” It will be worth all of the preparedness in the world once she has her babe in her arms. That much she can agree to readily.

They are doting on her; Pero is fully aware of it and he isn't upset. He never thought he would be in the position of an honorary abuelo, and he was enjoying it. Wanting to make sure the people he cares about most besides you and William are safe and happy.

******

It is a cold rain, the morning that Arwena wakes crying out in pain. Pero rides to collect the midwife and Father Malcolm as soon as he certain that there is nothing to fear but the idea that the babe may be born before he can return with the help Arwena will need. Briac returned for the season not two weeks before and thank goodness for that.

“Hurry.” Pero hustles the priest as he tosses the bags the midwife had shoved in his hands as he rushes around the horses. “She has been crying out in pain for nearly three hours.”

“Three hours would be very fast for the arrival of the bebé.” The midwife tuts, following behind the concerned abuelo with an amused smile. “She will be in pain, Sí. But all will be well.”

Pero shakes his head, exchanging a glance with Father Malcolm. “I do not see how women bear it.” He admits quietly. “She was talking normal when she was not screaming. It is strange how fast her moods shift.”

“Women are strange and magical creatures, Señor Tovar,” the midwife chuckles, not knowing just how correct she is. “Your daughter’s great pain will have great reward. In time.” It is against her better judgement that young Señora Tovar wishes to have so many men present for the birth of her child, but her place is only to deliver mother and child safely. Not to run her nose into the family’s business. Perhaps having no female relations has warped her mind to trusting men more readily. “Mark my words. All will be well.”

“It better be.” Pero knows that Briac will cease living if his soulmate is lost in childbirth. There would be nothing for him and he couldn’t leave the boy to grieve by himself. It would delay getting back to you.

“Mind my instruction and stay out of the way of your daughter’s movements, and all will be well.” The midwife climbs the two stone steps into the farmhouse with Father Malcolm and Pero trailing behind her. The sound of labor is unmistakable to her after so many years and she flies to the bed where Arwena is lying with great speed. “How are you faring, Señora?” She asks, taking in the sight of the mother-soon-to-be’s sweaty brow and pained face.

Pero holds the priest back by the arm, his own fears very telling on his face. "Pray for her, Father." He urges Malcolm. "The babe is large and it feels as if it is too soon."

“Arwena is strong.” Malcolm nods nevertheless, removing his hat when he crosses the threshold of the farmhouse he knows so well and nodding to Pero in seriousness. “But I will pray for them both, nonetheless. God has seen her through many horrors already, I am sure childbirth will not be what claims such worthy lives.”

He can only hope. In addition to the magic that she had been teaching him, healing has been added in a crash course. Just in case it comes to that. He refuses to let her or the child die in childbirth.

Briac sits hard by his soulmate’s side for hours. Immovable as he holds her hand through the worst of the labor and swears he feels his own bones buckling under the force of her grip, but he never wavers. Never complains. He speaks only words of love and encouragement and watches her carefully, letting Pero be the one to be ordered about by the midwife while Father Malcolm prays over the event and keeps boiled water and clean cloths at the ready.

“How is she doing?” Pero demands, frowning at the stubborn midwife and her tutting and mumbling under her breath about ‘men belong outside’. They were her family and they were staying.

“It will take more time.” The older woman pronounces, raising an eyebrow at the demands of the eager grandfather. “She progresses slowly, despite the pain. It may take far longer than any of you would prefer, I am afraid.”

Pero nods, wishing he had you here to help. He could have avoided bringing in the midwife until later. “Whatever she needs.”

It is sundown before the midwife calls for Arwena to force the babe out of her womb, and the men have been in various states of distraction and distress for hours. Arwena is steadfast, though, pushing with everything she has left in her until the warbling cry of the newborn rings out through the farmhouse. Warm water and cloths take the blood and all manner of other things from the boy as he wails, and the midwife chuckles indulgently as she bathes him. “Make you wife comfortable, Señor Tovar,” she instructs. “Your son is surely hungry.”

“Help me.” Briac gently lifts his wife, setting her on her feet to aid pushing the afterbirth out while Pero strips the soiled linens and makes the bed again as quickly as he can.

“Water?” Arwena is exhausted, but even as she asks for the drink she is reaching for her newborn child, nearly weeping at the beauty and desperation of his cries. “Perito, my love, there is nothing to fear in this world,” she croons as the midwife lays the baby in her arms. “There is nothing but love in this home. In our hearts.”

How it was a boy, or how she knew it was a boy, Pero will never know. Assuming it is a part of her powers, one’s that he does not possess. Rushing to grab a cup of cool, sweet water, Pero turns back to find mother and son bonding in a way that steals his breath and makes him think that it is the most magical thing he’s seen in all his years.

Briac is already beside them, soothing his wife’s brow and wondering at the sight of his newborn son, when he reaches for Pero to join them. “Come meet your grandson, padre,” he urges with a beaming smile. There are fears left to be had, of course, and the first few years of a babe’s life are perilous. But his family has grown by one today and he has never been so overfull of joy.

Startled out of his trance, Pero brings the cup over, almost creeping towards the trio as if he might break the spell of absolute bliss that has descended over them. “Chico hermoso.” Beautiful boy. He whispers softly, watching as his little face starts to scrub against his mother’s breast, searching for milk.

“He is a miracle,” Arwena sighs, the tears spilling from her eyes most decidedly filled with joy in this moment but also exhaustion. Laboring from long before sun up all the way until sundown had left her with a new definition for tired. But she would do all of it again for this exact moment: cradling Pero’s delicate head against her breast and watching him take his first precious moments on earth at her chest.

“Perfecto.” Pero murmurs, offering the drink while Father Malcolm offers a blessing to God for the child’s safe delivery.

The only thing conspicuously missing from this moment is your presence, and though the small family are all thinking it individually, they focus on little Pero with all of their might.

“We are truly blessed.” Briac’s voice is thick with emotion and his tears fall into Arwena’s shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you, amor.”

“It was you who gave him first to me.” Tipping her head back, Arwena is able to meet Briac’s eyes and leaves a soft kiss on his lips before nuzzling into his side with little Pero in her arms. “What I did today was bring him back to you.”

There is a crude joke in there, but Pero bites his lip and smothers his grin as he hands the cup to the tired new mother. “Do you want to eat?” He asks, knowing she hasn’t eaten anything since her pains started.

“You must keep your strength up.” The midwife insists, coming back to the bedside now that the bloodied sheets have been cleared away. “Aye, then.” The nod Arwena gives him is vague, but it comes with a smile. “I will eat whatever is at hand. It is quite a tiring thing to birth a child.”

Pero chuckles, imagining it is considering the screaming and pushing involved. “I put on some stew and there’s some bread.” Father Malcom announces. He had wanted to occupy himself when he wasn’t needed, to not crowd the poor thing. “I’ll get you some.”

“Gracias, padre.” The small touches of Spanish are much more natural these days, and Arwena sighs as Perito nuzzles and clings to her.

Pero sighs softly, kneeling down at the side of the bed and looks at the baby misty-eyed. “Are you sure you want to name him for me?” He asks, grinning slightly. “He is much too handsome to be my namesake.”

“Nothing in the world could make us change our mind.” She promises him. They had never even discussed another possibility. It was set from even before they knew to expect him. “He will be our future. The future you ensured we would have together.”

Pero shakes his head, beaming at the two younger adults who had just become parents. “You saved yourselves from a fate you did not want.” He reminds them, proud beyond belief at what they have accomplished. “I am honored.”

“You will love him as endlessly as we do until the day you leave our sides.” Though the midwife may understand differently, Arwena and Briac and Malcolm all exchange the same knowing smile. Pero will love his grandson fiercely and deeply even after he leaves through the Stones to return to you. Long, long after.

______

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nobedofroses · 6 months

Text

December 20th

pairing: Pero Tovar x reader

warnings: angst then fluff!

words: 994

a/n: more of Pero set in the vague past, lots of tears lol. Candle light/oblivious idiots/tears prompt from @toomanystoriessolittletime's winter writing challenge ❄️

more Pero, Full List

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When you found out Pero was leaving, you spent the whole rest of the day in your room, burying your face in your thick woolen blankets and crying. You couldn’t imagine life without him in your tiny little village tucked into the mountains. For the past six months, he had been boarding at your brother’s farm where you lived, helping with the planting and the harvest. And for the past six months, despite your best intentions, you had been falling in love with him. But now he was leaving.

Your sister-in-law, Jane, came in the room to make sure you were alright to come to supper, and sat up to see her. You had finished crying a while before, but at the sight of her sympathetic face, you lost it all over again.

“Oh, honey,” Jane said as she sat by your side, pulling you into a hug.

“I just— I didn’t think he would leave! I thought— I thought he would stay and— and we could— we could…” you trailed off, not wanting to voice your hopes and dreams for him and you.

“I know, sweetie,” Jane murmured, rubbing up and down your back. After a minute she pulled back and looked you in the eye, “Do you maybe want to talk to him? Tell him how you—?”

“I can’t! What’s the point? He’s leaving and he’d reject me either way. He wouldn’t be leaving if he felt the same way, because I would– never— leave— him!” you burst into another fit of sobs and crumpled against Jane again.

Jane sighed and just soothed you, wondering how on earth she’d be able to get both you and Pero to admit your feelings to each other.

___

The next day you saw Pero for the first time since his announcement. You ducked your head, hoping he wouldn’t notice your puffy and bloodshot eyes and also that you wouldn’t cry again.

“Did Jane tell you she and your brother will be gone until late this night?” Pero asked you, voice quiet and gruff.

You nodded, “Yes, the market. I, um, I can make supper for just the two of us tonight.”

The thought of what supper for just the two of you would mean in a different context sent a stab through your heart and you stood up quickly from the table, making quick excuses and hurrying back to your room, too quick to hear the soft entreaty of “querida” that followed you.

___

Hours later, you served Pero and yourself supper, eating by candlelight instead of gas lamps since it was just the two of you and you didn’t need it as bright.

The meal was awkward, almost completely silent. Anytime Pero tried to ask you a question, you answered with just one word, not trusting yourself to say more without bursting into tears.

You made it through almost the entire meal without looking at him. Even less so when you realized that every time you did look at him, he was looking at you.

Afterwards, you went to the water basin to start washing the dishes. Pero came over to help dry, a sweet gesture that made your chest ache.

Minutes of more silence went by before Pero finally said, “I wish you did not hate me.”

You turned to him quickly, “I don’t hate you. I l– I don’t hate you Pero.”

“Then why do you not look at me anymore? Not talk to me in the way you always have?” he asked, searching your eyes.

You wanted to look away, but his deep brown eyes were too compelling and you couldn’t. “I suppose I am preparing for when you leave us. You won’t be there for me to look at or talk to then.”

“I see,” Pero said quietly, switching his attention back to the task at hand. Only when you had resigned yourself to being heartbroken forever, feeling the pinpricks of tears in your eyes, did he speak again. “Then I will have to stay.”

“You what?” you asked him breathlessly, scrutinizing his face for even a hint of a lie or joke.

“I will have to stay, querida. Because I cannot survive one more day— one more minute without your beautiful eyes upon me, without your gorgeous smile cast my way, without hearing all of your clever thoughts,” he told you sincerely. You couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, just trying to process what he was saying. “In all honesty, I cannot let one more second pass before I tell you that I love you.”

“You— you what?” you asked, completely unable to believe your ears.

“I love you, querida. And I hope against hope that you may feel even a fraction of the same,” Pero said, brushing his fingers over your cheek.

After five seconds of heavy breathing, you exclaimed, “Oh, I do! Pero, I love you, I do!”

And then you threw yourself at him, kissing him before he even knew what you were doing. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his came to your waist, holding you tight as you lost some of your balance from kissing him so hard.

Pero reciprocated the kiss in turn and you would’ve taken him right there on the kitchen floor had Jane and your brother not arrived. The two of you broke apart reluctantly but sheepishly and you turned back to the dishes to distract yourself.

When you next had something to say to Pero, able to now without the knowledge of him leaving pervading every thought, you turned to him and saw something on his collar. It was water droplets and you realized that the darker part was not the design of the fabric but the water you had had on your hands when you kissed him.

When Pero looked at you expectantly, you said, “Um, your shirt is wet.”

Pero chuckled, eyes shining with mirth and what you thought you now recognized as love, “Yes, I know, querida.”

🌨️🌨️🌨️

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #fluff #angst #blurb #snowy fics 23 #nobedofroses #stephswinterwritingchallenge

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chronically-ghosted · 2 months

Text

iron and charcoal

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

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

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

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits.

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang.

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle.

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote.

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

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

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

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

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

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in the time in the world – for what?

To fail? Again?

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

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

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

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

“It’s unlocked, Pero.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the longer without you.

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

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

“He finds them all beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

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

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

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bows to you.

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

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

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

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

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

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

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.”

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

“What did you say?”

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

Fuck it.

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

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

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

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pero, I –,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Unless you don’t want –,”

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

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, oh, Pero—,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me, Tovar!”

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

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

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

“Have you had your fun yet?”

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

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

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

“You are everything to me.”

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

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

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

“I know, ranita, I know.”

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

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Translations:

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

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

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

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

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

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

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

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

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604to647 · 2 months

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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

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absurdthirst · 4 months

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The Mercenary and the Whore {Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: Sex work, prostitution, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, bathing Tovar, bath sex, riding, parting company, angst, confessions of love, oral sex (female receiving), mentions of child planning

Comments: When Pero Tovar comes to your brothel, he makes sure to monopolize your time. Wanting to spend every second he can between your thighs. Unable to tell you how he feels before he leaves for the East and you are sick with worry for your favorite client who is much more than that to you.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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

|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

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

It’s getting closer to when he will arrive. The mornings are getting shorter, the chill of the air starting to make your breath a white cloud in front of you when you do what chores you need to before you have to work. He always comes when the weather turns. Once then, then again three months later. Sometimes he would visit often during the summer if he had taken work nearby. But he always came during the colder months. You anticipated his arrival, knowing he would monopolize your time and keep you from taking other clients. Pero Tovar was greedy for his time between your thighs and it left little time or energy for anyone else.

Pero grunts at the matron of the brothel, giving her your name, and she nods, realizing who he is. He strides up the stairs, two at a time, his armor and weapons clanging, and finally he’s knocking on your door. When you answer, his stomach twists and he feels like he’s home. Something he would never admit to anyone else. He offers you a rare smile, saying your name. “Hola, hermosa.” He murmurs, his eyes trailing down your body, covered by the thin tunic but he knows what’s underneath, has dreamed about it since he last left your bed.

“I know you are eager to strip off your armor.” You purr, giving him a winsome smile and stepping back so he can push into the room that you live and work out of. It’s not ideal, being a whore, but it keeps the roof over your head and your belly full. All things that you had been in sore need of before you had arrived at this brothel. He won’t bathe yet, too desperate for you, and you will let him touch you despite the grime from the road. “It has been too long, Tovar.”

“Too long, hermosa.” He murmurs, working on the ties to his armor as his cock starts to harden . Even just the smell of you has him aching for you. “I thought of you. Many nights.” He promises, not wanting to tell you about the days. Riding on his horse with his thoughts for company once William had run out of things to ramble on about, he thought about you and what you are up to. He sets his armor down and reaches for his tunic, pulling it over his head.

“You thought of me while you were between another woman’s thighs?” You have no delusions about this thing with Tovar. He pays for your cunt, even as well as he treats it and despite your own traitorous heart, he does not want a life with you. “That is not well done of you.” You chide playfully, pulling your thin tunic over your head so you are bare when he throws his own to the floor and glares at you.

Tovar shakes his head, “no one else. There was men only and I am not that way inclined. Some are. I only dreamed of your wet cunt.” He promises, shoving his trousers down after kicking off his boots. When he’s bare before you, he steps closer to grab your ass, dragging you against him and he presses his nose into your neck. “Always smell delicious.”

Closing your eyes, your fingers find and tangle into his dirty hair. Not caring that it is slightly oily. You have him here, even if it is just for a week or so before he disappears again. “Just for you.” You hum, knowing that he enjoys the clean scent of your skin and the flowers that you press into the soap you use. Letting you scrub him with the same soap when he finally gets into the tub that will be brought to your room. “My wet cunt is ready for you.”

Tovar slaps your ass and growls, ready for you and he will be rough this first time. Your pleasure won’t be his priority but he always makes it up to you in the sex following this frantic coupling. He guides you over to your cot, laying you down and he spreads your legs so he can see your dripping cunt. Humming in contentment, he slides his fingers through your slickness, “who made you this wet, chiquita?”

“You, Tovar.” You aren’t lying, although you can see that he doesn’t believe you. His shoulders are broad and his body is fit. The body of a mercenary, littered with scars and you know that one of the days he will occupy your bed, you will trace them making note of any new ones and fussing slightly over them. You whimper when he presses his fingers to the little nub beneath the curls of your sex. His cock is jutting out and the thick head is purple when he pulls the skin back. “How do you want to fuck me, Tovar? Like this? Or do you wish to watch my ass while you fill my cunt?”

“Yes.” He hisses, “from behind. Want to - fuck. Want to see your ass.” He murmurs and pulls his hand away, jerking himself slowly while you shift onto your hands and knees. He groans when he shuffles closer so he can notch his cock at your entrance and he pushes into you with a low whine, eyes closing as your hot walls envelop him.

You keen, always loving the pinch of pain when it comes to taking Pero for the first time after so long apart. You won’t claim that you are as tight as you were when you were innocent, but the Spaniard has a big cock. “Yes.” You moan, eyes rolling back when his hips hit your ass and he's buried to the hilt. “Missed this cock, Tovar.” You admit breathlessly. “Now,” you look over your shoulder. “Ride me hard and work out the need you have for me.”

Tovar groans, low and loud as he twitches inside of you. “It’s been too long without this exquisite cunt, hermosa.” He murmurs as he caresses your spine until he’s gripping your hips, grinding impossibly deeper before he pulls out. Pushing back inside in a quick motion, he sets a harsh pace, grunts escaping his lips as he watches your ass jiggle and your asshole flutter as he pushes deep into your cunt.

Tovar’s pace takes your breath away, all you can do is moan and hold on. Making sure he does not push you too far forward onto the cot. You love how frantic he always is this first time, the ache he leaves you with always growing with each time he takes you after. Long after his last time, you will feel him between your thighs even after you have bathed away the sweat and cum, washed your sheets and taken another man. If you could, you would daydream about the dark, dangerous mercenary with a long scar on his left eye while you are under another man as he grunts away. “So good, b-Tovar.” He doesn’t like you using pet names with him, so you don’t flatter him like you might another customer.

“Always good.” Tovar groans, his fingers digging into your flesh until they slide up to cup your tits. He bends over your body, enjoying how you clench around him, and he’s close. He goes months without a hot cunt around him so he struggles to last during his first encounter with you. “Hermosa. I- I won’t last. Where?” He asks, always wanting to make sure you decide.

“Inside.” You rarely go a day without drinking the tea that will prevent a child and you know how much he hates to pull out of your body to spill his seed. Unless he is in your mouth or wants to paint your skin with it when he is feeling particular. “Fill my cunt up and show me how much you have missed it.”

“Shit.” Pero curses, his eyes clenched shut as he buries himself deep and spills his hot seed onto your walls, a low groan escaping his lips. “Fuck.” He pants, slowly rocking his hips as he rides his pleasure and he leans in to kiss your shoulder. “Gracias, hermosa.”

You smile and hum, looking over your shoulder at his panting frame. “Always my pleasure.” You tell him, knowing that even if you did not experience pleasure this time, you will several times before he leaves again. The first time with him is always quicker than the rest. He says it’s because your cunt is so good and it’s been so long since he’s had it that he cannot pace himself.

He caresses your back and presses kisses to your skin. Beyond your doors, he is a hardened killer, a survivor, but with you, he is soft and gentle. He allows himself to be tender with you. Unbeknownst to you, he leaves his heart with you when he leaves but he would never confess that.

Your eyes flutter with pleasure. He always touches you in small ways that makes your heart quake and you fall deeper for a man you could never have. When he finally pulls his softening cock out of your cunt, you shift to your side and look at him. “Do you want me to have the bath and a meal sent up?” You ask, knowing his preferred method of relaxing.

Tovar nods, shifting to lay down on the bed and he stares at you, admiring your features. You’ve always been so gorgeous and he loves how you make him feel. He wants to feel like this all the time but he can’t. He has to sell his sword. “Have you been busy?” He asks, running his knuckles along your spine.

“Busy enough.” You shrug one shoulder and roll your eyes. “A group of Lord Crowley’s men came in a month ago.” You tell him. “Luckily it was my monthly, they put Adrina and Gwen out of work for nearly two weeks.” The men had been brutal and it had taken time for their injuries to heal.

Pero frowns, his touch freezing on your skin. He worries about you when he’s away, scared that the next time he returns he won’t find you because someone strangled you during a passionate encounter. “Men are animals. They do not realize how lucky they are to have a beautiful woman in their company. They should pleasure, not harm.” He shakes his head and worries that you will get hurt by someone one day.

“Most men do not think like you.” You remind him. “They only think of their own pleasure and Crowley’s lot have no control because their lord is just as bad.” You know that you were lucky to have been indisposed and because of that, you had shared your pay with the two girls while they were recovering.

“Bastards.” Pero hisses, shaking his head again. “They should be killed.” He murmurs, knowing he’d love the pleasure to kill them but he doesn’t have a reason to hunt them down and he doesn’t want to leave your side until he has to. “Are you hungry?” He asks, wanting you to eat if you’re hungry.

You smile, knowing he must be hungry if he is making hints. You lean in and kiss his cheek because you don’t allow kissing, not even Tovar. “I will go order your bath and meals.” You tell him before you climb off your cot and stand, reaching for your tunic to shrug on. You can clean up his seed when you come back. “Do you want ale too?”

“Is that even a question?” He scoffs playfully and you giggle, making him smile. He winks at you and watches you disappear out of the room to tell the matron to bring the tub and the meals. He will happily pay for your meals while he is in your company.

Coming back up the stairs, you meet a giggling pair of your friends. “So we will not see you for at least a week?” Gwen asks. “We saw Tovar bolt up the stairs to your bed.”

Adrina nods, smirking at you. “It is funny that he stays so long since I have already pleasured William and he is now drinking. I think your Spaniard is in love with you.”

You scoff and shake your head, your cheeks burning and wishing that it were true. “He just enjoys my touch.” You tell the girls, adopting a saucy wink. “He is a creature of habit, if he had found your bed first you would be the one having your time taken up.”

The girls shake their heads at your naïveté but they don’t push their thoughts on you anymore. Pero looks up when you come back into the room and his stomach twists with the way you look at him. He doesn’t want to leave for even a second. “You’ve ordered food for yourself too?” He checks, wanting to make sure you are fed before he has you again.

“I did.” He is too generous to you sometimes, making sure you eat a proper meal while he is with you. Some men who spend hours with you don’t care if you even drink at all while they are with you, but Pero makes sure your needs are met. You move over to the wash basin and smile over your shoulder. “The bath and the meals will be up shortly. Are you already ready for the next round or should I clean up?”

Pero shakes his head, “you can clean up, hermosa. We have plenty of time. I want to talk. Tell me about how you’ve been - business aside.” He demands, wanting to listen to you talk.

“Agnes had her baby, he is so adorable.” You clean up while you talk. “I got to see him the next day, and since the baby is a boy, Eldon has decided that he would claim the babe as his own.” You don’t think much of that, but Agnes was happy. “They married when the boy, Caspian, was two months old. She moved into the house with him and his mother. We haven’t seen much of her, except when we run into her at the shops. Eldon doesn’t want her visiting with us now that she’s married.”

Pero is surprised to hear that the man took the babe on but he is glad to hear it. “He should allow her to see her friends.” Pero says, “but at least he did the decent thing and married the girl.” Pero says, knowing that it’s always a risk to get a whore pregnant but most men would abandon their bastards and leave the village.

“Yes, she’s allowed to attend church.” You roll your eyes and huff. The priest loudly damned you all to hell every time he saw you on the streets but he would sneak in the back several times a month. Thankfully, he had never come to your bed. “But at least Caspian has been baptized.”

Pero snorts, “I am not a religious man, hermosa. We sin and we die.” He says, knowing his devoutly Catholic mother would be turning in her grave but he doesn’t believe God would be so cruel as to allow some of the sins he has seen committed, some of his own doing. “You…you are my angel.” He says softly, averting his eyes.

“Then I will be your angel.” Your heart softens and you wish that you had met Pero under other circumstances. Despite his claims he would be a horrible husband, you know he would not. He’s gruff, yes, but he’s also tender. You often daydream of a little cottage, making a soft, warm home for him to rest in when he comes home. The knock on your door makes you smile, “and now your angel brings you food.” You tell him as you walk to the door to open it.

“Finally.” Pero grunts playfully and you look back at him before you open the door. The trays are carried in and Pero covers himself with the sheet while the tub is brought in with the steaming buckets of water. “We will fill it ourselves.” You tell Gwen, knowing she came in to see how Pero was lingering in your room.

“Of course.” She says, offering you a smirk that makes Pero frown, wondering what the look was for.

“I am starving.” Tovar groans as you set the tray down in front of him.

“Eat then.” You tell him with a small smile as his eyes roam greedily over the overloaded tray. You make sure that Pero’s portions are generous because you have seen how the man loves his food. “I will fill the tub and it can be cooling slightly while you eat.”

He nods, knowing his mama raised him with better manners but it’s been too long since he had a hot meal and he eagerly digs in. Shoveling the food into his mouth as you pour the buckets into the tub.

You hum as you set out your soap and get some of your drying cloths. You know he will want to soak in the bath, and you don’t blame him. Moving over to claim your own tray, although you hand him the bread, since he has already devoured his. You normally don’t eat it anyway, and rarely take any.

Pero knows what you are doing and he doesn’t like it. Knowing you’ll protest, he splits the bread in half and hands you back the larger piece. “You’ll need your energy.” He reasons with you and you nod, taking the bread from him. He hums in satisfaction and digs back into the stew.

He eats fast, as if it might be stolen from him. Your own meal is eaten at a more sedate pace. “How was your travels?” You ask him, as if you were his wife inquiring about his trip while he is home. “William kept out of trouble?”

Tovar snorts, “you know he can never keep himself out of trouble. Always has to show off and it gets us in trouble.” Pero shakes his head, “and then I have to save his ass. We made it back though. With plenty of coins. Always the main thing.” He says and proceeds to suck and lick his fingers clean. His mama raised him with manners, doesn’t mean he always used them.

“That is good.” You never pry about the money he spends while he is here, but it is a lot. Monopolizing your entire days while he is in your bed, he even sleeps in your room. Not that you mind. His arms wrapped around you and his face tucked into your neck while he snores softly is the safest you ever feel. “How long are you here?”

“It depends. The winter is coming and we need to earn enough coin before we seek shelter for the snow. I am thinking at least a week. More, if William can keep himself out of trouble.” Pero chuckles, “are you going to take other men?” He asks softly, wanting to know where you stand beforehand.

“While you are here?” You scoff and shake your head. “I would not have the time or the energy.” You tease him playfully. In truth, you would happily never let another man between your thighs if you could have Pero, but that was not something that was possible. He was a mercenary and you are a whore.

Pero is reassured, worried that you’d go off while he is sleeping or bathing. It’s selfish but he wishes to keep you all to himself, prepared to pay whatever it takes. “I want to bathe.” He says and stands up from the bed, the sheet falling from his body and he moves fast to step into the hot water, a low groan escaping his lips. “Do you wish to join me, hermosa?”

“What if I wash you?” You ask, finishing up your own meal and moving the trays to the door to place outside. You remove your tunic and walk naked to the tub. “When you are clean, I will join you and mount your cock while you soak in your bath.”

Tovar nods, grabbing the bar of soap so he can begin cleaning himself up. “Can you cut my hair, hermosa?” He asks, wanting to smarten up to be in your company for a week.

You had expected his request. He always wants to have his hair cut and shaved. Humming as you get out your scissors, you kneel down by the bathtub. Running your fingers through his hair and start to cut.

He tilts his head and lets you snip away at the matted locks, enjoying your fingers massaging his head and you grab the soap once you’re done to wash his hair. He groans, closing his eyes as your fingers work his scalp and his cock starts to harden at the ministrations.

“You need someone to take care of you.” You chide softly, massaging his scalp and enjoying the way that he groans. “I can see you enjoying being treated well by a wife, or mistress.”

Pero snorts, his fingers gripping the edge of the tub. “Who would wish to be mine? I am the son of a farmer from Seville. I have been selling my sword since I was fourteen when my parents died and I had nothing. I am a nobody. I own nothing. I do not have a home for a wife or a mistress.”

Your fingers still in his hair and you want to tell him that you would want to be his. Although he would not want a whore. “You will have a home one day.” You predict. “You will stop coming to see me because you have a wife with a babe under her apron and a warm bed to sleep in.”

Pero frowns, not liking to think of a life without you in it. He doesn't answer and he allows you to rinse his hair and he already feels so much better. You grab the scissors again and work on chopping off the excess beard that had become matted during his travels. "You are too good to me, hermosa." He murmurs as you grab the sharp knife to begin styling his mustache.

“You are good to me as well.” You remind him, arching a brow at him playfully before you look back down at his face as you cut the tiny hairs over his lip. Your fingers brushes his lips gently and you hum in satisfaction and lean back. “Now, so handsome.” You tell him, completely honest. He’s one of the most handsome men to you, even more appealing than William.

He blushes slightly under your intense stare and he averts his eyes as you set down the knife. “Are you joining me?” Pero asks and you nod, stepping into the tub and you straddle him, his cock now hard and aching for you. “Hermosa.” He sighs in bliss, his hands caressing your back and he leans in to nudge his nose against yours.

“You don’t have to flatter me.” You promise, whispering the words between you, and your fingers toy with the curly ends of his now shorter hair. “I want to ride you slowly.” You admit, knowing he might prefer a faster pace. “Let you relax while I do all the work, milking your cock for you.”

He can't argue with you, nodding slowly as you reach beneath you to grip his cock. You sink down onto him after notching him at your entrance and you take his breath away. "Fuck." He sighs, tilting his head back at the feel of your warm, soft cunt enveloping him.

Moaning yourself, you take advantage of the vulnerable skin of his throat, leaning in and pressing your lips to his pulse as you grind down on his length. Feeling him pulse inside you as your walls flutter. “Your cock is so good.” You praise, kissing along his jaw and neck while he relaxes into the bath. Making sure that you don’t slosh water too badly, you start at a slow pace that seems to let you feel every vein in his cock.

"Your cunt - it's incredible." Pero murmurs, caressing your spine and he imagines a lifetime with you, relaxing in a warm home...you as his wife. You with his child. It's a beautiful dream but one he can never have. He's a dangerous man who has sinned. His blood soaked hands could never have you as their prize.

Soft groans and ripple of the water is what fills the room. The moment is so tender you wish you could break your rule and press your lips to his. It’s almost love making, although you have never experienced that, you think it would be like this. His hands running over your skin and the soft grunts of pleasure making you moan.

He wants to call you 'amor' but he doesn't know if you'll understand him and he can't take that risk. His cock twitches inside of you and he ducks his head to take your nipple into his mouth after cupping your tit and lifting it towards his face.

You whimper when his teeth scrap over the sensitive skin, your fingers tangling into his shorter hair and tugging gently. “So good, Pero.” You moan, not even realizing you called him by his first name. You normally just call him Tovar because that is what he told you the first time he had visited your bed. You use his Christian name when you are touching yourself thinking about him.

He groans into your flesh, wrapping his lips around the nipple and biting down before he soothes it with his tongue. His other hand squeezes your other breast and he leans back, pushing them together with his palms. "So fucking beautiful." He rasps, cock twitching inside of you.

You moan again. “Pero, fuck.” You love how attentive he is, one of the few men you’ve ever had to care about your pleasure. You circle your hips and clench him right. “Love how you feel.”

His hand slides down your body to your clit. He was taught during his first sexual encounter with a whore to pleasure a woman and he’s never forgotten, wanting to feel that delicious tight grip on his cock. He wants you to cum so he finds that bundle of nerves and rubs circles around it.

“Ohhh, ohhh fuck.” Your own head tilts back, enjoying the pressure against the bundle of nerves and your hips jerk in response. “Pero, I- oh baby, I’m gonna soak you.” You warn breathlessly.

"That's it, hermosa. Come on, soak my cock." He grunts, thrusting his hips up so he can push even deeper and he groans your name when your walls start to flutter around his cock.

You fall forward into his chest, pressing your face into his neck and moaning as you hang on. “Oh, oh Perooooooo!” You cry out, your cunt clenching down around him.

He groans when you clamp down on his cock, making him hiss your name, and he swears he nearly cums right then but he holds strong. He strokes your back as you shake above him and he kisses along your neck.

Your hips rock as you force yourself to keep moving, loving how each roll of your hips shoots another little fissure of pleasure down your spine. “Cum for me, Pero.” You beg, “fill me up again.”

He can’t deny you, his hand leaving your clit and his hand squeeze your ass, slapping it as he rocks up into you. Water sloshes and he groans your name, so close to his orgasm. “Fuck, hermosa. I’m gonna - I’m gonna -” He pants and squeezes his eyes shut as he cums, painting your walls for the second time.

You whimper, enjoying the rush of heat as he fills you. Always loving how thick and how much Pero cums. You run your hands through his hair and sigh softly as he rocks himself through his pleasure as you flutter around him.

He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in with a deep inhale, and he swears he could die right now and be a happy man. You’re his sanctuary and he never wants to leave this moment. “Gracias, hermosa.” He murmurs into your skin, feeling more relaxed than he has in many moons.

“Anytime.” You promise, closing your eyes and laying your head on his shoulder while he holds you close. “I am happy you are here. You are safe.”

Pero doesn’t respond, knowing that any day could be his last. He caresses your spine and enjoys the feeling of holding you close. “Come on, hermosa. The water will get cold and I don’t want you becoming ill.” He says and pulls away from you.

You lift off his cock and quickly clean yourself up and swipe the cloth over his groin as well before you stand up, wrapping another cloth around your body before holding his. “Do you want me to dry you?” You ask, wanting to make sure he is relaxed and enjoying himself with you.

Pero shakes his head, “No gracias, hermosa. I can dry myself.” He offers you a wry smile and stands up once you’re out of the tub. He takes the cloth you hand him and he dries off, suddenly exhausted. “I want to sleep. Can you lay with me?” He asks, wanting to wrap himself around you.

It is times like these that you feel you cheat Pero. He pays good coin for your company and he wishes to sleep? “Of course.” You nod, moving to set the trays outside the door and hang your cloth up to dry. You will sleep nude and you are thankful you had fresh sheets on your cot. He deserves a good rest in a clean bed. “Anything you wish.”

He hums in delight when he lays down and you lay down beside him, pulling the sheets over you both. His arm wraps around you and he nuzzles his nose into your neck, breathing you in until he’s softly snoring into your ear.

You stay awake for a long time after Pero starts to snort. Holding him close in the dark as the sounds of the brothel filter dully through the walls. Closing your eyes and imagining the sounds of the woods, animals outside of a small cottage. Cozy and secluded, just the two of you, together every night. You fall asleep and dream of Pero.

****

“Fuck, hermosa.” Pero groans when you clench around him. His eyes watch you as you gyrate above him and he slides his hands up to cup your tits. “So fucking beautiful.” He murmurs, his dark eyes nearly black with lust. He has spent every moment in the past week with you aside from the hour he left to speak to William. He isn’t sure if he wants to leave when the time comes but he has to. He needs to earn more coins.

Riding Pero has always been something that you enjoy but this week you have been frantic for it. “So fucking good.” You moan, leaning back and letting him play with your tits. “God, Tovar, you are so perfect inside me.” You’re greedy, knowing he will be leaving today or tomorrow so you want him to remember this.

"Fuck, hermosa. Amor." He pants, lost in the pleasure and unable to think about anything but you. He moans your name again and wraps his arms around you, dragging you into his chest. He thrusts up into you, wanting you to cum for him, and he buries his face in your neck.

Your moan is loud, gasped out when he calls you amor, although you try to reason that he is caught up in the sex. Your arms tighten around him and you whimper his name. “Perooooo.” His cock hits perfectly inside you and you shatter, clenching down around him like a vice as you soak him with your juices.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He growls, his fingers digging into your flesh as he thrusts up into you, moaning your name and it doesn’t take him long to cum. Painting your walls for the umpteenth time, he bites down on your shoulder to stop himself saying the words that linger on the tip of his tongue.

“Pero. Pero, oh god.” You cling to him, making your eyes and panting breathlessly at how good it feels. Your eyes water behind your lids and you bite your lip to keep from weeping. You know he is leaving and you don’t think you can bear it.

He caresses your back, kissing the spot he just sunk his teeth into, and he relaxes beneath you. Pulling you down to rest on his chest, he doesn’t say a word, wanting to enjoy this last time before he has to leave.

You sense the fact that he doesn’t want to talk so you snuggle into his embrace and sigh softly. Listening to his head beat in his chest and his breathing whoosh in and out slowly after he catches his breath. Wondering when he is going to leave and how you are going to handle not seeing him again anytime soon.

Pero isn’t sure how long he lays there, now soft but still inside of you, and he breathes you in until there’s a knock at the door. He groans, not liking his peace being disturbed, but you pull off of him and grab your tunic, pulling it over your head so you can open the door. William stands there and nods at you, peeking his head in at his Spanish companion. “It’s time, brother.” Pero nods, stomach twisting as he shifts from under your crumpled sheets to begin getting ready to leave.

Your heart plummets to the floor and you want to slam the door closed and pretend William isn’t there, but there would be no point. Pero isn’t yours. He wasn’t going to stay with you. You bite your lip and look towards Pero. “I will have them pack a bag of food for the road.” You announce before you rush down the stairs, leaving the two men to talk.

Pero speaks to William about the plan to venture East to find the black powder and he isn’t sure if he likes the idea but the coins sound too good to turn down. He would be set for life. He could return to you, marry you, start a life with you. He nods when William tells him to get ready and he takes his time dressing, looking up at you when you step into your room.

“Your food will be ready when you go down to saddle your horse.” You hate the sight of him strapping his armor to his body. The thick leathers changed him from lover to ruthless mercenary. Instead of crying, you move to the water bowl to clean yourself. You will have to go back to work after he leaves, taking other men into your bed.

After finishing tying his boots, Pero stands up to face you. “Gracias, amor. Por todo.” He says and reaches for you to drag you into his chest, his hand cupping the back of your head to keep you as close as possible.

You hate how cold the leathers are, wishing to feel his body again. “Safe travels.” You murmur against his chest. You can’t ask when you will see him again, it is not your place.

Pero slides his hands down your body, committing it to memory, and he leans in to nudge his nose against yours, desperately wishing to kiss you but he knows you have your rules.

You almost do it. You lean in to kiss him but he knows you have to keep that off the table. Instead, you nudge his nose back and inhale steadily. “Be safe, Pero.” You murmur quietly. “I will see you then next time you decide to see me.”

He nods as he pulls back and he stares at you for a moment. “Hasta luego, hermosa.” He murmurs and grabs his satchel, walking away before he falls to his knees and begs you to let him stay.

“Goodbye, Pero.” You murmur softly, watching him walk out the door and listening for his boots thumping on the stairs before your tears start to fall.

It takes everything in him to leave on his stead alongside the Irishman who knows the feelings Pero has for you. He knows you are the woman he loves and he understands why Pero cannot take you as his own. The Spaniard is a complicated man and his emotions are even more chaotic. "She will be there when you come back." William says and Pero just grunts his response.

****

He must be dead. Your heart aches every time someone comes to your bed and it’s not him. Every time the door opens and it’s not the Spaniard, your sighs get a little heavier. Your friends have worried about you as you silently grieve. Pero has either fallen on a battlefield or he has found a wife like he deserved. Either way, the time for him to visit had come and gone four times. A year has passed and you finally admit to yourself that you will never see him again.

Pero looks up at the sky before he steps into the brothel. He’s been gone a year. It’s been a long time and he has gone through so much in the past twelve months. He gives your name at the desk and the matron looks weary but escorts him to your room, knocking on your door and Pero inhales sharply at his first glance at you after so long. “Hola amor.” He murmurs, his heart pounding in his chest.

You freeze, shocked at the sight of Pero in your doorway, looking tired but whole. “You are alive.” You choke out, sure that you would never see him again. You had cried so many nights when your last client had left your bed and the seasons had changed with no word from him. Swallowing harshly, you wonder why he is here now.

“Lo siento, amor.” Pero feels guilty that he didn’t send a rider to give you warning of his arrival but he’d been a little busy trying to not die in the far east. The matron glances between you and decides to leave you to it. Pero shuffles from one foot to the other, waiting for you to make a move.

You bite your lip, trying not to cry because all you want to do is hold him close and kiss him. Then slap his face because he worried you so badly. Clearing your throat, you send him a bland smile. “I am sure you are wanting a meal and a bath?” You ask, trying to keep things as they were before. “You must have been very busy.”

He can tell you’re not happy with him and he frowns, “that would be nice.” He nods and you step aside to let him into your room. “How have you been, hermosa?” He asks softly once he’s sitting down:

“I have not been the best.” You admit with a careless shrug. “I was feeling poorly early this year.” You move towards the door so you can order his bath and meal, none for yourself. “But I have survived.”

Pero frowns even more at that news, worried that he could’ve lost you before he returned. “Good. Always good to survive.” He offers you a small smile that you don’t return and you leave to go order his meal and bath. He sighs, rubbing his neck, and when you come back, he takes out the coins he had in his purse. “I want to pay for your company for a week.” He says, holding the pouch out towards you.

Your hand reaches out while you stare at him. Taking the payment for your body without even really reacting to it, beyond your heart breaking. The confirmation that it had never been more than a physical release for him. You look down at the decidedly heavy pouch for a moment before you reach back and heave it towards him as hard as you can. “I do not want your coins!” You yell, tears immediately flooding your eyes and you are blinded by them.

Pero’s eyes widen and he catches the pouch from his quick reflexes, watching you start to sob. “I- I’m sorry, hermosa. I’ll go. I won’t - I will leave you alone. I thought you wanted me here but apparently you wish for me to leave. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” He promises with a choke, heart breaking as you reject him.

“I- I thought you were dead!” You sob, rushing forward and slamming your fists against his leather covered chest. “M-my heart was broken and you-you walk back in as if a year hasn’t passed and pay for my cunt.” You know you aren’t making sense, you are just a whore to him, but he was your love. You loved him, love him still.

He reaches for your wrists, trying to stop you from hitting him. He pulls back to look at you, “amor. Amor. What - I was in China. I nearly died and I couldn’t get word to you. I- I wanted to return to you. Every night. Wanted to come home to you. I needed the coins so I could lay down my sword and return to you, to give you all of me.”

“Liar.” You sob, shaking your head and trying to pull away from his grip. He won’t let you go and you hate how much you are crying. “If-if you wanted to be with me, you would not offer coin.” You stop struggling and collapse against his chest. “I do not want your coin, I want your heart.” You whimper.

Pero’s chest clenches with frustration and he pulls you into his chest, “you have always had my heart. Since the first week I spent in your company. I gave you my coin, I give you my coin, because I wish to take care of you even in my absence, even when I cannot be here. I wish to provide for you because I - because I love you.”

You close your eyes and sob even harder. In relief, in distress for time that you have missed out on. “I love you, Pero.” You whisper. “Mi amor.” You know that you had been foolishly telling yourself that he had not meant it when he called you his love, you hadn’t dreamed to hope. “I have been saving every coin I could, wishing to leave this life behind.” You confess. “I did not think you could love a whore.”

“I don’t love a whore. I love you. Whatever you do, who you are…means nothing to me. I love you.” He murmurs, caressing your cheeks and he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “Can I kiss you?” He asks, wanting to feel your lips against his for the first time.

You lick your lips, finding them dry as you press closer. “Yes.” You moan softly. “Kiss me, Pero. I need you to kiss me.” You know that you haven’t kissed much, but he is the only man you want to kiss, to touch you, from now on.

Pero leans in, pressing his lips to yours, and it’s a little awkward. He’s never been an affectionate lover until he met you and now he’s aching for your kiss, for your touch. “Te amo.” He murmurs against your lips before he cups your cheek, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss.

You moan into the kiss, your cunt clenching when his tongue slides into your mouth. Sliding your hands up to tangle into his long hair, you pull him close and kiss him back just as fiercely.

His hands let go of your wrists so he can slide his hands down to grab your waist. It’s sloppy and clumsy as he slides his tongue against yours but he feels like he’s home. He feels like the battles he’s endured have been worth it to just have this moment with you in his arms.

When the kiss breaks, both of you are panting softly. “I love you.” You murmur again. “I- I want you to leave with me.” You sigh. “I want to leave the brothel and find a village where I can just be another woman.”

“I have coins, hermosa. That’s why I left. I wanted to return to you with enough coins for us to build a home together in a village. Get married.” He reveals and he lets go of you, fumbling as he reaches beneath his tunic to pull his gold chain out. He takes it off and reveals the ring he has worn there since he left. “It was my mother’s. I want - I want you to have it. For you to be my wife. Will you?” He asks, eyes widen and lower lip pouting as he waits for your answer.

“Pero….” You gasp, looking down at the simple, yet beautiful ring and then back up into his eyes. “I, yes, of course I will marry you.” You promise, beaming before you lunge forward and press your lips to his again.

He feels relieved and happy, for the first time in a long time, he’s happy. His lips press against yours and he pulls back for a moment so he can slide the ring onto your finger. “I need you, amor.” He murmurs, the fire growing in his belly as his desire for you comes to the forefront.

“You always need to fuck me when you come back from the road.” This time, you are giggling as you pull back and take his hand, dragging him towards your cot. “Come, amor, I have missed you between my thighs.” You admit. “And you will be the last man between them so you should service me well.”

“Not yet.” He murmurs, gently pushing you away. “I want to be clean for my wife. Have them to bring the tub and let me clean up before we lay together. I don’t want to risk you.” He says, knowing he had to care more for your well-being now - the woman that he would lay down and die for.

Your brow raises but you do not argue. Instead, you kiss him once more and rush to the door, eager to have the bath brought in. He loves you. He wants to take you away from here and have a life together. You bring up a pail of water yourself, rushing the boys who brought the tub and other buckets inside out the door and latch it behind them.

Pero works fast to strip off, sinking down into the tub after helping you pour the water in and he groans when the steam curls up around him. “Amor, can you cut my hair again?” He asks timidly, almost shy now you have his ring on your finger.

“Of course I can.” You nod as you move towards the scissors, getting them out and smiling as he relaxes and leans back against the rim. “I like your hair shorter and your beard trimmed.” You admit. “But I will take you however I can get you.” Kneeling down behind him, you pull off your tunic and run your fingers through his hair to start cutting it.

Pero smiles softly, "even with my scars?" He asks and you nod, "especially with your scars." Pero's heart thumps and he reaches for your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it. "I love you." He murmurs and you caress his cheek before you continue working on chopping off his hair.

Once you are done, you wet his hair down and lather soap into it. Smiling when he groans and leans back. Enjoying your fingernails scrubbing his scalp. “Does it feel good, amor?”

“Sí, hermosa.” Pero murmurs, closing his eyes as you wash his hair. “I want to do this for you.” He says, cock twitching when your nails scrap his scalp. He loves it. You finish washing his hair and work on trimming off the excess beard. Pero drinks you in, admiring your features, the way you bite your lip as you concentrate.

When the soap is wiped clean from his face, you smile, running a finger down his cheek. “So handsome.” You coo, “do you want me to wash you as well?” You ask, even as you reach for the clothe and the soap again. The quicker he is clean, the quicker he can touch you.

Pero nods, wanting your touch even though it’s selfish to make you wash him. He groans your name as you start to drag the cloth over his skin and his cock starts to harden. “Te amo.” He murmurs, watching you and his hand comes up to cup your breast.

You moan softly when he squeezes your breast. “Te amo.” You murmur in response, your heart bursting with happiness. You will let Pero rest as long as he needs, but then you will venture to find a place to settle, to build a life together. Your hand wraps around his now clean cock and you pump him gently.

“Mierda.” Pero groans when you squeeze him and he shakes his head, “amor. I want - I want to be inside of you. Please. Let me get out.” He says, pulling your hand off of his cock.

You’re surprised that he doesn’t want you to ride him in his bath, but perhaps he wants this time to be in the cot. Something more meaningful than the times before. You still pout as you stand and reach for the drying cloth as he steps out of the tub.

Pero quickly dries himself off and tosses the cloth aside, reaching for you. He pulls you into his chest, his hard cock trapped between you, and he cups your cheek with one hand as he leans in to press his lips to yours.

It’s softer and sweet, yet the kiss makes you moan. Knowing that this is real. That Pero is here and wants to make you his wife. Your arms wrap around his neck and it’s you that starts to guide him back towards your cot. “I need you.” You beg breathlessly.

Pero needs you too. Desperately. You’re all he has thought about for months. He murmurs your name as he shifts to lay you down on the cot. “Let me make love to you, amor.” He pleads softly, leaning down to wrap his lips around your nipples after positioning himself between your thighs. “I want to taste you.”

“Pero…” you start to protest, knowing that it has been only a day since the last man had been between your thighs but he silences you with a look. You’ve bathed since then, so you lean back and let him do what he wishes with you.

He spreads your thighs as he kisses down your stomach, cock twitching with the thought that it will someday be full of his child, and he inhales deeply when he settles between your thighs. “Fuck, such a pretty cunt.” He mumbles, his hands caressing your soft skin and he leans in to slide his tongue through your folds, not wanting to waste another second.

You keen, back arching your hips would rock up if it weren’t for his body and strong arms pinning you down. “Pero!” You’ve never felt a man’s tongue on your cunt and it’s a delicious sensation.

He knows this is something he will be doing again and again now that you are his. His tongue pushes deep into your walls and he groans as his nose presses against your clit, curling his tongue until he’s pulling back to flick it over your bundle of nerves.

Your eyes close and your fingers twist into the sheets as you start to chant his name. Already close to cumming and finding it to be so much better than his fingers rubbing your clit. “So good.”

He sucks on your clit, desperately wanting you to cum for him. He groans your name into your flesh and pushes two fingers into your cunt as he sucks on your clit a little harder.

“Pero!” Your scream is loud, letting everyone in the brothel hear as you come apart for him. Thighs shaking around his head and your cunt locking down around his fingers while pleasure rushes through your body.

He nearly cums when you gush around his digits but he keeps working his fingers inside of you to keep you pleasured until you’re pushing his head away. He kisses along your thighs as you pant, your chest heaving, and he kisses your stomach up to your breasts, pressing kisses on every inch of skin.

“I love you.” You whimper softly, running your fingers through his hair and smiling softly. You press your lips to his just as soon as he is close enough. Tasting yourself on his lips and humming at the sensation. “I love you so much.”

He smiles against your jaw, “I love you too, mi esposa.” He murmurs and shuffles between your thighs. Reaching down to grip his cock, he pulls back his foreskin and swipes the head against your clit. You whine and he chuckles, positioning himself at your entrance and slowly pushing into you with a low groan.

He feels even bigger, better than he ever had. It might just be your imagination, but it feels that way. Moaning softly, you pull your legs back to take him even deeper until he is buried inside you. “After we marry, I can stop drinking my tea if you would want.” You offer breathlessly, imagining being filled with his baby.

“Yes. Fuck, yes. I want - I want that.” He confesses, imagining you full of his baby has him stopping to control himself. He leans in to nudge his nose against yours, his breathing heavier. “Mi amor. Mi esposa. Mi vida. La madre de nuestros niños.” He murmurs, lost in thoughts of the future until he starts to slowly rock his hips.

“Yes.” You moan quietly. Wrapping your legs around him and sighing softly as he treats you as if you are made of glass. You can feel everything, and it’s exquisite.

He moves slowly inside of you, not wanting to rush this. He murmurs your name again and again, like a prayer, as he makes love to you. His ring on your finger as it glistens in the candlelight and his heart pounds in his chest.

This moment is one that you want to remember forever. Every kiss, ever whispered word of love between. You caress his face and look up at him, finding him even more handsome than ever.

He has fought long and hard to return to you, his lover, his reason for fighting so hard. He rocks into you, his hand gripping yours and he wants to hear the sweet cries of your orgasm. He shifts his weight to one forearm and slides his hand between you so he can rub your clit.

“Pero.” You gasp out when you feel the pressure of his fingers against your clit. “Please, amor.” You beg softly, your body getting closer to cumming with every thrust. You never want to be away from him again. Wanting to spend the rest of your life with your Spaniard.

He works your clit a little faster, wanting you to fall over the edge and it doesn’t take long for you to clamp down on his cock. He doesn’t hold back, he can’t after going so long without you. He paints your walls at the same time you soak his cock and he groans your name as he pushes deep, pressing his lips to yours as he rocks you both through your highs.

You whimper as he rocks himself through the pleasure and sigh when he collapses on top of you. “I love you, Pero.” You whisper softly, heart bursting because your feelings are returned. The mercenary and the whore, a love story that shouldn’t be, but is.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar smut #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar the great wall #tovar x you #tovar x reader #tovar x f!reader #tovar smut #tovar imagine #tovar fanfiction

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janaispunk · 7 days

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happy sunday and also happy pride! 🫶🏻

this week’s rec list has a lot of fics that were written for @iamasaddie’s kinky writing challenge, which is already the gift that keeps on giving haha <3

as always, if you read any of these please give the writers some love by reblogging or commenting!

for a list of all my recs ever, go here :)

i'll organize the fics by character and add emojis to indicate the contents a little. still, please look at the tags/warnings and decide for yourself if something might not be for you.

💘= fluff • ❤️‍🔥= smut • 🤍= angst • 🖤= dark

📖= oneshot • 📚= series

clint

good by @burntheedges (❤️‍🔥)🤍📖

dave york

this godforsaken mess by @agentmarcuspike ❤️‍🔥📖

to die for by @toomanystoriessolittletime 🤍📖 (featuring john wick) (in other words, sedate me)

thirsty by @pedrosarmsling ❤️‍🔥📖

mindfuck by @whatsnewalycat ❤️‍🔥🖤📖

ezra

more by @ezrasbirdie ❤️‍🔥📖

tongue tied by @chaotic-mystery ❤️‍🔥📖

frankie morales

on call by @luxurychristmaspudding 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📚

heat lightning by @chronically-ghosted 🤍📖

do me yourself by @undercoverpena 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📚

spell out miss you against my skin by @undercoverpena ❤️‍🔥📖

catch and release by @nothoughtsjustmeds 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📖

jack daniels

in our ivory tower by @freelancearsonist ❤️‍🔥📖

private eyes by @syd-djarin ❤️‍🔥📖

javi gutierrez

rebirth by @perotovar 💘📖

javier peña

meet me in the city where we won’t sleep by @undercoverpena 💘🤍📖

three’s a crowd by @amanitacowboy ❤️‍🔥🤍📖

joel miller

hands on your knees by @northernbluess 💘❤️‍🔥📖

like a wildfire by @northernbluess 💘❤️‍🔥📚

born of confusion and quiet collusion by @atticrissfinch ❤️‍🔥🤍📖

when his eyes open by @undercoverpena 💘🤍📖

dress up joel by @covetyou 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📚

papi chulo by @yxtkiwiyxt 💘❤️‍🔥📖

nicest thing by @schnarfer 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📚

just one by @endlessthxxghts ❤️‍🔥📖

swallow by @aurorawritestoescape ❤️‍🔥📖

handsy by @ovaryacted ❤️‍🔥📖

homecoming by @ovaryacted 💘📖

little girl with a big mouth by @missredherring ❤️‍🔥📖

oh, summer nights by @ozarkthedog ❤️‍🔥📖

lucien flores

trust is binding by @pedgito ❤️‍🔥📖

dripping red by @frenchiereading ❤️‍🔥📖

marcus pike

fevered flames by @joelalorian 💘❤️‍🔥📖

max phillips

addicted by @aurorawritestoescape ❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📖

mr. ben

summertime sadness by @katiexpunk ❤️‍🔥🖤📖

pero tovar

i’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) by @hellfire-state-of-mind ❤️‍🔥📖

ted garcia

voice kink by @djarinmuse ❤️‍🔥📖

tess servopoulos

exit music by @hier--soir 🤍📖

tim rockford

the detective by @milla-frenchy ❤️‍🔥🖤📖

my own writing

nothing lasts forever - dbf!dave york x f!reader 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📚

strawberry sugar - modern!oberyn martell x f!reader 💘❤️‍🔥📖

in other news — i hit 1.5k followers today and i can’t express how grateful i am for each and every one of you! 🫶🏻 i’m thinking about maybe doing a writing challenge as a celebration, please let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in or if there’s something else that you’d like to see!

much love 🫶🏻

#pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #javier peña #frankie morales #max phillips #dave york #ezra prospect #jack daniels #javi gutierrez #lucien flores #marcus pike #mr ben snl #pero tovar #ted garcia #tess servopoulos #tim rockford #oberyn martell #janas recs #weekly fic recs

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 2 months

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Sprout [Pero Tovar x f!reader]

Read on AO3

Sequel to Seed.

Fandom: The Great Wall

Ships: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Tags/warnings: Pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, dirty talk, some angst and fighting but also making up with more sex, labor, you get it. Soft Pero!

Words: 5,999

Summary: After trying long and hard, you are finally pregnant. Pero is delighted, but now begins a time of waiting and fussing and, well, lots of sex. That's the plot.

When you finally become pregnant, you know it immediately.

It is eerie, almost magical, the way you just feel something take root in your womb. Not the presence of a person, but just something new, something growing. It is early morning, you awake before Pero, last night’s coupling still a warm, sticky memory on your skin along with his breath, his limbs so tightly wound around yours. You mean to rouse him with kisses and caresses, but then you feel it, and you just know. A blissful smile spreading on your face, you decide to relish this feeling for as long as you can, and so you just stay still and quiet, one hand on your lower abdomen. When Pero eventually stirs, hands and lips starting to claim you, you gently peel them off of you.

“I’m sore,” you whisper to him, accepting a chaste kiss on your lips.

“I’m sorry, my love.”

“Don’t be. I just need a rest.”

He pecks your lips again before releasing you to start the day. You hear him use the chamber pot, and when he comes back into the bedroom, he stops and looks at you, brows drawn together.

"What?" you ask.

"You look different."

"Do I?" You can feel heat rise to your cheeks, but in the same moment you decide not to tell him, not just yet. You want to be sure, live with this new presence by yourself for a couple of days.

"Yes."

He grabs his shirt and trousers, pulling them on while regarding you. You shrug innocently.

"Don't know what it would be."

That was all for that morning.

You tell him about a week later. The feeling of attachment deep within you had not diminished, and you have become more confident that it is real. During the entire week, you have gently turned down Pero's advances, citing tiredness and aches. Pero may be a loving husband, but he does not keep track of your monthly bleeding, and so he seems to have accepted that it's your time of the month, and been content with sweet caresses and kisses.

It's evening when you tell him. You're sitting together outside the house, facing the back garden. Surrounded by fragrance in the dying light, listening the first cicadas of the night starting the concertos, you feel that it is the right time to tell him.

"Husband," you start, lifting your head from his shoulder and facing him. "There is something I need to tell you."

His features are immediately painted with a wariness, like he is expecting bad news. Your sweet warrior husband, always ready for life to be full of hardships. You give him a reassuring smile.

"It's nothing bad, I promise."

"Then what is it?" he barks, hand squeezing yours like he's afraid you are going to get up and leave.

"I'm with child."

His eyebrows shoot up, leaving his eyes round and wide open, just like his mouth.

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," you giggle now, his reaction too amusing not to cause you mirth. "I am certain, Pero, that you are going to be a father."

His face is as raw as it was on your wedding day, the joy shaving years off his scarred features. He raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles before pressing your hand to his heart, and then his lips are on yours. You feel him tremble a little, from nerves, happiness, or excitement you don't know, but you pull him in for the kiss, and he relaxes in your arms.

He carries you inside and lays you on the bed, never stopping to kiss you until he has to, in order to pose a question.

"Can we...?"

"I think we can," you answer breathlessly before pulling him in for more kisses. Pero needs no further permission: he lays down over you, stealing your breath away with him kisses before sitting up to get you undressed. When you're naked before him, he leans down to trail soft kisses over your belly.

"My child," he murmurs, looking up at you, eyes shining. "You will take care of my child, won't you?"

"You know I will," you promise, shivering from the goosebumps of pleasure induced by Pero's bristly skin.

"And I will take care of you, wife," he vows, trailing light kisses down between your legs, which fall open to accommodate him.

He’s more gentle than usual, more perceptive of your mewls, the way your legs twitch, your grip on the sheets. It may not be his intention, but he ends up tormenting you even more with his slowness. It is a stark contrast to the frantic fucking of the past few weeks. His seed, shot inside you on a daily basis, has finally taken root, and he seems determined to nourish that little sapling as best he can. Even if that means teasing you at the brink of release until you’re sobbing.

“Pero…!” You’re writhing, trying to push yourself against his mouth for the relief you need, but his arms tighten around your thighs, rendering your lower body immovable.

“Hush,” he admonishes you in a thick whisper. “You have to relax, my darling, you can’t get overexcited.”

You press the back of your head into the pillow and run your fingers through your hair.

“Please,” you whisper desperately, “please, Pero, I can’t bear it any longer.”

You know he’s smiling from the curve of his lips against your sensitive inner thighs, and then he finally takes mercy on you. The orgasm feels stronger than usual, maybe due to the prolonged, sweet torture, or because of your condition. When Pero presses a kiss to your inner thigh, you almost kick him, your legs coming together to seal in the pulses in your pussy, and you turn over onto your side to get away. He lets you be for a moment, hearing from your breathy moans that you are unharmed, but he soon takes a gentle grip of your arm, and makes you roll onto your back again.

“My love,” he hums, dipping down to brush his lips over yours. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” you manage, and that works as enough of a reassurance for him to press his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet enough, but you sense the urgency in him, and his cock is hard and leaking against your thigh.

“Come to me, husband,” you mumble, opening your legs anew. Pero is instantly between them, guiding his cock into you. He slides in easily enough as he lays down over you, and you brace yourself for his usual brand of frenzy. He does, however, stay still, sheathed deeply inside you, as he cradles your face and kisses you. You are full of him, so full, and yet you want more, so you raise your hips to urge him to move.

“Patience, my love,” he reprimands you gently, kissing your forehead before moving his hips only enough to be able to push them into your again. “We have time.”

“I need you,” you pout, happy with how it makes him swallow hard.

“I know, wife, and you shall have me every single day, but we need to be careful. “ Another thrust, slow but so deep, makes you whimper. “We will make sure that the baby grows big and strong.” He thrusts again and your nails press into his back. “I will make sure that you are satisfied, my love, and that our baby is happy as it grows inside you.” One more thrust has you running your nails down his back. Hissing, he punishes you with a stab of his cock right up against your womb, and when you bare your throat to him, he dives down to suck his love marks into your skin. His hips move with more insistence now as he fucks you bruising deep, and when he releases his seed into you, he whimpers in a way you have never heard before. Your arms wrapped around him, you pull him down over you, forcing him to stay inside of you for as long as he’s hard. When he finally rolls off of you, he whispers his I love you first into your ear, then to your belly.

A couple of weeks later, you have your first morning of being sick. Pero had taken to a morning routine of greeting both you and your belly with kisses and caresses, but he barely touched you before you fly out of bed, barely making it to the slop bucket in the kitchen before your stomach turns inside out.

Pero hovers behind you, unsure how to help you as you retch into the bucket, but when you rise and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, he’s there to embrace you, combing your hair away from your face.

“Are you done?”

“I think so,” you tell him weakly, and he carries you back to bed and tucks you in before bringing you water. He then proceeds to building a fire, and making breakfast that he brings in to you.

“You don’t have to fuss,” you tell him, a little embarrassed at his extreme measures. “I’m perfectly capable of making us breakfast.”

“You need rest,” he tells you with a finality that you have never heard from him before. “Take it easy. You work so hard already.”

“No harder than you.”

“When I’m not escorting caravans, I don’t do much. Now eat, if you can stomach it.”

You can, and you’re suddenly ravenous.

After breakfast, you take your basket and go down to the marketplace to do your daily shopping, and when you return to find Pero outside the house, brushing down the horse, you sigh deeply as you put down the basket.

“Well, everybody knows now.”

“Knows what?” Pero asks, resting one hand on the horse’s strong neck. The warm sun has already turned his hairline damp, and he’s squinting against the light. You give him a what do you think? look, and he nods.

“I threw up the second I smelled fish,” you tell him, the sour taste still fresh in your mouth. “We’re having meat for the time being, husband.”

He shrugs, not having a preference one way or the other.

“Suits me fine. Are you well?”

“I’m fine.” You pick up the basket again and kiss his cheek, careful not to exhale what with your breath being so foul. “I’ll go in, put all this away.

“Leave the basket, I’ll carry it inside when I’m done with the horse.”

“I can do it, it’s not heavy.”

He glares at you then, clearly unhappy, but you kiss his cheek again.

“Don’t worry, Pero.”

But he does worry. And his worry grows with each day that starts with you throwing up. You are not showing, and the only sign of your condition, to him, is you being sick. He can’t feel what you feel, the presence inside you, although he tries every night, digging deep and slow into you until you’re begging him to cum because you can’t take it anymore.

That worry culminates one afternoon when he catches you carrying water from the well in your garden.

“Just what the hell do you think you are doing?” he glowers at you as you step in, burdened with one bucket in each hand. You stare at him, not even understanding what he’s talking about.

“What do you mean?”

“You shouldn’t be carrying something so heavy!”

“Pero – “

“You need to be more careful.” He makes it sound like you have been living irresponsibly, and it makes you furious because he has never spoken to you like this before. That scowl of his would scare anyone else in the village, but not you. You simply put down the buckets, your hands coming to your hips as you scowl right back.

“Now you listen to me, Pero Tovar! I am not frail, I am not ill, I am able to perform my chores! I may be pregnant, I may not be able to keep my breakfast, but there is nothing about my state that is abnormal!”

He seems a little taken back with your response but collects himself quickly.

“You should be resting more,” he insists, “and you getting this upset isn’t good for you, either.”

“I am not getting upset, you are making me upset!” you snap, heat rising to your cheeks. “I am doing fine and I would be doing even better if you weren’t so hell-bent on making me feel like I was dying!”

“It is precisely to stop you from dying that I am being so protective!” he bites back. You clearly hit a nerve there, and you’re angry enough to keep pinching it.

“So I cannot carry water during the day, but you can nail me to our bed every night?” you spit. “That’s a very strange way of protecting me, is it not?”

His jaws move, like he’s screaming something new at you, but then he casts down his eyes, his frown still prominent and neck muscles bulging. You cross your arms in front of your chest, waiting for his next move, but he just mutters something before storming out. You stare at the closed door, not expecting his departure. Pero has not survived by backing away from a fight.

You go on doing your chores, your blood coming down from its boil, and by the time supper is on the table, Pero returns. He stands by the door, leaning against it like he’s unsure that he’s welcome, but you gesture silently at his customary seat at the table, so he comes and sits down. You serve the food, you both eat it, and not until your plates are empty does Pero clear his throat.

“I’m sorry for earlier.”

You meet his soft gaze, seeing the regret – but also fear.

“Husband,” you whisper, but he shakes his head.

“I’m so afraid of losing you, my love.”

“I know.”

“I have never had anything as… good, and beautiful, as you, and the thought of losing you…”

“I know, my love,” you nod. You know this fear, but you have not known the same hard life as Pero has, and that helps you in not being ruled by that fear.

“Losing both you and our baby…”

“But you won’t,” you cut him off, softly but with conviction.

“You don’t know that. There is so much that can go wrong.”

“I don’t know that, no. I just believe it. I believe we will be okay in the end.” You reach your hand across the table, and Pero takes it. “Can’t you believe with me?”

A small, hopeful smile lights up his face. “I’ll try.”

Leaving everything on the table, you take him to bed. As you undo his belt, the belt pouch falls to the floor, and you hear the clinking of glass.

“Fuck,” Pero grunts. “I forgot.”

He bends down to pick up the pouch, pulling two bottles from it. He exhales in relief when discovering that they’re not broken.

“What are those?” you want to know, eyeing the two bottles, one larger, the other no bigger than Pero’s thumb.

“I went to the midwife,” he tells you, rolling the small bottle between his fingers. “She says that a couple of drops of this on your tongue every morning will help with your vomiting.”

You pick up the bottle and pull out the cork. The sunny, sweet smell of oranges wafts out. You quirk a brow and look at Pero, who shrugs.

“It’s worth trying, don’t you think?”

“It is.” You put the cork back and close your fingers over the bottle. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“It’s been hard for me to see you be so sick,” he confesses, hand coming to a soft rest on your waist. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s not so bad, husband,” you assure him. “It’s just in the mornings, and it’s not going to last.”

“I hope the tincture will help.”

“If not, you have another bottle?”

“Oh.” Pero holds up the bigger bottle, as if he had forgotten about it. “This is not medicine.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s oil for your belly,” he explains, and now his gaze turns soft. “The midwife said that as your belly begins to grow, the skin often turns dry. This is to help with that.”

You smile, your hand coming up to his bristly cheek.

“That’s so sweet of you, Pero.”

“I promise I’ll rub it onto you every night, starting now,” he vows with a mischievous little smile, and you giggle.

“I’m not showing yet!”

“The midwife said it’s important to start before the skin begins to stretch, so would you please take your clothes off, wife, and lie down on the bed.”

You laugh, but it’s not you who ends up lying on the bed, it’s Pero.

“You’ve been so good to me,” you purr, sitting astride him and teasing his cock hard by rubbing your cunt against it. “Let me take care of you now, husband.”

“Yes,” he swallows hard, “my love, please.”

You kiss the wet tip of his cock, nip at the head, trail the veins down his length with your tongue, make him whine and writhe and come apart for you. You give him only a moment to catch his breath before you take his cock in your hand and stroke it to keep it hard. Pero inhales with a hiss.

“Oh, fuck, careful…!”

“I am being careful,” you promise as you keep your touch light. “I just need to make sure that you are able to service me, husband.”

“Always,” he chokes as you sit astride him.

“My cunt is hungry for your big cock, my love.”

“Oh, please… please… ahhh!” You sink down on him, your wet cunt splitting open but taking all of him, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you exhale in a loud moan. Your eyes have closed involuntarily, and when you open them, you see Pero looking up at you with awe in his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you bend down to kiss him.

“I love you, too.”

His hands splay over your lower abdomen. “And I love you.”

You kiss him again and start to move your hips. Your love life has been less frantic since you became pregnant, but it is not lacking in passion. Your slow, meticulous grind reflects that, and when Pero reaches for the oil bottle next to him on the bed, you sit up straight and let him rub the oil onto your skin.

“You are so beautiful,” he sighs as he circles his rough hand over your soft stomach. “And you will be even more beautiful when you start to show.”

“Will I”? you coax him, and he nods.

“I want you to ride me like this when you’re big and round, wife.” His voice drops, and the way it drips hot honey down your spine makes you clench. “I want you to take your pleasure from me likes this when you’re so big that you can hardly move, and your tits are leaking milk.”

“And if I can’t?” you breathe. His eyes are molten coal when he stares at you.

“Then I will help you.”

With that, he slides hand to where your bodies come together. His oiled fingers dance easily on your nub, and with his help, you ride him home, taking his load deep into your slick, warm cunt.

Your nausea does not bother you as much the following morning. Pero credits it to the tincture but you know that something has shifted in your relationship, become easier and more earnest.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

You squeeze Pero’s arm against your side. “It’s a little too late for that now.”

“I can still tell them – “

“They need you,” you remind him. “So many people depend on you.”

“You are the most important one of all of them,” he points out, stopping in the middle of the street and turning to you. His free hand, the one that’s not holding the reigns of the horse, comes to rest on your slightly rounded belly. “You, and the little one.”

“It’s only a week.” You cup his cheek, stroke your thumb over his lips. “It’s not a long time. You’ll make good money, and I promise that I’ll rest.”

He raises his brows, and you laugh at his skepticism.

“I promise!” you hold up your hand to your chest. “I promise, Pero, you know you can trust my word, right?”

“I know,” he nods, now smiling, before dipping down to kiss you softly. The horse snorts, and Pero ends the kiss with a quick peck on your lips, before you once again take his arm, and walk to the town square where the caravan is getting ready to leave. Pero was early on asked to provide security for it, and even though he was loathe to leave you for an entire week, both of you knew he would. Winter is on its way, trading will come to a stop, and he will be free to spend the rest of your time at home.

You nod at familiar faces when you reach the square, but soon have only eyes for Pero as he takes you in his arms. You expect admonition and reprobation, but only receive whispered assurances of his love for you.

“You will take care of yourself, won’t you?” he finally asks, when the caravan leader is announcing departure. You give him a naughty smile.

“Take care of myself how…?”

He grins back. “You know how. I left you the oil, and the memory of me.”

“My own fingers are nothing compared to you, my love.”

“As my hand is a meagre substitute for your warm, wet cunt,” he breathes against your ear. There is time for a hot yet subdued kiss, and a quick caress of your belly, before Pero has to mount his horse. He blows you a kiss and is off.

The week passes slowly and uneventfully. It rains a lot, which means you keep mostly indoors, and it makes you a little restless. The baby is restless as well; you feel it twitching and floundering almost every hour that you are awake. It is a comfort, knowing that you are not alone, but you still miss Pero.

It is late night when he returns. You are already in bed but the sounds of the wagons returning to the village draws you out of bed. You pull a shawl around your shoulders, but don’t get dressed, loath to leave the warmth of the house to go out into the late autumn chill. It does not take long before Pero rides into the yard, dismounting midstride when you come out onto the doorstep. He rushes to you, lips on yours before he’s even wrapped his arms around you. His lips are cold but his breath is warm, and his body fits to yours perfectly, shielding you from the cold.

“Are you well?” are his first words to you.

“We are both well, husband. How about you? How was the journey?”

“Uneventful. I am unharmed.”

He falls to his knees, hands tracing the roundness of your stomach through the nightgown before pressing a kiss to it.

“Hello, little one.”

You feel the baby move, and then a powerful jerk. Pero flinches, then looks up at you, mouth open.

“Was that…?”

“Yes,” you smile, hand coming to cup the top of his head. “That was our baby, my love, saying welcome home.”

“Was it really?”

You nod, your smile growing wider as you watch Pero stare at your clothed belly, hand circling it in search of another kick. A light breeze sweeps across the yard, and you shudder.

“Let’s go inside, husband.”

He has to put away the horse first, so you prepare a small supper while you wait for him to come in. When he finally does, he forgoes any food, instead taking you to bed. Balls deep in you and kissing your breath away, he tells you over and over again how much he loves you.

Winter slows down the entire village, although you feel slower than ever before with each passing week. Your belly grows, and with it your tiredness. Your feet hurt, your hips hurt, you back hurts, you feel clumsy, and you're hungry all the time. Pero takes all your griping in stride, helping you with your heavier chores that you finally relinquish to him. He rubs your belly and breasts with oil every night, and pleasures you with his mouth, fingers, and cock every time you ask for it – which varies from day to day. Some days you cannot have enough of him, others you can barely stand the thought of sleeping with him. Your patient husband takes no offense at your ever-changing mood.

You realize very soon that you have been incredibly lucky in your choice of husband – not that you didn’t know that before, of course. When going to the marketplace and meeting the village women, your growing belly gives you a new role in the group. The younger women titter, the older give advice or tell crude jokes that make you blush.

“Glowing skin, hazy eyes,” one comments one morning by the vegetable stand, “and him looking like the king of the world. Neither one of you goes wanting, that’s for sure.”

Your cheeks heat up. The comment is spoken without malice, and in a pleased tone, but it feels like the speaker had direct access to your bedroom that morning, seen you come apart on Pero’s cock, witnessed him fuck his cum deep inside you.

You mumble something, and the older woman chuckles.

“I’ve had five, and my husband serviced me with all five of them. A father’s seed will make the baby grow strong. Your child will be born big and healthy, I can see that.”

The baby moves in your belly, bringing a smile to your face. You look up at the woman, see her friendly face, and thank her, before slinking away and finding Pero at another stand. He takes the basket from you, offers you his arm, and you walk home together. As you put away your purchases in the kitchen, Pero breathes life back into the fire, and you sink down onto a chair with a sigh. He runs his gaze over you, a frown on his face.

“Are you okay, my love?”

“Just a little tired,” you promise as you rub your belly. The baby kicks against your hand before settling down, maybe to sleep. You look at your husband, crouching by he fire, and clear your throat.

“Pero?”

“Yes?”

“Do the men in the village talk about… pregnancy?”

He looks up at you again. “What do you mean?”

“The women – “

“Women talk a lot of rubbish,” he scoffs, and you grimace at his dismissal of your sex.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, and you glare at him to let him know that he is only barely being let off the hook. “Tell me, my love, what do they say?”

“They talk about pregnancy, how the baby is carried, what sex it probably is, cravings, pains, aches… and intimacy. And I was wondering if men do the same.”

Pero directs his attention to the fire for a moment.

“They do speak of the pregnancy, but more of the children once they are born,” he tells you softly. “They speak of what it is to watch a child grow, how to provide for it, the way you worry about it all the time.”

“But nothing of the pregnancy?” you press, and he shoots you a teasing smile.

“A little, but only things I will not repeat to you.”

“Pero, I am no dainty little thing that you have to protect!” you roll your eyes, and Pero laughs before putting another log on the growing fire, then closing the hatch.

“I do know that, wife,” he acknowledges. Coming to his feet, he walks over to you, and sinks to his knees before you.

“I will tell you what they say,” he rumbles, his deep voice making your heart skip a beat. “Many of them speak of wives who become voracious when heavy with child.”

His hands, warm and large, rest softly on your knees, and start to carefully separate your thighs. You lick your lips quickly, leaving your mouth open as your breath turns heavier.

“They speak of wives who crave cock every single day.” Pero lifts your skirt up, leaning in to kiss the inside of your thigh. “They say that fucking a pregnant wife is the best feeling in the world.” He presses another bristly kiss to your sensitive skin. “To fill her already full womb even more…” Another kiss. “To have her sensitive cunt wrapped around your cock… how she mewls underneath you as you fuck your seed into her… it is heaven.”

He looks up at you, eyes dark, a smug smirk on his lips. “And they are right.”

“Pero,” you beg breathlessly, your cunt dripping from his words, your body ablaze for his touch.

“Come here, my love.”

He pulls you down on the floor, and you help him undo his trousers to get his cock out. Crouching astride him, feet firmly planted on the floor, you sink down his length, Pero supporting you with strong arms, even he can no longer reach around you. You ride him with impatience, one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his leg behind you, your lips on his lips, his neck, his shoulder.

“My love,” he gasps, “take what you need from me, use me, just like that, use my cock…”

You whine before baring your throat and hanging your head back, chest out, Pero dipping down to suck a leaking nipple into his mouth. You moan as your body is in spasms from the sweet release, and Pero plants a hand on the floor behind him, and thrusts up into you, grunting with effort as he seeks his own climax. You encourage him with moaned filthy words of your own, choked out as he slams into you, again and again, until he grips your buttock hard to keep you still on his cock, and you feel him fill up your core.

He lays down on the floor after, pulling you down next to him to give you a sweet kiss.

“My darling wife,” he sighs before kissing you again.

“My darling husband,” you smile, a satisfied shudder running through you as his seed oozes out between your swollen lips. “I am utterly disheveled. I won’t be able to show myself at the sewing circle later today.”

“Good,” he yawns, pulling you closer. “It is a husband’s duty to keep his wife disheveled with his love.”

“I cannot argue with that,” you giggle, and he kisses you yet again.

It starts in the early hours of the darkest winter morning. You wake up from a sharp pain, and before you’re properly awake, you realize that your nightgown is soaking wet. As you sit up to light a candle, another stab of pain makes you whimper, and you drop the fire striker. Pero stirs and reaches for you, only to be awake and sitting straight almost immediately.

“It has started,” you whisper. “I’m all wet. Pero, light a candle.”

He does as he’s told, and you throw the covers to the side, finding that your water has broken. No blood, as you secretly feared, but only water.

“I’ll get the midwife,” Pero tells you resolutely, but you can hear the worry in his voice. “My love, are you in very much pain?”

“Not too much,” you reassure him, getting out of the bed as he springs up to get dressed. You pull your shawl over your shoulders and start walking around, as the women of the village have told you to do. The pains come in sharp stabs, but they’re manageable.

Pero looks desolate to leave you, but you wave him off with a smile and a kiss.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, just go get her.”

When the midwife arrives, she gives you a quick examination before shaking her head.

“Go back to bed,” she tells both of you. “It’s going to be another day or even two before it starts, so get all the rest you can.”

“Are you sure?” Pero demands in his most imposing voice. The midwife does not even blink as she collects her things.

“Make her as comfortable as you can.” She turns to you. “Rest but walk around every chance you get. And if something seems amiss, come get me again.”

She takes her leave, and Pero grumbles about the lack of sympathy. You, however, have heard a lot more about labor, so you just shake your head at him.

“Help me change the sheets, husband, and come to bed. You heard what she said.”

“You are in pain!”

“It’s not so bad anymore,” you tell him truthfully, and start to strip the wet sheets from the bed. Loath to have you do it by yourself, Pero comes to help you, giving him something else to think about. When you’re back in bed, embraced and sleepy yet too nervous to rest, he caresses the roundness of your belly.

“I can’t wait to meet our baby,” he whispers to you.

“I feel the same.”

“What are you hoping for? A boy or a girl?”

“I don’t care,” you yawn, “as long as it’s healthy. Any child that is half you is going to be perfect.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Late in the following night, the contractions change, become more intense and frequent. You send Pero to the midwife again, and this time she stays. You have prepared during the day so there are linens and boiled water to be had. Pero is dismissed from the bedchamber, and you see that he wants to fight the midwife on that decision, but you just shake your head at him, and he heeds your wish. But when the midwife tells you that you are crowning, that the baby is coming, and the contractions are sucking all the strength from your muscles, you scream for your husband. He nearly takes the door off its hinges as he barges in, all but brandishing the sword he has not touched since his last caravan. He takes your hand between his and kisses it.

“My love,” he breathes, “my strong, beautiful wife. You can do it, I know you can.”

Your baby is born with a few pushes, and the first scream that cuts through the night makes your tears fall.

“You have a son,” the midwife announces as she wraps up the baby and puts it on your chest.

“A son,” you repeat, not really understanding the words.

“I have a son,” Pero mumbles, his voice thick. You glance up at him, but he is only looking at the baby.

“Pero…”

“I have a son.”

Suddenly, he spurts out of the room, leaving you to stare after him, mouth agape. You hear the front door slam open, and then Pero bellowing into the night:

“I have a son!”

You chuckle, tears streaming down your cheeks, and when Pero returns, his eyes are shining as well.

“My love,” he whispers. “My love. My life. I love you so much.”

You can’t speak, this is all too much, you are exhausted and hurting and happy and sweaty and bursting with joy. As the midwife retires to the kitchen, Pero lays down next to you, cradling the baby in your arms.

“My son,” he whispers, his voice thick. “We have a son, my love.”

“We do.”

“I will always take care of him, and of you, this I promise you.”

“You already do, my love,” you smile, and Pero kisses first your forehead, then the baby’s.

#the great wall fanfic #pero tovar fanfic #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #my fic

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avastrasposts · 4 months

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A Baker's Dozen - The Poll...

So, all twelve Pedro boys have visited the bakery and I'm so awestruck by the love you all have given these fluffy little stories (and the recipes!). Thank you all!

But, as some of you have pointed out, a baker's dozen is thirteen so obviously I would never leave it at twelve!

So here's the deal, vote for your favourite Pedro boy's visit and who you'd like to see return to the bakery. I'll leave this poll up for a week and then I'll take a week (or two) and write a follow up for whichever visitor wins the poll.

Here's the series master list if you want to refresh your memory.

#joel miller #dieter bravo #din djarin #ezra prospect #oberyn martell #marcus pike #jack daniels #pero tovar #javi gutierrez #dave york #frankie morales #javier peña #a baker’s dozen

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paristheonewhoreads · 5 months

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Hello & Welcome ᥫ᭡

Paris 🫶🏼, she/her , eighteen 🐈, taurus babe 🍪 , joel miller apologist 🏹, pedro pascal fan 🍓 would love more mutuals 🤞🏼💋

a little something while you scroll 🎧🤍

Master Lists 📋👨🏻‍🍳

Joel miller ⊹ ࣪ ˖

(Requests open)

Favorite Reads 🕯️🍰

smut: 🍓 fluff: ☁️ angst: 🏹

Joel Miller 🫀

Pharmacy 🍓🍓☁️ by @strang3lov3

Stari’n problem 🍓🍓🍓by @strawhbrrries

Illicit affairs 🍓🍓🍓by @schnarfer

Instagram search ☁️☁️ by @hopplessilse

Fate after all ☁️☁️ by @honeyedmiller

Sticking it to the pta 🍓🍓🍓by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

I’ll be home for Christmas ☁️🏹 by @punckock

A gentleman 🍓🍓🍓by @talaok

A future together 🍓🏹🏹☁️☁️ by @kteague

Barbie dreamhouse☁️☁️☁️ by @minispidey

I couldn’t want you anymore 🍓☁️🏹 by @stylesispunk

I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus ☁️☁️🍓🍓🍓 by @thetriumphantpanda

I’ve got my love to keep me warm ☁️☁️☁️ by @thetriumphantpanda

Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter 🏹🏹🏹 by @fragilefable

Not a survivalist girl ☁️🏹🏹 by @tightjeansjavi and @chaotic-mystery

Child O’mine 🍓☁️🏹 by @macfrog

Fatherless 🍓🍓🍓🏹🏹🏹 by @weirdfangirly

Safe and sound ☁️☁️☁️ by @joelsgreys

Short days, long nights☁️☁️🍓🍓🏹 by @frannyzooey

Shotgun🍓🍓 by @honeyedmiller

Sleeping bag☁️☁️☁️ by @quin-ns

Smother 🍓🍓🍓🏹🏹 by @beardedjoel

Midnight tow🍓🍓🍓 by @toxicanonymity

Midnight snack🍓🍓🍓by @toxicanonymity

Neighborly love☁️☁️☁️ @kteague

Karma is my boyfriend’s dad🍓🍓🍓 by @proxima-writes

Keep you warm☁️☁️☁️ by @alwaysmicado

The webs we weave 🍓🍓🏹 by @hyzer34

Diner 🏹🏹🏹🍓🍓🍓 by @notjustjavierpena

Creep 🏹🍓🍓🍓 by @theywhowriteandknowthings

Mean 🏹🏹🏹🍓🍓 by @nehi-soda

Let it snow ☁️☁️☁️🍓🍓 by @kiwisbell

Honey-do ☁️☁️🍓🍓🍓 by @kiwisbell

Anonymous ask ☁️☁️☁️ by @talaok

Every now and then ☁️☁️☁️ by @lincolndjarin

Oh honey 🍓🍓🍓 by @lincolndjarin

Frankie Morales 💌

Twinkle 🍓🍓 by @ezrasbirdie

Just married 🍓🍓🍓☁️ by @ilovepedro

Soul of a hero🏹🏹☁️ by @kteague

Vivis costume☁️☁️☁️ by @kteague

Dave York 💋

Just a piece 🍓🍓🍓 by @palioom

Snow angles 🍓🍓🍓☁️☁️ by @palioom

Pero Tovar 🕯️

Seed 🍓🍓🍓☁️☁️☁️ by @criticallyacclaimedstranger

Dieter Bravo 🌟

A little sun ☁️☁️🍓🍓 by @auteurdelabre

More coming soon ⊹ ࣪ ˖

#joel miller x reader #frankie morales #joel miller the last of us #joel miller #coquette #din djarin x reader #Spotify

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Note

For the writing game darling - meet ugly + time travel + PERO ❤️ Thank you!

Thank you for requesting bby!!! I'm not sure if the meet was ugly enough, but hopefully you'll enjoy luv u ❤️❤️❤️ this could be way longer tbh but i stopped myself since it was meant to be a drabble lmaosvfd

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓

pairing: pero tovar x fem!reader

genre: meet ugly + time travel, romance, a bit of angst

word count: 536

summary: Three times in Pero's lifetime, fate intertwined your paths. Once in his twenties, then in his thirties, and yet again in his forties, you were brought together, your lives intersecting in ways you couldn't predict.

You just appear in front of him. Just like that. No warning. No puff of smoke. Pero was younger back then, a troublemaker. He was thrown out of the tavern, bat drunk, leaning against the dirty wall.

Then he saw you.

You just stood there, confused, shaking, wearing clothes he couldn't quite understand. He couldn't focus. One moment he was looking up at you, the second he was hurling, bile burning his throat as he crouched towards the ground.

When he looked back up again you were gone. A cold wind blew. Your scent still lingered in the air.

ii.

The next time Pero met you was ten years later. You’re looking less confused, more curious. You spotted him through the busy street and waved. Pero raised an eyebrow. His suspicion grew. His first instinct was to move away and disappear from your eyesight. But against his better judgment, he stood there. You approached him.

“I remember you,” you said. “You’re the guy that puked ten years ago.”

“You have quite the memory,” he grunted. “And an odd way of speech.”

“Oh…well,” you cleared your throat. “I’m new.”

“Where are you from?”

“Uh…a town close to hear.”

Pero grinned then. He leaned forward, crowding your space. He enjoyed the way your eyes widened, a slight fear swirling in them. You licked your bottom lip, and touched something on your waist. He didn’t bother to look down at it. His smile was wide and mocking.

“You lie,” he answered. “I can tell.”

The silence that followed was amusing to him. Your body locked up, eyes flitting between his. Enjoying the way you didn’t avert your eyes, Pero lets out a chuck. Crossing his arms over his chest, he backed away.

“Come with me,” he said, pointing to a tavern with his head. “I wish to learn more about the woman that is riddled with mystery.”

iii.

You appeared in a field this time. Pero, now older in age, made his way to you in haste. His home was riddled with memories of you. The stuff you bough, the books you chose. Only to not be touched for years. His eyes become wet as he wrapped his arms around you. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling you, etching you into his memory before you were lost to him again.

“Pero,” you sighed, fingers toying with the soft curls that dance over his name. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, amor,” he whispered, warm breath fanning your skin. He felt the way your hands trembled. His knees buckled, both of you falling promptly to the field. His smile widened as you giggled, your face hovering an inch above his. You stroke his beard, gently pinching his chin.

“You’ve grown handsome with old age.”

“Does that mean you found me ugly before? I am hurt, rosa.”

“No silly,” you leaned in, pressing your lips tenderly into his. “I’ve always found you handsome.”

“Whereas you haven’t aged a day,” he answered, licking your bottom lips. “Stay. Don’t go.”

You let out a sigh, and his heart sunk into his chest. After a silence that stretches, you kiss his neck.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I will.”

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fanfic #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall fanfic #the great wall fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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wardenparker · 2 years

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Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 11

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature Word Count: 18.3k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** Hurt/comfort, angst, EMTs/hospital, shoddy medical knowledge that proves we could write for tv, plenty of twists and turns and pulls at the heartstrings in this chapter. Summary: Arriving back in your own time is not at all what you or Pero had in mind, but your best friend is there to help pick up the pieces. Notes: Writing this chapter *shattered* us. Y’all have been warned.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

For the better part of two days, the ride is hard and unyielding. Little is said between the companions except to explain to Father Malcolm what happened in the village square, and the young priest simply nods as he absorbs the tale. When he returns he will tell the village that he delivered the witch and her companions to justice in the city, and send a letter on to the dead men’s home village expressing regret over their encounter with bandits. He will bless and bury the bodies, knowing the men are already in hell. He will do his duty. It is late on the second day of riding when Inverness comes into view through the rolling hills, and the group continues through the woods instead of heading toward town. You have held steady thanks to Arwena’s magic but not improved at all, and though your priest friend has prayed over you many times, Pero must believe that the choice he has made to bring you here is the right one. That sending you home will be what saves you. Even if it breaks his heart to do it, what matters is that you will live.

The steady gait of the horse helps keep you from bobbling around too much. You have not taken water for the past half day. Nothing they tried would get you to drink and he is at his wits end. He feels you starting to slip away, even if Arwena denies it. “Hurry!”

Father Malcolm has been riding ahead, making sure the trail is passable and that he does still know the way to Craigh na Dun. His memory is steel, thankfully, and when he doubles back to appear at the top of the hill to Pero’s right, he points in the direction of a small grove of trees. “Through here!”

Guiding the horse towards the priest, Pero sends up a prayer. That this works, that he can go with you, that whatever you have will be easily treated in your time. Most importantly, that you will understand why he is making this decision for you. Binx is purring, trying to use her own brand of healing on you, curled up on your chest under the blankets.

The Stones at Craigh na Dun stand tall, the dusk settling around them as the sun begins to lower in the sky and the quiet of a winter evening closes in on them with claustrophobic intent. For a world so barren and forlorn, it certainly does not feel empty or wide. “My word…” Arwena breathes, seeing the sheer size of the standing stones as they bring their horses up to the side of the seeming monument. “Help us to get her down.” Father Malcolm has already dismounted, calling to Briac to do the same so that the two men can carry you from Pero’s mount to the center stone.

Dread and fear well up in Pero, nearly choking him as he dismounts and grabs the bag with your things along with his own bag. He has no clue what to expect, even if you have told him about your time and he is woefully ill prepared, but determined to face whatever may come.

“What will happen?” Arwena is close on Briac’s heels, her own fear painted on her features as clear as day. She still does not understand how this magic can be real, despite wielding fire that answers only to her voice, and looks between you, Pero, and the Father with naked apprehension.

“From what I know, she should…go back to where she came from. The year 2022.” He sounds more confident than he really is. “But I will be with her to protect her no matter what.”

“She said she heard buzzing, touched the stone, and fell through time.” Father Malcolm has heard the tale from you then and thought it sounded like fairy magic. He is still not convinced that it was not. “Hopefully, it will be as simple as Pero holding her as she goes through, and they will travel together.”

“Take care of Gato.” Binx has climb out from her cozy spot and meows, looking up at Pero. “I don’t know if animals can come through.” He explains, as if he were talking to a human as he kneels down and scratches her head.

“She will be safe with us.” For as stoic as she had been during the confrontation of the day before, Arwena is nearly in tears as Pero turns to say goodbye. “I—I can never…thank you enough. Either of you. For what you did for us.”

“Stay safe.” He pulls the girl against him for a surprisingly gentle hug. “Make babies and live happily.” He tells her, pulling back and pinching her chin slightly as he tilts her eyes up to meet his. “I am proud of you; you are a strong woman. Just like Sassenach and you will carry her legacy well.”

“We will never forget you. Either of you.” The tears in her eyes are for so much more than mere sadness, but there is no time for those words. Even if she knew what to say, there would be no time. “Tell her…when she is well again…tell her we love her. And come back to us if you can?”

“I will.” Turning to Briac, Pero is as proud as any papa watching his son prepare to go out into the world and forge his own path. “Fight well. Kill quickly and love harshly.” He tells the boy before he pulls him in for a hug that would crack ribs and pounds him on the back as men do.

“We will stay nearby.” Briac promises, stifling thick tears with heavy sniffles as he embraces Pero tightly. “Come back to us when she is well again, and we will all go to Spain together.” He must believe it is possible. He must. Otherwise he fears the despair that will overtake both himself and Arwena.

“Do not stay here long.” Pero cautions them. He takes the pouch of coins off his waist and hands them to the boy who is really a man. There is enough for them to establish a good life if they are judicious with the coins. “Settle in the Cádis area and if we come back, we will find you.”

“Gracias por todo.” Thank you for everything. Briac nods, despite wishing he could shove the pouch back into Pero’s hands and insist that they find a solution here and now. They all know it is hopeless - even the priest who is currently cradling you in his arms at the foot of the center stone. If you remain you will surely die, and Arwena and Briac would rather struggle through life alone knowing you are well elsewhere than be the reason you did not survive. “Take care of her,” Arwena begs, no longer able to keep the flood of tears at bay. She feels as though she has failed you, and no amount of trial and error will fix that. You have to go. Go and live, rather than stay and die. “There is no more time to be wasted.”

Pero swallows down his own emotions although he knows the water in his eyes is noticeable if anyone were paying attention. Instead of commenting further, he strides over to the priest and relieves him of his burden. Bundling you close and jostling you slightly as he pulls your hand out for you to touch the stones. That was the most important part of your story. You touched the stones. “Adiós, mi familia.” His voice is thick with emotion as he lifts your hand to the wall and in the blink of an eye, you disappear and he remains in his own time, without you.

******

There had been no warning when you disappeared - not so much as a sound or a flash of light or even a breeze brushing through the late October afternoon. Nothing could have prepared Beth for the way you seemed to evaporate into mid-air, poofing out of existence like a cartoon. She had searched around the standing stones at Craigh na Dun frantically to find where you were hiding, but to no avail. You were just gone. Her best friend in the world, her steadfast companion, her ride or die. Just...gone. Like you had never existed in the first place. Nearly catatonic, Beth had slumped down against one of the large stones facing the one you had touched. What the fuck? What the ever-loving fuck?! You were there and then you weren't and what the FUCK was going on? How was she supposed to explain this to people? To literally anyone? And then - out of nowhere - there you were again.

Pushing to her feet, scrambling and sliding on the fallen leaves and mossy ground, Beth screams your name and rushes over to the lump of blankets, your face half covered in hair and your eyes distressingly closed. “Wake up! Wake up!”

“Pero?” You’ve been murmuring his name over and over, sometimes out loud and sometimes you only think it’s out loud, but the hard ground underneath you feels nothing like whatever it is that you have been. “Pero.” His name comes weakly from your lips again, although you could see at you hear Beth’s voice from somewhere far, far away.

Beth’s hands are practically shaking as she pulls material away from you, rough fabric that you definitely didn’t have on you when you had vanished. Your name falls from her lips again. “Open your eyes!”

“Pero.” The two syllables are all you can manage, caught in that horrible purgatory between life and death that is grave illness. There is no sun or moon here, no forest or sea. Only darkness, and the longing stuck in your heart that you might fight to see him one more time.

“Jesus Christ.” Her eyes widen and she pulls back as if she’s afraid to hurt you when your hair shifts, and she sees the grisly scar bisecting your brow and running down your cheek. What happened to you? It doesn’t help that she can feel how hot you are from where her hand is hovering. “I’m going to get you help.” She promises, shakily digging for her phone.

The emergency number in Scotland is different than in the States, but after a second of fumbling Beth manages to remember what it is and dial with unsteady fingers. "999. What service do you require?" Asks the kindly, heavily accented voice on the other end.

“I- we are at the stones of Craigh na Dun and my friend–she–she disappeared for five minutes but now she’s back and she’s unconscious and burning up.” Beth babbles into the phone frantically, sweeping her hand over your forehead. “She’s sick.”

There is a pause on the line before the kindly voice clears its attached throat and asks: "Do you require an ambulance, miss? Should your friend be seen in hospital?"

“Yes! Please yes, hurry! She’s been- attacked. She has a large scar on her eye that wasn’t there before!” Beth manages to get the blankets unraveled from your body and gasps. You are not wearing the skinny jeans and flannel shirt with hiking boots you had been wearing just twenty minutes ago.

"Attacked?" The emergency dispatcher asks, the sound of clacking keys in the background telling Beth that she is including this fact in her report of the call. "Miss, please do not attempt to move or jostle your friend. Emergency Medical Technicians are on their way to you."

“Hurry!” You moan and call out ‘Pero’ again, making Beth frown as she hovers over you. Where is your bag? Your phone? There is a bag made of some kind of leather but it wasn’t the North Face bag you had tucked your water bottle and granola bars into.

It takes less than ten minutes for an ambulance to come screaming into view, braving the small hill that the stones of Craigh na Dun stand on. The man and woman who hop out of the vehicle are as kind as they possibly can be for having such an intense job, and they load you onto a stretcher after hearing Beth's rambled explanation that you disappeared and reappeared - suddenly sick and injured. "What's your name, miss?" The woman asks, holding the door of the ambulance open to offer the mobile American the opportunity to ride inside.

“Beth” She breathes out, terrified and clutching all the things that you had reappeared with. “Beth Franklin.”

"We're going to get you and your friend to Raigmore Hospital," the paramedic tells her gently, moving quickly to get the American seated so they can be on their way. "We're going to take good care of your friend, Miss Franklin. You just sit tight, eh?"

“I don’t know what happened. She was just- she wanted to touch the stones like the show, you know?” Beth shakes her head. “I was taking a photo and then she was just– gone.”

“Does she have any health issues? Asthma? Diabetes? Even migraines?” Any clue as to what is normal for their patient is invaluable. Otherwise diagnosis can be like finding a needle in a haystack.

“Nothing but a little heartburn.” Beth shakes her head and bites her lip. “Her eye, that scar wasn’t there.” She manages to reach her phone again and opens it to show a picture of you taken just before you disappear. Your hands are outstretched toward the stones as you look at the camera and grin.

“Well, that’s a wee bit odd now, innit?” The man peers over his shoulder in time to see the photo right before putting the vehicle in gear. “That an old photo, miss? Hasta be, since it’s afore she got her scar. Unless her soulmate’s the one ‘a got inta some nasty business.”

“It was right before she disappeared.” Beth frowns and looks at the picture again. “And her hair is longer.” She doesn’t mention your soulmate because you don’t have one. It’s a sore subject and people react funny to that kind of news.

“Mebbe she’s gone and traveled through time,” the man chuckles, turning to focus on driving the ambulance out is the woods and toward Raigmore Hospital. “Me nan used’a say that’s what happened to people who touched the Stones, but I think she just liked them books a lot.”

Beth swallows and shakes her head, not believing that although the two of you had giggled about sliding through time and finding your own Jamie. “I don’t know.” She mutters and looks down at you with a worried frown. “I’m more worried about what she has right now.”

“Can’t do better than Raigmore,” the woman tells Beth with surety. She has been hooking you up to various monitors or taking measurements or just generally checking on you since Beth buckled in, but she turns now to whisper something to her colleague and he steps on the gas. “They’ll see her put to rights.”

The rest of the trip passes in a blur, the beeping of the monitors seems faster than they should be and Beth is terrified, especially since she can’t find your wallet, with your identification and insurance card.

Lost items are the least of the hospital’s concerns, ultimately, though the team testing you is grateful to have someone who knows your rough medical history. The full day it takes to get your medical records sent over from your doctor in Florida are nothing compared to the intensity of the race to diagnose you properly. After stabilizing and settling you, it takes a team of no less than seven professionals to put every piece of the puzzle together. The first doctor to suggest meningitis seems to consider it a stretch, but still he says it. When you open your eyes again mere hours after the first dose of medication to test that particular infection, the entire team breathes a collective sigh of relief.

Beth is living on horrible coffee from a vending machine - she doesn’t like tea - and paces like she can make laps on the linoleum for a cure. She hadn’t been allowed back in your room, too worried about what you might have and if it’s infectious.

Opening your eyes is like staring into the sun, despite the fact that nothing about the light surrounding you is natural. There are loud beeps and clicks and you feel like you got thrown out of a bell tower directly onto a boulder. Everything hurts and you feel weak, unable to focus your limited sight on anything for all the brightness. Only one word, through a foggy mind and a scratchy throat, makes it to the surface. “Pero?”

“You’re awake, dearie.” A plump, red-headed nurse with kind blue eyes leans over the bed after checking your vitals. It was a pleasant surprise to have you wake up while she was making your rounds. “Your friend has been so worried about you. I’ll send ‘em in.”

That makes you breathe a little easier, thinking that Pero must be pacing nearby and growling at anyone who even dares approach him. You can't remember the innkeeper having red hair but you were barely paying attention - too excited to get married to care about much about anything else.

Diedre is the nurse that has given Beth the most information and she waves to her now as she makes another lap around the room. “She’s awake!” She calls out, a cheerful smile on her face. “You can go in and see your friend.” “Oh thank God.” Beth exhales roughly, nearly crying as she practically flies towards the room that you had been placed in.

You could swear you hear Beth's voice again, chalking it up to whatever weird dreams you were having, and start to close your eyes again when you feel someone with delicately manicured fingernails grip your hand. That is definitely not Pero...

“Hey. God, you had me so worried.” Beth rushes out, squeezing your hand. “You- how are you feeling?” She needs to interrogate you, figure out what the hell is going on. But first she needs to know that you are feeling okay.

"Beth?" The bulk of your wedding ring vaguely registers against your finger when she squeezes your hand and you turn your good eye on her again, forcing yourself to focus. Are you in a fucking hospital room? "H-how?"

“How?” Apparently you are shocked to be here, but given your appearance she’s got questions. “You disappeared! Where did you go?” Her voice creeps up but she shakes her head. “You were there one moment and then gone the next. I looked around for you and when I seriously started to panic, you were back.”

"Uh..." There is a lot more to digest here than just where you were, or how you got back, but the sadness that registers in your eyes is unmistakable. "Where's Pero?"

“Who?” Beth frowns in confusion. “Who is Pero? You kept calling that name.”

Shifting your hand in hers, you look down at where they're joined - gold band shining slightly in the stark lighting - and sink further down into the hospital bed. "My soulmate."

“Soulmate.” Beth’s thumb brushes over your hand, dumbfounded by the idea that you had left the present. That the magic of the stones wasn’t some story or plot in a book. It was real. “When did you go?”

"It was..." Math isn't your strong suit at the moment, your headache is too bad for that. "A thousand-something years? 1006. Eight years..."

It explains everything. The clothes, the length of you hear if you’ve been gone for eight years. “Jesus.” Beth sinks down into the chair that is by your bed, still clinging to your hand. “You- your soulmate is from the past? Nearly one thousand years before you are born?”

"Figures, right?" If you're really back - if this is really Beth and not some insanely elaborate hallucination - then it means a lot of things happened in Gretna that you don't know about or simply can't remember. Either way, this is the woman you've been missing for literal years, and you squeeze her hand as best as you can manage. "It took literal fucking magic to find somebody who would put up with me."

“Finally found one strong enough.” Beth counters, knowing that it would take a tough man to make you happy. “But what happened?” Her brief smile disappears and she reaches over to brush the bottom of the scar on your face.

"That was before." Each word comes a little easier, which is an unexpected blessing, but your throat is very dry. "Wh-where am I?" You ask, trying to look around a little but finding the whole room far too bright.

“Raigmore hospital.” Beth squeezes your hand before she murmurs your name again. “You were sick, unconscious and burning up when you came back.”

"Alone?" You're almost afraid to ask, not wanting to have to contemplate what it would actually mean if she says yes. It's too much to stomach. Too much to try to wrap your head around if he didn't come through with you.

The fear in your voice makes Beth’s stomach flip and her hold on your hand to tighten. “Just you.” She confirms quietly.

"He wouldn't–" The tears are nearly immediate, hot and angry, leaking from the corners of your eyes like lava. "He wouldn't leave me. Not after we–we just got married–"

“What is the last thing you remember?” She asks softly, wanting to understand more, and wanting to help you in some small way. “Maybe he- did you plan to come back?”

"No." Shaking your head feels like a lot of effort despite you only managing to move it a half inch in either direction. "I got sick. Th-the morning after the wedding, I...felt hot..."

“The doctors said that you- if you hadn’t gotten to the hospital when you did, you would have died.” Even then it had been touch and go for a while once they figured out what was wrong with you.

"What's wrong with me?" If you couldn't save your own eye, then it is no surprise that you couldn't save yourself from whatever you caught. Even if you had brought Pero back from the brink of death, it had taken all your strength to heal someone that ill.

“Meningitis.” Beth remembers that there’s something else that the doctor had said. “C - something meningitis.” They had told her that your brain had been swelling and that was why you had been unconscious.

"At least it wasn't plague, I guess." Not that you really know anything about meningitis, except that the school nurse had scared everybody when you were in seventh grade by saying you could die from kissing.

“You–your brain was swelling and they–” she chokes out a small sob. “They were telling me that you might not make it when you got here. Your temperature was sooo high.”

"He wouldn't leave me." You repeat the sentence a little more firmly, trying to put together all the flashes of things you can put together that may be real or may be imaginary. Pero carrying you keeps coming to mind, and so much riding with his arms wrapped around you. Though that might have been when you were headed to Gretna, not afterward. "H-he must have...the Stones must not have worked for him?"

“Maybe.” She’s less sure considering all of your things were with you and none that would belong to a man. “That must be it.”

"Arwena...I—I didn't..." Tears prick at your eyes again, realizing your sweet, kind, steadfast young friend is a thousand years gone, along with playful and optimistic Briac. A knock on the door pulls Beth's attention away from you and your mind out of the fog of regret. "I hear our friend is awake at last." A tall, lanky man hums, smiling as he strolls into the room. He lends Beth a warm smile before leaning over you and looking into your eyes with the air of someone making an inspection. "You're lucky that your friend brought you in when she did," he tells you. "She saved your life."

Beth leans back, trying to absorb what you have told her while the doctor examines you. It’s a lot and if she hadn’t seen you disappear and reappear only five minutes later looking completely different, she would have thought you crazy.

"—This form of meningitis is incredibly rare." The doctor is explaining, though you barely hear him. He is taking your vitals while he talks and inspecting the dilation of your good eye, and saying things that you barely understand because the irony of you being a healer in the eleventh century is that your modern medical knowledge is mediocre at best. "Your recovery and treatment are going to be what we call long-haul, but if you take your medicines, get your strength back, and eat healthily, there is no reason that you shouldn't make a full recovery."

“Can she travel?” Beth pipes up, worried about your ability to travel home, although she still has no clue where your passport and ID are. “Or does she need to stay here longer?”

"It will be at least a few more days." The doctor tells Beth, trying to break the news to both of you as gently as he can. "We will be contacting your general practitioner at home to make sure that you have continuous treatment, and I'm afraid that you'll have to take some time out of work. That infection did quite a number on you and your mind and body will need more time than you expect to recover." He smiles again, clearly used to being the one to deliver bad news because of his boyish looks. "But now that we're certain your friend isn't contagious, we can bring a cot into the room for you, Miss Franklin. You can stay with her as much as you like."

“Good.” Beth immediately agrees, nodding quickly. Whatever happened, she is your best friend and she’s not leaving you for a second. “I can stop wearing out the floors in your waiting room.”

"Am I allowed to have water?" The question feels slightly pathetic, but since you know now that you're going to be stuck in this hospital bed for a while longer and not able to get back to the Stones to go back to Pero, then you'll start with water to soothe your cracked throat. "Of course," your doctor chuckles, nodding to you and Beth before he heads for the door again. "I'll have your nurse get you some and order a cot to be brought up. The rest of the team will be up to check on you soon, so try to rest." He advises and shuts the door softly behind him.

“So we get you feeling better and then we can go home—no, no, back to the Stones…” her eyes widen, and she nods as you start shaking your head. “Of course. We go back to the Stones to see if I missed him coming through?”

"He won't know how to find me," you remind Beth insistently. "We have to go back. O-or watch the news. A random grumpy Spaniard in medieval armor wandering around town is sure to get some attention."

Beth’s eyes widen, realizing that could be disastrous. “Oh shit, yeah, that would be bad. He would be trying to stab cars with his sword.” It’s funny in theory, but he would get arrested and that would cause a whole other set of problems. Movies that include time travel don’t really think about the logistics of that kind of thing.

“He knows what cars are.” You had explained so much to him over the months you had together, drawing little sketches for him on the hearthstones in charcoal before smudging them away. “In theory, I mean.”

“What is he like?” She asks, curiosity getting the best of her.

“He’s…” You crack a small smile, heart aching from being separated from him but relishing the chance to tell your best friend about your soulmate. “He’s grumpy,” you admit right away. “Ornery, you could say. But he has such a good heart, and—” A half-chuckle bubbles out of you unexpectedly. “He’s so fuckin’ hot, Beth.”

“Hot in that unbathed, sweaty kind of way?” She had no idea how the medieval times really were, but she can’t imagine there are too many baths or much attention to hygiene.

“Oh no, if I ever take that man into a Lush he’ll lose his mind.” Thinking of all the ways you can pamper him when he appears on this side of the Stones is going to be what gets you through missing him, you can feel it. “H-he…bought me a bathtub. Traded for it. The most beautiful buckskin for a bathtub that fits two.”

Beth’s heart melts at the thought of your soulmate providing for you. At least you had been taken care of while you were gone. “That’s so sweet. I always imagine sexy bathtub scenes in front of a hearth.”

“Guarantee you that the reality was hotter than whatever you imagined,” you smirk, going quiet for a second when the red-haired nurse returns with a pitcher of water and cups and departs again.

“I- honey, I have to ask….” she hesitates and then gestures towards your eye. “What happened?” It might be a sore subject, but it doesn’t look fresh and she knows you wouldn’t put up with abuse, so it’s not from your soulmate.

"I–" Laying back down fully in your nest of pillows and multiple thin blankets, you shut your eyes for a second and sigh. "I was attacked. I fought the guy off, but lost my eye in the process." There isn't any reason to burden her with all the ugly details, and you would rather not relive them anyway. "It was more than three years ago."

“I just can’t believe it.” You were gone for maybe seven minutes and yet you say you spent eight years where you were. Or, rather, when. “Bastard. I hope you killed him.”

"No..." Although if you were ever going to kill anyone, it would have been Magistrate Padrig in all his piggish bombacity. "But I helped his daughter run away and elope with her soulmate that he didn't approve of. Does that count as revenge?"

“Perfect revenge.” Beth agrees, reaching for your hand again. “I’m just- I don’t know what to say. It sounds so impossible but the things you have, what you were wearing….” she gives a small shrug and tries to make you laugh. “You got the live the Outlander experience.”

"Yeah," you huff, chuckling darkly and ending up coughing until Beth pours a small cup of water and helps you take a few sips. "Even got the nickname. I was Sassenach for years..."

Blinking owlishly at you for a few moments, the cup still up near your lips, she starts to laugh. “Oh my God, you didn’t name yourself Sassenach!”

"It wasn't me." In fact, you had had to excuse yourself to laugh about it soon after the nickname was used the first time. "But it turns out that medieval Highlanders really did use that word for outsiders. And I...I was definitely an outsider. After a while it just became a nickname. Very few people actually knew my real name."

“Like your soulmate?” She asks, smiling slightly when you nod. “What is your soulmate’s name?”

"Pero." Saying his name makes you ache all over again, a wave of sadness tinged with physical pain and plenty of fear as you look down at the gold band on your finger. "Pero Tovar."

Sensing that you are sad, she squeezes your hand gently. “You should rest.” She urges. “The faster we get you out of the hospital, the faster we can go back to the stones.”

"You have to go wait for him." Holding Beth's hand tighter, there is fear in your expression as well as enough desperation to sink a ship. "If he comes through he'll be panicked. You have to—" The clothing that you were wearing has been removed and replaced with a hospital gown, so when you reach for your cloak pin, it isn't there. "My cloak pin. Take my pin and go back to the Stones. Please, Beth? I told him about you. He'll know he can trust you."

She doesn’t want to leave you and she doesn’t want to go to the stones. However, the look on your face tells her that you won’t settle for anything else, You are stubborn like that. “I’ll go until it’s dark, but I’m not camping at the stones.” She warns you.

“Thank you.” You don’t want to admit how tired you are, considering how long you’ve been sick, but your body is screaming for rest after maybe twenty minutes of being awake. If Binx were here, you would hum to her until you fell asleep, with Pero’s nose buried in the crook of your neck as he drifted off right alongside you…and even the remote possibility that you may never see either of them again is tearing you in half. So sleep wins - for now, at least.

******

It’s bittersweet, watching you slap your hands against the stones repeatedly while crying out for the heavens and wildlife to hear. Beth stands guard silently, wishing she knows what would help you. Every day she has sat hear, waited for someone to appear, and every day she’s had to break your heart when she reports that no one has come. Never saying out loud that there might be a reason no Spanish mercenary had followed you, you wouldn’t want to hear that. But the thought remains as she holds her hands together in front of her to keep from reaching for you, from pulling you away from the stone.

"You don't understand!" Even through the curtain of violent tears, you aren't strong enough to pull out of Beth's arms as she drags you back to the rental car. They only released you from the hospital this morning, it's not as though you've been hitting the gym since you woke up five days ago. "He wouldn't leave me! I have to figure out how to make the Stones work!"

“He’s not here!” Beth snaps, trying to get you to into the car. “He’s not here, and you have to accept that.”

"How?" It's not her fault. It's not her fault and you know that deep in your heart. Shouting at her isn't fair. But you have to shout at something right now, or else you might just shut down completely and never speak again - so you turn your eyes up to the sky instead. "How am I supposed to do this? With magic, and family, and my soulmate on the other side of those FUCKING ROCKS and you won't let me go through again?!"

Beth’s heart breaks and she closes her eyes, dragging you close and into her arms for a bone crushing hug. “One day at a time.” She whispers softly, not letting you go and feeling you sob against her.

“I don’t want to.” The words, muffled against her jacket, shake through you with so much resolve that if you were her, you might be hauling her back to the hospital. “Not without him.”

“I know you don’t.” Losing your soulmate is supposed to be devastating and it seems like it is for you. Even though she’s never found hers yet, she doesn’t envy you the agony. “I know you don’t, sweetheart, but we have to go home. We have to.”

“I’m trying to.” You insist, though this time is more sad than angry. After checking every inch of your skin in the hospital and realizing that you had lost every one of Pero’s marks, you had had the first of what are now several breakdowns. The idea that he truly had not followed you through the Stones is devastating to process, but you’re convinced that it is the fault of the magic and not a lack of love.

“I know.” Beth loosens her grip on you enough to start rubbing your back. A small gesture that won’t make up for the heartbreak you are going through, but she doesn’t want you to feel like you are alone. “Why don’t we talk to the innkeeper?” She suggests softly. “If she hears talk of a Spaniard dressed like a RenFaire participant, she can call you.”

“Who knows how long it’s been for him, ya know?” Wiping your eyes barely does anything, but you work at the futile gesture anyway. “My eight years was eight minutes to you. It’s already been over a week.”

“Don’t think like that.” If you do, you will go insane because your soulmate, your Pero, would surely be dead. Although technically, he was very deceased.

"I hope that you meet your soulmate just walking into a normal building in St. Augustine. Totally normal meet cute on a totally normal kind of day." It isn't bitter, though you suppose it could be. It isn't Beth's fault, though. None of it is. You just never want her to have to feel the heartache of leaving your soulmate behind. Especially like this - since you had no say in the matter.

Sighing softly, Beth wishes she knew something to help you. Some magic words of wisdom that would make all of this alright. Even if she knows there’s nothing and this would just be a process. “We got lucky we got your passport expedited and can get home on time. Your demon kitty will be missing you.” She jokes, hoping to make you smile like it always does when she complains about your cat.

"Bowie is an angel." And even though you'll probably have another long, solid cry over missing Binx when Bowie is back in your arms, you are excited to see the handsome black and white cat again. "I hope he's not too mad that he had to be alone for so many extra days. Binx would have thrown a fit if I did that to her."

“Binx.” You had told her about your life, about the cat that was your familiar there in that time. That you had actual magic, fire that flew from your fingertips. “I’m sure that Pero is taking care of her. Or Arwena. You said she was a dear friend.”

"Binx won't leave Pero if she has a choice." Even remembering the sweetness of the two unlikely friends together after they had lived side by side in the cottage for weeks and months brings a small smile to your face. "By the time we left the cottage, she would bring her prey in from the cold and lay it at his feet to soak up all his praise."

Beth chuckles, imagining a fierce warrior praising a cat for the dead bird or squirrel that she brings into the house. “Then Bowie will love him. Put a dead mouse on his pillow.” She shudders, still swearing the evil cat had meant to make her scream loud enough she had lost her voice.

"I like cats that are good providers," you defend, even though you know that Beth hates that Bowie is such a mouser. "Wouldn't you rather have Bowie catch the mice than have them getting into our cupboards?"

“I would rather he not put them on my pillows!” Beth huff, even though she’s happy that you aren’t as forlorn as you had been moments before. “Give them to you. Or eat them.”

"He's a good boy. He just wants you to be proud of him." Sitting back in the car is awkward. Awkward in the same way that it's odd to be wearing panties and jeans and a bra and a sweater again. When you get back to Florida you might have to search out some of those Etsy shops run by historical costumers and get yourself a few pairs of basic stays - life without underwires and elastic marks in your torso was significantly more comfortable. "I guess..." You blow out a sigh and reach for the passenger side seatbelt to buckle yourself in. "I guess we should go back to the inn. And talk to the innkeeper, like you said."

It is a start, and one that Beth will happily take. She starts the engine and looks over at you with concern, you are still weak and recovering from your illness so you are tired. “Rest on the way back. Okay?”

"I'll try." You haven't told her that the last few days have been plagued with nightmares. It's why you had asked her to bring your laptop to the hospital a few days ago. Just to get your mind off your nightmares. And, more specifically, so you could sign up for a bunch of ancestry websites and try to research Arwena and Briac's family line as best you could from a thousand years in the future.

Honestly worried about you, Beth turns on some music, low and soothing in the background. Determined to drive slowly, she sets off back towards the inn that you had checked into on your innocent trip and that the inn keeper had so graciously extended your stay when you had fallen ill.

A mere twenty minute drive from the Stones back to the bed and breakfast in the middle of Inverness where you're sure there will be a three course meal waiting since Beth told the lesbian couple that runs the place that you were getting out of the hospital today. One of them had inherited the inn from her grandmother and the other had attended culinary school in Paris, so they combined forces to make a beautiful experience for their guests. And this week, that had meant sending Beth to the hospital with sack meals so she wasn't doomed to eat whatever came out of the vending machines after the hospital cafeteria closed for the night.

“Here we are.” Beth pulls up to the inn with a small sigh. You are still awake, but you are more relaxed than you had been before. “I bet you will be happy to sleep in a real bed tonight.”

“Yeah.” A real bed will be nice, but sleeping without Pero has been impossible. If not for being sick, you doubt you would have slept at all. “It’s…” You shrug slightly, looking down at yourself in the car. “It’s weird wearing pants again. I know that’s not really affecting anything in our lives right now, I just…everything feels a little weird right now for so many different reasons, and I’m grateful to you for sticking with me through all of it.” Reaching across the center console, you squeeze your best friend’s hand gently and offer her a smile. “A lot of people would have had me committed the second I started talking about time travel and magic. But not you. And I’m thankful for that.”

"Honestly, if I hadn't watched you disappear, I might think I was crazy." Beth admits, having replayed that time over and over again in her mind while she had sat at the stones. Too afraid to touch them herself now that she knows what could potentially happen. She gives you a small smile. "We will get through this like everything else....together."

“Thank you.” Small, soft words, but you mean them from the bottom of your heart. If the Stones won’t give Pero back to you - or let you go back to him - right now, then things are going to have to move forward. You’ve already made up your mind that you’re going to come back next Samhain and try again, wondering if there is some kind of rule that ties their abilities to that day. For now the best thing you can do is get strong again for whatever adventure lays ahead of you. “Come on,” you murmur, nodding toward the inn. “Let’s go inside.”

Beth had warned the couple that your appearance and demeanor had drastically changed, not going into details why but just not wanting them to be overly shocked when they see you again. She's certain there will be questions, how could there not be? However, it was up to you to determine how much to tell them.

“Yer back!” Hadley - the elder of the two women who ran the inn - is tidying up the sitting room and setting out a jar of fresh homemade sweets when Beth helps you inside, and she almost succeeds in not flinching when she sees the scar on your face and how very different you look from when you had left the inn on Samhain morning. “Sarah’s just upstairs cleaning up after a check out. Can I make ye some lunch? Or tea, at least?”

Beth answers for you, feeling your tension from the day and knowing you need to eat. "That would be great." She smiles softly and keeps her hand around your waist, as if you need steadying. Maybe you do, even if you had been pretty damn resistant when she had been dragging you away from the stones. "Doesn't that sound good?"

“It does, thank you.” You nod, knowing that classical French cuisine like Hadley makes is going to be a hell of a lot tastier than whatever stew you were eating in the cottage. Even if it wasn’t bad, the vague memories you have of Hadley’s cooking are excellent.

There is a small sitting room, comfortable and inviting and that is where Beth guides you. Sure that you aren’t ready to face all the belongings you have from before your time away. It’s still mind boggling that you’ve lived eight years more in the span of a few minutes. Especially since you haven’t aged, nothing except your hair and your scar, or eye, would tell anyone that you had left.

“It’s been an unexpected week for ye, I’d say,” Hadley offers a soft smile because she’s not quite sure what else to say. “That’s putting it gently,” you laugh ruefully, shaking your head slightly and squeezing Beth’s hand. “I’m lucky to have the best friend in the world to get me through it.” Without Pero, Arwena or Briac, there’s no one you care more about in the world - past or present.

“Just sit down.” Beth insists, hovering and probably smothering you a little but she has a very real fear that if she blinks you would disappear again. Who knows if it’s just the stones?

"Yes, mummy." Teasing is habit - and a bit of a defense mechanism - and you shoot Beth a grin that makes her roll her eyes dramatically but smile anyway. The two of you settle down in a pair of armchairs while Hadley disappears into the kitchen, only to reappear moments later with a tureen of soup and a heaping plate of scones to go with the tea tray that you swear she must have been balancing on her head or else how could she carry it all at once? "Luncheon," she pronounces, obviously ready to worry over you along with Beth.

“Good.” Beth gives Hadley a grateful smile and looks at the meal as she fusses over setting it up just so. “It looks delicious but then, everything you make is wonderful.”

"Oh, well, thank you hun." Hadley beams, setting a bowl of steaming hot potato leek soup and a cheddar scone in front of each you and Beth before taking her own. The tea, however, is what you go for first - practically groaning over the taste that you had been missing for eight long years. Tea had not come to Western Europe yet, and while you drank herbal tisanes often, there is nothing quite like a strong cup of Earl Grey.

Beth opens a scone and smears it with the clotted cream that she swears that is the best she’s ever had before she slides it onto your plate. She watches you carefully, wondering when you want to talk to the innkeeper about Pero.

It isn't until Sarah comes downstairs and sits down with the three of you to enjoy some lunch, that you clear your throat gently after pouring your second cup of tea. "I was wondering if I could ask you both a favor," you begin, looking between the couple apprehensively. You're not really sure how to explain this - or if you can explain it at all without sounding crazy.

Beth reaches over and takes your hand, silently giving you support because that’s all she can do right now. She couldn’t explain it properly if she tried.

"Of course." Sarah practically looks offended that you even think you need to ask. "There is someone that might...come looking for me. A man named Pero Tovar." Or at least you hope there will be, although that isn't entirely the same thing. It's semantics at this point. "If you hear about a Spaniard wandering around town, or causing a commotion, or something jokey about a man in costume coming to Inverness...would it be too much to ask you to call me and let me know? That's my soulmate and I...I would jump back on a plane to come see him in a heart beat. I just...w-we got separated. And I don't know how long it will take him to get here..." It's the best you can do, without explicitly mentioning the Stones or time travel, and you just hope Hadley and Sarah don't find it a suspiciously vague or too-odd story.

Sarah frowns and exchanges a silent, communicative glance with Hadley. The type that couples seem to develop over their relationship. “I will call you straightaway.” Sarah promises after a long moment, looking back towards you. “Pero Tovar, Spaniard, dressed in ‘costume’.”

"He can be a little...abrasive." Thinking of how grumpy Pero can be even when he's in a good mood just makes you smile - a melancholy little thing but a smile nonetheless. "But he's a good man. He's just...well, call it being a fish out of water."

“He will nah attack us, will ‘e?” Hadley asks bluntly. “Somethin’ we can say to calm ‘im down?” Sarah tuts slightly, thinking that Hadley could have put it slightly more tactful, but they both look to you for an answer.

"You can tell him--tell you know his Sassenach." That would get his attention at the very least, and they would have time to explain how they know you.

“Sassenach….” Sarah hums and she leans back to watch you for a minute with a small smile on her face. “He will come here or will we be tracking ‘im down?”

"I don't expect you to go searching for him," you clarify, knowing that that would be too much to ask of them. Even if they were your closest friends in the world, they have a successful business to run. They can't be combing the countryside for your lost husband. "But when - if - he does arrive...he'll be spotted first near the Stones at Craigh na Dun."

“Ahhhh.” Sarah looks positively triumphant as she twists her head and grins at Hadley. “I see.” She nods eagerly as she looks back towards you. “Of course, we will be calling you straight away.”

"Mo chridhe, no." Hadley shakes her head, her eyes practically pleading with her wife not to get so excited. "Lots of people go to the Stones. Tourists."

“It explains it, mo grá.” She is practically bouncing in her chair as she swings her head between her wife and the guests who obviously know the secrets of the stones. “You know it does.”

"It does not." Holding Sarah's hand a little tightly in her own, Hadley bites her lip and shakes her head. "Just because you have an odd auntie with fairy stories she claims are real, it doesn't mean the Stones are actually magic."

You practically fling yourself out of your chair, grabbing for Sarah's other hand like a lifeline. "You know someone?" You blurt out, eyes wide with a sort of desperate hope that you hadn't expected. "You know someone who came through the Stones?"

Her emerald green eyes blow wide and she looks at your desperation before she nods. “Aye, me aunt.” She tells you softly. “Claimed that she had travelled back in time. No one took her seriously. There have always been stories, rumors but no proof of the Stones powers.”

"I'd say this is proof." Putting a finger to your cheek, you touch the bottom of the scar crossing your eye that the women were kind enough not to mention or show a reaction to. "You both know I didn't have this a week ago."

“It wasn’t our business.” Hadley mutters quietly, biting her lip. “But it does look old. Unless you acquired a new soulmate? But that doesn’t explain….” the blindness.

“I was gone for eight years.” The relief you feel at having someone else who will believe you is enormous, and you feel like you’re practically shaking with it. Beth is an emotional bond that you won’t take for granted for a second, but you can’t ask her to do more than she already has. She spent the daylight hours of every single day this last week looking out for Pero for you. “Beth said it was no more than a few minutes to her.”

“The two of you were only gone for half the day before poor Beth was making a call from the hospital.” Hadley confirms, amazed that this conversation is happening.

“It was eight years for me.” And that fact is mind-boggling even for you. “Pero must have brought me back to the Stones because I was sick. But he—for some reason, I mean, the Stones I guess — he couldn’t come through with me. But I know that he’ll keep trying.”

Sarah deflates slightly, biting her lip and starts to speak before she gathers her thoughts. “All the stories I have heard have always been about someone going back and coming home.” She admits quietly. “Alone.”

“I won’t give up on him.” On that, you stand absolutely firm. Nothing in the world could make you doubt Pero. “I know he’s trying to get through just like I would if he had come through instead of me. I just…I’m just asking you two to keep an ear out. That’s all. Not to go searching through the woods for a confused mercenary.”

“Of course.” Both women bobble their heads immediately. “If we find a grumpy Spaniard with a scar on his eye and lookin’ like he belongs in the past, we call you straight away. No matter the time.”

“Thank you.” It’s nothing short of a goddamn relief that they’re so willing, and you sink back in your chair, exhausted. “I think I might need a nap,” you admit, knowing that meningitis has taken all the fight out of you and hating yourself for it. “But Sarah…would you…would you be willing to tell me about your aunt later? I’d like to hear someone else’s story about the whole thing. If that’s okay?”

“Oh no.” Hadley rolls her eyes and lets out a long suffering sigh that is softened with an indulgent smile. “You asked for it.” Sarah huffs and shakes off her wife. “I have the journals. And the stories from others. Legends, what have you. All in me library.” There is an excited sparkle her eyes as she thinks about all the material that has been gathered that she can show you.

“Maybe after dinner?” Being a bed and breakfast didn’t stop the couple from providing all meals to their guests upon request, and Hadley’s cooking really is remarkable. “Our flight is tomorrow afternoon, so I wouldn’t mind sitting up with a cup of cocoa and a story, if that’s okay.”

“It will give her plenty of time to drag everything out.” Hadley rolls her eyes and pats Sarah on the leg. “For now though dearie, you go upstairs and have yourself a nice sleep.”

Facing your things from your old life is daunting, and you’re grateful when Beth gets up from the table with you without hesitation. “I’m not going to freak out or anything,” you promise her, though the stairs do wind you a little. “I just…it’s weird. Really weird.”

“I know.” Beth has tried to imagine what it would be like to be in a certain existence for years only to be thrown back into your old one without any warning. You haven’t said that you weren’t planning on coming back, but she feels like you weren’t. That you were going to stay with your soulmate, no matter what time you lived in. “We’ll have to get you a new phone.”

"I'll have plenty of time to get one, since I'm on leave." It was probably a blessing, honestly, to be on leave from that job. After only a week and a half they would never believe that you had simply forgotten how to do your entire job. "I need a new wallet, too. New cards and everything. All my stuff ended up being thrown into a fire once I realized that I couldn't get back. I didn't want to leave evidence sitting around, ya know?"

“Smart. No one would believe that you had that perfect of a portrait painted. And not on canvas.” Beth snorts, imagining trying to explain that. “Did you- how much did you tell Tovar about your time?” She has taken to calling him by his last name, reserving the very intimate way you say Pero for you.

"A lot." You shrug again, unable to bring yourself to feel bad about it. "More than I should have, probably. Some things you just can't explain well, ya know? Like I don't think he ever wrapped his head around the concept of the internet or cell phones, but electricity? Running water? Cars? All that made sense to him once he believed I was telling the truth. I never embellished to tease him or anything, so he knew I was always being honest."

“It would be fun.” She gives a small, half smile. “Watching him explore a strange new world. We don’t have anything new here. Not like that.”

"We don't," you can admit that readily. "But I'll take a flushing toilet over a chamber pot any day of the week. And I won't mind going to the grocery store over having to hunt. Although...Pero is a magnificent hunter." At the door to the room you share, Beth pops in front of you and unlocks it with the antique key that fits the lock, but lets you go in first. "That's...that's how he got me to kiss him the first time. Which sounds weird, but it was a sweet moment."

She had questions, many of them after that statement but she doesn’t want you to share unless you want to. Knowing that you might want to keep something for yourself. “I do not know anything about hunting.”

"You would hate it." Knowing how sweet and gentle Beth is, you know she would rather starve than have to kill an animal and you fully respect that. "I was...I was teasing him." Having brought it up, the memory is brimming to be told. "We were out in the woods by the cottage on the edge of the village and I teasingly told him that if he could get us a rabbit for dinner, I'd be so glad I would kiss him." The room is welcoming and warm, but you're hesitant as you walk into it, seeing your own things set neatly on the far dresser where Beth clearly tidied them up while you were in the hospital. "He did it, of course, and it was...it was perfect, honestly. I knew I was completely ruined for kissing anybody else ever again."

“That good of a kisser? Or the soulmate connection?” She asks, curious about how a man from a thousand years before this time would kiss. It wasn’t like the basics of being human changed, but it’s a firsthand glance into history.

"Both, honestly." The bed on the right has your sweater folding on it and you sit down on the edge tentatively. The spring in the mattress makes it feel lighter than air, but very different than your down feather mattress in the cottage. The bounce takes you slightly off guard and you smirk at your own amused reaction. It's just a mattress, after all. "Like he was already a good kisser, but because he's my soulmate, it made it perfect and not just great."

“Sounds like he’s a good man.” She sighs wistfully. She’s always wanted to meet her soulmate but so far he hasn’t shown up yet. She sits down beside you and reaches for the bag she had snuck out of the hospital, containing all the things you had reappeared with.

"He is." You refuse to use the past tense for him, even though technically he is very much in the past. "We'll find your soulmate, Bethy. I promise. If I can find mine a thousand years ago, then we'll find yours no matter how hard we have to look."

“I hope we don’t have to look that far back.” Beth chuckles and shakes her head before she hands you the bag. “Here is the stuff you are more familiar with right now.”

"Thanks." The clothes are dirty, for the most part, but you distinctly remember having one clean chemise in the bottom of your bag that you dig for - pulling it out with a nearly triumphant flare. "Pants are nice, but I don't think I'll sleep in them ever again. These things are like the world's best nightgown."

“Is that- what do they call that thing again?” It’s more off white than the pure snowy white that is always depicted in the movies. “The undergown thingy?”

"A chemise." It's slightly misshapen, since it's one you made yourself, but it's comfortable and soft and you wouldn't trade it for anything. "And I'm not going back to bras, either. I'm going to track down somebody on Etsy that makes historical clothing and buy a few sets of stays." The confusion on Beth's face is clear and you dig into your bag again to pull out the corset-like garment. "See how it's not long like a corset, but still laces? It's all support and no underwear. It's great."

“Fucking shit.” Beth tilts her head and whistles at the contraption with interest. “I knew bras were torture devices created by men to punish women for their mommy issues.”

"I'm gonna get you one," you promise her, slinging your arm around her shoulders and giving her a hug for her amusement. "You'll see how awesome they are. And somehow also good for your posture? Which is great in a world where nothing is ergonomic."

“Jesus, I didn’t think about that.” Her eyes widen and she grins, pushing you back slightly so you fall back on the bed. “Get some rest!”

"Wake me up for dinner?" The expression you give Beth is completely puppy-eyed, but you don't really care. Not having to spend all day monitoring stew on the fire makes you feel positively lazy. "Hadley's cooking is way too good to miss."

“I will.” Beth promises, reaching out and caressing your cheek and pushing your hair back. “You get some rest, okay? Some real sleep without all the beeping.” Sleeping in a hospital is never very restful.

******

In the end it's about a five-hour nap for you, and when Beth wakes you up you can see that she's been on her laptop at the writing desk on the other side of the room while you were asleep. "Hey friend." Ungluing your eyes and yawning, you shift over in the overlarge bed so she can sit on the edge. "Everything sorted out for tomorrow?"

“Yeah.” Beth nods and sits down beside you. “I’ll pack you up when you’re talking to Sarah about…others who have experienced this.”

"You don't have to do that." The last thing you want is for her to feel like a servant, not when she's already done so much for you. "I can pack up a little now and finish in the morning before we have to leave for the airport."

“No, I want to give you a chance to talk to her and not worry about that.” She reaches over and takes your hand. “You don’t have a long time to learn and look over whatever she has, so use it.”

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to wait on me," you explain, gladly accepting the gesture of her hand in yours. "I know I'm in recovery and all that, but if I don't do at least a little bit every day I'll never build my strength back."

“I know, but I also know that you will have a lot taken out of you just with the dinner and research.” Beth huffs. You had gotten winded going to the bathroom at night.

"Yes, mummy." The tease makes both of you smile, and you sit up in bed with only a little bit of effort. "I'll get back to where I used to be. Apparently almost dying takes a lot out of you."

“I have to imagine that he was terrified of losing you.” Beth murmurs quietly. “To send you to a place he doesn’t know. If- he’s probably going insane in his time. Wondering if you’re alive.”

"I can't even imagine how worried he must have been when he couldn't follow." It brings tears to the surface almost immediately, thinking about how panicked you would be in his place. "I just hope...if it's been a long time for him, ya know? I hope they went to Spain like we were planning. To get Arwena and Briac settled. H-he was so happy about being able to go home again..."

“Shit.” Beth could slap herself as the tears start to fall and she wraps her arms around you again. “I’m a dumbass. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s okay…”

"No, it's okay." Sniffling back any kind of flood, you hug her tightly before letting go again. "I'm gonna cry sometimes talking about him. It's just...it's unavoidable. But that's better than never talking about him or pretending he doesn't exist."

“I know. Let’s get you freshened up so you can go gorge yourself on Hadley’s cooking.” Beth jokes, tossing you a smile.

"You're joking, but that's exactly what I plan on doing." You slip out of bed and throw a sweater and skirt on over your chemise, feeling more comfortable that you had earlier in the same sweater and jeans. The slippers you had packed for shuffling around in are soft and gentle on your feet, and you head downstairs with Beth a mere ten minutes after waking up.

Dinner is delicious, as always. Hadley outdoing herself with the food and Beth groans when she pushes back from the table, the food baby in her belly making her want to unbutton her jeans. “Holy cow, I should have worn a dress too.”

"I'm telling you, it's pure comfort." Groaning a little in your own right, your hands cup the empty water glass in front of you and you lean your forearms on the table. The inn's other guests - a pair of friends from Australia and an elderly couple from Wales - nod their agreement before getting up from the table to help Hadley clear the table. It was a true family style meal and that had kept conversation polite and light.

Sarah is obviously eager to get started and Hadley shoos you and her wife away from the table. “You two go on, I’ll handle this with all the other hands helping.”

“You’re a doll,” Sarah grins, and you follow her into the inn’s small library eagerly. There’s a dessert tray already set out with shortbread and two cups, and you have a feeling that either tea or cocoa will be on the menu later on when you both have room again.

“I pulled all the books that I have on it.” Sarah tells you, gesturing over to the coffee table with stacks of books. “Including auntie’s journal.”

“Wh-when did she go back to?” Knowing you aren’t alone — well, you always knew logically that you couldn’t be, but seeing the proof is completely different.

"From what she gathered, she went to 1692." Sarah pulls her journal out of the stack, a worn leather bound thing, and looks over at you curiously. "When was your time? Your soulmate's time? I've never heard of soulmates across time, but it's a fascinating idea."

“1692? Thank god she was in Scotland and not America.” You shudder a little even thinking of it. In 1692 in the Colonies, there is no way you could have escaped hanging at Proctor’s Ledge with the other accused witches of Salem. “When I left it was January 1006.”

"Gods and Goddesses be praised." Sarah whispers under her breath, eyes rounded in shock at how far back you had been sent. "It is a miracle you found him at all."

“He found me.” As usual, talking about Pero gives you both that undeniable swell of love in your chest and a sadness in the pit of your stomach. “He was all but dying from tuberculosis when his horse just walked him right up to my cottage. I’ll never really know why they were in that party of Brittany, but I’m grateful for it.”

Her brow wings up at what the man had been sick with and she shakes her head. “I guess that it is good he showed up at your door.” She murmurs softly. “Did your scars appear when you showed up there, from him, I mean?”

“Yes.” Accepting the journal in her outstretched hand, you run your fingers over the cover and sit back in your chair. “Did your aunt…was it an accident? Or did she go to the Stones hoping to travel?”

“It was an accident.” Sarah settles down beside you before she snaps her fingers. “Would you like a brandy? A sherry? Sometimes telling a story is better with a stiff drink in your hand.”

“I’m not supposed to…” The shrug you give her is weak. “Medications and all. But please, you go ahead. I’m just happy to have indoor plumbing and central heating back.”

She snorts and bites her lip as she stands and moves over to the beverage cart. “I can’t imagine. I mean, I can, but you lived it. More than any RenFaire experience.”

“Think about the least luxurious camping trip you’ve ever been on, and then take away all your little luxuries.” The chuckle you let out is low, but you have to admit it’s the truth. As far as environment went, anyway. “It wasn’t all bad. Truly. I met some genuinely kind people and had wonderful friends. And learned that I am a lot stronger than I think I am.”

“Did you—” Sarah breaks off the question as she brings her drink over and sits back down. It’s a touchy subject and one you might not be okay with answering.

“Did I…?” You prompt, not wanting her to hold back. “We’re sharing stories tonight, Sarah. If it’s something I don’t want to talk about, I’ll say so. But you can ask.”

“Did you have the ability to…do things there that you can’t here?” Sarah asks candidly. “Auntie said that she had magic in the time she was there.”

“I—” You stare, wishing you knew this woman well enough to just reach over and hug her. “I was…a healer. Ironic, considering I couldn’t even take care of myself.” As if you haven’t had that thought enough this week. “I mean…I know there are other witches in my family. My mother gave it up before I was born but I joined a coven years ago. I just…I was so much more powerful there.”

“I’ve often wondered if that’s why some can pass through and others can’t.” Sarah admits, taking a sip of her brandy and staring at the amber liquid as it swirls in her glass. “If magic is required, even in minuscule amounts. Auntie said that magic then was more powerful because technology has taken over in this time.”

“I’ve heard that said.” Your grandmother used to claim it was the case, before your mother caught wind of her teaching you about the old ways and cut off contact. “I wish there was some kind of clue about how they work.”

“The stones?” Sarah hums and looks over at the books and handwritten accounts that she has preserved. She didn’t amass them, her family did, she just continued on the tradition. “I personally think that they do what they want, when they want. That it’s all foretold.”

"If that's true, it's not very comforting." It's downright maddening, actually, that the Stones would bring you to your soulmate only to separate you again for seemingly no reason.

“I know.” She can’t help that, although it doesn’t help your situation. “I am not certain though. We may never know.” She bites her lip and looks over at you with cautious optimism. “Would you be willing to tell your story? Have me record it? For the legacy of the stones and a record of it?”

"It isn't an entirely pleasant tale," you warn her, knowing that there are parts of your story that would have you in therapy for years if telling them to a professional wouldn't land you in an inpatient facility. "But if it can help...if maybe one day we can figure out how the Stones work because of me or your auntie or other people who went through?" You nod and offer her a smile. "Then I think we're going to need a pot of tea."

"I promise that it will be very closely guarded." Sarah smiles reassuringly and sets her brandy down. "I would ask for a written account, but it would be easier to just record it, right? If you want, we can just record the audio, if it makes you more comfortable?" She wants the account for her information collection, but she doesn't want to push for more than you want to give.

“Since we only have one night, it might be easier to record it for now.” Curling up in the armchair, you pick up a shortbread cookie from the tray and smile a little at the large grains of baker’s sugar on top. After eight years without cane sugar, these are going to be so sweet. And amazing. “If I remember anything later in that I forgot to tell you, I can always write you a letter?”

"Absolutely. This is your story." Sarah assures you. "What you wish to share or keep to yourself is yours to decide."

“Well, it starts a few days ago, lasts several years, and then ends up here again.” Only one other person has heard all of it. Only Pero. But not even he knows where the journey is headed now. “Let’s put the kettle on and dive in.”

******

Beth sighs as the door to the apartment you share is pushed open and immediately your cat starts to cry. Yowling like he’s been murdered even though she sent her parents over to feed the darn thing and make sure the litter robot you had splurged on was clean. “Well, here’s your welcome committee.” She jokes, aware that you are tired after the international flight.

“My baby!” Immediately dropping everything, you nearly fall forward to scoop the chunky black and white cat up in your arms to be rewarded with his powerful purr box roaring to life immediately. Even Binx, for all her glorious cuddles when she was in the mood to give them, never quite purred the way Bowie does. After crying behind a pair of sunglasses through two airports and most of the flight, being back in your apartment is disquieting. When you had imagined coming back here, it was with Pero’s hand in yours and the eager excitement of showing him what the world will become. Instead, you feel like your heart is completely hollow - and maybe if you’re lucky, the purring might start to fill it a little.

She handles everything. Luggage, transportation home, getting everything into the apartment. Just letting you mourn like you need to. Fresh tears appear as you cling to Bowie and Beth heart breaks all over again, slightly moving around you to take care of getting the door closed and takes your bag to your room before depositing her own. Groceries would need to be ordered, but she will take care of that, knowing you aren't up for it. Instead, she wishes that you knew what had happened to the man who is your soulmate, maybe it would give you some closure.

“Beth?” In the doorway to her room with Bowie in your arms, you lean against the door frame and wish you knew how to say what you felt. How grateful you are to her that she has been so helpful and so supportive. How dearly you value her friendship and who she is as a person. “I-I just…I thought about you every day. That should have been the first thing I said to you. How much I missed you. A—and…” When your voice breaks again you just shrug it off and press a kiss into Bowie’s fur. “I love you. And I missed you. That’s what I wanted to say.”

"I can't pretend that I know what you went through, or what you are going through now." Beth leaves the bag on the bed, willing to unpack later and walks over to you. Bowie bristles at her slightly but doesn't hiss, turning and burrowing into his favorite person in the world. "But I- I am glad you are here. I don't know what I would do without you."

“Looks like you never have to find out.” Hugging her with Bowie between you gets barely any protest from the cat - he just snuggles into you more determinedly and you press your forehead to Beth’s with a sigh. “I just wish he were here too. That’s all.”

"We'll go back next year." Beth promises you, the same promise she has given you for the past three days. Knowing that you need to hear that you can go back and stand at the stones with your hand against them for days if you need to.

“This vacation was…not what we imagined.” Huffing a laugh, you wipe the dried tears from your cheeks and tip your chin back to leave an affection kiss on your best friend’s forehead. “I’ll let you unpack, honey. I have eight years of Bowie snuggles to catch up on.”

"Remember to him that it's only been two and a half weeks." Beth chuckles and shakes her head. "I'll order some groceries and we will get you all settled in."

“Thank you.” As many times as you’ll say it, you can really never say it enough. When your world turned upside down, she didn’t run or hide or abandon ship - she doubled down and reminded you exactly why you call her Ride or Die.

"Of course. Do you want pizza for dinner? Or hell, we could even order Chinese." Beth offers, shooting you a grin. Things will slowly get better; it will just take one day at a time. You've been through a lot.

"Let's stick with pizza tonight." Ordering Chinese will just give you yet one more pang of wishing Pero was here, telling you stories of his time at the Wall and all the shit he used to get into with William. "Whatever toppings you want. I'm just excited for pizza."

Beth snorts and grins at you. "Of course." She hums. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't contrive a ninth century version of a pizza."

"No tomatoes." You shrug, laughing half-heartedly. "They come from the Americas, and it was way too early for that. Plus...no mozzarella." Really, though, you have to laugh at how well she knows you. "I did get pretty good at a kind of flatbread-style thing with cooked down carrots and melted cheese. I'll make it for you some time when you're craving medieval eats."

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Beth mutters, less than eager to try it. To be fair, she hates mushy carrots so that isn’t entirely her fault. “I’ll go order the pizza, call out if you need help.”

“It’s better than it sounds!” You call after her as she heads back down the hall, and you end up following her back out to the living room just so you don’t have to face your old bedroom alone quite yet. Remembering how all the bullshit on your smart tv works will be bad enough for now.

“Yeah right!” The kitchen is where she’s headed to now, needing to dump out the milk that might have lasted if you came back on time, but it was now sour. Assessing how much cat food Bowie has left since she’s 100% sure her parents over fed him. She opens the cabinet you use for a pantry and hums. “Do you want me to order more tea too?”

“Please.” There’s no question that you’ve pretty much been drinking your body weight in Earl Grey the last few days, and the doctors seemed to be okay with it so you are, too. “And…this is going to sound incredibly dumb.” Skirting the kitchen counter, you go to stand next to her at the cupboard. “Could we get some fresh fruit? I can barely remember what bananas taste like, but I know I used to love them.”

“All the fresh fruits.” Beth nods and quickly opens the app to add them to the cart. “We will have fruit for days!”

“And no more dealing with a beehive to get honey.” Roping one arm around her waist, you hug Beth to your side and remind yourself to smile. Grieving doesn’t mean that you can’t appreciate a few good things here and there.

“Yikes.” Being allergic to bees and wasps makes Beth shiver slightly. “Yeah, that would have been all you. I would be going without honey.”

“All those videos about beekeeping and bread baking and the whole cottagecore movement during Covid was actually kind of helpful,” admit. Rifling through the cupboards with her is oddly soothing and a little fun - letting you get excited about foods you had been missing. “If I hadn’t been watching that living history museum’s YouTube channel for ages, I might have been pretty screwed. Thank god I’m a nerd, I guess.”

“Well, you certainly are an expert on ninth century life.” She jokes, bumping your hip. “You should set up a little knowledge center. Like Colonial Williamsburg.”

You snort, trying to imagine how that would even work on a logistical level. “If anyone tries to argue technicalities with me, I’ll just start babbling about magic until they leave me alone,” you joke.

“Do you want to recreate the Salem Witch Trials? They already do that in Mass.” Beth snorts, shooting you a grin.

“Aw, come on.” A good-natured roll of your eyes makes you both laugh again. “This is Florida. I’ll just keep a jar marked ’bath salts’ in clear view and no one will even blink if I start to sound crazy.”

It shouldn’t be as funny as it is, but Beth can’t help but giggle and nod in agreement that it would be overlooked as ‘Florida being Florida’. “We’ll build up a small cottage and pray the gators don’t take it over.”

“I’ll go from being a Sassenach to a big witch.” Of course the whole thing is a joke, but laughing helps immeasurably. You feel less like you’re going to be torn in two by your own heart when you can laugh with Beth. “I…um…I was thinking about something. On the flight, I mean. And I was kind of wondering what you would think of me spending my medical leave trying to find traces of Pero or Wena and Briac in history? I know it’s a long shot, but if—if I can’t be at the Stones, and I can’t get back to them at all…I need to at least try to know what happened to them.”

“I was honestly wondering when you were going to try to look for them.” Beth admits, knowing how you work after being your friend for so long. “I think it makes sense. Knowing what happens, if you can, would be a godsend. Do you remember Briac’s surname?”

“They called this family Lannion, because that is where his father came from.” Surnames still were not terribly commonplace in Brittany in that century, so it is a slightly sticky subject to wade through. “He would be Briac Lannion, or Briac Tovar, if he decided to change his name.” There is not a single shadow of a doubt that those two amazing teens would take Pero’s name and present themselves as a loving family. “It’s just…not that many records have survived from that period, and it might take a long time to find even a trace of them. I just don’t want you to think I’m losing it or something. If you were the one left back there, I would be looking just as hard for you.”

“Honey….” Beth abandons the peanut butter jar to see how much she had left to reach out and grab your hand. “You do what you need to do in order to cope. I won’t think you’re crazy. You’ve just- you’ve gone through something very few other people have had to go through.”

“And I can’t go to therapy about it, so I guess amateur historian is the next step.” That warns you a soft chuckle from her and you hug Beth tightly before picking up the peanut butter jar and waggling it in her direction. “What would you say if we ordered a package of Oreos to go with this bad boy?”

“Double stuffed?” She asks, as if she needs to. Oreos and peanut butter are the ultimate comfort food.

“Is there any other way?” This will be the way to do it. Small doses of comfort. The idea of returning to your old normal. Nothing about this life is bad, per se, it just has an unfortunate lack of Pero Tovar. Which, from the disappearance of his shared scars, seems like something you will have to get used to.

******

It’s been months. Four months since your world completely changed and you are slowly starting to come back to yourself. Beth worries, hovers really, but you don’t let her do everything anymore. She grunts as she shifts boxes in the storage room you have, tilting her head when she sees the markings on the box. Carrying it out of the room and down the hall, she pushes your door open. “Look what I unearthed.”

The big shipping label on the unopened box reads your grandmother’s home address from before she went into hospice - when your aunt and cousins were helping her pack things up and distribute them between family members and your mother had continued her mantra of Grams being ‘dangerous’ somehow. Because you had listened to her then, the box remained unopened after its arrival. “I guess it’s about time I took a look,” you admit, scooting over on your bed so Beth can set the thing between you.

“Do you want some privacy?” That has been the question that most frequently falls from Beth’s lips, rather than ‘how are you feeling?’ since your health has improved.

“No, it’s okay.” Setting down the cup of tea in your hands, you instead reach for the nearby butter knife from your afternoon snack to slice the tape open. “It’s not like I had much of a relationship with her. I don’t know what she could have even left me.”

She’s never really heard you talk about this grandmother of yours, so she sits on the edge of the bed with idle curiosity as you open the flaps. Bowie is stretched out beside you with his eyes closed but as soon as the cardboard opens, his head pops up and he lets out a yowl.

“Bow-baby, don’t be so dramatic,” you scold him, rolling your eyes fondly at the cat’s antics. The top layer of the box is packaging, of course, then a beautiful wool shawl that looks like it must have been hand-made sometime many decades ago. A small jewelry box holds a few trinkets like an old claddagh ring and a set of earrings with a perfectly matching necklace that remind you of all those Alphonse Mucha posters your friends had in their college dorm rooms. Under that is a large square - something heavy wrapped in tanned leather that feels weighty not because it is actually heavy, but because it feels magical. It almost seems to pulse in your hands like it has its own heartbeat, and Bowie yowls again in objection before diving off your bed and hiding in his kitty castle on the other side of the room. “What the hell?” When you pull the leather wrap off, the book is bound in beautiful dark mahogany stained leather, but there is no title. The binding is cracked and worn, there are tears in pages sticking out at odd angles, and it smells as much like your old herb stores as it does like a book.

“What is that?” Beth leans over, intrigued by the worn leather and the smell. It doesn’t smell musky, but it smells old, treasured. Like how she imagined archeology sights smelled when she was going through her Indiana Jones phase.

“I’m not sure.” Putting the protective layer aside, you carefully lay the book out in your bed between you and open the cover. In the inside of the cover is an elaborate illustration of what might be the symbolic tree of life, and a few flowers labeled with names in what you recognize as Middle French. The fly page has more drawings with names in what seems like Middle Spanish, and someone had come in later and added names in modern English underneath everything for convenience. The next page is the one that makes you stare, choking on a gasp and pulling away from the book all at once like it’s burned you. Balance is the key is written out in the center of the page. In your handwriting.

Instantly Beth is snapping to attention “what’s wrong?” She demands, looking at the book and then your hand to make sure that nothing sharp was on the pages that cut you.

“Do you remember that I told you about the grimoire I made for Arwena?” The way your voice shakes when you ask makes you sound almost like your teeth are chattering. It had come up a few times over the last few months, usually when you were trying to remember the exact proportions of ingredients in a potion. Magic in the twenty-first century takes much more concentration and intention.

“Yes?” Beth furrows her brow in confusion, looking back at the book. “You wrote down your spells and potions for her to use when you decided you were going back the first time. Before you decided to stay with Pero, right?” Even if her heart had clenched when you admitted that, she hadn’t held it against you. It was your soulmate after all.

"Look." Picking up the book as gingerly as you possibly can, you turn it so that Beth can see the page it is laying open to. After years upon years of friendship and working in the same office, you would know her handwriting anywhere - and you know she knows yours just as well.

“Is- holy shit.” Beth whispers, eyes wide and jaw nearly unhinged. “How did your grandmother get the grimoire you wrote a thousand years ago for Arwena?” You’ve talked about Pero, Arwena and Briac so much that Beth feels like she knows them. At least she wishes all of your friends could gather for a drink at the local pub.

"I have no idea." The tears fall freely and immediately, though you're careful not to let them fall on the book. Each page is brittle and requires a delicate touch, but it's obvious that these are the pages that you wrote out for Arwena six months and a thousand years ago. "I can't believe it's survived..." Some of the pages in your handwriting have been amended by other people later on, and the pages directly afterward are clearly in Arwena's looping hand. Seeing it again brings on more tears, but they are such joyful ones that you don't even mind the heartache that comes with them.

“She must have added on to it.” Beth whispers, amazed that the book has not been destroyed through carelessness or by time itself. It honestly belongs in a museum.

"It wasn't just her." As you move further and further through the book, it's clear that it has been rebound and added to several times. Sections of pages vary in color, the handwriting changes periodically, and the annotations get fewer the further in you thumb, purely by virtue of fewer readers having tested and adjusted the spells. "How many other people have added to this over the centuries? I mean...this thing is huge now. When Wena gave me the notebook, it was maybe the size of a novel."

“This is proof that they lived, thrived.” Beth rushes out excitedly. “Is there anything about the family in there? A history? Where they went?”

"The fact that some of it is in Middle Spanish might mean that they went to Valencia." Flipping back to the original section of the grimoire and Arwena's carefully constructed spells, you squint at a page bearing the ingredients to a paste that treats 'hede and tooth payn in bebitas' and smile. "Wena's handwriting, with a few words of Spanish here and there. And...oh my god..." Down in the corner of the page, there is and added note: 'Keyp calendula buds farr from tine hands. Pero lyks to et them. "They really did name their son after him like they said they would..."

“That’s so sweet.” Beth bites her lip, knowing that you might need a moment, so she stands up. “I’m going to make us some tea, how does that sound?” She asks softly, smiling at you. “I’ll be right back; you have that cry if you need to.” It’s not about abandoning you, she’ll be back with a cup of soothing tea, but she wants to let you reminisce without answering the inevitable questions she would have.

When you nod, Beth takes your empty teacup from your nightstand and squeezes your shoulder gently before leaving you alone with the book. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way, after having come up with absolutely nothing in your search through historical records. The immense number of ways records could get lost or destroyed in a thousand years meant that even if little Pero Lannion had his birth and baptism recorded in the parish church in Valencia, any of a hundred different things could have happened to the church’s books. A stray set of barely inked paw prints makes you choke on a sob. Arwena’s handwriting on the page giving you the unshakeable feeling that they must be Binx’s prints, which means the entire family - your entire family stayed together at least for a short time. The page is a protection spell, something meant for the well-being of a traveler, and the note at the bottom of the page is even more alarming than seeing Binx’s paw prints in ink: “Toomorow Pero returns to th’ Stons w’ thys enchaentmont upon his ryng forr sayfe kipping.”

Beth tries to take her time with the tea, knowing you need your own space to go through the book. Except she hears a small cry and the spoon drops back into the cup and she rushes back into your room. “What’s wrong?”

“He went back!” With your heart pounding a mile a minute you feel like you have to shout to be heard above your own boiling blood. “Look! Wena enchanted his wedding ring with a protection spell the night before he left.” You’re shaking slightly as you turn the book to her, pointing at the bottom of the page frantically.

Beth’s heart sinks slightly, knowing that it’s a blessing and a curse to know that. There’s no accounting for him between the time he left and when he made it to the stones...if he did at all. “That’s great.” She manages brightly, plastering a smile on her face.

"You don't think it's great." As much as she might try, you've known each other too long and too well to be able to get that stuff past one another.

Beth sighs, unable to lie to you when you ask. She nods towards the book and gives a helpless shrug. “I just- I’m afraid that you’re going to be waiting forever. Especially now that you know he tried to go back to the stones.”

"Of course I'll always be waiting for him." It's almost silly, to you at least, the way you love him on such a deeply instinctual level and the way you know that he loves you too. "But the stories Sarah had from other people who have gone through...even if he had made it through the first time, that doesn't necessarily mean he would have arrived at the same time as me. Apparently my reappearing ten minutes after I went through is a complete anomaly. There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason as to when people appear on the other side. It's as if the Stones decide." Looking down at the book again, your thumb brushes over Pero's name in ink with affection. "This just proves that he didn't give up trying."

It’s a touching way to look at it, but Beth is also practical. There is a good possibility that Pero Tovar died in his time, after all, you don’t have any of his scars anymore. Her real fear is that you will spend your lifetime waiting for a man who isn’t coming.

"I don't plan on dating again or anything like that," you tell her, looking back down at the book in your lap like you can dispel its secrets if you just ask it nicely. "He is my soulmate. My husband. Even if it was only legally true for a day. So yes, I will always be waiting for him. But I don't view that as a bad thing. I-I'm just sorry that it makes you worry."

“I - I’m always going to worry.” At least you’ve come out and said it. Making your wants known and Beth reaches up and pets your head gently. “You would do the same if it were me.”

The moment of silence that falls between you as you look at each other is surprisingly calming. The love you have for your best friend, and she for you, is completely different but just as thoroughly bonding. You really will never let go of each other, and that means the world to you. Especially after everything you’ve lost. “I would,” you agree finally. “I really would.”

Another moment passes where Beth just hugs you, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing you tight before she pulls away. “I still want to know why you have Arwena’s book now.”

“I do, too.” It’s too much of a coincidence to ignore, frankly, and you look down at the book again with curiosity. “It’ll take a while to read the whole thing, but maybe I’ll find some clues as I go through it?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Beth agrees, standing up. “I’m going to finish making that tea while you look through it. I know it’s even more special to you now.”

Truth be told, it would have been something interesting but not terribly meaningful as an heirloom. But now? It is easily the most precious thing you own.

******

It would take endless days of meticulous reading and deciphering before you found the answer. Some handwriting was messy, some non-standardized spellings nearly impossible to make it. Some ink has been made cheaply and faded over time only to be retraced by later hands with more reliable materials. It’s a work of art, really. A careful compilation by dozens of women, and even a few men, over hundreds of years. But it is the sturdy pocket in the back cover that holds the answer to how Arwena’s grimoire made it back into your hands. It’s a Sunday morning when Beth drags herself out of bed late that you find it. There are pages upon pages stacked in the back cover’s protective leather folder, and at first you thought you were losing your mind. Too overcome with grief at not finding the answers in the book’s pages to be setting things correctly. But there was your name at the top of the first page, spelled out plainly in a hand that you recognize as belonging to the book’s fourth contributor - Arwena’s granddaughter, Almunia. It’s a list. A very long list of names, but it’s clear - they are the names of all of the women and men who contributed to the book’s contents over time. Some even have places listed beside them, though it is unclear if it is where they were born or simply where they lived.

“Hey.” Beth yawns and shakes off the last dredges of sleep as she shuffles into the kitchen where you have the book spread out over the dining table. “You didn’t stay up all night, did you?” She asks, patting your shoulder as she moves into the kitchen to make coffee for herself.

“I got up early.” If she knew how early she’d probably be upset, but you still have trouble sleeping without Pero. “Look at this.”

Once the water is dumped in the holding tank, she throws a filter into the basket and dumps in three scoops of coffee before turning it on. “What did you find?” Her robe winds around her body as she shuffles over and pulls out a chair beside you.

“There was a folder built into the binding. I’ve seen it in notebooks before but never anything like this.” Carefully showing her the way the back cover of the grimoire accordions open, you tap the top of the first page in front of you just as delicately. “Arwena’s granddaughter started a list of all the book’s contributors, and…look.”

Beth looks at the list of the contributors and frowns, shaking her head. “Why would your grandmother be a contributor?” She asks, tilting her head as she examines the page.

“Look at the names on the page before.” Shuffling the papers carefully, you show her a dozen more names that are much more modern than anyone called Arwena or Almunia. “Now look at this.” To the left of you, your laptop is open to the painstakingly researched family tree you have been working in over the last four months. Each name from the list of grimoire contributors lines up with the women in your family going back more generations than you can easily show - you would have to spread it out all over the wall like a madwoman. “I think…” Your throat catches as you look up at Beth with wonder and disbelief in your eyes. “I think this is my whole family.”

“Wait—” Beth blinks and shakes her head before looking between the list and the family tree. “You think you’re Arwena’s relative? That she’s your ancestor?” It’s not exactly crazy, but what are the odds?

"Sarah says that the Stones send you to where you need to be." It was something you had talked over with the innkeeper many times since returning home, as the two of you text regularly. "What if...what if I went when and where I did...to make sure that I could help Arwena and Briac?" The thought is as comforting as it is heartbreaking, honestly, and you look back down at the book in awe. "If I hadn't been there, she would have had that monster's baby and been forced to marry him. She never would have even known Briac was her soulmate, let alone get to spend her life with him. A-and...and I'm the one that taught her magic..."

“Well if that isn’t the never-ending circle.” Beth quips, finding it far too early to be dealing with life altering revelations without coffee. “It means that you are basically responsible for your entire family tree.”

"I guess..." you blow out a breath, eyes tracking back up to Beth as she walks back over to the coffee pot. "I guess I kind of am."

“Wow.” Beth pours a cup of coffee and adds way too much sugar before she comes over and sits down beside you again. “There’s something that I need to talk to you about.” She admits quietly, fidgeting slightly.

"Anything." God knows you talk to her about enough weird shit, the least you can do is sit up straight and give her the focus she deserves.

“I—” Beth blows out a breath with a nervous giggle. “Might have met my soulmate.” She’s been very hesitant to bring this up because of Pero but he wants to meet you.

"What?" You practically jump out of your chair, ready to hug the ever-loving shit out of her as soon as she puts her coffee down. "Are you sure? How? Where?!" Of course it makes you miss Pero - but since you have never stopped missing him, it hardly changes how you feel. Only adding the fact that you are excited for your friend.

“He- he goes to my gym.” In the concerted effort to get fit, she had signed up for a gym membership. Also allowing you to have some privacy on nights where you needed to mope but not have company.

"Honey, that's amazing." Though you do smirk at her slightly, knowing her as well as you do. "So how many nights are you actually spending at the gym versus how many nights have you been with him?"

She rolls her eyes, but the way she ducks her head gives her away. “I haven’t seen the inside of that gym in six weeks.” She admits with a laugh.

"Beth!" Knowing she goes out at least three nights a week with a gym bag on her shoulder just makes you laugh, but it subsides a little when you register how long she just said. "Six weeks? When did you meet him?"

“Two months ago.” She knows you might be upset at her, but there was no way she was going to smoosh her growing happiness in your face while you are still mourning.

"I—" You stuff your hands in the pocket of your sweatshirt, feeling more than sheepish in the face of why she kept this completely life-changing piece of information from you. She was being gentle. Letting you grieve and readjust to the life you left behind. "I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me," you murmur, knowing that you probably would have done the same in her place. "But I'm also very glad you're happy."

“I—you’re doing so well.” Beth stresses. “I didn’t want to make you relapse or…” she gives a helpless gesture, knowing you will understand.

"I'm always going to miss him." Hopefully now that Beth has met her own soulmate, she understands a little bit better how deeply your love for Pero has embedded itself in you. "But I don't want it to mean missing out on your life."

“I know. I was just wanting to give you some time - hell, give myself time.” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “It’s different with him.”

"That's because he's your soulmate." You hum, seeing the happy grin spread fully across her face. "Now. Tell me everything."

“His name is William and he has these beautiful watery blue eyes.” Beth gushes, the floodgates opening now that you seem to be handling it well. “Kind of dirty blonde but I like it better dark when it’s wet.”

"You and your blue-eyed men." She has a history full of them, and you had teased her one year by making her a little rag doll 'Perfect Boyfriend' that had blue glass beads for eyes. "What does he do?" Popping up from the table, you snag her hand and bring her back into the kitchen, deciding you'll make brunch while she gushes over her new man. Bacon and waffles sound like a perfect start to the day.

“Private security.” She tells you, taking another sip of her coffee. “The reason why he was at the gym. Getting ripped to protect people.”

“We like a man strong enough to fight but soft enough to snuggle.” You waggle your eyebrows at her and grin. “Come on. It’s been two months. I know you’ve fucked him by now.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to braaaaaaggg.” She laughs, rolling her eyes at you and picking up her coffee mug to hold it very saucily aloft. “It’s amazing.”

“Brag all you wanted, honey. I’m happy you’re happy.” And miraculously, even with the way it tugs at your heart, you’re not having to convince yourself that it’s true. Just maybe…the fact that Pero’s best friend was named William can be saved for later.

______

My Masterlist!

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wannab-urs · 1 year

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The Spreadsheet Digest - Fic Recs | Vol 7

Howdy, folks! It's time for this week's recap of what I read :)

As always, you can find the spreadsheet here, and you're always more than welcome to tag me in your fic if you'd like to be included. New and old fics both appreciated; anything from a drabble to a 400k word series is fine; and the only Pedro boy I don't really read is Pero Tovar.

Without further ado here are the fics I read this week and the unhinged ramblings of a madwoman (me) to substitute for a coherent recommendation.

One for the money, two for the show a Joel series by @cowgurrrl

Rockstar!Joel AU with such a sweet fake dating trope lead in and then the most delicious yummy angst. As your resident angst whore this was everything because it was so REAL and so fucking heartbreaking. And then the happy little hopeful ending and then all the drabbles and extras??? AH! My favorite part was the lil instagram stories i think <3

sharing is caring a Frankie/Santi one shot by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

Your friend Santi introduces you to his friend Frankie and uhhhh you guys go make a sandwich.

Only Lovers Left Alive a Joel series by @atinylittlepain

I love every single thing about this. Revenge. Vampires. Blood play kind of? Biting. Etc. This shit rocks.

Waiting Room a Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

I fucking love what kel did with this song. The repetition of one for the road really fuckin got me too. Angst angst angst.

The Special One a Joel series by @toxicanonymity

What if a reluctant soulmates AU was also a vampire!Joel AU? It would be perfect, that's what. I'm loving vampire!joel rn anyway, but this was such a cool twist on it. Also his vibes in this are fucking immaculate

Copycat Killer a Joel series by @beskarandblasters

Bitch this is so good. Stalker!Reader x Rockstar Joel... fucking perfect. I love how they both kind of suck as human beings a little bit. And that blow job oh my GOD.

Sweet Creature a Dieter series by @wildemaven

I really really love how this story is going. The little town is so real to me and I love all the little places we get to see. The bookstore sounds like a DREAM. And I can't wait for Reader to bond with D over art ahhhhh.

Stitches a Din series by @djarinsbeskar

This fic is so fucking good dude. I love the set up for the whole thing and the reader character is really fuckin' cool. The like... 8 consecutive parts of incredible smut that continues to be genuinely interesting and really fucking hot even after like 200K words is extremely impressive. I'm also pretty sucked into the story and the way Medic is being interwoven into canon. Oh and the introspection we get from Din's POV is *chef's kiss*.... anyway pls god finish this story i need it

False God a Frankie series by @swiftispunk

Frankie asking for what he wants is so... yummy... especially when it's wanting to be your subby lil pussy eating king like... PLEASE. And his praise kink??? I am in Frankie heaven

102 a Frankie one shot by @tieronecrush

I fucking love this ahhhh. I felt so bad for Frankie but also their friendship is so cute??? I love the unrequited love//idiots to lovers trope

Safe in my Arms an Ezra one shot by @mishasminion360

Ezra struggling to adjust to having one less limb and me crying about it. This was so fucking good. The raw emotion he feels and reader's unwavering support... the realism in saying something that accidentally hurts his feelings and trying to take over tasks he might find difficult AGH. I love this so much

Leave Off Your Wandering a Joel series by @oonajaeadira

Adira, I fall in love with every single little world you create without fail. This is obviously no exception. Your sheep ranch is a dream. The way you build up this backstory with the Roostlings and the friendship with Tommy and Maria and just all these extra little details you take the time to flesh out and weave into the story... makes my heart sing, friend. I adore this <3

-------- fics i read a while ago and never recommended -------

Name a Javi P one shot by @joelscruff

Consent a Dieter series by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Whiskey, Dark and Deep a Jack one shot by @prolix-yuy

Stay on the Screenplay a Dieter series by jazzelsaur (ao3)

A Safe Haven a Joel series by @joelsgreys

Psychomanteum a Dieter series by @whatsnewalycat

In Name Only an Oberyn series by @forever-rogue

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I haven't written a word in weeks, so once again no updates for me :/

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Happy Reading

#the spreadsheet digest #vol 7 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Joel miller x reader #frankie morales x reader #javi peña x reader #Oberyn Martell x reader #Dieter Bravo x reader #Ezra (prospect) x reader #Jack Daniels x reader #din djarin x reader

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nerdieforpedro · 7 months

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The Brave, The Bold, The Dirty - Fanfics that I adore

Volume 1

Below are links to fanfics that I read and I love and will re-read. 🤗

This list is for those aged 18 and up, please respect the author's tags, warnings and notes as they are there for a reason.

Can you ever really know?

Author: @undercoverpena

Marcus Pike x reader (Soft Marcus plus smut makes for an excellent read.)

You were Marked Author: @handspunyarns

A dark series with a plus size OFC and Din Djarin. It has exceptional world building and demonstrates how two people can grow together despite challenges (as mild as a term I can use.) Pay special attention to the author’s warnings due to subject matter. (A series)

Trick or Treat Author: @spookykoolkat

Eddie Munson x plus size reader (Fun Halloween where the reader surprises her husband Eddie with a sex position she’d like to try on the couch)

Fifty Author: @linzels-blog

(Francisco Morales x female reader) Frankie goes all out for your 50th birthday complete with an outfit change.

Revenge Author: @toomanystoriessolittletime

(Dave York x female reader) Your husband is a cheating asshole and Dave helps you get even while breaking your soon to be ex-husband’ spirit.

Bloom into you Author: @wildemaven

(Joel Miller x female reader) Meet cute in reader’s floral shop. And excellent first aid. (A series)

Rises the Moon Author: @psychedelic-ink

(Joel Miller x female reader) Joel in a lighthouse. Beautiful haunting song with the waves as a backdrop. Two lonely souls.

Kinktober Day 14

Author: @youvebeenlivingfictional

(Oberyn Martell x female reader) Oberyn seeks a new thrill at a brothel. He tells you what he wants and you both enjoy. Excellent smut.

I work from nine to five, hey hell I pay the price

Author: @thetriumphantpanda

(Marcus Pike x plus size female reader) Our reader feels insecure at the Halloween party until she runs into her boss’ boss Marcus. Things go very well.

Observations Author: @ezrasbirdie

(Neurodivergent reader x Joel Miller) The reader doesn’t quite connect with the people of Jackson save for Joel and Elle.

The First Time Author: @fettuccin-e

(Frankie Morales x female reader) Frankie puts in the prep work for the reader to take him fully.

A Gift of Light and Joy Author: @prolix-yuy

(Javi Gutierrez x plus size reader) Javi plans a surprise for the reader. It doesn’t go as planned so he fixes it as only he can.

The Wolf and The Lamb Author: @morallyinept

(Dave York x Plus size reader) Dave York worships the reader’s body and devours you every time.

Looks can be Deceiving

Author: @rainontherooftops

(Din Djarjn x plus size reader) The reader is roommates with Din Djarjn for months. There’s a delicate balance. The reader’s date changes that.

I Got You Author: @yeollie-plz

(Javier Peña x plus size reader) Javier runs into you chasing a perp. He decides to chase you instead.

Icing on the cake Author: @beskarberry

(Pero Tovar x plus size female reader) Cooking for the troops of the Great Wall is mostly uneventful. Until a Spainard arrives and sticks his finger in a creamy pastry while holding eye contract with you.

Love is a Rebellious Bird Author: @artemiseamoon

(Ezra x plus size female reader) Insecurities coupled with angst makes for a confession that’s been months in the making.

Made to Hold You Author: @flightlessangelwings

(Din Djarin x plus size female reader) Pure smut. Din is a hungry man and when he arrives back to the ship, he won’t stop until he’s full. The reader is very pleased.

#fanfiction #fanfiction writing #Nerdie’s fic recs #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #din djarin #frankie morales #dieter bravo #writing #the mandalorian #Dave York #pero tovar #Marcus pike #ezra prospect

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604to647 · 30 days

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Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Third Movement (Presto agitato)

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

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

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

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

Series Masterlist 🎼 First Movement 🎼 Second Movement 🎼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s true, it would.

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

Nodding, you have to agree.

“… and you would be in good hands.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what if I don’t want that?”

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

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

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

You smile kindly, “And why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dulce, you make the prettiest noises…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now you know how I felt.

When some other man would touch you.

When you would smile at your suitors.

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

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

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

Never need to be jealous ever again, Dulce.

There’s only you.

Never want anyone else.

Don’t need anyone else.

You’re my everything.

Mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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