This list is mainly for myself (hence the links to my reblogs) to save my sanity because I keep losing track of which brilliant stories I've read so far! All of these are tagged with #Elsie you loved this with your whole heart. In their respective sections, the fics are shown in mostly chronological order of me reading them. And this is post 1/∞ because so many incredible fics exist! 💖
Characters include: Joel Miller, Din Djarin, General Acacius, Javier Pena, Frankie Morales, and Pero Tovar
Joel Miller Series
A Burning Desire by @honeyedmiller
Does Anyone Know Where the Love of God Goes? by @shellshocklove
Halcyon & Yearling & Lavender by @justagalwhowrites
Roommates by @punkshort
Dark Shades of Innocence Lost by @mermaidgirl30
Garnish by @penvisions
Maintenance Request by @burntheedges
Saving What Was Lost by @mermaidgirl30
Stages of Devotion by @penvisions
Edelwiss by @loliwrites
Joel Miller One-Shots
Dirty Laundry by @pedgito
Joel When You Defend Him by @orcasoul
Joel's Reaction When You're Sexually Harassed by @orcasoul
I Love You, I'm Sorry by @theetherealbloom
Study Days with Joel by @bearsbeetsbeskar
Who Do You Belong to Mr. Miller? by @tightjeansjavi
A Deeper Purpose by @punkshort
First Impressions by @punkshort
Something Unexpected by @punkshort
Like Real People Do by @mrsmando
Ain't That a Bite by @almostfoxglove
Game Changer by @kedsandtubesocks
Scarcely Can Speak For My Thinking, What You'd Do to Me Tonight by @papurgaatika
When I Move You Move by @ghotifishreads
How do you sleep? by @thriftedtchotchkes
Texas Sweet by @coquettepascal
Safety First by @strang3lov3
Jealous by @pedrospatch
Between the Sky & the Horizon by @drewharrisonwriter
Set Me on Fire, I'll Keep You Warm by @vivwritescrappythings
Yours by @vivwritescrappythings
Saying Thanks by @vivwritescrappythings
No Time to Die by @davosmymaster
Little Black Dress by @hellishjoel
Wild Like the West by @hellishjoel
Seven Days, Six Nights by @hellishjoel
Teacher's Pet (Part I & Part II) by @javiscigarette
The Accidental Solution by @pascalssbabyy
In the Cold Night by @milla-frenchy
So Long, Too Soon by @sunshinehaze1
On the Right Track by @sunshinehaze1
Can't Stay Away by @justagalwhowrites
For Cryin' Out Loud by @gracieheartspedro
Well, All Right I'm Bad, But Then You're No Prize Either... by @sceletaflores
Din Djarin Series
Be-All And Endor by @djarins-cyare
Din Djarin One-Shots
That Time Again by @orcasoul
New Perspective by @mellowswriting
Ni Ceta Par Gar (I Kneel For You) by @dindjarindiaries
Irrevocable by @dindjarindiaries
Cozy in the Cockpit by @dindjarindiaries
Take It Off by @dindjarindiaries
Honey, have you been crying? What is it? What’s wrong? by @dindjarindiaries
Time for a Haircut, King? by @djarinmuse
Remember This by @burntheedges
A Home, With You by @burntheedges
Familiar Yet Foreign by @whxtedreams
Unexpectedly Mated by @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers
Untried by @absurdthirst
Secrets by @absurdthirst
The Throne by @absurdthirst
Beyond my Skin, Deep in my Bones by @djarins-wife
A Baker's Dozen: Part Two by @avastrasposts
At Night by @auteurdelabre
General Acacius Series
Bona Dea (Part 1, ongoing) by @avastrasposts
Guilty as Sin (I. Intactum, ongoing) by @ovaryacted
Hands in the hair of somebody named Marcus part i & part ii by @stylesispunk
Foxglove Downs (Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3) {x Lucius Varus) by @whocaresstillthelouvre
General Acacius One-Shots
Be the Venus of the Stars by @thetriumphantpanda
Little Venus by @iamasaddie
Mould Me for Ruin by @ace-turned-confused
Proud to be Yours by @ace-turned-confused
The Gift by @whataperfectwasteoftime
Work of Art by @ak-vintage
The Future of Rome by @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers
Fruits of Passion by @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers
The General by @juletheghoul
Corrupted by @juletheghoul
Home by @milla-frenchy
Blood Favor by @pedgito
The Farmer's Daughter by @punkshort
Prima Nocta by @fuckyeahdindjarin
At Your Service: Battlefront by @lokischocolatefountain
Javier Pena Series
It's Never Too Late by @javierpena-inatacvest
Guilty as Sin by @guess-my-next-obsession
Javier Pena One-Shots
A Litany of Lethe by @kiwisbell
Just Friends by @pedrospatch
Sangria by @yxtkiwiyxt
Seasons Change by @punkshort
Frankie Morales Series
All the Things We Never Said (Ch.7) by @javierpena-inatacvest
More Than Letters (Prologue, Part One, ongoing) by @almostfoxglove
Frankie Morales One-Shots
And Then They Kiss by @burntheedges
Pero Tovar Series
The Wolf Series by @absurdthirst
Pero Tovar One-Shots
The Primal Prize by @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers
La Esposa del Granjero (The Farmer's Wife) by @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers
Warnings: Monster Fucking, death, grieving, burial, loss, marriage of convenience, secrets, guilt, discoveries, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, hand jobs, pregnancy
Comments: A stranger arrives on your doorstep telling you that your husband died to save his life and his dying wish was for you to marry him. You realize this man is hiding something that is the key to why your husband gave his life for him.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
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|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
The horse plods along slowly, the shod hooves clicking against the stone grooves of the wagon worn road. Pero glances down at the sword that is balanced across his knee. The guilt is heavier than the solid weight of the sharp steel. The last words of a dying man echoing in his ears just like they have every moment since they had been spoken. It’s odd that he would care, normally he wouldn’t. This was personal though. It’s because of him that a husband won’t return to his wife.
You are folding your washing after taking it down from the line outside when there's a knock on the door. You're immediately on edge and you reach for your knife, slowly walking towards the door. You remove the wooden bar and crack the door. Pero tilts his head when the door opens slightly and you narrow your eyes at him, seeing his scar and dirty face. He says your husband's name and your eyes widen, opening the door a little more. "I fought with your husband. He - he was killed. I have his body. I wanted to return him home."
The horse that had carried your husband’s body is tied behind his own. The horse is valuable and he had not had the heart to sell the beast and pocket the coins. He had pilfered from the other body left behind with zero remorse, but all your husband’s things are still there. “I will bring him inside and let you clean him up while I dig the hole.” He knows you can’t bury him yourself and your husband said he did not want to be buried in the church graveyard.
You are shocked, shaking hands coming up to your mouth as you stare at the gruff man on your threshold. "He's - oh." You choke, stumbling and leaning against the door frame as the door opens enough for you to see your husband's body. Pero shifts from one foot to the other, "he wanted to return home to you." He says and you choke on a sob, tears streaming down your cheeks as you push past him to get to your husband.
Pero Tovar is a hard man, one who is mostly selfish, but tears bother him. Especially a woman’s tears. He turns to watch as you pull the hastily wrapped shroud from your husband’s face to caress his cold skin. Pero swallows, scowling as he shuffles and feels the weight of his last words on his shoulders. You are young, pretty, now made a widow and he should just bury the body and leave.
The reality of losing your husband, of being a widow, has you sinking down to the ground as the stranger approaches you. “He spoke of nothing but you.” He reveals and you wrap your arms around yourself. “I - I don’t know what - he’s gone.” You sob until you are hiccuping and trying to breathe. Pero kneels down beside you, his hand reaching for you but he stops before he touches you. “Can you carry him into the house for me?” You whisper, turning your head to look at the man with dark eyes who nods, “of course.”
Pero slowly, gently, pulls your husband’s body off the back of the horse. Not that he cares if Pero tosses him about, but you might. The dead weight in his arms is shifted over his shoulder and he lets you lead him into the surprisingly large cottage. The coziness of the space is immediate and he waits while you clear the large table of dried herbs and vegetables from your garden. “Do you need me to bring water in?” Pero asks as he lays the body out.
You stare at your husband, unable to believe he’s dead, but you nod without looking at Pero. He makes his way out of the cottage and you walk over to the table, brushing your husband’s hair back. He looks so handsome, like he’s asleep, even when he’s covered in dirt. You start to gather some rags, preparing for the water that Pero brings in minutes later. You remain silent, working diligently to clean your husband up and Pero heads outside to dig the grave.
The shovel breaks through the dirt, making Pero’s back ache and his breathing gets shorter as the hole gets deeper. Grunting and sweating as he carves out the final resting place of the man who had saved his life. Giving up his future for him, holding his hand as he breathed his last breath after making Pero promise to marry you.
You slide the metal ring from your husband’s hand, kissing the back of it now that it’s clean, and you reach up to undo the chain around your neck, looping his ring so you’ll carry him with you forever. “I love you.” You murmur as Pero clears his throat from the threshold. He is sweaty and covered in speckles of dust and soil. “Are you ready?” He asks and you look back at your husband, hand shaking as you caress his cheek one last time. “Yes. I’m ready.”
He rewraps your husband in a clean blanket you had left out and brings the body out to the hole he had dug. Awkward as he gets him into his grave and has to halfway crawl out. Biting his tongue to curb the curses that would normally be flowing freely. It seems like it isn’t the time. “I am sorry, señora.” He murmurs quietly before stepping back.
You sniff, tears gathering in your eyes again as you touch the ring on your chain. “Thank you.” You murmur, “for bringing him home. For burying him.” You say and Pero looks at you, nodding. You say a prayer for your husband, Pero bowing his head in respect, and you let the tears flow. “You must be hungry. I will prepare food and a bath for you.” You say, stepping away from the grave, “you must be tired. You can rest.”
“I will cover the grave.” It would be foolish to turn down a meal, or a bath, so he doesn’t. Just nods at you and picks up the shovel again. After this, he needs to unsaddle the horses and make sure they are fed some grain after traveling for so long. Then he can rest and tell you what your husband wanted him to do.
You go through the motions, doing what you’d do for your husband when he returned home. A hot meal cooking on the stove while the hot water cools in the tub alongside oils and a razor. When Pero comes into the cottage, he’s surprised at the setup. “Dinner is ready when you are. Take your time. I am going to take a moment alone.” You say as you step through the small doorway to your bed, sinking down on it to muffle your cries into your pillow.
It seems so wrong to take the hospitality of a woman who just buried her husband, but Pero is tired and dirty. Slowly stripping off his leathers and the chainmail beneath it, his clothes are in need of a good scrubbing, but he sees that you have set out some clothes that must have been your husband’s. He sinks down into the hot water with a groan and leans back in the tub and closes his eyes for a moment. Trying to ignore the sobs coming from the other room.
You sniff as you calm down, hearing the rustling of clothes as the man who returned your husband to you dresses in his clothes. You wipe your eyes and shuffle off the bed, making your way into the kitchen to find him looking clean and freshly shaven. “I hope you like stew. I have fresh bread that I baked this morning.” You explain and he nods, “I do, thank you señora.” You order for him to sit down and you serve him a large bowl of stew alongside a chunk of the loaf you baked. Your own serving is smaller, your stomach twisting with grief as you sit down at the table.
He doesn’t wait, he can’t when he smells the stew and feels the heat of the warm food. Ravenous in a way that man can be when he’s not had a good meal in a long time, Pero digs into the stew and groans at the rich and meaty meal. You are a good cook and your husband was a lucky bastard.
You watch him eat, unfazed by his manners as your husband would eat like that whenever he returned from his travels. It didn’t take long for him to remember your presence and later meals would be civilized. You allow Pero the pass as he inhales the food. Your bites are smaller and quite frankly a struggle as your grief twists inside you.
“It is good.” He tears a chunk of bread in half to dip into the juices, wanting every drop of the stew to be in his belly. “Otto used to complain about the food at camp, talk about your stews and roasts.” He shoves the bread in his mouth. “He was right to brag on you.”
You smile sadly, “he used to joke and say I cook better than his mother and he’s lucky she was dead because she’d kill him if he she heard him say that.” You chuckle and Pero snorts, smirking, “he was a smart man.” You bite your lip as you set your spoon down, “was he- did he die in battle?”
“No.” Pero shakes his head and glances back down at his now empty bowl. “Your husband stepped in front of an arrow meant for me.” He admits quietly, still not sure why the man had done it. Pero should have just been killed and it would have saved you the grief swimming in your eyes.
You frown, “he- he saved you? Why? Why would he do that?” You demand to know, aware that you’re being rude but you’re angry now that you know he sacrificed his life for someone.
Pero glances up at you and then frowns himself, looking almost angry. “I don’t know.” He admits. “Selfish bastard should have just let the arrow hit me.”
That’s not a good enough answer for you and you huff, shaking your head at the gruff mercenary. “I need you to tell me what happened. Why did my husband die for you?” You ask, stomach twisting with your grief and now anger.
He can’t tell you the truth. You would never believe him. “Another soldier was trying to kill me.” He confesses, knowing that he can at least tell you that. “He was drawing his bow and Otto stepped in front of me, hoping the bastard would not shoot.” Pero’s hands clenched into fists. “He did not care and shot him.” Pero looks up. “I killed the bastard for you. The man is dead.”
You nod slowly, absorbing his words, and you feel the tears sting in your eyes as you try to blink them away. “I don’t understand why he did that. He - he was a good man but to give up his life for you? Why?” You question out loud and Pero sighs, “I have been asking myself the same question since he died.” He confesses and you wipe your cheeks, “I am alone now. He - he is gone.” You say, almost trying to convince yourself of that fact.
Clearing his throat, Pero looks away for a moment before he swallows. “His-his last words were about you.” He tells you quietly. “He-he told me to take care of you. To- marry you.”
Your watery eyes widen in shock as you stare at the man sitting at your kitchen table. “Ma- marry you? Me? Marry - why would he say that?” You choke out, heart breaking at that reality that you’re a widow and your husband’s last request was for you to marry the man he died for. “I don’t - no. No. I cannot. I will not marry you.”
He nods, completely understanding that you would not want to marry the man who is the reason your late husband is gone. “I understand señora.” He murmurs quietly. “I have brought the coins from the men I have killed for you. And I will make sure you are provided for since it is my fault that Otto cannot.” He should walk away, but he can’t. Not after the man had died for him.
You sniff, hating that your tears are never ending but you know this is the grief and shock. “I am a widow. I do not own this cottage, my husband does and now that he is no longer here, the villagers will come for it. They will want to take it for another family.” You know how these things work. You are a woman, you cannot own anything. “Is that why he wished for you to marry me? To ensure I keep my home?” You ask and Pero nods, “sí, señora.” You look down at your hand, the simple ring on your finger a symbol of who you have lost. “I do not want to marry you. If we are to marry, I do not wish to share your bed. This is for us to honor my husband’s wish and to allow me to keep our home. Nothing more. Do you understand?”
He watches for you a long moment before he nods. “Sí.” He agrees, “I will not demand rights as a husband. If I have a need for a woman, I will take care of that while I sell my sword.” Otto had not partaken in the tavern wenches and whores like other men who had families at home. It had seemed odd, but now he knows what you are like, Pero can understand. A mere whore has none of the beauty you do, and he reminds himself that he will not truly have you, so it is not a break of his vow to God.
You nod, knowing that you cannot share your bed with him but he is the only man who can save your home and your body from the clutches of the village men. “We shall go see the priest in the morn.” You say and Pero nods in agreement. You look back at your meal, suddenly not hungry and you stand up to clean your bowl.
Pero stands as well and he bites his lip. This was a mistake, he should have just dumped the body at your door and left. Still, he doesn’t move towards his armor. “I will check the horses.” He grunts.
You watch him go and you allow yourself another moment to cry, grieving your husband and the life you had. You wash the bowls with your bucket of water, tears dropping down your cheeks as you ponder your new life married to the man for whom your husband died.
Outside, Pero is lost. He can take care of animals, he can chop wood and hunt. He would actually look forward to living in four walls and a solid roof through the winter if it weren’t for this. He doesn’t know how to be a husband, even if it is just for the protection of his name. He shoos a chicken away and sighs as he looks at the goat that is munching away on the grass around the small barn. “At least there are animals.” He huffs, making his way inside to check on the horses.
You finish cleaning up, preparing the cot for Pero to sleep on. You will not share a bed with the man who will become your husband. This is in name only. There will be no love, no faith, no connection in your marriage. You sit down by the fire and think about your husband, Otto, and you wonder why he chose this man to be your protector. Did he ask him to marry you as his dying wish? Was it guilt? Was it something else? You wish you had more answers.
After feeding and watering the animals, Pero starts to collect wood. Noticing that the stack next to the cottage is low, he sees the logs that have been felled and stacked to chop into manageable pieces. Tomorrow, he will start hunting and then chop wood after you get married.
You get ready for bed, dressed in your nightgown when Pero comes back into your cottage. He is wearing your husband's clothes and that makes tears gather in your eyes once again at the reminder of what you've lost. "I have prepared your bed." You inform him with a choke.
Pero looks at the cot made next to the hearth and then back at you. “Gracias, señora.” He bows his head slightly. “I will sleep well tonight. Thank you for preparing a bed for me.” He knows you could make him sleep out in the barn, so he doesn’t think a cot next to a banked fire is a bad place to be. “Should I bar the door?”
You nod, knowing you’re both safer in the cottage even if this man is a stranger to you. You watch him bar the door and you say to him when he turns towards you, “goodnight.” He nods at you, “buenas noches, señora.” You walk back into your room, sliding under the covers and you lean over to blow out the candle. Tomorrow, you’ll be marrying the man in the other room.
It takes a long time to fall asleep. Laying on a surprisingly comfortable cot, he listens to the fire crackle and the soft sound of your breathing from the other room. Unsure of what to do or say. He shouldn’t marry you, not when he’s still keeping the truth about your husband’s death from you.
The next morning, you dress and prepare breakfast while Pero sleeps on the cot. He must’ve travelled far. Otto would often sleep for days when he returned home. Sleep was a luxury men of the sword weren’t afforded. “Good morning.” You say to him when he sits up, rubbing his bare chest and your eyes widen for a second until you turn your back from his naked form.
“Mierda.” Pero hisses, reaching for his pants. Or, Otto’s pants. He had gotten hot and had stripped down in the middle of the night, relaxed by the barred door and the comfortable cot. He’s always hot. “Forgive me.” He grunts as he pulls them on and shoves his feet into his boots.
You keep your face turned away and you prepare the bread to bake over the fireplace. “It’s - it’s okay.” You promise and keep your back turned until you hear him moving around behind you. “Could you fetch some fresh water?” You ask, needing some water for the day, “and some wood? Once we have eaten breakfast, we can go find the priest.”
“Sí.” He throws the shirt on and grabs the buckets for water before removing the heavy wooden beam from the door. He decides that he will check the chickens for eggs and ask you if the goat is to be milked or not after he gets the water and wood.
He returns with the water, then the wood, then the eggs and milk. You’re surprised at his efficiency, similar to Otto’s but he would press a kiss to your lips with each delivery. You set the breakfast food on the table as he walks back in and you watch him toe off his boots. “Eat then we get married.” You order, knowing you need his name for protection.
“Sí, señora.” He moves over to the water bucket used for washing and cleans his hands. “I have coins to pay the priest, then we can get any supplies you need from the market.” He tells you.
You’re surprised at his consideration and you wonder why he’s doing this. Maybe he was attracted to the ready made life: a cottage and a wife to take care of it. Maybe it’s the coins. Maybe it’s the safety. You aren’t sure but you know Otto asked him for a reason to take care of you. You watch him sit down at the table, reaching for the cooked oats and you are sure he has calmed down the ravenous way he eats for you as he tries to demurely spoon up the oats. It makes you smile as you sit down opposite him.
Pero is starving but he needs to show that he has some manners at your table. He would normally just tip the bowl up and slurp it down. The cup of water at his wrist is quickly drunk down with some bread. “After the winter thaws, I will sell my sword and leave you in peace.” He tells you. “Like Otto had.”
You nod in agreement, knowing that this is best for both of you. You sigh and watch him finish his food, eating your own. Once you’re both finished eating, you go to wash the bowls but Pero beats you to it. “I am going to wash up and change. I will not be married in my morning clothes.”
“I have a change of clothes in my bags, but…” he shakes his head. “All of my clothes are rough, meant to be worn with armor.” He admits, gesturing to the clothes you had let him borrow. “Would it upset you for me to wear this?” He asks. “Or should I find clothes before we meet the priest?”
You tilt your head, “I have more clothes that were Otto’s. You can pick what you would like to wear.” You say, walking over to the chest, and you open it to reveal your late husband’s clothes. You open the chest next to that one that contains your clothes and you pull the dress you wore to marry Otto out of the chest.
You are practical despite grieving and he can appreciate that. Nodding, he feels odd about taking over your husband’s life, but he had promised the man he would take care of you. “Gracias.” He murmurs and moves over to pick out something to wear.
You are methodical as you get ready for your union to Pero, cleaning yourself up before you change into the dress. When you enter the main living area, he’s standing there and your breath catches at how handsome he is. The guilt immediately swarms you after the thought, the guilt of thinking of a man other than your husband.
Pero runs his hand over his face and wonders if he should trim again, but there is no use. This isn’t a true marriage. You are just taking his name to keep your house and protect you from men who would want to take advantage of you. His eyes widen when he sees you, finding you to be absolutely gorgeous.
“Shall we go?” You ask, unaware of his attraction to you as you internally reprimand yourself for your reaction to him. He clears his throat, “sí, señora.” You nod and you’re soon both walking to the village. The morning air is chilly, indicating that the leaves will soon turn and then snow will fall after that.
You are quiet while you walk, making Pero even more nervous. He has not spent much time with women who are not whores or tavern maids. Gentle women with kind eyes and soft words always shy away from him, scared by his dark looks and the scar that makes him look wicked. “Hunting should be good in these woods.” He grunts. “I will go as soon as we get done with the priest.” He craves fresh meat and it will be good to start storing up for winter.
You hum in agreement, “very well. You are free to do as you please, even as my husband.” You say and he turns to look at you, “we may not be husband and wife in the biblical sense, señora, but I will still obey my honor to you.” He says and you sigh, “whatever you wish. I have no expectations of you.”
He frowns at your words, although he should be pleased. He had never imagined getting married, too used to doing what he wished. Even after Garin had decided to go back to China for his general. “Sí.” He grunts. “That is good.”
The village is quiet this time of the morning since everyone has tended to their business already. A few people pass by, confusion on their faces as they see you walking alongside Pero. You ignore them, uncaring of what they think as you walk toward the church.
Pero’s scowl deepens naturally, uncomfortable around most and not liking the rest. He shifts closer to you, protective but he doesn’t touch you. He knows that word will spread of his reason for being here and he wants it known that you are very well protected.
You can see the apprehension on their faces and you realize that this is what Pero can do for you. He can protect you just by being seen with you. If he hadn’t mentioned your husband’s wish and left after leaving the body, you’d already be having knocks on your door from the village men. The church is quiet as you enter it, the priest hovering near the altar and he looks up at you, saying your husband’s last name. “My husband - Otto - is dead. This man returned his body to me. We have buried him. Now, I wish to marry this man.” You say, knowing the priest will be confused by this new development.
The priest looks to Pero, his gaze concerned as he glances between the two of you. “Did you kill Otto?” He demands, making Pero growl. He would grab the man if he weren’t of the church. “No padre.” Pero hisses. “Otto saved my life and his dying wish was for me to take care of his widow.”
“It’s true. He brought Otto back to me. He can protect me. I do not wish to marry one of the vile men of the village. They will want me for my lands. Pero will honor Otto’s wishes. We wish to be wed now.” You explain and the priest narrows his eyes at Pero in suspicion until he nods, “I would like to visit Otto’s grave. Pray for him but first, I will honor his wishes.”
Pero nods solemnly and looks towards you before he speaks. “Thank you padre.” He declines the offer of confession, lying to the priest that he had taken confession before coming to the village. In truth, it has been years since he has confessed his sins and a priest would never absolve him.
You are nervous, silently praying to God and Otto that this man will care for you. That he will not end up behaving like the men you're evading by marrying him. Your mind is wandering as the priest begins the ceremony, standing opposite Pero and you barely manage to pay attention enough to repeat the vows.
Pero has never been married before so he listens carefully to the priest’s words about duty and purpose. There won’t be children from this marriage since you are not sleeping together, but he will just claim that he has an injury from battle. The priest declares you man and wife and Pero picks up your hand and kisses it instead of kissing your lips. “My kisses for my wife will be private.” He growls.
The priest nods in respect, pleased that Pero seems to be protective and respectful of you. You’re a pillar of the community and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you now that Otto is gone. You smile sadly at Pero, knowing that you are no longer the wife of Otto, no longer his widow. You are the wife of Pero Tovar. “Let’s go feast. Father, would you care to join us?” You ask and he shakes his head, “no. Go ahead children and go with God’s blessing.” You nod, letting Pero escort you from the church as the market is opening up.
Reaching for his coin purse gives him an excuse to let go of your hand. Untying it from his belt, it’s heavy, and he hands it to you. “Buy whatever you need for this winter.” He grunts. “Save your coins from Otto, those are yours to keep.” He knows that everything you have is technically his, but he doesn’t feel that way.
You shake your head, “I do not need your coins.” You insist and try to hand the pouch back to him but he closes his hand over yours. “You may not need them but they are yours nonetheless.” It seems futile to argue so you nod, attaching the purse to your belt and you walk through the market, purchasing what you need and Pero obediently carries what he can while traders offer to deliver the heavier items to your cottage.
The purse is far lighter by the time you are ready to go back to the cottage, Pero carrying all the smaller packages. “Do I need to stay for the deliveries or will I be able to go hunt?” He asks, aware that you had made a point to introduce him as your husband to everyone you had purchased from today. The news will spread quickly through the village.
You tilt your head at his consideration, “you’ll be able to go hunt. I am capable of dealing with the traders.” You promise, “go and hunt. I know you need time to think. This has been a lot to process.” You say, fiddling with the two rings on the chain around your neck. Yours and Ottos. It felt wrong to continue to wear it for this marriage so your finger will remain bare.
His eyes drop down to the chain and he nods. “Sí.” He murmurs as he goes to change into the clothes he had been wearing earlier. “I will hopefully bring back a stag.”
You know he’s capable, he’s displayed that time and time again. “Very well. I’ll see you soon.” You say as you start to put away the things you’d purchased from the market that he’d carried back home. You keep your back turned as he changes, ignoring the way your body heats slightly. It’s been months since you shared a bed with your husband and the thought of being with Pero is inconceivable but you’re still a woman with needs.
Pero grabs his bow, he’s not quite the performer that Garin is but he is a damn good shot. He had routinely hunted for dinner when he was with the army so he could assure himself of something to eat. “I will be back.” He promises before walking out of the door and feeling like he’s doing something wrong.
You watch him go and finally, you have the cottage to yourself since you buried Otto. Tears stream down your cheeks as you feel like you’re betraying your late husband and you swallow harshly as you wipe the tears from your cheeks to focus on your tasks.
Pero comes back to the cottage hours later. He had taken his horse with him and he’s glad he had. The stag that is hanging over the back of the black stallion is massive. Easily enough meat to feed the two of you for the majority of the winter if the meat is smoked and packed away. He is holding two rabbits, and has set up several traps to check. The hide of the stag would make a nice blanket, but he wants furs for trade or clothes. The tree in the clearing will be perfect to hang the meat overnight to let it bleed out and to keep it safe from the scavengers.
Your eyes widen when you see Pero with the stag over the back of his stallion. It’s huge and you are shocked by his strength to take down a beast like that. You wipe your hands on your skirt and walk out to greet him with “are we feeding the entire village?” You ask and Pero snorts, “this is for us. We will smoke it. It will keep us fed until the snow melts.” You nod in agreement, your stomach twisting at the capability this man exudes. Otto was a good man but he’d never taken down as large an animal as that.
Pero pulls the animal off the back of the horse and slaps the stallion’s rump to get him to move over to the grass to munch. “You have rope?” He asks, pulling out his knife to kneel down and gut the stag so it won’t be spoiled.
You’re not disgusted by the blood and guts as they spill onto the ground and you nod, turning around to grab some rope that Otto had stored last hunting season. You come back out and hand it to Pero, watching him as he works methodically.
Pero ties the rope around the stag’s hind legs before tossing it over the lower heavy branch of the tree. Planting his feet, Pero groans and grunts as he uses his raw strength to hoist the heavy animal high into the air so the predators can’t get it. When he’s done, he ties the rope around the tree and looks at you breathlessly. “You know how to cook liver?” He asks.
Your eyes are wide, heart beating a little harder at the display of brute strength. “I, uh, I can. My mother - she used to - to cook all the insides.” You say and Pero nods, sweat on his brow and you inhale deeply, trying to ignore your attraction to him at this moment.
Pero nods. “I will wash them.” He loves fresh liver fried over a fire and is looking forward to the meal. You are a good cook, so it should be amazing. “Gracias.” He murmurs when he looks at you. “For the rope.”
Your eyes linger on him as you nod, heading back into the house to wait for him to bring you the liver to cook for your dinner. You’ve already started cooking lunch - the same stew from last night - and you call him in to eat.
Pero brings in all the organs, although he had thrown the intestines and stomach into the woods. That has never been a good meal, but the heart, lungs and kidneys make a decent stew. He also cleans and dresses the rabbits to be cooked on a spit. Bringing everything back inside when you call him for lunch.
You watch him set out the organs and you are already deciding how to cook all of them while you set the bread you baked this morning on the table. “Our first meal as husband and wife.” You declare but it’s not with joy but indifference.
“I know that you are not happy with me as your husband.” He moves over to the fire and adds some more wood. “I will try to be gone as often as possible to make things easier for you.”
You hum in agreement and thanks, knowing that this is for both your benefits. He gets a warm home during the winter, cooked food, and clean clothes, and you get protection and coins. It’s the best you can do in such a horrible situation and Pero is not forcing himself on you like the men in the village would do.
****
You watch Pero as he finishes the liver you cooked for dinner. The day has been long and tiring but you enjoy how much he loves your cooking. Groaning and trying not to shovel it in but some bites are better than others. When you both prepare for bed, you are relieved when he immediately settles on the cot in the main area, granting you privacy and purity in your marriage. “Goodnight.” You murmur as you walk into your bedroom, alone and a newly married widow.
Pero doesn’t mind the cot, doesn’t mind sleeping alone. He doesn’t feel married, even though he is. Otto must have known something he didn’t when he told Pero to marry you. Or he was just desperate to make sure you were cared for. “Mierda.” He grunts, shifting to take off the shirt. It is not how he ever expected to spend his wedding night. He’s not even drunk.
****
It’s been a few weeks since Pero arrived on your doorstep with your late husband shrouded over the back of his horse. You have settled into a routine, meals together before he handles the livestock and hunts to prepare for the upcoming winter. The air has turned chilly and you have become friendly with Pero, enjoying his company even if he’s often quiet. He’s a steady presence and you feel protected.
Pero shifts, skin hot and he tries to ignore the warning signs. He knows what will happen tonight, having been through it too many times before. He groans to himself as you bend over to take the bread out of the oven. It will be the first time he had this happen since marrying you. Despite not touching you in the weeks since saying your vows, he wants to, and that scares him.
You can’t say you’ve gotten to know more about Pero since he doesn’t speak much but you’ve gathered small tidbits of information. Like he’s originally from Spain and left his homeland when his mother died to sell his sword. His friend is named William and he went to China to be with the woman he loves. He is loyal and smart and you want to know more about the man who is now your husband. Yet he seems to close himself off and it hurts you. You don’t understand what you’ve done to keep his distance.
His eyes follow you, cock twitching in his breeches, Otto’s breeches and he reminds himself that you don’t want him. You wish for the man who is buried under the trees and he had moved a rock from the nearby stream to etch his name into it to mark his grave. He sees you out there some times, envious at the love you have for your fallen husband and the guilt of his death weighs heavily.
You sigh, watching him as he works on fixing the gate outside the cottage that has been stiff since before Otto left. You bite your lip as you look through the window at his back, muscles working under the material of his shirt. Your stomach twists with desire for your new husband until your hand touches the rings on your clavicle, the guilt hitting you again. You know you said you’d keep your distance and you plan to but he is tempting you every day, more and more.
Pero can feel you watching him. He often wonders what you are thinking. If you still blame him for Otto’s death. He tries not to get too close to you, knowing that it will make it harder to try to keep those thoughts from creeping in. If you would sound sweet under him in your bed. He’s heard you a few times, the soft gasps of self pleasure when he was supposed to be asleep. He can’t think of you that way. It’s dangerous. “There have been animal tracks around the barn.” He tells you over his shoulder, not pausing his work. I will sleep out there tonight to make sure they are safe.” It’s a good excuse, believable.
You frown, not liking the idea of him outside with the animals and in danger. You’ve already lost one husband. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should stay inside.” You say and he shakes his head, “I will be fine, esposa.” You know better than to argue with him now. He’s stubborn as a mule. “Very well.” You say, spinning on your heel to begin preparing dinner.
Pero sighs, aware that you are annoyed with him, but it’s for the best. The farther away he can keep you, the safer you will. He doesn’t know how he will react tonight now that you are married. He’s never been around a woman during this time before. He’s anxious and wants to make sure he doesn’t do something foolish.
You sigh when he doesn’t say much during dinner but he does eat a lot. More than he ever has which surprises you. You serve him more food, watching him shovel it into his mouth despite your request that he doesn’t eat like he’s surrounded by mercenaries. When you get ready for bed, he’s preparing to sleep outside and it worries you. It’s getting colder and you worry that whatever is out there is going to attack him instead of the animals. “Be careful.” You order after saying goodnight when he lingers by the front door. “I will. Bar the door just in case.” He orders and you swallow, nodding in agreement. “Goodnight, Pero.” You murmur and he tilts his head, “buenas noches, esposa.” You shut the door behind him, barring it, and you settle into bed with an uneasy feeling in your stomach.
The sun dipping below the horizon is probably the time that Pero feels it the most. The ache crawling beneath his skin and the heat rising in his body. He growls to himself as he glances back at the cottage, happy that there is a thick wooden bar that would prevent anything, including him, from getting inside. The windows are too small to crawl through. He glances at the horses, munching the oats and hay in their stalls as they don’t pay him any attention while the chickens squawk and the goat bleats at him. He had eaten enough that he should not be tempted by them tonight. Pero starts to strip his clothes off to wait for the first full moon since he had made this his home.
You wake up with a gasp, the sound of howling disturbing your sleep, and your heart pounds. You sigh, settling back in bed, knowing it’s just your imagination and not what you think it is. You close your eyes until another howl has you sitting up in bed. You shiver as the fire has dampened through the night and you’re worried about Pero. What if something has happened to him outside? Your heart pounds when you hear a wailing noise and you unlock the door, setting the bar down and you reach for the lantern you had burning next to your bed. You walk out into the night, the air chilly and the moon bright above. It’s full and almost makes it seem like daylight outside. You walk towards the barn, wanting to check on Pero and you hear a snort. Your heart thumps and you inhale shakily, worried about your husband. “P-Pero?” You whisper, walking around the barn and you hear a twig snap. “Pero?” You call out, a little louder. You find the blankets on the floor, his clothes next to them and you panic, spinning around and that’s when you’re face to face with a monster. Your breath catches and you gasp, “Otto?”
He had expected you to scream. To run or to even faint when he had stepped towards you and extended to his full monstrous height. Far taller than he ever was as a human, he transformed into a dark beast, fur as black as his hair when he was normal. Claws sharp and deadly, teeth like razors. The horses stamp in the stall, but they don’t scream in fear, used to his change. He huffs, surprised that you had called for your late husband, dropping down to all fours to show that he’s not as dangerous as you might think.
Your hand reaches for him, your heart pounding until you remember this isn’t your late husband. He’s dead. You gasp, falling back on your ass after you drop the lantern as you realize this isn’t a beast you know. The beast doesn’t move, his nose lowered towards you and your eyes widen when you glance over at the blankets and those eyes. You know those eyes. “Pe-Pero?” You ask, chest heaving in shock.
Pero growls quietly, shuffling to lay down. To show you that he means you no harm as he watches you. You are smart, and he would swear that you thought he was your husband but he knows that can’t be true. Otto didn’t become a monster at the full moon like Pero does. He was human when he threw himself in front of the arrow that had been meant to slay the beast he is.
You know he can hear your heart hammering in your chest as he lays before you. Those brown eyes are ones you’ve become familiar with and you have so many questions. “I didn’t know - Otto - did he know?” You ask, wondering if that’s why your husband protected him.
Pero whines slightly, his ears lowering down and he nods slightly. He can’t talk when he’s like this, it had taken him a long time to have any kind of self control, to be aware of what he was doing when he was like this. Still shocked that you aren’t grabbing a weapon to kill him.
You shift onto your knees, your hand slowly coming down to touch his head. He’s larger than Otto was, his back still towering over you even as he lays down. “It’s okay. It won’t be long until you’re human again.” You murmur, “Otto never took too long to change back.” You reveal, “and he didn’t hurt me. I know you won’t either.”
Pero’s eyes close and he lets out a growl. Someone would think that it’s a warning, but his head is pushing into your hand. Craving more, even as he is stunned by your words. Otto was a monster as well? How is that possible?
You chuckle at his nudge. Otto was always as needy during this time. “I didn’t find out until we were married. Kind of like us, huh?” You snort, “he - he confessed that he had been that way since he was a young man. He never knew why he could change but I - I did a lot of research. Spoke to…to witches, local sorcerers who hide in the brothels and tavern.” You confess, “they helped me and I- I discovered a way to help him change less. A potion, of sorts. He still had to change sometimes but it stopped him from changing every full moon.” You reveal as you scratch behind Pero’s ears.
Pero’s head shoots up and he stares at you. Dark eyes boring into yours as you reveal why Otto hadn’t been in this form that night. He tilts his head and for some reason that is funny to you. He’s never been around someone who hasn’t fled screaming or tried to kill him when he was in this form. It’s almost unsettling.
You are comforted by his presence, reminded of the nights you would sit at Otto’s side when you were first married after he revealed his secret to you. “Otto kept disappearing. I thought he was visiting the brothels so one night I followed him and he - I was terrified. I fainted when I saw him in his form and when I woke up, he was by my side. He explained what he was and how he’d never be able to hurt me. It helped us grow closer. I’d like it if we follow that since you’ve been keeping yourself away from me.”
Pero's eyes widen slightly and he rumbles slightly, not quite a growl but it’s confused and pleased all at the same time. Otto had been like him. You had loved him despite that, and you don’t mind him being a monster. Pero ducks his head and butts it against your side slightly, his only way to really communicate with you is through touch.
You smile, caressing his head and you decide to shift to lay down next to him. He whines a little and curls his body around yours, keeping you protected from the cold night air. You feel safe and a part of you is reminded of Otto in this moment. That’s why he asked Pero to marry you. Because he knew what he was. It all makes sense now. You’re not sure when you fall asleep but you’re soon waking up to the sound of birds, back in your bed. You pat the sheets, confused, until you hear rustling in the kitchen. You slide from your bed, making your way towards the noise and that’s when you see Pero. Human Pero. “Good morning.” You say softly, tilting your head towards him.
Pero turns to you, slightly wary of your reaction now that he isn’t ten times your size and bearing sharp teeth and razor claws. “Good morning, esposa.” He murmurs softly. “I have started the porridge.” He motions to the cauldron hanging over the fire. “I also hauled in some water for a bath.” He bites his lip. “I like to bathe after the full moon.” He doesn’t mention that sometimes it’s a necessity because of the blood if he’s eaten while in that form.
You nod in understanding, eyes trailing the expanse of his bare back as he leans over to stir the porridge in the cauldron. “That’s fine. I can give you some privacy.” You say and he nods in thanks. “So…how long have you been like this?”
Pero turns towards you. “For as long as I can remember.” He snorts. “I was attacked when I was young, I had just left to sell my sword after my mother died. Roaming through the forests to find a lord to kill for.” He gestures towards his face. “The beast did this and then I killed it.” He tells you. “Then next full moon I changed.”
You gasp at his story. Otto had been a grown man when he was bitten and transformed. You reach for Pero and caress his arm, “I will try and make my potion. I will need time to gather the ingredients but I have the recipe written down. It worked for Otto. It can work for you.” You promise, wanting to help him.
Pero frowns slightly. “What kind of potion can keep the beast at bay?” He asks. “You gave this to Otto? For when he was traveling with men?”
You nod, “it’s a mixture of several things I have to obtain from the witches. They do not want to be known so I have to be careful, take my time to get each one so no one catches on but I’ll be able to recreate it.”
He swallows harshly, imagining a time where he wouldn’t have to sneak away during the full moon. Where he didn’t have to kill to keep his secret. “You would do that for me?” He asks softly. “Why?”
You caress his shoulder, “you’re my husband and I want to help you. I saw how Otto struggled with this and I hated that I couldn’t help him until I found out how. I’m not a witch but it’s dangerous. If the villagers found out, I’d be accused.”
Pero clenches his jaw, knowing he would fight to the death to protect you. “Then you must not risk it.” He decides, shaking his head. “I have been the beast for more years than I was not, I can control what I do when I am changed.”
You shake your head, “I can handle it.” You promise, “I will be careful.” You reassure him with a soft smile, “I can help you. Let me help you, Pero.” You plead softly, looking at him with desperate eyes
He can’t deny you anything, not when you are so accepting of him as he is. Even if you do not view him as your true husband. “Sí, esposa.” He murmurs quietly, staring into your eyes. “I would never deny you anything you wish.” He admits.
You stare back at him, his dark eyes burning into yours and your stomach twists with guilt for a moment, thinking of Otto, until you remember that he wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to marry Pero. For your safety and protection, or for his…you know he was being selfless. You can’t help it. You surge forward to press your lips against Pero’s, your hands gripping the back of his neck to drag him closer.
He groans against your lips, almost pulling back until you drag him closer. Knowing that you want this, he can feel it in the way that your body presses shamelessly against his. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t question it, arms wrapping around you to drag you impossibly closer as his tongue pushes into your mouth.
You moan as his tongue caresses yours. He knows what he’s doing and you are no virgin. You press yourself against him, hands sliding down his chest, eager to touch more of him. His bare skin hot under your fingertips as he keeps you close until you feel his cock hardening in his breeches against your hip.
Pero pulls away, panting slightly as he looks at you. “Forgive me.” He swallows as he steps back, reminding himself that you had vowed to not sleep with him. He wants you, has wanted you, and he needs to pull away to keep this from going any farther.
You frown, wondering why he pulled back when you hope you made your intentions clear. You shake your head, “I know you married me out of obligation, of guilt, for Otto, but I - I will not forgive you as there’s nothing to forgive.” You say and turn your back so he doesn’t see the tears in your eyes at his rejection.
“Esposa…” Pero frowns in confusion. “You have told me that you would not share my bed.” He huffs. “While I am a monster, I am also a man. I cannot touch you but so much before I am pressing you for what you are not willing to give me. You are a beautiful woman and while I am a murderer, a thief and a liar, I am no rapist.”
You turn to look at him, your frown deepening. “Any man who is out in the wildness, who sells his sword, has to kill, and lie, and steal. It is part of your survival. If you did those things as a farmer…that’s a different story. You survived. Otto did the same thing and I still loved him. You cannot do anything I do not want. I want you, Pero. I want my husband in my bed.”
He is your husband, in name only. He reaches for you and drags you closer. “Do not toy with me.” He warns, “I have thought of being between your thighs too many times to be tempted and rejected.”
“I am many things but I am not a liar.” You narrow your eyes at him, “I want you. In my bed. Between my thighs. I am not an innocent woman. I know what is involved. I want you to fuck me.” You order, chin raised as you defiantly look at him.
Pero growls, his chest puffing out possessively even if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He takes that step closer to you and his hand reaches out to caress your cheek. “Esposa.” He rumbles out. “Remove your dress. I will tear it.”
You nod, hands steady as you reach for the ties of your dress, working each one open until the material pools at your feet. You stand there in front of him, bare and aching for his touch.
Pero watches, his dark eyes fixed on the skin you reveal. More beautiful than he deserves, he clenches his hands into fists before he reaches for you. “Hermosa.” He rasps out, hands hard with battle and survival trying to be gentle for you. He has learned more about being a good man in this month together than all his years of killing. “I am a rough man.” He admits. “Tell me what you want.”
You don’t believe that all of him is rough. You’ve seen it in the way he handles the animals, in the way he cares for your wellbeing. You’ve seen a softer side of the man who claims to be brutal. You reach for his hand, bringing it to your breast and he immediately cups the flesh. “I want you to touch me, fuck me, I want you to make me cry your name in pleasure.”
Pero squeezes your breast as he lunges forward and presses his lips to yours. Starved for physical touch and hungry for you since he had first arrived at your doorstep. He hadn’t realized how he craved you until he was given permission to have you. His cock hardens immediately in his breeches as he wraps his other arm around your waist to drag you closer as his tongue plunders your mouth.
You whimper into his mouth, tongue sliding against his, and your hands caress his chest until you’re gripping his shoulders. His touch is a little rough but you don’t mind as his hand slides down your stomach until he’s cupping your cunt. Curls brushing his fingers until he’s dragging them through your wet slit. “Oh fuck.” You pant against his lips, starved for affection and touch.
“It has been a long time since I’ve had a woman.” Pero confesses, pulling away and kissing along your throat. “I might not last long.” His fingers flick against your clit and he finds the entrance to your cunt and presses. “I want to make you scream.”
You moan at the way his fingers stretch you out, your body leaning into his as your nails dig slightly into his shoulders. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I just want you inside me. I want to feel you.” You murmur, sliding your hand down until you’re squeezing him through his beeches.
He groans, knowing it won’t take him long to be hard again after cumming, but he continues to pump his fingers into your cunt to stretch you out. “My cot or your bed?” He demands, wanting you to be comfortable where he fucks you. You might still cling to the memory of Otto in your bed and he doesn’t want to insult that memory.
“My bed. I want you in my bed.” You declare breathlessly, moaning at the way his fingers curl inside you. You haven’t been able to feel this full with your own digits.
He pulls his fingers out and smirks at you as he slides them into his mouth to taste your juices. “Show me to your bed, esposa.” He grows. “I want to feast on you.”
You whimper at the way he tastes you and you take his free hand to guide him to your bed. He’s never been in here. Never slept in here. Respecting you and your choices when most men wouldn’t. You turn when you’re in the room, leaning in to softly kiss him when working on untying his breeches.
Pero lets you work at his breeches, watching your fingers fumble in their eagerness. He enjoys seeing you eager for him, solidifying the words you had spoken. When the laces are loose, he pushes down the thin, soft leather. Letting his cock free to bounce as he kicks his legs out of the material.
You moan at the sight of him, he’s thick and pulsing in your hand when you wrap your fingers around him, the tips of your digits not touching. His answering groan has your cunt clenching around nothing. You desperately want him inside you but you love his face as you slowly pump him. “You’re gorgeous.” You murmur, looking down at his length in your grip.
He could spill into your hand right now. “God Almighty.” He curses, gritting his teeth. “Your hand-“ it feels so different from his own and he twitches violently. “I can keep going if I spill.” He manages to grunt out, knowing he will stay hard.
You don’t care. You just want to see him fall apart. You lean in to kiss his neck, “cum for me, husband. I want to see it. Want to watch you fall apart.” You order, eager to be good to him after he protected you, provided for you.
It’s like your permission was all he needed to fall over the edge. Groaning your name, his cock erupts in your hand, cum spurting over your knuckles and onto the floor as you pump him through his release.
You work him through it, surprised that he’s still hard, and you moan when he surges forward to press his lips to yours, your hand batted from his length. You whimper when he tosses you down onto the bed, pushing your legs open before his mouth surges forward to devour your cunt.
Pero had learned that women enjoy having their cunt eaten. The barmaids and wenches he slept with would be very accommodating to him once they learned he used his mouth. Now he applies all of that knowledge to make you moan as he slides his tongue through your folds to push it inside you.
You pant, shifting up the bed towards your pillows, sitting up on your elbows to watch him and he eagerly follows you, tongue never leaving your cunt. He sucks your clit into his mouth, making you cry out his name.
Pero grabs your thighs, holding them open, pinning them to the bed as if you might escape his grasp before he’s had his fill. The sounds of pleasure are far louder and sweeter than the muffled little gasps you give when you touch yourself. Making his cock throb as he grinds it into the furs.
“Pero!” You cry, jerking your hips up towards his mouth and he keeps you pinned so you can’t. You whimper, shifting your weight onto one elbow to run your fingers through his hair. “I’m so - oh - ohhhh.” You squeal as you fall apart, thighs shaking as he pushes you over the edge with just his tongue.’
He laps at your cunt, drinking down the juices that pour out of you. Groaning and growling in pleasure as your cries soften into small pants and moans. Finally pulling away and licking his lips as he raises up to his knees. “Still want my cock, esposa?”
You nod, a little frantic as you reach for him. You fall back onto the sheets as he towers over you and you grab his neck to pull him down to your lips. “I need you. Now.” You demand before your lips meet his.
Pero lets you taste yourself from his tongue as he takes his cock in hand. Guiding himself to your hot, wet core and pushing inside of you without hesitation. Snapping his hips forward in a greedy thrust that has you squealing and his own moan of pleasure is poured into your mouth.
You greedily swallow his moan, loving how he stretches you out. “Fuck.” You curse, lifting your legs higher so he pushes even deeper into you. “More.” You order, needing more of him, needing all of him. “Please, Pero. Fuck me.”
Pero growls out your name, pulling his hips back to do exactly that. Giving you what you want and apparently what both of you need as he starts to rock into you.
You cry out, head tilting back as he gives you what you’ve asked for. “That’s it, Pero. Take - take what you want. Fuck me. Fuck. Me.” You demand, walls fluttering around his cock as he continues to stretch you out. You rock your hips up to meet his, your nails digging into his shoulders as he hits something deep inside of you.
It’s wild and unrestrained but he can’t stop. Won’t stop until you are crying out in pleasure and soaking him with your juices. The bed creaks and groans under your combined weight but you just urge him on.
You let him take you how he wants, your hips rocking up to meet his. It’s messy and desperate and definitely nothing that could be misconstrued as ‘making love.’ This is sex through and through and you squeal, on the edge of an orgasm.
Pero hisses through his teeth, eyes flashing. “Soak me, esposa.” He growls, driving into you harder. He feels that you are so close. “Do it now.”
You don’t even recognize your own voice as he thrusts deep into you, pushing hard enough to release the coil inside you. You squeal, clamping down on his cock as his name sounds foreign to your ears but it’s you making the noise.
Pero moans your name, slowly rolling his hips to rock you through the pleasure as he watches your face. You’re gorgeous, unashamed of your pleasure and clinging to him as if he were amazing
You pant, coming back to yourself, and you practically melt into the bed. You caress Pero’s back, trying to catch your breathe while he continues thrusting into you slowly. “Want you to spill inside me. Please, husband. I want it.” You plead, rocking up to push his cock deeper on each thrust.
He shouldn’t. He knows he should pull out. Why is a bit hazy when you are begging him to stay buried inside you. Pero groans as he presses his lips to yours, snapping his hips forward half a dozen times before he’s painting your walls just like you wanted him too.
You whimper at the sensation, caressing his back as he rocks into you, working his seed deeper until it starts to push out. “Yesss.” You whine, loving it, and you pant as you relax beneath him.
When he's done, Pero shifts his weight to his elbows, not wanting to crush you. Burying his face into your neck and trying to catch his breath. "Mierda." He pants out.
You hum in agreement, caressing his back as he looms over you, his hot breath on your skin with each panted breath. Your hands skate along his back, slick with sweat and strong.
When he can, Pero moves off of you, spent and completely wrung out by the orgasms. He had been pent up for a long time, his hand no comparison to the way it had felt to be buried in your body. "Fuck."
You sigh, relaxing as you shift to curl around him. You caress his chest, “I want you to stay in my bed.” You say, leaning in to kiss over his heart. “I want you to be here every night.”
Pero wraps his arm around you, feeling slightly guilty since it should be Otto in your bed. “Only if you want it.” He murmurs quietly. “I respect your wishes for your bed and your body.”
You appreciate his consideration for how you feel and you nod, knowing that this could be considered being unfaithful to your late husband but he’s gone and Pero is here. You want to live your life with him by your side. “Tomorrow I’ll start to find the ingredients for the potion.” You promise, “I will help you.”
“Just be cautious, esposa.” He warns you. “I would hate to have to kill all the men in your village because they tried to burn you.”
You nod, “I know. I’ll be careful. I just - I want to help you.” You promise and lean in to softly kiss him, “I helped Otto. I can help you.” You promise and he hums, caressing your back.
****
“The full moon is soon.” You tell Pero, “I need one more ingredient. I am waiting to get it from the witch in the tavern. You’ll - I’m sorry but you’ll need to turn on this full moon.” You sigh, annoyed with yourself for thinking he wouldn’t have to turn again.
Pero shakes his head and shoots you an amused smirk. “I have spent many years as the monster.” He reminds you. “One more night will not be a problem.” He glances towards the door. “You will stay inside while I change?” He asks. “Or are you going to come outside like before?” He can’t be upset that you had discovered his secret because it had caused you to become closer than ever.
You nod, “I will come outside. I didn’t leave Otto. I will be by your side.” You promise, walking over to him to reach up and cup his cheeks. You bring his face towards yours to press your lips to his, “I trust you with my life.” You promise, caressing his cheeks as you I’ll back to look at him.
Pero would rather you stay inside, but he doesn’t argue. He respects your wishes too much and he’s learned you are a strong willed woman. He chuckles as he thinks about his friend’s warning that he would find a woman as stubborn as he is and fall in love. He has, even though he hasn’t admitted that.
You are glad he didn’t argue as you wouldn’t have listened to him anyway. You know you have to prepare for tonight. For his change. You know he will be worried for your safety but you know he wouldn’t hurt you. “Let me finish preparing for tonight. I need to make sure we are both warm enough since the nights are now long and cold.” You smile and pat his chest until you step away from him to start getting things ready.
He snorts and shakes his head. “I will chop wood for tonight and tomorrow.” Despite knowing you will go out to him, he wants you to keep the cottage warm. He watches you for a moment, still a little guilty about how he has gotten so lucky, before he goes outside to check the animals and chop fuel for the fire.
You prepare for the full moon, bathing after you prepare food for the beast and for yourself. Pero had hunted to have animals ready for when he turns so he’s not covered in blood when he finds you. “I will be fine.” You huff, reaching for Pero as the sun sets in the sky above you. “Don’t worry.” You say as you caress his chest, his shirt off so he doesn’t rip his clothes that you had made him.
Pero leans in to press his lips to yours, having enjoyed the intimacy of the past month, always hungry for your touch. “Esposa….” He pauses for a moment, the words stuck in his throat and he squeezes your hip. “I will see you later then.” He manages after a moment.
You nod, your heart fluttering at the look in his eyes and you watch him walk away into the woods. You sigh, wanting to help him more than anything but the last ingredient has been delayed. You walk back into the house, getting the final things ready for your sleep outside. You eat and close up the cottage, settling into the blankets on the cot Pero used to sleep on. The air is chilly but you have a fire burning nearby and enough blankets to keep you warm. You wanted to stay close to Pero this time and you aren’t scared but your ears perk up with every twig the snaps and rustle of the bushes.
Even if you have seen him in this form, Pero doesn’t want you to see him change. Doesn’t want you around him, in case. There’s a moment before he is completely aware, a moment where the beast could hurt you. So he had gone into the woods. Growling now as he smells you, drawn to the intoxicating scent of your body, your heat. He can sense the fire, but it doesn’t deter him. Watching for a moment as you search the darkness surrounding the fire for him before he steps forward.
You gasp as you sense his presence, waking up with wide eyes as you look at him. “It’s you.” You declare and push the blankets away as he approaches, eyes yellow and nostrils flaring as the fire allows you to see him.
Pero growls, nothing dangerous or in warning, but answering you. He steps closer, showing you all of him again. This time the fire crackles and reveals his entire monstrous form, differing from the darkness of the barn that first time. You don’t shrink back, don’t cower from him and he likes that. Moving to your side and looking down at you.
You watch him as he moves closer, your hand coming up to caress his fury cheek. “It’s okay. I trust you.” You promise, “I love you.” You confess while he’s in this form, wanting him to know you truly don’t fear him.
His eyes glitter and he ducks his head, opening his mouth and his tongue drags up your cheek. His snout is pointed and his mouth full of razor sharp teeth but he licks you and whines slightly, wishing he could tell you how he feels about you.
You sigh, caressing his chest as he licks you. “I know, Pero. I know, my love.” You murmur, tilting your head as he licks your neck and you whimper, liking the way it feels.
He doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at your skin with the large tongue that he possesses in this form. Shifting slightly closer and crowding you on the small cot you had dragged out into the clearing for tonight.
You gasp when his teeth grip your nightgown, ripping it so his tongue can caress more of your skin. You moan, arching your back into his mouth, and you whimper. “Pero.”
His tongue slides around your breasts, lapping at the hard peaks and growling in pleasure at the way you moan for him. Crouching over your body as you spread out for him, like you have so many times before when he was in his normal body.
You pant, “yes. Oh God. I never - with Otto. We - we never did this.” You confess, sliding your fingers through his fur as he laps at you and your cunt starts to get slick enough that you know he can smell it.
He almost pulls back when you admit that. Until he smells you. The sweet, musky scent of your arousal makes his ears prick up and his growl vibrates in his chest as his tongue moves lower. He’s never done this before either, but he will with you.
Your chest heaves as he licks lower until his shoulders are pushing your legs far apart. You have to lift them onto his fur covered shoulders. You squeal as his hot tongue slides between your folds, shocking you.
He’s ravenous at the first swipe of his tongue. The taste of you is instantly addictive and while he’s careful to keep his teeth away from your delicate skin, the large, rough tongue of his is dragging up and down your soaked slit.
You cry out, hips rocking into his tongue and the sensation is so foreign. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. His tongue is hot and wet as he laps at you, flicking your clit with each swipe in a way that has you writhing.
Pero growls into your flesh and starts to lick faster. The wet gulp of his tongue as he laps at you is loud and echoing in the woods but there is no one nearby. He would sense them, smell them. All he can smell is how you are about to cum.
Your cry echoes through the woods, birds flying from the trees as his name resonates back to you. His growl follows moments later and you pant, thighs shaking as your pleasure vibrates through you.
Pero slowly laps at your juices before he pulls away, watching you through yellow eyes as you catch your breath and lay there limply on the cot.
You run your fingers through his fur, eyes closed as you try to catch your breath and you wish you could hear his voice. Know what he’s thinking. You sigh and that’s when you feel his hard length against your calf. It’s huge compared to his impressive human length and your eyes open, “do you want to fuck me?” You ask breathlessly, feeling him grind against you.
He whines, but it sounds more like a growl. He would love nothing more than to fuck you. His animal needs are amplified while he’s changed and he rocks his monstrous hips forward slightly.
You chuckle, taking that as a yes, and you want him. You know this is unusual, you never did this with Otto, but you want to be connected to him. You rock your hips up, letting him know what you want. “I want you inside of me. Please, Pero. Fuck me.”
Growling, Pero pulls back, reaching for you and flipping you over and dragging your hips up. Exposing your ass to the cool night air as he covers your body with his own. Mounting you.
You squeal at the move. It’s so fast it takes your breath away. His cock pressing between your ass cheeks and you grind back against him. Your fists clenched as you kneel on all fours for him. “Please. Take me. Fuck me.” You plead, needing him to stretch you out and take what is his.
It’s not as easy to line up with your cunt as a monster that is so much larger than you are. He pokes his cock against your ass then your thigh, seeking out the wetness of your dripping hole as he rocks against you. Until he feels it catch and he growls as he starts to push inside you, barely keeping from just burying his cock in your body with a snap of his hips.
He’s so big. It’s hard to relax around him with how he stretches you out but you inhale deeply as he slowly sinks into you. “Oh fuck.” You choke, “you’re - it’s huge.”
Pero growls and his cock finally bottoms out inside your tight cunt. Making him throw his head back and howl loudly at the full moon as you squirm under him.
You try to catch your breath, watching him bare his teeth in the moonlight and you grip the cot tightly. “Pe-Pero.” You choke, “move.” You whimper, thighs clenching around him.
He looks down at you, the face of a monster completely feral as he starts to move. Growling and snorting as he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward harshly.
You cry out, unable to do anything but lay beneath him as he fills you over and over again. “Fuck. You’re - you’re splitting me open.” You gasp, but it’s not in pain. Your body stretches to accommodate him and you reach back to grip his fur, pulling on it as he rocks into you.
Pero growls in agreement, feeling your body yielding to the harsh thrust of his cock. Feeling how wet you get every time he plunges deep. You like it, he can tell from the way you pull on his hair. Drawing him closer instead of pushing him away. Under the moonlight he fucks you, ravages you like the beast he is, feeling your walls tremble around him as he ruts into your body.
You are lost to the sensations, unable to rock back since his body is pressing into you and you are making a noise you’ve never made before. You cry out as he pushes you higher and higher until you fall apart beneath him. Your scream echoing in the woods, the moon high above you.
The wetness helps him fuck you harder and faster. His claws dig into the ground on either side of the cot as he hammers into you. Cock swelling and he’s burying himself deep as he throws his head back and howls at the moon again, painting your walls as he does.
You moan, savoring the feel of him filling you up, painting your walls with his thick seed as he stretches you beyond anything you’ve ever felt. “Pero.” You whimper, caressing his fur as he looms above you.
He looks down at you, unable to even imagine having this with anyone else and he can’t. You accept him as he is. You just let him fuck you as the beast. He licks your cheek after lowering his head and he slowly pulls his hips back.
You feel him move off of you, letting the cold air hit you until you cover yourself with the blankets. You are lost in the fact that you’ve just fucked the beast who lives inside the man you love. You sigh, stretching as he whimpers and rests his head on your stomach. “I’m so tired.” You whisper, closing your eyes.
Pero pushed closer, letting the warmth from his body keep you warmer than any fire he could build. Waiting until you are asleep before he lifts you and carries you into the cottage so you can be safe inside. He doesn’t leave, can’t leave you. Watching you sleep until the moon fades and he changes back into a man.
You blink, the sunlight coming into the cottage and you inhale deeply as you remember last night. You hear Pero before you see him. He’s snoring and you lean over to look at him. He’s on the floor and he is human again. You gasp and shake his shoulder, “Pero.”
He bolts upright, instantly on guard for any threat even though he is weaponless and completely naked. He had fallen asleep before he changed by and when he sees there is no one here but you, he relaxes. “It is morning.” He observes.
You nod, patting the bed to gesture for him to join you which he does. “I need to bathe.” He protests despite kneeling on the bed. “As do I. I am sticky between my thighs. Did you - was that enjoyable to you or no?” You ask softly, worried that he regrets bedding you while in his other form.
Pero reaches out and cups your cheek, “esposa, it was the most incredible thing I’ve ever done.” He growls out. “You trusted me, wanted me, as the beast.” He leans forward and presses his lips to yours eagerly.
You moan into his kiss, tangling your fingers in his now shorter hair. Your tongue sliding into his mouth with a whimper as he pushes you back into the mattress to hover over you. “I will always be by your side.” You promise, “always.”
Pero looks into your eyes, seeing the truth of it in your eyes. “You said something, last night, while I was the beast.” He smiles slightly as he caresses your cheek. “Te amo, mi esposa.” He murmurs softly. “I love you.”
You inhale sharply, unaware that he felt the same way. You surge forward to press your lips to his, caressing his cheeks as your heart pounds in your chest. “Te amo.” You repeat in his mother tongue, knowing that even if you cannot cure him with your potion, you’ll accept all of him.
Pero sighs softly and closes his eyes, unable to believe his luck. He has a home, a wife who accepts him, and now - loves him. He smiles and pulls back. “Come, I want you to soak in the hot water.” He murmurs. “You must be sore from taking me last night in my other form.
You nod, noticing how sore you feel when you shift and you know you wouldn’t change a thing.
****
You frown, staring out the kitchen window as you try to remember the last time you bled. You aren’t sure and you are trying to remember. When you realize how long ago it was, your eyes widen and you look down at your stomach. You bite your lip and wonder how far along you are.
Pero curses as he blows through the door again, the stack of wood outside replenished and he is lucky that he runs so hot otherwise he would be freezing. “The animals are watered and fed.” He grunts as he bars the door and hangs the heavy skin over it to keep from letting cold air in. “They should be good for a few days and the wood is ready to burn.” He turns to find you staring down at your stomach and he is immediately worried something is wrong. “Amor?”
You didn’t even hear Pero walk in and you sigh, looking up at him. “I- I think - I don’t remember the last time I bled and I think- Oh I think I’m with child.” You choke, worried about his reaction
Pero’s eyes widen as he looks from your uncertain face down to your stomach. “What- are you certain?” You shake your head and Pero swallows harshly. “Do you- what do the witches say about a creature breeding a human?” He asks. “Have they heard of such a thing?” He would not have you in danger by carrying a monster that could kill you,
You nod, nervous about it but you know you want his child regardless of what it could be. “They - they said some have carried a child. I asked them when Otto and I - well, we were never blessed. I never worried but this - this is our child and I don’t care if they are like you or not. I want it.”
“Amor….” Pero steps closer and cups your cheeks. “Is it safe?” He asks, knowing childbirth is anything but, but he also doesn’t want to lose you needlessly.
“As safe as any.” You say and you grip his shoulders, looking into his dark eyes. “I can take the potion. I am meeting the witch tonight. I can take it too. Maybe our child will be spared from the curse.” You say, leaning in to press your forehead against his chin.
He can tell you want this child, he can see how you yearn for it. He wraps his arms around you. “Then we will talk to the witch, see what she knows.” He murmurs softly. “A child.” He chuckles dryly. “I never imagined having a babe, esposa. I do not know how to care for one.” He admits. “But you will show me, no?”
“We will learn together, my love.” You promise, “and I will love you no matter what. No matter who you are and who our child is.” You vow, “I’m your wife.” You promise, softly kissing him again and you know that you’ll be fine. No matter what happens. You know that you’ll be together until the day you die. What you imagined with Otto, but he is gone and he gave you a second chance with Pero. Something you’ll always love him for.
Please, rb the fics you appreciated, that's how they live 💛🙏
Check the warnings before reading
(dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏)
Joel Miller
Lead me not into temptation | part 23 @tateypots
Closer @time-for-my-weekly-spanking (Tess x reader x Joel)
Trying to control her attraction to you was one of the hardest things Tess had ever done. But she'd succeeded. Until you made it clear how much you wanted to get closer to her. For Joel, falling into this scenario was just the natural closing of the circle
Endorphins @baronessvonglitter
The hot personal trainer in your neighborhood gives you a one-on-one session
Marking @mcthsman
Your boyfriend catches everyone’s eyes. Joel, for the most part, doesn’t seem to notice but you know better: They want him just as much as you do, and you need to figure out a way to keep people away
Love on the brain @time-for-my-weekly-spanking
As a storm rages over Jackson, you finally confront the man who saved you. And who has chosen to ignore you, even though you're forced to live in the same house. You’re pretty much convinced he hates you. And like a flash of lightning that tears through the sky and lights up the night, the truth finally dawns before your eyes. And maybe it's not what you expected…
Give me another @shadowqueen2024
After a few days of Joel working late with patrols, watch duty or contacting duties for Jackson's safety, comes with the price of not being able to spend as much time with you as he'd like. Since today is his day off, the two of you spent it being lazy, staying at home, ending with the perfect nighttime routine you had missed
Gifted kid burnout @hanahleah
After weeks of working overtime, between looming deadlines and a dreaded annual performance review something just had to give. The AC gave out first. You weren’t far behind
Baby mine | part 1 | part 2 @tateypots
After losing Ellie to the fireflies Joel has lost his purpose. He finds a new one when he meets you.
Aka, Joel is obsessed with you being pregnant, whether you want to be or not.
Homecoming @magpiepills
Coach Joel has to deal with cheerleader reader at the homecoming dance!
You should feel lucky | part 8 | part 9 | Joel can't get it up @ess-evo
He wants you, and he is going to find you
Piece of you @aurorawritestoescape
There’s a rule in Joel’s house — you give him a hard-on, you deal with it!
The wolf you feed | part 8 @arcane-fox
Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter
Joel Dealing with His Girlfriend (pre-wifey): Milestone @pedge-page
Clint Flood
Obligations of love @ess-evo
Clint is the man of your dreams. You're planning a wedding; every day with him is filled with love and affection, so then why do you have a knot in your stomach every time he leaves home?
Marcus Pike
Restoration @peepawmiller
Marcus is a workaholic, and you're not sure your marriage is strong enough to handle the strain
Javier Peña
Headcanons @cowgirlscrubs
Until the end of time @cozymochaa
You and Javier have the house to yourselves this weekend
Din Djarin
Eyes drabble @sawymredfox
Pero Tovar
Magnolia blooms with you | Act II @kokoluwie
Deciding to stay at The Great Wall of China might just be the best decision Pero Tovar has ever made. Peace after annihilating the Tao Tei? Maybe. In love with a comrade? Absolutely. Retirement plan? Secured
Dave York
Video vixen @baronessvonglitter
You're Dave's favorite camgirl and his ultimate fantasy. Could he ever see you as anything else?
Frankie Morales
When I think about you, I touch myself @aurorawritestoescape
Your older brother Santi has always been against you dating his hot best friend, Frankie Morales, so when the cockblocker leaves town for a week, you work out a daring plan to seduce the man of your wet dreams
The small things of a whole | part 3 | part 4 @sawymredfox (Frankie x Ben Miller)
A gentle morning coaxes a meaningful conversation and a revelation
Oh baby @aurorawritestoescape
Frankie finds your panties in his pocket and his mind starts wandering
My writing
Somewhere only we know (Javi p x reader)
It’s a story about two people who are very dear to each other, but too scared to turn their friendship into something else. They search for each other in other people and places until fate brings them back together at the right time
Synopsis : Oh the joys of being sandwiched between two of your favorite men.
Clint Flood (Freaky Tales) & Joel Miller (The Last of Us)
The room smells like whiskey and sweat, the low hum of the city beyond the windows muted by the thrum of your own racing heart. Clint’s back is against the wall, shirt half-buttoned, belt hanging loose. Meanwhile, Joel’s sprawled across the worn leather couch, legs spread wide, forearms resting on his knees, watching you like a predator with a dark glint in his eyes.
And you’re caught between them. You don’t know how it started, just that it did. A glance from Clint, a brush of Joel’s rough palm against your thigh, and the air thickened with a heat that settled low in your belly. Now you’re standing there, lips swollen from kisses, skin flushed, breath hitching.
“C’mere, baby. Let us take care of you.” Joel’s voice is low, that familiar southern drawl wrapping around you like silk.
Clint chuckles darkly, stepping closer, his knuckles grazing your jaw as he tilts your face up to his. “Don’t make her choose, Joel.” He murmurs. “She’s ours tonight.”
Your knees nearly buckle at the weight of their attention but Joel rises from the couch, stepping in behind you, his big hands settling on your hips. His lips graze your neck, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse as Clint’s mouth claims yours in a kiss that steals your breath. You’re sandwiched between them now, Joel’s rough calloused hands pulling your skirt up while Clint’s fingers work at the buttons of your blouse, lips trailing down your throat. You shiver as cool air hits your bare skin, your bra undone and pushed aside by greedy hands.
Joel growls low against your ear, his breath hot. “Gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart. Gonna have you screaming for both of us.”
Clint’s hand slides between your thighs, teasing over your panties before yanking them down. “So wet already.” He murmurs approvingly, fingers dipping between your folds. “She’s ready for us.”
You gasp, hips rocking into his touch but Joel’s hand slides between your legs from behind, his thick fingers joining Clint’s, stretching you out and making you whimper. The contrast of their touches, Clint’s sharp teasing strokes and Joel’s steady claiming pressure, has your head spinning. They share a look over your shoulder, a silent agreement passing between them and then they’re moving you toward the bed. Joel lays you down first, his hands firm but careful as he settles between your legs, his mouth hot and possessive against your core. Clint stands beside the bed, undressing slowly, watching with that cocky grin of his as you writhe beneath Joel’s tongue.
“Fuck, she’s perfect like this.” Clint murmurs, voice low and rough. “All spread out for us, takin’ what we give her.”
You cry out when Joel slides two fingers into you, curling them just right, his mouth relentless. Clint steps in, stripping the last of his clothes and kneeling by your head, his hard length brushing your lips. His voice is almost a plea when he murmurs, “Open up, darlin’.” You do, taking him into your mouth while Joel works you below, his deep groans vibrating against your skin. The combined sensations are overwhelming, Clint’s thick salty-sweet taste on your tongue, Joel’s skilled fingers pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“Such a good girl.” Joel murmurs against your slick folds, his voice rough with need. “Taking both of us like you were made for it.”
Your orgasm crashes over you, blinding and all-consuming and they don’t stop, Joel keeps working you through it, Clint thrusting shallowly into your mouth, his hand tangled in your hair. They pull back only to reposition you, Joel’s thick cock replacing his fingers as he thrusts deep inside you, while Clint slides in behind you, pressing his lips to your neck, his cock hard and insistent against your back.
“Ready for both of us, sweetheart?” Clint whispers, biting down lightly on your shoulder. You nod, breathless, eyes half-lidded, completely at their mercy. Joel groans as he starts moving, slow and deep, while Clint pushes in behind you, the stretch nearly too much but you want it, need it. Their combined weight, their heat, the way they fill you, push you past pleasure into something primal. You’re caged between them, marked by their hands, their mouths, their bodies, completely owned and worshipped.
And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Dave York (The Equalizer 2) & Marcus Pike (The Mentalist)
The air crackles with tension, thick and heavy like a storm about to break. You can feel both their eyes on you, Marcus leaning against the doorframe in his fitted button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his gaze soft but hungry. And Dave was seated in the worn leather armchair across the room, legs spread wide, a predatory smirk tugging at his lips. You stand there, the heat of their combined attention wrapping around you, leaving your skin prickling and your breath hitching.
“Come here, sweetheart.” Marcus says, his voice low and steady, but there’s a hint of command beneath his usual warmth. You cross the room toward him, your bare feet silent against the floorboards, your pulse pounding louder than the rain tapping against the windows. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing over your lips as his dark eyes search yours.
“You sure about this?” He murmurs, voice rough with restraint.
Before you can answer, Dave’s low chuckle cuts through the air, dark and laced with heat. “She’s sure, Pike. Look at her.” He rises from the chair, stalking toward you like a man who’s made up his mind. His hand comes to rest on your hip, his grip firm, fingers digging just enough to make you gasp. “Aren’t you, baby?”
“I want both of you.” Your voice comes out in a breathless whisper.
That’s all it takes. Marcus’s mouth crashes against yours, his kiss deep and hungry, while Dave steps behind you, his hands slipping beneath your shirt, palms hot against your skin. You’re sandwiched between them, Marcus’s soft but insistent lips on yours, Dave’s rough calloused hands exploring your body from behind, his breath hot against your neck. They peel your clothes away slowly, Marcus’s touch reverent while Dave’s greedy. Marcus kneels to trail kisses down your stomach, his hands skimming your thighs, while Dave unbuttons your jeans, pulling them down with a roughness that leaves you gasping. By the time you’re naked between them, you’re trembling with anticipation.
Dave growls low in your ear, his hand sliding between your legs, fingers teasing. “So wet for us already.” He murmurs. “You’re gonna take us both, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Your whimper is all the answer he needs.
Marcus rises, his hands steady as he cups your face again. “Look at me.” He says softly. “You’re safe. We’ll take care of you.” His lips brush yours as Dave sinks to his knees behind you, his tongue tracing along your slick folds, making you cry out. Marcus catches your moans with his mouth, swallowing every sound as Dave works you from behind, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you open for him. The contrast between Marcus’s gentle steady control and Dave’s rough demanding touch makes your head spin.
When Dave stands, his chest pressing against your back, he growls. “On the bed now.” Marcus guides you there, laying you down with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. Dave joins you, stripping the last of his clothes with a predatory grin. They flank you, Marcus kissing you deeply, his hands exploring every inch of you, while Dave kneels between your legs, his thick cock brushing your entrance.
“Ready for me, baby?” Dave murmurs, his voice low and rough.
“Yes…” You breathe, arching into him.
Dave pushes in slowly stretching you, groaning at the feel of you wrapped around him. Marcus watches, his pupils blown wide, stroking himself as he waits his turn. When Dave starts moving, hard and deep, his hands gripping your hips, Marcus leans down, his mouth capturing your moans, his free hand teasing your breasts.
“You’re so good, sweetheart.” Marcus murmurs. “Taking him so well. My turn soon.”
Dave’s thrusts grow erratic as he groans your name, pulling out just long enough for Marcus to replace him, his cock sliding into you with a stretch that has you gasping. Marcus’s touch is more measured, his thrusts steady and deep, but Dave isn’t done. He positions himself behind you, his cock brushing against your other entrance.
“You can take us both, can’t you?” Dave growls against your shoulder, his breath hot and heavy. “Be a good girl for us.” Your breathless whimper is all the permission they need.
The stretch is overwhelming, the sensation of both of them filling you, claiming you, making you theirs. You’re caught between them, your body trembling, your mind blank with pleasure. They move together, their rhythm perfect, their hands and mouths marking you as theirs. When you finally shatter, it’s with both their names on your lips, your body clenching around them, dragging them over the edge with you. They collapse against you, breathless and spent, their hands stroking over your skin, murmuring praise and promises. And in that moment, tangled between them, your body marked by their touch, you’ve never felt more wanted, more cherished or more complete.
Dieter Bravo (The Bubble) & Javi Gutierrez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)
You didn’t plan this.
It started with a look, Dieter’s lazy smirk from across the suite, the glint of mischief in Javi’s warm brown eyes as he leaned closer, his breath ghosting against your neck. A casual drink had turned into heated touches, whispered confessions, and before you knew it, you were here naked between them, breathless and trembling, caught in a perfect storm of pleasure.
Dieter’s hands are on your hips, his rings cool against your flushed skin, as he pulls you back against him. His cock brushes your entrance, the anticipation making your knees weak. Behind you, he leans in, his voice a low, teasing growl in your ear. “Ready for me, baby? Gonna fuck you so good.”
At the same time, Javi kneels in front of you, his hand cradling your jaw, his thumb tracing over your parted lips. His voice is gentle, contrasting Dieter’s edge. “Querida, open for me, hmm? Let me feel you.” You’re breathless, completely at their mercy but you nod, opening your mouth for Javi just as Dieter slides into you from behind, stretching you with a deep rolling thrust that makes you moan around Javi’s length.
“Fuck…” Dieter groans, his hands tightening on your hips as he drives deeper, his pace already rough and demanding. “So tight, baby. You feel so fucking good.”
Javi’s hips shift, his cock filling your mouth, his moan a soft, desperate sound as he strokes your cheek, guiding you to take him deeper. His voice is low, shaky with restraint. “You’re perfect like this.” He whispers in Spanish, his words a heated rush against your flushed skin. “So beautiful with your mouth full, taking us both like a good girl.” Your mind spins with sensation, the deep relentless thrust of Dieter behind you, the heat and weight of Javi’s cock in your mouth, the way their voices blend into a haze of pleasure. You moan, the vibrations making Javi’s hips jerk, a soft curse falling from his lips.
Dieter’s pace quickens, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing in the room, his voice rough with need. “Shit, I’m not gonna last if you keep sucking him like that, baby. Fuck.”
Javi pulls back slightly, letting you breathe for a moment, his hand caressing your cheek, his eyes dark with desire. “Slow down, hermosa. Let me feel you, savor you.”
But Dieter’s not having any of it, he groans, thrusting harder, his grip almost bruising, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. “No, don’t slow down. I wanna see you messy and ruined, taking us both.” Your whimpers are muffled by Javi’s cock as he pushes back into your mouth, his control slipping, his hand tangling in your hair. The intensity of being stretched, filled, taken by both of them is overwhelming, you’re dizzy with it, your body a live wire of sensation.
“Such a good fucking girl.” Dieter pants, his thrusts turning erratic. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna fuck you full of me while you suck him off.”
Javi’s voice trembles, a mix of praise and desperation. “I’m so close, querida. You’re perfect. Perfect.” You’re right there with them, your body taut with pleasure, your mind spinning from the dual sensations, the delicious stretch, the way they use you and worship you in equal measure. When you finally break, it’s with a muffled cry around Javi’s cock, your body trembling violently as your orgasm crashes over you, clenching around Dieter so tightly it drags him over the edge with you. He spills inside you with a deep groan, his hips stuttering. Javi follows, a shuddering breath escaping him as he comes into your mouth, his voice breaking as he murmurs your name, praise falling from his lips like a prayer. They both pull you into their arms, breathless, bodies tangled and sticky, their hands soothing over your flushed skin.
“You’re ours now.” Dieter murmurs against your neck, his voice low and possessive.
Javi’s lips brush your temple, his voice a soft, reverent whisper. “Siempre nuestra.” And in their arms, between roughness and tenderness, demand and worship, you find the perfect balance you never knew you needed.
Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) & Ezra (The Prospect)
The air in the dimly lit quarters is thick with heat and tension, heavy with the weight of desire simmering just beneath the surface. You feel both of them, Din standing tall and imposing, still half-armored, his helmet discarded, his dark eyes drinking you in, and Ezra, lounging on the edge of the bunk, his rough hands tracing lazy circles over your skin, his smirk dark and inviting.
“You’re ours tonight.” Din growls, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine.
Ezra chuckles softly, the sound rough and warm, his voice curling around you like smoke. “Can’t wait to see you fall apart between us, pretty girl.”
Your breath catches as they close in on you, their bodies caging you between them, their touches possessive and reverent all at once. Ezra’s hands are already at your hips, tugging your clothes away with a practiced ease, while Din’s gloved fingers slide up your spine, his heat searing through the thin fabric of your shirt. They strip you slowly, Ezra’s touch teasing and playful, Din’s methodical and firm. By the time you’re bare before them, you’re trembling with anticipation, your skin prickling with need.
“On your knees, cyar’ika.” Din murmurs, his hand threading through your hair, his grip firm but gentle. “For me.” You sink to the floor, heat flooding your cheeks, your heart pounding wildly. Ezra moves behind you, his rough hands gliding down your back, over the curve of your ass, his breath hot against your skin.
“Don’t worry, pretty girl.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. “I’ll take good care of you.” Din steps closer, his cock thick and hard, brushing against your lips. You open eagerly, your tongue flicking out to taste him, the salty tang of his skin making your head spin. He groans, low and rough, his hips jerking slightly as you take him deeper, your lips stretching around him.
Behind you, Ezra kneels, his hands gripping your hips, spreading you open. You feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance, the stretch making you gasp around Din’s length. “Fuck, she’s tight.” Ezra growls, his voice ragged as he pushes into you, inch by slow inch, filling you completely.
Din’s hand tightens in your hair, his cock hitting the back of your throat as you moan around him, the sensation sending vibrations through him. “That’s it, cyar’ika. Take me. Take us both.”
The two of them move in tandem, Ezra’s thrusts hard and deep, his pace relentless as he drives into you from behind, while Din guides your head, his hips rolling slowly, letting you savor the weight and heat of him in your mouth. You’re lost to the sensations, the stretch, the fullness, the way their voices blend into a rough, possessive symphony around you.
“You’re so fucking wet for us, pretty girl. Gonna come all over me, aren’t you?” Ezra’s hand slides around to your front, his fingers finding your clit, circling it with practiced ease, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.
“Look at you, taking us both like a good girl. You’re perfect.” Din’s voice is strained, his restraint fraying as you hollow your cheeks around him, taking him deeper.
Your body tightens, the pleasure building to a breaking point, your moans muffled by Din’s cock as you tremble, clenching around Ezra, dragging him over the edge with you. He spills inside you with a ragged groan, his hips jerking against yours.
Din pulls free just long enough to let you breathe, his cock slick with your spit and his own arousal. His voice is rough, almost desperate. “Not done yet, cyar’ika. Open wide for me.” You do, lips parted and tongue out, and he thrusts back into your mouth, his hips snapping forward as he chases his release. He spills down your throat with a low, broken growl, his hands cradling your head as you swallow every drop. When he pulls back, both of them gather you up between them, their bodies warm and solid against yours, their hands stroking over your trembling form.
“Told you we’d take good care of you.” Ezra presses a kiss to your shoulder, his voice soft and teasing.
Din’s lips brush your temple, his voice low and possessive. “Ours, cyar’ika. Always.” And in the quiet aftermath, tangled between them, your body marked by their touch, you feel utterly, deliciously ruined.
Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier) & Jack “Whiskey” Daniels (Kingsman)
The low light of the hotel room flickers against the walls, the air thick with tension and need. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, it was clear what the night would bring, the heat in Francisco’s dark eyes, the knowing smirk playing at the corner of Jack’s mouth as he poured himself a glass of bourbon, leaning against the dresser with an easy dangerous confidence.
“Looks like we finally get to see what you’re made of, darlin’.” Jack drawls, his voice smooth as honey, but with an edge sharp enough to cut.
Francisco’s hands are already on you, pulling you in, his grip rough, his kiss bruising and possessive. “She’s all mine first.” He murmurs against your lips, his voice low and full of heat. “You just watch, cowboy.”
“I’ll enjoy the show.” Jack raises his glass, his eyes dark and glittering with anticipation.
Francisco wastes no time, he strips you bare with practiced ease, his hands roaming over your flushed skin, his lips trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat. He pushes you onto the bed, spreading your legs with a rough commanding touch. “God, look at you.” He growls, his voice thick with desire. “So fucking perfect.”
Behind him, Jack leans back in the chair by the window, sipping his bourbon, his eyes never leaving you. “That’s it, Frankie.” He murmurs, his voice low and sinfully amused. “Show me how she falls apart for you.”
Francisco’s cock is thick and hard as he lines himself up, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts into you with one smooth, powerful stroke. You cry out, the stretch deliciously overwhelming, your body already trembling from the force of him. “Fuck, so tight.” Francisco groans, his thrusts deep and relentless, his body pressing yours into the mattress with every roll of his hips. “Taking me so good, baby. You’re fucking perfect for me.”
Your gaze flickers to Jack, who’s watching with a slow, dangerous smile, his eyes dark with heat. He takes another sip of his drink, his gaze devouring the sight of you being used, fucked senseless by Francisco. “You look so pretty like that, sweetheart.” Jack murmurs, his voice a lazy drawl that makes your skin flush. “All spread out for him, moaning like a needy little thing. Thinkin’ about how I’ll have you next.”
“She’s mine right now. But don’t worry, Whiskey. You’ll get your turn.” Francisco growls, the sound primal, possessive, as he drives harder into you, his pace punishing, his voice rough with need.
The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, the bed rocking beneath you as Francisco takes you hard and deep, his thrusts shaking you apart. His name tears from your lips, a desperate breathless cry, your fingers clawing at the sheets as your body tenses around him.
Jack’s low chuckle rumbles through the room. “Go on, darlin’. Let him hear how good he’s making you feel.” With one final, deep thrust, Francisco spills inside you, his grip tightening as he groans your name, his hips jerking with each wave of his release. He collapses against you for a moment, panting, his skin slick with sweat.
Slowly, he pulls out, his breath ragged, his lips grazing your ear. “Get ready, baby.” He murmurs. “It’s his turn now.”
Jack stands, setting his glass down with a deliberate clink. His smirk is slow and wicked as he saunters toward the bed, shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. “Now it’s my turn to see what you can take, sugar.” He drawls, his voice thick with anticipation.
And as you’re laid bare again, caught between their possessive ravenous gazes, you know the night is far from over.
Harry Castillo (The Materialists) & Marcus Acacius (Gladiator II)
The moment you step into the softly lit room, you can feel their eyes on you, Harry’s gaze, dark and hungry, a spark of mischief glinting behind his easy charm, and Marcus’s sharp unyielding stare, full of primal intent.
They don’t waste words. Harry’s hands are on you first, pulling you closer, his lips brushing your jaw. “Been waiting all night for this, baby.” He murmurs, his voice low and rough against your skin.
Marcus steps in behind you, his strong hands gripping your hips possessively, his lips at your neck. “Let’s see how loud we can make you beg.” He growls, his tone thick with an edge of command.
They work together to undress you, Harry’s touch teasing and playful, Marcus’s slow and deliberate. By the time they’re done, you’re breathless and flushed, your skin prickling with anticipation. They lay you out on the bed like an offering, your legs spread wide between them. Harry kneels between your thighs first, his eyes dark with intent as he leans in, his breath ghosting over your slick, heated skin. “God, you’re so wet already.” He murmurs, his voice a mix of awe and hunger.
Marcus joins him, his large, calloused hands stroking up your thighs, parting you even wider. “Perfect.” He growls, his lips pressing against the inside of your thigh, his stubble scraping your sensitive skin.
Then they both dive in, Harry’s mouth hot and insistent against your clit, his tongue flicking and circling with expert skill, while Marcus’s lips find your entrance, his tongue thrusting inside you, tasting you deeply. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out, your hands fisting in the sheets, overwhelmed by the dual assault of their mouths. The contrast between Harry’s teasing licks and Marcus’s deep possessive thrusts of his tongue sends sparks of pleasure racing through you.
“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.” Harry’s voice is low and teasing, his breath hot against you. Marcus growls in agreement, his tongue working you with increasing intensity, his fingers digging into your thighs to hold you steady. They take turns, switching seamlessly, Harry’s mouth sliding lower, his tongue delving deep inside you, while Marcus’s lips close around your clit, sucking and flicking with just the right amount of pressure.
You’re trembling, your hips bucking helplessly against them, your cries growing louder with each stroke of their tongues. They moan against you, the vibrations making you shudder, your body tightening like a bowstring about to snap.
“Come for us.” Marcus commands, his voice a low growl against your clit. Harry hums his agreement, his tongue thrusting deep inside you, his fingers pressing into your hips to hold you down.
The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, your vision going white as you scream their names, your body convulsing between them. They don’t stop. Harry’s tongue laves gently over your entrance, tasting every drop of your release, while Marcus’s lips and tongue continue to tease your clit, drawing out your pleasure until you’re a trembling breathless mess beneath them.
When they finally pull back, both men look up at you, Marcus’s gaze dark and intense, Harry’s lips glistening with your slick, his smirk lazy and satisfied. “Think you’re ready for more, baby?” Harry murmurs, his voice rough with desire.
Marcus growls softly, his hand stroking your trembling thigh. “She’s perfect. Let’s show her what else we can do.” And you know the night is far from over.
Javier Peña (Narcos) & Tim Rockford (Merge Mansion)
The night hums low with anticipation, the dim light of the room casting shadows over the walls. You’re pressed between them, Javier on one side, his dark eyes heavy with hunger, and Tim on the other, his smirk sharp as he trails a hand up your bare back.
“You’re sure about this, sweetheart?” Tim murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling tease against your ear. You don’t hesitate. You drop to your knees, the thick carpet soft beneath you as you glance up at both of them, feeling the heat in your belly coil tighter with every heartbeat.
Javier groans softly, his fingers brushing your hair back as he unbuckles his belt, the sound sharp and commanding in the quiet room. “Christ, look at her.” He mutters, his voice thick with need.
Tim’s already pulling himself free, his cock hard and flushed, the sight making your mouth water. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding you to him first. “Go on, baby.” He coaxes, his voice rough but playful. “Show us how good that mouth of yours is.” You wrap your lips around Tim’s cock, taking him deep, your tongue swirling over the sensitive head. His groan vibrates through the air, his grip tightening as he rocks his hips, shallow thrusts against your mouth.
Behind you, Javier’s voice is a low growl. “My turn.” He says, and you feel the brush of his cock against your cheek. You turn, your lips wet and swollen, and take him in, the bitter-salt taste of him filling your senses. Tim groans as you pull back from him, your hand stroking his length while you give your attention to Javier, your mouth working him with the same slow teasing strokes. They both groan, their hands tangled in your hair, their hips rocking in unison, driving you to take more of them.
“That’s it, baby.” Javier pants, his voice rough. “Fuck, you look so pretty with your mouth full.”
Tim chuckles low, his voice tight with pleasure. “She was made for this.” He says, his tone rich with pride and desire.
You alternate between them, your hands stroking the length of each cock as your lips and tongue tease and pleasure them, their groans and curses filling the room. Their combined scent, the taste of them on your tongue, makes you dizzy with need, your own arousal slick between your thighs.
“Gonna come for you.” Tim growls, his hand tightening. “Gonna fill that pretty mouth.”
Javier’s voice is a sharp, low growl. “Me too. Fuck, you’re perfect.” Their hips jerk, one after the other, as you take them both in turn, your lips wrapped around Tim, swallowing him down as he groans your name, then Javier, tasting the salty release of his need. They collapse back, panting, as you sit back on your heels, your lips swollen, your breathing heavy. Their gazes are hot and possessive, their hands reaching to pull you up between them.
“You’re fucking amazing.” Javier mutters, his lips brushing yours.
Tim’s grin is slow and wicked. “Don’t think we’re done with you yet, sweetheart.” he says, his voice thick with promise.
And you know the night is far from over.
Lucien De Leon (The Uninvited) & Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)
The low hum of anticipation thrums through your veins as Lucien guides you backward onto the bed, his hands firm but gentle as he pushes you down. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs, “You’re going to be so good for us tonight, aren’t you?”
Before you can answer, Dieter’s already stepping closer, his grin wide and wicked as he sets down a sleek velvet bag on the nightstand. “She’s ready.” He drawls, pulling out an array of toys, vibrators, plugs and even a delicate remote-controlled bullet. His voice drops, teasing. “We’re going to have so much fun with her.”
Your breath catches as Lucien’s hands stroke your thighs, spreading them open, his dark eyes gleaming with hunger. “Let’s start with something slow.” He murmurs, reaching for the bullet.
Dieter kneels on the bed beside you, his fingers brushing your hair back, his lips grazing your jaw. “Relax, baby.” He soothes, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrays his intentions. “Let us take care of you.” Lucien’s fingers slip between your thighs, parting you gently, and you shudder at the cool touch of the toy against your slick entrance. He eases the bullet inside, his thumb grazing your clit as he clicks the remote on. The low buzz fills the room, vibrating deep within you.
You gasp, your back arching as Dieter’s hand finds your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple, twisting just enough to send jolts of pleasure through you. “Oh, she’s already so responsive.” He murmurs, his voice a low purr.
Lucien chuckles softly, his thumb flicking the remote, increasing the vibration. “Let’s see how much she can take.” He murmurs, his voice rough with desire.
Your hips writhe helplessly as the vibrations intensify, the toy pressing against sensitive spots inside you, your breath catching with every pulse. Dieter leans in, his lips brushing yours, his kiss slow and possessive as Lucien’s fingers tease your clit in slow, deliberate circles. The combination is maddening, Lucien’s relentless teasing, Dieter’s heated kisses and roaming hands, the toy’s deep insistent hum. Your moans grow louder, your body trembling, but every time you get close, Lucien clicks the remote down a notch, easing the vibrations, denying you release.
“Please…” You whimper, your voice breaking.
Dieter’s grin widens. “Oh, she’s begging already.” He murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek. “What do you think, Lucien? Should we let her come?”
Lucien’s voice is low and dangerous. “Not yet.” He growls, his hand sliding beneath you, his fingers stroking your slick folds as he watches your face twist in pleasure and frustration. “Not until she’s completely falling apart.”
Dieter laughs softly, pulling a second toy from the bag, a slim glass butt plug, and coating it with lube. “Let’s see how she handles this,” he murmurs, his voice teasing.
Lucien holds you steady as Dieter eases the plug inside your other hole, the cool glass making you shiver. The sensation of being so completely filled, the toy pulsing inside you, Lucien’s fingers at your clit and Dieter’s teasing words against your ear, pushes you to the edge.
“Now…” Lucien murmurs, clicking the remote to its highest setting, the vibrations deep and relentless.
You shatter around them, a cry tearing from your throat, your body trembling uncontrollably as pleasure crashes over you. Dieter’s mouth finds yours, muffling your moans, his kiss hot and possessive. Lucien groans softly, his fingers working you through every wave of your release, his lips trailing fire down your throat. When you finally collapse, boneless and gasping, between them, they both pull back slightly, watching you with satisfied, hungry gazes.
“She’s perfect.” Lucien murmurs, his voice low and rough.
Dieter grins, his fingers brushing your flushed cheek. “And we’re just getting started, baby.”
Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes) & Reed Richards (Fantastic 4)
You feel the weight of their eyes on you as you stand between them, Marcus Moreno, his eyes dark and heavy with need, and Reed Richards, his expression controlled, but his gaze betraying a similar hunger.
“You really want this, baby?” Marcus murmurs, his voice rough against your ear as his hand strokes your hip.
You nod, your breath hitching as Reed steps closer behind you, his lips brushing the back of your neck. “Tell us what you want.” He says, his voice low and smooth, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you back against his hard, eager body.
Your voice trembles, but you say it anyway. “I want you both to fill me up.” You whisper, your cheeks flushing as the words spill out. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t think… until I’m bred and full of both of you.”
The growl Marcus gives in response is low and possessive. “That’s it.” He rasps, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider as he lifts you into his arms.
Reed’s chuckle is darker, his lips pressing heatedly against the shell of your ear. “We’ll give you everything you’re asking for, sweetheart.” He promises, his voice full of a promise that makes your knees weak.
They take you to the bed, laying you out between them, your body flushed and trembling with anticipation. Marcus kneels between your thighs, his fingers teasing over your slick folds, while Reed settles behind you, his hands massaging your hips, his cock hard against your back. “Gonna make you feel so full, baby.” Marcus murmurs, lining himself up with your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing insistently. “You’re gonna take all of me, then Reed’s gonna fill you from behind.”
Reed’s hands tighten, his voice rough as he adds, “You’ll feel us both, stretching you, filling you up until you’re dripping with us.” Your moan is breathless, your body arching as Marcus thrusts in, filling you completely, his cock stretching you deliciously. Reed strokes himself against your back, waiting until Marcus is fully seated before he guides your hips back, pressing himself to your other entrance. The slow stretch makes you whimper, the sensation of being filled by both of them overwhelming but so good. They move in sync, one pressing deeper as the other pulls back, their cocks working you open, making you gasp and cry out.
“You’re taking us so well.” Marcus groans, his hands gripping your hips, his pace steady and deep. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna make you ours.”
Reed’s breath is hot against your ear, his voice thick with desire. “Gonna breed you, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “You’ll be dripping with us, full and marked, just like you want.”
Your release crashes over you, your cries muffled against the sheets as they drive into you, filling you completely. They don’t stop, their thrusts deep and possessive, until they both groan, spilling inside you, hot and thick, their combined release spilling from you, marking you as theirs. When they finally collapse beside you, their hands stroking your trembling body, their voices are low and satisfied.
“You’re perfect.” Marcus murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.
Reed’s lips graze your shoulder as he whispers, “Next time, we’ll see just how much more you can take, sweetheart.”
Max Philips (Bloodsucking Bastards) & Maxwell Lord (Wonder Woman 1984)
You didn’t even get a chance to finish your drink before they were both on you. Max Philips leaned against the bar with his trademark smirk, his sharp eyes locking on yours from across the room. Maxwell Lord, ever the charming showman, brushed past him, sliding in close with his hand pressing the small of your back.
“Come on, sweetheart, you deserve more than some bloodsucker with a sharp tongue.” Maxwell murmured against your ear, his breath warm.
Max Philips snorted, stepping in so close his body pressed against your other side. “Please. She knows I’m the only one who can handle her.” He purred, his lips grazing your neck.
They bickered the whole way up to your room, Maxwell’s smooth persuasive words tangled with Max’s sarcastic quips. But the moment the door closed behind you, they fell into a different rhythm. Max Philips was on you first, pressing you against the wall, his mouth devouring yours, his fangs scraping teasingly against your lips. Maxwell’s hands were already at your hips, pulling you back against him, his cock hard and insistent through his slacks.
“Hey, get your own turn.” Max growled, though his hand slid between your thighs, stroking you through your panties.
“Why don’t you shut up and let me show her what a real man can do?” Maxwell shot back, his mouth finding your neck, his teeth nipping at your pulse point. You were gasping, your head tilting back against Maxwell’s shoulder as Max slipped your panties aside and pressed his fingers into you, his touch rough and teasing.
“I’ll make her come first.” Max murmured, curling his fingers just right.
“In your dreams.” Maxwell snapped, his hand sliding up your blouse to cup your breast, his thumb circling your nipple.
Their arguing faded into background noise as pleasure surged through you, your body arching between them, caught in their relentless push and pull. They maneuvered you to the bed, stripping you quickly, your clothes tossed aside as if they couldn’t bear the barrier between them and your skin. Max was already pushing your legs apart, his cock pressing inside you, stretching you deliciously as he hissed in pleasure.
“God, you’re tight.” He groaned, his hands gripping your hips.
Maxwell wasn’t far behind, he knelt at your head, his cock brushing your lips. “Open that pretty mouth for me.” He murmured, his voice low and commanding. You obeyed, taking him in as Max thrust into you, both of them groaning as they filled you completely.
“See? She’s mine.” Max gasped, his pace quickening.
“Bullshit.” Maxwell growled, his hand tangling in your hair as he guided you to take him deeper. “She’s going to come on my cock too.”
Their arguing, their hands roaming your body, their possessive words, it was all too much. You came hard, your cries muffled around Maxwell’s length, your body shuddering as Max thrust deep, groaning as he spilled inside you. But even as he slowed, Max refused to pull out. “Not done yet.” He panted, his smirk lazy and satisfied. “I’m not letting him claim her without a fight.”
Maxwell’s laugh was breathless as he pulled you up, turning you to straddle him while Max stayed buried in you from behind. “Guess we’ll just have to share, sweetheart.” He murmured, his voice rough as he kissed you fiercely.
“Fine.” Max muttered, his hands gripping your hips. “But I’m still going to make her scream louder for me.”
Their combined movements, the push and pull of their bodies, the rough clash of lips, the possessive words, sent you spiraling into pleasure all over again, caught between their rivalry and desire.
Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones) & Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)
You knew the look in Oberyn’s eyes the moment he stepped into the room with Pero Tovar. It was that dark gleaming hunger, the one that promised mischief and indulgence. Pero stood beside him, his broad shoulders tense but his dark eyes full of curiosity and desire. You felt the weight of both their gazes settle on you, and a flush of heat spread through your body.
“Look at my wife.” Oberyn said, his voice smooth as silk, his fingers stroking your jaw. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
“She’s perfect.” Pero’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smirk.
Oberyn’s hand slid lower, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. “I’ve told her many times that I want her bred.” He murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Full and round with life. And tonight, you’re going to help me make that happen.” You gasped, but the sharp bolt of arousal that shot through you left no room for hesitation.
Oberyn turned you to face Pero, his hands sliding over your hips as he pressed against your back. “Do you want that, my love?” He whispered against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin. “Do you want to feel both of us inside you? To be filled so full you’ll be dripping with our seed?”
Your breath trembled, your body arching against him. “Yes…” You whispered, your voice breaking. “Please…”
Oberyn’s low chuckle was dark and possessive. He undressed you slowly, baring your skin to Pero’s hungry gaze. Pero stepped closer, his hands rough but reverent as he cupped your face, his lips crashing into yours with a bruising kiss. Between them, you felt utterly consumed, Oberyn’s hands sliding between your legs, teasing you open as Pero’s fingers tangled in your hair, his tongue claiming your mouth.
When they laid you down on the bed, Oberyn knelt between your thighs, his mouth and tongue working you open, tasting every inch of you as Pero stroked himself beside you, his cock thick and hard. “She’s so wet already.” Oberyn murmured, his voice thick with lust. “She’s ready for you, Pero. Give her what she wants.” Pero moved over you, the weight of him pressing you into the bed, his cock sliding into you slowly, stretching you open. You gasped at the burn and fullness, your hands clawing at his shoulders.
Oberyn’s hands gripped your hips, steadying you, his own cock hard against your back. “That’s it.” He murmured, his voice raw. “Take him, my love. Let him fill you.”
Pero groaned, his pace picking up, thrusting deeper, his breath hot against your throat. “She’s so tight.” He rasped, his voice thick with need. “You’ll feel me leaking out of her when I’m done.”
Oberyn’s growl was dark and possessive. “Not just you.” He said, pulling your hips up, pressing his cock to your other entrance, stretching you with both of them. “She’ll take us both. She’ll be filled from every angle.” The overwhelming fullness, the stretch of both of them moving inside you, made your body tremble violently. They moved together, their cocks stroking deep, their hands holding you open and still.
“You’ll be round with both our seeds.” Oberyn groaned, his lips brushing your ear as he pounded into you. “A child born of both our desires.” Pero’s growls mingled with Oberyn’s low curses as they filled you, their thrusts deep and possessive until they spilled inside you, their combined release thick and hot.
When they finally collapsed beside you, their hands stroking your trembling body, Oberyn’s voice was soft and dark against your ear. “You’re mine.” He murmured. “And now, you’ll carry a piece of both of us.”
summary: The holiday season is starting to feel like a monstrous task until a real monster begins lurking in your dreams… but is he here to scare or save you?
word count: 6.9k
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, Krampus AU (loose interpretation of krampus lore), human/monster relationship, magic transformation & magic elements, reader’s family is mentioned but reader has no physical description, heavy toxic family dynamics & moments of dealing with toxic family, light Spanish use, Pero lifts reader with his monster strength, dreamlike reality, one brief scare of possible animal & human ambush/attacks, voyeurism/consensual voyeurism, masturbation (f), worship, oral (f), p in v, brief mention of mating, grumpy but soft!Pero, brief touch starved!Pero, light hades & persephone vibes
a/n: so hi… no surprise another weird AU from me lmao, but okay this is lightly based off traditional krampus lore & the 2015 movie - but I promise you don’t have to know either for reader! This fic is dedicated to those of us braving the season with rough situations or are feeling alone, know you are magic & deserve peace always [divider credit & thanks to the ever magical @saradika-graphics ]
You wish you could love the holidays, you really wish you could. But in all honesty - you can’t get into the spirit.
This year all of your family pitched in and decided to rent a grand lodge for everyone to stay in. Everyone agreed it sounded like a great idea to truly enjoy true bonding time this holiday season.
You’ve been dreading it the minute your mom booked the flights. An entire holiday vacation spent with the entirety of your extended family out in the mountains loomed like the exact opposite of a Christmas miracle. Now the hustle of the holidays transformed you ambivalent.
Your headache of an aunt, so cruel and condescending in her tone whenever she addresses you, has requested a certain type of wine to have for the holiday trip.
“Why can’t she just bring her own?” You questioned to your mom who simply replied with -
“We just have to grin and bear it.”
You hated that answer.
A part of you has been tempted to simply not show up to the holidays and refuse to go. But you think of your tired parents, the guilt they’ve used to wrangle you into going and how hard it is to say no to them.
So that’s why you stand in front of the wine aisle trying to find that damn specific wine for your aunt.
Further down the aisle you spot it… except there’s only one left.
Caught up in the frantic energy that swirls with chaotic holiday shopping, your focus narrows as you rush over to grab the bottle.
Only for another hand to reach out and snag it first.
You’re taken by surprise.
Then you’re almost knocked flat on your ass when you see the stranger who nabbed it.
The man is stunningly handsome, but terrifyingly so. With a hardened scowl, intimidating scar across one of his eyes, there’s a sort of rugged but poised grace to him that intimidates you.
He stares at you hard, as if he would sword fight you for this wine bottle.
“Last one… Are you looking for this?” His voice floats out accented and beautiful, rich like a warmed cider.
Those dark eyes of his narrow harder, like he really is waiting for you to fight back. Some part of you is a bit tempted to.
There’s a headache awaiting you if you don’t return with this, especially when you think of your awful bitch of an aunt.
Yet the surrender comes effortlessly because who the fuck cares.
You grin, tired and eased.
“No, you take it. Happy holidays.” That’s all you say polite and turn on your heels to walk away from the rows of wine bottles.
Good deed for the end of the year, ‘tis the season and all that.
Your mom of course doesn’t take this well. She’s furious when you call her and admit you were unfruitful in your wine endeavors.
“Don’t take it personally. You know it’s just the stress getting to her.” Your dad reassures the next day when you call him.
You’re sympathetic to your mom’s struggles and try to be understanding. But now it feels the same pressure is going to make you buckle soon like a snowball gaining momentum more and more.
Then the stress leaks into your dreams that night.
A daunting stretch of forest covered in thick layers of snow surrounds you. The bleak scene, even with its eerie stillness, holds a picaresque glow as soft snowflakes flutter around.
You believe you’re alone.
Until another being makes their presence known.
The creature emerges through the shadow of the trees like something conjured out of a hellish nightmare.
Covered in a ratty cloak, the towering demonic horns are the first things you notice. The cloak’s hood casts a shadow over the monster’s face. Against the bleak white landscape the mysterious creature sticks out like an ink stain capturing your attention instantly.
The monster doesn’t approach you, instead waits watching with a stilled shadowy presence.
Possibly out of fear, or maybe even some sick sense of curiosity, you stay frozen staring at the being.
Very slowly it nods, acknowledging your presence.
Then the creature turns and shuffles away.
You wake up confused as ever. Suppose that’s what stress dreams did to you.
But the dreams did not stop.
Every night you wake up in the same beautiful winter world. Confidence trickles in, and you find yourself wandering around exploring more.
Through one side of the forest stretches a barren snow filled field that you could almost picture covered in flowers. Further through the world sits a frozen lake beautiful as it is ominous with its frozen watery layer.
And the entire time you wander these lands, the monster makes his presence known.
He silently steps out from the trees, a wandering horned figure. You almost expected him to attack you at one point, but the creature never does.
Instead you wonder if he’s keeping watch of you.
It clouds your mind every time you wake up, wondering what type of dreams your mind manages to craft up.
“Stress, babe… it’s a killer.” Your best friend tells you over a voice note when you give her a brief summary of the weird dreams you’ve been having.
So you destress as much as you can. Before bed you knock out a chapter of the book you’ve been wanting to finish, even manage to get to bed earlier. However the familiar wintery dream persistsingly greets you.
Except now the beautiful clear icy skies are now covered in a dreamy somber gray. The edge of night approaches. Snow falls more, and a chill runs up your spine.
Then a clawed hand suddenly traces against your cheek.
Your heart stops.
The creature’s claw besides your face now holds up a snow flurry immediately starting to melt.
You don’t scream, don’t move. Yet you find even in the sudden surprise you’re not afraid, simply stunned to be in this creature’s presence.
His towering form is the closest it’s ever been and now you believe you catch the faintest smell of firewood, something deep and cozy.
Your eyes narrow as you try to examine the monster further.
But briskly he turns storming back into the cover of the forest leaving you alone and a bit confused.
A ghastly croak of a voice, like a broken blizzard wind, suddenly says your name.
The snow blusters around harder, fluttering and obscuring your vision.
The next moment you wake up wondering…what the hell do you keep dreaming about?
— ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ —
The weather takes a turn, turning icy as Christmas approaches. It seems to have leaked into everyone’s emotions bringing out a sharp chill.
“I have done everything for you. The least you can do is try and find that damn wine?” Your mom argues frustrated over the phone.
You dad this time stays silent, almost embarrassed. Bitterly you wonder if there will ever be a day when you feel like a respected adult with your parents.
So you ask your dad if maybe he can try to grab the wine. You don’t prefer driving during this weather and get nervous when it gets icy.
“Sorry pumpkin. I have a few things with a friend of mine I gotta do.” He says apologetic.
The frustration bubbles up so much you almost wonder about never speaking to either of them again.
Yet here you are at a liquor store again on the damn wine hunt. Stubbornly you search the shelves and pray this place has it.
“Still searching?” The familiar beautiful accented tone comes.
The mystery wine man appears turning the corner.
He looks devastating in the dark coat he wears. It accentuates his broad beautiful shoulders. The scar against his eye really does paint him like a dashing adventurer.
“Don’t tell me you’re trying to steal another wine from me again.” You half joke, tired.
“Not today.” He promises low.
You gratefully thank him with a weak grin then immediately want to cry seeing the damn wine you’ve been hunting for.
When you go to pay for it, the cashier grins wide.
“Don’t worry about it, someone already paid for it.” He tells you warm and tickled by the good deed.
It must have been your handsome wine stealer. But when you try to find him in the store to thank him, you discover he’s gone.
Later that night the familiar dream returns.
Beautiful towering snowy trees surround you, but this time you begin wandering too far away from your forest.
An icy tundra eerie melts into the landscape hollowed out by terrifying towering glaciers. Their spikes threaten with a somber warning to not pass. The once ideal picaresque world looms dangerous and haunting. Something prickles across your skin as if you shouldn’t be here.
So you turn back around and head back to the forest.
Then the howls come, distinct and spine chilling.
Alone here in this cold winter you turn and discover you’re being hunted.
The wolves emerge from the deeper part of the woods and immediately jump to attack.
You run as fast as you can. But the rushing of paws prowls closer, running faster.
Jaws snap at your heels, and you cry out in panic.
A sudden blustering gale arrives, blowing snow all around. Your body collides into another stronger form. The faint smell of firewood immediately fills your senses. Clawed hands protectively and gently curls against your back.
A monstrous harrowing snarl roars back at the wolves.
He’s protecting you.
Worried, you still turn around and watch the wolves cowering back immediately showing signs of retreat.
You don’t realize it until your body is effortlessly lifted…but your hands have been clutching the monster’s cloak this entire time.
He carries you deeper in the woods. You wonder if this maybe could be worse than the wolves. But with how tenderly he holds you, like something precious, you feel no fear arise.
Being this close you now notice he also smells of fresh pine.
A cabin soon arrives among the bleak landscape. It’s quaint but radiates a cozy warmth. Gently the monster lowers you back onto your feet.
“Are you alright?” His hollowed ghastly distorted voice is surprisingly tender and worried.
“Yes, thank you.” You nod, turning to the cloaked creature.
He nods back. Then with the back of his claw traces against your cheek.
“Catch another snowflake?” You weakly joke.
The monster does not answer.
Your alarm startles you awake and this time you’re pissed you couldn’t sleep any last longer.
The next dream takes you to the edge of a cliff. The snowy forest has transformed again into the icy tundra with projecting glaciers. Their jaded edges warn you not to trespass.
Yet something urges you to keep wandering, keep exploring. You’ve never seen this world like this.
You take a step into the icy land.
“Damn stubborn thing you are!” The familiar growl comes.
Steady claws at your back guide you through the sleek ground.
“You’ve got good timing.” You joke again, and he stays quiet.
This creature lets you wander the edge of the sea where the glaciers tread upon the icy waves.
One large glacier stands looming off among the waves. For some reason it feels ominous like a warning, as if you can sense a storm approaching.
You take a step forward trying to get a better look.
But the ice causes you to slip.
A panicked Spanish curse pierces the air along with a sharp growl. But it gets drowned once you plunge into the water.
You braced for a bitter cold to pierce your body, but the water instead is tepid. You simply float within the abyss. Angered voices sounding vaguely like your parents seem to swirl within the water.
Glancing up at the edge of the water above you, you now try swimming towards the surface.
A human hand reaches out to you.
The man above the distorted waters looks vaguely familiar. But quickly you’re pulled out of the sea and immediately wrapped into the warm cloak.
“You’re going to put me in an early grave.” The monster growls frustrated while he again cradles you warm and tight in his large arms.
You simply focus on your breathing.
The crunch of the snow soothes you, lulling you into a comforted sense of peace.
“Thank you again. Sorry I slipped.” You mutter embarrassed.
The horned beast replies with a gruff dismissive noise.
In a blink the shade of the trees and the cabin approaches, a sanctuary from the icy tundra.
When the creature opens the door, you early await to see what’s inside the cabin.
But then you wake up.
You almost expect to find yourself drenched from the icy waters. Yet only your bed sheets surround you.
A piece of you wondered if that distorted moment might have scared the dreams away. Instead they now start to spill into daylight.
At work you daydream of the icy wonderland. You almost picture yourself wandering the edge of the beautiful lake, circling the frozen depths in an endless peaceful stroll.
But you’re not alone of course.
Staying close to your side is your winter creature. His warmth and presence provide a comforting shadow you find yourself melting into more and more.
As much as the daydreams have filled your mind, the dread comes.
You’ll be heading out to the lodge soon.
The dream you have before you leave on your trip is tempestuous.
A furious blizzard blocks every direction, getting you lost along the blistering cold. A howling roar echoes within the wind.
Yet you never spot your mystery monster.
You don’t get much sleep and that alone feels like another dangerous omen.
The holiday vacation time arrives, and you already hate the pit in your stomach growing as you head to the airport.
Thankfully the cabin is close to a pretty large town. But when you arrive, a sinking horror fills your body.
The forest stretching out around the cabin is the exact same one you’ve been having dreams of.
— ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ —
All the promise and hope to keep everyone in the cabin for the holiday immediately frizzles out. Your dad and uncles head into town to watch a football game at one of the bars. You mom and a few of your cousins want to check out the local shops.
It’s been a bit odd seeing how much time your parents have been spending more apart from each other. You almost had hoped this would be a nice chance to spend time together with them both. But you try shrugging it off as your parents simply enjoying their own lives now not needing to be tied at the hip.
The weather also delays a lot of the flights, giving you a moment of peace before the rush of more family arrives. Suppose these are the small holiday miracles you can be grateful for.
You decide to explore the forest haunting you. This similar landscape, you rationalize, is simply just coincidental.
“Be careful wandering around, don’t get lost in the snow. Remember we aren’t the only ones out here.” Your favorite cousin warns and urges you to text her when you can.
The trees, the familiar soft wintery chill, even down to the lake - it’s as if your dream painted this reality before you. You almost pinch yourself to make sure this is real.
New footsteps crunching on the snow startle you.
“Hi there,” a man emerges, approaching the edge of the lake where you stand.
“You lost out here?” He asks curiously with a polite smile.
“No, I’m fine.” You bluntly tell him.
“Alright,” he holds his hands up. “Just wanted to make sure you’re safe.”
All you do is nod to him and then decide to return to your family’s cabin. Then more footsteps approach around you, as if more have joined.
Out of the corner of your eye, a shadow seems to approach closer.
This is an ambush.
Before you could maybe hope to escape faster, a menacing howl suddenly rips into the air stilling the moment.
“What was that?” A new voice whispers.
So your hunch is right. There’s another here with that man.
That howl sounded so familiar too. Is your mind now trying to self soothe and conjure up hallucinations of the wintery monster here to save you?
As if summoned from your heart, the horned demon rushes out of the trees. With a fierce snarl, his clawed hands swipe at the men aggressively protective.
He’s here, physically here. The terrified screams the men released prove that.
Out of fear, or maybe confusion, your legs buckle and you stumble onto the snowy ground.
The screams of the men dwindle further away. Then a drape of warmth covers you.
A panicked growl of your name comes.
“Are you alright?” The monster asks.
“You’re… how are you here?” You tremble out trying to get a better look at him.
The wintery creature simply releases a low growl of a purr, as if to soothe you. He doesn’t answer your question. But with how effortlessly he moves to cradle you in his arms again, you can’t even bring yourself to press him for answers.
Lifting you up again, he keeps you safe in his hold and walks back to your family’s cabin.
“They… they can’t see you.” You mutter worried about anyone spotting your creature.
“As if I would let them.” He scoffs surprisingly arrogant.
Everything is tangible about him, his gravely voice. The smell of pine and firewood. His accent cloak keeps you warm and you hold onto it with an iron tight grip. Right here under your grasp, surrounding you, this is real.
He is real.
In the bluster of a wind you’re suddenly set gently onto the porch of your family’s lodge. Your creature left in the icy breeze.
That night you have no dreams of the wintery world or of its monstrous guardian. It leaves you feeling empty.
After the escapade in the woods, you decided to simply stay back at the lodge for the day. This time you’re thankful everyone decides to head back into town again.
You actually have the cabin to yourself.
Having this alone time, you slip under the covers and decide to find some more stress relief.
You’re a bit annoyed you don’t have your vibrator, but your fingers you suppose will do just fine.
The edge of your climax, you can taste it on your lips.
Then a sudden growl comes, and panic seizes you.
Snapping your eyes open you glance around your dimly lit bedroom wondering if you just misheard.
Then suddenly the touch of clawed hands curls against your face. Your heart begins to rage rapidly against your chest.
“Keep going.” The voice, it sounds clearer now, still ghastly but with a beautiful melody of an accent.
He’s here again and inside the cabin now.
You want to stop, maybe see if the monster truly is here.
But a strange sensation of not knowing what’s going on, of feeling your body on edge, spurs you on.
Terror and pleasure you discover mold into beautiful partners as your climax approaches faster, building beautifully.
Your breathing mixes in with the heavy growls beside you while your fingers chase and chase getting lost in your own arousal. Until that high hits you and the smell of firewood again fills your senses.
The growls become choked groans, and soon the monster is now curled against you on the side of the bed, appearing out of nowhere.
“May I… touch you?” The creature’s voice asks, hesitant and distant.
You wearily nod.
The claws you once thought would rip you apart in one swipe now reverently glide across your body, slip under your shirt to greedily touch at your skin.
“So warm, you are so warm.” The monster growls but its reverent.
The sensation of his sharp claws against you makes your eyes roll back.
Gingerly he grabs the hand that you used to get yourself off with.
“May I… taste…?” He pants out.
You nod again.
Out from under the hood, you finally catch a glimpse of the creature that has been haunting you.
You’re reminded of classic gargoyles, monstrous and human all at the same time. He leans in and sucks his fingers into your mouth.
Immediately he moans, dangerous and almost drunk you find yourself sounding the same. The edges of fangs graze against your fingers, warning of how dangerous and even real this creature is.
But your mind melts away the fear, letting it drift into blistering pleasure.
“How… how are you real? What’s going on?” You manage to mutter confused.
Then your phone rings loud, shattering the moment.
It’s like your soul gets jolted back into your body, as if you were maybe floating away and now are slammed back into reality.
No monster is here. Yet the wetness between your legs lingers. And your fingers are wet with saliva that is not your own.
Later, you wake up back again in the dream outside the creature’s ancient quaint cabin.
The monster himself steps out. His hunched shoulders make him seem shy, apprehensive now.
“Who are you?” You ask now wanting answers.
“You may call me… Pero.” The grim voice replies twisted in a gravel tone.
Pero.
His name, you assume.
It fits him strangely.
“Have you been stalking me? Is this real? Are you real?” All the questions come fumbling out frustrated.
The wind all around picks up, as if sensing your discomfort.
The creature sighs.
“It is because your family has been chosen… I am keeping watch.” He cryptically answers.
“What the fuck does that mean?” You ask even more confused and slightly frightened.
“I am the shadow that waits and sees. That is all I can tell you.” His answer is sharp, more cryptic than ever and it frustrates you to no end.
“You know what? I’m arguing with a damn figment of my imagination.” You snap.
Guess you could only be impressed at how creative these stress dreams are getting.
The ghastly creature snaps out your name sounding just as frustrated.
You storm away from him and the cabin. Soon the winds howl and swirl around you sweeping you into a blizzard you embrace.
Waking up, you feel colder than ever.
— ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ —
The final hoard of your relatives arrive.
A mass of aunts and uncles you greet polite and kind. A few cousins you’re actually excited to see and their kids who are getting so big.
Of course your bitchy aunt is the first to comment on how you still aren’t dating anyone and said with such horrible judgment you want to slink away.
She doesn’t even thank you or your mom for getting her the specific wine.
One of the cousins you don’t care for has a new boyfriend who is awful, makes a rude comment that already makes you question if you should stay or not. But you try to smile and be composed all through it.
Maybe it’s the emotional strain you’re already feeling, but you gladly head to bed early.
This time sleep wraps around you tenderly and you wake up sitting at the edge of the frozen lake.
You should be scared of this creature, still so worried about what he is and what’s going on -
But right now he’s a comfort you welcome.
You used to think every family just had its snags or issues they had to deal with. But the way this seems to be bubbling up, you wonder if this is finally the time you step away from everyone.
Your best friend living out of state has been begging you to visit her for the holidays so maybe that might be your new plan from now on.
“I just… can’t deal with them.” You admit.
“When I was younger I at least could get excited about the gifts, about the whole magic of the holidays thing, but now…”
Now this season just feels harder, especially because of your family.
“Follow me?” Pero asks in that lowered gruff tone of his.
Placing your hand within his larger clawed one, he leads you into the forest. The crunch of the snow, the soft stillness of the air, eventually you arrive at the beautiful snow filled field.
The sky melts away and there among the stars you watch an array of colors dance.
Your eyes go wide.
An aurora.
The soft wisps painting the starry night take your breath away, make you feel smaller but so beautifully whole within the grandness of the world.
“Peace.” Pero suddenly says quietly. “Sometimes the best gift this cursed season can give is peace.”
That’s what he’s giving you here, a moment away from your mind, from everything.
“This might be a dream, and I might not know what’s going on, but I’ll never forget this. Thank you.” You mutter sincerely.
Gently you move to lean your head against the side of the grand creature. He doesn’t shake you off, simply lets you rest.
Silence settles again with you and your monster.
“It doesn’t have to be.” Pero suddenly speak low, curling closer to you to provide warmth.
“Hm?” You hum.
“Un sueño…A dream. It doesn’t have to be.” He explains and now you’re a bit confused.
“What do you mean?” You turn your gaze from the dancing stars to the looming shadow.
“All of this could be yours. Just say it.” He simply reveals in that gruff almost casual tone of his.
“Why…” your voice wavers a bit. “Why me?”
The creature pauses a moment.
“Because I sensed it… the same ache I have…” he explains muttering, almost bashful.
A loneliness, an ache for companionship.
While the stars and lights continue their dance above, you lean in, getting close to peer under his cloak.
He stiffens a bit, stunned at your actions.
You finally get a glimpse of his full profile.
His eyes are a glorious deep soil, rich and endless like the depths of the earth. You spot a striking nose even among his more devilish features.
Then you notice a familiar healed cut along his eye.
Before you can comment, his claws gingerly reach for your hands.
“Whenever you need me...” His gruff words whisper low, quiet like the first snow fall.
He places a small simple snow globe in your hands.
And when you wake, the trinket is still within your grasp. It doesn’t make sense, maybe nothing has for a while.
But when you place the snowglobe on your nightstand and you realize the landscape inside the fluttering snow looks like your creature’s cabin.
— ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ —
“You kids better behave or else Krampus is going to show up.” Your uncle teases in the middle of the holiday buzz.
“Krampus?” You ask a bit curious.
“He’s a scary monster!” Your cousin’s eldest daughter cries out.
The tale is stitched with the grim chill of a winter storm.
The creature is said to be the shadow of Saint Nicholas, the antithesis to the jolly holiday. He hunts down naughty children and punishes them for not behaving.
The description your uncle paints about the creature causes you to pause.
A half goat, half demonic figure lurking within the shadows -
The image of Pero, the monster from your dreams, immediately flickers to mind.
Maybe you had heard the tale of Krampus before and don’t remember it. Now the stress of the holidays possibly has you rethinking of such a beast.
All the thoughts buzzing in your brain immediately pop when one of your awful aunt starts talking politics and unleashes an uncomfortable vibe.
You wander away from that atmosphere to join your cousin in keeping watch on the kids in the grand living room.
“You don’t think Krampus is gonna get us right?” One of the little boys mutters a bit worried.
“Of course not, you’ve been good.” You reassure.
“He’s not real anyway! Only Santa and Superman are.” One of the older boys declares proud. You’re amused by their whimsy, their belief in beauty and magic.
“Of course. But I heard, Krampus keeps an eye out to punish everyone, not just kids.” Your younger cousin, closest to age in you, says with a playful tease.
Her elder sister gives her a look to be quiet.
The conversation quickly drops when your mother announces from the kitchen it’s time for hot chocolate. The drink warns you and manages to ease the hecticness of the evening.
Just a few more days and you will be leaving, done with all of this.
Suddenly a knock comes at the door.
Quietly following behind your mom, she opens the door.
The woman there is younger than your mom, but the way her face is hardened ages her.
Immediately she demands to talk to your father.
And the world crumbles.
Your father apparently had an affair and a secret child out of it. And the woman here demanding to see him is the child’s mother. She drove all this way out here to confront him.
The barely contained chaos in your family’s cabin spirals into a free fall that feels as if it will never stop.
“Oh it’s not like you’re any better.” Your dad snaps at your mom.
He reveals he knows she’s also been having an affair. It’s what pushed him to having one of his own.
Everything unravels as if you’re in a nightmare, distorted and disastrous. The screaming, the terrifying fear of watching your family fall apart, all overwhelms you.
Unable to handle any of this, your favorite cousin urges you to leave with her and stay with them in town for the night. Managing to quickly shove all your necessary items into a bag you cry utterly devastated in the car.
You think of the dream where you slipped into the icy waters and hearing your parents shouting through the muffled waves.
Was this the impending doom you felt?
Whatever it is, you shove it all aside.
There in the bag you hastily threw together, the snow globe sits almost patiently waiting. Emotionally you snatch it into your hands and shake it, watching the fake snow fall.
But nothing arrives. No bluster of wind or sign of your monster.
You wipe away the tears, trying not to cry again.
Curled up on the couch, you manage to fall asleep. Tired and puffy eyed you have a dreamless slumber.
Maybe this is the end of your adventures in that wintery world.
Until a soft claw against your cheek pulls you from your sleep.
There among the soft light of the television that you accidentally fell asleep with on is the monster of the winter. His horns cast a devilish shadow across the wall, terrifying at first but comforting now seeing him here.
Under the cloak you catch a glimmer of his dark eyes.
“Mi tesoro…” Pero’s gravely voice melts into the darkness.
You feel like a shell of yourself, unable to even process what to say.
You’re just grateful he’s here.
He came.
Wearily you sit up, and as best as you can you wrap your arms around him in an embrace.
His claws tenderly entrap you in the most comforting way keeping you close.
“Take me away… take me from all of this, please.” You manage to croak out.
“Soon, I swear it.” He vows.
“If this is your true wish… find me again in our forest.” Pero mutters tenderly before the tears blur your vision and he vanishes.
You don’t get much sleep that night. Gathering enough courage, you return back to your family’s cabin with your cousins.
You’re not surprised your mom or dad have left. They haven’t even checked up on you.
“I always knew those two wouldn’t last. I mean…look at the child they raised after all.” Your aunt tries to pretend to be whispering to her husband but knows you’re in range of hearing her.
This entire moment, the twinkling lights, the endless stretch of food, the hollow polite smile, feels like a crumbling facade you want to smash with your hands.
“I’m going for a walk.” You announce and no one seems to notice in the cacophony.
Bundling up, you head straight into the snowing woods without looking back once.
Further and further you enter the forest until the surge of a gale comes, whipping around. A warmth, soft welcoming warmth, suddenly surrounds you.
You’re in his arms.
Drawing back from Pero’s embrace, you glance around and discover you’re inside a beautiful cozy cabin.
“This is…” you mutter.
“My home.” He finishes answering for you.
It’s quaint, spartan in a way with everything having a certain purpose for a need. Nothing more or nothing less. Yet you can’t help but feel a sense of hollowness, like this cabin longs for a spark of things to fill the walls.
Pero whispers your name.
Turning to him, he draws the hood back.
There instead of the monster, a man gazes back at you.
No horns, just a beautifully familiar handsome man.
You inhale sharp.
It’s him. The man from the stores, your wine thief.
“You owe me a wine bottle.” You laugh watery.
He frowns annoyed pouting, which manages to make him even more dashing, causing you to laugh more.
It’s been him this whole time.
Your hand draws up to his face. His cheek is warm and firm under your palm.
Pero’s molten eyes haze over. With a broken exhale, he instantly melts into your touch. His hand clutches onto yours now as if he’s afraid you’ll leave.
He’s been alone this whole time.
Another ancient sigh leaves him.
“Your family has been marked for punishment. That is why I am here.” He explains opening his eyes with a weary heaviness.
Everything slowly falls into place.
Krampus.
This man, this creature, is Krampus. And his reckoning has arrived.
“Is that why you’ve been following me?” You whisper realizing the truth.
“No.” His eyes sharply snap to you, resolved and urgent.
“I never meant to… get so close.” He explains. “But then that day, at the store.”
It apparently was a test. Your mom, dad, aunts and uncles - all failed. You were the final one.
“You showed kindness. Even when you were so angry.” Pero’s voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.
“So I kept watch, waiting to see your true intention, but now…” His arms tighten around you.
A moment passes.
“I am a selfish creature, a selfish man,” he begins again. “If I take you… you will not be able to live in your old world any longer.”
You think of your mom and dad, how they haven’t once even messaged you if you’re alright. You think of your best friends and how you will miss them more.
But everything inside you now yearns for the beautiful icy landscape. For him.
“Can you… spare my cousins at least?” You ask humble and worried, thinking of them, of their kids, and how kind they’ve been to you.
“Sí, for you I will.” Pero nods with a vow in his voice.
You want to be here with him.
Slowly, cautiously, you lean forward closer to him.
His rough warm human hand runs up to your face and draws you closer.
The kiss at first is tentative, cautious and gentle.
Then when you sigh, melting more into him, his lips suddenly chase yours desperate, unleashing so much in you. Immediately you clutch onto his arm, trying to get closer.
Effortlessly Pero picks you up then slowly lowers you in front of the fireplace.
A soft fur rug gently greets your back. Against the fire light Pero glows like a lantern lit god.
“You’re beautiful,” you mutter to him.
He shakes his head.
Wearily he helps lift your sleep shirt off and moans at the sight of you.
“No… you are beauty.” he whispers reverently before leaning down to consume you and you welcome him.
“Pero…” you whisper his name.
“Soon,” he swears. “We will be together soon. Just… let me hold you.”
His embrace is beautiful, all encompassing and warm.
Then the comfort vanishes, suddenly you’re back on the porch of the lodge. It’s night and the stillness is eerie.
Your favorite cousins are relieved to see you home. They forgot something in town so they’re taking the kids back and asking if you want to join. You can’t leave. You’re waiting for someone after all.
Your mom and dad have returned. Of course they had to salvage some of their dignity at the big holiday dinner.
You move almost on autopilot.
Then, the lights go out in the cabin.
“Some shit cabin we paid for.” Your uncle scoffs while everyone tries to light candles.
A growl emerges in the dark.
But you welcome it among the panicked screams as a shadowy figure against the walls creeps in.
Seeing the looming figure, the terrifying horns, you smile. Krampus sweeps you into his hold, roaring. The chaos unfolds fast. Someone screams your name, but you don’t look back as the creature and wind takes you.
You leave them in terror and welcome the warmth of the cabin.
Immediately your hands grab at him, reaching to kiss his monstrous form that melts away among the fire light. It’s a clumsy but beautiful embrace trying to get off your clothing as fast as you can.
You and Pero tumble onto the soft rugs.
“They will say that I stole you…” he mutters, kissing the heat of your skin, letting his tongue swirl around your chest.
“Let them.” You sigh back, slipping more into this molten bliss.
“I want them to know I’m yours.” The words mumble out of you.
A growl sounding more like his creature counterpart rumbles in his chest as he fiercely moves up to kiss you again.
“Let me taste you from the source.” He rumbles and before you can truly process what he means, Pero slides down your body and immediately buries himself between your legs.
He consumes you, messy and devouring with a fervor that pulls the wildest sounds from you.
As if you’ve become a winter creature just like him.
Wearily, when he brings you beyond the edge, Pero gently flips you onto your tummy and lifts your hips up.
He places tender kisses up your spine traveling up to your face.
“If l claim you, mate you… you will be mine forever.” He mutters.
In a loving way, he’s giving you another out, as if cautiously telling you this is the point of no return.
Without hesitation you turn your face towards this handsome being and kiss him.
“Please…” you whisper now begging him.
A delicious growl comes from deep in his chest, and he places a kiss against your neck.
Curled on top of you, you and him move as one. It melts you down to your bones.
One of his hands stays clutching yours.
It speaks of something that you feel stitches into your heart -
You will be mine…and I will be yours.
You will never be lonely again because I will now cherish you until the end of our days…
— ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ —
The soft chime of an alarm wakes you, and your face scrunches in annoyance.
A louder growl of annoyance mirrors yours while strong arms pull you into a comforting embrace within the blanket cocoon.
“Of all the damn things…you wanted to bring that cursed noise maker here.” Pero grumbles.
“You said you wanted a way to help keep you on schedule and not sleep in,” you mutter, kissing his beautiful neck.
“Yes…it included me waking up between your legs-”
You playfully nip at his neck now making him playfully hiss as if he’s in pain.
“You wound me this early,” he mutters annoyed, ever the grouch.
To soothe him, you kiss him syrupy and slow.
“Good morning, my dearest.” You whisper to him.
“Buenos días, mi amor.” He mumbles back.
The winter settles deep here and even with the piles of blankets you hoard, being entangled with him is still your favorite and so hard to leave.
The sun has started to arrive earlier here. It spills in illuminating your cabin and the rest of this beautiful world. You have lost count of how many days you have spent here now. A part of you wonders if maybe you have always been here and the rest of your life with your parents was the dream.
At the edge of the lake, around the path you’ve come to see as your favorite sport to wander, beautiful buds have begun blooming among the snow.
Eagerly you scurry to see the new greenery here in the winter landscape.
The soft white petals almost blend in with the snow, as if these flowers did not want to stand out too much.
“Snowdrops.” Pero’s voice announces the flower’s name.
“They’re beautiful.” You admire keeping your gaze on the new buds.
You didn’t know flowers could bloom here and even tell this to Pero.
“The first signs of spring. I did not know they could arrive so soon either.” He gruffly explains.
“Spring never comes here?” That surprised you.
He shakes his head.
“It's been so long…Not until you.” Your wintery creature admits.
It’s as if the flowers have bloomed and burst into the very center of your chest.
“By spring everything will be covered in them… my poor nose will suffer.” Pero scoffs, pouting as if he’s annoyed by this fact.
But the way his eyes glimmer so soft speaks of a truth you find comfort in.
Effortlessly you lean forward to kiss your dear husband, heartfelt and feeling beautifully tied to him more than ever.
If you are his spring, then he is your soft winter that brings you a quiet peace.
Hand in hand, you walk with your Krampus along the lake admiring all the new flowers making their way into the world.
Tag list (but no pressure to read): @leadyoutothelight @sin-djarin
maybe this is too specific but can anyone pls rec me a pero tovar fic that involves time travel? i would just DIE to see him face the modern world or maybe a modern reader going to the past?? if this doesn’t exist someone should absolutely write it pls 🥹🥹
Wow this would be so cool!!!
I feel like I saw one that involved past lives.... maybe if someone remembers that, it can scratch your itch? Or if someone has time travel! Like and outlander type... hmmmmmmmmmm
Set in the 11th century, the plot centers around Pero Tovar after the events of The Great Wall, the bad fate that finds him, and the struggle he goes through to get back home. But also the people he meets, the love he meets, and how bad fate, can turn into good fortune for both him and the most unlikely woman.
Warnings for the whole series: graphic violence, slavery, abuse, references to non-con sex, arranged marriages, time period typical stereotypes of both men and women and anyone "foreign".
No use of Y/N and the reader is kept as blank as possible, but, she's the daughter a Norse lord in 11th century Norway and will have features that correlate to that.
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*
🤍Masterlist 🤍Pero Tovar Masterlist
💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers
Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.
Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits.
Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang.
He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle.
And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote.
Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.
Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.
His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on.
Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end.
Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.
But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –
Her.
He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.
He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights.
His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will.
It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor.
Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.
So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him.
What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down.
“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”
“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.
“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”
The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window.
“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”
He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.”
The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world.
All in the time in the world – for what?
To fail? Again?
He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell.
Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:
“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?”
Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –
“It’s unlocked, Pero.”
His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men.
And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again.
But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet.
Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable.
“Yes?”
A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.
But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare.
“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”
Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again.
“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.”
He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword.
There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.
“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm.
He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.”
You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.”
All the longer without you.
“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.”
You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.
“He finds them all beautiful.”
Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too.
This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight.
But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.
“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with.
It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?
“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”
He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.
“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”
The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand.
“You watched me dance?”
“All guardsmen were required to –,”
You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.”
Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm.
Sana, sana.
“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”
“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”
You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?
“Not even to . . . say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”
He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?”
There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.”
Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way?
“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”
There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.
“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.”
The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.
He bows to you.
“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”
The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.
He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart.
He gets to the door and pauses.
If you have nothing else to say . . .
Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.
Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–
Nothing comes through, but one single word.
“Don’t.”
The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.
“What did you say?”
A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar.
Fuck it.
He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.
“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.”
The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth.
He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel.
Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.
“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?”
“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”
Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?
You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last.
“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape.
"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."
That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you.
You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.
He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob.
“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.”
“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.
“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under.
“Pero, I –,”
“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.”
For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his.
The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.
There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar.
All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe.
“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.
A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.
"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on."
You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.
"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”
He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him.
“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised.
“Unless you don’t want –,”
The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest.
“Can you feel how much I want you?”
A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places.
He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword.
A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress.
Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.
Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed.
You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him.
His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh.
Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor.
“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.”
He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both.
“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips.
This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.
Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils.
That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”
“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.
The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.
“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”
He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”
His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm.
“Oh, oh, Pero—,”
With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand.
“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.”
The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body.
“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing.
“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress.
“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.
With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace.
He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs.
But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.
When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear.
“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth.
Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough.
With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly.
“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving.
His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.
“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”
His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire.
Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets.
With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again.
“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”
The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.
Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care.
Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter.
The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.
Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums.
“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.”
You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest.
“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.”
“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.”
You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.”
His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more.
“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss.
“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”
At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.”
You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.”
“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.”
You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.
“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.”
Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble.
“Tell me, Tovar!”
He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs.
“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”
He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides.
“Have you had your fun yet?”
“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.
“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”
Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.
“You are everything to me.”
You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.
“You’re so very lucky I love you too.”
His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.
“I know, ranita, I know.”
He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips.
His heart lurches with the wanting of you.
There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest.
He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks.
Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted.
He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it.
You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known.
The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart.
I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you.
He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.
El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.
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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!
