“HE GOT LIFE!”

whatever MY special interest is my wife #mywife

Cherished

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: You see Pero for who he really is under his gruff exterior.

Warnings: canon time period, protective!pero, mention of past violence (not by pero), unsafe horse riding position so suspend belief lol, unprotected p in v, pull out method, fluff, soft!pero, the picture does not depict reader, no y/n, barely edited because it was more for fun/to try something new than anything else

a/n: a failed drabble because i have too much to say. my first attempt at Pero but it's really just a fun little nothing.

*dividers by @firefly-graphics

Tracks of dried tears paint your cheeks as you sit far back from the circle of men situated around the fire. The cold air of the darkened desert brings chills through the thin fabric of your dress.  In an attempt to stay warm, you pull your arms tighter around your body and try to ignore the rumbles of your stomach. 

The blonde haired one – William – looks your way again, “Miss, you need to sit by the fire or at least accept our furs, otherwise you will never survive the night.”

“I want to go home.”

Through a mouth full of bread, “You do not have a home any longer.”

William harshly nudges his fellow mercenary, the one with the long scar down his face, “Pero,” he hisses at the man in disapproval.

Pero glares at his friend, “¿Qué? She does not.”

Anger and sadness consume you, “Then take me back to what is left of it!”

Hours earlier, it had been Pero and William, along with their group, who came to the rescue of your tiny village.  The billowing smoke luring them in to discover a gang of bandits had destroyed every home and building while murdering any person they came across.  Their victims included your father and younger brother. 

Pero was the one who had heard your tormented screams, riding his horse towards the heart wrenching sound to find a burly, bearded man grabbing you by the hair to subdue you, no question as to the man’s intention with you. 

The grip on your hair loosened when Pero rode by and swiped his sword clean through the bandit’s neck.  Turning his horse, he rode back to you and extended his hand, “Vamos! Now!”

As you started to stutter out about your slain family, Pero again urgently, and now annoyed, repeated his demand.  A quick look around showed the carnage of the place you once called home, bandits now fighting with these newly arrived men.  Without thinking any further, you grabbed Pero’s hand and he practically lifted you on strength alone. As you swung your leg over the saddle behind him, he shouted at you over his shoulder to hold on tight.

Shivering, you hug yourself tighter, eyes glancing around the campsite before returning to keep vigilance on the group of men before you.  Just because they seemingly saved you, does not mean they are not looking to abuse you in some way. 

The man in their group with the green tunic laughs, “I will take her back if that is what she wants.”

The words would have excited you had it not come from this man, because you have seen how he has been eyeing you since Pero helped you off the horse once you all made it to the campsite. 

Pero eyes the man with disdain, “You go anywhere near her and you will die of blood loss, amigo.” 

Hearing the threat surprises you.  Maybe Pero’s taken notice, too…and maybe Pero’s the one who wants to claim you. 

The man laughs at the Spainard, “Just because you brought her here does not mean she is yours.”

Pero’s glare darkens, “She is no one’s.”

“Every woman belongs to a man.  She now needs a new one to claim her,” he taunts Pero, “I volunteer.”

As William goes to scold the man, Pero stands and kicks at the flames to successfully hit the man with burning hot tinders, “Try it and die!”

As the men argue, you take that time to grab a nearby fur.  Wrapping it around yourself, you use the cover of darkness to quietly sneak away from your spot a few feet away.  As soon as you are out of sight, you begin to run as fast as possible which is hindered by the damn sand. 

You run until you can no longer breathe easy.  Slowing to a walk, you realize now how much of a terrible idea this probably was.  The stars provide minimal light and the fur does nothing to keep your legs and hands warm. 

It shouldn’t have surprised you when you heard movement far back behind you.  The unmistakable sound of a sword thumping against a strong thigh as the sound of galloping is dampened by the sands.

“Just let her go, William,” Pero grunts just as he and William reach you on their horses.  Ignoring his Spanish friend, William brings his horse to cut in front of your path, “Miss, it really is not wise to be running off on your own.  Let alone in the darkness of the night.” 

Pulling the stolen fur closer around your shoulders, you look up between him and Pero, “I do not care! My family has been murdered! I cannot leave them lying on the ground like they were.  They deserve a proper burial,” you begin to whimper at the memory of their slain bodies surrounded by blood.

William sighs, his heart broken for you, but at the same time knowing the decision is a reckless one, “I am so deeply sorry for your loss, but going back is an unfeasible option.”

Just as you open your mouth to protest more, Pero interjects, “I will take her.”

The words have both you and William in shock as you look to the gruff man. 

“Pero,” William warns at his decision.

Pero’s eyes are on yours and even in the dim light of the moon, you think you see compassion in them. He gives a small nod, before looking to his blonde friend, “We leave now and we have a good chance of making it back by morning.  Maybe this will settle her down,” he adds in typical Pero attitude. 

The roll of your eyes at those last words cannot be helped.  You almost believed him to be changing to a kinder soul until he finished his thoughts.

Pero hums in annoyance, “Or perhaps I take back my furs you have stolen there, and allow you to carry on alone?”

He had spotted your ungrateful expression it seems. 

“You touch me and I will slit your throat with your own sword,” you warn him before he takes you any further.

A humorless laugh from the scarred man, “I will hand you the sword myself.  But fear not, I have no want to touch you, señorita.  Not every man falls upon your feet.” The satisfied smirk on his face is in response to the clear offense you take at him insinuating your think so highly of yourself. 

With a groan, he pushes down on his saddle and slides backwards making room in front of him.  He then reaches an open hand down to you, “We leave now.”

“Why am I not to be behind you?”

Pero sighs heavily with simmering aggravation, “You just threatened to kill me with my own weaponry.  Better I have you where I can keep an eye on you.”

Irritated, you take his hand with a huff, and just as earlier, he’s practically lifting you on his own strength alone until your legs are spread over the saddle, your back to his chest. 

His arms circle you as he reaches around you to hold the reins.  Bidding goodbye for now to William, Pero begins the ninety-minute journey back to your village. 

No words are spoken, nor do you want there to be.  The imagery of the slaughter of your village replays over and over in your mind. Emotions are welling in your chest with every mile you’re closer. 

By the time you make it back, the sun has still not risen.  Pero cautiously looks around for any lingering enemies as his horse trots back into the destroyed village.  He remembers exactly where he found you and brings you back to your home.  Before the horse has even fully stopped, you’re bringing your leg over to slide off the saddle even as Pero attempts to grab you to help your descent.  Falling to your knees, you abandon the furs, and quickly rise to run towards the remnants of what was once your home.  Half the roof has been burned, collapsing inside the abode you grew up in.  Two of the walls have collapsed along with it and the bodies of your family are amongst the rubble – killed first before the home was destroyed around them.

Pero stands on the stirrup to swing his leg around, dismounting while watching you, “Querida, be careful!” he shouts a warning from behind.  The structure is easily no longer as stable as it once stood.  With a hand on his sword’s handle, he approaches your home, ducking under a fallen beam as you had to enter inside the portion still upright.  There you are, back on your knees, sobbing over the dead bodies of your father and brother. 

He would be no man if he did not admit that his heart hurts for your loss.  No one deserves to see their family brutally killed like that.  Leaving you to grieve, he walks the main beaten path of the village, checking each home for the items he seeks.  The shovel he finds laying on the ground near a burned body and the cloths hanging up as if put to dry – most likely by the woman lying dead nearby.   

You aren’t exactly aware of how much time has passed since you got there, but by the time your tears have finally dried there’s a peek of sunlight at the horizon.  Pero’s footsteps as he leans down to enter has you gasp in momentary fear, forgetting briefly just how you got there.

Tucked under his arm is a bundle of cloths.  Pero shifts his elbow in gesture and with the gentlest tone you’ve heard him use so far since the short time you’ve known him, he utters, “To wrap them in.”

Nodding, you wipe at the final drying tears on your face.  He’s over to you in two strides and takes a gentle knee as he begins to unfurl the sheets when your hand on his shoulder pauses him briefly.  With a sniffle that cracks his heart, you lean down to press a light kiss to his cheek, onto the part of his scar that sits below his eye.

“Thank you,” you whisper with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder.

With emotions swirling in his chest, all he can do is give you a short nod in return.  Together, you and Pero wrap their bodies, as gently and caringly as you would hope he would.  Upon finishing, you remind him, “I need to dig their – their graves, now,” the words getting stuck in your throat at the finality of them.

“It’s already done,” he shares.  

You look to him where he stares back at you, a silent understanding of your unspoken gratitude for his labor. 

It is Pero who carries each one outside for you, guiding them each down into their own resting place right outside.  When you grab the shovel before him, he steps back and allows you this as you cover each one back up with the disturbed dirt.  He gives you a few minutes once you’re finished before he has to speak up, “Querida, we need to leave now. Or – or do you want to stay here alone?” he questions.  No one said you absolutely had to return with him.  They had taken you out of precaution for your safety – it was by no means a kidnapping. 

Looking at the two mounds of fresh dirt, tears fill your eyes, but you look at Pero anyway, “What would you do with a woman like me amongst your group?”

 His eyes soften, “Not what you are fearing.  We can teach you to fight like us, survival skills.  Make you useful or to eventually have you head off on your own.”

That man they have though, “The one in the green tunic.  I fear I am not safe around him.  I heard how he spoke of me back at the fire.”

An anger passes through Pero’s eyes, but you know it is not towards you, “I will speak to William about him.  Until then, I promise you that he and I will protect you.”

“You do not like me, why would you do that?”

“I never said I did not like you,” he quietly protests, “Though it seems you do not like me.”

“That is not true,” you look at him, “You are gruff and rude, but it does not stop me from appreciating your soft moments.”

There’s a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth at your blunt honesty and roundabout way of saying that you don’t mind him without actually saying that you “like” him.  He steps closer, reaching out to close a hand around the shovel’s handle, “So what is your choice then, querida?”

The steady motion of the horse lulls you to sleep on your return journey back with Pero.  Seated in front of him once again, the furs stolen from him wrapped around your shoulders, you lean heavily against him.  Your head has turned, pressed against his neck and jaw.  The small, tickling breaths from your parted lips sending chills throughout his body at having you so intimately close. 

It’s the splashes of cold water that awaken you.  Rain drops pelt your linen dress and the parts of your skin that are uncovered as Pero’s Spanish is said in annoyance as he looks up to the darkened sky. 

“I need you to trust me.  Spin around and hook your legs and arms around me,” he instructs somewhat hurriedly. 

“Why?” you ask in surprise.

“Because we will freeze to death once the rain picks up unless I get us to shelter.  I cannot speed up the horse with the way you are sitting.  Too risky of you falling off.”

The rain does become heavier and Pero’s waiting for you to fight him some more when to his surprise you do as he says.  He pulls the horse to a brief stop to help steady you with an arm around your waist as you swing your legs up and over a few times until your thighs are draped over his and your arms circle his neck. 

There’s a warm buzz settling between you as your faces are as close as they’ve ever been, eyes seeking out the other’s.  Droplets cascade down the skin of you both before Pero is shaken from his daze by a crack of thunder. 

“You hold on tight,” he instructs before he cracks the reins and leads the horse into a fast gallop in a new direction.  As told, you hug your body to him, your cheek pressed to his as he grips the reins, guiding the horse into a fast gallop. 

The clicks of his tongue and the occasional, “Aye!” towards the animal causes a warmth to spread along your body.  The shivers follow when a few times, Pero’s hand presses to your back briefly as he praises you, “You’re doing well, hermosa. Just like that.”

The harsh movements of riding have your clothed cunt lightly bouncing against his chainmail.  While you manage to bite your lip for most of the ride, there’s been a few embarrassed moments where a moan has slipped out right next to Pero’s ear. 

He makes no indication he heard you, but he has.  The chainmail hiding the half-hard member he’s sporting from the sinful sounds you’ve treated him with. 

Pero takes you to a cave he’s used before for shelter.  He trots the horse right in and his hand spreads against your lower back as the rain is finally cut off.  Both of you are drenched and he can feel you shivering against his palm. 

“Querida, we need to stay here until the weather clears.  And I need to get you warm before you fall ill.” 

With the motion of the horse still, you now realize your teeth are chattering a bit.  With a nod, you don’t utter a word when he slowly slides his hands along your skirt-covered thighs, guiding you back enough so you can swing your leg over.  As you sit side-saddle, he has you grip his hand this time before you slip off.  His grip helps you glide down instead of falling to your knees as before.  As he descends right after you, he ties the reins to a branch sticking inside the cave and then walks over to a pile of logs that seems to have been re-used over and over.  In no time, he has started a fire.   He guides you over to stand near it before opening the saddle bags and pulling out two blankets that were tucked inside. 

The surprising gentleman, Pero spreads one down on the ground before telling you to sit.  He then lays the other over your shoulders.  You thank him, and scooch closer to the flames as you watch him rid himself of the heavy chainmail, leaving him in his thin tunic that is slightly damp.  He sits on the opposite side of the fire, holding his large hands out to warm up. 

“Pero,” you call sweetly to him.  The brown of his eyes sparkle in the firelight as he looks to you across the flames. 

Opening your arm and the blanket, you silently invite him to join you.  There’s no reason he should allow you to hog it.

“You need it more,” he nods. 

“You’ve given me both.  As noble as it is, it is unnecessary for me not to share.”

Looking at you once more, confirming in your expression that you’re comfortable with the idea, he slowly stands and makes his way over to you.  Taking a seat right next to you, he takes hold of his end of the blanket and wraps it around himself.

“Gracias, hermosa.”

“I hope the names you call me are not entirely dreadful,” you tease as you glance at him.

It makes the closest thing to a smile appear on his face, “I promise they are nowhere near.”

Despite the fire and the blankets, he can see and feel you still shivering. 

A clear of his throat, “Your dress is soaked through - you will never warm with it on.  I can turn my back and allow you to disrobe so it may dry more quickly. You may have the blanket to yourself to stay covered.”

He’s right.  And when you turn your head to look at him, he keeps a point to stare straight ahead at the dancing flames. 

“Very well,” you agree.  He glances at you and gives a short nod before standing and walking a few feet away where he turns around as promised. 

It’s only a couple minutes before he hears you announce, “You can turn back around now.”

As he does so, his breath catches in his throat.  You stand before him completely nude.  The flames paint your soft skin in colors of strength, dancing along your body like a dream.

“Querida –“ he breathes, eyes unable to stop from roaming from your full breasts to the patch of hair between your beautiful thighs. 

You take slow steps towards him, “Pero, I trust you to warm me up.  Unless, you believe the blanket is the best way.”

As you come to stand right in front of him, his eyes land on yours.  You watch as his throat moves with a swallow.  His arms stay glued to his sides and you begin to worry you’ve taken a terrible leap of faith.

“Do I not attract you?” you take a step back, lips beginning to frown.

He licks his lips before the grit of his voice speaks up, “I fear I may not be able to stop once you allow me to start.  Are you certain you want me?”

That beautiful mouth of yours turns into a sinful grin as you step back into him.  Your eyes never leave his as you reach for his hand and bring it up to cup your breast.  His eyes instantly darken with lust as you press it against the weight of your flesh.  His fingers close around it, squeezing the delicacy. 

The sudden gasp from your lips surprises you both. 

“Pero, take me,” you breathlessly urge. 

His hands hurriedly fit to your face as he steps into your body, lips landing on yours as he kisses you fiercely.  Gripping his hips, you press yourself to him.  The hard line of him presses against your cunt causing you to moan against his mouth.  Grabbing the hem of his tunic, you pull it up and he only breaks from your sweet lips to allow you to void him of it.  He trembles when your hands run from his torso to his chest before your arms surround his neck.  The perk of your nipples press against his firm chest and his tongue licks into your mouth before your tasting his in return.  Eager hands grab at your ass, squeezing hard before they’re flying up to run gently down the back of your head, “You truly thought you did not attract me?” he mumbles hastily into the heated kiss. His lips then drag from your mouth across your jaw.

A sharp inhale of arousal, “You told me you had no interest,” you grip the back of his head as he ruts his hips against you. 

He nips at your skin, “I was hoping to convince myself,” he admits.  He leaves a wet kiss where your shoulder meets your neck and then he makes your squeak in surprise when he lifts you into his arms.  He carries you over to the blanket, taking a knee before gently laying you down.  You welcome him as he hovers above you, nails dragging down his ribcage to the slim lines of his waist.  He slots his lips over yours, tasting you slower this time.  The tips of your fingers slip into his waistband and push the calfskin down until his cock springs free and his ass is uncovered. 

The kiss is halted when his lips instead part and hover over your own as you wrap your hand around him, pumping him as his groans of pleasure coast across your mouth. 

As soon as your hands are sliding back up his bare chest, his mouth crushes to yours. 

“May I fuck you, querida? Bury myself inside your beautiful body?”

Your already spread legs open wider and he feels your heels hook around his calves, “I want every inch of you inside me.  Fuck me with the same energy you’d use to protect me.  Prove to me that I belong with you.” 

He sweetly smooths a hand across your temple, “Then you’ll have every part of me, hermosa.” 

As he guides his cock to your soaking pussy, you gasp at just how thick of a head he has when he breeches your puffy lips.  Your whine in approval, hips lifting in a bid to get him inside faster.  Pero chuckles and soothes you with a kiss.  Once the tip of him is inside your slickness, he settles between your legs. 

“My sweet girl,” is all he whispers before he snaps his hips forward and sheathes himself entirely within your velvet walls.  Your body arches in intensity as your keep eye contact with him, a deep moan falling from your open mouth. 

“Oh, Pero,” you whine, clawing at his back as he pulls out and once again buries himself deep and fast inside of you. 

His lips leave soft kisses around your face, “You fit perfectly with me, querida, do you not agree?”  You quickly nod, “You have me stretched so full – so full, it feels incredible,” you moan, lips pressing to his.  One of his large palms glides from your waist down the line of your body until he’s holding your thigh to his hip.  He wraps his other hand under the back of your neck, kissing you deeply before his starts pounding into you. 

“Yes, Pero!,” you cry out, your wails echoing off the cavern walls.  You grasp his face and pull him into a wet, sloppy kiss before giving him quick encouraging nods as your high-pitched gasps urge him on.  Every punch of his cock sends an erotic moan spilling from your throat.  Somehow he fucks you even faster and you need to sink your nails into his broad back to hold on. 

He feels it then, the slow pulsating of your walls before they’re beginning to close tighter around him. 

“Oh! I’m so close – I’m – I’m – Pero, oh fuck, I’m coming!” you mewl just as your cunt hugs his cock tight.  Your body trembles below him, a scream of pleasure caught in your throat as your mouth forms a perfect O while your body seizes before trembling once more. 

“Ohhhh!” finally releases from your body.  Pero’s hips don’t stop until he’s gripping himself and pulling out.  With deep groans, his spend shoots from the reddened tip and covers your stomach up between your breasts.  The milky white substance rolling down your left hip and onto the blanket below. 

“Querida,” he breathes in exhaustion as he presses himself against you, his cum sliding between your torsos, as he kisses you.  His semi-soft length nestles against your mound while your fingers trail across the few minor scratches you’ve branded his back with. 

“Have I hurt you?” you ask with small worry, fingers running over the scratches to slide over the curve of his ass, tilting your hips up to catch your clit against the veins of his cock.  It’s pleasure for you both – your lips parting for a small moan as his jaw tightens with a muffled grunt.

He drags his lips along your chin, “Not in the slightest.  Only pleasure you have given me.”

“Then in return, may I keep your furs?” your nails drag up over his ass before moving to hook your arms around his neck. 

Pero’s brows scrunch in confusion and worry that you have only wanted him to gain something.  The glimpse of the smile breaking open on your face has him realizing how wrong he is – and how clever you think you are as you let out a small laugh, entirely too amused with yourself. 

The man above you may roll his eyes, but it’s paired with a lopsided grin as he can’t help but let out a quick breath of humor. 

Still softly laughing, you nip at his jaw to get his eyes back on you.  His eyes stay drawn to yours when you next lightly drag a fingertip down the line of his scar that leads down his cheek. 

Leaning on his forearm, he glides his calloused fingertips along your side, drifting down your thigh. 

Pero licks his lips, “Does it frighten you?”

The shake of your head starts before you speak, “Not at all.  In fact, I find it makes you even more handsome.”

The corner of his mouth curves up, “Ah, so you are a little out of your mind, yes?”

“Oh, so you are quite funny as well,” your reply sarcastic, before you break into a smile and a soft laugh escapes you. 

Pero smiles fondly before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, “You are beautiful, querida,” a large palm sweeping tenderly over the crown of your head.

Twirling your fingertip around the ends of the hairs at the back of his head, you gaze up into his eyes, “Still being funny?”

The way he smiles at you stirs something in your chest, “I could not be any more serious.”

It’s at that moment, your stomach grumbles, widening your eyes at the embarrassment before you squeeze your eyes shut and press your hand to your face.

Pero laughs above you, his warm hand curling around your wrist and pulling it away, “You are also hungry,” he grins, “Let me feed you, my sweet girl,” he kisses your heated cheek.  Looking to him, “I’m sorry.  That was unexpected.”

The kiss he gives you is deeper than the last, followed by a tender one to the tip of your nose, “You are out of your mind for apologizing for needing food. I will take care of you.  But first, we should clean ourselves, no?” Looking between your bodies where his spend is coating your stomachs.

Pero looks towards the cave’s entrance, the rain still coming down hard, and back to you.  With a big smile, he pushes off his hands and you watch with surprise as he jogs his fully naked self right out into the pouring rain.  Leaning up on your elbows, you can’t help but laugh at his craziness. 

Pero swipes his hands over his hair, slicking it back as he shakes his head of the constant raindrops on his face.  You watch as he uses the rainwater to clean him of his semen, hands wiping it clear of his stomach. 

The squeal you let out at the cold water drenching your skin as his head snap up only to see you’ve joined him under the tears of mother nature.

“You are the one out of your mind!” you say loud enough for him to hear you over the roar of the rain. He also hears the excited laugh you give right after.

Pero steps in front of you, hands grasping your bare hips, “Yet here you are right here with me!” smiling at your ability to match him.

“I know,” you say a little softer, eyes blinking quickly from the droplets, but still staring into his own.  His hands lift quickly to fit to your face, pulling you into a heated kiss.

Gripping his muscular biceps, you return it with fervor before he’s pulling back, “Quickly, hermosa. If you get ill, I’ll never forgive myself,” and he begins to swipe your stomach clean of his seed. As soon as he’s done, he’s taking your hand and running off with you back inside.

He releases you only to quickly grab one of the blankets bringing it to you, swinging it around your shoulders and wrapping you up.  You watch as he turns around and walks over to the saddlebags, reaching in and pulling out a wrapped bundle of linen.  On his way back to you, he scoops his tunic off the ground, draping it over his shoulder. 

There’s a smirk sitting on your face and he questions the cause.

“Pero Tovar, you have a very attractive butt.”

He shakes his head as his cheeks pinken, “You need to eat, you’re becoming delirious,” but then he looks at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh yes, that must be it,” you tease in return with a wink.  Pero places the bundle down and then removes his tunic from his shoulder.  He hands it to you, as his other hand is held open.  Understanding, you hand him in the blanket and take his clothing, pulling it on before accepting the blanket back.  He then leans down to pick up his pants, pulling them on.

The two of you settle against the rock wall, with Pero behind you keeping you tucked between his spread legs.  His arms have found a home around your body as you share the contents of the linen bundle – a few pieces of bread and cured meat.

“Pero?” you turn your head towards him.

“Sí, yes, querida?” he kisses your shoulder where the blanket has slipped from.

Quietly, almost afraid to speak it into the universe, “Will we be safe here until the rain clears? Will anyone find us?” The implication clear that what happened to you yesterday has found a permanent home in your mind.

The strong arms around you pull tighter to your figure, “As long as I’m here, you are forever safe,” his accented voice promises between you.

Pero sees the clear emotion in your eyes as you whisper your thanks to him.  He kisses your forehead before thinking to ask, “You have not – you did not give yourself to me as simply a return for helping you?” his tone inflecting a mild worry that he has read this situation all wrong. 

“No,” you quick to reassure him, hand sliding along his jaw to cup his cheek, “You are handsome and brash,” your lips leaving a light kiss to his lips, “But you showed me the real kind of man you are with how you treated me and with how caring you were to help me honor my family.  I believe you to be a good man, Pero, and I like you because of it.”

All he does is stare into your eyes, a grin curving to the side of his mouth. 

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you at his expression, “Do you like me? Or do you only want me for what my body can give you?” the latter said with a light poke to his chest as you don’t truly believe it with this man.

One hand glides up your spine, following the line up along your neck until his thick fingers are buried into your hair, “I very much like you.  There is a draw to you, querida. You are nothing short of enchanting, stubbornness, and all,” his words grow softer the closer he leans into you.    

The hand at his cheek rests to his nape as you pull him in even closer, a light nudge of the tip of your nose against his, a soft smile at your lips, “I do not believe I have ever had a man call me enchanting and stubborn in the same breath.”

Pero lets his mouth brush tenderly against yours, “Than no man has seen you deeply enough.  You would not be you without both.  And you, my sweet girl, are easy to adore just as you are.”

Your mouth presses to his, kissing him fiercely while he cherishes your very being. Pero holds you tight against his chest, lips tasting you over and over as his heart beats rapidly in his chest.

this guy is such a loser i want him in my bed immediately

SAME SIN

pairing | frank castle x reader

summary | in your darkest hour, matt doesn't answer the phone. but frank does.

warnings | blood, death, violence, attempted robbery, religious trauma, possible infidelity, matt's lowkey kind of a bitch in this but that's ok, probably deviates from canon at times but fuck it we ball, MDNI 18+

word count | 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Blood wept from your fingertips, dripping onto the asphalt.

It had soaked through the man’s shirt. Oozed from the scattered holes in his chest, pooling around his torso. His lungs breathed no air. His eyes didn’t blink, gazing sightless up towards the Heavens. 

Sickness hit in a crushing wave. 

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as bile surged up your throat, burning over your tongue. The gagging continued long after there was nothing left, saliva dribbling from your bottom lip. 

Then there was stillness. 

Not the stillness of calm, or peace. But punishment. Sentencing. The solemn gaze of an all-forgiving Father as he stands before you, stone in-hand.

[To kill is a violation of Faith—] 

{—You or them?} 

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet. 

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none. 

No pulse. No absolution. 

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain. 

It was raining. 

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands. 

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call. 

Calls. 

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense. 

Seven times you called the Devil. 

Seven times he didn’t answer. 

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence. 

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done. 

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered. 

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again. 

{In case you ever need it—} 

[—I don’t trust him.] 

What is trust? 

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold. 

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?” 

You almost laughed. 

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate? 

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant. 

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered. 

Unless… 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

{—That what we are?} 

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?” 

“An alley.” 

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.” 

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought. 

“Off West 51st,” you said. 

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.” 

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next. 

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin. 

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him. 

Only that you had. 

{You call, I come—} 

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.] 

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands. 

So am I, you thought. So am I. 

Frank said your name. Once, twice. 

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?” 

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw. 

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante. 

It was a soldier. 

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.” 

Time dragged. 

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall. 

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp. 

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights. 

What if someone noticed? 

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night. 

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin… 

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable. 

[To a judge? Or to God?—] 

God doesn’t matter. 

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?] 

Why didn’t you answer? 

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?” 

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.” 

You did. 

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse. 

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.” 

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest. 

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior. 

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?” 

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob. 

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.” 

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction. 

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Another weak laugh faded into quiet. 

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?” 

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them. 

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—] 

Even secret sins are exposed in His light. 

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?} 

By believing in it. 

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists. 

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?” 

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out. 

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired. 

Existence had become an arduous task. 

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?” 

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s. 

You didn’t want to feel alone. 

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?” 

The world was ending. 

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things. 

[What do you see in him?—] 

{—Let me take care of all this.} 

You nodded. 

Frank’s apartment was bleak. 

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom. 

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay. 

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t. 

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe. 

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank? 

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar. 

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.” 

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?” 

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts. 

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird. 

He’d need a flock. 

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle. 

Still, the warmth lingered. 

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.” 

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at. 

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer. 

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl. 

You pretended not to hear him anyway. 

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began. 

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend. 

You knew better now. 

You should’ve picked the dog. 

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.” 

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended. 

“So you gotta make it worse?” 

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is. 

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?” 

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.” 

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair. 

Frank deserved better than that. 

[Have you forgotten?—] 

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder] 

[—Why are you so attached to this case?] 

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.” 

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. 

“Guess so.” 

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his. 

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions. 

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined. 

Not that you ever had imagined it. 

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails. 

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other. 

Only then did you confess. 

“He had a knife.” 

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening. 

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.” 

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger. 

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–” 

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you. 

But that had been a stupid, childish thought. 

“I figured I could lose,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–” 

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe. 

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–” 

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?” 

Your brows furrowed in answer. 

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.” 

“I don’t, but–” 

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?” 

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!” 

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.] 

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued. 

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.” 

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter. 

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further. 

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot. 

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.” 

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched. 

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact. 

“I did–” 

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a no nonsense Marine.  

“No. I did.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.” 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him. 

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.” 

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?] 

Do you care about her? 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

… 

[—Can you say the same about Frank?] 

You studied the man before you. 

Frank Castle. The Punisher. 

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget. 

A number not saved, but remembered. 

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t. 

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you. 

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you. 

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.” 

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?” 

You nodded, and he chuckled. 

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.” 

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text. 

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK? 

Your thumb hovered over the message. 

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected. 

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path. 

You cleared Matt’s message. 

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?” 

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank. 

You shook your head. “Is it good?” 

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.” 

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.” 

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

Finished episode 4 of Daredevil Born Again.

Frank and Matt defs fucked after crying together right?