#i think it was used mainly in england

[hella1975]

so it turns out it was actually never that serious

[hitroow]

I just had the sickest idea.

[zaddyazula]

funniest fact i live in the city (and sort of local area) where cadbury’s is from so my year 2 school trip was going to cadbury world 😋😋😋 7 year old me was so lucky

[reasonsforhope]

Double dose of articles about how crime is actually plummeting

From the UK:

"Seventy-eight per cent of people in England and Wales think that crime has gone up in the last few years, according to the latest survey. But the data on actual crime shows the exact opposite.

As of 2024, violence, burglary and car crime have been declining for 30 years and by close to 90%, according to the Crime Survey for England and Wales (CSEW) – our best indicator of true crime levels. Unlike police data, the CSEW is not subject to variations in reporting and recording.

The drop in violence includes domestic violence and other violence against women. Anti-social behaviour has similarly declined. While increased fraud and computer misuse now make up half of crime, this mainly reflects how far the rates of other crimes have fallen.

All high-income countries have experienced similar trends, and there is scientific consensus that the decline in crime is a real phenomenon.

The perception gap

So why is there such a gulf between public perception and the reality of crime trends? A regular YouGov poll asks respondents for their top three concerns from a broad set of issues. Concern about crime went from a low in 2016 (when people were more concerned with Brexit), quadrupled by 2019 and plummeted during the pandemic when people had other worries. But in the last year, the public’s concern about crime has risen again.

There are many possible explanations for this, of which the first is poor information. A study published in 1998 found that “people who watch a lot of television or who read a lot of newspapers will be exposed to a steady diet of crime stories” that does not reflect official statistics.

The old news media adage “if it bleeds, it leads” reflects how violent news stories, including crime increases and serious crimes, capture public attention. Knife crime grabs headlines in the UK, but our shock at individual incidents is testament to their rarity and our relative success in controlling violence – many gun crimes do not make the news in the US.

Most recent terrorist attacks in the UK have featured knives (plus a thwarted Liverpool bomber), but there is little discussion of how this indicates that measures to restrict guns and bomb-making resources are effective."

-via The Conversation, May 13, 2024

And the United States:

"[The United States experienced a spike in crime rates in 2020, during the pandemic.] But in 2023, crime in America looked very different.

"At some point in 2022 — at the end of 2022 or through 2023 — there was just a tipping point where violence started to fall and it just continued to fall," said Jeff Asher, a crime analyst and co-founder of AH Datalytics.

In cities big and small, from both coasts, violence has dropped.

"The national picture shows that murder is falling. We have data from over 200 cities showing a 12.2% decline ... in 2023 relative to 2022," Asher said, citing his own analysis of public data. He found instances of rape, robbery and aggravated assault were all down too.

Yet when you ask people about crime in the country, the perception is it's getting a lot worse.

A Gallup poll released in November found 77% of Americans believed there was more crime in the country than the year before. And 63% felt there was either a "very" or "extremely" serious crime problem — the highest in the poll's history going back to 2000.

So what's going on?

What the cities are seeing

What you see depends a lot on what you're looking at, according to Asher.

"There's never been a news story that said, 'There were no robberies yesterday, nobody really shoplifted at Walgreens,'" he said.

"Especially with murder, there's no doubt that it is falling at [a] really fast pace right now. And the only way that I find to discuss it with people is to talk about what the data says." ...

For cities like San Francisco, Baltimore and Minneapolis, there may be different factors at play [in crime declining]. And in some instances, it comes as the number of police officers declines too.

Baltimore police are chronically short of their recruitment goal, and as of last September had more than 750 vacant positions, according to a state audit report...

In Minneapolis, police staffing has plummeted. According to the Star Tribune, there are about 560 active officers — down from nearly 900 in 2019. Mannix said the 2020 police killing of George Floyd resulted in an unprecedented exodus from the department...

In Minneapolis, the city is putting more financial resources into nontraditional policing initiatives. The Department of Neighborhood Safety, which addresses violence through a public health lens, received $22 million in the 2024 budget."

-via NPR, February 12, 2024

[queen-of-reptiles]

𝚂𝙴𝙲𝚁𝙴𝚃𝚂

description: ona was finally where she had dreamed, she was back at barcelona with her best friend and loving every moment. only problem? she's dating her captain's younger sister, you.

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ona batlle x putellas!reader

part of the 'hidden' universe

part two here

part three here

mapi leon x bronze!reader here

disclaimer: this is all fiction do not take any of this seriously !

warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive - cuteness, queenie needing to use google translate because her Spanish is sub par! x

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y/n just posted

liked by alexiaputellas, taylorswift, and 13.9m others

y/n life dumppppp 💕💕

comments limited

alexiaputellas: Estoy muy orgulloso de ti hermanita!

so proud of you baby sister

^

y/n: ily !! 💕

lucybronze: The little one of me says you're cool!

^

y/n: tell her I miss her! 😔

blanca_suarez: my little daughter! 🙂

^

y/n: my movie mama!! 😙

florencepugh: I wanna see the photos of after you did that jump

^

y/n: shut up 😩

^

florencepugh: no

^

y/n: I'll fight you Flo

^

florencepugh: come at me pipsqueak !!

ona.batlle: Looks like fun ! 😌

^

y/n: Would be more fun with you here ;)

^

alexiaputellas: y/n, no flirting with my teammates.

^

y/n: awwww :(

MariaLeonn16: MISS YOU ! 💙

^

y/n: MISS BAGHEERA MORE 💙

^

MariaLeonn16: hmmpf.

see more comments...

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y/n hummed as she stepped around her kitchen, her fluffy socks keeping her feet warm from the cold tile, which was cold as she couldn't be bothered to put the heated floor on.

Her Persian cat, Milo, rubbed against her feet and she smiled, bending down to pick him up and press a kiss to his fluffy head before placing him back down.

y/n then moved over to the bowl of food she had ordered, smiling when her phone lit up with the familiar name which kept her warm for almost a year now.

"Hi baby!" y/n smiles, her Spanish accent not as thick as it used to be when she spoke English.

y/n had been in England for a few years now, on and off, and due to the fact she mainly spoke in English and acted with either English or Americans, y/n's accent had dulled slightly.

"Hola!" Ona called back.

The two had been secretly dating for nearly a year now. Why secretly? Because Ona's captain was Alexia Putellas. Alexia Putellas was y/n's sister. Her over-protective older sister.

The two were aware they were nothing short of fucked. They were aware of that. But the two had fallen in love while Ona was playing in Manchester and at the time, they couldn't keep away.

Now, their relationship existed of long phone calls and sneaky hook-ups when y/n came to see her as best she could, as well as trying to avoid flashing cameras and nosy people.

Truth is the only other person to know about them was Lucy Bronze's younger sister, and that was only because Ona and her were best friends and she was dating Mapi Leon in secret as well. They really were a group.

"How was training?" y/n asks Ona as she settles on the sofa, propping the phone up on a few cushions as she bought her bowl of noodles toward her.

"Aburrida, todo en lo que estaba pensando era en ti mi amor." Ona sighs and y/n chuckles.

Boring. All I was thinking about was you my love.

"Eres tan romántica!" y/n laughs at her girlfriend.

you're such a romantic.

"Do not pretend you do not love it, mi amor." Ona says and y/n hums.

"Well, I do love feeling the way you make me feel." y/n sighs jokingly and Ona's smile widens. "But, you should be paying attention in training." y/n finishes and Ona huffs.

"Ay! You are worse than Ale!" Ona states and y/n sighs. "What are you eating?" Ona then asks, trying to get the focus off of Alexia.

"Wagamama." y/n grinned, Milo jumping next to her and curling onto the sofa, his head resting on y/n's thigh.

"Milo." Ona cooed, the cat looking up and letting out a small meow as he blinked at Ona.

"Look, it's mama Milo." y/n says softly, placing her fork down to stroke at the cat's head. Ona smiles softly as Milo meows, Ona chuckling as she moves to get Coco, her own dog who pants excitedly at the sight of Milo.

Despite being and cat and a dog the two pets got on like siblings and y/n couldn't help but smile as Milo purred at the sight of his sibling.

The two facetimed for the rest of the evening, settling into bed a few hours later, both watching each other on their screens, wishing they were face to face instead of watching through a camera.

"What are you thinking about Amor?" Ona asks softly, noticing y/n had gone quiet.

"Quiero contarle a Ale sobre nosotras." y/n said quickly.

I want to tell Ale about us.

"¿Cómo? No no no no no." Ona begins and y/n sighs.

what?

"I know you're afraid." y/n begins. "¡Pero cariño, por favor! No puedo ocultar esto más."

But darling please, I can't hide this anymore.

"But Alexia!" Ona tries.

"I'll talk to her! Explain everything." y/n tries and Ona pauses. "Please Ona, I'm so sick of us hiding." She begs softly.

"Okay. Okay." Ona promises. "Por ti, mi amor, enfrentaré la tormenta Alexia por ti." She nods and a soft smile grows on y/n's face.

For you, my love, I will brave the storm Alexia for you.

"Thank you." y/n whispers. "I love you Ona." She promises and Ona smiles.

"I love you too amor." Ona promises.

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y/n just posted on her story

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y/n smiled softly as she opened Alexia's apartment with her spare key. Now on international break, the Barcelona captain was at home resting before having to go to national camp in three days.

At the sound of her door opening, Alexia stood up, pausing the most recent Barcelona game she was re-watching for notes and faced her door worriedly before her mouth dropped.

"¡Niñera!" Alexia called in shock.

Baby sister

"Hola Ale!" y/n called, pulling her suitcase to a stop as Alexia raced over. The taller girl pulling her into a tight hug which made y/n chuckle as she returned it.

"¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?" Alexia asked. "Ven, siéntate, ¿tienes hambre, sed?" Alexia rapidly questioned making y/n smile as her sister dragged her to the sofa.

What are you doing here? Come sit down, are you hungry, thirsty?

"Estoy bien, vine a ver los partidos de la liga de naciones." y/n explains.

I'm fine, I came to watch the nation league games.

Alexia makes a noise of understanding as she leans over and presses kisses over y/n's face, exclaiming how happy she was to see her and how beautiful she looked.

y/n laughed it off, telling her she was always too flattering to her, Alexia saying it was what an older sister did. The statement wracking y/n with guilt.

"Ale." y/n began. Alexia looking at her with furrowed brows, confused at her sister's shift in tone.

"Are you okay?" Alexia asks softly.

"I'm dating someone." y/n spills out. "And, hemos estado saliendo durante más de un año." y/n admits.

And we've been dating over a year.

"Oh." Alexia says softly, eyes softening as her sister ducks her head, fiddling with her fingers. "It's okay." She promises.

"Even if I hid it?" y/n asks quietly.

"I would like you to explain why for so long and who, but yes it is okay." Alexia promises.

"The who kind of explains the why." y/n admits and Alexia pauses. "Ale." She begins.

"Who?" She asks, though it was far more a demand. She repeats her demand.

"Ona." y/n says ducking her head.

"Hijo de puta." Alexia mutters.

motherfucker

y/n sighed, leaning forward and putting her head in her hands and her shoulders sagged. Her heart felt as if it was pushing into her throat and it made her sick.

y/n and Alexia had been close as children, the three sisters were best friends, and knew each other too well. They told each other everything, to the point where this would be the first time she had ever lied to either sister.

And even though she felt terrible for upsetting her older sister, for betraying her, there was something so relieving about finally admitting it.

Slowly, Alexia reached out and place a hand on y/n's shoulder, her warm and calloused palm so much kinder than what y/n felt she deserved as she looked up.

"No puedo negarlo y decir que no estoy herido, porque lo estoy. Preferiría que me lo hubieras dicho, pero entiendo que no quieras." Alexia begins, her voice soft.

I cannot deny and say I am not hurt, because I am. I would rather you had told me, but I understand you not wanting to.

y/n could have cried as she closed her eyes, feeling so guilty at hurting her sister with something that she couldn't have helped.

"¿La amas?" Alexia asked, her eyes full of understanding and kindness which calmed y/n's heart.

Do you love her?

"Más de lo que creía posible Ale. Ella lo es todo para mí, de verdad." y/n admits to her sister who lets out a sigh at the emotion in her voice.

More than I thought possible Ale. She's everything to me, truly.

Alexia sighed and wrapped her arm around y/n's shoulders, pulling her into her side as she lent her head onto y/n's own one, inhaling the smell of her shampoo.

"Entonces de acuerdo." Alexia sighs softly.

Then okay.

y/n's heart broke at that, how one person could be so good to her was beyond her thought, beyond her idea of humanity, but Alexia had once again, proved her wrong.

"Eres demasiado amable conmigo, eres demasiado amable conmigo." y/n repeats at her sister.

You are too kind to me, you are too kind to me.

"Esto no es bondad, esto es familia." Alexia says to her and y/n sighs.

This is not kindness, this is family.

The girl turns, wrapping her arms around her sister as she pulls herself snugly on-top of Alexia, clinging to her shoulders as she pressed kisses into the woman's hair.

"Thank you Ale." y/n said softly, repeating the words again and again.

"Oh mi pequeña princesa del drama. Eres tan mayor ahora." Alexia said softly.

Oh my little drama princess. You are so grown up now.

y/n said nothing, just continued to cling to Alexia as if she was 6 all over again and Alexia 14. The Barcelona captain couldn't help but enjoy the closeness.

It had been so long since they had hugged like this, the youngest Putellas always so busy, always moving, working and filming.

Eventually the two parted and Alexia sighed tucking a strand of her sister's hair behind her ear as she watched her.

"Do you and Ona plan to tell?" Alexia asks and y/n hums.

"I want to tell your team first, then we can think about everything else." y/n sighs. "Are you mad at her?" She then asks with a wince.

"Oh furious." Alexia nods, a smile on her face to show she wasn't really. "She treats you well?" She then asks and y/n smiles softly.

"She loves me just as I do her." y/n answers and Alexia smiles.

"So she loves you well." Alexia says and y/n nods. "Do you want to see her?" She asks and y/n hums.

"Tomorrow." y/n says before snuggling into her sister's side. "I want to spend the night with you." She says.

"I love that idea." Alexia sighs, pressing a kiss into her sister's hair.

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Tomorrow came far too quick for y/n's liking, before she knew it she was stood at Ona's door, flowers in hand as she waited for the patter of her lover's footsteps to open the door.

"¡Mi amor!" Ona yelled in shock, dragging y/n inside so no prying eyes could see.

y/n's hair was up in a bun, she was wearing a sweet summer dress due to how hot it was outside, however she also had shorts on underneath, because she knew what could happen once Ona knew they were out.

Ona smiled softly, taking the flowers from y/n's hands and placing them on the counter, before jumping at y/n. The woman sighed in relief, bringing Ona's legs around her waist as she wrapped her arms tightly around her.

"Oh my love." y/n said softly, breathing in the sweet scent of Ona's hair.

Ona buried her head into y/n's neck, pressing soft kisses against the skin which had y/n breathing shaking as she walked them to the sofa, sliding her shoes off as she went.

Coco immediately moved over to one of her discarded trainers and stuck his head in it, inhaling which made y/n roll her eyes at the dog fondly.

y/n sat back against the sofa, Ona quickly looking up and greedily connecting their lips, hands scattering around each other's bodies, re-familiarising themselves.

Ona's tongue dipped past y/n's lips, sweeping the inside of her mouth which caused a groan to slip from her. Ona giggled into the kiss, before they pulled away, both breathing deeply as they stared at one another.

Ona was in a white shirt, black shorts, her hair was pulled back and she looked like she had woken up just an hour ago. And to y/n, she had never looked more beautiful.

All their time apart meant these moment, Ona sat on her lap, hands combing over her shoulders lovingly, were all that more precious to y/n.

"How are you here?" Ona asked her softly, leaning forward to cuddle into her chest as y/n wraps her arms around her.

"He venido a ver los partidos." y/n explains softly.

I've come to watch the games.

"I'm so glad you're here." Ona sighs in relief, y/n holding onto her as she sighs.

"I have a confession Ona." y/n says softly and Ona sits up, y/n moving her off her lap and to the side she could face her.

"Amor?" Ona asks, worry flooding her voice.

"Ale knows." y/n says simply. "I told her." She adds.

Ona's face goes through several emotions, relief that this wasn't a break-up, fear of Alexia knowing, realisation that her captain was no aware and hurt that y/n hadn't warned her she would tell Alexia like that.

"Why?" Ona asks sadly.

"Because I want to be with you. In front of her." y/n says strongly and Ona's eyes fill with panic. "It's like we discussed Oni, please." y/n tries.

"Get out." She says softly. "Please go." Ona repeats.

"You said you would fight for me." y/n said softly.

"You didn't give me time to prepare." Ona tells her. "Alexia is my captain, and I am with her little sister, and instead of telling her together, you decided to tell her on you own." Ona continues.

"Because I knew I could keep her calm about us." y/n promises and Ona sighs.

"Please go. I need some time." Ona says softly and y/n blinks away tears before standing up and walking to the door, expecting Ona to call out, stop her. But she doesn't.

And y/n's heart breaks.

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END

Mapi part one will be out in three days ;) xox

[inuyashaluver]

seeing nimah with the baby was so cute! would you ever write nimah x reader maybe they visit reader’s family and they see how nimah interacts with the little one then they start asking reader about when they want kids but it’s not something reader and nimah have discussed so reader thinks nimah’s discomfort around the issue is because she doesn’t want kids but nimah just doesn’t know how to express that she wants to start thinking about their future so hurt/comfort and the common misunderstanding trope! Just an idea I had an wanted to share 🤍

are you kidding? - niamh charles

niamh charles x reader

description: in which you and niamh both want kids but are unsure how to express it

warnings: little tears, swearing, IM RUSTY

a/n: again, how do you people expect me to see a picture and react normally, I LOVE THIS WOMAN, thank you so so much for the request, much love, enjoy!!

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

it was rare that you and your girlfriend, niamh, had a disagreement. the two of you were very big on communication and outwardly expressing your feelings if you were angry, uncomfortable, sad, it didn’t matter.

talking for the two of you has always been important ever since the two of you started dating.

this was mainly due to the fact of niamh being hopeless when it came to flirting with you. you believing for a long time that she didn’t like you.

—

the girl was hopeless around you, not knowing how to act around you even though she’d known you ever since the england youth camps.

you always flirted with her and she didn’t know how to react, she’d be cocky at first but immediately faltered when you’d send her a charming smile. especially when she signed to your team chelsea back in 2020.

“hey, niamhy” you smiled kindly at her as you entered the chelsea change rooms, seeing niamh chatting along with zećira.

they both stop the conversation when they see you, niamh pink in the cheeks at seeing your sweet smile.

“hey, (y/n/n)” she breathes out, watching as you make your way over to both her and zećira. “hey, any plans for later? there’s a new cafe down the street that i want to try” you ask, making sure to look at niamh directly when you asked the question.

zećira chuckles at niamh’s surprised expression, sending you a little wink, niamh swallows, “i’m free, are you free?” she turns to zećira, “no, no, i’m not sorry” zećira grins, you smile at both of them expectantly.

this wasn’t the first time you had attempted to ask niamh on a date, the brunette always managing to bring someone else along to make it a group hangout rather than just the two of you.

“niamh” you call out, meeting her blue eyes with a sheepish smile, “i was hoping it would just be us two” niamh’s eyebrows raise slightly, both of your hearts pulsing with anticipation.

“oh” she chuckles nervously, “okay, let’s do it” she utters, “it’s a date” you wink, walking out of the change room, as you were already changed.

niamh watches you go and as soon as she sees your frame out of the door, she slaps zećira harshly on the leg.

“ow! what?” she winces, shoving niamh back, “i’m going on a fucking date” niamh exclaims, fiddling with the end of her shorts.

“it’s a good thing niamhy” niamh nods unconvinced, she’s been crushing on you ever since she was 15. how could you like her back?

and of course the date went well, once you outwardly told niamh that you actually liked her, the cocky, confident niamh that made you shy came out.

—

you and niamh had been dating for just over 3 years, both of you moved in and were extremely loved up with each other.

it was a sunny day in london when your family arranged a gathering with a bunch of your family members.

part of your invitation was with the insistence that your girlfriend came along, a family favourite for everyone.

“don’t you look gorgeous” niamh grinned as she watched you adjust your outfit in front of the mirror, coming over and standing behind you with her arms wrapped around your waist.

you smile and lean back into her when she presses a kiss to your cheek, “you look beautiful, baby” you grin at her in the mirror, letting her spin you to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“ready to go?” she murmured against your lips, you nod, pecking her lips quickly and grabbing both of her hands.

“my family is a lot, if it gets too much, we can leave, okay?” niamh rolls her eyes fondly, kissing your forehead quickly before pulling you into a little hug.

“love, i’m fine” she assured, dragging you to the car excitedly at the thought of spending time with you and your family.

she squeezes your thigh excitedly as she drove, letting you give her a game plan on how to approach each and every family member in attendance, chuckling to herself that you did this every time she met them.

—

you grip her hand tightly when you reached the door of your aunt’s house, niamh giving your hand three squeezes for reassurance.

you look at her with a bright smile, about to ask for a kiss until the door was thrusted open by your aunt looking extremely tired.

“hello, lovebirds!” she grins, you and niamh returning the greeting with kisses to the cheeks and tight hugs.

niamh places a hand on the small of your back as you both went around and did the rounds, engaging in conversation after conversation with both of you sporting bright smiles.

“so niamh, are you looking after our girl?” one of your uncles said, you smile shyly when niamh presses a kiss to your temple, pulling you closer to her side.

“always, she has to take care of me more because she’s an angel” she smiles down at you, eyes full of adoration, drinking in your pink cheeks.

—

before the food even came out, you dragged niamh to the side of the backyard with a heavy sigh, thumping your forehead on her collarbone.

she chuckles, her arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, “you okay?” she whispers next to your ear, you mumble a yes against her, your arms going around her neck to hug her tightly before your name was screamed from the kitchen.

you groan, trying to hold on to niamh but the brunette pushed you back slightly, kissing you quickly and ushering you to help out.

you pout at her but leave reluctantly, knowing the longer you weren’t in that kitchen, the longer the lecture and you’d rather avoid one altogether.

niamh walked around your aunt’s backyard and settled in with the kids playing football. the kids always loved niamh and she’d often resort to them rather than the adults for some fun.

“niamhy, play with us!” one of your younger cousins grabbed her hand and dragged her over, smiling up at her with a toothy grin. niamh was quick to agree, smiling equally as excited.

“niamhy, you’re not kicking right” one of your cousins grumbled, she giggled brightly, apologising and letting the small boy adjust her movements the way he wanted.

it was until one of your much younger cousins, a one year old, was thrusted into niamh’s arms that she slowed down her movements.

the baby uncommonly fell asleep on niamh’s shoulder as soon as she was perched on her hip, much to the surprise of your family.

the baby was usually a handful and found it difficult to fall asleep. but niamh managed to get her to sleep in two minutes.

she was turned into a referee quickly and took her job seriously, only letting them get away with little fouls because they were having so much fun.

the kids all loved her, and so did the adults. niamh’s bright smile was hard to miss when you came back outside with platters of food.

you place the food down on the table and take in the scene in front of you. niamh with a baby on her hip while she giggled and refereed the game. to say your ovaries exploded was an understatement.

“that will be you soon” your aunt teases, you give her an expression of shock, stuttering on your words saying niamh wasn’t ready for kids, as the two of you hadn’t really discussed it.

both of you knew you wanted to spend forever together, that was common knowledge. but kids just hadn’t been brought up yet, you’d shown an interest but niamh ever really expressed a huge interest.

she’d coo over her friend’s kids, your family, her family but you never knew if she wanted some of her own.

niamh did want kids of her own but she didn’t know how to express it to you, not really knowing how you felt about them.

everyone got ushered to the table and niamh’s face brightened when she saw you, walking over to you gently to keep your cousin sleeping soundly against her.

she greets you with a soft kiss before she pulled out your chair with one hand, winking when you took your seat.

she sits down carefully, eating with your cousin sleeping soundly on her shoulder. “here, baby, let me hold her for a bit so you can eat” you offer but niamh shakes her head, letting go of her fork and holding your hand for a second.

“i’m okay, i’m the chosen one” she grins at you, you giggle, leaning over to kiss her cheek softly before you eventually end up feeding her the food on her plate because she was so focused on keeping your cousin comfortable.

—

when you both made it to the car after the gathering, you and niamh both let out a heavy sigh when you sat down, quickly breaking into a fit of giggles.

“high five, we did it” you chuckle when niamh holds her hand out to you, you slap her hand with yours, niamh’s fingers moving to interlace your fingers, pulling your hand to her mouth to press a gentle kiss over the back of it.

“we did it” you grin at her cheekily, niamh not missing the twinkle in your eye as you looked at her. “why are you looking at me like that?” niamh breathes out, cheeks turning a little pink at your look of adoration.

“nothing” you shrug, ushering her to start the car, she narrows her eyebrows at you but gives in, lacing your hands together and starting the car.

“you were so good with my cousins today, you know?” you glance over at her nervously, “they’re all so cute, i love spending time with them” she grins while watching the road, what she didn’t see was the tears brimming in your eyes.

you were overwhelmed with emotion for some reason, really wishing seeing niamh with the kids were your own.

it was until she heard a sniffle and felt the loosened grip of your hand in hers that she noticed. she glanced over quickly and panicked, thankfully able to park on the side of the road.

“babe?” niamh calls out softly, holding your hand tightly and taking off her seatbelt quickly. she ducks her head to make eye contact with you but you couldn’t look at her, overwhelmed with the feeling of embarrassment.

“hey” she gives your hand a squeeze, her free hand directing your jaw to look at her, meeting her eyes with a tearful expression.

“what’s wrong, my love?” you shake your head at her, letting out another sniffle, “nothing, i’m fine” you attempt to reassure her but she knows you too well, knowing you better than herself.

“baby, talk to me” she pleadingly whispers, you let out a shaky sigh, letting your girlfriend gently brush away the tears flowing down your cheeks.

“it’s stupid” you laugh wetly, niamh frowns at that, a scolding look almost. “nothing you feel is stupid, come on, baby, what’s wrong?” she gives you a reassuring smile, you can feel yourself calm down in an instant.

“when you were with my cousins, i couldn’t help but think about us” you said softly, almost impossible for niamh to hear but the small space in the car finally did her a favour.

“what about us, baby?” niamh digs a little further, her kind eyes making it easier to open up. “kids” you mutter, “our kids” niamh gives you a surprised expression, knowing the two of you haven’t really talked about this.

she also found it comical the two of you were parked up in a residential street 5 minutes from your home to discuss the topic.

“and i know you don’t want any with me and that’s okay, but i think the least you could do is get me a pet” you laugh wetly again, sniffling as you look at her,

“babe” she shakes her head, “are you kidding?” your eyes widen at her tone, she sounded a little offended and you were worried you overstepped.

“what?” niamh angles her body more towards you, “you really think i don’t want kids with you?” niamh’s eyebrows furrow again, face full of concentration as she analysed your facial expressions.

you shrug in response, a little hurt at the thought of niamh not wanting children with you.

“(y/n)” first name, this was serious, you thought.

“baby, i want nothing more than to have children with you, i always have” niamh pronounced, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek.

you look at her in slight shock, tracing her face for a lie and finding none, she was being honest.

“really?” you smile, she smiles back, happy to not see you crying anymore, “of course, my love, i’d get you pregnant right now if i could” she smirks suggestively, giving your hand another squeeze when she notices your pink cheeks.

“well, we better get home then” you tease, though niamh took it seriously, starting the car almost immediately and driving to your home.

literally dragging you out of the car and throwing you over her shoulder. sure, it couldn’t happen like this, but who are you to decline niamh?

—

you both discussed that children would happen a little later for the both of you, but it was certain to happen. you were both relieved to know what each other wanted.

you and niamh spent a lot more time babysitting cousins, nieces, nephews, dogs if you had to and it felt extremely natural and familiar for the both of you.

you were both excited for when those children would be yours, excited for what the future would hold.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - pretend it’s you! ily pernille x

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niamhcharles17: trying to steal the favourite cousin status from me

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yourname: she’s MY cousin

↳ niamhcharles17: OUR cousin

↳ yourname: i knew her first

↳ niamhcharles17: baby, i came with you to the hospital

↳ yourname: go away

zeciramusovic: waiting for your turn

↳ niamhcharles17: coming soon 😏

[woso-dreamzzz]

Peanut and Liefje

England Lionesses x Child!Reader (Peanut) x Liefje

Summary: Liefje's your best friend

"Hey," Georgia says," Stop wandering. Your mums won't be happy if I let you run in traffic."

"Waitin' for Liefje," You say," She's coming today. Did you know?"

Auntie G laughs. "I did know that. Are you excited that your friend is coming?"

"Haven't seen Liefje in ages," You reply," Because she went with her Viv to the Netherlands. I want to see her."

"I'm sure that she's excited to see you too."

When the bus finally pulls up with the rest of the squad, you're practically vibrating in excitement and keep trying to push Auntie G's arm off of you as the doors open.

Liefje is one of the last off, with her blue fish backpack on her back and her cookie cutter shark under her arm.

"Liefje!" You cry, running towards and nearly knocking her to the ground if her mum wasn't there to stabilise you both.

"Hi!"

You hug for a super long time because Liefje's your very best friend and you love her so much.

You hold her hand nice and tight all the way to the lunch room where you sit at a table together with her mum, your mums and a few of the City girls.

"My mummies were naked cuddling a few days ago," You say over the sound of cutlery scraping against plates," Mum was kissing Mummy's neck and whispering things to her. Mummy kept making weird noises too and-"

Mum's hand covers your mouth so you can't speak anymore. Hempo and Chloe are laughing but you're not sure why. You haven't said anything that funny.

Liefje's frowning though, a little furrow between her eyebrows as she stabs a carrot with her fork. "My mummies don't naked cuddle," She says," Sometimes they make weird noises but I stay in bed. Sometimes, I go and see Carpet."

Beth covers Leifje's mouth too and the whole table bursts into laughter.

Chloe wrenches Mum's hand from your face. "Tell us more," She says," What else did you see?"

"Peanut," Mummy says," Less talking, more eating."

You know that really means no talking, just eating so you sullenly shovel food into your mouth.

"Mummy," You hear Liefje say," I'm done."

"Done?" Beth says," Well done, Liefje. Do you want something else?"

Liefje shakes her head. "When Peanut's done, can we go and play?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask Peanut's mums."

"Keira, when Peanut's done, can we go and play?"

"I'm done!" You say," I'm done, Mummy! Can we go and play now?!"

Mum shakes her head before Mummy can speak though. "You're not done at all, Peanut. Come on, a few more bites."

"But I want to play with Liefje!"

"Eat and then we can play. It's just like at Barcelona. You don't get to go and play with Pina and Patri until you've finished lunch. You don't get to play with Liefje until you finish lunch."

"Two more bites," Mummy says," And then you can play with Liefje until training. Agreed?"

"Big bites," Mum tacks on," Not little girl bites. Big girl bites."

You huff but do as you're told. You don't want Liefje to think you're not a big girl and you grab her hand as soon as you're done, dragging her off to where Lessi and Tooney are sitting.

Lessi and Tooney are very funny sometimes so you and Liefje play around with them and a game of Connect Four. You're on the same team as Liefje because she's your bestest friend and she's very smart.

She knows lots of things about sharks so her brain must be very big so she should be good at Connect Four too.

You're mainly there to be her cheerleader. Your Mum says you're the best hype girl in the world and you really want to support Liefje so she can win for your team.

"No!" You say, standing up when Tooney flicks one of the counters at Liefje. "Stop it! No bullying! Bullying is bad!"

"Yeah, Tooney," Alessia giggles," No bullying."

"It's really bad!" You insist," So stop or I'll tell on you!"

Liefje goes to select one of your team's counters when Tooney flicks another one at her.

You don't like that all. Liefje's your bestest friend in the world and she shouldn't be bullied.

You stomp around the table and hit Tooney on the arm. Your mummy says never to hit people but Mum says you can hit to protect someone else. That's what you're doing.

You're protecting Liefje.

"No! No! No!" You say, hitting Tooney so she knows that there's consequences to her actions," Stop! Stop! Stop! No bullying!"

You want to keep hitting her but a soft hand takes yours and you turn to look at Liefje.

She looks a little sad, eyebrows drawn together and you glare at Ella for making your friend look like this.

"Come on," Liefje says in that quiet voice of hers," I think I'm tired. I don't want to play anymore."

"Okay!" You nod, taking her hand in yours a bit more firmer and pulling her over to where your mummies are sitting. You stick your other hand out towards your Mum. "Blanket."

"Blanket, what?"

You huff. "Blanket, please."

Mum hands you your blanket and you wrap it around Liefje's shoulders like how Mum does to you sometimes. You don't have a pillow but you drag a table cover off a table that isn't being used and bundle it up so Liefje can rest her head.

You don't really like sleeping without being in a blanket cave but you're feeling a little sleepy too so you cuddle up next to Liefje and lay next to her.

You're just protecting her in case Ella comes back to bully her.

[avastrasposts]

The Guard Dog

Written for @studioghibelli Writing Challenge themed around History and Art History.

Plot: Sent to your uncle's bleak castle in the north of England, you expect only a dreary existence until you meet his groundskeeper, a scarred, frightening Spaniard. But love in the Victorian era is not easy and life doesn't follow straight paths.

Groundskeeper!Pero x Reader

Warnings: this is mainly all fluff with a bit of angst. Some of that casual racism and predjucde of the period rears its ugly head though. I've tried to keep the reader as blank as possible, but it's Victorian England and she's a lady so I have to presume she doesn't speak Spanish and has fair skin. No use of y/n.

Word count: 18k (yeah, I know....)

The ancestral home of your uncle’s family, Yotes Castle, was not a place that made people feel comfortable or welcome. Built on the ruins of an old thirteenth century castle, some of the old rooms still part of the house, it cast a forlorn gloom on the surrounding landscape. The long drive up to the house, the ancient portcullis cutting visitors off from the outside world, and the dark granite stone, it all made the place look as bleak as something out of a penny dreadful. The one forgiving feature was the big park surrounding the house, sprawling and wild with endless pathways curving through the trees and shrubs to small hidden glens and meadows. This is where you’d often taken refuge when you were allowed, and it was where you’d first met him, the groundskeeper.  

You���d arrived at the house the previous autumn, just as the weather turned cold; heavy rains and thick fog rolling in from the nearby Irish Sea. Your father had passed away long before you could remember him, and for most of your life, your mother had raised you with the help of a governess and her maid in the London house. But your mother’s health was never what it should be, and when she too passed, her brother became your legal guardian. And rather than let you stay in London, he gave you a choice; to come and work as his children’s governess at Yotes, or stay in London and be cut off once your mother’s meagre fortune ran out. You had no choice but to pack your bags and make the long journey north.  

You’d never been to Yotes Castle, only heard your mother’s stories about it and how much she’d detested it growing up; dark, lonely, stifling. She’d married your father and left for London as soon as she could, and she’d never returned to the north.

Your own first impression of the castle was not promising either. The place had been shrouded by heavy mist, the whole place damp, inside as well as out. Long, dark corridors and staircases confused you as the butler led you to your uncle’s study when you first arrived, his nose turned up at your carpet bag luggage. Your uncle had greeted you like you were a new servant, not his departed sister’s daughter, and dismissed you after letting you know he expected you to take full responsibility for his two children. You were assigned a room next to the children, but at least you were allowed to eat with the family and not the servants. Although, after a few days, you thought it might be nicer to eat with the servants than suffer the stilted conversation and heavy silence in the family dining room. 

The housekeeper, Mrs Pluck, might think otherwise though. She viewed you as a servant, and would ignore any requests you made, sending up lunch only for the children, and not you, when your aunt and uncle were out. Making sure you weren’t served dinner in the dining room, instead making you go downstairs and explain to the cook why you hadn’t eaten. Until one day, Amelia, your ten year old cousin, told your aunt about this, and Mrs Pluck was told to make lunch for you too. After that, Mrs Pluck seemed to view you as her mortal enemy, doing anything she could to trip you up. 

Amelia, on her hand, had not told her mother out of the goodness of her heart, rather the opposite. She wanted you gone, as did her eight year old brother Albert. In the interim between their old governess leaving and you arriving to take her place, the children had run wild. Your attempt at making them learn at least the basics were met with protests and complaints. To say that your first winter was trying was an understatement. 

Spring was slow to arrive in these parts, but as the weather dried up, you could at least escape the house while the children had other lessons. The days were still chilly, you’d grown accustomed to breaking the ice on your wash basin in the mornings as your uncle refused to heat the house properly. But despite the cold, you wrapped yourself in layers of wool and escaped into the park, leaving the bleak house behind. 

You had a favourite spot, right at the end of the wooded area and well out of sight from the house. The path led through a thicket of rhododendrons and curved around a small lake, more like a pond really. On the far side of the pond sat a small cottage where no one seemed to live, covered in dark green ivy and climbing roses, all devoid of leaves this early in the spring. Where the path ended was a bench with a view across the lake and to the cottage. Even on the dreariest of days, the spot seemed bright, the weak sunlight of early spring reflecting in the lake’s mirrored surface. 

The first time you saw him, the sound of the cottage front door closing made you jump. The thump echoed across the small lake and you looked up, startled. On the other side a man had just come out of the cottage, a heavy looking axe in one hand. He stopped as he saw you, your eyes meeting briefly before he turned, a deep scowl on his dark face as he stalked away, disappearing from view behind the trees. You lifted your hand to shield your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his retreating back, but his long legs took him into the woods and he vanished in moments. Instead you looked at the cottage, it still seemed abandoned but now you saw the thin tendril of smoke rising from the chimney. Whomever he was, it seemed as if he was now living there.  

You returned to your book, but the man had disturbed your peace, his look at you had been so troubling. It was almost as if he disliked you on sight, while you didn’t even know who he was. What could have made him regard you with such aversion? 

With a sigh you closed your book and stood up, your favourite spot suddenly seemed less welcoming. 

It was a few days before you saw him again in the park. The weather had turned milder after two days of rain, and you’d left the children with their riding master. Slowly strolling through the copse of beeches at the far end of the park, reading your book, you didn’t notice the man leaning on his spade, or the ditch he’d dug. 

“Watch where you’re going!” 

The warning came too late as the ground disappeared from underneath your feet, and with a gasp you stumbled forward, just as a hand closed around your arm, pulling you back. 

“Cuidado!” he snapped, his fingers digging into your flesh as he all but shoved you back from the edge of the ditch, “Keep your eyes on where you are going, girl. I won’t explain a broken neck to your uncle.” 

You staggered back, his hand letting go of your arm as the book fell to the ground. 

“Th-thank you,” you stuttered, finding your balance again as the man shook his head with a scowl. 

“If you fall and break your neck or your leg, I’m without a job, so don’t get in my way,” he snarled, snatching the book from the ground and shoving it into your hands, “Now get away from here, go back to your books and keep them indoors.” 

Without a backwards glance he turned and grabbed the spade again and jumped into the ditch. You hesitated for a second, but the man stabbed the dirt with the spade with aggression, and began digging without another word. 

Holding tight to your book, you hurried away. The man’s fingers had left painful imprints on your upper arm, and you rubbed them as you made your way back towards the house, your heart still beating hard in your chest. He had scared you as much as almost falling into the ditch had. The scowl he’d given you had been amplified by dark eyes under his dishevelled mop of black hair and unkempt beard. It made him look foreboding and very dangerous. But what had really frightened you was the scar that marred his face, a wicked looking gash across his left eye. Even to your inexperienced eyes he looked like a man who had fought many battles and lived a hard life. What he did here, working for your uncle, you couldn’t even begin to imagine. His accent had been foreign, and he’d used a word you didn’t recognise when he first shouted at you. With a shudder you tried to calm yourself as you pulled open the heavy back door to the big house. 

The kitchen of the house was the only welcoming room in the place, much thanks to the elderly cook, Mrs Robertson, who ran it with a scullion to help her. Now Mrs Robertson greeted you with a smile, looking up from the dough she was kneading. 

“Hello, dear, you look frozen solid, is it still cold outside?” 

“Hello, Mrs Robertson. No, it’s not too bad, it’s just still cold in the shade,” you replied, unbuttoning your wool coat and hanging it over a chair in the corner. 

“Well, put the kettle on anyway, it’s time for some tea and you do look as if you could do with some warming up.”

She tucked the dough into a clean bowl and washed her hands while you filled the kettle and put it on the hob, stoking the coals to get it going. 

“I ran into a man in the park,” you said, taking down the teapot and cups from the cupboard, “did my uncle take on someone new?” 

“Tall, dark haired fellow with a nasty looking scar?” Mrs Robertson asked and you nodded. “That’s Mr Pero Tovar, he’s the groundskeeper. He’s been away for a bit, he usually is during the winter when there’s less to do. He must’ve returned recently, I haven’t seen him in a bit.” 

“I almost fell into a ditch he was digging but he caught me just in time, gave me a terrible fright.” 

“He will do that to you, poor man,” Mrs Robertson replied, “I met him once coming back late from the train, I was just coming up to the main gate, and he stepped out from the small path there. Nearly gave me a heart attack with the way he looked. But he apologised for scaring me and carried my luggage all the way up to the house,” she sat down at the table as you poured the boiling water into the teapot. 

“He’s not a wholly disagreeable man, even though he’s foreign,” she added as an afterthought, as she made sure you heated up the pot. 

“Do you know where he’s from?” you asked, “He had an accent I couldn’t place.” 

“Spain, I think. He mentioned it once when I asked why he didn’t drink tea. Apparently they prefer coffee there,” she shook her head as if the madness of not drinking tea was too much to imagine. 

You didn’t give the man any more thought, except to keep an eye out to avoid him when you were wandering the park, not wishing to be on the receiving end of one of his scowls again. The weather turned mild and soon daffodils and snowdrops were cropping up and you took the children outside to give them some lessons in botany. They were less than interested, and you soon gave up, letting them play in the stream flowing down towards the small lake while you brought out your sketchbook and began drawing the scene in front of you. The sun was warm, filtering down through the branches that were just starting to show the first hint of green again and you relished being out of doors, away from the house. The weather even felt warm, and you removed your heavy coat, before picking up the sketchbook again. 

The sound of footsteps crunching on last year’s dry leaves made you look up towards the path, only to be met by Mr Tovar’s dark eyes. He was all but marching towards you, a heavy looking tool bag in one hand and several long planks over his shoulder. Just as you thought he was about to scold you for some unknown trespass, he marched right by you with barely a nod, and made his way to the small wooden bridge crossing the stream. 

The bridge was really just a simple row of flat planks attached to logs long since hammered into the mud. The planks were beginning to rot and warp, and you’d kept the children away from it, it didn’t look safe. And Tovar proved you right when he knelt down and ripped the first plank away, the wood coming away in pieces in his hands. Soon he’d measured out the right length, and replaced the first plank with a fresh one, moving on to the next. 

You tried to return to your drawing or keep an eye on the children who were still playing further down the stream, but you kept glancing back at Tovar. Despite his intimidating appearance, or maybe because of it, you were drawn back to watching him as he worked. You weren’t unfamiliar with men, even though you’d grown up only with your mother. But this wasn’t the curious attraction you’d felt as a stable hand smiled at you. This was something else, something that made your eyes drift back to him, leaving your drawing unfinished as you watched him work. 

He had his back to you, a well worn black workman’s shirt stretching tight across his shoulders after he’d shed his jacket. It was mesmerising watching the broad back move and shift as he worked at the stubborn planks, the odd grunt reaching your ears. Hunched down as he was, he seemed to possess immense strength in his large hands, the planks groaning and protesting as he planted his feet wide and pulled. He always won the fight, tossing them behind himself in a careless pile. With an impatient movement he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve and straightened up. As you watched, he unbuttoned the cuff of his left hand and began rolling the shirt up over his forearms, exposing tanned skin dusted with dark hair. Done with one, he rolled up the other one before bending and grabbing the nearest loose plank, throwing it over his shoulder. 

As he turned he suddenly caught your eyes on him, and for a few seconds you were caught in his dark stare, unable to move. Slowly the scowl transformed into a smirk, and you dropped your gaze. From the corner of your eye you could see how he kept staring at you, his mouth pulled into a crooked grin as he seemed to study you in return. You felt your cheeks heat up and you turned away, looking down towards the children. From behind you, you heard him attack the planks again, another one tossed to the pile. 

Needing to remove yourself from the temptation to glance back at him again, you stood up and made your way down to the children. Albert was busy building a dam while Amelia threw rocks at it, he protested loudly while she laughed. 

“Amelia, don’t do that, let him build his dam,” you told her, knowing full well she would ignore you. She only sniggered and picked up another rock from the bottom of the stream, the hem of her dress soaked through. 

“Amelia! Stop that!” you snapped at her as she let the rock fly, narrowly missing her brother’s head as it went over him. 

“No!” she laughed, while Albert yelled at her, “I want to make him wet!”

“You’re ruining it! Albert hollered, as Amelia’s next rock hit the sticks and splintered his carefully constructed dam. With an angry roar he leaped for her but she easily jumped out of the way, laughing as she took off up the stream towards the bridge with Albert behind her. With a sigh you followed. You at least had to try to make them not kill each other. 

Pero stood up as the children came racing up the bank, Amelia laughing loudly as Albert yelled at her. When they spotted the tall man scowling at them, they both stumbled to a stop, looking up at him while you caught up behind them. Pero glanced over at you and then back at the children. 

“You should listen to your governess,” he said and gave Amelia a stern look, “And do not throw rocks at your brother.” 

But Amelia was not about to listen to the groundskeeper either. With an arrogant look on her face she put a hand on her hips and sniggered. 

“My father says you got that scar in prison. I think it makes you look like Quasimodo,” she smirked, pointing at Mr Tovar’s face as Albert started laughing. 

“Amelia!” you snapped, horrified at her behaviour. Mr Tovar’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline for a second before returning into a deep scowl. 

“Little girl,” he said, his voice low and serious, “you should not mock strangers.” 

“You’re not a stranger,” Amelia replied as Albert continued to giggle next to her, “you’re father’s groundskeeper, and you have to do as we say or he’ll send you back to prison with that ugly scar.” 

She was puffing her chest out as much as her scrawny ten year old frame would allow, and you could already see her mother’s haughty manners in the look she was giving Mr Tovar. He looked at her with a furrowed brow, his dark eyes almost hidden under his eyebrows, a dangerous sneer on his lips.  

“Amelia, that is enough,” you said, grabbing her arm and pulling her around, “you should be ashamed of yourself, apologise to Mr Tovar right now.” 

“No!” she yelled at you, struggling to pull free from your grip on her arm. 

“Amelia, you will apologise to Mr Tovar or I will tell your father how you have misbehaved.” 

“No!” she yelled again, and Albert joined in, yelling “No!” at the top of his lungs as Amelia continued to fight against your grip. Suddenly she lashed out and slapped you right across your cheek, and in shock you let go of her arm. The two children took off at a run, back towards the house, while you stood rooted to the spot, your left cheek stinging. 

Pero scoffed and came up to you, dropping the plank he’d been holding. 

“Delightful creatures,” he said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice as he looked down at you. With a surprisingly gentle touch, he took hold of your chin and tilted it to the light, examining the place where the slap had landed. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked and you nodded. 

“It stings,” you replied and he let go of your chin, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. 

“Come here,” he said, walking over to the stream and pointing at a flat rock just by the edge. He dipped the kerchief in the water and wrung it out as you sat down on the rock. His touch was gentle when he pressed the folded cloth to your cheek, the cool fabric soothing your skin. He held it to your face while he looked at you, and you realised his dark eyes weren’t really black, but a rich brown colour, much warmer than you’d first thought. And when he looked at you now, they even held some sympathy. 

“Why do you let them treat you like that?” he asked, the lilting accent in his voice less harsh now as he carefully refolded the kerchief, pressing another cool side to your skin.

“I have no power over them, and they know it. My aunt and uncle detest that I’m here, that they had to take me in. But I have nowhere else to go, so I put up with them until I can find some other family to work for.” 

“They will grow up into nasty adults,” he replied, “I hope you find a new family soon.” 

Pero dipped the kerchief in the water again and placed it back on your cheek, his hand still holding it in place and he was very close, closer than you’d ever been to any man that wasn’t in your family. You found you had to drop your eyes from his face, it was too intimidating to have him look at you like that. 

“Thank you, I can hold it myself,” you said, lifting your hand to take the kerchief. But he shook his head. 

“I’m keeping pressure on it so that it won’t swell up too much, although it will be tender for a few days.” 

He continued to keep his hand on your cheek, folding the cloth again and placing the cool side to your cheek. You glanced up at him, his face still close to yours, and found that he looked less scary now. The scar still added a grim element to his face, but despite the serious set of his mouth, his scowl had disappeared. 

“How do you know my name?” he asked, dipping the kerchief in the stream again. 

“Mrs Robertson told me, she told me you’ve recently returned as my uncle’s groundskeeper,” you replied, and his lips curled up in a small smile. 

“She is a good woman,” he said, “and she’s right. I returned a few weeks ago. I was away for the winter.” 

You wanted to ask where he’d been, if Amelia was right about him being in prison, but you didn’t want to break the spell of the moment. Instead you glanced down at your lap, unable to meet his eyes any longer. Tovar was crouched in front of you, and you saw how his trousers were worn and patched not only over the knees. His boots were mended and patched too, and the collar of his shirt was frayed. You realised as you took in the details of the man, that it looked as if he was living, or at least had lived, a hard and poor life. 

Pero dipped the cloth again, but this time he handed it to you. 

“Here, keep it pressed to your cheek while you go back to the house. And see if Mrs Robertson can give you some ice.” 

He stood up as you took the cloth, and then he held out his hand for you, to help you to your feet. You hesitated for a moment, looking up at him as he stood towering above you, with his hand out. He raised his eyebrows in question, and you found yourself again, putting your hand in his and letting him pull you up. He let go as soon as you were steady, but the warmth of his hand lingered in yours, the rough calluses of his palm imprinted on your skin and you realised it was not an unpleasant feeling. 

“Thank you, Mr Tovar,” you said, giving him a small smile, “I’ll make sure you get your kerchief back soon.” 

Tovar gave you a small nod, his dark eyes burning your cheeks as the corner of his mouth pulled up in smirk. 

“My pleasure, señorita.” 

You felt his hand in yours the whole way back to the house, it was a strange feeling. He was a coarse and angry man, he frightened you a little, although not as much as before. But yet the way his hand had felt on your chin, the way his eyes had been such a warm, brown colour up close, it seemed to linger in your mind. 

Mrs Robertson only rolled her eyes when you told her what had happened, giving you ice from the cold storage for your cheek. 

“And there’s no use telling your uncle about Miss Amelia’s behaviour,” she added, shaking her head, “She has him wrapped around her little finger.” 

You agreed with her, and said nothing to your aunt or uncle. But you didn’t take the children out into the garden any more. Instead you took refuge there yourself when you had time. More often than not, you went down to the bench by the small lake opposite his cottage. You hoped you’d see Mr Tovar, but he never seemed to be there. Instead you saw him from a distance as he went about various jobs in the park, always too far away to say something and he never looked in your direction. 

Until one day. 

Weeks had passed and summer had arrived and you had more time on your hands than what you knew what to do with. The family had left the house and travelled to the south of France for the summer. You had been told you would not be allowed to go, something that suited you well, even though your aunt expected you to be deeply upset by this. Both she and Amelia had hinted that you would be missing out on a world of amusements, but you didn’t have it in you to care. To be away from the family, to not have to deal with the children, that would be your holiday. 

Mrs Pluck had made it her mission to make your life in the house as miserable as possible and to escape her, you disappeared into the gardens for hours. On rainy days you asked Mrs Robinson to enlist you in the kitchen so that Mrs Pluck couldn’t accuse you of shying away from work. But it was a fine summer and most days you found a nook in the garden and read or drew. 

He found you down by the stream one day. The air was warm, especially for England, and you’d unlaced your boots and sat down on the bridge he’d repaired. With your feet in the cool, peaty, water you’d disappeared into your book, Mr Darcy declaring his love to Elisabeth for probably the twentieth time. 

Unbeknownst to you, Pero paused at the edge of the clearing as he spotted you, stopping in his stride to take in the peaceful scene you’d created in one of his favourite spots. The dappled sunlight danced across the stream, the gentle babble of the flowing water disguising the sound of his footsteps and he paused by the last tree of woods, the scene too tranquil to disturb. As he watched, you turned a page in the heavy book and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling at whatever you were reading. 

Pero would be the last person to admit it, even to himself, but he’d spent too much time thinking about your smile in the past few weeks. He was a man used to being on his own and didn’t pay much attention to the world around him unless it was threatening him or presenting an opportunity. The smiles of pretty women was not something he lingered on, mainly because the only women who smiled at him were the kind he had to pay to get. He knew his appearance, not just the scar, but his darker skin and guarded face, put off the women he met, and not just the women. So he’d arranged his features into a scowl that kept them all at bay, unless they needed him for a job. 

And this governess, he’d seen how you’d been frightened by him when you nearly stumbled into the ditch, and he’d dismissed you as one of the many women who took one look at him and baulked. But then he’d sensed your eyes on him as he worked on the bridge, seen your shy, awkward gaze when he caught you looking at him, no fear in your eyes. And the children were as cruel to you as to him, but you had to put up with them to keep your place in the house, to keep a roof over your head. You were a better person then he was, he would’ve struck the girl and thrown her into the stream. Instead, you’d stood there in shock as the children ran off, your hand on your stinging cheek. And he’d suddenly found himself pitying you, a creature too gentle to fit into the family of vipers that ruled the house. 

Before he’d even really considered it, he’d taken out his handkerchief and taken upon himself to soothe your swollen cheek. Your eyes had looked up at him with surprise and trepidation, but like the lamb, you’d followed him to the edge of the stream and sat down when he told you to. You really were too gentle and trusting for this world he thought, too innocent. He would’ve, should’ve, dismissed you easily, you were not his responsibility, not someone he needed to consider at all.  

But then you’d taken his hand and smiled as you thanked him, and he found, painfully, that you were not easy to dismiss, no matter how hard he tried. Instead your smile lingered in his mind, the spark it brought to your eyes, and how soft it made your features, matched only by the way your hand felt in his for the brief moment you held it. He’d never felt the urge to protect anyone else but himself before, but like a wolf turned guard dog, he suddenly felt the need to shield you, stay by your side and keep you safe. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and he’d pushed it aside, burying it deep inside. 

The next day he’d found his kerchief wrapped in a brown paper package on his doorstep. Clean and ironed, with a small sprig of lavender tucked between its folds. It was somehow now the prettiest thing he owned, and he couldn’t bring himself to use it again. Instead it stayed on his dresser, the lavender spreading its delicate scent around the room where it rested on the neatly folded fabric. Whenever he walked past the lavender shrubs in the garden, he thought of you, your smile seemed to live on at the forefront of his mind. 

He didn’t like how you made him feel, he didn’t want to feel like he needed to protect anyone but himself. If you were that weak and feeble, let you fend for yourself like he always had. It had made him strong and hard, he had no need for anyone and no one would treat him like those children had treated you. He avoided the lavender shrubs, and the spots where you often sat, making sure to never acknowledge you when he saw you in the distance. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from glancing across the pond every morning when he left the cottage, only to find the bench empty. You never seemed to return to that spot.  

But now he stood at the edge of the woods, watching you turn another page, and smile again. He didn’t want to disturb you, didn’t want to see you smile at him again, didn’t want to see the softness of your eyes as they locked on to him and made his heart rage against anyone who hurt you. And at the same time, he knew he wanted you to notice him, to turn your head and smile at him instead of that book, to bring him to his knees and make him feel needed by you. He would be your guard dog for the rest of his miserable life if you only smiled at him. 

He felt it all battle inside him as he stood by the sturdy tree, a hand on its rough bark, one foot twitching to move forward, the jerk of the other to turn back. And maybe he made a twig snap, loud enough to make you lift your head from the book and turn, meeting his eyes as he tried to decide what to do. 

“Mr Tovar,” you said, and you’d made the decision for him. He felt his feet move, towards the bridge, before he’d decide anything. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I left the kerchief by your door,” you said, looking at him as he stopped by the edge of the bridge. 

“I found it,” Pero replied, his large hands twitching by his side, “You didn’t need to clean it, but thank you.” 

He shifted his weight, testing the new planks he’d laid down, pretending to inspect them while you continued to look up at him. 

“How’s the-” he started just as you spoke. 

“Thank you again fo-” 

“Sorry,” you immediately apologised, “you first, Mr Tovar.” 

“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied, “How is your cheek?” 

His voice was gruff, but his scowl was less this morning as he looked at your cheek. The skin had bruised but the swelling had disappeared after just a day. You put your hand on your cheek as if to feel the texture of the skin. 

“It’s fine, the bruise has disappeared and there is no pain, probably thanks to your quick thinking.” 

“I bet the little lady had no punishment for her actions,” he growled, bending his knees and dropping onto his haunches. He gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, just like had the day it happened, and tilted your head to the side, inspecting the flawless skin. 

“No, I never told her uncle anything,” you replied, “What would be the point? It would probably only get me into trouble instead.” 

Pero dropped his hand from your chin, your eyes weren’t on him anymore and he chided himself for acting on the impulse to touch you again. He could feel the guard dog in him bristle at your words, at the way you’d so easily let Miss Amelia get away with her actions. He would not have let her even speak to you the way she did, let alone strike you. 

You dropped your gaze back to the open book in your hands, your feet still dangling in the cool water. Pero knew he should stand up, go back to his cottage, and continue to stay away, to push any thought of you to the back of his mind. Tell the guard dog in his chest to ignore the woman in front of him, you were not his to protect. 

But instead he found his voice and spoke. 

“What are you reading, señorita?” 

You looked at him in surprise, why was he interested in your book? But the gaze that met yours was curious, despite the serious set his jaw still held. 

“Pride & Prejudice, by Jane Austen,” you replied, showing him the spine of the book. It was a well worn copy, a gift from your mother many years ago, “Have you read it?” 

“No,” came his swift reply, almost as if he was scoffing at the thought of reading such a book. 

“Well, it’s very good, it’s probably my favourite,” you said, looking back down at the book, stroking the front cover with a gentle touch, “I’ve read it many times."

“Why?” he asked and as you looked up at him, his eyebrows pulled together in a questioning look, incredulous even. 

“Why not?” you retorted, “It’s a good story, I enjoy the characters, and every time I read it I discover something new, a detail I hadn’t thought about. Have you never re-read a good book?” 

“Never,” he said, and this time he did scoff and you wrinkled your nose at him, looking back at your book and opening it up to the page you’d been on. 

“Well, maybe you should try it sometime, it’s a good experience to revisit things you like.” 

Pero could sense he’d offended you in some way, and yet again he was drawn in two directions by his mind, he should stand up, leave you to your book. 

“I never learnt how to read,” he said instead, regretting the words the second they came out of his treacherous mouth. He felt heat rise up his neck as he cursed himself. He’d never admitted to anyone that he couldn’t read, even though he’d learned a whole new language as an adult. Just repeat what others said, it was easy. Interpreting the little symbols on pages, whether in Spanish or in English, proved impossible in both languages. But so desperate was his mind to stay connected to you, that not even his deepest secrets seemed safe when he was in your presence. 

Now it was your turn to look surprised as you closed the book again. The scowl on his face was back, like he was expecting your mockery as his neck flushed a deep crimson. 

“That’s a shame,” you said, your voice small. You felt as if he would be very angry with you if you pitied him or accidentally made him feel inferior, his deep scowl still frightened you as he waited for your reaction to his confession. 

“Reading makes me very happy, and it opens up new worlds,” you continued carefully, “There are some great stories by incredible writers, they really make me see what they are describing and make me feel so much. I hope you can experience that some day, if you learn to read.” 

Pero dropped his gaze, down to his hands, and sank down onto the bridge, sitting down next to you as he shook his head. He saw the softness in you again, that gentleness that made the guard dog in him spring to life. He wanted to protect you, even against himself, didn’t want to frighten you. So he looked at his large hands, dirty from the soil and rough with callouses and tried to make his voice less harsh, his features less abrasive.

“I’m too old to learn how to read now, I was never able to do it in Spanish or English, what use is it to try now? Just tell me what your incredible book is about.” 

“I’m sure you could learn if you had a good teacher, Mr Tovar,” you said, but he just rubbed at the dirt on his hands and furrowed his brow as he shook his head in response. 

“Better you tell me what your book is about, then I don’t have to learn how to read,” he replied, keeping his voice low. What was he doing? He should not talk to you, he could already feel his heart pounding in an unfamiliar way, small tendrils reaching out towards you. 

“It’s…it’s about a woman called Elizabeth Bennet. Her family wants her to marry a man for his money, but she wants to marry only for love. But to her, all the men she meets are fools, none are worthy of her. Then she meets Mr Darcy, and she’s too prejudiced against men to see that he would be a good match for her. And he, on his end, is too proud to admit that a woman of a lower class than him could provide him with the kind of marriage that would make him happy. Both of them are bound by social expectations and restraints. But it has a happy ending,” you smiled at Mr Tovar who was watching you speak with curiosity, “I know it has a happy ending but I’m still nervous every time I read it.” 

“Do you wish to marry for love?” he asked, “Is that why it’s your favourite story?” 

His gaze made your cheeks heat up, it wasn’t the question you’d expected, and his deep brown eyes seemed to see through to your soul and see the true answer that lay there. 

You shrugged, looking down at the water rushing over your feet, to hide yourself from his eyes. 

“I very much doubt I’ll ever marry, for love or not. I’m a governess, I have no money and won’t inherit any either. If someone would want to marry me, they’d get nothing for it anyway. And what’s to say that he is someone I want to marry? Then I’d rather be like Lizzy and not marry at all, because I doubt there is a Mrd Darcy waiting for me.” 

Pero watched you, as you watched the water slip around your bare feet, the guard dog growling in his chest. 

“Any man would be fortunate to marry you, señorita,” he said, “just make sure you love him before you say yes to him.” 

He stood up suddenly, it almost made you jump it was so sudden, and was halfway across the small bridge before you had the sense to speak up. 

“Mr Tovar, will you let me teach you how to read?” 

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to you with a look that confused you and almost made you regret your spur of the moment question. His jaw ticked to the side, he glanced back down the path where he was heading, and his fingers twitched. But his eyes looked almost hopeful, like a light had been lit inside him. But then he sighed and closed his eyes, his head dropping down on his chest with a muttered string of words you didn’t understand, you knew he’d say no to your offer. 

“Señorita, if you want to waste your time on a hopeless case, who am I to say no?” 

“Really?” 

His reply surprised you so much that the book almost slipped from your hand, and you quickly placed it on the bridge behind you as he took a few steps back to you and nodded. 

“Who else is going to offer to teach me? I’d be a fool to turn you down, even though I doubt you can even teach this dog to read.” 

“Don’t say that about yourself, Mr Tovar,” you gently scolded him, “I’m sure we’ll get you reading in no time.” 

“Pero,” he said, a small smile softening his features as he held out his hand to you. “Don’t call me ‘Mr Tovar’ if you’re to teach me, señorita.” 

“Pero,” you replied, trying to roll the name around your tongue the way he did. It felt nice, unfamiliar in the way it sounded, but it suited him, and the way his harsh features changed when he smiled, was reward enough for your attempt. 

“Maybe I’ll teach you Spanish while you teach me to read,” he chuckled, a warm sound from him as you took his outstretched hand and shook it.

“Tomorrow at ten, at the bench by your cottage?” you asked and he nodded in agreement. 

“Tomorrow at ten.” 

Meeting Mr Tovar, no, Pero, you corrected yourself, quickly became the favourite part of your day. The summer was fine and most days dry, so you brought your books to the bench every morning at ten, and remained with him until you had to go back to the house for lunch and he had to take care of his groundskeeper duties. 

It quickly became clear to you that Pero’s biggest obstacle was his own belief that he wasn’t able to learn how to read. Once he’d cracked the code, he seemed to rehearse the alphabet every chance he got and soon he made his way through your easiest book. He read out loud, his finger following along in the text and he sounded out every letter before he put them into words, but he was reading for the first time. It was also the first time you saw him smile properly, a wide grin on his face as he correctly sounded out and deciphered his first word on the page without your help. 

Seeing Pero slowly gain confidence in his new found skill made you happy and satisfied and for a while you pretended that was the only reason you enjoyed your lessons with him. But you knew, because of the way your heart felt when you saw him, that that wasn’t the only reason you enjoyed teaching him. Far from it you had to admit. The lessons had been only an hour at first, you knew that it became hard for any pupil to focus after an hour. And at first you’d said your goodbyes and left when that hour was up. But then Pero offered to teach you some Spanish, and soon your hour had stretched into three while he asked you about your life, and he slowly told you about his. The man who had seemed so frightening at first, so angry and intimidating, was now the one thing that made your life at Yotes Castle bearable, even enjoyable. 

Little by little you saw more of the man behind the facade he’d held in place for so long. Carefully you asked questions about the things that seemed to shape the way he was now, and his eyes would go black, painful memories forcing themselves to the surface. But he always seemed to overcome it, choosing to share even the more grim parts of his life with you when it didn’t make you pull back from him in revulsion. 

“I was a good soldier,” he said, “but the only reward for a good soldier is to stay alive and be sent into battle again. I made as little money as the man driving carriages in the streets and less than the man who sold groceries to the army. So when I could, I left the army and sought work as a mercenary. There is no honour in it, but at least it kept my belly full and I could choose my own master and make a bit of money.” 

Pero shrugged, hunched over with his arms on his knees, his shoulders by his ears and looking out over the small lake in front of the bench, while you looked at his strong profile, the light hitting the scar across his face. It used to look nasty and mean to you, now it seemed to be a part of him as much as his dark brown eyes, just a mark of the hard life he’d lived before coming here. 

“I did things as a mercenary that I’m not proud of,” he said, his eyes still on the lake, “I’ve killed more men than I can remember. Most of them I just forget in the heat of the battle, others…they stay with me and I can see their faces sometimes. But I did it to stay alive, it was me or them, and someone was going to make that gold and it might as well be me. Better I kill the men who needed killing and let some poor boy from London keep his sanity and his life while I make the gold.” 

He turned his head and looked up at your face, half expecting you to be grimacing in distaste at his greed, but you just met his eyes with a concerned look. 

“You’ve seen so many terrible things, Pero. It makes me worry for you.” 

“Worry for how I sleep at night?” he asked, quirking his eyebrows at you with a slightly mocking tone. But you shook your head. 

“Maybe, but I worry about how you think the world always sees you. Those you meet here don’t know about your background, and don’t judge you for what they don’t know, yet you assume they do, and scowl at us all even when we-” 

“Even when you’re just a lonely governess trying to be polite?” Pero interrupted and you had to smile at him. 

“Yes, even when that. I was frightened of you after our first meeting, you looked so menacing and seemed very angry with me.” 

“Querida, I was never angry with you,” he said, his voice low and smiling as he sat up straight again and turned to you. 

“I know that now,” you smiled back at him, “but that’s what worries me about you. Maybe you are missing out on friendship when your past always makes you think that the world will judge you harshly.” 

“You became friends with me,” he replied, “maybe that’s all I need?” 

“You need only me as a friend? You’re settling for very little, Pero,” you scoffed, but still smiling at him. 

Pero shook his head, “Querida, you’re selling yourself for very little if you think that your friendship isn’t worth everything.” 

His words made your cheeks heat up, and for a few long moments you felt lost in the way he was still looking at you, his face serious and his dark eyes locked on yours. When you finally managed to pull yourself away, you looked down at your hands, rubbing at an ink stain on your thumb. Beside you Pero shifted, suddenly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your temple before he stood up. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, mi amorcita.” 

The kiss lingered long after he’d disappeared, your fingers finding the spot as you walked back to the house. You wished he’d continued, but you weren’t sure with what. 

“I was never in prison,” he told you one day, “well, not a real prison anyway,” he added with a smirk. “I was in China, working as a mercenary, and there was a misunderstanding. They put me in a cell but another mercenary got me out, he was good friends with the General, luckily.” 

“You’ve seen so much of the world, Pero, I’ve only ever been to London and here,” you replied, “What was China like?” 

“Interesting, and very different. Their language is very different from both English and Spanish. With English, I can recognise some of the words, with Chinese, nothing made sense,” he took the pencil from your hand and drew a strange symbol in the notebook. 

“That is the sign for gunpowder, I learnt it while I was there, important to know so that you don’t accidentally light a pipe next to it.” 

“That says ‘gunpowder’?” you asked incredulously as you looked at the seemingly disorganised lines he’d jotted on the page and Pero nodded. 

“They write words with pictures instead of letters, one of them explained it to me. And even I could tell the difference between our letters and their symbols. And my friend, who could read, couldn't interpret it at all, he said it looked nothing like anything he could read.” 

“I can see why,” you said, tracing the lines with your finger, “I see no similarity with our letters at all.” 

“I hope you get the opportunity to see more of the world one day, señorita, there is a lot more to it than just London and this miserable castle,” Pero huffed. The more you’d told him about your life, the more his anger had grown at the way your uncle was treating you, and letting his children and wife treat you. It made no difference of course, Pero was just the groundskeeper, and a foreigner at that. But it was nice to have someone on your side, someone as strong and intimidating looking as Pero, to tell you that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

“Maybe you can show me some day, Pero,” you said, the words slipping out before you’d fully considered them and you felt your cheeks heat up in a flash. Pero gave you a quick grin. 

“You wish to travel with the ill-famed Spaniard, a mercenary and dirty foreigner?” he laughed, “What would your uncle say?” 

“To hell with my uncle,” you giggled, it felt deliciously reckless to say it out loud, “To hell with him!”

Pero smiled at your glee, it was good to see you happy and dreaming of something other than your life at Yotes Castle. 

Two fat drops of water suddenly splashed down onto the page and you both looked up at the sky. Dark clouds had gathered above and now it was starting to come down hard, the first two drops quickly joined by many others. With a groan you realised you’d be soaked by the time you got back to the house, you had no umbrella with you, and your thin summer coat would not withstand this downpour. But Pero had already sprung into action with other plans, with a few quick movements he gathered up the books and notes from your lesson and held his hand out to you. 

“Come, quickly, we’ll run to my cottage until this is over.”

Without thinking, you took his warm hand and it closed around yours as he pulled you along at a brisk pace around the small lake. He kicked the door open and ushered you inside just as the downpour really started. Standing together at the entrance of his cottage, you watched the world turn liquid and grey in seconds. 

“Well, I guess that’s the end of summer then,” you said, peering into the gloom. 

“It will clear soon,” Pero replied, “but it will be wet for a while. Let me hang your coat up to dry, querida.” 

You’d told Pero your name, but he rarely used it, instead he’d continued to call you ‘señorita’ and explained what it meant. But as your lessons continued, he’d slipped into calling you ‘querida’ instead and you hadn’t yet had the bravery to ask him what it meant. It felt more intimate than miss, his choice to use it seemed to correlate with the deepening of your friendship, when reading lessons turned into longer conversations about your lives. Just giving him lessons, spending time alone with an unmarried man in secluded corners of the park, felt exhilaratingly dangerous. You hadn’t even told Mrs Robertson about it. But to acknowledge that you had more than just cordial feelings towards him, or that he might even have them too, that was an even more frightening thought that you shoved to the back of your mind and refused to entertain. It was an impossible scenario, your uncle would never allow his groundskeeper to court his niece.  

It was hard to keep that thought at bay here though. When he helped you shrug out of your coat, his fingertips brushed over the back of your neck as he took your scarf too, the gentle touch burning your skin. His touch seemed to linger a few more moments than needed, but you thought you’d happily stand still in his small hallway for days, if it meant you could continue to feel the warmth from his hands on your skin.

And Pero felt it too, the velvety smoothness of your skin, the warmth of your body as he stood just a little bit too close for just a little bit too long. He inhaled quietly, catching the scent of your soap, and took a reluctant step back, taking the coat with him. 

He hadn’t lit the fire this morning, but now he hung your coat over a rack and busied himself with the kindling while you looked around the modest house. The cottage was old, the stone walls thick, and you could tell not many of the items here belonged to Pero. You moved among the few items as the fire came to life, its crackling filling the room. You let your fingers brush over the sprig of lavender that lay on top of the still neatly folded handkerchief, a comb lying next to it along with a small sharp knife that you guessed he used to trim his hair and beard. 

A photograph caught your attention and you moved to stand in front of it. It stood propped up against the wall on the dresser, a simple portrait of two men. They were dressed in uniforms and looked with serious faces into the camera. You recognised a much younger Pero, his face smooth but still covered by his patchy beard, and no scar across his eye. The other man looked older and was light haired and as tall as Pero. 

“My friend William,” Pero said, coming up behind you and seeing what had caught your attention, “We were friends and mercenaries together, he’s the one who saved me in China.” 

“Where is he now?” you asked, picking up the photograph and studying the fair haired man.

“He met a woman and settled down, took a job with her father, helping them run the farm,” Pero replied, and yet again he was standing so close behind you that you felt the heat from his body through the layers of your own clothes. 

“It’s a good job for an old mercenary, he seemed very happy when I last saw him.” 

“Would you rather be a farmer than a groundskeeper?” you asked and Pero nodded. 

“Yes, if I found a woman who had a farm I could help run. But like your Elizabeth Bennett, I wouldn’t want to marry just for convenience.” 

“You want to marry for love?” you turned around surprised, looking up at him. He’d never struck you as a romantic. His demeanour towards you may have softened slightly, but his outer layer was still very much that of the scowling, dark minded man who’d rather the world just left him alone. Seeing him as someone who wished to marry a woman for love made you see him in a new light, maybe another crack in the facade he was slowly letting you through. 

Pero gave you a shrug and shook his head. 

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’d ever be fortunate to marry for love so I never considered marrying at all.” 

“But if you fell in love, you’d want to marry?” you asked and Pero gave you a humourless laugh. 

“Señorita, does it even matter if I’d want to marry at all? For love or for convenience, no one will marry an old mercenary, a piss poor old soldier, who thoroughly dislikes and distrusts the world.”

His face pulled up in a twisted grimace of a smile as he turned away from you and picked up the kettle on the clean scrubbed table. 

“Do you dislike me too?” you asked, placing the photo of Pero and his friend back on the dresser and moving over to the fire, “And distrust me?”

“Querida, no, of course not,” he replied, his eyebrows shooting up in concern, “I didn’t mean you, I’m sorry if you thought that.” 

He came to stand next to you by the fire, his dark eyes suddenly more concerned than you’d seen them before, searching yours to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently made you regret the friendship that the two of you had built up over the past few weeks. 

“I’d hate for you to think that I don’t trust you,” he said, “I’m glad you’re my friend and I hope you don’t regret the time you’ve spent teaching this old soldier to read.” 

You shook your head and without thinking, put your hand out and took his, stroking your thumb over the rough knuckles. 

“I don’t regret it at all, and I’m glad you trust me. You’re the first friend I’ve made since I came here and you’ve made this summer much better than I could ever have hoped. How could I regret the time I’ve spent with you?” 

Relief seemed to flood his features, his dark eyes turning warm in the glow of the fire light as he smiled and wrapped his fingers around yours. 

“I’m pleased to hear it, querida, our lessons are the best part of my day.” 

You smiled back at him, his hand, calloused and rough as it was, sent a delighted shiver through your limbs, fighting back the urge to step closer to him, to envelop more of yourself in the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. 

“Can I confess something, Pero?” you asked with a small smile and Pero nodded in reply, one eyebrow lifted in question, “My favourite part isn’t the lesson, but the time we spend talking about everything else afterwards. All your stories make me feel like I’ve seen more of the world because of you.” 

“I wish I could show you all of it,” he smiled in response, “maybe one day I’ll come back with a fortune and be able to take you with me on my travels,” he was smiling and he didn’t let go of your hand, still holding on, and now he was the one stroking your fingers, letting his thumb trace your knuckles, gliding up so that he felt the faint thrum of your pulse under the thin skin of your wrist. 

But you felt your heart twist at his words, you hadn’t even considered that he would leave. 

“You’re leaving?” you asked, the small moment of standing close to him, alone in his cottage shattered, and you pulled your hand from his. He had no obligation to you, no commitment, but it suddenly felt like he was breaking a promise. 

“After the summer, yes,” he said, the smile falling from his face when you let go of his hand, he reached out for yours for a split second, as if he wanted to stop you from pulling away, but thought better of it, “There’s not enough work for me through the winter so your uncle won’t pay to keep me on. I go south and find what work I can.” 

“Do you always come back in the spring?” you asked, the very thought of spending winter here without Pero making your heart sink into the pit of your stomach. Last winter had been torturous, the only thing making you not dread the coming winter was the thought of Pero and continuing to meet him. 

“I come back if I have to,” Pero replied, regret lacing his voice, “If I can’t find better work over the warm season, I come up here. Your uncle prefers hiring someone he already knows, and he’s prepared to pay a bit extra for it, so the wage is decent.” 

“But you might not come back next spring? And you’ll be away all winter?” 

Pero felt his treasonous heart clench when he saw the disappointment in your eyes. He’d tried very hard to see you as the teacher, a teacher who’d become his friend. Convincing himself that the guard dog that growled in his chest was only raising its hackles because a friend was being treated badly by the family that employed you both. Not because he had any deeper feelings for you, any feeling of love, he did not fall in love he told himself, he kept his heart from feeling anything more than friendship. 

But now his heart ached at the dismay he saw in your eyes, and he clenched his fists, digging his broken, dirty, nails in to his palms to stop himself from pulling you back to him, pulling you into his arms and telling you he wouldn’t leave, not without taking you with him. 

“Querida…” he mumbled, “I simply don’t know if I’ll be back next spring. But I promise, if you’re still here, I will do my best to return.” 

“I’ll miss you,” you said quietly as Pero carefully reached out and took your hand in his again, a small gesture of consolation, “Last winter was dreary and miserable but it will be worse now when this summer has been so nice.” 

You looked down at your hand in his, his golden, tanned fingers wrapping around yours, the back of his hand criss crossed by small scars. You’d seen them before and asked him about them, he’d let you trace your fingertips over them, seeing the evidence of the hard life he’d lived as a mercenary, while he’d kept his eyes on you. Now you did the same again, memorising each line, committing to memory how his skin felt under your fingers, the warmth, the sparse dark hairs that made his hands look so different to your own. 

Pero watched how you caressed his rough hands, hands he knew had been covered by more blood and grime that he wished to remember. So many lives ended by the movements they could perform. You knew about it all, you’d made him speak openly about the darkest memories his mind held, you knew these hands were capable of unimaginable violence. Yet you ran your soft fingers over the scars again, not pulling back from the man he was, no longer frightened by his violence, his scowl, the facade he knew he kept between himself and everyone. The way you looked at him, open, smiling, it made his heart do things he didn’t think were possible, feel light and buoyant, a small crack opening up. 

His hand moved without his consent, carefully coming up to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing across it as you lifted your head and looked at him. 

“I’ll miss you too,” he whispered, barely recognising his own voice, his hand still softly caressing your cheek as you leaned your head against his palm, your eyes closing with a soft exhale. 

His heart soared in his chest.  

He thinks he moved first, but the warmth of your body was pressed against him before the thought had crossed his mind, your mouth so close and turned up towards him. When his lips touched yours, a small sigh escaped you, the warm air brushing over his bristly moustache. Your hand closed tight around his, holding onto him as if to stop him from leaving, but Pero knew nothing could make him step back now. He pulled you closer instead and pressed himself to you, a low, satisfied growl coming from deep inside his tight chest.

His lips were warm and tender against yours, the sensation so much softer than you’d ever imagined. He gently caressed your cheek, moving his lips against yours as you took in the sensation of being pressed so close to him. With your eyes closed, every movement and sound seemed heightened to your senses; the light scratch of Pero’s moustache, the calluses on his hand rough against your cheek, his other hand moving, wrapping around your waist, warm and firm against the small of your back as he held you close, the small gasp of breath from you when he left your lips for a moment to angle his head and capture them again, deepening the kiss.

You’d never been kissed like this, only experiencing chaste, dry kisses pressed to your cheek by your mother. Now Pero moved his lips against yours, gentle and firm, in ways you’d never felt before. He held you close, your whole body pressed against him as he took your bottom lip between his, giving it a gentle tug. It pulled a whimper from you, heat shooting through your body, and you felt your knees buckle as the sensation overwhelmed your senses. Pero tightened his grip on you, but pulled back a little, looking down at your closed eyes, your lips parted as you caught your breath. 

“Mi vida…” he breathed softly, “open your eyes.” 

You looked up at him, his dark brown gaze so permissive, more tender and open than you’d ever seen him before. 

“The rain has stopped,” he said, his voice still low, “you should go before they send someone to find you.” He didn’t think anyone would come looking for you for hours yet, but his grip on propriety was weakening.

You nodded, but neither of you made a move to break apart, Pero’s arm was still holding you firmly pressed to his solid body, his hand on your cheek. Your hands had entwined in his shirt, holding it as if it kept you from falling. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” you murmured, your eyes slipping to his lips, wanting to feel him on you again. 

“I’m not leaving for many weeks yet, querida,” he  replied, his hand leaving your cheek to push a strand of hair away from your face, “And many things can happen between now and next spring.” 

“Please kiss me again,” you asked, “Just in case,” and your cheeks heated up at your boldness, as he smiled at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a grin. 

“Anytime, mi amorcita.” 

He sent you on your way after another long, lingering kiss. He’d parted his lips, let his tongue come out to carefully taste you, his hand on your jaw prompting you to slowly open your mouth and taste him in return. The sensation was strange, almost too intimate, your already burning cheeks heated up even more and it made you shy, stilling your kiss. Pero had pulled back, pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth and smiled at you again. 

“Your kisses are like the sweetest wine, querida,” he said, slowly letting you go, “and a hundred times more addictive.”  

Your heart beat a new rhythm as you walked back to the house, thrumming in your chest, as your lips felt hot and tender, still imprinted by Pero’s kisses. Whatever measures you’d taken to protect your heart had proven worthless, the man who only a few weeks ago had seemed so intimidating and frightening, had become your friend through the lessons. After the afternoon’s events...your heart seemed to both ache and soar when you thought of him. This was an impossible situation, an impossible man to fall for, yet you knew it was too late to pretend, to hide the truth from yourself. 

You were hopelessly in love with Pero. 

But Pero felt fear grip his heart as he watched you walk away from his cottage. The guard dog in his chest growled and clawed at his innards, making them sting with guilt and dread. This was foolish, the most foolish idea, why had he let it go this far? Why had he kissed you, not once, but twice? Why had he not tempered his heart to this weeks ago? But your presence in his cottage, your upset when realised he’d be leaving and may not return, confessing that you’d miss him, it had broken down all of his carefully laid plans to only be your friend. It was reckless to kiss you, a severe lapse in judgement. To let himself taste your lips, feel you so close to him, the softness under his hands, to feel for just a few minutes how it would be if you were his. But he had nothing to offer, and even if he did, you were impossibly out of his reach. This would only end with heartbreak if he let it continue. And he knew his heart would recover and harden when told you it couldn’t continue, but he might break yours for good. 

Pero was already by the bench when you came there the next day, but he wasn’t sitting on it as he usually did. Instead he stood next to it, his large hands twitching with nerves as they hung by his thighs. 

You smiled at him, but it faded when you saw the serious set of his face, and he didn’t return your smile. 

“Señorita,” he said, his voice low and heavy as he nodded to you, “I apologise for my behaviour yesterday, I shouldn’t have kissed you. I wish to remain your friend and continue our lessons, but no more, I will not let myself go any further.” 

Your heart plummeted into the pit of your stomach, the fantasy you’d been nursing since yesterday afternoon shattering as Pero kept his eyes off you, looking at a spot on the ground between the two of you. You knew it was a silly dream, imagining a life where you and Pero could marry, be together and create a life for the two of you. But you’d held on to it, bolstered by Pero’s words that a lot could happen between now and next spring. 

But now here he stood, not meeting your eyes, his hands seemingly trying to keep something at bay with the way they kept moving, never stilling. He must know what he was doing to you, the pain his words caused, and you could see the struggle in him. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark under his deeply furrowed brows and you felt yourself breaking. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and quickly you turned and sat down on the bench, opening your bag to take out the books while you shook your head. 

“It was nothing, Mr Tovar, and you’re right, we shouldn’t have done it. Let’s continue our lessons as friends.” 

You didn’t look at him, but you felt the bench shift as he sat down at the other end, and you handed him the book he’d been reading from. 

“From page ten, Mr Tovar, please.” 

“Señorita…” he replied, his voice doing a bad job at hiding the pain he felt at your cold demeanour, even though he’d been the one to break your heart, he knows it, he can see it in the way your eyes are filled to the brim with tears, “please call me Pero, you are still my friend.” 

“I think it might be best if we continue with titles, Mr Tovar. Please, page ten if you wish to continue our lessons.” 

He opened the book to the page, biting back all the things he would rather say, but he’s made a decision. He knew he’d hurt you, he knew this would hurt, but what he was foolish enough to start yesterday, has to end as quickly as possible. So he focused on the first word of the page, and tried to remember how to interpret the illegible markings that face him. 

He read from the book, you corrected him and helped him when he got stuck, just as you’ve done through all the lessons. But you don’t smile at him, and you don’t sit close to him. When the hour is up, you told him to practise a passage tonight, and then gathered your things and stood up. 

“Same time tomorrow, Mr Tovar,” you said, a statement rather than a question, and he can only nod in agreement. You gave him a short nod too, and walked away, quickly disappearing into the woods. 

The tears began to flow as soon as your back was turned to him, silently, holding back the sob that had been lodged in your throat for the past hour. You rushed through the small woods, not towards the house, but towards the winding maze of rhododendrons that offered a thicket of sheltered pathways under their heavy boughs. There, in the centre of the labyrinth, you sank down on the worn stone bench under the thickest trunks. Their season was long gone, a reminder how late the summer was getting, their bright petals turning brown on the forest floor. Covering your face with your hands, you gave into the grief that was squeezing your heart, whimpering as tears began to flow in earnest. It was so much worse than if he simply didn’t love you in return, you know he does, he couldn’t hide the pain on his own face as he told you it could go no further. But he pushed you away anyway because he realised it was a hopeless dream and it crushed you under the weight of how bleak it was. 

“I wish I’d never met him,” you whimpered, gripping the cool stone, digging your nails into the unyielding surface, “I wish I’d never met him.” 

Pero held onto the branch of the rhododendron bush so hard it might break under his iron grip. The guard dog in his chest was threatening to spring forward, to wrap itself around your broken form on the stone bench, to hold you, tell you it would all be fine, he’d find a way, protect you from everything, even himself. It was a mistake to follow you when you left, but his determination to not let the love between you go any further did not stand a chance against the urge in his chest to protect you from the world. Even if he would not let himself come close to you again, the guard dog still pushed him to follow you, the despondent shape of your shoulders, the quiet sobs pulling him just as much. 

When you whimpered, your wish to never have met him, he felt as if you’d slid a blade into his heart, and he only deserved it. He deserved as much pain as what he could hear in your voice, more even, he’d take it all from you if it wasn’t for the fact that he was the one causing it. 

You didn’t hear the careful crunch of his boots as he turned and walked away. 

Even though your heart was breaking, and sat in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight every morning when you woke up, you still continued to see Pero almost every day. You both knew it probably would’ve been wisest to not continue the lessons, that it would make it all that much harder, keeping the pain fresh every day. But it wasn’t something either of you were prepared to give up, so you met on the bench by his cottage and you kept Pero at a distance, and he did the same with you. Always sitting at the far end of the bench, reading the passage you assigned him diligently, but never moving closer. 

Your one concession, the thing you found you couldn’t be without, was to extend the hour and stay even though the lesson was over. Listening to Pero’s stories of his life before he came to England, his childhood in Spain, his adventures as he travelled the world as a mercenary. But he kept his facade up, never letting it fall the way it had before, never letting you in again like he had.

He does teach you some Spanish though, teaching you how to pronounce his name the way he does and smiling when you greet him in Spanish every morning, telling him what a beautiful day it is, no matter how dreary the weather is. He tells himself he can live like this, have you as a friend in this place, someone who will make him come back next spring. He might even believe it. 

You count down the days to the end of the summer with growing dread, the ache in your heart doesn’t lessen. Rather it grows, rips through you when he smiles at your successful attempt at asking him how old he is. The Spanish he’s teaching you becomes your link to him, the one thing you’ll have left when he leaves, and you hoard the words in your mind, asking him to translate every word you can think of. 

But he never calls you mi amorcita again, and you never ask what it means. 

No summer is endless, and one day you returned from the lesson to find the house in uproar. Rooms being opened up, aired out, sheets pulled from the furniture as Yotes Castle was prepared for the return of the family. 

You saw their carriage coming up the drive as you left the house the next morning, and you hurried away, ducking out of sight. The horrid day of the children returning to their lessons is already here, and you wish to keep it at bay as long as possible. 

When you arrived at the bench by the cottage, Pero wasn't there yet. He’s usually first, he only walks over from his cottage, but now you sit and wait for him for what feels like an age. Finally he arrived, coming down the path from the big house, not his cottage.

“Buenas días, Señor Tovar, qué lindo día,” you greeted him and he nodded but didn’t smile. 

“The family is back at the house,” he said, stopping by the bench, but didn't sit down as usual. 

“I know, the house was turned upside down for their return yesterday and I saw their carriage as I walked down here,” you replied, taking in his face, a deep scowl pulling at his eyebrows, “Did something happen?” 

“I spoke with your uncle, my contract will run out in four weeks, I’m to leave at the end of the month.” 

“Oh.” 

It was all you could say, a small puff of air escaping you as you looked at each other, so much unspoken over the past few weeks, the events of the afternoon in the cottage suddenly sitting between you as if it had just happened.  

“I…I’ll miss you,” Pero said eventually, the silence stretching out for too long, “I’ll come back next spring, I promise.” 

You didn't reply, dropping your gaze to your hands, a lump in your throat had formed at his words. The very thought of him leaving, of spending the long dark winter without him…it clawed at your heart, forced tears into your eyes as the reality that you’d been trying to push back made itself known. 

“Querida…” he said, his voice low, pleading, “I’ll come back. But we still can’t…” he trailed off as you inhaled deeply, your shoulders shaking as you bit your lip. 

“Querida…” he tried again, stepping closer to you, his hand hovering over your shoulder, but pulling back before his hand reached you, “If things were different, but a man like me shouldn’t court a woman like you, it’s not right. I’m…I’m not….” 

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead he just stood next to you, his fingers trembling as he watched your shoulders heave in another deep inhale. 

“Pero…” you mumbled, your voice watery and his heart ached, you hadn’t called him Pero since the day you kissed and he’d never gotten used to you calling him Mr Tovar again. 

“Don’t come back next year if that’s all you see for us,” you forced out, your jaw clenched tight to hold back tears, “Don’t tell me who I should let court me. If I didn’t want it to be you, do you think I would’ve continued our lessons?” 

You looked up at him, your lashes heavy with tears and Pero sighed, dropping his head rather than to see the pain so clear on your face. 

“Querida…” he breathed out, a third time, and you let out a hollow laugh, a wretched snort with no mirth at all. 

“Is that all you have to say, Pero? ‘Querida’? What does that even mean, just an empty word when you’re too much of a coward to actually mean it?” 

You didn’t see the frustration that flashed across Pero’s face as you stood up, rubbing your hands over your face to wipe at the hot, angry tears that were slipping over your cheeks, turning to leave him. But Pero growled, a low noise coming from him as his hand shot out to grab your arm, closing tight around the fabric of your coat. When you looked back at him, his face was set in hard lines, his dark eyes boring into you under the sharp demarcation of his eyebrows pulled tight together.

“I’m no coward, I mean it when I call you ‘querida”, he scowled,  “But I know what I am, and that I have nothing to offer you but a life fighting to keep poverty at bay as I drift from job to job. Don’t call me a coward when you have seen nothing of the life outside of this house and your mother’s household. I’ve slept in hedgerows, I’ve gone hungry for days, walked my shoes to threads. It is not the life I want for you.” 

“I didn’t realise we were already married,” you spat out, your eyes as dark as his, as anger coursed through you at his presumption, “You’re not my husband, you do not decide over my life. Unfortunately, that privilege still lies with my uncle. And I never thought you and him would like to lock me up in the same cage.” 

“I don’t want you locked up, I hate seeing the way you’re treated by them!” Pero raised his voice, stepping closer to you, his hand tight around your arm as he pulled you in, “I would pull down every brick in this place to set you free if I could. Do you really think I don’t know how painful it will be to spend this winter apart? Away from you? All I want is to take you away from here and protect you from them, from anyone who’s not as good to you as you deserve. Hay un puto perro guardián dentro de mí! Carajo, cómo te amo!”

He shouted the last words, rage flaring up inside him as frustration burned through his body, your eyes wide as he gripped both your arms and almost pushed you away from him, but not letting go. 

“Don’t you understand? If I loved you less, I might be able to speak about it more, but I love you too much and I can’t let you live the way I do!”  

His face suddenly fell, the air seeming to escape him as he deflated, his fingers digging into your flesh loosened their grip and he sighed deeply as the rage that had flared in him died down.

“I…We…have no choice. Stay here this winter, only one winter, and I will come for you next spring and we’ll leave together,” he moved his hand, cupping your cheek gently, his face pleading, begging you to understand. It was ripping his heart in two, the very thought of leaving you here to suffer through another winter of the children’s abuse, your uncle’s neglect and your aunt’s disdain. But the option was to risk everything if he couldn’t find a job for the winter down south, “Please, mi querida, I promise I’ll come back and I’ll have money for us to leave and be together.” 

His face was pained as he looked at you, waiting for your answer, his hand still cupping your cheek as his thumb softly wiped at the tears that still trickled down from your eyes. 

“I…I love you too, Pero…” you stammered, the words sinking in as his tirade of words ebbed out, “I was scared you didn’t.” 

“Mi amorcita,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, “my little love, I tried not to, but it’s impossible not to love you.” 

You closed the last small gap between you, kissing him without hesitation, his warm mouth opening in surprise as you pressed your lips to his. His hand left your arm and wrapped around your back as you moved together, your body pressed against his, his strong arm holding you very close to him just like he had the last time. A whimper escaped you as you felt him deepen the kiss, curling himself around you, caressing your cheek as all the pieces seemed to slot into place. Your hips against his, your arms around his body, the tickle of his moustache against your lips and his fingers tugging on the back of your coat, lifting you to your toes as he pulled you impossibly closer. 

The lack of oxygen at length made you both pull back just a little, Pero mumbling softly under his breath as he caressed your cheeks, cupping your face in both his hands and kissing your lips, the tip of your nose, and then your forehead before he looked down at you. 

“I promise, just one winter, mi vida. Can we survive that if we spend the next four weeks just like this?” 

“You’ll really come back?” you whispered into his neck, the steady thrum of his pulse just under your lips as he gently caressed the back of your neck, you could feel his fingers in the strands of hair that had slipped from your bun. 

“I promise, I promise,” he assured you, his lips pressing against your head between each word, ”I was always going to come back, no matter what you said.” 

“I should’ve taught you how to write too,” you said, “a whole winter with no word from you will be torture, but if I know you’re coming back, I can bear it. But I’ll miss you every minute.” 

“We have four weeks, teach me how to write too, la maestra,” he chuckled, leaning back a little so that he could see your face, still tear streaked and red eyed, his thumbs coming back to stroke your cheeks, “Mi amorcita, don’t cry any more. It won’t be easy, but if you really want this old soldier with no prospects, you can have him.” 

“I really do, Pero,” you said, closing the short distance between you again and finding his warm lips.

There wasn’t much of a lesson that day, Pero pulled you down onto his lap, sitting on the bench, making up for lost weeks. Your lips were swollen and red by the time you had to pull yourself away and return to the house, Pero to the duties he still had left as groundskeeper. Your heart was still heavy with the knowledge that he would soon leave, but you held on to the light that was his love, his promise to return so that you could leave together next spring. 

So wrapped up in your thoughts of Pero were you, that you didn’t notice the smug smile of Mrs Pluck, the housekeeper, as you approached the kitchen door. 

“There you are,” she greeted you, her self satisfied smirk stretching her jowls as she grinned like a cat that had caught a particularly juicy mouse. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs Pluck,” you replied, moving to the side to pass her, but she held up her hand and grabbed your jaw, pinching it painfully as she pulled your face around to peer at your lips. You yelped in surprise at her harsh treatment.

“Enjoyed your time with the groundskeeper did you?” she asked, malice dripping from her question, “I can see he did his best to bruise those rosy lips, making you look like a whore with a lip stain on.” 

Nausea forced its way up through your throat, almost making you choke as you tried to pull away from her sharp grip, panic gripping your heart as you saw her glee. The fear in your eyes was showing and her face pulled into an even wider grin as she let go of your jaw, only to grip your arm, her fingers closing like a vice around you. 

“You think you’re so clever, sneaking around with him every day, thinking no one would notice? Well, you’re a fool, girl. I’ve known for weeks and now I’m going to tell your uncle and have you thrown out. I’ve been waiting for this day, I only hope that swarthy tinkerer got you up the pole while he was at it, would serve you just right.”   

“Please, Mrs Pluck, don’t tell my uncle, we haven’t done anything, we’ve just kissed!” you pleaded, “He’s leaving in four weeks either way.” 

“And have a hussy like you stay on and teach Miss Amelia?” the housekeeper spat out, now dragging you past Mrs Robinson’s kitchen. She poked her head out from the pantry and watched in concern as the two of you passed. “You’re a fool if you think I would allow that while I’m housekeeper here, maybe that’s the kind of behaviour your mother allowed you to get away with, the Lord alone knows what goes on in those London houses.” 

Your heart was beating out of your chest as Mrs Pluck continued to pull you up the stairs towards your uncle's study. You could feel your legs shaking as the panic at what was about to happen to you, and to Pero, when your uncle found out. Pero would lose his job, there was no doubt about it. You might too, or he would lock you up, keep you from ever seeing Pero again. The very thought forced a sob up through your tight throat, the sound making Mrs Pluck snort again and dig her bony fingers deeper into your arm. 

The rap of Mrs Pluck’s knuckles on the study door felt like the bells of doom to your reeling mind. You had no excuse, no explanation, no way to plead for his mercy, and you stumbled as the doors opened and the housekeeper pushed you through them. 

“M’lord, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have discovered something that needs your immediate attention,” Mrs Pluck simpered, her countenance suddenly all meek and apologetic. The change would be laughable to you if not for the panic that’s still coursed through you. 

“What is it?” your uncle asked, looking up from his large dark wood desk. 

“Your niece and the groundskeeper, Mr Tovar. I’ve discovered that they’ve been having an affair. It seems they’ve been meeting in secret all summer. And only just this morning I saw them together, they were very…intimate.” 

Mrs Pluck clasped her hands in front of her and looked the very image of piety as she pursed her lips in disapproval. 

“Is this true?” your uncle directed the question to you, but he didn’t seem to feel the need to meet your eye. Instead his gaze dropped back down to the letter he was composing, continuing to scrape his pen over the paper. 

“Yes, but we only-” you replied, your voice unsteady with nerves and panic, and your uncle cut you off. 

“Mrs Pluck, you saw them being intimate? How?” 

“I saw her sneak away from the house most mornings, so I followed. They met by the bench down by the groundskeeper’s cottage. I couldn’t tell you how many times they met but this morning they were kissing, and I saw her sitting on his lap for quite some time.” 

“This is unacceptable behaviour for anyone living under my roof, I do not care that you are my sister’s daughter. I know she raised you to be a lady but she clearly failed,” your uncle said, looking up at you and placing his pen next to the inkwell, “You are dismissed immediately, I cannot have you tarnish the reputation of this family with this kind of loose behaviour. You will pack your bags and leave first thing in the morning, you will have no reference. You’ll be paid what you’re owed.” 

It felt as if the ground opened up underneath you, your breath caught in your throat, and from the corner of your eye you saw Mrs Pluck smirk while she studied your reaction. Without a reference you would not be able to find a new position as a governess, not even as a house maid, finding any kind of work would be all but impossible. 

“Please, uncle, I accept that I have to leave, but at least give me a reference, we did nothing wrong, I just love him. And I’m not with child!”

Your uncle sneered as he returned to his letter, “Love? Foolish child, what other nonsense has he filled your brain with? No, this harsh lesson will be good for you. I'm sure you can find some occupation once you’re back in London where you can’t corrupt any young ladies, and certainly not my daughter.” 

“And the groundskeeper, sir?” Mrs Pluck asked, clearly keen to make sure he wasn’t forgotten. 

“Send one of the footmen for him, I’ll dismiss him immediately. He’s broken my trust and defiled my family, he cannot stay on another day.” 

He looked up at you and Mrs Pluck and waved his hand. 

“That will be all, and make sure she is confined to her room, Mrs Pluck. We don’t want her running off to that Spaniard.” 

Mrs Pluck had a lot to say as she escorted you to your room, her fingers once again digging into your arm. It seemed to be a steady stream of gleeful insults that buzzed in your ears like wasps, your mind too numb to take in what she was saying. The door of your room snapped shut and you heard the key turn as the lock clicked, leaving you standing frozen just inside. Your insides felt like hot lead, the buzzing in your ears was still deafening and it was starting to cloud your brain. Stumbling to the bed, you sank to your knees, grabbing the bed frame before you toppled over onto the scratchy rug. 

You weren’t sure how long you remained on the floor, your head reeling. It felt like you fainted, but you could still see the lurid Persian pattern on the rug in front of your eyes when you pried them open. The room was dark though, hours must’ve passed and you hadn’t even noticed. The buzzing had subsided, replaced by a tight knot of fear and worry in your stomach, your heart still racing. Pushing yourself up, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed, you managed to light the candle on the bedside table, casting a faint light around the room. There was a tray just inside the door, and the two carpet bags you’d arrived with. Someone, probably Mrs Pluck, had left dinner on the floor, but clearly not cared enough to make sure your still form on the floor was alright. The sight of the congealed stew made your stomach turn and you scrambled for the chamber pot. 

On shaky legs, moving slowly, you made your way around the room to light the rest of the candles, coming to a stop in front of the small closet that held your clothes. You had no way of contacting Pero until morning, your only hope was that once you’d left the house, you could make your way to the cottage and find him, if he was still there. Your uncle seemed intent on throwing him out immediately, what if he had already left? 

The thought made panic rise in you again, bile forcing its way up, making you bend double with a whimper. A few hours ago the prospect of spending the winter here without Pero seemed like torture, now you wished that was all you had to face. At least he’d promised to come back next spring. Now he’d been forced to leave and you had no way of finding him if he wasn’t at the cottage. And you’d soon be out in the world on your own with no means and no other plan than getting back to London. How you’d survive, you had no idea. 

The next morning, after a night of very little sleep, you waited sitting on the bed with your two packed bags. You refused to be sad about leaving this house, but you were trembling with nerves at the prospect of soon being outed from the only family you’d known and left to your own devices. Pero was right, you knew nothing of the world outside of this house and your mother’s household. When the lock in the door clicked, you forced your head up high, at least you wouldn’t give Mrs Pluck the satisfaction of seeing you broken. 

The smug smile on the housekeeper’s face made you grit your teeth and straighten your back even more, gripping the handles of your two bags tightly. 

“Time to go,” Mrs Pluck smirked, opening the door wide and ushering you out. She didn’t grab your arm this time, but she followed close behind you, making sure to lead you through the crowded servant’s hall downstairs so that all could see you leave in disgrace. Mrs Robinson gave you a sympathetic smile, and you gave her a weak one in return. 

Out in the courtyard one of the stable hands was waiting with the wagon. Not looking back, you climbed onto the seat next to him and put your bags in the back. You had no intention of saying goodbye to Mrs Pluck, so you turned your back on her while she instructed the driver. 

“Drop her at the station, and make sure the groundskeeper isn’t anywhere around. He’s not allowed back here, do you understand?” 

“Yes, Mrs Pluck,” he replied, gathering the reins and preparing to leave. 

“He was sent off yesterday afternoon, he’s halfway to London by now, good riddance,” she huffed. You could hear the contempt in her voice and you were glad you couldn’t see her face, evil, vicious woman. 

With a jerk the wagon began moving, the driver clicking his tongue at the horse. You held on to the side of the seat as the wagon left the big house behind, rolling out onto the long drive down towards the main gate. The young stable hand said nothing as you stared straight ahead, but from the corner of your eye you could see him cast curious glances at you. 

“Whatcha do?” he asked eventually, “Get knocked up?” 

“No,” you said between tight lips, “Not at all.” 

“Steal summit then?” 

“Absolutely not!” you exclaimed and he shook his head. 

“No, you don’t look like the thieving kind, too fancy for that.” 

The wagon rolled down between the trees of the drive in silence for a while before he spoke up again, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“So what did you do?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but you might as well tell the rest of the servants as they’ll be gossiping either way; I fell in love with the groundskeeper, we kissed, and Mrs Pluck saw us and ratted us out to the lord.” 

“You kissed?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise, “That’s it and you got booted? Mean ol’ bitch,” he shook his head, “Only ‘cause she’s an ugly old bat who no one wanted to marry. She’s always making life miserable for the housemaids, she had one of ‘em dismissed for just looking at the delivery boy from the village. Said she knew they’d been sneaking off together when everyone knew Jenny never would never do anything like that. And believe me, I tried with her and got nuttin’!” 

He suddenly went beet red and cleared his throat, “Sorry, probably shouldn’t have said that.” 

The end of the drive was near and you could see grand pillars on either side of the open gate. 

“Do you think you could drop me just outside the gate? I’ll walk the rest of the way, you can have a bit of free time before you go back to the house,” you said, Pero’s cottage was near the wall of the estate and not far from the gate. 

“You sure? It’s a fair way down to the station, take you an hour to walk with those bags,” the stable hand said, but you could see he was already eager at the prospect of some free time. 

“I’m certain, I’d rather be on my own for a bit too, got a lot of thinking to do,” you said and he pulled on the reins, the horse coming to a halt just outside the gate. 

“Alright, this is your stop then.” 

You thanked him and climbed down, retrieving your bags from the back, and then watched him disappear down the road. There was a pub in the nearby village and odds were he’d head there for a pint before returning to the house. As soon as he was out of sight, you doubled back, finding the small path that followed the wall towards the groundskeeper's cottage. Tucking your bags out of sight behind a shrub, you hurried down the small lane. After a few minutes, you came to the cottage from the back, the small lake on the other side. 

There was no smoke coming from the chimney and the shutters were closed, making your heart sink. The cottage looked closed and empty without any sign of life. As you stepped into the small garden at the front, you knew he was already gone and a sob forced its way up your throat as you saw what he’d left on the doorstep. Weighed down by a rock, was Pero’s handkerchief, the one he’d used to soothe your stinging cheek after Miss Amelia slapped you. Slowly you walked up to the door and picked it up, the soft fabric smelling of soap and faintly of lavender. The sight of the carefully folded kerchief in your hands brought tears to your eyes, welling up and falling down your cheeks as you realised Pero was gone, and with no means to leave you a message except the kerchief on the doorstep. You never had the time to teach him how to write, and now he’d been forced to leave while you were locked up in your room. Where would he have gone? He only ever said he went south, and found whatever work he could over the winter, but where? You had no idea, and even if he went to London, how would you find him there? The city was made to get lost and hide in. But you had to try, somehow you had to try and find him. 

Squaring your shoulders you wiped your cheeks and tucked Pero’s kerchief into your coat pocket. The cottage held nothing for you now, and you didn’t look back as you retraced your steps back to your bags, and then out through the big gate. You’d take the train to London, find a cheap, but respectable place to live, maybe you’d be able to find the housekeeper who had worked in your mother’s household, you knew where she’d moved to and she was always nice. 

With the big house behind you, you set out to walk the long road down to the station. Pero had said you knew nothing of the world, but you’d need to be a quick learner if you were to survive so that you could find him again. 

After what felt like an age, your feet swollen and aching, you reached the small town that was serviced by the train to London. It was a relief to put down the bags on a bench inside the station house and stretch your back. The station clerk regarded you with curiosity but was friendly enough when you brought out your small purse and counted the coins needed to purchase a one way ticket. 

“The next train to London is in forty minutes, miss,” he told you, “and there are no delays on the line.” 

“Thank you, I’ll wait on the platform,” you replied, turning to pick up your bags. 

“I’d wait in here if I were you, miss,” he said, a concerned look on his face, “there’s a vagrant hanging around the station house. He’s been here since yesterday evening and I think he’s sleeping on the benches. I was just about to send my boy for the constable so you best wait here until he’s gone.” 

“A vagrant?” you asked, a small burst of hope going off in your chest, “What does he look like?” 

“Frightful! Nasty scar right across his face,” the station clerk said, “Dark too and - miss!” 

The clerk called after you but you didn’t hear, you were out through the door in a flash, turning on the spot, searching up and down the platform. 

“Pero!” you called, spotting the sleeping man on a bench at one end, “Pero!” 

He jerked awake, on his feet in an instance before he’d even spotted you. You were already running towards him as his eyes widened, and with a few long strides, he was scooping you up, crushing you to him. 

“Mi amorcita,” he mumbled as you threw your arms around his neck, finding his lips, giving no thought to who might see. 

His arms were lifting you up, one hand cupping the back of your head, holding you tight to his warm mouth and you felt tears begin to stream down your cheeks. You sobbed against him and he pulled back, mumbling a stream of soft words in Spanish that you didn’t understand, his hand coming to wipe away the tears, caressing your cheek between kisses. 

“Don’t cry, mi vida, don’t cry,” he mumbled, placing another soft kiss on your mouth, “You found me, you found me.” 

“I-I went to the cottage, I found your handkerchief,” you stuttered, “I was going to look for you in London but I was so scared I wouldn’t find you.” 

“I’ve been waiting, I was hoping they’d put you on the train, I couldn’t leave without being sure,” he said, loosening his grip on your waist so that he could cup your face with both his hands, his brown eyes dark as he stroked your cheeks and pressed another long kiss to your lips. 

“Being sure of what?” you asked as the kiss ended and Pero shook his head. 

“Another plan of Mrs Pluck to ruin things for us,” he scowled, rage flashing across his face, “She told me she was the one that found us out and that she’d taken you to your uncle. She said you were locked up in your room and that you’d been allowed to stay at Yotes because you’d sworn to your uncle that you didn’t love me. That it had only been a foolish crush, that’s what she called it.” 

“Oh, Pero….” you breathed out, fear gripping your heart as you realised how Mrs Pluck had tried to make Pero leave you behind, “You know that was never true!”

“I know, amor, I know, of course. You’d only just left with my heart in your hands, I knew she was a lying witch,” he pressed another kiss to your lips, a soft moan escaping you as you felt his strong body wrap around you. 

“But what do we do now, Pero?” you asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking up at him, “We’re both out of work and I guess you got no reference from my uncle either?” 

“No, he didn’t, but I have plenty of references from the work I’ve done over the winters, I’ll find work there. But…” he hesitated as he frowned, lines of worry across his forehead, “I had a plan for next summer, when I came back for you. A plan for how we would start a life away from your uncle and Yotes Castle, but now…I might ask you already even though it is soon.” 

“What did you plan,” you asked as he let his hands slip from your cheeks, down to hold your hands in his. He paused, looking at his fingers as he entwined them with yours, so large and rough compared to your soft, ink stained ones, before he looked up at you, a small, nervous smile, a rare thing from him, on his face.  

“To ask you to marry me, to go to that place in Scotland, and jus-”

“Yes!” you cried, louder than you intended, “Yes, yes, yes, Pero!” 

You pulled your hands from his and wound them around his neck, making him stumble back as you kissed him hard. A surprised grunt came from him as he grabbed your waist to stop you from knocking him to the ground. The grunt soon turned to laughter as he tried to speak between your kisses, you hugged him tight, your body filling with light as you pressed your lips to his. 

“Cálmaté, mi amor,” he chuckled, taking your hands from around his neck and holding them between his own again, “It won’t be easy, we don’t even belong to the same church, but if you’ll have me, that is my plan.” 

“Yes, Pero,” you said, your voice suddenly unsteady as you felt tears starting to run down your cheeks, your emotions overflowing as you looked into the eyes of the man you thought you’d lost until only a few minutes ago, “I want to marry you, everything else, we’ll figure it out.” 

“I don’t even have a ring for you, mi amorcita,” he said, leaning forward to kiss first one tear stained cheek, and then the other, “I want to promise you everything, but I can’t give you anything.” 

“Pero, you’ve given me hope,” you whispered, “and love. That’s all I ever wanted, to marry for love. And then everything else will be easier.” 

“I can give you that at least, and I will keep you safe, no one will ever treat you the way they did again,” he said, his brow furrowing, the scowl creeping back onto his face as he shook his head, “Never again, amor.” 

You let your fingers caress his forehead, smoothing out the frown and tracing the line of the scar across his eye. You touched your lips to it as he closed his eyes, a feather light kiss to the feature so many feared him for. 

“My guard dog,” you smiled, “ ‘mi perro guardián’, wasn’t that what you called yourself yesterday?” 

He nodded, his eyes still closed as you continued to kiss his face, touching your lips to every mark as if to map it with your mouth. 

“Tú perro guardián,” he mumbled, “I will protect you, amor.” 

[vylewa]

Over the last few weeks, I have been spending my time working on my save file because I'm gearing up to start a Let's Play series on Youtube. As I've been building the stories for the characters in my save file, I started thinking about the Sims universe as a whole and how I want my Sims to travel between worlds. It got me thinking that some worlds feel like they're just a short 4-hour car ride away, while others feel like you'd need a plane to get there.

So, I decided to map out my sims universe. I got a lot of inspiration from different Reddit posts as well as the EA descriptions of each world. This has been so helpful for me as I plan out the buildings I want to place in each world. It has been so helpful with finding inspiration for creating builds. I hope you can find this helpful too.

I'm really happy about my Sims universe turned out. I'd love to hear what you think about it! Are there any worlds you disagree with me on? Also, when are we getting an African world, EA?

United States

New Crest reminds me of suburban New York, mostly because you can still the city skyline from there.

Brindleton Bay reminds me so much of New England.

San Myshuno is quite obviously New York.

Willow Creek gives me a New Orleans vibe.

Magnolia Promenade is somewhere in the south because of the name (magnolias grow in the mostly in Southern United States - Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina). I placed it close to Willow Creek for story telling purposes.

Chestnut Ridge gives me a strong Texas vibe.

Del Sol Valley is undoubtedly Los Angeles.

Oasis Springs I think of as Palm Springs with the desert and all, also the Langraabs live there.

San Sequoia I think of as San Francisco mainly because of the Golden Gate Bridge and Bay area, I have all my tech gurus living up there.

Strangerville is straight up Area 51 with all the weird stuff going on there.

Granite Falls gives me a National Park vibe, so I chose my favorite, Yellowstone which is mostly in Wyoming.

Copperdale seems to be in the rocky mountains, I placed it in Montana because of the old mining town description. Butte, Montana used to be a huge mining town.

Moonwood Mill reminds so much of the thick woods in the Pacific West somewhere Washington or Oregon.

Glimmerbrook I imagine is close to Moonwood Mill and the witches and the werewolves are always beefing.

Evergreen Harbor gives me a strong Pacific West port city like Vancouver (I know Vancouver is not in the US, but you get the drift).

Sulani reminds me so much of Hawaii, the beautiful beaches, volcanoes, and mountains and the culture portrayed by Sulanians.

South America

Selvadorara gives a strong Amazonian vibe so I placed it in Brazil.

Europe

Britchester because of Britchester uinversity reminds me of Universtiy of Oxford, or University of Cambridge so I placed it in the UK.

Henford-on-Bagley gives off a strong English country vibe so I placed it South Central England.

Windenburg gives off a German vibe because of the style of buildings placed in the world.

Forgotten Hollow I think of as somewhere in Transylvania so I placed it in Romania.

Tartosa is undoubtedly mediterranean so I placed it in Italy.

Asia

Tomarang with the tuk tuks and the tiger sanctuary reminds me of Indonesia.

Mt. Komorebi, my absolute favorte world, is Japan. I can't wait to visit someday.

P.S. Batuu is not included in my sims universe because it is in space, I don't anticipate my sims ever traveling there, but if I ever feel otherwise, I will include it in here.

[piratesfromspace]

Just Like Old Times (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price (& Reader x 141) Rated: Mature Word count: 2.9k Summary: A cottage in the snow. A Captain you knew in another life. His rugged and attractive men. Will you let them into your life? Note: This is a fic I wrote for @literatecowboy for the Secret Santa event organized by @bunnyreaper! I tried to make something soft and sweet and it's taking place during the winter, it's not smutty but if you like it, I can make a part 2 with some action 👀

EDIT: we have a PART 2!!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, a little bit of angst but it’s mainly fluff, smoking, flirting, praise kink, sharing body heat

MASTERLIST // PART 2

It had been Laswell’s idea. 

The team needs to be ready for snow conditions, do whatever you think is best. You have 3 weeks. And I’m talking extreme weather, Price, not a little trip to your local ski resort.

Those had been the instructions Kate had delivered to an unphased Price.

He knew it was only a matter of time before this kind of mission would be required from them. Of course, the men of the 141 have already trained in the cold of England, have seen and tested the winter gear. But Laswell is about to send them somewhere at the very East of Europe, and there is a small difference between surviving winter in London and surviving winter in places where the cold could kill you in minutes if you didn't have the proper equipment or knowledge. Over there, more than usual, tiny mistakes could have big consequences. And Price would rather not have his team freeze to death because of a lack of training. 

It’s December and the month is cold already. But it’s nothing compared to the cold Soap feels when he steps out of the helicopter. It’s like Price has picked the coldest place he knows in America. He’s pretty sure they are somewhere in Wyoming or Montana, the only thing he can see are mountains all around them. Spruce and fir trees sprawl in dark patches contrasting with the stark white of the snow covering everything. He crosses the large glade to reach the tree line, as the helicopter takes off, sending the fresh snow flying in every direction. The sky is a light gray, and while the whole scene is stunning - makes his head spin with equal awe and wonder thinking about nature’s force and brutal beauty - it means there is no sun to warm his face. 

“Come on soldiers, let’s move, we still have a two-hour hike to reach our B&B!”

“You mean someone will be there to make us breakfast Captain?” Soap chimes, unbridled joy coming through his voice at the prospect of warm home-made meals instead of MREs.

Price has a hard time hiding a smile as he starts walking on the thin winding path, only recognisable for those who know it’s there. ”There will be someone, but I’m not sure they will cook for you, Sergeant.”

Ghost lets out a dry chuckle and follows the steps of their Captain, leaving Soap and Gaz a bit puzzled.

❄️

The sun is already setting when you hear loud voices outside, and soon after a series of knocks on your door. You’re a little stressed when you rise from the floor in front of your fireplace to go open the door. You have agreed to shelter those 4 soldiers for 3 entire weeks only as a favor to Price. An old acquaintance who saved your life, a decade earlier, before you left the field to heal your wounds - body and mind. The large wood cabin had been your home for a few years already. You keep it open for women like you, in need of time away from the world, although it’s pretty rare they come during winter time when the road is blocked by snow. It’s an old building, but well-kept and you made it as cozy as possible, all warm natural tones, plush carpets on dark wood floors, dark gray stones in the bathrooms. 

You welcome them with a soft smile, delighting in their surprise - seems like John had not told them he planned on using your cottage as a back-up base for this training expedition. John’s team members are not really what you expected: there is one Scott with a mohawk that seems simultaneously annoyed and happy to be there (he has terrific blue eyes), a young and calm brown-haired Brit (he’s really cute, like movie-star cute), and a behemoth with a literal skull mask (his size alone has your head spinning). You can’t complain about them though, as they are polite and friendly, praising your home - and for sure taking in the comfort and warmth one last time before heading off for days of rudimental camping in the icy woods. You don’t envy them, remembering that one mission you did in Siberia when you were still in active duty, that wasn’t really fun. They settle in their rooms easily and you all share a quick dinner you had cooked - except for the masked giant. The banter goes fast between them, especially after you offer them beers. You like being alone, but you have to admit they are fun to be around.

❄️

The living room is silent and dark, the only light coming from the fireplace across your couch. After dinner, you had trouble finding sleep in your room, so you went to read a bit in front of the fire. But you must have dozed off, because you wake up suddenly, gasping, arms flailing, sitting up immediately. Your frantic eyes, wide open, scan the room for the reason of your awakening, survival instinct going overdrive. Someone is standing in your living room, frozen in place on their way to the front door. It’s the behemoth with the skull mask - the scariest of them all, of course.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” he apologizes. In the darkness of the room, it looks like his jaw is not even moving beneath the dark fabric covering the lower half of his face, like the sound just pours out of him or like he’s speaking directly inside your head. He might actually, you’re not entirely convinced the giant is not some sort of supernatural being John brought back from a cursed battlefield. It’s unnerving to say the least. 

“I’m sorry, it- it happens sometimes, I can’t help it, my instinct thought you were a threat…” you blurt out before realizing you may have offended him in some way by implying he’s not worthy of your trust. But instead of scoffing, he lets out a thoughtful hum, lowering his head to look at his boots, almost sheepish. 

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” His voice is low, calm, and at the same time you can feel something else, sadness, maybe disappointment, in what or who, you’re not sure.

“Care for a smoke?” he offers after a beat of silence, nodding to the front door. You don’t smoke anymore, cut the nasty habit years ago. That’s why you don’t know what compels you to accept, but you’re not gonna be able to sleep now, so you follow him outside, grabbing your coat on the way. 

You half expect him to smoke through the mask, but he pushes the fabric up enough to reveal a strong jaw covered in light stubble, and plush lips. So he’s human after all. The slick and heavy storm lighter looks ridiculously small in his giant hand when he lights his cigarette. He takes a deep puff before handing it to you.

“Sorry, last one.”

Your fingers graze his, and you bring it to your lips to drag a small puff that immediately makes you cough.

“You ok?” he rasps, humor tilting the corner of his mouth upwards.

“Yeah, it’s been a while, that’s all” you provide. He hums in approval at your explanation. 

When you hand him the cigarette, you take a moment to look at his mouth, the way his throat works when he inhales, the way the silver smoke dances between his open lips and fades into the night sky. Something warms your gut when you realize his lips are set just where yours had been a few seconds ago. 

You don’t know what’s more attractive, this or the fact he doesn’t try to make conversation for the sake of it. He doesn’t bother to explain why he couldn’t sleep and felt the need to smoke at 3 in the morning. He knows you understand. You are just glad to bask in the soft noises of nature at night - wind in the threes, the hooting of an owl. Fuck, you’ve been alone up there for too long to thirst on John’s colleagues just like this, just a few hours after their arrival. You shake your head, driving out the thought, and take the cigarette again from his fingers.

❄️

The next morning, you wake up pretty early after a short night, only to find one of them - the pretty one, Gaz - is already fixing coffee in your kitchen like he belongs there. You honestly could get used to this. The thin long sleeves of his shirt are doing nothing to conceal the muscles underneath, rolling as he’s going about this mundane task of preparing breakfast. His kind eyes and soft voice when he asks for your choice of eggs makes your heart flutter with a yearning for this kind of intimate domesticity you had never really allowed yourself up until then. It’s kinda concerning, at this rate you’re gonna ask one - all? - of them to stay with you in your cottage instead of going back to whatever missions at the other end of the world. 

The rest of the day is not making you change your mind. Price had asked if anything needed their help around the house, and you gave them the tedious task of moving the gigantic pile of wood logs stocked at the other end of your garden closer to the house. It would have taken you days to do it by yourself. But by lunch time, the pile had dwindled to a fifth of what it was thanks to the hard work of the four men. The two younger ones were down to their long-sleeve compression shirts despite the cold, sleeves rolled up their elbows, showing off strong forearms, various scars slashing across the discreet swirls of black ink from old tattoos. Some disappear under the black gloves they are all sporting. Sweat plasters the fabric of their shirts to their shoulders and chests. You can’t deny they look fucking good. 

You had accepted Price’s demand without much after-thought, but now you couldn’t be more happy about it, ogling those four rugged men laboring away for you. Despite being older than his men, Price is far from looking bad. He’s built like a brick house, a healthy layer of fat covering muscles he’s been honing for two decades. Dark hair peaks from the open collar of his jacket, your eyes follow the line of the thin garment which is hugging his tapered waist, down to his thick thighs. Fuck. You remember what it was like to be close to him - literally and figuratively. He was your colleague, an equal, a couple years older than you but you shared the same rank. He was a mentor, a friend, a lover - only briefly, after that fateful mission where he saved your life on the field. You parted ways in good spirit after you announced that you wanted to retire, needed to get your head straight before committing to anything. Today, you ask yourself if maybe you could take this back from where you left it.

❄️

You want to train with us today, love? Just like old times.

Price had asked you the question the next morning and you had not been hard to convince. It was more about being able to look at them than to train your body, but they didn’t need to know that. Even if you keep a pretty healthy lifestyle, you can’t compete with elite soldiers, and by the fourth set of push-ups, your arms are giving out. You’re about to stop and reach for your water bottle, when Price notices. 

“Come on, you can do five more, I’m sure!”

You groan in response, but you go back in position.

“Breathe, love. Back a little more straight. Elbows in. That’s it… Good.” 

Price’s deep voice is calm as he’s encouraging you, gently correcting your posture.

“Don’t look down, chin up. Perfect, you’re doing good.” he goes on, and you cheeks warm under his praise, enough to make you forget the stinging cold. Your whole body is clenched with the effort, you’re letting out little cries with each push-up, your muscles are hurting, but you want nothing more than to make the captain proud.

“Just one more. Done! You did great darling, I’m impressed.” 

He helps you get up on shaking legs and when you almost stumble, he secures you upright against his chest, keeps you there for two seconds more than he should for it to not look intentional. When you raise your head, you’re suddenly so close to his face, blue eyes staring down at you with a glint in them you can’t ignore. You reluctantly part before reaching for your water bottle again, playing coy.

The three others are not oblivious to the little game between you and Price. You notice how they exchange knowing looks and little smiles whenever you both interact. Worst, they also seem to pick up on your love for being praised and soon enough they take every excuse to whisper how good your aim still is during target training, or how smart you are for knowing everything about the local fauna during your afternoon hike. It never sounds like they’re mocking you though, never feels like it’s not genuine. It’s not fair, really. At this rate, you don’t know how you’re gonna survive living under the same roof with four attractive men for three entire weeks. 

The answer to this torture of yours is revealed quickly. After a few days of acclimatization at your cottage, Price and his men are ready for a long expedition higher in the mountains, with just tents and even a short surviving-in-extreme-cold workshop. They will be gone for at least ten days. You watch them pack their gear and leave your place with a pinch in your heart you couldn’t expect when you first opened your door to them.

❄️

Days go by, pretty uneventful, until your heating system breaks down. It’s not the first time since you’re leaving up there, it’s not that scary but you’ll have to wait a few days for the repair team to come by. In the meantime, you resort to live and sleep in your living room, where the fireplace provides enough heat to keep you warm in the heart of the winter.

They come back the day after that, and when you see their silhouettes emerging from the treeline, just before the sun sets down, you can’t prevent your lips to form a smile so big it hurts your cheeks after a couple minutes standing in the biting cold. 

The fondness in Price’s eyes is not dulled by the news your heater is out of order, nor is the relief on Soap’s and Gaz’s faces at the promise of a solid roof and comfy beds after days of rudimentary accommodations.

You all work to prepare some food, and to bring a couple mattresses with all the duvets you can find in front of the fireplace - the only sane solution for you all to sleep without suffering too much from the freezing temperatures. It reminds you of your years of service, when you sometimes had to share a single room with your whole squad - you’re not missing the stress and the harsh living conditions, but you’re definitely missing the camaraderie, the jokes and fits of laughter, the bodies of trusted people around you. 

They leave you the couch - gentlemen that they are - the objectively most comfortable option, but once again you can’t find sleep. The piece of furniture is the farthest away from the fire, and you’re on your own, no one next to you to share body heat with you. 

It’s only because I’m cold. That’s the poor excuse you give yourself - and the one you whisper to Price - when you step down from your couch to seek a place under the cover next to John. He’s sleeping next to Gaz; Soap and Ghost are sharing the other mattress. You slide yourself against him, immediately melting into his chest, the man radiating heat like it’s his only purpose in life. He doesn’t even have to ask you if it’s okay to hold you against him because you plaster yourself to him and nuzzle against his chest, old habits taking over your sleepy brain. A sense of safety and comfort envelopes you at the same time his warmth does. You forgot how good it felt to be in his embrace, to be tucked against his broad chest, surrounded by his smell - manly, ambery wood, and the rich spice of his cigars. 

He chuckles silently as you settle at his side and let out a little content sigh. He missed that too, he won’t say it out loud, but having you like this, soft and pliant in his arms, it makes him wonder how he could be such a fool for not seeking you sooner. He suddenly wants to kiss you, to make you feel good, here and now, no matter the fact his men are sleeping just a few inches from you. Should he care? He’s not blind to the fact you spend a good amount of time leering at them since they’re here, and to the fact they are watching you back. He can not ignore the shameless flirting going on between all of you five actually. John has never really been in a situation like this, doesn’t know where this will lead him - where this could lead them. But he’s ready to follow you. He takes a deep breath before he talks. 

“Just like old times?” He asks, voice low, chest vibrating with it under your palm. 

Just like old times… The words echo in your head, echo in your heart. He gives you the opportunity to lead him - to lead them - wherever you wish.

“Just like old times.” You repeat back to him, before you capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

PART 2

[wosoamazing]

The Transfer

Summary: You move to Barca.

Warnings: None I don't think

A/N: Google translated Spanish so I apologies if it is incorrect, hope you like it. Also as usual feel free to send requests, whether it is for this Series or for kid!readers, or something else. Hope you like it.

You run to Leah when you see her, and give her a massive hug, you missed her, camp was hard, especially the second last day. There was a conversation you needed to have with her, you didn’t want to risk her finding out from someone else, so you decided to just start it right there and then in the airport.

“We need to talk about something, Le.”

“Go to Barca.”

“What?” you exclaim looking up at her, surely you heard her wrong.

“Go to Barca, you deserve it Bug, you’re amazing, go to Barca, you can always come back, Arsenal will take you back in a heartbeat, any club would take you back in a heartbeat, but you’re not going to want to come back, and I’ll visit I promise, and we can put daily facetime calls in our calendar for the first few weeks. Call me whenever you need, I’ll pick up the phone. But the girls are lovely there, and you will have Lucy and Kiera.”

“Wait, so you’re saying go? How did you find out?”

“Of course I’m saying go, it’s Barca, and the finding out part, well Alexia messaged asking if I knew anything I said no, asked Lucy and Kiera and they were like ‘yeah she spoke to us about what the people were like, and the environment etc we thought you knew’ Millie then walked in and was like ‘Guy’s shit just went down at the Matildas camp, might want to check your sister is okay though Leah’, Millie than told us what Sam told her and yeah”

“So, you’re not mad I didn’t ask you first?”

“No, I’m proud, you asked the right people the right questions, you stood up for yourself, you manage to do some pretty hard ball negotiations, and you didn’t let anyone make the decision for you, you stayed true to yourself, and I’m proud.”

_____

“Ready to go?” Lucy asks as your suitcases are loaded into the back of the car, you nod you had just played friendlies against the Lionesses in England, so at least the travel there was short, however the travel back to your club was going to be a bit longer, as you weren’t returning to Arsenal but to Barca.

“I feel sick,” Kiera moaned as she came out to join you and Lucy.

“Yeah, I told you to stop drinking, why do you think we didn’t drink.”

“Ah because she is still a week and one year underage, and you I don’t know, because you don’t know how to let loose and have fun,” Kiera replies. Last night some of your national and club teammates as well as some Leah’s national teammates had a party in your honour, to celebrate you going to Barca and to celebrate your Birthday, which was in a week.

_____

It was your first night staying at Lucy and Kiera’s and somehow it was conveniently team bonding night at their place. It didn’t seem like a coincidence at all. You were really nervous to meet the team, they all knew each other already, this was the first time you were joining a team that you were completely new in, when you joined Arsenal you already knew the girls really well because of Leah, and then when you joined the Matildas you had Steph, Kyra and Caitlin, but this was different.

You had stayed quiet for most of the night, watching the game, trying not to draw attention to yourself, however that was all unravelled when Mapi sighed “Estúpido Àrbitro. Eso fue claramente una falta.” (Stupid Referee, that was clearly a foul)

“Casi fue tarjeta amarilla.” (almost was a yellow card)

Everyone heads turned to you, and their jaws dropped. “You know Spanish?”

“Ah, well a bit, mainly to do with the game, one of my Friend’s Dad’s is Spanish and they talk Spanish at home, especially when he is watching the game.”

“Leah never told me that,” Lucy remarked, “Leah doesn’t necessarily know” “oh, so is this a friend or a friend.”

“Lucy leave the poor kid alone,” Kiera told her off.

“So it is a special friend,” “Is she, or he, cute?” “Do you have a photo?” the girls all asked at once.

“Girls, as Kiera said, leave the poor kid alone, she just got here” Alexia told them, they all shut up immediately.

_____

“Oh, Bebita, what’s wrong?” Alexia asks you as she walks into the locker room, you were slumped back in your locker, leaning against the wall, “come here”, she says as she drags you up and brings you in for a hug, in which you broke, tears start to stream down your face as you try to get out of Alexia’s grip, it was only your third day at Barcelona and yet here you were crying in front of your new captain. Alexia only tightened her grip at your actions cooing “It’s okay, I’m here,” rubbing your back slightly. “How about we sit down,” she sat down and pulled you into her lap, you rested your head on her shoulder, giving into her.

“I-I miss Le,” You sobbed into her shoulder.

“I know, its okay Bebita, we’re here,” Alexia could never understand completely how you felt but she could imagine, she could see how close you and Leah were which wasn’t surprising considering you had been living with her for the past six years but leaving her and only seeing her through the phone was something you were struggling with, and the team had started to notice it, you were always slightly sadder when you re-joined the team after being on the phone with Leah.

_____

You woke up and looked at the clock, it was 9:00am, ‘shit’ you mumble to yourself, you sprung out of your bed before flopping back into it, after having the realisation that you didn’t have training today, you had a game last night, which you played in, it was much tougher than the games at Arsenal, so you were exhausted.

It was only then that you took in your surrounds, there were balloons scattered around your room, and on the floor, there were little present signs with arrows. You quickly got yourself semi presentable before following the presents, they lead you into the living room, all your new teammates were there. “Surprise!” they all yelled whilst someone exploded one of those confetti guns, you were in fact surprised, you had been at Barca a week, you were expecting something low key with Lucy and Kiera not a whole team affair, “Come sit,” Lucy said tapping the empty section of couch between her and Alexia, as you walked over you couldn’t help but notice the pile of presents on the coffee table, you had already received gifts from your family and arsenal teammates, so these had to be from your Barca teammates but you couldn’t really believe it.

“You got these all for me?” you questioned in disbelief.

“Yes, they are all for you,” Alexia tells you before handing you a gift, “here open.”

You eventually finished making your way through the present pile and thanked everyone profusely.

However, while you thanked everyone Alexia walked in with three more presents, these ones were quite heavy. “Don’t open them yet, I just need to call someone,” whoever she was calling answered, and then she handed the phone to you, it was Leah and Lia, “Happy Birthday Bug! We may have some surprises for you, open the skinny rectangular one first. It’s from Katie, she wanted you to have it on your actual Birthday, make it more special” you opened it up and grinned it was a whoop, “tell her I like it please, and that I said thank you.”

“Will do bug, now the smaller of the two remaining was Lia’s idea, but both presents are from us” you opened the two gifts and at the sight of them tears left your eyes, “T-thank you,” your sister and Lia had just gifted you a new Mac Book Pro and a new iPhone. Ingrid moved closer to you and hugged you, knowing it was what you needed. After getting ready the rest of your morning was filled with fun festivities as the girls made sure to spoil you, however it was time to start getting ready to go out for dinner, so everyone returned to their own homes in agreeance they would all meet there, waiting for everyone to be there before they went in.

As you walked into the restaurant with the team Lucy whispered to you, “there may be one more surprise,” she gestured her head over to the massive table in the restaurant, where two familiar figures sat, you couldn’t control yourself and run over to them. “Hi Bug, glad you’re happy to see us,” Leah said hugging you “we missed you” Lia said now hugging you.

“I missed you too” you said before you sat down between them, you were grinning from ear to ear. “How are you here?” “Oh, this was all Alexia’s doing, she planned it all.” You looked over to you captain who winked at you, maybe Barca wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

[gghostwriter]

Can I request a Lil fluff with the team (mainly Spence) where the reader had a massive potty mouth (like they're from a country that isn't so harsh about swearing, England, Australia, New Zealand?) But she's all very professional when need be but when talking with the team she's cursing up a storm (maybe the terms "good cunt" and "shit cunt" turn up?

Good cunt means someones great, amazing

Shit cunt meaning well someone's bad) and Spence gets anxious but she reassures him that she's not swearing AT him but more making sure her words hit to where they need to go?

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader Trope: Friends who Flirt (?) ; Fluff just fluff! w.c: 0.9k Warning: CM violence; citizenship inaccuracies idk A/N: Apologies again that this took a while! I am not from Australia so I had to search up some more slangs to use for this. I hope I did it justice and I had fun writing this, Anon! Thank you for requesting 💗 Main masterlist

Down Under. // Spencer Reid

It wasn’t your fault the Americans didn’t have ‘swearing’ programmed in their DNA. It was although your fault why you ended up in the FBI—receiving looks and eyebrow raises from the team—rather than in a bustling city of your homegrown country in the southern hemisphere, Australia. 

But you really couldn’t blame yourself now could you? The idea of giving up your citizenship to be a part of the illustrious BAU was too good to pass up. So you packed your bags, entered the FBI Academy, and passed with flying colors—nearing perfect that David Rossi pulled ranks just to get you in the team even with how green you still were. 

“So what do we have?” you asked, rounding into the conference room with Spencer in tow. 

“Sadly, my precious koala, we have murder,” Penelope answered with the remote in her hand, flashing the photographs of numerous mutilated bodies. “Jacksonville, Florida reported a series of killings over the past month and it’s not looking pretty. Each victim had been dumped in alley ways and all missing a toe.” 

JJ slightly reeled back. “Well, that’s a new type of trophy.” 

“It’s not very common,” Spencer backed up. “Jerome Brudos, ‘the Shoe Fetish Slayer’ is the only known serial killer that kept a foot trophy from his first victim. He was only named as such because of his disturbing foot fetish and collection of women’s shoe catalogs that he considered as pornographic material.” 

“Ah a shit cunt,” you remarked, making Spencer shift on his seat to look at you with inquiry. 

“Y/N,” Emily warned. “Alright, wheels up in thirty.” 

———

The case file was too thin for the team’s liking. How was it that a serial killer with five, possibly six, victims under his belt only had a couple of pages on it and with incomplete identifications and no missing or initial reports done. 

“Emily, is this it?” Luke waved the slim folder up in the air. “I mean, I know the victims were all homeless but damn. Did they even walk and ask around?” 

She sighed. “I called it in and the only reason we were invited is due to the upcoming elections.” 

“Bogan coppers are they? Why doesn’t that surprise me at the least,” you scoffed

“Matt and Luke, you’ll visit the last location of the body—” Emily instructed before turning to the rest of the team. “JJ, coordinate with the media to get them to cooperate. Y/N and Reid, talk to the forensics. Rossi and I will settle base at the station.” 

A series of hums and agreements echoed throughout the compact jet before settling into a lull. 

Spencer shifted on his seat, turning to face you who was busy shifting through the papers. “Hey, in the office you—“ he cleared his throat. “said a phrase, what did it mean?” 

You turned slightly, noting his nervous gaze. “You mean ‘shit cunt’?” 

He nodded. 

“It means someone bad, low life, scum of the earth—wait, you don’t think I meant you, right?” 

“What—no, no!” He sighed, having spied your raised eyebrow. “Well, maybe? I didn’t know what it meant so I don’t know.” 

You giggled. “Spence, if I was going to describe you it would be—pardon my French, good cunt.” 

“For someone so tiny, you sure do curse a lot,” Rossi interjected. 

“What can I say, us from down under just have colorful vocabulary,” you shrugged. 

———

The team was finally back in home base after five days in the sweltering heat of Florida and you couldn’t feel any more tired than this moment as you waited for your sister to come pick you up. Granted you could taken the last train ride home but you just didn’t trust yourself to not miss your stop plus she volunteered so you hastily agreed—never one to say no. 

“I think I’ll wait until your sister arrives for you,” Spencer volunteered, taking your go bag out of your hands. 

“I am an FBI agent, Dr. Reid,” you teased. “Perfectly capable of taking care of myself”

“And I don’t disagree! I’ve seen you take down Luke in training and shoot multiple unsubs but you look dead to your feet.” 

You blushed, grateful that the night made it less obvious. “So are you my knight in shining armor then?” 

He cleared his throat, holding on to your gaze. “I could be.” 

You sucked in a breath. 

The temperature between you suddenly felt hot. Did that mean what you think it meant? Did that mean he liked you too? You opened your mouth to ask but was interrupted by a car halting to a stop in front of you. 

It was your sister, what rotten timing.

“Oh please, stop caking and get in before I get ticketed or better yet make it worth it and just pash already!” She shouted through the rolled down window. 

“Caking? Pash?” Spencer repeated. 

“Well—I have to go. Thanks for keeping me safe, Spence.” 

He stops you on your tracks, holding to your hand. “Wait what do those two words mean?” 

You laughed, squeezing his hand in return, and felt a sudden burst of confidence. “Come find me when you figure it out.” 

With a wink, you left Spencer dumbfounded and dazed on the sidewalk.

Some notes: Bogan - an uncouth or unsophisticated person Coppers - policemen Caking - flirting Pash - passionate kiss

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[chericherrybaby]

DO I WANNA KNOW

Summary, Just Harry having a drunken night and admitting his love for Y/N

~

Harry had been in love with his best friend for as long as he could remember.

They lived next door to each other as kids, they went to the same secondary school as him and she even went to watch him of x-factor.

Although they were close and always had been, it was very rare that the pair would see each other that often.

Harry was mainly touring, and it the last two years partying a whole lot more compared to what he used too. Y/N was disappointed when he’d text her saying he’s going to a party instead of seeing her, as if he hadn’t promised to see her two days prior.

Half the time Y/N wouldn’t even know where Harry was, she’d count herself lucky to get a text back after two days.

They weren’t really best friends anymore.

So after attending a party near Y/N’s house, She still had his location on after all this, Y/N had a slight hope that he’d change his mind and think she was more important than a party.

After busying herself, situating herself on the sofa, with a blanket and a book that she count quite concentrate on, mind always flowing back to Harry.

A few minutes later, her phone began vibrating on the sofa.

Harry.

Quickly reaching over to grab it, but still waiting a few moments to accept to make it seem like she were busy of course.

“I’m outside your house” Harry muttered, not even letting Y/N breathe down the line before he did so.

Stumbling to the front door, throwing on shoes and a small jacket over her shoulders. Even forgetting to hang up the phone entirely, simply throwing it back on the sofa.

Putting the keys in the lock with shaky hands, what was this so nerve racking? He was only her best friend that never wanted to see her anymore and now was randomly outside her house.

“Does your girlfriend know your here?” Y/N asked Harry, approaching him from outside her house, where he sat slumped on the pavement outside.

“No girlfriend” Harry grumbled, slurring his words slightly “told you 12 times”

Y/N places herself infront of him and holds her hands out for Harry to take, having to put more effort into pulling than he was standing.

She places and arm around his waist tightly and holding his arm that was around his shoulder, helping his slowly trudge his way into her house and up the steps leading to.

She placed him on the couch, him ultimately falling from the lack of self control he had over his body. Placing herself next to him, she sighed and watched his eyes fluttering, trying to keep himself awake.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I always do this to you” His head rolled to the side to look at you.

“You’re okay Har, don’t talk about it right now” She placed her hand on his and began rubbing slow circles on his thumb.

“Too busy being yours to fall for somebody new” He mumbled, just loud enough for Y/N to hear him. The room was dead silent but still he almost went unheard.

“What are you talking about?” Y/N chuckled lightly “i think you’d had shit tons to drink. Thought it was only a house party?”

Harry opened his eyes slowly, squinting as if he had just woken up “It was”

He didn’t say anything else for a few minutes, his shallow breathing becoming louder and slight snores escaping every so often.

Y/N was sure he fell asleep, rising slowly to get a blanket, she was tugged back by him.

“Please stay” He slightly whined like a child “I’m so in love with you. I need you to stay”

“Was gonna get you a blanket” Y/N whispered back, voice shaky from the nerves of his confession.

Of course she loved him back. Who wouldn’t? But he was a pop star, had been for half of his life. She was only Y/N, stuck in England with her, well paying, but dead end job that’s she’d been at for ten years.

Harry hummed and mustered up the strength to pull her close, so she was cuddled up into his side “Only need you” He said and his head fell on top of hers.

His exhaustion finally hitting him, as Y/N lay awake imagining what would happen the next morning.

If Harry could even remember the declaration of love.

~

Part Two? Let me know!!

[landososcar]

so high school ; JB5

pairing(s) ; jude bellingham x singer!reader , jude bellingham x student!reader

summary ; twitters favourite new(ish) artist drops her new album right during her school year.

warnings ; nothinggggg & mainly just fluff bc i love happy people

note ; SORRY ITS SHORT AHHAHA, i’ll post a new lando fic soon i just have no inspiration… ignore any dates that are wrong or don’t match - im lazy. also this is VERYYYY LOOSLY based off so high school lol (it’s mainly the aristotle line)

instagram !

liked by judebellingham, taylorswift, and others

youruser surprise !!!!! as an end of term present (for myself🤭🥳) and in honour of knowing the loml for 15 years, here’s 15 new songs for you guys to (hopefully) enjoy 😊 noah, thank you for trusting me and letting me join you on what might be one of my favourite songs ever!! i loveeee youuuu. && to my jude<3 thank you for inspiring me every single day of our lives. i love you bigger than the whole sky 🩵🩵 (guys he’s actually v v talented and he helped me write scared of my guitar, hard to sleep, and feels like) j, you are my safe place and these songs — especially the ones i haven’t let you hear yet — are for you.

ps guys idk how to only write happy songs but jude is the only one who makes me feel safe enough to express my emotions through my songs 😁 i looooovvveee him and am NOT 🙅‍♀️ breaking up with him. he is stuck with me forever💞

‘the alchemy’ is YOURS tonight at midnight 💓

view all comments

user1 WHAT

user2 YOU CANT JUST DROP THIS ON US WTF

oliviarodrigo my girl💞💞 i’m so so soooo excited😭

user3 GIRL I KNOW YOU DIDNT JUST CALL THE ALBUM ‘the alchemy’ FOR NO REASON. WHERE TF IS THE TITLE TRACK I KNOW YOUVE GOT HER SOMEWHERE

youruser jude and i love the alchemy the most out of all the songs and wanna keep her just ours for a little bit longer but maybe if you guys enjoy these songs i’ll let you have my baby

user4 YNAJDKJSKDKDIS

user5 WHATTTT songs did she not let jude hear omfg i need to know

youruser he’s heard them all except for daylight, paper rings & so high school lollll

judebellingham refreshing my spotify every minute til midnight you guys don’t understand she’s kept these songs in a VAULT

user6 jude i know you love spotify but apple music get new music 10 minutes early xxx

judebellingham just made an apple music account

user7 TEN MINS TIL THE ALBUM OF THE YEAR DROPS

taylorswift so so proud of you beautiful 🩷🩷

judebellingham I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH

judebellingham putting ALLLL of these on the pre-game playlist

youruser babe idk if some of these will pump you up before a game

judebellingham hearing your voice will pump me up idc how sad the song is xx

user8 why’s no one talking about how she’s in UNIVERSITY and dropped a FIFTEEN song album like …??? she’s INSANE. WHERE did she find the TIMEEE

user9 not to mention she lives with him in madrid and does school online coz her uni is in the uk

user10 she’s insane i don’t understand how😭😭

imessages !

instagram !

youruser just posted to their close friends story.

twitter !

instagram !

liked by judebellingham, trentarnold66, and others

youruser surprised my fav person in the uk for his england game and he scored for me 😆🩵🩵

view all comments

user1 she wrote “you know how to ball” and he said “yeah” then scored a goal and did a celebration for her😭

user2 zoom in on pic 6 and you’ll see me laying on the road waiting to be run over

judbellingham ‘unemployed girlfriend’ but you’re the greatest singer on earth while also doing online uni full time and you still make time to be able to come see me

youruser it’s coz i love you so so bad

jobebellingham you make me sick

youruser i love u too jobeyyyyyy

england our favourite visitor💙💙

user3 how does she do all this whilst going to uni😭😭😭

oliviarodrigo 💖💖💖

judebellingham I LOVVVEEEE YOUUUUU

user4 i NEED the top in pic 8 where is it from

youruser i found it on depop and HAD to buy it😭😭 i think someone made it x

chappellroan HOTTTTT (you not ur bf)

youruser I WOULD DIE FOR YOU MY WIFE💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

user5 i don’t understand how you write sad songs like the ones on your album if ur ‘in love with jude’

user6 jude deserves better than someone who’s so caught up on and still writes songs about her exes

user7 WHYS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE LYRICS SHE POSTED ON TWITTER IM GOJNG INSANE

user8 LITERALLY?/!;!!/;@:8@ LIKE ??????? “WHERES THE TROPHY? HE JUST COMES RUNNING OVER TO ME” IS SO JUDE CODED WHEN Y/N IS AT LITERALLY ANY OF HIS GAMES

user7 EXACTLYYYYY HE ALWAYSSS RUNS TO HER IMMEDIATELY AFTER HES ALLOWED TO DO HIS OWN THING. ITS FUCKING ADORABLE

user8 IM SO GLAD SOMEONE UNDERSTANDS ME

user7 were both insane let’s get married

user8 dm me right now wife

youruser liked the comments in this thread

imessages !

instagram !

liked by taylorswift, jobebellingham, and others

youruser lol little life update coz i’ve been m.i.a. for the last almost two months. 1: i went blonde again. 2: my man still as fine as ever. 3: got engaged or whatever lol. 4: slaying up exams. 5: i miss tour so i decided imma come back and see you all soon 🤭🤭 tour dates soon <3

ps in honour of becoming fiance or whatever🤗 the alchemy and 4 other songs are yours on the deluxe version of ‘the alchemy’ ,, out tonight !!!

view all comments

user1 WHAT THE FUCK

user2 GIRL LET US BREATHE

harrykane juudddeeeeee!!! congrats🥳❤️

declanrice mr bellingham that is a ROCK

user3 SHE DISAPPEARED FOR TWO MONTHS AND THEN CAME BACK AND DROPPED ALL OF RHAT ON HS

gracieabrams OMG WIFE IS GONNA BE A WIFE

user4 BLONDE YN IS BACK AND SHES A FIANCÉ OH MY GOD

judebellingham WIFE WIFE WIFE‼️‼️‼️

youruser not yet my love but so close🥰

judebellingham I CANT HEAR YOU MY WIFE IS AN ACADEMIC AND LYRICAL GENIUS

user5 she’s still writing break up and sad songs whilst engaged… so weird

user6 yeah and jude helps her,, he must be so disgusted right? seriously get a life and go touch grass

taylorswift so so happy for you 💓💓

youruser 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 i love you

user7 TOUR TOUR TOUR TOUR TOUR

england juddeeeeee💙 sooo happy for you two

trentarnold ❤️❤️❤️

user8 how girl just gonna casually drop a ENGAGEMENT announcement in the middle of a photo dump

user9 REALLLL LIKE THATS A BIG ASS RING TOO

noahkahanmusic YESSSSS🤍🤍🤍🤍

user10 HOWWWW is miss girl gonna find time in her schedule to do uni, make music, keep a healthy relationship, AND TOUR

judebellingham mrs*

my other works !

[honeys-hotties]

Spilling the Tea

Mapi Leon x fem!Reader

Here it is!!! My first fic in a million years (it def feels like it)! All of the love in the world to all of you reading, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.7k

My knee bounces up and down uncontrollably as I sit smushed against the window of the bus. I can’t help it. The pre-match nerves always seem to get the better of me, and today is obviously no exception. Today, however, they are much more justified. Today is the Euro quarter-final. Spain vs England. Two superpowers of football going head to head. And I can’t seem to calm myself down.

Lucy reaches over from her spot next to me, and places her large hand on my knee, effectively stopping the bouncing.

“Hey,” she says, looking at me. “I know you’re nervous. We’re all nervous. But all we can do is go onto that pitch today and bring everything we have. You always do that, so you have nothing to worry about.”

I reach down to grasp her hand in mine, overcome by a rush of love for the older woman sitting next to me. Lucy has been my best friend on the England squad (even over my sister Leah, though I would never tell her that), and I genuinely don’t know what I would do without her. Playing for the Chicago Red Stars these past few years have been tough, mainly because I’ve been away from my family and friends for so long. But Lucy always made an effort to call me as often as she could from Barcelona, checking in on me and just being the best friend anyone could ask for.  

“Thanks, Luce.” I say, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Anything for you, Williamson #2” she responds. I yank my hand away from her as she starts laughing. “Awwww, don’t be like that,” she pouts, slinging her arm around my shoulders. “Play nice, or I won’t introduce you to any of my Barca teammates.”

“I’ll take my chances.” I say, jokingly pushing her away. She grips me tighter, and pulls me into her side, laughing.

“Oh, please!” she says. “You’re too in love with half of them to risk an introduction by yours truly!”

My face turns bright red, and I start sputtering, trying to come up with an excuse. Before I can, Ella pipes up from the seat in front of us, turning her entire body around to look at me, with my tomato face and messy hair from Lucy’s wild arms, and Lucy herself who is smirking like the cat who caught the canary.

“I agree with Y/N on this one, some of those Spanish players are FIT” she yells, causing pretty much everyone else to turn and look at us.

“My baby sister thinks who’s fit?” Leah asks from somewhere in front of us. Before I have a chance to try to calm the storm, Ella pipes up again:

“Your “baby sister” is in love with half of Lucy’s Spanish teammates, that’s who. Although, in all honesty, I really can’t blame her. I mean, have you SEEN Alexia? The things I’d let her do… OUCH” Ella trails off, although an elbow courtesy of Alessia, her seatmate, has her breaking out of her daydream. The rest of the bus explodes in laughter, and I bury my face in Lucy’s shoulder.

“What’d you have to go and do that for, Luce?” I whine. She chuckles and pets my hair contentedly. “I mean, was I wrong babes?” she asks. “The number of times you’ve asked me about Mapi alone definitely served as a heads up.” Before I can say anything else, the bus pulls to a stop, and everyone stands up, ready to head off. 

The next few hours pass in a blur of warming up, running drills and strategies, and trying to get everyone into a good mood pre-match. I’m playing DJ, and have my phone hooked up to the locker room speakers while the rest of the girls mess around, waiting for Sarina to tell us what to do. I make my way over to Lucy who is sitting in her cubby with her phone out, furiously typing away. Right as I make my way in front of her, she stands up, grabs my hand, and pulls me out of the locker room and down the hall. 

“What are you doing, Bronze?” I ask her as she takes a couple of turns and speeds up through the hallway.

“Helping you meet your future wife, Williamson” she responds. “I was texting Patri, FYI. Her and a couple of my other teammates wanted to see me before we all end up in the tunnel. Plus, they want to meet this famous bestfriend that I always talk about.”

“I-what? We’re seeing them right now?”

“Yup!” she exclaims, slowing down in front of a door that’s propped slightly open. “Right now. So I suggest you pull yourself together. Keep a clear head before the match and all that. Here,” she hands me the travel mug that had been in her other hand. “Hold this while I call Patri.”

She presses a couple of buttons while I take a sip from her mug. “This is really good, Luce.” I tell her as she puts the phone on speaker, the ringing echoing down the hallway. “I might need you to make me a cuppa when we get back, this is a hundred times better than the hotel drinks.”

Just before the line rings out, the door in front of us opens all the way, and there, right in front of us, stands Patri Guijarro, Claudia Pina, Jenni Hermoso. Ona Batlle, and Mapi Leon. Lucy pockets her phone in favor of greeting her teammates, who rush towards her and form a huge group hug, chattering over each other as Lucy laughs in the middle. They break apart, and Lucy grabs me, pulling me forward towards them. 

“Allow me to introduce my very best friend ever, the one and only Y/N Williamson” she says proudly, pushing me towards them.

“It is nice to finally meet you,” Jenni says, stepping forward to give me a hug. “Lucy talks so much about you we feel as though we already know you!”

Claudia, Patri, and Ona all give me hugs as well, before Mapi pulls me into one of her own. As soon as she wraps her (Insanely strong) arms around me, I feel my face starting to heat up again. I’ve always had a slight crush on Mapi, Lucy definitely got that right, but right now, being held by the taller Spanish woman, I have to keep from pinching myself to make sure this is really happening. Mapi finally lets go (although I wish she wouldn’t), but brings her hands to my waist, looking directly into my eyes. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now,” she tells me. “I am so glad that it finally happened.”

“I-I am too,” I say, cursing myself when I stutter slightly. “I only wish it was under better circumstances. Mapi lets her hands trail away from me, staring at me quizzically. 

“These are not good circumstances?” she asks. Oh, God, her accent. Just kill me now, please and thank you.

“Well, yeah,” I smirk. “I just hope things don’t get awkward when we beat you!”

Mapi scoffs. “We’ll see, princesa.”

The Spanish girls laugh, and start talking over each other all at once, before Lucy cuts them off: “Yeah, alright, talk smack after you give me my tea back, Williamson.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” I retort, taking another sip of the mug that has been clutched in my hand. “You’ve already had so much already, Luce!”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s mine,” she bites back, making grabby hands for the mug. “I’ll make you tea later, but you have to let me finish this now.”

I relent, handing her the mug and turning back to Mapi who has an insanely attractive smirk on her face. “You are not really arguing over a cup of tea, are you?”

I nod, and her smile widens incredulously. “Tea is disgusting!” she exclaims, throwing her arms in the air. “I do not understand you Brits. It is like you have tea running through your veins at this point! When will you realize coffee is infinitely better”

“Hey!” I respond, frowning playfully. “Tea is a million times better than coffee! You can’t even compare them. Besides-” but my rant is cut off by Lucy’s phone ringing loudly through the hallway. I turn to look at her, she looks up with a look of pure pure horror on her face. Wordlessly, she shows me the phone screen, where I see an incoming call from “Captain Lee-Lee” displayed across the screen. Leah must be furious with us for running away, and we both know we’re about to suffer the consequences. Lucy grabs my hand, and we bid the Spanish girls good luck before sprinting back towards our locker room, too fast to see the look filled with longing Mapi sends my way. 

We arrive at the door out of breath and stressed out beyond belief, to find Leah waiting outside, eerily calm. She is dressed in her kit, captain’s armband secured tightly around her bicep. Lucy opens her mouth to explain, but Leah cuts her off. “Go. Now.” she says firmly, pointing towards the locker rooms. I pull Lucy with me into the changing room, passing the rest of the team as we do so. I rush to my cubby, changing out of my warmup gear and into my match kit. I’m pulling my hair up into a ponytail when Tooney sits down in the cubby next to mine. “So…” she starts, wiggling her eyebrows. “Wanna tell me where you and Lucy ran off to?”

“We hooked up with three of the Spanish players” I tell her seriously, and her jaw drops for a second before she swats my arm. 

“You fucking wish, Williamson!” she says, and I roll my eyes. Is she wrong? No. Do I want her to say it? Absolutely not. “We were just saying hi to some of Lucy’s friends, and we lost track of time” I say, pulling the strands of my ponytail into a braid. “That’s all.”

Ella stands up and links her arm through mine as we make our way towards the tunnel, falling into line behind Alessia and Mary. Ella smirks, but knows better than to say anything. This close to the match, all of my energy must be focused on what I can do to play the best. We get to the tunnel, and I take my place behind Lucy. I zone out for a moment, thinking about the plays we had run earlier, but am brought back to reality by a hand on my waist, spinning me to the side. There stands Mapi, a smirk prominent on her face.

“Good luck out there, princesa” she tells me, reaching up to tuck a flyaway behind my ear. 

“You too, tea hater” I tell her. She snorts, and heads back to her team where I see Patri nudge her and start whispering rapidly. Lucy, who had turned around and watched the entire interaction gives me a knowing look before turning back around. 

The first 45 minutes pass in a blur, with both teams scoring. Alessia with a stunning shot, courtesy of an assist from me, and Jenni for the Spanish team with a flawless goal right before the halftime whistle blew. Heading back onto the pitch for the second half, everyone is much more serious. We all know what is at stake, and neither team is willing to go down without a fight. As I bend down to adjust my shin pads right before walking onto the pitch, I feel a large hand on my lower back. I straighten and turn to see Mapi with a smirk on her face. Her hand glides from my back to my waist where she gives me a little squeeze. I feel my face heating up, but fortunately Lucy’s shout distracts me. 

“Let’s go, lovergirl! Flirt on your own time” she yells, coming up behind me and giving me a little push towards the center of the pitch. I swat her shoulder before jogging away from Mapi. Lucy stands in front of the Spanish girl, a smirk on her face. “You like her, don’t you?” Lucy asks the blonde. Mapi nods sheepishly, her cocky attitude gone. “Promise me something,” Lucy says, staring at the Spanish woman. “Don’t hurt her. Don’t treat her like one of your hookups, Mapi. Please. She deserves better than that.” Mapi nods, and the two head to their opposite sides of the pitch. The words echo around Mapi’s head as she takes her place, but the whistle breaks her out of them. Now is not the time, she scolds herself internally, turning her full focus to the match ahead. 

The second half is rough. Both teams know what is on the line, and neither is willing to go down without a fight. Spain makes what looks like a promising run towards our goal in the 80th minute, but Esther loses possession due to a perfectly timed tackle from Leah, who boots the ball down the pitch to Keira. Kei takes her time, containing the ball while I sprint to the goal. I turn and shout her name, and with a swift pass from Keira the ball is at my feet. I whip around, and line up for the perfect shot. Just as I bring my leg to the ball, I see a flash of red. Out of nowhere, Mapi slams into me, her studs catching me just above the knees. My body goes flying, and it’s like time slows. I hear the screams of the crowd. The lights of the stadium are blinding as I fly through the air. Then, all of a sudden, my body hits the ground so hard I feel the impact in my bones. The air is knocked from my lungs, and it’s all I can do to try and breathe steadily. The whistle pierces the air as Lucy runs up to me, alongside Leah. My sister drops to her knees, tears in her eyes. Wordlessly, I nod at her, and she reaches down to grab my hand. 

“I’m alright Lee, I promise,” I tell her, the air returning to my lungs. “Just a little beat up. Help me to my feet?”

She nods wordlessly, and in her silence I can hear Ella and Beth yelling at who I assume is Mapi, but can’t see from my position on the floor.

Lucy grabs my other hand, and as I’m pulled to my feet I see Mapi, who looks absolutely distraught, walking off the pitch, a red card held in her direction by the ref. The medical team arrives, and, after bandaging my leg where the gashes from Mapi’s boots had begun to leave, they head off of the pitch. 

“I want to stay on.” I tell Leah. “She barely nicked me, I’m good to keep playing, I promise.”

Leah looks at me unsurely, but can never resist the puppy-dog eyes, and eventually she sighs in resignation. “Be careful, munchkin.” she tells me, kissing me on the forehead before lining back up. The ball is put back in play, but with Spain playing with one less defender, it isn’t long before another goal finds the back of the net, this time rocketed in by Chloe. Two minutes later, the final whistle blows, and I collapse to my knees. We’d done it. We were advancing in the Euros. Lucy shouts, running up to me, picking me up, and throwing me over her shoulder. I laugh as she does a victory lap, running past all of our teammates who were in various stages of celebrating the win. As we pass Leah, I nudge Lucy to put me down, and when she does, I make my way over to my sister, who hugs me tightly, lifting me slightly off of the ground. 

“We did it!” she shouts over the noise. “Finals, here we come!” I hug her even tighter, and find a few of my other teammates before my exhaustion starts to get the better of me. I find Lucy, who insists on giving me a piggyback ride to the changing rooms, where I strip off my sweaty kit and hop in the shower. I hear the rest of my team entering the changing rooms, and someone connects their speaker, blasting music as we celebrate another win. More of the girls join me in the shower room, and just as I am drying off, I hear the main room grow quieter. All of a sudden, Lucy bounces into the shower room, a smirk prominent on her face. 

“Oi, little Williamson! You’ve got a visitor” she sings, grabbing my arm and dragging me out. I pull the towel tighter around myself, and turn to face her, abruptly stopping her from taking me any further. “What are you on about, Luce?” I ask her. “What visitor?”

I hear a throat clear, and I turn to see Mapi, still dressed in her kit, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. Leah is sitting at her cubby, glaring silently at the Spanish woman, and her distrust seems to be echoed by some of my other teammates, who are less than pleased to see the woman who had injured me standing two feet away. 

“I, um, can we talk? Outside?” she asks me, and only now do I notice that her eyes are red rimmed and slightly puffy. 

“Yeah, sure” I reply uncertainly, following her as she turns and walks out of the changing room. I close the door behind me, and turn to face the taller woman, who looks absolutely heartbroken. I tentatively open my arms to her, but am filled with a rush of affection for the Spanish woman as she takes me into her arms, holding me like she thought I was going to break at any moment. She lifts me off of the ground and wraps her arms around my waist, and I feel her begin to cry into my shoulder. I hug her back even tighter, and after a moment, she sets me back onto the ground, wiping her eyes. 

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You played wonderfully, you always play wonderfully. There will be other games, I promise. This loss will only make you come back stronger, babes. You’re one of the best defenders I’ve ever played against.”

She looks at me, surprised. “You think I am sad because we did not win?” she asks. I look at her confused. “Are you not?” I ask, looking at her. She mutters something under her breath in Spanish, running one of her tattooed hands through her hair. “Of course I am, but I am more upset that I hurt you! Here you were, this perfect, beautiful, funny girl, and what did I do? I hurt you. I was not careful, and I could have easily ended your season. And now your team hates me and you probably hate me, and I always ruin things and I did not want to ruin you.” 

More tears fall from her eyes, and she looks down at her shoes. Gently, I place my hand on her arm, waiting for her to look at me. When she finally does, I smile. 

“You think I’m pretty?” I ask teasingly, smiling even more when I gain a watery chuckle from her. “I promise, you didn’t ruin anything. It was a mistake, but it could have been so much worse. And I’m tough, okay? It takes more than a bad tackle to take me out.” She nods, before pointing at the bandage on my leg wordlessly. I nod, and she kneels down in front of me, placing her hand on my leg and peeling the bandage back slightly to peek at my leg. I am suddenly self conscious of the fact that I’m standing in front of her in nothing but a towel, but these fears are put out of my mind instantly when she presses a gentle kiss on top of the bandage. Carefully, I pull her up to her feet, where she looks directly into my eyes. At this very moment, I feel like I am exactly where I need to be. I have always struggled with feeling left out, out of place. Growing up, I spent all of my time with my sister because I never found true friends that accepted me for me. When I went to Chicago I found my real friends, but it took me a long time, and I felt alone in a new country for so long. Even with my Lioness teammates, it took me some time to open up to them, to be comfortable being myself around them no matter what. But now, with Mapi, I feel like she sees right through me. Like she sees everything about me, and she accepts me for it. Without thinking, I press my lips to hers. Almost immediately I panic, thinking I misread the signals, but as I begin to pull away, she pulls me back in. 

Kissing Mapi is perfect. It is everything a kiss should be and more, and when I finally pull away, and she places her forehead against mine, I feel so overwhelmed with joy and affection I think I might burst. She brushes a strand of damp hair behind my ear, and just as she leans in, the door to the locker room opens. We spring apart as Lucy stands there, a proud look on her face. “Looks like you two are getting on pretty well” she smirks. “Now, I hate to break up the party, but we’re planning to go out for drinks. You’re welcome to join us, Maps, but Leah’s insisting we leave soon.” I nod in response to Mapi’s questioning look, and find myself barely holding back a smile when her face breaks into a blinding grin. 

“I would love to join you for a drink” she says, “as long as it is not tea.”

I let out an offended yelp, to which she snickers, dodging the swat I send her way. 

“Perfect!” Lucy shouts. “I’ll text you the address!” Mapi smiles as Lucy heads into the changing room sending me an exaggerated wink before jogging back down the hall.

“See you soon, princesa!” she shouts, and I can’t stop the smile from breaking across my face as I head back into the room. My joy is short lived, however;

“OI LEAH, YOUR BABY SIS IS SNOGGING MAPI LEON”

“ELLA, IF YOU DON’T SHUT YOUR MOUTH i WILL SHOVE MY BOOT SO FAR-”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello! Could you please give your insights on why all of the students speak Japanese? Is it a universal language, like English, where the majority of people are taught it or is it through magic? I know it’s probably because the author is Japanese and that why her work(s) are also in said language but it’s more fun to think of nuanced reasons.

Irl meta reasoning aside, the light novel mentions that there is a translation spell over NRC. Because of that, Yuuya (the LN Yuu), who hails from Japan, is able to hear whatever the characters are saying as his native language, Japanese. (This doesn’t account for why Yuu in-game travels to places beyond NRC and can still understand what is being said 💦 unless we assume the translation spell is just cast on Yuuya?? This is a plothole that has yet to be addressed.)

I assume that Twisted Wonderland does have a universal language though, as we hear locals in other areas speaking in other languages like “French” in Fleur City, for example but knowing “English” or a more common tongue for business purposes. (I used quotation marks there because obviously these languages would not be called “French” and “English” in Twisted Wonderland since places like “France” and “England” do not exist. “French” and “English” are Twisted Wonderland’s equivalents of these languages in Yuu’s world.) Epel’s grandma and mayor mention switching from their Harveston dialect to a more common variant when they do business with a nearby city. It’s also implied to be the case for the many merchants elsewhere, like Silk City.

The only instance where magic is infused into language is to “translate” among fae, as nocturnal fae (like those in Diasomnia) and diurnal fae (like pixies) speak entirely different tongues. Lilia mentions imbuing magic into one’s voice to make oneself easily understandable to other fae. In Fairy Gala, we also see that it is possible to use a translation bell (made by Crafting Pixies) to perform the same task. Just holding it will allow you to understand pixies.

Remember that 90% of the human population is not capable of using magic, so to rely on magic for a universal language is impractical. The fact that we’ve seen mainly fae + NRC (an elite school for training mages) use magic for language implies to me that it’s a more complex magic that not everyone is capable of or has access to.

So back to the original question; if we assume the light novel’s lore is also true for the game, it is because NRC’s translation magic is doing the work for Yuu and taking whatever is actually being spoken and converting it into Japanese for their ears. At the same time, it’a likely that Twisted Wonderland has its own common tongue similar to English irl. Again though, the simpler explanation is to make things easier for the writers. No point in them getting hung up on the little details, just accept suspension of disbelief!