#i've never heard him speak spanish

[thesunlikehoney]

Seeing some pretty gross posts about Miguel, and... It's actually pretty important that Miles, an Afrolatino character, is both making friends with the younger generation of POC and in direct conflict with the older generation of POC. Like yeah Gwen and Peter B. are still important figures in his life for good and now also bad reasons, but it is Miguel and Jessica who he has an ideological conflict with. It is Hobie who in some ways takes over as a mentor and guide. Margo helps him escape. Pavitr is someone Miles himself helps and gives advice to. The antagonist is not Latino because they wanted to use stereotype shorthand to make everyone understand how dangerous he is, he is Latino because Miles is Latino. And surprise surprise this movie has a lot to say about-- not generational trauma per say, but community trauma. About what happens when shared trauma starts to define the boundaries of who is and who isn't a member of your community, rather than shared passions and shared dreams and shared missions.

[katiascraft]

Hi!! I've been obsess with your works

Now, hear me out because your poll stroke an idea in me 👀👀

How about: Argentine!Reader x Oscar Piastri, and starts teaching him spanish so he can understand Franco's Interviews

Thank you!!

Ooooh yes yes yes!!! Here it is and I hope you like it 💌 thank you for your requests and support! I really appreciate it mwak mwak 😙 (sorry it’s a bit late but better late than never!)

——————————————————————————————

“Indirectas Directas” | OP81

Part 1 -> “Made in Argentina: The Series” (Oscar’s Version)

Parings: Oscar Piastri x Argentine!Reader.

Summary: you and Oscar have known each other since your best friend Franco Colapinto started competing in F3. You always had a crush on the Australian pilot. You have been friends for a while now but the friendship got closer since Franco got in F1 and you can see each other every race weekend. The butterflies starts for both of you. Do you really just wanna be friends? You teaching him “piropos” from your country may have subliminal messages.

Now playing: “IMÁN (Two of Us)” by Maria Becerra.

Word count: +1.2k.

Warnings: a few curse words. Pure fluff. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Author’s note: alrightyyyyy I hope this is good! And I really recommend Maria! I love herrrr my queen!! I did my best with the piropos jajaja Don’t forget to like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

“Hola, todo bien?” Oscar said carefully and weirdly remembering what you taught him a few seconds ago. You nodded proud of his Spanish.

“Todo bien, ¿qué contas?” You said in your Argentine accent making him open his eyes wildly panicking. He loved your voice in Spanish; it was slightly higher pitched than in English. In English you have a deeper voice for some reason. Of course he asked about it and you explained it may be because of the pronunciation of the words. It's really so different from one language to the other.

“What the hell did you ask?” He said giggling a little, making you laugh too.

“I asked you what’s up” you explained and wrote down that phrase in the little notebook he brought with a pen. All mc claren branded.

The friendship between you two has become closer with each race. You were good friends before but not that close. It was something either of you couldn’t explain. Like your bodies were driven directly to one another unconsciously. You didn’t want to think too much about it. You didn’t want to overthink it.

His face was like ‘oh yeah right it makes sense’. He smiled at your handwriting so rounded and legible. Unlike his. His was a little messy.

“Yo estoy carrera hoy” he tried to answer it without asking how to. You laughed and he blushed. “This is embarrassing, it's really hard to connect the words” he said shyly and you found it so cute.

“It was close though don’t feel bad. Spanish it’s super complicated for non-Latin language speakers. We have like 20 tenses and shit. It’s a mess” you explained to cheer him up. He loved the fact you knew so much about languages because you also knew how to talk Portuguese and Italian pretty perfectly in his opinion. He has heard you even trying to speak French with Pierre last weekend. He was impressed.

“Yeah I get it now” he said grinning. “Must be nice to flirt in Spanish like I don’t know like you automatically sound sexier and more interesting” he said, making you laugh. “No really like I heard Carlos talking to an interviewer the other day and I think I am in love actually” he said, making you laugh even more. He loved making you laugh. Your laugh was like a drug to him. You looked way too cute doing so.

“Well I don’t know actually but in Argentina we have some top level flirting like really great phrases. Let me teach you some. Wait I’ll look for some on google so I can help myself remember” you said excited about it because you knew it was gonna be bizarre and funny at best.

“Phrases? Like roses are red and that kind of stuff?” He asked curiously and you nodded looking at your phone.

He couldn’t help but get distracted by the way you looked. Like every other race weekend you were wearing one of the million Argentina tees you have in your wardrobe. Your skin was glowing because of the sunscreen making your freckles stand out even more. You dyed your hair blond a few weeks ago and it looked incredible on you. He wouldn’t have expected that change but it looked so good on you. Anyway, he was convinced that anything you do to your hair will always look good always. Because you were beautiful. And he thought that was dangerous. You’re supposed to be friends right? And he knows Franco will kill him if he finds out he likes you. But he couldn’t help it. You were so interesting to him. You went everywhere with your mate and sang a lot of football songs he didn’t understand but you looked so happy singing them with Franco. Like he was captivated by your foreign beauty. So different from Australia or Europe or even the United States. You were loud and always laughing. Your bright smile always makes everyone so happy. All of the boys loved you. You were the life of every party. And you also knew so much about formula 1 it was impressive. Then you told him you were studying for an engineering degree and everything made sense. You loved the sport. And you were the proud friend. He loved that you were so passionate about everything. Even now that you have this teacher and student dynamic, you take it so seriously. He loved it. And he liked it even more because he knew that you were a teacher back in your country. And he could see how much you love to teach and you were actually really good at it.

“Alright I found the first one!” You said already laughing. “Okay ready?” He nodded, smiling, waiting for your magic voice to pronounce the weirdest shit but sound amazing.

“Mi amor, quien fuera cemento para sostener ese monumento” you said and started laughing because his face was a poem.

“What the hell?” He said laughing as well. “What does it mean? It really sounded terrible, " he said dramatically.

“It means: my love, who could be cement to hold that monument” he bursted out laughing.

“What? I don’t know if it’s geniuous or rude to be honest” he said sincerely making you laugh.

“Oh my god that was so cringe I love it” you said looking for another one.

“Don’t even try to make me pronounce that last one please” he warned you funny. You denied with your head.

“Okay I found another one listen: tu con tantas curvas y yo sin frenos. Try to translate it” you said because there were words you already taught him.

“Oh my god alright. Repeat it please?” You repeated it and he thought for a few seconds.

“Uh tu curvas y yo frenos?” He said confused. You giggled a little but applauded proudly.

“Yes! You're getting better Oscky” you said sweetly. “It was: you with so many corners and I have no brakes” you said, smiling funny.

“Oh like the curves of the body right?” You nodded at his questions. “Oh alright I get it! So is like double meaning”

“Exactly” you answered. “Alright last one: besar es el lenguaje del amor, te importaría comenzar una conversación conmigo?” You said blushing. Your subconscious chose this one without leaving you a warning.

“You said something with kiss right?” He asked and you nodded. He blushed too. You were like two teenagers blushing and giggling.

“I said: kissing it’s the language of love. Would you mind starting a conversation?” You explained.

“You wanna kiss me?” His words slipped through his lips.

“Maybe I do” your words slipped through your lips.

You were both so red. An awkward silence made its presence.

“Oscar, sorry to interrupt but Zac is calling us both. Hey y/n, you good darling?” Lando appeared out of nowhere so save yourselves from the worst silence situation you’ve ever been into. Lando hugged you kissing your cheek and you smiled at him. Oscar took his things ready to go.

“All good Land. Hope you have a good reunion. See you after the practices!” You said waving to him. And Oscar gave you a cheeky smile.

Holy shit you’re fucked.

[sillyuin]

can i request for svt x grovelling??? I REALLY WANNA SEE HOW THE MEMBERS WOULD BEG FOR ANOTHER CHANCE TO THEIR S/O 😭

Hi anon! sorry it take me so long, I've been really busy with work but here it is.

How svt apologizes after breaking up 💔 (ot13)

Yuin's note: this is purely fiction and my p.o.v. Being honest, as a spanish native speaker I never heard of the word "grovelling" before and I thought I didn't handle the concept properly 😭 but I tried. Any advice is really appreciated.

Scoups, Mingyu, Dino. He’s almost whining for it.

You’ve lost the count of the notifications that came to the phone, and blocking him just doesn't feel right at all (at this point it seems like a good option tho lol). After reading some pity messages you decided to call him and... Oh boy. You didn't need to look him in the eyes to realize he was about to cry, he insists a thousand times that everything has been his fault and that he will do whatever is necessary to make things up.

Jeonghan, Joshua, Minghao. Tries to keep it cool but is not.

After some days with zero contact, you received an unexpected call and he’s inviting you go for a walk; it’s a bit awkward because it feels too quiet but you accept anyways. There is definitely something fishy going on. He seemed very stoic and, respectfully, he apologizes if something he did or said offended you, asking for a peace agreement. But you know him very well and you don't give in, until he's flustered enough to open up about his feelings and begs for another chance with you.

Jun, Dokyeom. Wants to say a lot but his head is a mess.

His mind has simply left this astral plane because, the moment you accidentally ran into him during an outing, he completely froze. He tries to be friendly and makes an effort to address you but his voice is so, so shaky he can’t even say a coherent sentence, making this situation even more uncomfortable. When you decided to leave as quick as possible, It was like the ideas in his head finally connect and asks for your forgiveness in the most desperate way possible, then he breaths and starts speaking out while his face blushes with embarrassment.

Seungkwan, Hoshi. Wants to say a lot and says a lot.

The phone has rung several times during the day and after countless missed calls, you decide to answer just bc you’re tired of this situation. However, as soon as you answer, there's no time to say hello properly when he starts talking as if this were a rehearsed speech. He had never said so many things to you in this lifetime. “I’m sorry for the time I didn’t close the toothpaste” “I’m sorry for making a midnight snack and leaving the kitchen a mess” “I’m sorry for the time I…” And so on for a long time.

Wonwoo, Woozi, Vernon. Straight to the point.

Too straightforward for his own being lmao. He just comes to your apartment with an nice gift and apologized in the most direct way possible, willing to listen to you, no matter how long it will take. Literally left everything behind just to see you :(

[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.” 

[fandomfloozy]

Oh, I'm pretty boy?

pairing: katsuki bakugo x sick!reader

c/w: fluff, early relationship, petnames (katsuki calls reader babe, reader evidently calls katsuki pretty lol), sprinkles of hispanic!reader/spanish-speaking!reader, gn!reader

wc: 1.3k

~°•*~

You've been sick the last few days.

You're on the tail-end of recovery now, thank god, but for most of the week you've been bed-ridden, and snotty, and sweaty, and hot, and cold. It's been miserable, if you're being honest. With the light at the end of the tunnel in view, you're glad the worst of it is over.

There has been one upside to being sickly, though--one aspect that makes you wish you could be sick just one more day: Ever since you fell ill, since the moment he'd heard you were taking leave off work to rest at home for a bit, you've been under the thorough care of your very own, self-appointed nurse, Katsuki.

There's this saying: "You'll never truly know someone well enough until you've seen them struggle financially, grieve a lost loved one, or witness them while they're sick."

Your relationship is new. Not early days, but still far too soon for him to be seeing you sick, for your liking.

But when he showed up at your door a couple days ago--masked up, worry-eyed, and holding all the essentials for treating a typical head cold--how could you refuse him?

And to be fair, he's been a rock. He's changed your compresses (water bowl kept at optimal temperature), given you medicine in intervals (timed and administered to the MINUTE), and even cooked you palatable meals (anything you could keep down, but namely the caldo recipe he got from your mom when he asked her what you ate when you're sick). He did everything short of rubbing Vick's vapo rub on you (not for lack of trying), all while keeping a level head and brushing aside your concerns over feeling like you're burdening him.

"You're my partner," he'd say matter-of-factly. "This is my job, ain't it?"

A rhetorical question. He said it as if it was an irrefutable truth, as if he hadn't even considered an alternative, as if the very thought of leaving you to fend off this cold by yourself was an affront to your relationship, scowl on his face and all.

His bedside manner needed work, but when he said those words to you... let's just say the flush rising up your face probably had nothing to do with the cold.

So, yeah. While you're happy to be feeling better, you can't help being a little disappointed that the doting will soon come to an end.

Which is why you now sit with your head resting in your hands, elbows on the kitchen bar, making the most of admiring a now unmasked Katsuki as he cooks your dinner on what will be the last of your "sick days."

You're unashamed in your ogling. You feel bold. It might be the relaxed atmosphere. It might be the way Katsuki let you wear his hoodie tonight... It might just be the cold medicine. You feel dozy, comfy, and so dopily content as you watch your boyfriend chop vegetables.

He does it with ease--so practiced that it's like he's on autopilot. His defenses are down, completely in his element.

"'Ya sure you want all this cooked in with your rice?" Now that you're feeling better, he's less inclined to hold his tongue about his thoughts on your childhood dishes.

You yawn and nod. "Mhm, it's the way my mami always makes it."

"Just sayin', I could make ya rice without all this extra stuff."

"It's a good thing you're not making rice, Katsuki." You pout dramatically for emphasis. "You're making sopita."

"Sopita," he repeats, shaking his head with a sideways grin. "Alright, babe. I've got you covered. Sopita coming right up."

You switch to resting your cheek in one hand, continuing to observe your boyfriend as he works. He looks so serene this way. With his smug little half smile, even his expression screams "relaxed"--very unlike his usual frown and furrowed brow.

You're not used to seeing him like this. Sure, you've seen him in a good mood, upbeat, excited, even downright elated, like on the day you agreed to go out with him.

Katsuki has always been an... expressive person, even when it doesn't grant him the most flattering of expressions.

Right now, though, while he's contented and caring for you in the comfort of your own home, his features are on display in such a way that you wonder if the cough syrup really is getting to you.

He looks almost...

Pretty...

"You're starin'."

You know you are. "Sorry," you laugh. "I was just thinking how it's a shame you have such a cara de fuchi most of the time, Kats. You're so pretty."

His head snaps toward you. "Fucking WHAT." The furrow is back in his brow. If you were paying proper attention, you'd notice the flush rising up his neck and the back of his ears, but your eyelids are feeling a bit heavy at this point.

You wave your free hand dismissively. "You know, cara de fuchi," you explain. You're sure you've used this phrase in front of him before. "Like you're a sour puss, you pull faces--"

"I'm not fucking pretty," he interrupts.

You open your eyes slightly to squint at him. "Pfft," you laugh. "Has no one ever told you that?"

"Hell, no." He turns back to the task at hand. Grumbling under his breath.

With his signature grimace making its return, the allure is gone; but now that you've seen it, you can't unsee it. He's beautiful. His eyes are a nice shape, and the crimson color of his irises is striking against his light complexion. The way his hair falls just above is strong browbone makes you want to push it back and rub at the scrunch between his brows. And you know he has soft lips, but on top of that, they're such a nice shade of pink. His jawline. His cheekbones. His chin.

It's a fundamental truth. Katsuki Bakugo is pretty.

You fold your arms on the island and press your cheek into the crook of your elbow. "I'm sure people would tell you more often if all the pretty wasn't covered up by your perpetual stank face."

Cue said stank face. He bumbles over his words in frustration for a second. "You're sick and loopy, stop bein' weird."

You giggle. "And you have a nice face when you're not acting chronically disgusted by the world."

He looks at you properly and you smile to yourself in pure delight and fondness.

"You're pretty when you're happy, Katsuki."

He deliberates over it for a moment, stank face semi relaxing. He's about to say something else when you cut into the silence with another yawn.

His gaze softens into an amused smirk as he reaches for your cheek and pinches softly. "Alright, alright. Don't fall asleep on me just yet, you gotta eat properly before goin' to bed."

You swat his hand away and rise to attention while rubbing your eyes. "Okay, okay. I'm up."

He smiles and goes back to cooking your half-prepared meal. "Ponte las pilas, or whatever the hell your mom says when you start lazin' around."

You huff at that. "I regret teaching you Spanish, you always pick up the worst phrases."

Katsuki barks out a laugh and you can't help the snort that follows as you giggle right along with him.

You two settle into the monotony of the last evening of your first of many sick days together. You're sure your boyfriend has had more than enough of witnessing you sick to satisfy stipulations. Suffice to say that he felt he knew you and your "sleepy freak tendencies" a bit better now.

There's definitely an addendum you'd make to that old saying, though: You'll never know how pretty someone is until you've seen them care for you while you're sick.

~°•*~

divider via cafekitsune

gif via ara-kan (deactivated)

[trixy812]

001 - Gossip is my passion

Tags: Nanami x fem!reader, fluff, funny, Sorcerer!Reader

Synopsis: A curse forces its victims to spill their secrets. This secret will be totally worth it.

An: Ok, this is the first fanfic that I write for this platform. I have written before… when i was 15? (kakasaku) Now I am 29. I had this idea for a while. Short and simple. I hope you like it. Maybeee… one day I’ll write smut. Let’s see how this one goes. Disclaimer: I am mexican that means my native language is spanish and since 2021 i've been living in Germany so, i've been speaking a lot of german.

The night was dark, and the only light in the alley came from flickering street lamps that cast disturbing shadows. A soft night breeze slipped between the trees as you and Kento Nanami moved silently; cautious footsteps echoing softly on the cobblestones, down the dark alley toward the last known location of the curse you had been assigned to exorcise.

It wasn’t the first mission you had shared with Nanami, but being by his side always filled you with a mix of nerves and excitement. Despite Nanami’s typical stoicism, there was something about him that always managed to stir butterflies in your stomach. He treated you with respect, even with a certain warmth, and on more than one occasion, he’d given you a compliment that made you wonder if, just maybe, there was something more. But you quickly talked yourself out of it; Nanami was always polite to everyone, and it was d e l u s i o n a l to think he might see you differently.

Your thoughts snapped back to reality as he turned to look at you, his eyes calm and focused.

"Remember, this curse feeds on the shame of secrets it pulls from its victims. Stay alert and don’t let it catch you off guard," Nanami said, his voice low and calm but filled with a determination you found fascinating.

"Understood. It was also noted in the report that if it keeps feeding on shame, it could turn into a special-grade curse." Nanami nodded with an "Exactly." You tried to stay composed, hoping to show him you were focused, but you couldn’t help getting lost in the deep sound of his voice.

Suddenly, the curse appeared, emerging from the shadows as a spectral, twisted figure. Its purple eyes glimmered, and a malignant energy seemed to shroud it, extending like a miasma, reaching into the minds of its victims.

Immediately, you both took combat stances, ready to neutralize it. Nanami lunged at the curse with precise, calculated movements, his expression cold and focused as usual. You tried to keep up with his pace, but a spark of admiration for him distracted you. It was inevitable; Nanami’s elegance and strength always managed to capture your attention, even in the most dangerous situations.

That fraction of a second when you were lost in watching him was enough. The curse noticed it and shifted its target: its cursed energy began moving toward you. Nanami realized this immediately and, without hesitation, stepped between you and the curse, raising his arm to block the attack.

“Pay attention!” he warned, his tone severe and concerned.

The attack hit Nanami before he could evade it, and in a second, the curse began extracting a secret he had never imagined revealing under ANY circumstances.

An invisible force compelled him to speak, and, with a voice controlled by the curse, he confessed:

“I have a secret folder of photos of y/n on my phone…”

The alley fell into a heavy silence. It felt as if time had stopped when you heard those words, and your mind struggled to process what had just happened. A folder of your photos? On Nanami’s phone? Your heart started pounding, and a warmth rose to your cheeks as you realized what that meant.

Beside you, Nanami seemed petrified, his usual stoicism replaced by an expression of shame. This wasn’t common for him; his emotional control was almost absolute, but this time the curse had broken through. The creature’s dark energy intensified, feeding on Nanami’s shame and growing stronger with every passing second.

You knew you had to act before the situation spiraled completely out of control. Without missing a beat, you activated your cursed technique, Empathic Trace, focusing all your energy on calming Nanami’s feelings. Instead of shame, you began transmitting a sense of peace and happiness to him. Without realizing it, you were sharing the relief and joy you felt knowing that he thought of you more than you imagined. His shame began to fade.

Feeling the calm and happiness, you transmitted, Nanami regained his composure. With renewed determination, he struck the curse, delivering a precise attack that disintegrated the creature in a single blow. The evil energy disappeared, leaving the alley in complete silence, broken only by the murmur of your heavy breaths.

After a few seconds, Nanami looked over at you, still recovering from the surprise. His face reflected a mix of seriousness and vulnerability, but there was something new in his expression. Slowly, he took a step toward you, and you felt a palpable nervousness as the weight of what you had just heard settled over you.

“y/n…” he said, his voice much softer than usual. “I hadn’t planned for you to find out that way.”

You looked at him, eyes filled with curiosity but also a shyness you couldn’t control. The words escaped you before you could stop yourself:

“So… it’s true? You really have… a folder of my photos?”

Nanami didn’t look away this time. Instead, he gave a faint smile, something unusual for him, and nodded with an expression that mixed confidence with a hint of flirtation you’d never seen from him before.

“Yes, it’s true,” he answered, his tone low and full of sincerity. “On every mission or moment, I see you doing something… special, I’ve saved photos to remember those instances. Each one is a reminder of the moments we’ve shared, of how…” He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, intense and deep, “how I have someone who matters to me more than I’d like to admit.”

Nanami took another step closer, closing the distance between you. He raised his hand and gently placed a finger under your chin, making you look into his eyes.

“So, I guess you might like to know that, aside from the photos, I’ve kept certain memories of you. And… ” he murmured, his voice low and deep, his gaze tracing your face with an intensity that made you tremble. You felt your heart melting with each word. Your face burned, but your courage began to take over, and before you could think, you stepped even closer to him.

“Do you know what secret of mine that curse might have revealed?” you said, your voice low and flirtatious as your hearts beat in sync.

Nanami raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question.

“No, what?” he replied, curiosity shining in his gaze.

With a mix of boldness and desire, you leaned close enough for your faces to be inches apart. The tension between you felt palpable, as if the world around you had disappeared.

“That I would’ve given anything to kiss you,” you whispered, and in a bold move, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was brief but electrifying, a spark that ignited the air between you. Nanami was completely caught off guard, his eyes wide open as you pulled away, feeling the world slowly return to motion around you.

Nanami stood in silence, his expression showing a faint blush he’d never revealed before. His normally calm eyes now watched you with something deeper, a mix of surprise and curiosity that you couldn’t quite decipher.

Not knowing whether to laugh or feel embarrassed, you gave him a small smile and shrugged, trying to lighten the moment. A hint of a smile crossed Nanami’s lips, but he quickly regained his composure. He turned back toward the path, casting you one last look that seemed to hold something unsaid.

“y/n… I hope we go on more missions together.”

[keenzinemugstudent]

Miguel O'Hara x Black tall reader!

Miguel: *See's Y/n talking to Peter b and starts to mutter under his breath in Spanish* Nunca he querido subirme a algo tan malo en mi vida. (I've never wanted to climb on something so bad in my life.)

Miles: *standing next to him and heard what he said* What?!

Miguel: What?

Miles: What!?!?

Y/n: Why are you two yelling?

Miles and Miguel: It's Nothing!!!

Y/n: Ustedes dos son tan raras. (You two are such weirdos.)

Miguel: YOU SPEAK SPANISH!?!

Y/n: *Smirks* yep also I have excellent hearing *walks away smiling*

Miguel: *Starts to panic while on the floor crying in Spanish*

This is lame but it was a thought I had while working okay just bear with me! Tall reader's y'all need love! Miguel O'Hara and tall reader is a must!

[arrowheadedbitch]

Okay, we were talking about multilingual Shawn in the discord server and I just wanted to share it with all y'all

So, we decided Shawn should be fluent in (I know it's an unrealistic amount, let us live) 13 languages so he can say he knows a baker's dozen languages

Which leads to everyone else going "what the fuck does that mean"

There are some languages the we know he knows in canon and some that are more unclear, and then of course the rest of the languages are just complete fanon

We mostly chose languages we failed to learn lol

So, here's the list we chose.

English, Hebrew, Thai, Hindi, German, Argentinian Spanish, French, ASL, Welsh, Russian, Italian, Polish.

When he tries to speak two languages that are even semi similar, he ends up speaking a weird conglomeration of both by accident

"he tries to hold a conversation and ends up switching languages everytime he doesnt know a word" -J

But these are the languages he can speak, and just the fluent ones at that!

I think he has a completely separate list of languages he can read and it mostly does not coincide with the ones he can speak lmao

"Someone calls him stupid a little *too* rudely and he is not in a great mood today so he starts cussing them out in all the languages he can to prove a point" -me

He absolutely forgets words in English and can only remember it in pretty much any other language

But he uses it to further his "dumb" persona, no moment wasted

When he forgets the word in English, he'll just say whatever word he thinks is probably closest and let's someone else correct him

Then he goes "I've heard it both ways"

" It was the- um *fuck, I can only think of the word in French, but they don't know I know french!* uh, jigsaw!"

"You mean *hacksaw,* Shawn?"

"...I've heard it both ways."

"NO YOU HAVENT"

A foreigner comes up to Shawn asking what the word for something in English is but he *also* forgot the English word for it so he's just sitting there staring at it like *Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh*

He probably learned pineapple individually in every language he could get his hands on 💀

He probably learned curse words first lmao

He can say curse words in languages he doesn't even speak

Like "I can speak 13 languages, but I can say hello in 8 more and I can say fuck in 29"

His greatest accomplishment (in his eyes) is the acquiring of so many swears

"My goal is to be able to call my dad a bitch in every language known to man the day he dies"

#LetShawnSayFuck

Also we had to look it up and he wouldn't be on an FBI watch list for knowing 13 languages, but if the FBI ever found out he would NEVER know peace again (not that he leads that peaceful a life) because they would NEVER stop trying to recruit that man

He would be on a list labeled "PLEASE recrute this man, someone FOR THE LOVE OF GOD hire this guy, PLEASE" so not quite a watchlist but close enough

Now, to tag the people who were part of the convo! @j-snapdragon @thespiritssaidso and majesticrhyhorn but idk if they have a tumblr

[violetmuses]

Phoenix - A. Aretas ❤️‍🩹

Title: Phoenix - A. Aretas ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: An unexpected bond may never fade out.

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky @planetblaque 🏷

=====

2024

“Stay out of my way.” Your joyful personality vanished at the Miami Police Department.

Wearing this Bud Light shirt, Armando chose one trucker hat that veiled his brown eyes. Jeans covered both legs and boots stepped along.

Shit! Upon realization, Detective Mike Lowrey scrambled into this precinct once you crossed paths with previous criminal Armando Aretas.

After facing many questions or encountering secrets over time, even Mike took responsibility and now stood as Armando's biological father.

“Don't panic. Armando has joined our team.” Mike buffered each stance in the hallway.

“Keep him away from me.” You then stood ground this time.

“He's your partner.” Mike offered reality, but still cringed.

“What the hell, Mike?” You immediately turned around.

“I've pulled strings for Armando and we'll explain everything.” Mike continued speaking.

To cut down time in prison, Aretas would help the AMMO squad.

Given no other option, you moved forward and headed to the briefing room.

Here we go.

______

Intelligent agencies whispered that late Captain Conrad Howard muddled with the cartel for years, but Mike and his partner Marcus Burnett would hustle and prove Cap’s innocence right away.

Soon enough, you discovered that Armando could identify whoever framed Captain Howard in the first place.

“Dorn has files we need, but our department is compromised.” Mike offered this truth and your heart dropped.

“Rats in the walls.” You repeat that warning from Cap's footage. This inside job could change everything.

“Yeah. Let's go.” Mike nodded, leading everyone out of this precinct.

*******

Radio silence grounded that commute when Mike Lowrey parked near this boathouse located on the waterfront.

“Stay outside.” Mike instructed Armando regardless of circumstances and exited the well-known Porsche beside Marcus.

“Still hate me?” Offering slightly accented English, Armando taunts while sitting next to you.

“Shut up.” You clipped right back. “I'm leaving when this case ends.”

“What?” Still wearing that trucker hat, Armando faced your direction.

“You heard me.” You wouldn't repeat that phrase this time. “I'm only here for the mission.”

“I barely know who you are.” Aretas revealed this truth over your presence.

“So what?” You then scoffed near Armando. “Mike is your father, but I'm not staying around the same person who hurt my friends.”

Armando turned silent, definitely puzzled with emotions.

“Siento haberte asustado.” Using his native language of Spanish, Aretas apologized to you.

“No eres un maldito fantasma.” Snipping in return, your partner is not a ghost.

“Lo sé, pero no luches conmigo para siempre.” Armando didn't want you to keep fighting against him.

Fed up, you leave this Porsche and sit by the dock instead, but Aretas follows your every move.

______

Sooner than later, nightfall crossed sunset as both of you still waited to enter Dorn's house.

“What's your name at least?” Giving English back, Armando faced you without jokes.

“Doesn't matter.” You defended yourself through privacy.

Before Aretas could respond, extra footsteps creaked on the dock as Mike walked close.

“Everything's set up. C'mon.” Lowrey didn't play around and you head inside, joining the team as planned.

****

“Kelly's with Dorn?” You whispered to Marcus despite everything, shocked for a moment.

“Found Kelly leaving the bathroom.” Burnett chuckled, shrugging.

“Ooh!” Humored, you laugh for the first time in quite a while.

Tech genius Dorn and weapons expert Kelly dated each other now.

“Did you kick his ass yet?” Marcus gestured near Armando while digital screens lined up the culprit search.

“I would've broken the dock into pieces to fight him.” You defended your skills.

“No.” Aretas clipped without turning away from his search.

“Uh-uh.” Mike intervened once more. “Don't start anything else, you two. Focus.”

Sitting down, you shook your head toward Kelly, but Armando trailed with materials anyway.

Damn.

*****

Bingo!

James McGrath: Former Army Ranger turned DEA agent. Tortured before joining the cartel himself.

Grounding this abandoned alligator park located in Florida, Mike pulled his trigger to kill McGarth and the mission exonerated Captain Howard.

Before Marshal Judy Howard, Captain's grieving daughter, gunned down Armando with revenge, you walked forward.

“Don't!” You lifted both hands and stood as protection.

“Get out of here before I change my mind.” Judy holstered the firearm despite grieving and you helped wounded Armando move until further notice.

=====

2025

This crowded terminal helped Armando Aretas return to Miami without drama. Even traveling the world pulled different strings for quite some time.

When you stand near “Baggage Claim,” Armando wouldn't even hold back this opportunity to smile.

“Hi. Sorry I'm late….” Your path stepped closer, but Aretas dropped luggage and hugged you, just thankful to be alive here.

[romanarose]

If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 8

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.

Javier Peña x Latina!Reader/oc x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Santi wallows and Candy is hurt.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia

Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!: Deep internalized homophobia

Amazing smut by Fen as always!!! send love their way!!!

2.3k words

Support writers! Reblog and comment!Keep reading

Santi flinched when he heard another plate crash against the wall, thrown by mamí’s hand and hurdled towards his sister. They were screaming at each other again, and it was bad this time. Elaina had been caught by a neighbor boy's mom, naked in bed with that neighbor boy and brought her to mamí for punishment. Santi had woken from his sleep to the knock, and when he opened his eyes to see Elaina’s bed was empty, he knew it was her. It was always her. Why couldn’t she listen? Why couldn’t she just behave? She caused mamí so much stress when she already worked so hard. Look where they were, the three of them living in a small 2 bedroom apartment, the two siblings were still sharing a room at 14 and 10. She needed to do better for mamí.

“Libertina!” Mamí shouts, slapping Elaina across the face. “How dare you disrespect me! How dare you embarrass your brother!”

Santi didn’t feel embarrassed. Should he feel embarrassed? Mamí said it was embarrassing. Yeah, yeah he felt embarrassed. Humiliated even.

“Mamí! Just listen! I’m trying to talk to you!” Elaina is crying, crumpled clothes had noticeable tearing at the collar. 

“Callate!! No quiero escuchar a una puta fea!” Mamí reaches for her shoe. Santiago closes his eyes, clenching his little hands up into fists, squeezing them every time he hears the smack.

*

When it was all said and done, Elaina was sobbing in her bed, and Santiago was pulled onto his mother's lap. He had the distinct feeling he was too old for this, but he didn’t protest. Mamí didn’t like when he said he was too old for something, or grew out of anything. He outgrew a pair of jeans last week and she cried about how soon he’d find another woman and leave her. She said he was hers. Her little man. Her esposito. Her Santito.

Mamí held him close, arms wrapped around his body as they watched TV, up past his bedtime, telling him how good he was, how he could never leave her.

“Don’t you ever leave, Santito, bueno? No woman will ever love you like I do. They’ll only hurt my baby. They won’t cook for you, women anymore don’t take care of their men. They don’t clean either. I’ll take care of you, always, just never leave me for another woman. As long as you are my good esposito, I’ll take care of my Santito.”

*

Santi would leave, eventually, but not for another woman. He left to join the military to pay for his mom's bills when she wasn’t making ends meet as she got sicker. Elaina took care of her, despite everything she put Elaina through. Elaina became someone Santi admired deeply, seeing her for who she was. She wasn’t the problem child. She wasn’t a menace. She was a normal kid. It was Santi that was strange. The guys in the force razzed him over his relationship with his mom, telling him his wife wrote him when a letter from his mom came. They also made fun of him for going to mass weekly or more, for praying even in the field, for not fucking the local women they encountered, but being called gay wasn’t anything new to him. He was called that in high school, along with a myriad of racial slurs.

Frankie never made fun of him, neither did Will. Ben did, but it was just friendly, nothing mean. Nothing like Tom. Will was religious, raised baptist and respected Santi’s ongoing commitment. Ben was a bit of a mama’s boy too, just not as bad as Santi. Frankie didn’t have a relationship with his family, so he thought it was sweet.

Santi thought it was normal. It was normal to constantly worry what your mom thought, whether or not you acted on it.

When Santi finally left his mom's grasp after she fell asleep on the couch, he felt a tightness in his chest. There was a sense that something was deeply wrong for laying there with his mom, a feeling that he was too old, that he didn’t want to do that anymore… but then a deep guilt for leaving her for the comfort of his own bed. He never knew what the right choice was, constantly second guessing every move he made when he went to war with his own wants and his mom's. Cracking the door to the room he shared with Elaina in their small apartment, he heard her crying. At first, he considered going back to the couch where mamí lay… but in addition to being mamí’s esposito he knew he needed to be there for Elaina too.

When he lay in his bed, Elaina eventually spoke. “She didn’t even ask what happened.” She sobbed. “I didn’t want to… I didn’t, but he- he- he, and his friends…” She broke down in heavy heaves once again, crying as the welts mamí gave her began to show in the moonlight and Santi began to realize what had happened to her. When she began to calm down, Elaina turned to him, her face set in anger he didn’t think was directed at him but he could never tell.

“Don’t you ever do that to a woman, do you hear me? If I ever catch you acting like that, I swear to god Santi, I swear to god…”

She never did finish that sentence, and Santi didn’t sleep that night, but he promised. He would never disrespect a woman, never. He would be a better man than their dad, than the men who did that to his sister. He’d make mamí and Elaina proud, he’d follow the word of God. He’d be good for his mamí. He’d make her proud. He’d be her good Santito.

*

“Good boy, Santito”

Cold ran down his back, through his torso and into his heart where it pumped the icy anxiety into every vein. He felt sick. Santi thought of his mom, thought of what she must think of him right now, what Jesus must think of him… in bed with a woman who isn’t his wife, kissing a man, feeling his erection in his pants as their bodies pressed into each other… and Elaina, what would she think of soliciting a prostitute?

He needed to go. He had to go. He had to get out of this room and maybe throw up and maybe switch jobs and go to confession and punish himself… he caused Candy to sin, he caused Javi to sin, if they go to hell it’s his fault, he’s going to hell, he’s going to burn in hell now and-

Santi realized he was already walking down the street, not remembering how he got there. He paid her right? Did he? Great now he was a sexual sinner and a thief. What was wrong with him? So many things… so many things…

Tucking himself into an ally, he doesn’t make it far before he starts throwing up, the little food he’s been able to get down coming back up. This is why his pants were falling off. He was a fucking disaster. He was a failure to everyone around him, he couldn’t even catch Lorea. There was no stopping the tears that came as he laid down on the disgusting floor. There was a needle by his leg and Santi was pretty sure someone had defecated nearby but he wasn’t in control of his own body anymore. The guilt was crippling, the sadness exhausting… He wanted to call Javi, Javi would make it better… but there was no better, was there?

It wasn’t going to be better.

Santi laid there until the sun set.

Javi opens his front door on the fourth knock, not bothering to check who is there before he flings it open, a scowl plastered to his features. 

His expression quickly softens when he sees you. Sees the redness to your eyes. 

“Cand-”

“Can I come in?” You cut him off quickly, you don’t want to see that sympathetic look, you don’t want to see worry in his eyes. This isn’t about that. 

You swallow down your emotions, force them down. Don’t think about Santi, don’t think about Santi, don’t think about Santi. 

You push past him before he can even answer, ducking under his arm that is holding open the door. 

“I… yeah?” He turns, shutting it and following you as you walk into the room. “What-”

Enough questions. You don’t need questions. 

You kiss him forcefully, slipping your tongue past his lips and lightly walking him backwards. 

Taken by surprise, he goes with the kiss, groaning softly. Your lips only break apart as you push him back onto his sofa. 

He tries again to speak. Tries to break through the shield you’ve put up. 

You don’t let him, dropping quickly to your knees between his legs and palming him through his joggers. 

He bites back a moan, eyes closing for a second as his body reacts on autopilot. His cock twitches under the warmth of your hand.

You don’t let him compose himself, pulling his soft dick from his clothes and quickly lean forward and take him into your mouth. 

He hardens quickly, growing as you swallow and bob until he nudges at the back of your throat. You groan, swirling your tongue as you deep throat him, taking him deeper. 

Javi’s moans grow in volume, mutters of praise slipping past his lips as the sounds rumble in his chest.

“Santi…” you whine as you come hard against him.

 “I wasn’t finished.” He smiles cheekily.

“Good boy, Santito.”

You choke, spluttering for a second as you breathe at the wrong time. 

“Baby,” Javi pulls you off him, salvia drinks down your chin as he takes your face in your hands. Worry in his eyes. 

That fucking look again.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I was just wondering if you… wanted some company tonight…” You say softly. “Free of charge?”

You hold his gaze as he looks over your face. You know that expression too. The one of a detective. You just wanted a distraction, and he could give it.

But after a moment he nods and doesn’t press further. 

You pull off your clothes quickly and climb into his lap when Javi has barely taken off his t-shirt. You waste little time, taking him again in your hand and pumping twice between you line yourself up with him and sink down. 

He groans, screwing his eyes up tight. 

You shiver. He’s big, and even though you’re used to him your body still reacts a little in surprise, clenching and hampering your intentions. 

You frown, wriggling, trying to take more and more even and fight the resistance. 

When Javi’s eyes meet yours you want to scream. To cry. 

You don’t want those soft eyes. You don’t need them.

Oh god, how much you need them. 

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t push. Simply rubs his thumb against your clit while his other hand holds your hip and stops you from trying to sink further down. 

It takes less than a minute for a spark of pleasure to run along your skin, for your hips to rock and for you to throw your head back in a soft moan. 

He gently pushes you down onto him, filling you and stretching you wide before he moves and flips you onto your back on the sofa with him above you. 

He thrusts slow and deep until you're digging your nails into his back and sobbing his name as he sucks bruises into your neck in time with the rapid rock and grind of his hips. 

“Javi…” You tense, gasping as your pleasure crests suddenly, overpowering and relentless. Robbing you of thought for one blissful moment. 

“That’s it, bebé, that’s it…” He whispers into your ear, slowing his thrusts but not stopping completely, letting you breathe and recover for a minute before he starts to build up again. “I’ve got you.” 

When you’ve settled, naked on his chest, Javi holds you close. He has a way of sensing when you need him, of when you need the extra touch and he’s there to give it.

A gentle kiss to the tip of your ear. “Do you wanna talk about it, Candy?” His voice was soft, letting you know you don’t have to answer. But you did, because it was Javi, your Javi, and you needed him.

“Santi’s mad at me.” You sniffle, clinging to him as the tears come for the hundredth time. “I- I don’t know what I did, but he just left- he left right after we… he wouldn’t even look at me, and he won’t talk me and it’s stupid, Javi I know it’s stupid because he’s a client, he’s just a client but, but-”

“Candy.” Long fingers tangle in your hair. “I know hes not just a client. It’s okay. You’re human. It’s normal for you- for us- to feel things… and I know how it feels to… feel… for him…”

You pause at that, then finally pull yourself off his sticky skin to look down at him. Your hair falls around, closing off the two of you to the world. “You… do?”

The look Javi gave you made your heart clench tight, something you’ve never seen in him. Worry. 

He gives a small nod. “He’s um… not talking to me either. I… kissed him… on friday. And he ran away so… I don’t think this is about you.”

You regard him curiously. You weren’t stupid, you were aware that those two were making goo goo eyes at each other for months, so this wasn’t a huge shock, and you and Javi were both on the same page of who gave a shit if someone was gay. You’d fucked plenty of girls during threesomes and group sex, and Javi…. Well, live and let live sort of man. But you didn’t expect the kiss at all.

Rolling over, you flop onto the bed beside him.

“You know how he is… guilt over everything… just a ball of anxiety. I wish… I wish I could take it away from him. I do. I wish I didn’t feel the way I did, but I do. It’s all gotten so… complicated.”

Javi’s hand takes yours, giving you a squeeze. “Yeah. it has.”

***************

thanks so much for waiting!!!!! it's been 5 ever, but not for lack of trying on my part. its been one thing after aother and then all of a sudden its been like 6 months????

anyway thank you to fen for everything, y deepest love to you always!!!!!!!

2 chapters left!!!!

love santi? want him dark?

Love Santi? Want him soft?

Joel handmiads tale au?

Want some dark logan howlett?

@runa-falls @lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolboydivision @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12 @sub-aro @laiisleiite @itspdameronthings @heareball @comfortlessjoy @csarab615 @calaveramangonda @bit-dodgy-innit @stevngrant @kirsteng42 @mrsjavierp @nanfafnan @lovable-liar @axshadows @cookielovesbook-akie @reallyrallyauthor@solar-fics

[dragon-kazansky]

Spirit of the sea

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

You were a member of Blackbeard's crew long ago. Then you became a ghost story. Izzy Hands only sees you in his dreams these days, until he sees you for real when investigating Stede Bonnet. This sets him on a rollercoaster of emotions between you and what his captain is doing.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Slight angst. Probably more swearing, this is Izzy here. Longer chapter than the last.

Chapter Three - Can you see me now?

♡♡♡

Izzy had entered his captain's quarters in a slight daze. He was focused on his mission, sure, but the sound of your voice was taking over his mind. It almost felt real.

The way you said his name made his heart skip. Not that he would ever say that out loud. God forbid anyone thought Izzy Hands had gone soft.

He almost believed you had been on that bar.

"Izzy?"

He snaps out of his thoughts at the sound of Blackbeard's voice.

"He's not interested in meeting. I explicitly told him... Blackbeard desired his company."

"But does he know who I am?"

"Seemed to, yeah."

"And still he said no?"

"You can "go suck eggs in hell" was his response, I believe."

"Fascinating."

Once Izzy was dismissed, he walked up onto the deck and looked out to sea. Back on open water where he liked to be. He finds himself pressing his palm against his chest, where the ring sits under his clothes. It feels heavier than normal for some reason.

♡♡♡

Turns out it was the Spanish waiting. Not a private vessel like Stede had thought. You had cursed under your breath as the dingy approached the ship.

It was a set up.

Along with the crew and the Englishman, you were pulled into a line where Stede could see you all being held at sword point.

This was becoming the last straw for you.

"I think there's been a mistake," Stede mutters. He is then promptly stabbed as his crew gasp in shock. Blood soaks his clothes as the sword is pulled out of him. "Did you mean to do that?"

You stand by quietly and watch as Jim is revealed to be a woman in disguise. Apparently Spanish Jackie knew them and wanted their head... or at least nose.

As night draws in the Spanish prepare to hang Stede Bonnet. You look up at him as he stands on the barrel, noose around his neck. You stand there with the notion that you'll never see Blackbeard and Izzy again. This time you'll really be a ghost story to them.

A pain settles in your chest at the thought.

"I'm sorry, guys." Stede says to his crew. "Any last words?"

"Yeah," Jim speaks up. "You are the worst fucking pirate captain in history."

"I deserve that."

The Spanish captain mocks Stede for his last words. As he begins to laugh, he is swiftly swiped off the ship. All hell breaks loose.

Cannon fire. Smoke. Pirates boarding the ship. Yelling. Swords clashing. Several things happen all at once.

In Stede's panic, he knocks the barrel over, hanging from the rope around his neck.

You begin to laugh, tears welling up in your eyes. You know these guys! This crew!

You're cut free from the rope binding your hands and you watch the Spanish die one by one on front of you.

Whether it was fate or luck, you thank your lucky stars. 6 years away from the ship you called home, only to reunite with them on this very night. Your eyes dart from one person to another, looking for the man you missed the most.

As the fog rolls in thicker, Stede is cut down from his hanging, falling limp on the ground. He's looking worse for wear.

You turn at the sound of heavy footsteps. You smile at the sight of your captain.

Blackbeard stands over Stede.

"The Gentlemen Pirate, I presume."

"You've heard of me?"

"Oh yeah, I've heard of you. I've heard all about you."

♡♡♡

"Blackbeard."

He looks up from Stede and sees you standing there in front of his eyes. "No way," he mutters under his breath.

"It's me."

He looks you up and down, taking you in. He has thought Izzy had been a little odd these past few weeks. Now he was connecting the dots.

"No fucking way!"

You smile at him. Blackbeard orders his men to carry Bonnet back onto his ship as he walks toward you and pulls you in close. You finds yourself a little taken off guard, not knowing Blackbeard to be particularly a hugger.

"This is fucking unreal. You're alive?"

"Yeah. Have been all this fucking time!"

He sounds super excited as he holds your by the shoulders and looks you over again.

"Izzy is never going to fucking believe this."

You fall quiet as you look up at your captain.

"How is he?"

"He's, well, ya know, Izzy."

"Captain..."

"I'm sure he will be happy to see you again. We thought you were dead..."

"Almost was," you whisper.

♡♡♡

You climb aboard the Revenge. You had hoped to never set foot on this ship again, hoping you could simply go back to the one you used to call home, but it turns out Blackbeard has a genuine interest in this Gentlemen Pirate.

You go along with him for the sake of returning to your old crew.

"So, I'm allowed back, just like that?"

"You always had a place on my crew. "Dying" isn't going to change that. Just, I need ya to talk to Izzy first. I think that's important. I'm gonna go check in with the Bonnet guy."

"Right..."

Blackbeard leaves your side to go below deck. As you turn around, you see him. Izzy Hands. Just as you remember, though perhaps a few more grey hairs on his head.

He is frozen in place. Eyes set on you, the corner of his lips pulled down, his brows are knitted together. One of his hands rests on his sword at his hip, the other is balled up into a tight fist beside him.

"Izzy," you say his name softly.

You can see his jaw clench, perhaps even his eyes watering. You realise in that moment he doesn't believe what he's seeing. You take a step forward and he takes a step back.

"Izzy..."

"You're not real," he says plainly, trying so hard.

"I am real, Izzy. It's me."

"No. It can't... it can't be you," he nearly loses his composure. "You died. That ship burnt down to nothing and you died."

You take another step closer.

"I jumped off the ship, but got swept up in the ocean. The weather turned bad, do you remember?" He doesn't respond. "I couldn't get back to the ship, and before I knew it you were all gone. You have every right to believe I was dead and that I'm just a figment of your imagination, but I'm here..."

Izzy stares at you for a few moments longer because inhaling sharply and walking off.

You stand there and feel all the shuddering breath escape you. Yeah, he had every right to walk away.

♡♡♡

After sitting with Stede for a while as he recovers, Blackbeard stands up on deck looking out at the horizon. Izzy joins him, his mind busy with thoughts. He has to be going crazy.

"Been lookin' for you everywhere. We need to move quickly before the Spanish realise we massacred all their men."

"Oh, the Spanish. They die quite dramatically, don't they, the Spaniards? Lots of blubbering for their God."

"Yeah, agreed. Now, we really should discuss..."

"Izzy, Izzy, Izzy, Izzy! Did you see them yet?" Blackbeard looks over his shoulder at his first mate. "Our spirit isn't a ghost after all!"

"So I wasn't going mad?" Izzy whispers to himself.

"What's that?"

"Nothin'." Izzy looks out across the sea. His chest feels heavy. So you are real. You really were back from the dead. Where the fuck had you been all this time? Why hadn't you reached out in some way?

"Aren't you glad?" Blackbeard asked.

"Fucking ecstatic."

"Cheer up, Izzy. We're a team again!"

Izzy says nothing as he stares out at the sea. He doesn't know what to feel right now. For the last 6 years he believed you to be dead. You haunted his dreams, his thoughts during the day. He saw you in places he shouldn't. Izzy genuinely thought he was losing his mind at this point.

"Look out there. Those clouds." Blackbeard points out at the sky, trying to change the subject. He could tell the conversation was starting to bother his first mate. "Do they look like frankfurters to you?"

"They look like clouds," Izzy sighs.

"Yes, yes, they look like clouds because they are indeed clouds, but if you just put some fucking imagination into it, man!"

Izzy looks back out at the clouds, completely done with this moment, but humouring his boss nonetheless. "I suppose they do look like sausages."

"Frankfurters, yes! Exactly. It's like pulling teeth with you sometimes, man."

The two of them turn to face the crew of the ship. Most of the crew are milling about, but you're standing against the railing with your arms crossed and bead bowed down. Izzy's gaze is on you for a moment before glancing at the crew.

"What've we got?" Blackbeard asks.

"Well, the ship sustained some damage in the crossfire, and the crew's completely useless, bottom of the barrel."

"Mm, and what about them?" Blackbeard nods over to where you stand.

Izzy bites the inside of his cheek. "Prisoner of Bonnet or something... has been trapped on his ship for weeks according to the others."

"What's the plan?"

"The uszh - make 'em repair the ship, execute 'em." Izzy says this as he avoids looking at you. He is still trying grasp onto the fact you're not dead.

"Right, the uszh."

♡♡♡

Pete looks up from what he is doing to see Blackbeard and Izzy talking quietly to one another. "I bet he's saying something genius. He's history's most brilliant tactician. I wonder if he'll recognise me."

You look up at him. "Recognise you?"

"Yeah. I was on his crew once."

You narrow your eyes at him. "I don't remember you."

"Why would you remember me? Unless you were someone we crossed, but we very rarely left anyone alive."

You push yourself away from the railing and stand in front of him. "You weren't on his crew."

"Oh yeah? How would you know?" He stands up to you.

"Because I was on his crew. Until about 6 years ago I sailed under Blackbeard. I don't ever remember you."

Pete backs down. "You sailed with... him?"

"Yeah. You see those two over there?" You nod toward Blackbeard and Izzy. Pete nods. "They were my friends. My colleagues. My family, if you like. I killed for Blackbeard. Stole for him. Tortured for him."

Pete swallows nervously. Lucius steps between you both. "I thought he would be taller."

You sigh and step back.

Fang and Ivan come over and slap Pete across the head. "Back to work!"

Blackbeard turns back around to see what was happening. "Boys, boys, boys, hey. Let's not brutalise our guests like that."

Blackbeard swings down the steps, even though it was only 4 steps to walk down. The crew applaud him for that anyway.

"Hello everyone. I'm Blackbeard." He greets them.

Izzy comes down the steps you notice him avoiding your gaze. You know you've hurt him by suddenly reappearing in his life.

Blackbeard makes the rounds of the crew. They're fans of him. He seems pretty stoked by the reactions he's getting from them. He turns to find Buttons standing beside you with a seagull on his head.

It dawns on you how little you knew of this crew due to being locked in the brig for weeks. You realise how weird this all is.

"Sorry, sir, Blackbeard, sir, I was just wonderin' if we're going to be able to live or die..." Franchie says.

"Right, come on!" Izzy cuts him off. "Blackbeard has business to attend to! Fang!"

Fang hisses and orders them all to go back to work. You remain standing as Blackbeard and Izzy pass by you. Blackbeard smiled at you, but Izzy pretends not to see you as he steps last you.

You sigh and walk in the other direction.

♡♡♡

"This place is amazing. Izzy, look, look at this shit." Blackbeard gets all excited as he opens a cabinet to find a model of the ship they're on. He's never seen anything like this before.

Izzy sighs as he watches his boss. He was annoyed by the fact that Blackbeard wasn't taking things seriously right now, and it didn't help to know you were basically haunting him even though you were no longer a ghost. He supposed in a sense you still were, to him anyway, a ghost.

Blackbeard holds up the model of the ship. "It's a teeny-tiny version of this ship."

"It appears so, yeah." Izzy takes it from Blackbeard when he hands it over. "So, Edward..."

"He's got all sorts of knick knacks and trinkets."

"Edward?"

"This guy's fucking fascinating!"

"Edward, focus. We need a plan."

"I AM focusing. I'm focusing on all of this brilliant stuff."

"Edward, we really need a plan." Izzy insists.

"Crazy little trinkets."

"Come on, a plan."

"Yes! We always need a fuckin' plan, all right?! And then what? Then we fuckin' execute the plan, then we get another plan, then what do we do? We execute that, and so on and so on, and again, and again, and again, and again! It's all so fucking boring!" Edward shouts.

"Why aren't you focusing on them? Huh? Our friend who came back from the dead and crossed our paths again! Who we thought was dead, but really they were out there all this time probably doing some way more fucking interesting than the same thing over and over again!"

Izzy bites his tongue at that.

"I'm bored outta my skull man. Is this all there is?" Ed asks Izzy, turning to face him. "I shouldn't be bored. I'm fucking Blackbeard."

Izzy stares at his captain.

"Well, as board as you might be, if you don't make a decision soon, we're going to fuckin' die."

Blackbeard looks at his first mate.

"You're doing it again."

"Doin' what?"

"Avoiding talking about them. All you wanna do is talk about what I plan to do. You won't even say their name."

"Edward-"

"Do you hate them, Izzy?"

"Ed-"

"No, Izzy. Do you hate them? Do you despise them for dying?"

"They're not dead though, are they? Never were. They just made us believe they were."

Edward stares at Izzy.

"Huh..."

"What?"

"Now, there's an idea. I haven't done that yet." Edward says curiously. "I haven't died yet, have I? Maybe we should try that." He says, standing right in front of Izzy with a look of excitement in his eyes. He then walks past his first mate to go back outside.

Izzy stands there with the ship model in his hands. "Yeah, cos that make sense."

He puts the model back in the cabinet.

♡♡♡

You sit on the deck with your head leaning back against the railing. The crew are still fixing the ship, but you're lost in your thoughts about Izzy.

Israel Hands was always a hard man. From the moment you net him, he was tough, direct, took shit from no one. He took pride in being Blackbeard's first mate. Being first mate was no joke, it was a huge responsibility to the ship and to the captain. Izzy Hands was perfect for Edward's right hand man.

He was always the same, but it took months of sticking to his side to make him soften up, if only a little bit. Izzy would find himself drawing closer to you. He would always come to stand beside you. Always found himself sharing thoughts and ideas with you. Sometimes he just liked to sit in silence with you.

You became a safe space for him.

Izzy Hands is human, despite what some might think of him. You know deep down he has thoughts and feelings too, he just does a good job of keeping them hidden. You've seen the way he looks at Blackbeard, like he's the most important man in the world. Izzy would do anything Blackbeard asked him. Even bend the fucking knee if he had to.

You liked Izzy. As much of a bastard as he was. There was a connection there, it might be hard to see, but you knew it was there. It was the things Izzy did that proved it's existence.

Now he hated you.

You should have made more of an effort to contact hi somehow, but even then you don't know how you would have managed that.

"Shit..." You sigh.

In the corner of your eye you see Izzy comes outside. You keeps your eyes away from him. If he was going to ignore you, you would ignore him too.

Izzy joins Buttons where they see ships approaching on the Horizon.

"These wee black dots look a bit Spanish to me. What do you think?" Buttons says.

Izzy looks through his telescope. "Fuck!" He hurries down the steps muttering to himself as he goes to find Edward.

You watch him go, immediately breaking your ignoring him attempt.

♡♡♡

Izzy can't find Ed. He's not on deck by looks of it, and he wasn't in the captain's quarters when he went in to check. Izzy is losing his patience right now. He sighs and heads back outside to make sure the crew are still working, and to see if Edward has appeared in the time he was gone.

Instead Izzy just finds himself staring at you. You've been sitting in the same position for the last hour. He would yell at you for being lazy, but that would mean talking to you, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

However, as your eyes rise from the wooden deck to meet his, Izzy finds himself frozen once again. Those are the same eyes he used to look into back then. You're right there in front of him.

In his state of being thrown back to the past, he had failed to notice the crew of this lousy ship had gone from deck. He blinks and realises how quiet it is. He takes note of you looking at him. You open your mouth to say something, but he walks away immediately.

He won't talk to you.

♡♡♡

The crew are below deck eating and arguing over Jim. They seem to believe Jim is a mermaid, but they stands up and yell at the crew, stating they are not, in fact, a mermaid. Neither are they bad luck.

Izzy is not impressed.

"You don't get food when you're being invaded." He states to them, unhappy with how things are going. "You live at my pleasure! Back to work! Useless fuckin' fuckers!"

He storms off again.

When he returns to deck be finds you fixing the ship. You've picked up where they have left off. You haven't noticed him standing there silently watching you as you work away.

Izzy hates the way he feels right now, seeing you there in front of him. You're behaving like you haven't been gone for 6 fucking years of his life.

"You don't have to do that," he says, trying to remain neutral.

You don't look up from what you're doing, continuing to hammer the nail.

"As I gather, you were their prisoner. They ain't your crew."

You shrug. "Ed said I always had a place on his crew, but right now I don't feel like I belong on either. This weirdos, well, I don't know much about them. I know they're not very good pirates, that's for sure. As far Blackbeard... it's been 6 years. A lot has changed. I've probably changed."

Izzy watches you. You refuse to look at him.

"You haven't changed... much."

You stop hammering the nail, but you keep your eyes focused on the deck as you tilt your head in his direction slightly.

"Thought you were dead."

"Yeah..." You say softly. "Figured as much. Heard the stories. Ya know, pirates believe I'm some ghost who died on that ship that day, seeking revenge on anyone who gets close to the wreck. I apparently haunt the water waiting for the day Blackbeard returns so I can rest in peace. I mean, who the fuck made that story up?"

Izzy doesn't laugh, but he is mildly amused by the tale. "Some arsehole, probably."

You chuckle. "Probably."

At last you bring your eyes to meet his as you stand. You look at him with a sigh. "I'm sorry you thought I was dead. But I had no way to contact you or let you know I got off that ship that day."

Izzy says nothing.

"I thought about you every day," you confess. "You and the guys. I wondered if you ever looked for me."

"Uh..." Izzy drops his gaze.

"I get it... you thought I was dead. No point in looking for a dead person at sea."

Izzy looks back up at you. "Did you ever once look for us?" He asks.

"Every fucking day. For the record, Blackbeard isn't easy to find."

Izzy almost smiles, but the sound of the door opening behind him has him frowning again and turning around. The crew of the Revenge are coming back to finish their work.

Izzy doesn't look at you again as he watches them, making sure they don't slack off again. You decide to finish the job you started.

Izzy only glances your way when he knows you've stopped looking.

♡♡♡

You knew what you were seeing, but you weren't sure what to make of it. Right in front of everyone was Blackbeard in a white frilly shirt, sleeves covering his hands. He was waving his arms about in some strange dancing motion. His expression was very serious though.

You thought perhaps you had hit your head and were imagining things, but when Stede Bonnet comes out wearing Blackbeard's iconic leather outfit, you decided you must have been drugged instead.

Izzy has to walk off and you don't blame him. The man has put up with a lot from Blackbeard over the years, and this had to be taking the cake.

While the crew play along with this strange charade, minus you who wanted nothing to do with any of this weird cosplaying thing, Izzy pulled Ed to the side to have a word with him.

You see them standing in the door. Izzy is obviously irritated with Ed. When you see Izzy giving Ed two middle fingers, you know that he has reached his tether.

Izzy marches out and grabs Stede by the collar. He drags Stede down below deck. No longer able to stand by, you follow him.

"How quickly can we move this vessel?" Izzy asks Stede.

"I'm not sure. That's really the crew's thing."

"How are you stocked for munitions?" Izzy asks him, grabbing him by the jacket again.

As you and Ed enter, Stede looks up. "Ed! Do you know this guy? He's a complete asshole!"

"Ivan! Fang! Prepare the guns. Execute anyone who won't fight." Izzy orders.

"Well, Blackbeard... what do you think?" Ed asks Stede, getting closer. You dare to move closer to where Izzy stands.

"Do you concur?"

"Me?" Stede asks him.

Realisation sinks in for you.

"You wanted to be Blackbeard. This is what it's like." Ed tells him.

"We could just talk to them."

"OK, yes, and do you speak Spanish?" Ed asks.

"No."

You sigh softly. Stede was about to learn what it meant to be an actual pirate.

Lucius comes in counting down from 20. You looked at him in slight confusion, but the look he gives Ed means this is something they understand. It dawns you he was counting down the time before the Spanish grew closer.

"Time is almost up. What are you going to do?"

"What?" Stede panics.

"They're on us now. Time for a new idea, Stede. The crew's going to die."

"I don't have an idea!"

"Hurry, you're going to lose all your men. It's all going to be your fault. All of the men who trusted you..."

"I don't know!"

"Their blood's going to be on your hands. It's going to be your fault!"

"I don't know!" Stede says again.

All you can do is stand there and hope someone has a fucking plan. You did not plan on actually dying today. You glance at Izzy, but he's just watching this back and forth interaction between the two men.

You'd never get to apologise properly to him.

"Time's up!" Lucius screams.

"I don't know what to do!" Stede yells.

"Death it is," Blackbeard says. "But wait..."

"You're a genius, Blackbeard!" Pete comes in grinning.

You let out the breath you were holding. You should have known there was a plan all along. You feel your muscles relax. You don't see the way Izzy looks over at you discreetly from where he stands.

Upon returning to deck you see the ship is surrounded by heavy fog. You could hardly see a thing outside the deck.

"I don't believe it," Izzy says.

"No one will see us in this," Fang speaks up.

"This is why you do not doubt Captain Blackbeard!" Ivan calls out.

"You knew this would happen?" Stede asks. "How?"

Ed takes a seat. "Quite simple, really. The colour of this morning's sky coupled with the brisk westerly wind made me think we'd be safe. And then the shape of the clouds confirmed it."

"Frankfurters," Izzy mutters. "Fuck me."

"Izzy, I figured the fog would set in once the sea cooled around dusk."

"'Cept we're right in their path. They'll run snack into us," Buttons says.

"Correct! On any other day, for it's September 2nd and tonight's a full moon. So life anchor, and let the ocean current drift us into the warm embrace of safety."

You can't deny that was clever thinking, but the way Izzy glances you makes you realise something is wrong. You ask him with a silent tilt of your head what the matter is, bit he just looks back up at Edward.

"Ed, Ed, it's September 1st, boss."

"What's that, mate?"

"It's September 1st."

"Dickfuck, no, it's not."

"He's right. It's the first," Lucius conform. "The full moon's tomorrow."

"It's a leap year." Ed sighs.

"Does that change things much?" Stede asks.

"Yeah. We're goners. Those of you who can swim would be wise to do it now."

The crew start asking questions, worried.

"Where are you going?" Stede asks.

"The Captain goes down with the ship. I'm going to get pissed."

Stede goes to follow Edward.

All you can do is look at Izzy. He's not looking at you, once again. You want to say something to him, but he walks away before you can utter a word. You sigh.

Fang comes over to you. "He missed you, ya know."

You look up at him. "Izzy?"

"Yeah. He probably won't appreciate me tellin' ya this, but I'm sure I'd heard him crying in his cabin most nights after the incident..."

You turn to look at where Izzy stands, staring out into the foggy sea.

"I can never make it up to him for making him believe I was dead..."

Fang places a hand on your shoudler. "Sure, you can."

Fang leaves you alone with your thoughts. You keep your eyes on Izzy and take a shake breath. That bastard will never understand how much you missed him.

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting - @lxsm2 - @bloody-bunni666 -

[etoilesbienne]

I try to be a fair person I try to be understanding. but I am sick and tired of having to read about the many sins of Léa for being a whistleblower. People are straight up putting words in her mouth for things she did not say.

Frankly I'm a little appalled that the MCYT community can have a huge moment about the heavy amount of misogyny present in the space and come away with the take she didn't actually experience hate from the fan community. No the other admins didn't not experience hate, but she didn't say that. She said she received hate for being the first person to come out. Or how she was discredited repeatedly and the "Jay" document was used to shame her pointedly and make her out to be unreliable and "a hater." Gee whiz I wonder where I've heard "she's just hysterical and took things too seriously and is a vindictive person out to get others projects to fail." That sure sounds familiar. Especially in CC spaces pertaining to women. Why would she be exempt from misogyny at the hands of the fandom?

Though the way people behave about former admins expressing frustration at the lack of internal translation is making me crazy. There is nothing wrong with Quackity speaking his native language in a stream for announcement. None of these admins ever said he was at fault for speaking Spanish, they were criticizing the lack of internal communication outside of the streams, and the fact the studios had no official translators on payroll to help with communication issues between languages. They aren't asking for him to speak English, tbf most of these admins don't even have English as a first language, why would they want a stream in a different language they aren't fluent in? I don't think Léa was expecting Quackity to suddenly start speaking French. They're asking for translations in the languages they do speak so they can understand these important announcements about their jobs, because they were not receiving the information about these announcements any other way. To be honest it still boggles my mind, even after all of this, that QStudios never even had official translators to relay messages between Quackity to other streamers and admins. Regardless, I feel like people are interpreting this pretty fair criticism of the complete lack of translation to non-English languages impeding the already barely existent communication to be as bad faith as possible from every side. On one hand you have people choosing to believe that is what the admins are saying and agreeing with it and then being racist toward Quackity over it, on the other hand you have people choosing to believe the admins are being racist toward Quackity and sending them hate over it. I'd be insane to deny racism toward Quackity wasn't also happening though.

I don't know what else to say than people who have been working insane hours for months on end to be exploited, and they're upset. This is a server a lot of people cared about as fans, of course the first person to come out and reveal the terrible conditions is going to receive the most amount of hate over this specific instance. It's not an unfounded claim. Have you seen the shit people say about Léa on twitter? It also doesn't mean the other admins didn't receive hate in their own regard, it's just the first person to come out is usually the biggest punching bag for it. Misogyny didn't magically dissipate from the fandom with the removal of a few problem CC. My god hear yourselves and the way you talk about a woman coming out as receiving workplace abuse.

[no-one-at-all75]

I've Missed You (Gender Neutral) (Fluff)

okok hear me out, or don't I don't care. Gekko is a soft boy, so I had to do what I had to do. Also, I do not speak Spanish, so all Spanish in this is from google translate (I'm sorry if it's wrong). Italics mean past events!!

Gekko x Reader fluff

Warnings: swearing

Requests are always open :)

Words: 1,501

-------------------------------------------------------

You and Gekko have been life long friends, and by that I mean you've practically known each other since birth. You went to school together and always got into trouble together. You were there when he discovered his Radiant Animals.

~

"Teo come on!" Your squeaky voice pierced the still air. You were both on the out skirts of town when you saw a flash of light. Being curious, you grabbed your best friend and ran towards it.

"(Y/N)! Slow down! I'm not as fast as you!" Gekko whined behind you as you began to scale a boulder, climbing it easily. Once you were on top of the rock, you looked down at your best friend with a smirk gracing your features.

"Seems like I win again huh? When will you get faster Teo?" You mocked as he began to climb the same boulder you were proudly standing on. He let out a 'tch' sound as he huffed his way up, finally making it to your level.

He laid down on the rock or a second, catching his breath before you heard a sound. You squinted your eyes at the odd gurgling noise before slowly walking towards the source. Gekko quickly shot up from his spot and grabbed your wrist, stopping you. You look behind you to see Gekko looking more worried than usual.

"(Y/N)!" He whispered, "You don't know what that is or what made that sound! It could be a monster!" He warned. A concerned look made its way to your face as you look back to the noise, it seemed to get louder now.

"Teo, it sounds hurt. We have to help it." You tried to reason with him. He looked down in thought before slightly releasing your wrist from his hold. You didn't bolt off like usual, instead, you grabbed his hand and laced your fingers with his and led him to the noise. Gekko looked down at your hand connected with his, a bright red blush made its way to his cheeks. He attempted to cover his face with his small hands and soon just put his arm across his face.

You and Gekko slowly made your way to the noise, it kept getting louder and louder. Being the determined kid you were, you pushed forward with a very flustered Gekko following you. You then saw the light again, but this time, it was different colors. You looked back towards Gekko. Again, he looked extremely nervous. You released his hand as you walked towards the colored light. You slowly peer into the bushes where the light and noises are coming from, your small hands clearing away the brush to find 4 small animals. You look at them with curiosity and wonder. They were so vibrant and colorful. You smiled to yourself as you waved over Gekko.

"It's ok Mateo! Its those animals my mom was talking about! What were they again?" Your childish mind could never remember anything. Gekko walked over curiously and used his hands to clear some more bushes. His eyes lit up when seeing the small animals. He let out a small 'woah' as he picked a yellow one up. He cradled it in his arms before talking again.

"I think your mom said they are Radiant Animals. Something about Kingdom and their stupid stuff." He said as he hugged the small animal. You smiled to yourself as you grabbed a green one and a pinkish one. Gekko took the hint that you were taking them for your own and grabbed the last blue one. You both looked at the animals in awe then smiled to each other. You could already count so many ways to use these little guys for mischief.

~

You groaned as the sun shined on your eyes. You swiftly lift your blanket to your eyes to avoid the sun's harsh gaze. You yawn as you give up on going back to sleep and raise yourself up in your bed. You look around your room, so many pictures were littered on your walls. Ones of you and Mateo, others of your family. You slowly get out of bed and head towards the bathroom, passing a small calendar with a date circled on it. You double back and rub your eyes, looking at the date more clearly now. You let out a small gasp and rush to get ready.

"Fuck! How could I forget Teo is coming home today!" You yelled at yourself as you quickly hop in the shower and brush your teeth. You were soon a tornado, opening up every drawer and cabinet in your room to find the perfect outfit for today. You looked around, your anxiety peaking as you gather everything you need. You quickly get dressed and put on a necklace Mateo got for you before he left. You did your make up the best you could and ran down the stairs. As you grabbed the door handle in a rush, your mom peeked to look at you from the kitchen.

"(Y/N!) ¿Cuál es tu problema esta mañana?" She said as her thick accent ran circles in your brain.

"Mamá, Teo viene a casa. Me tengo que ir!" You say as you unlock the door and race to the mural you two would always hang out at. "See you later!" You yell back to your mom as you make your way through the city.

When you finally got to the mural, you leaned against the wall and slowly slid down it, catching your breath. It wasn't easy to run almost a mile in cute wedges that were not made for running. After you catch your breath you pull out your phone, there were a million reminders on your phone put by Mateo reminding you that he was coming home today. You giggle to yourself as you clear the reminders and scroll through your phone. You were so lost on instagram that you couldn't even hear Wingman running towards you. You yelped in surprise when you were tackled by Wingman, then Dizzy, followed by Mosh, then Thrash. You laughed as you wrapped your arms around all of them, expect Thrash.

"Ay! How are my favorite guys doing hm? Saving the world and junk." You say as they all start talking at once. You hear a playful scoff behind you as you cuddle your pets some more.

"Favorite guys? Does that include me too?" Gekko's voice rang out. A small smile graced your lips as you carefully put down the rowdy animals, then turning around to see the love of your life, Mateo. You tear up a bit as you run into his arms, holding each other.

"Te extrañé mucho Teo." You spoke in your native language. He chuckles and tightens his embrace around you.

"Yo también te extrañé mi amor." He replied back as he kissed the top of your head affectionately. Your embrace was broken up as Wingman climbed Mateo's shoulder, grabbing his attention. You both look at the yellow creature in question, until he begins making his small noises, or talking. Mateo smiles as he looks back at you.

"He was just saying how pretty you look." Teo narrates for Wingman. You let out a small scoff as you pick up Wingman from Mateo's shoulder and nuzzle into his small face.

"Teo, I know what he is saying. We raised them together." You smile as you put Wingman down. The animals go back into Gekko's pack as he clears his throat and looks at you sheepishly before grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours.

"Right, sorry. I'm always translating at work. Habit I guess." An embarrassed blush made its way to his ears. You laugh as you kiss his cheeks, making them more red.

"Thank you Teo. Now, what do you want to do first?" You ask as you both start walking into town. Mateo thinks for a bit before smiling to himself.

"Wanna go get ice cream? No one makes as good of ice cream than Luca. It's the one thing I've been craving since I left a year ago." He smiles and looks down at you. You give him a playful glare.

"You weren't craving me for a year?" You ask playfully. His face goes red and he laughs, bringing you into another embrace.

"I've craved you since the day we met." He says as he kisses the top of your head. You give him a playful shove and giggle.

"Genius, the day we met? We were in diapers? I mean you still think like a baby." You mock Gekko. He gives you a look of fake hurt as he pinches your cheek.

"You get what I mean." He mocks back. You give him a smile and peck his lips as you walk towards the ice cream shop again, leaving him a bit in shock. He shook his head a bit, looking at you like a dazed puppy before following in your footsteps, the same way he did when you two were kids.

[useless-catalanfacts]

No question. Just rant. I love your page. And sorry for chaotic story time vibes, but I don't think I'd realised how crazy this anti-catalan thing really is until I travelled to southern Spain. My Spanish is not great, but I took a course in Catalan in high school (long story on why this was available in my city but it also included a human tower party at the end and it was brilliant even tho I almost died) so when talking to people I casually threw in some Catalan words to help my Spanish. I am Norwegian, and I thought it was kind of like... as if someone was trying to speak Norwegian but casually threw in some Swedish to fill in the gaps. Like we would totally have joked about it, but overall we would just be grateful they really made an effort to be understood. But no. IT WAS NOT THE CASE. My host was literally offended. Like offended offended. I didn't really get it, because it's not like the Catalans have oppressed him and I'm coming here speaking the tongue of the oppressor (its kinda the opposite). But no. My host acted if I was the most ignorant person ever. He basically sat me down and explained that I have to show respect and speak castillian (or english, which was apparently fine, even if he understood about 1% of it), and then I asked if he would speak Catalan if he visited Barcelona and he said he would never visit Barcelona because he didn't like the people there. And then I said that if you hate them so much, why not throw them out of the country, get rid of them, and let them have their own state? It sounds like a win-win. And he looked as if he was gonna hit me.

Ah 😬

I wish things like this surprised me, but I have family from Andalucía and Extremadura and have friends who also have family from Andalucía, and so I've heard this and worse... It also reminded me of a few weeks ago when there was a scandal because a train in Málaga (in Andalucía, southern Spain) gave the announcements in Catalan instead of Spanish (turns out the train had been programmed in Catalonia during the COVID-19 restrictions and later moved to the Málaga train system, but for some mistake this day it was showing COVID-19 precaution in Catalan from 2020 now in 2024). It was such a scandal that it was on the news and politicians were making such a big deal of it, the PP (the most voted party in Málaga and of all Andalucía) also said it was "offensive" and that Malagans were being "laughed at" by the trains. Other errors in public transport that actually mean people can't travel in time don't get reported as much as when one train's screens tell you in Catalan to wear your facemask. 🤷

The last part of what you say, absolutely right. I never understood it either: if they really don't like us, then shouldn't they also be interested in not having anything to do with us? Why not just kick us out? I never really understood it until some years ago when I heard the words of a right-wing Spanish journalist (I think was Federico Jiménez Losantos?) who said something along the lines of "if Catalans want to leave, then leave. But Catalonia is ours." Meaning that Catalan people, individually, we can leave and migrate abroad. But the land is a possession of Spain, our homeland is their property. I think that sums up that view. It's not about being annoyed at having to share a state with a culture you despise, it's about wanting to keep domination.

I'm sorry you had this experience. Your effort to communicate should have been valued, and pulling the words you know from a language from the same linguistic family was a good idea that would have worked great, they wouldn't have found it offensive if the language you knew instead of Catalan was Italian, Portuguese, etc. Thank you very much for sharing your experience, and I hope you could enjoy the rest of your trip (Southern Spain, outside of situations like this, is a beautiful place), and I'm very glad to hear you enjoyed the castells party (and didn't die in it)!

[pandorasfavorite]

Saw your post abt being idealess and I am trying to brainstorm for you lol

Okay so first thought, hear me out, a bratty sub dominik x reader (smut ofc) or one where he finds out how much the reader likes him speaking Spanish

Or a story where dom and reader are childhood friends and decide to 🍃 together and one of the confesses (fluff)

I've got a few more ideas but idk if you like these so far or not lol

Love you 💕💕💕

Resuscitate

AN: I love you. I hope you don't mind but I'm going to try and use this opportunity to explore Dominik's point of view. (Please don't kill me, I swear if it is not popular I will never do this again). I just whipped this up yo....kinda impressing myself

Dominik's expectations for tonight were much different than yours. He always felt so drawn to you, and that feeling only grew as you both grew up together. Of course, as children Dominik wasn't in love with you; he didn't even really know what that was. But when he started to understand the concept, it took a short time to find out that's exactly how he felt about you.

For the past few years, Dominik felt absolute calm with you, anytime you made a presence he felt contained, relaxed, and most of all trapped. Trapped by your essence, trapped by the look in your eyes, trapped by the wit in your voice, and his favorite trapped by the way you yelled his name each time you saw him.

"DOMINIK!", you screech and sprint into his arms; acting as if you hadn't seen him in years. Dominik would be taken aback by your excitement to see him, eachtime it happened. And his heart would regularly race, so much so that he once had to step away and remind himself that he was not dying. You gave him a grin and pulled him along with you everywhere you went. Dominik had no complaints when it came to following you, he'd go to the ends of the earth if it meant being by your side.

Now that you both are 25 with too much time on your hands, you took it as your personal responsibility to be the red devil on Dominik's shoulder. He sat with you on the dingy couch you had for years now in the center of your small living room. He felt so comfortable in the familiar area, but sitting next to you with his leg pressed to yours was all he could think about. The moment you both sat down, your mischievous grin rose up and you reached into a drawer and pulled out a tin.

Dominik looked at you with suspicion, but he felt settled being beside you, as you felt being beside him. "What you up to Hermosa?", Dominik asked and moved his head into your space to look at your moving hands. He had been calling you Hermosa from the ripe age of 13, he heard it from his dad at first, and it seemed to apply to you perfectly. You open the tin and pull out the preroll, "Dom it's time", you say like it has been a weight on your chest. "Corazón...", he seems unsure. Dominik has never done this before, and he is 100% positive you have never done it either. He was less worried about the action and more worried about how it would make him act around you.

However, you looked at Dominik with pleading eyes; and without any words, you scathed by and convinced Dominik to smoke with you. "Ok", he drops his protective act and reaches for the lighter also in the tin. If he was going to do this, he would be the first to try it, to warn you, also it seemed more polite to light it for you. If Dominik is anything it is polite. He puts the preroll in his mouth and spares you a quick glance, you smile so cute that he is less nervous to do it. He lights up and takes a deep inhale; a really deep inhale. The smoke hits the back of his throat and the mild burn makes him cough it up.

You smack a hand over your mouth, stifling your laughs as Dominik hacks up a lung. After the initial pain of a gut-wrenching cough, the weed hits instantly. Considering he hasn't done it before it was easy for him to get high. The preroll is dangling from his fingers and you look at him with expectation. He jumps in realization and brings the preroll to your lips for you. You inhale much gentler than Dominik, but the thick smoke hits you just the same. Luckily for you, the coughing fit wasn't nearly as bad as Dominiks.

After another few less apprehensive hits, the high really set in. Dominik's eyes went low and glossy with a light hue of red. His goofy smile instantly graced his features and he turned his head to look at you quickly, though in his point of view, it was like slow motion. When Dominik looked at you his breathing came to a stuttering halt, he felt good; but you looked good. Truly perfect and the low eyes and that pretty smile would've brought him to his knees (if he wasn't on the couch). "How do you feel?", you say and somehow manage to lean closer to him as you speak.

Your words knock Dominik out of a haze and he has to inhale a breath before being able to talk to you. He breathes; his eyes staring into yours without care, he looks you over and answers, "I feel as good as you look". His eyes widen as soon as the words slip from his lips, he is about to speak but your giggle cuts him off. Your cheeks are a light tiny of pink and you put a hand on him as you laugh. If you were to look up 'What does a man in love look like?', a picture of Dominik staring at you with his lips parted in astonishment would pop up.

You sit up and your eyes go comically wide, "I want to do something" you declare and you somehow peel yourself from the couch. Of course Dominik got up just as you had. You both stand and look at each other without a clue of what to do and then you mutter a intrusive thought. "Hm?", Dominik asks you to repeat yourself in a small hum. You look up with those big glossy eyes, and his heart rate seems to beat back to life, "Give me a piggyback ride". Didn't have to tell him twice. He crouches down, "Get on then Hermosa".

You climb on his back and you lay your cheek on his shoulder when he stands up completely. "I like when you call me that", you mumbled against his shoulder, your arms barely hanging onto him. Yet you trust Dominik enough to know he would never let you fall. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much and so largely. He swallows and his mouth has gone dry; sure it was probably from the weed; but in his hazy state Dominik was convinced you have begun to affect him more physically than he anticipated. He walked into the kitchen with you slung on his back and his hands under your thighs keep you on him completely. He whispers that he is going to sit you down on the counter. Afterward, he pours a glass of water for you both to share, handing you the cup to get the first drink.

You moan in contempt as the cool liquid slides down your throat and you feel much better now that your mouth also isn't dry. Dominik eyes shoot to your lips at the sound that came from them. But he shook the thoughts from his head; he will not be that guy. You pull Dominik to you by the collar of his shirt (he curses under his breath at the proximity). "I really want some fucking chocolate", you say with wide eyes that are utmost serious. Dominik's eyebrows pull together in seriousness and he raids the cabinets for you. He finds a candy bar in the bottom cabinets and he pops up when he finds it; he smacks his head "ow". He says under his breath.

You jump off the counter and move to crouch down beside of him, your lips plant on his head before he can anticipate it. "There. Feel better?", you ask and snatch the candy bar from him. Dominik's mouth went dry again; this time, he thought he'd fall from the tingles that shot through his body. He nodded and his glazed-over eyes blinked at you twice. He watches you break off pieces of chocolate, he has the intense urge to pull you into his arms and kiss the chocolate off your lips. He thought, "god I'm in love".

Your head whips to him but Dominik doesn't acknowledge it as he slips a piece of chocolate into his mouth, "This is really good". He talked around the chocolate and then he finally looked up to your surprised look. He looked at you, just nearly as confused.

"Wait what?", you put the chocolate down.

"This chocolate is really good", he says again; rubbing the back of his neck.

"No Dominik what did you say before that- you said that you were..you know". His eyes fly the fuck open and his heart has surely fallen to the pit of his stomach. "What did I say?!", this was his worst fear. You waste no time repeating the words that were now inked into your mind, "You said, god, I'm in love". If his heart was in the pit of his stomach, his lungs were probably in the same spot. His breathing stops and his mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of water. Now that you are looking at him, telling you the truth seems so much harder. The way you were staring at him, with a heartbroken look; he couldn't take it. "I'm sorry Corazón, I should've told you sooner", his glazed-over eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips without the intention. "Me?", you asked in utter surprise, he liked you back, after so many years, he was just in love with you as you were with him.

"Who else?", a breathless laugh escaped from my mouth. You gasp at the complete confession, you fall into him heavily; wrapping your arms around him and holding Dominik tight. "Me too", you say into his chest, Dominik heard it and he felt as if he was floating. He pushes you back to see your face but you stay close, "You too?", he asked just to confirm. You nod and tears begin to well in your eyes at the finality and long-awaited desire coming to life. He smiles and breaks into a quick laugh at his luck, he tilts your body down and gives you a long kiss, pulling back to attach to your lips again; over and over again until his lungs recicitate and until his heart gives out.

[deceasedream69]

A Love Story

This is a little series I want to make, I hope y'all enjoy.

Summary: you have scarlet witch powers. It all started when you moved to a different country, obviously always so curious, discovering new places around your new home, how can you ignore a museum? it was less obvious than a bank.

A/n: my first language is not English so I have no idea how English people really talk, so Steven's probably going to be more American than English, but I'll try my best. (Feedback would be appreciated)

___________________________________________

Steven's pov

It was a boring day, selling bloody gummies again. Gummies, in a museum, absolutely absurd, but who am I to go against my boss?

Until I see a kid sticking something to a statue. Off course, scolding a kid in a museum it's just going to create a bad impression about museums in the youngling's mind, a history lesson so they appreciate the statue must be a much better idea.

I got scolded regardless, and went back to my spot. As I had nothing to do I used to just look around and see if anyone did anything interesting.

Until I saw a girl using her cellphone in the museum, how absurd! why come to the museum then?

- You know, it's far more interesting if you look around.

She laughed and showed me her phone.

- Not from around here, I was trying to read the history of every statue off the plaques they have on the sides but... I don't understand some words, so I was using my translator.

- Oh, my bad, already scolded you for trying to understand history, how foolish of me!

She laughed again. She had a very light up smile.

- I understand, don't worry. I would've done the same anyway. It's just, there are some very old... interesting and weird words, I wouldn't know how to classify them.

- What's your first language?

- Spanish

- Oh, I can't really dominate that, think I've never met anyone who speaks spanish either.

- Well, hola, pleasure to be the first person you meet that speaks spanish, my name is y/n

- Hola, ¿cómo estás?, that's all I know - I laughed - my name is Steven, with a v.

- gusto conocerte, Steven. That means nice to meet you.

- how was it?

- gusto... conocerte...

I repeated just as she taught me, although I think I lacked the pronunciation, but it was far more interesting than just looking at people looking at statues.

We stayed there speaking for about half an hour, I explained the history of the statues to her, trying to avoid all the fancy words. She even bought me like 5 bags of gummies and I gave her another 5 for free. We exchanged phone numbers and I just think I got myself a new friend.

-

Y/n's pov

The guard, easy peasy. I don't think anyone else is supposed to be here at this time, maybe another guard. I'll have to be focused.

I entered and saw the gummies stand again. I didn't want to be that mean, he gave me free gummies, but I also saw some very valuable things around.

I tipped toe my way until I reached the pieces Steven told me were the most valuable, but also easy to take. I was looking at some necklaces when I heard some movement in the back. I quickly hid behind Steven's stand and peaked my head up to see if it was another guard.

- AAAAAAAAAA

Steven came across the room running and screaming, a wolf following him.

- Steven?!

He stopped and turned to look at me as he was hiding behind a column. The wolf turned to look at me, then he noticed where I was looking at and instantly knew Steven was there. Before he could reach him I threw him to the other side of the room and ran towards Steven,

- what is going on?!

- I don't know! quick!

He took my hand and we started to run. Steven tripped and the wolf got his leg, I pushed the wolf away, again, and pulled Steven from his arm.

- Omg, Steven, we need a place where I can heal you!

He turned and we got into a bathroom. He locked the door and sat on the counter. I took his leg and pulled the pants up, revealing a very nasty and bloody cut, with a shape of a claw. He twisted in pain. I started to use my powers on his leg. The wolf outside the door, banging and banging.

I finished healing his leg and he got up.

- all good?

- what are you doing here?

- what are you doing here so late?!

- you were stealing! that's why you asked me what was the most valuable this afternoon.

I just turned to look somewhere else, he was a nice person, didn't want to show this side to him. I looked up to reply when I noticed the door almost over Steven. I pushed him with my arm but before I could use my powers I took the impact.

Marc's pov

We weren't gonna make it alive if we only trusted in this thief, I got to act for Steven and me. So I had to get out and suit up.

and so I did.

-

My head was pounding, but I needed to help Steven... if he was still alive. I got out of the bathroom and I followed the trace of broken artifacts. Stumbling a little I heard some noise and went there.

- Steven...! I clung from a door frame.

Steven wasn't anywhere in sight. Just the wolf and a man in a white suit. They both turned to look at me after I spoke, I was still trying to focus my vision.

- Go awa - the wolf took the man from a leg, threw him to the air and just as he was about to catch him with his mouth I used my power to keep the man in the air and push the wolf away. I tried getting him down slowly but I didn't have that much energy left, still he landed on his feet and turned to look at me.

- Let's get out of here - he said as he helped me taking me from my arm.

We got out of the museum and he took his mask off. It was Steven's face but it definitely wasn't his voice, accent or personality. He pushed me against a wall and started to speak.

- I'm not Steven, I'm Marc. We have two personalities, it's none of your business but I don't need you asking questions I need you going away and never coming back - he got really close to my face - specially near Steven.

He let go of me and put his mask back on.