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avastrasposts · 3 months ago

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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.”

#studioghibelliswritingchallenge #pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x reader

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blueflamebimbo · 1 month ago

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DEW KISSED

TIGHNARI X READER

Tighnari likes knowing things. Tighnari likes mushrooms. Above all, Tighnari likes you. The feeling, thankfully, is absolutely mutual.

A/N: I saw a lot of Genshin smut on here, so I wrote something wholesome out of spite. I also said I wasn't going to put a lot of effort into it and ended up researching rain forest preservation systems. My bad.

Dedicated to: @husbandograveyard Warnings: Brush your teeth. This shit sweet. Word count: 1,070

A small smile pulled at the sides of your mouth as you watched the breeze flow through the grass, making it lean into the most serene sea of greens and flowery whites. The wind wasn’t as strong as it had been the past few days, and though clouds still brought a chill to the spring afternoon in the fields of East Sumeru, the sun was finally out again, making the fields glisten.

Your walk from home had taken only a short while as you made your way to the edge of Avidya Forest. The bark felt rough against your skin as you sat down on a fallen tree trunk, a favourite spot of yours that looked out into the depths of the forest. It was the perfect spot to watch forest critters scurry about while enjoying both the warmth of the air and the shade of the trees that towered above you, casting shadows at your feet as the sun travelled from East to West.

There was a familiar tingling sensation in your gut as you eyed the rustling leaves ahead of you. Tomorrow, you would embark on quite the adventure. After spending years with your nose hidden in pages upon pages of information that were carefully tucked away at the Akademiya, your first research project away from home was finally about to start. The thought brought tension to your neck, and you reached up to soothe the sore muscle.

From between the leaves, your favourite project partner emerged. Tighnari set down his satchel in front of you, his gaze never leaving you, but his initial grin faltering slightly at your visible discomfort.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” he murmured, getting down and sitting back on his haunches. One of his big ears twitched in concern and a dew drop flicked off, hitting the tree trunk.

You nodded sheepishly and let go of your neck, settling both your hands behind you on the bark, letting you lean back slightly. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” You smiled at him reassuringly and let out a soft sigh. “Is it foolish of me to be nervous about tomorrow, though?"

He laughed. Not the gentle, friendly laugh most people knew and appreciated, but a full, cheeky laugh; one that pushed at his cheeks and made his eyes disappear into green crescents. “Don’t be silly – it’s your first research project, honey, of course you’re allowed to be nervous,” he shrugged. “I won’t have you be worried about any of it, though. You’re so well-prepared. I was there every step of the way, watching you learn, watching you grow into the scholar I know you are.” He paused, “And, even if you do doubt – that’s okay, too. I’ll be right there to help. You’re not in this alone, but I have faith in that big brain of yours.”

You could feel your cheeks heating up, the compliment nestling deep inside of your chest and blooming as you watched his eyes peer up at you with both wonder and adoration. It was almost too much to be the subject of the forest watcher’s affection, but it also never got old, not even after this much time had passed.

Looking out into the depths of the forest, you let the soft breeze hit your flushed cheeks and pondered the many truths you would uncover with Tighnari, starting tomorrow.

“It’s strange, isn’t it,” you wondered, “How something so vast and mysterious can be so perfectly balanced.”

Tighnari knew where this was going and sat back into the grass, mindlessly pulling forest specimens out of his satchel before handing you an almost perfect looking common mushroom – his favourite.

“Forests barely have any nutrients in the ground,” you continued, choosing to momentarily ignore the way Tighnari was beaming at the way he had handed you the perfect prop for the speech he knew so very well by now.

“It’s only really the top part of the soil that’s filled with helpful sources: fallen leaves, dead animals, decomposed plant matter…” you trailed off, grinning. “That’s where the good stuff comes from, huh? All for these fun guys to enjoy.” You held up the mushroom and showed off its simple shape. “Mushrooms use the tree roots to absorb all of the delicious nutrients and enter mycorrhiza, the coolest symbiosis of all, which then makes it easier for the tree roots to actually absorb the nutrients and, in turn, the mushrooms get carbohydrates from the tree. How amazing is that?!”

By now, Tighnari looked so proud, it wouldn’t have surprised you if he teared up. But no – surprise was always an option when accompanied by the botanical scholar, and it was evident in the way he got to his feet, cupped your cheeks and planted a gentle kiss to your lips. You could taste the dew drops in his kiss, and it tasted like spring, and adventure, and trust.

When he pulled away, he looked almost smug. It was the look he would give anyone when they contested anything he said, and he would tell them to look it up. Tighnari was rarely wrong.

“You’re so ready that I doubt you’ll need me at all, honey,” he sighed, his eyes bright and excited.

“Does that mean you’ve changed your mind, and you won’t be joining me after all?” you teased. You got up from the tree trunk and stepped closer, gently reaching up and letting your fingertips caress the tip of his ear. A ladybug that had been hiding in the fluff of his fur made its way down your hand and then flew off.

At the intimately tender touch, he closed his eyes for a moment. A soft blush coloured his cheeks. He took a moment to bask in the proximity and then slowly shook his head, curling his arms around your waist. “Absolutely not,” he responded as he opened his eyes once more and resumed his proud gaze. “I’ll go wherever you go, my botanical little genius. I’ll follow you to the corners of the world and discover all of its secrets with you, if you’ll let me.”

And that’s where the doubts about the wild unknown melted away. Even though there was a lot to learn about the world, there were a lot of certainties for you as well. One of those certainties took you by the hand and led you home, ready to embark on your greatest adventure yet.

#.bimboscribbles #genshin impact #tighnari #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #tighnari x reader #genshin fluff #tighnari fluff #husbandograveyard #cross posted on ao3

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junimatcha · 2 months ago

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things i love about u ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

eren x reader

The rain tapped softly against the windows, filling the small apartment with a peaceful rhythm. The world outside was drenched in the gentle drizzle of a late evening, but inside, it was warm and quiet. You and Eren made sure to have days like these, where you could be lazy with him.

Eren lay stretched out on the couch, one arm around you, pulling you closer under the heavy blanket that draped over both of you. The dim light of a nearby lamp cast a soft glow over the room, painting everything in muted shades of amber.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His warmth seeped into you, wrapping you in a sense of calm that felt almost too perfect. The rain, his heartbeat, the occasional deep breath he took—it all blended together in a soothing harmony.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. This moment was enough—just the two of you, lying together as the rest of the world faded into the background.

But tonight, there was something different about Eren. He was not usually this quiet, he seemed like he was lost in thought. You could feel it in the way his fingers brushed absentmindedly through your hair, the way his hand lingered on your back as though he didn’t want to let go.

After a long stretch of silence, his voice finally broke through the soft hum of the rain.

“Do you know how much I love you?”

The question was quiet, almost hesitant, as though he was unsure of how the words would land. You looked up at him, slightly surprised but smiling. Eren wasn’t one to talk about his feelings openly. Most of the time, he showed them in small gestures—in the way he’d pull you closer in his sleep or the way he’d make sure to walk on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street.

But now, his green eyes were focused on you, his expression softer than you’d seen it in a long time.

“Someone is feeling sappy tonight” you teased lightly, as you nudged him gently with your elbow.

His lips twitched into a faint smile, but the seriousness in his gaze didn’t waver. He held you tighter, as if trying to find the right words. And then, he started to speak again, his voice deep but laced with a tenderness that tugged at your heart.

“I love the way you laugh,” he began. “Even when you’re trying to hide it, like when you’re nervous or embarrassed. It always makes me want to laugh too.”

You blinked, taken off guard by the sudden confession. He wasn’t done though.

“I love how you listen to me. Even when I’m not saying much. You just… you get me. You know when I need to talk and when I don’t.”

You had always felt that Eren found it hard to open up, and you’d never pushed him. But hearing this now, hearing him tell you how much he valued your quiet understanding, made your chest tighten with emotion.

“And I love how you remind me it’s okay to take a break,” he continued, his fingers lightly tracing patterns along your arm. “Even when I feel like I can’t stop. You know exactly when to pull me back before I push myself too far.”

His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper now, and you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. This was the side of Eren that very few people ever saw—the side that was raw and open, the side that didn’t always have the answers or the strength.

“And most of all,” he said, his voice faltering for a moment before he regained control, “I love how you make everything better, even when I didn’t know something was wrong. Just… you being here, with me… makes everything make sense.”

A lump formed in your throat as you listened to him pour out his heart, each word wrapping around you like a blanket of warmth. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you couldn’t stop the small, shaky breath that escaped you.

You reached up, cupping his cheek gently as you gazed at him, your eyes reflecting the emotions he’d stirred within you. “Eren…” you whispered, your voice trembling with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.

His hand came up to cover yours, his grip firm yet tender. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closing for a brief moment. “I’m not good at saying this kind of stuff,” he admitted with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “But I need you to know… you’re everything to me. I don’t say it enough, but I love you. More than anything.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but they weren’t from sadness—they were from the overwhelming rush of love you felt for him.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you spoke. “With all my heart, Eren.”

He shifted slightly, pulling you even closer, his arms wrapping securely around you as though he never wanted to let go. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a long moment as he breathed in your scent.

“I’m scared sometimes,” he confessed quietly, his breath warm against your hair. “Scared of losing you. Scared of the future. But when I’m with you… it doesn’t seem so scary. I know we’ll be okay.”

You closed your eyes, nuzzling into his chest as you held onto him tightly. “We will,” you promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Another silence fell between you, but this one was filled with a quiet understanding, a mutual trust that didn’t need words to be felt. The rain continued to fall outside, soft and steady, as the two of you lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Before you drifted off to sleep, you heard Eren’s voice one last time, a soft whisper against your hair.

“I’ll never stop loving you. Not even for a second.”

And with that, you both let the world fade away, content in the warmth of each other’s embrace.

#eren jaeger #eren x reader #aot #shingeki no kyojin #eren aot #eren yeager #eren fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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jiyascepter · 5 months ago

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Congrats on 1k followers!!!

It's totally fine if it doesn't inspire you but here's a song lyric for Bucky or Loki (author's choice!)

"All this time I was finding myself while I didn't know I was lost."

Found You

MASTERLIST The Tunes & Tales Collection (Masterlist Soon!)

Pairing: Loki x gn!reader

Words: 940

Requested by: @ijuststareatstuffhereok89

Prompt: -> "All this time I was finding myself while I didn't know I was lost."

Warnings/Content: pure fluff; cuddly loki, cozy setting, established relationship, lots of kisses ♡

Summary: Loki and you find solace and deep connection in your fleeting time together.

A/n: Thank you soo much for the request @ijuststareatstuffhereok89! It means so much that you requested because you're such a talented writer yourself!! Big fan here !! Hope this oneshot meets your expectations 💖

The summer rain was tapping softly against the windows of the cozy apartment you and Loki shared. The once bright and warm day had given way to a cool, gray ambiance that made the inside feel snug and inviting.

The scent of rain was mingling with the faint, lingering aroma of the lunch you had prepared and enjoyed together.

You were standing at the kitchen sink, the sound of running water blending with the rain outside as you washed the lunch utensils.

The soft light from the overcast sky filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow over the kitchen.

The air was pleasantly cool, a refreshing change from the usual summer heat, making the whole place feel like a comfortable haven.

As you were working, you felt Loki’s presence from your bedroom emerging. The God had come to stay with you, seeking refuge from the burdens of his past and the expectations that came with his Asgardian heritage.

He had needed a break from the relentless demands of his princely duties and the complex relationship with his family.

Here, in your small apartment, he found solace and a sense of normalcy he had never known, with you.

However, the reality of his situation was never far.. Loki was a prince of Asgard, and his time on Earth was always going to be temporary.

The day he would have to return was approaching, and you both knew it. But for now, you were determined to make the most of the time you had together.

“Hey,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder while you work. “Hey yourself,” you say with a chuckle, nudging him with your elbow away playfully.

“We’re not playing that game again, darling,” he says and wraps his arms around your waist again, tighter than before. You could feel his breath on your neck, making a cold shiver run down your body.

“Loki,” you murmur with a smile, pausing your task as you lean back into his embrace.

He smiles against you and uses his telekinetic abilities to put away the bowl you were washing. “How about you leave this task for later?”

You sigh playfully and pick the bowl again, “I have only a few left to do,” you reply, though you really wanted to melt under his touch.

Loki's grip tightens ever so slightly as he places a soft kiss on the side of your neck. “You’re getting a break, we’ll do this together later” and before you could protest, he picked you up in a bridal carry to your bedroom, where you could see the rain repeatedly beat against the glass window more properly, the lights of the skyscrapers blurring from the water.

Carrying you effortlessly, Loki made his way back to the bedroom, placing a kiss here and there on your face while you giggled from the tickles.

Who knew the man who hated being vulnerable would find such joy in simple domestic moments?

He gently laid you down on the bed, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to his warm embrace.

Loki leaned over you, his eyes finding yours when he kissed your forehead softly then laid next to you, wrapping his arms around your body.

He noticed your silence, shifting closer to you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You smile and nod, taking one of his hands to fiddle with his fingers, “just thinking..” He looked at you playing with his fingers then at your face, “about what?”

You hesitate, sighing. “About everything. About how much has changed.”

Loki’s eyes soften, then cups one of your cheeks and tilts your face up at him to meet his blue eyes. “I know what you mean. All this time, I was finding myself, without even realizing I was lost.”

You turn your hand over, threading your fingers through his. “But look at you now. You’re not anymore, are you?”

He smiles, a rare and beautiful sight that you cherished every time. “No, because I found you.”

He takes your hand and places a few appreciative kisses on your knuckles. You chuckle and pull the covers on you both more cozily, nuzzle against each other. “Stay here Loki.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks at you,”Hm? What was that?”

“Stay here for a bit longer with me,” you notice how needy you sounded at that and blush, “please?”

He lets out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing softly in the quiet intimacy of the room. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your hand, a reassuring touch that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

"I thought you'd never ask," Loki murmurs, his voice carrying a warmth that melts away any lingering doubts. You shift closer, wrapping your arms around him as if to shield him from the uncertainties of the outside world.

He notices the shift in your position. "Darling," he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear, "for you, I would stay forever if I could."

You smile in relief, feeling his warmth and reassurance. Snuggling closer into his embrace, you breathe in his familiar scent, savoring the quiet moment together.

The soft patter of rain outside continues its soothing rhythm, cocooning you both in a tranquil haven.

“I'm so glad I found you,” he whispers, pressing another tender kiss against your forehead, “'cause you helped me find myself.”

“Just don't go,” you say desperately clinging to his warm body under the covers.

“I won't sweetheart.” He smiles down at you.

With that promise hanging in the air, you let yourself relax fully into his arms, both of you drifting in a deep slumber in the cozy covers.

┈➤ Loki Taglist in the comments! Lmk if you want to join or just click this 𖹭

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 5 months ago

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hello!!! hope you’re doing great, I kinda wanna ask about Thomas x Sister Shelby if you do that ? And if you do I’m thinking she’d be smart, has a very quick tongue and she wants to get out of the Shelby business to marry the love of her life (alfie😝😍) so she fakes her death and ofc everyone is distraught and angry than after a few years Thomas sees alfie at his home and than comes his sister who he thought had died and he berates her than she says something like you’re a worse person than me always killing for money like he can’t live without a war. Also I am in the mood for a very angst ending

A/N: Hello my love! How are you doing? I am so so sorry that this has taken forever. Truthfully, I had no clue how to do this. I thought about this long an hard, and though some things I switched up, I hope you enjoy this. I feel like this got me to stretch my writing muscles, and it was really fun. Let me know what you think darling!

Run Away With Me Darling

Alfie Solomons x Fem! Reader; 3.8k words; fluff, angst

Warnings: language, contentious family relationships, arranged marriage???

It started innocently enough.

You bringing tea and biscuits to meeting rooms where the men started their schemes. Listening and taking notes alongside your ever watchful Aunt Polly. Sneaking glances at the big brute in the chair across from your big brothers.

“Thank you treacle. Yeah that’s real kind of you.”

That brute is the only man that would say thank you for the tea you bring by. And when you go to pour more for him, he’s the only man who says, “No need for that darling. Grown men can pour their own tea yeah?”

It wasn’t meant to be anything more than professional. But you should’ve known. Known from that first encounter outside those Shelby walls… you and Mr. Solomons shared a single soul… and heaven nor hell could keep you from each other’s grasp.

It was hot. London is not a tropical city by any means. But the sheer amount of bodies, activity, and warm rain, had transformed the city into a sauna. The wisps of your hair along your neck and forehead are plastered to your body. Rivulets of sweat sneak down your chest. The heat could only be described as oppressive. You were counting down the steps till you could go home.

On the one hand… it was strange having a home all to yourself. Truthfully, it was the Shelby homestead in London, where the family would stay when business needed attending to. However, when they all left, you stayed. Carrying delicate messages. Keeping a close pulse on the going’s on of the city. And perhaps most importantly… remaining a pretty show pony for the Shelby family.

You hated to admit it. But you were desperately jealous of Ada. She had the guts to sneak past Arthur, Tommy, and John. She had the foresight to marry her true love before Tommy could marry her off to the highest bidder. You had no such luck. No childhood love. No sweetheart to campaign for. The boys had made sure of it. Despite Ada and your protests, and Polly’s discrete ploys; Tommy had decided. The sweet, pure, and innocent youngest Shelby girl will be auctioned off to the richest and most lucrative partner for the Shelby Company. And she will remain pretty and docile. A prize.

The mere thought made your stomach twist and churn and burn.

You loved them. Your family. More than most love their family. But you could barely breathe under their watch. Even in another city you felt the reach of their eyes. Felt the whisperings of potential matches for your hand and womb. The sweat on your brow burned your eyes. Taking place of the unshed tears you long abandoned.

All you longed for was cold water. A cool bath. Anything to scrub off the sweat and dirt and exhaustion. However, shade covered your front door, casting a shadow over the threshold.

“Sweetheart! Been waiting a bit for you!”

No matter where you see Mr. Solomons, he seems to take up all the space. You don’t know how he is able to stand the heat, with his coat and hat and bushy beard. But he looks unfettered. Cool even. You finally felt the kiss of the breeze on your neck as you approached.

“Mr. Solomons. How can I help you?”

“You going to invite me in like a good girl?”

“I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my home.”

“You think me strange?”

“Oh Mr. Solomons you are the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

“Makes you a little excited though don’t it? A hint of danger yeah? Big brute standing at your door.”

You stuck your chin out, staring directly into his stormy eyes. “I’m not afraid of you Mr. Solomons.”

His mouth quirks up in the corner. A twinkle in his eyes, and your breath hitched as he leaned into your space, “Oh I know sweet. You ain’t like the others ain’t ya? I saw it… the first time I laid eyes on you I knew you were different. Those boys… cold blooded little snakes… you… nah… there’s a flame in you treacle…and I look forward to see you set things aflame.”

Before you could respond in any way, he leaned away, smiling at your response. He pulled out an envelope from his coat and handed it to you, “Contract and information for your devious brother my sweet. Don’t worry, put a little something in there for you too for your trouble.”

You snatched the envelope from his hand. Unsure of how to respond to his… behavior. His rumbling laugh set a shiver down your spine, but you pushed it down as you appraised him, “This seems below your job description… don’t you have messenger boys?”

He further smirked, “I hope you’ll forgive me, that I want to keep you to myself.”

“I’m not a kept girl.”

“That you are not. Just have to inform your brothers of the fact don’t you?”

Hot shame rose in your cheeks. The envelope in your hands crinkling sharply. You felt the cool brush of gold rings on your cheek, “I have a standing dinner every Thursday evening. Let it be our little secret, hmm?”

Before you could react, a coarse kiss is pressed to your knuckles. As he started walking away, you called out, “And if I don’t show up? What then?”

He turned, with a boyish smile, “You’re not a kept woman treacle. Not my business. I’ll just send my messenger boys in my place.”

That was a year ago. Things were so simple then. Secret dinners. Secret mornings. Secret dalliances and outings around town. And when the family came to town, you placed that mask back on. Sweet, innocent, and docile Shelby girl. Ready at the beck and call of her family. And when they left, you ran right into the arms of Alfie. Because where it all started as something to feel disobedient, it grew into something deeper and more ancient. You felt your soul intertwine with his, as if it was always searching for him. In the evenings when he whispered his love for you and kept you close, you had never felt safer. Never felt more alive.

But dreams are not forever. Sooner or later the bubble must pop.

“You’ll need to come back to Birmingham dearest.”

“For how long?”

Everyone looked up at Tommy. Tommy didn’t even look up from his dinner plate, “Permanently. I’ve got a husband for you.”

Your fork dropped. Your heart stopped beating.

You faintly hear Aunt Polly call your name.

“Husband?” You whispered.

Tommy sighed, “That is what I said. High time you married, you’re old enough. Mr. Gorman has multiple factories both here and in the states, and his son is set to inherit them all. It’s a good match, it’ll be very beneficial to the company.”

“Tommy I don’t even know him.”

“You have your entire life to get to know him. Now finish your dinner.”

“So you just decided is that it? You just decided to that I’d belong to some man? Tell me Tommy… how much did you sell me off for? How much is my womb worth?”

“Watch your mouth!” Polly hissed, with Arthur wincing at the cutting words.

“I’m not going.” You stood from your chair. Preparing for battle.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“I’m not going! You cannot make me!”

Tommy rose from his seat, John putting his head in his hands with Arthur knocking back a drink. Low. Deadly. Tommy always could command a room with his voice. Cold finger pointing at you like a deadly weapon. “You will do as you’re told. This is not about you. This is about the family. In a week, I will come fetch you. I will drag you back to Birmingham if I have to. And you will marry the young Mr. Gorman, and you will have as many of his fucking babies as he chooses. You will be rich. You will be safe. And you will be set. I am not about to argue with a child.”

You felt the tears well up in your eyes. Sorrow. Mourning. Hatred. “I hate you Thomas Shelby. I hate you.”

“You will get over it.”

You ran to your room. Weeping the rest of the night.

Because how can your body and name be given to a man, when your heart and soul belonged to another?

They left the next morning. Arthur knocking on your door to announce the departure, and trying to convince you, “He’s a good lad darling. Trust Tommy alright? Wouldn’t let nothing bad happen to ya, even though it seems like right shit. Don’t be too angry at us. We’ll all still be close. And anyway… it’s what’s good for the family.”

You didn’t look at him. Not even a hum of acknowledgment when he kissed your hair tenderly. A regretful sigh leaves his body as Arthur walked away, taking one last look at your quivering body on your maiden bed. Arthur always had a soft spot for you. Always defensive for you unlike your other siblings. He had tried in vain to get Tommy to rethink the arrangement. You didn't need to get married. The company didn't need such an alliance. They'd get by as they always have. But Tommy's sights were set much higher. He wanted that name of honor. And to get it, he was willing to play by the rules of old money. Tommy had convinced Arthur enough. Enough that you'd eventually forgive them all.

The orange sky illuminated your bedroom in a bloody hue. Your throat dry and head hot and pounding. The creaking and settling of the house had become a steady ring in your ears, you didn't even hear the bedroom door open.

"Treacle. What are you doing? Eden said you haven't left since last night. You ill?"

Maids hear everything, you think bitterly. But you couldn't be too cross with Eden. Not really.

"He's done it Alfie."

Alfie toed off his boots after the hat and coat. Sinking into the too ornate duvet. "Who treacle? What happened?"

You faced him, deep creases of the duvet threads divide your hot wet cheeks. Lashes clumped together and soaked. "Tommy... he... he finally did it. He's married me off. In a weeks time I'm to belong to some... Mr. Gorman. His father owns factories, and I suppose that's enough for my bride price."

You feel your body being gently tugged up and into Alfie’s embrace. Despite any protest from you about how it may affect his back, he shushes you instantly, “Now now my little dove. Nah you ain’t going back to Birmingham. You ain’t getting married to some prick. Nah you’re staying here with ol’ Alfie.”

You force your face under his chin, letting his unkempt beard absorb your sobs, “No Alfie it’s true! Tommy told me yesterday at dinner! He… he’s taking me away Alfie! I hate him. I hate him so much. I don’t want to marry some man I don’t even know!”

“I already told you darling, you’re not going to! It’s not happening.”

You push his shoulder, “You’re not listening to me! Tommy said-“

“I don’t give a shit what Tommy said! You’re not marrying the shit because you’re marrying me!”

Like an unpracticed magician, he pulled out a gorgeous diamond and sapphire ring. Its glimmer and fractals made it look as endless as the night sky. You felt the breath in your lungs catch, anger and fear simmering down and cooling. You dared not touch something to precious, “Alfie Solomons…”

“Was my mother’s. Gave it to me when I came back from the war. On her death bed. Made me swear that I wouldn’t give it up for any pretty girl on the street. Had to give it to the one.”

You struggled to meet his gaze, “And I-“

“The one treacle. If you’ll have me.”

He shifted you in his lap, fully facing him, “Now… I had a whole event planned out. Garden stroll. Drinks. Music playing. And I know I’m a sorry old monster and you have loads of suitor-“

“Alfie-“

“But I swear on my life treacle, you’ll never want for anything. You will have freedom to do whatever you would hope to do. We’ll go anywhere. I’ll love you till the stars go out-“

“Alfie! Yes! Yes yes yes! I’ll marry you! You silly old man!”

You pushed him back and kissed him fiercely. With all the passion you had been hiding from your family for years. Until the acidic burn of reality came down, “But what about Tommy? Alfie you hate each other, he’ll never let me go.”

Rough hands running up and down your thighs, gazing in awe at the fiery halo surrounding you. “I was willing to go in and threaten blessing or death.”

“I won’t have you put in danger for love. This isn’t Shakespeare.”

With a laugh and kiss to your fingertips he whispers, “You got any ideas? I’m all ears.”

You try to think, but kept coming across a wall. Any option you thought of ended in bloodshed. You fell into the bed next to Alfie, curling into his chest, “I wish we could just run away.”

His arms tighten around you, “What if we did?”

It would happen three days before Tommy would come to fetch you. You dismissed Eden with an oath to secrecy, and for four days you played the part of excited bride to be. Purchasing things for a new marital home, a wedding dress and new wardrobe. Who cares if the detail of the lucky husband was slightly off?

Whenever your family called, you lied happily through your smiling teeth. At first you felt a twinge of guilt. But in the end, they stood by as your brothers sold you off. They lost the right to the truth. They hated Alfie, said as much any time they came to the house. They would never understand. They would never allow it. But this was your life. And you would be damned before you were cleaved from your beloved.

The men from the distillery made regular visits to the house in the middle of the night, picking up your things to take to Margate, dropping off love letters and updates from Alfie. With each passing day, your heart became lighter. The binds lessening. Freedom was right on your tongue.

Three days before Tommy, Arthur, and John are to pick you up, the horrific news explodes through Birmingham. The Shelby home in London: set ablaze. No survivors. The beautiful bride, burned alongside her wedding dress hanging in the window. The youngest Shelby girl, an angel amongst demons, taken too soon from the earth from a horrific accident. The fire so destructive, not even a body is there for a proper burial. Just ash and a memory of that sweet face. The funeral is horrible. Wailing and weeping from all of Birmingham. Aunt Polly could barely keep it together, blaming Tommy for it all. Even business acquaintances from London and beyond come to pay their respects. The most shocking visitor, was Mr. Solomons, who paid for the funeral itself, “I’m sorry Tommy for your loss. I really am. She was a sweet girl. But… she’s in a better place I’m sure.”

And what a better place that is. White washed home right on the beach, windows open at all times, with the sea breeze billowing pristine gossamer curtains in the wind. You spend your days reading and writing to your heart’s content, strolling the beach, playing with Cyril like a child. As Alfie settles affairs in Camden during the week, he visits during the weekend, serving and worshipping you like a goddess. He never gave you information about the family. You didn’t want it. That was your old life. A you that you couldn’t recognize. Here, in this life, you were free. Free to speak. Free to argue and give your mind.

After a month, Alfie permanently moves to Margate. Home. Retired from the gangster life with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, with more than enough to comfort when he’s gone.

And the years pass blissfully. Just how it was in the beginning. Kisses and dancing and laughter and arguing and love and joy. 3 years of absolute heaven, you had nearly forgotten how it all was almost taken from you.

But the past does have a way of rearing its ugly head doesn’t it?

It’s the dawn of summer. The final kisses of spring bringing crisp clean air through your marital home. Alfie had never felt better. The pain in his body had long left him, only flaring during the coldest evenings. The dark circles under his eyes have dissolved. His face and body, fuller, firmer with the glowing health of a man at peace who works for life not death. You were upstairs, searching for the a particular spool of thread you had been working with for a blanket you had spent days on. But it needed to be done soon. Alfie shifted through the records you both had been collecting. Symphonies had become his special interest in the recent months, and he was looking for a particular composition that he felt would make your heart sing.

The heavy knock on the door sent the hair on his neck stand at attention.

Only one demon knocked like that.

His eyes shifted to the stairs. He could still hear you moving things around. Searching tirelessly for that spool. You’d be missing for a couple minutes. Enough to rebuke the vile creature from the door without your discovery.

With a deep breath, Alfie tries to remember the armor of his past. The Mad Baker. Just as another round of knocks was about to come, Alfie opened roughly, “Tommy! What are you doing here? Gates of hell need their master don’t they?”

He looked thinner than normal. It’s been years since the men had seen each other, but the difference was still shocking. Those icey blue eyes even more haunting than they were at the funeral. Gaunt cheeks and pale skin made him look like a living corpse. A flicker of a flame winked behind those eyes. Hope for another fight. Something to set him aflame. “Hello Alfie. Enjoying retirement?”

“Yeah actually I am so whatever you have up your sleeve I want no part in it so if you’ll just fuck off.”

Before Alfie could slam the door, Tommy stuck his foot in the door, “Not that simple Alfie. Worlds gone to shit and it needs Solomons to set it to right.”

“Your world not mine. Now get out.”

“I’m not going to leave until you let me in Alfie.”

Your angelic voice danced on the breeze down to the front door, “I found it! Alfie you would not believe where it was! I swear I’m losing my mind.”

Tommy’s face some how went paler. As if he heard Satan’s whisper of condemnation. Alfie tried to push the door closed, but with the strength of a mad man Tommy pushed past the threshold.

Tommy almost fainted.

This must be hell.

He must have died.

It’s the only rational idea.

God chose to lock him in the home of his biggest agitation, with the ghost of his dead baby sister.

But this couldn’t be your ghost. Your swollen belly proves this.

“Holy shit.” You drop the tea cup in your hands when you see Tommy. Tommy who wasn’t supposed to be here. Tommy who saw you buried and dead.

Alfie rushes in, pulling you behind his broad frame. Through his linen shirt, you feel the ragged breath and hammering heart of your husband. You feel faint. “Tommy… you need to leave right now.”

“You paid for the funeral.”

“Tommy we can do this later but you need to get out right now. I’m asking nicely.”

“You knew she was alive… you knew.”

“She is very delicate right now she does not need any excitement.”

“You fucking made her delicate! You compromised her you fucking bastard!”

You cried out as Tommy lunged for your husband, “Stop it Tommy! Enough! Get out of my house!”

Tommy stumbled, pointing at you, “You… you’re fucking sick. You’re demented! You caused Polly a near heart attack. You are disgusting!”

You push past Alfie, who is left watching, “I’m disgusting! You sold me off to some man. And for what? To get people to see you as a big man? Guess what Tommy, you will NEVER be good enough for them! They’ll always see people like us as trash! But you don’t care. Anything to get ahead right?! You’ll stoop as low as you need to ahead.”

Tommy laughed bitterly, holding back the urge to spit, “And what about you yeah? So spoiled that you throw the biggest tantrum of the century. Whore yourself out to the Mad Baker, and get knocked up with his bastard.”

“I’d stop talking if I were you Tommy.”, Alfie snarled darkly. Fists curling in. Like a wolf ready to devour.

“I’d rather be his whore than be a part of any family of yours. You can’t leave well enough alone. Murdering and slaughtering for some honor so quick to tarnish and fade away. You tried to lock me away, never taking a care to what I wanted or thought. But you can’t do that to me anymore. I’m a Solomons, and I carry his child. You can’t touch me.”

Tommy settled, steel washed over his face. “They have a right to know.”

“You all have a right to nothing. I’ll see the family when I’m good and ready.”

His eyes shift to Alfie, “You are evil incarnate. You are cursed.”

No sign of mirth reaches Alfie’s eyes when he smirks, “Careful Tommy. You know what they say about curses. Especially when you curse family.”

Without another word, Tommy storms out. As soon as the door slams, shaking the lamps, you let out the breath in your heavy lungs, “Holy Shit”.

Your knees give out from under you, and cold shakes roll through your body. Alfie grabbed your body, helping you into a chair. “Settle my love it’s alright he’s gone. What do you need? Baby ok?”

“No I’m ok thank you my love. I just… I need air. I can’t believe he came here. He knows. They all know.”

“Hush darling, breathe for me, settle your nerves, you don’t need to worry. They know but they can’t touch you. You’re my wife and they can’t get to you. You are your own woman. You are safe.”

“But what are we going to do. What if they come?”

“Then we’ll deal with them. I’ll have some boys come in, set up a watch. We won’t be caught off guard ever again.”

You nodded. Trusting the words of your husband. You felt an affirming kick in your ribs. The rushing of your heart. You had paradise for three years. You couldn’t run forever, no matter how far you got. The bell had finally tolled, and it was time to face it.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders

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gay-dorito-dust · 5 months ago

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Taglist: @your-favorite-god @lovelyteenagebeard

‘The unclaimed has found its rider.’ Heleana once you feverishly as you sat beside her in the garden do the red keep, watching over her children as she embroidered.

Normally you wouldn’t understand her prophetic messages that seemingly come out of spontaneity, but after your supposedly fateful run in with Cannibal, you couldn’t help but wonder whether or not your fiend had foreseen your inevitable meeting with the unclaimed dragon beforehand.

‘What do you mean by that?’ You asked, leaning forward to see what she was working on as though it was going to give you answers, only for Heleana to put a bit of distance between the two of you before continuing her embroidery.

‘The unclaimed has found its rider.’ She repeats, casting you glances from the corner of her eye.

‘Cannibal? You mean Cannibal right?’ You asked again and this time Heleana stoped embroidering and chose to stare at it instead for a prolonged period of time, it worried you slightly and you were about to ask her what was wrong when a new voice spoke up.

‘You’re not seriously heading her nonsensical words are you y/n?’ Aegon asked as he walked into the garden and towards his son, Jaehaerys, with a beaming smile. You crossed your arms over your chest as you acknowledge the Usurper King. ‘So what of it? Her words have hold more truth in this unsteady period for Westeros.’ You scoffed, there were pros and cons to have grown up alongside the likes of Aegon, Aemondand Heleana, however you didn’t have enough hands to count for the cons of having to spend most of your youth the with likes of Aegon when he was taking the piss out of his younger brother alongside Luke and Jace.

Luke. You found yourself fighting back through need to hunt Aemond down and give him a piece of your mind for doing something so vile to that poor boy. However you were somewhat glad that he was elsewhere, for the storm that was bound to come from Aemond’s actions was looming over everyone like a dark cloud just about ready to rain over all of Westeros.

Aegon shrugs. ‘I only came here to bring Jaehaerys to the council meeting, no need to get all wound up.’

‘I wouldn’t be if your brother had kept composure over his stupid war dragon and left Luke alone then maybe we wouldn’t be on the cusp of war.’ You spat, feeling the tension grew as you and Aegon silently stared the other down, you knew that Aegon knew you were right and that Aemond should’ve known the consequences of claiming a dragon like Vaghar, but he didn’t and that would be no one’s fault but his own, however he just didn’t want to admit it because to admitting his brothers faults would be like admitting to his own faults too.

‘The unclaimed has found its rider.’ Helaena interrupts you both from your stare down as she pressed her embroidery into your hands. Upon seeing this, Aegon took this as his chance to quickly leave with his son before you could rip his head off, but you were far more interested on what Heleana had made.

It was an embroidery of a hulking dragon that matched Cannibals description. Scales as black as coal with piercing green eyes that you could never forget, however upon Cannibal’s back was a small, almost missable figure of a human who matched your own description.

‘Cannibal is coming for you.’ Was all Heleana said cryptically before taking Jaehaera and leaving you alone in the gardens to come to terms with what could potentially become your future, regardless of you were ready or not.

#hotd imagines #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon imagines #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon xyou

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fanboyswhore9 · 25 days ago

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The Proposal (Pt. 1)~ Sherlock Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill’s version) x Fem! reader

Contains: Henry Cavil, marriage of convenience, childhood lovers, long lost love, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

Summary: Childhood friends Sherlock Holmes and the reader were inseparable until she left for boarding school, leaving unresolved feelings between them. Nearly two decades later, she returns to 221B Baker Street with an urgent proposition: to secure her inheritance, she must marry, and she asks Sherlock for help. Unbeknownst to her, Sherlock has harbored feelings for her all along. They confess their love for each other and agree to marry, not just for convenience but out of genuine love.

A/N: THIS IS POSSIBLY THE LONGEST FIC I’VE EVER WRITTEN ON TUMBLR! This is my first Sherlock fic that I’ve done. I hope I do him justice!❤️❤️❤️❤️

The rain was steady that evening, casting a mist over the streets of London. Inside 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes sat in his armchair, eyes half-lidded, mind lost in a myriad of thoughts as the fire crackled. He hadn’t had a proper case in days, which left him restless, pacing between fleeting memories and idle deductions.

A knock on the door cut through his haze. Sherlock frowned, glancing at the clock. It was late, too late for most visitors, but not impossible. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson was entertaining guests again. He rose, heading to the door, when he heard the knock again—more insistent this time.

When he opened the door, the last person he ever expected to see stood before him, soaked from the rain, her hair damp around her face. “Sherlock,” she breathed, her voice a familiar melody he hadn’t heard in almost two decades.

His breath caught. It was her. The girl from his youth, his best friend, his confidant—until she was whisked away to boarding school, leaving him behind in a cold and silent void that he rarely acknowledged but always felt. She had grown into the woman he imagined she would be: poised, beautiful, but with that same spark in her eyes that always challenged him, intrigued him.

He stepped back to let her in, not trusting his voice just yet. She entered, glancing around at the familiar setting of 221B. “Some things never change,” she said, her lips pulling into a soft smile, though there was an edge of uncertainty there. Wanting to be polite, he asked her, “I know it’s past time, but would you like a cup of tea?” She looked at him nodding gently, “Yes, please. I’d love a cup of tea.” He nods as he starts to brew tea in the kettle.

Sherlock cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the moment. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean for the words to sound so cold, but they came out that way regardless.She looked at him, her expression guarded, then stepped closer. “I need your help, Sherlock.”

“Help?” His curiosity piqued, but there was something else in her eyes. Something more personal. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her coat as she gathered her courage. “I… I’ve come back to London because of my grandmother. She’s ill, Sherlock. She’s… dying.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and for once, it wasn’t merely out of politeness. “She’s left me her fortune, her estate, but there’s a catch.” She glanced away, as if embarrassed to continue. “I have to be married to inherit.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Married?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, her voice tightening. “My parents are pressuring me. They’ve paraded potential suitors in front of me for months, but none of them… none of them understand me.” She took a deep breath, her eyes finally meeting his. “And I really don’t want to marry any of them.” The air between them seemed to crackle with tension. Sherlock’s mind was already racing, calculating her reasons for coming to him, searching for the logical thread.

“And you’ve come to me because…?” he asked, though a part of him already knew the answer.“Because,” she said softly, stepping closer, her eyes searching his face, “I don’t want to marry just anyone. I want to marry someone I trust. Someone I care about. Someone I…” She hesitated, her voice breaking slightly. “Someone I love.” Sherlock froze.

The words he never expected to hear from her—yet had longed to hear—hung in the air. For a moment, he was sixteen again, watching her pack her things as she left for boarding school, a thousand words unsaid between them. He had always assumed she moved on, that she forgot about him. But now, here she was, standing before him, offering him not just her trust, but her heart.

“You—” He started, but his voice faltered. His mind, usually so sharp, struggled to find the right words. “I know this is sudden,” she rushed on, her hands trembling slightly, “and maybe it’s foolish. Maybe you’ve moved on, maybe you never thought about me that way. But I had to tell you, otherwise I might regret it for the rest of my life. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, Sherlock. And if there’s even the smallest chance that you feel the same…” She trailed off, hope and fear mingling in her eyes.

Sherlock, for once, was at a loss. His emotions, something he kept carefully locked away, threatened to overwhelm him. He had thought of her often over the years, wondered where she was, what she was doing. He had buried his feelings for her, convinced they were pointless, that she was a part of his past he could never reclaim.

But now…

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw with emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “I—” He paused, the words foreign on his tongue. “I didn’t know how to say it, or if I even should. I assumed… I thought you were happy. That you had your life, your suitors.”She smiled sadly. “I never wanted anyone else.”

Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with possibilities, with unspoken promises. Sherlock, ever logical, ever calculating, found himself making a decision not based on reason but on something far more human.

“Then marry me,” he said simply, his eyes locked on hers. Her breath caught, her eyes widening in surprise. “Sherlock, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, stepping closer until they were mere inches apart. “Marry me. Not for your inheritance, not for your grandmother, but because I can’t bear the thought of you with anyone else.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Yes, Sherlock. Yes.” He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped her face. And for the first time in years, Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, let himself feel.

His eyes, usually so calculating and detached, softened as they locked onto hers. The distance between them seemed to disappear, years of unspoken emotions finally surfacing. His thumb gently traced the line of her cheek, his touch both tender and reverent.

“I’ve been a fool,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, “for not realizing sooner.”

Before she could respond, Sherlock leaned in, closing the final space between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deliberate, as if he was discovering something new but also something long overdue. The kiss was soft at first, slow and searching, but then it deepened, filled with all the feelings they had kept hidden for so long.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders, holding him close as she melted into the warmth of his embrace. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in this quiet, intimate moment. His kiss, though unsure at first, soon became sure and steady, filled with the depth of emotion he had kept buried beneath layers of logic and restraint.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the silence. Sherlock’s eyes remained closed for a brief moment longer, savoring the connection, before he finally opened them to look at her. “For you,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion, “I’ll always make an exception.” A soft smile tugged at her lips, her heart swelling at his words. “Then I’ll always be your exception.”

~SHORT TIME SKIP~

A few days had passed since she had shown up at Sherlock’s doorstep with her proposition. The weight of their confession and the whirlwind engagement still felt surreal, but there was no time for hesitation. Arrangements had to be made, and there were still people she needed to see.

That afternoon, she found herself in the grand, stately sitting room of the Diogenes Club, Mycroft Holmes’ preferred sanctuary. He greeted her with his usual aloofness, but there was a subtle curiosity in his eyes as they exchanged pleasantries.

“My brother is not one for sentiment,” Mycroft said, swirling a glass of brandy as he studied her, “but you seem to have managed what few others could.” His words were clipped but not unkind. “It’s rather remarkable.” She smiled, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I didn’t come here expecting him to say yes. But I know Sherlock, and I believe this is right for both of us.”

Mycroft gave her a small, approving nod. “You’ve always had a peculiar influence on him. I suppose if anyone can make sense of this arrangement, it’s you.” Before she could respond, the door opened, and a young woman with wild curls and a sharp, curious look in her eyes entered the room. Enola Holmes, Sherlock and Mycroft’s little sister, stepped in with an air of confidence. It was the first time they’d met, though she had heard much about Enola’s independent and rebellious nature.

Enola glanced between her and Mycroft, her expression caught between surprise and amusement. “So, you’re the one who’s finally going to tie Sherlock down,” she said, half-teasing, half-curious. She let out a soft giggle and smiled, amused by the younger woman’s boldness. “It seems so.” Enola stepped forward, her curiosity obvious. “I must say, I’m impressed. Sherlock’s never shown much interest in anything besides his cases. You must be quite extraordinary.”

“Not as extraordinary as you, Enola. Sherlock speaks highly of you,” she replied warmly, and that seemed to catch Enola off guard. Enola smiled, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Well, you’ve certainly earned my respect. Anyone who can handle Sherlock is worthy of admiration.”

As the girls exchanged more pleasantries, she felt a sense of warmth from Enola, a feeling of acceptance, even if it came with a bit of Holmes skepticism. It felt like the final piece of her integration into Sherlock’s life, meeting both Mycroft and Enola, and earning a place in the family dynamic that was uniquely theirs.

Later that evening, in the quiet of Sherlock’s flat at 221B Baker Street, she sat at his desk and wrote a letter to her family. Her parents, grandmother, and sister needed to be informed, though she was sure the news would spread quickly once the engagement was made official.

Dearest Mother, Father, Grandmother, & my dear Sister,

I write to you with news I never expected to share. After years of distance & time apart, I have returned to London & reunited with Sherlock Holmes. Our connection, though it was once left in the past, has rekindled, & I am pleased to inform you that I am now engaged to be married to him.

I know this news may come as a surprise, but please understand that this decision was made with great care and certainty. Sherlock has always held a special place in my heart, & I believe that this union will be one of love, companionship, & understanding.

Sister, I especially want you to know how much I look forward to you being by my side through this, & I can’t wait to tell you everything in person.

I will return home soon to speak with you all in person & explain further. In the meantime, know that I am happy and excited for what lies ahead.

With all my love,

Your daughter and sister

She sealed the letter, her heart feeling lighter as she prepared to send it. The wheels were in motion now. Everything was becoming real. Soon, her family would know, and the life she was about to build with Sherlock was just beginning.

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arcane-vagabond · 1 year ago

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Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Five

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, Mean girl Mandy, Flirting, Alcohol, Siren call, Supernatural elements, Kind of suggestive/smutty but not really? idk

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Alright, alright! The ball is starting to roll! We've got a lot going on now, I think. Can't wait to hear y'all's thoughts! Also, shoutout to @goldenseresinretriever for letting me bounce ideas off of her! You the real MVP!! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! I will be referring to that Google form from now on! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist

“I thought the bonfires happened the other night?” You asked Bob as the two of you made your way down the practically deserted streets. It was late, and the only people out were the young adults still looking to have a good time. The family friendly activities had ended hours ago, and now it was time for the partying to start.

“They were supposed to,” he said, eyes scanning the dimly lit street, “but they got postponed because of all the rain the other week. This was the only night that worked for most everyone around town.”

“That works out for us, I guess,” you hummed, hearing the sound of crashing waves grow closer as you neared the beach.

“Hey, thing one and thing two!”

The two of you turned around to see a grinning Bradley jogging up behind you, and you turned with a smile to greet him.

“Hey, Bradley!” You chirped. “We thought you’d already be down at the beach with everyone else.”

“I was, but I forgot my phone at the house,” he said, waving his phone in his hand. “So I ran back to grab it. Everyone else should already be down there, though.”

“We better get a move on before all the drinks are gone,” Bob mused, already moving once again. Bradley fell into step alongside you, bumping your shoulder with his.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, Skipper,” he joked, casting a smirk down at you. “You been avoiding me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you giggled.

Bradley scoffed, giving you an offended look that was made less serious by the grin on his face. ��Me? Avoid you? Don’t be ridiculous. Who in their right mind would avoid a sweet, little thing like you?”

“You must not really know her then,” Bob snorted. “She practically cut my hand off when I went for the last fry at lunch today.”

“That was entirely your fault,” you huffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “You know how much I love french fries.”

“Yeah, enough to cause grievous bodily injuries, apparently,” he smirked. You scowled at him before looking back at Bradley who was also smirking at you.

“He’s being dramatic,” you offered with a shrug.

“Barely.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you griped as the three of you walked down the stairs and onto the beach. You could see the glow from the various fires flicker in the night, groups of different people huddled around each one. “I have to set an alarm every morning to wake up before he does if I want any bacon.”

“Oh, trust me,” Bradley laughed, steering you towards a fire on the edge of the grouping, Bob in tow. “I grew up with him. I know how much bacon he puts away.”

“I am not that bad,” Bob huffed, earning identical dubious looks from both you and Bradley. You giggled when Bradley quirked his eyebrow at you.

“Sure you aren’t, Bob,” you laughed, earning a scowl from your best friend.

“You made it!”

The three of you turned to see Nat waving at you, the rest of the squad already settled in on the towels surrounding the small fire. You felt a shiver run up your spine as you made eye contact with a pair of mossy green ones. You looked away as your cheeks warmed, letting Bradley guide you across the fire and down on a group of towels, Bob on your other side.

“So,” said the brunette sitting next to Jake, blue eyes calculating as she took you in. She was just as beautiful as the last time you saw her. Tan skin glowed in the light from the fire, body lithe and athletic. She looked like she walked off the cover of a fashion magazine, and her narrowed gaze was trained on you, lips curled into waht appeared to be a permanent sneer. “You must be the tagalong I’ve heard so much about. Skipper was it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at Bradley as he stiffened next to you, a glare fixed on his face as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” you said, offering an anxious smile as you looked back at her. “That’s what they call me anyway.”

“It’s cute,” she said, tone indicating that she most certainly did not find it cute. “I’m Mandy. You’ve probably heard of me from the others.”

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m not surprised,” she continued with a smirk. “I’ve known everyone here since we were in diapers. We go way back, you know. Don’t feel bad if you end up feeling left out in our conversations, okay?”

You shifted again, this time knocking your knee into your bag. The shells you carried with you jostled, clinking together, and you blushed when everyone looked at you.

“What was that?” Mickey asked, peering over to get a better look. You lifted your bag as you began to pull each shell out and placing it carefully on the towel.

“Oh, these are the shells and things I’ve been finding everywhere!” You smiled, running your fingers over the conch. “Aren’t they amazing? I’ve never seen so many beautiful shells in my life! And they’re all perfectly in tact, can you believe it? It’s like someone just plucked them up off the ocean floor and set them out for me to find!”

“That’s quite a collection,” Nat chuckled, shooting a smirk off to the side. You followed her line of sight, and your eyes made direct contact with the mossy green ones from earlier. Jake looked at you with an expression that could only be described as awe as he took you in, eyes peering down to where you cradled the conch gently in your hands before looking back up at you. His eyes shone in the firelight, a hint of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. You felt another blush creep up your neck, and you leaned forward to place the conch closer to the fire for everyone to see. You heard a sharp intake of breath, and you looked up to see Mandy with a look of rage and shock on her face as she stared at you. You realized quickly she wasn’t staring at your face, but rather down at the base of your neck. Her eyes darted up to meet yours and her expression shifted quickly into one of cold contempt.

“You actually carry those around with you?” She sneered, scoffing out a laugh. “What are you? Five?”

You frowned up at her, suddenly feeling self conscious as you glanced around the group. Their smiles had shifted into looks of irritation as they glared at the brunette.

“Oh, I just-”

“I mean,” she sniffed, cutting you off, “I suppose it’s fitting for someone who looks like you though, right? You’re not exactly dressed to impress or anything.”

You looked down at your clothes, a frown on your face. You weren’t normally self conscious. Sure, you didn’t look like a model like Mandy, but you didn’t think you were hard on the eyes. You had dressed for comfort though, and it was plain to see in your jean shorts, tank top, and white button up. Mandy wore a pair of cutoffs and a tight fitting tank top that showed off her figure, and her makeup was immaculate. You hadn’t seen the point in putting any on. Should you have?

“Mandy,” Bob growled, glaring in a warning.

“Oh, I know she’s your friend and all, Bobby,” Mandy continued, a viscious smirk poised on her lips. “But let’s be honest. I mean, we’re among friends, right? And friends should be honest with each other. You’d be lucky if anyone gave you the time of day looking like that. Nevermind the silly, little shells you’re carrying around everywhere. You really should have left those back at the house, you know. And tell me you brought something nice to where for the ocean dance festival. Can you imagine if you wore some frumpy shorts to something like tha-”

“Shut up.”

All eyes turned to Jake who was glaring into the fire, eyes cold as the water that lapped the shore behind you. Mandy narrowed her eyes at him, rage clouding her features.

“Excuse me?” She spat, turning to face him. His gaze shifted to her, jaw clenching.

“Was I not clear enough?” He said evenly. “I said ‘shut up.’”

You hadn’t even realized that tears had gathered in your eyes until Bob laid a gentle hand on your shoudler causing you to jump. You looked over at him, sniffling as he gave you a concerned look. You wiped at the corner of your eyes, scrambling to your feet. You felt everyone’s eyes on you as you shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding their gazes.

“I’m, uh,” you gulped, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I’m gonna go get something to drink.”

“I’ll come with you,” Bradley said, moving to his feet and giving you a gentle smile. “I’m parched.”

You turned to Bob with a watery smile. “You want anything?”

He studied you for a second, eyes uncertain. You gave him a look that you hoped communicated your need to pretend like you were okay, and he pressed his lips together.

“Just a beer.”

“You got it!” You smiled, trying and failing to add your usual cheeriness to the statement. You gave a half smile that you were sure came off as more of a grimace as you made your way towards the line of coolers on the other side of the fires. Bradley followed you silently, and you kept your head down, feeling the tears start to stream down your cheeks.

You knew you were being silly. They were just words after all, and you were a grown woman. You shouldn’t be letting silly words get to you like this. But why did they hurt so bad? You knelt by one of the coolers, fishing out two beers and a coke. You handed one of the beers to Bradley, refusing to make eye contact with him as you pushed the lid to the cooler closed.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing onto your arm gently, pulling you so that you faced him.

You kept your head down, and Bradley let out a sigh.

“Listen,” he started, hesitating as if he were choosing his next words carefully. “You shouldn’t listen to Mandy, okay? She’s a stone cold bitch on the best of days, and, well, she’s never been told ‘no’ a day in her life. She’s always gotten what she wanted, when she wanted it.”

“What’s your point?” You muttered, glancing off to the side as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Bradley let out another sigh, taking his hand from your arm to run it through his hair.

“My point is that she’s taking her new experience with the word out on you, and it’s not fair. I know it’s hard, but just ignore her, okay? She’s just jealous.”

“Of me?” You scoffed, finally meeting his gaze. Bradley smirked down at you, casting you a wink.

“You’re pretty great, Skipper,” he hummed. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Now, come on. Let’s head back to the others, yeah?”

You nodded, and the two of you made your way back to the fire. As you approached, you noted that Jake was the only one still there, eyes trained on the flames in front of him, seemingly deep in thought. He jumped when Bradley plopped down next to him, leaving just enough room for you to slide in between them.

“Where’d the others go?” Bradley asked, twisting the top off his beer and taking a swig from the bottle. Jake grimaced, gesturing around towards the other fires.

“Take your pick.”

Bradley hummed, leaning back on the towel with his legs outstretched towards the fire. The three of you were silent for a moment, and you felt a tingling sensation on your left side. You turned to find Jake already looking at you, eyes soft as they took you in. Your breath caught in your throat, cheeks flushing. You thought you should have been been creeped out with how intensely he was staring at you, but you felt oddly comfortable under his gaze. In fact, you found yourelf sitting up a little straighter, almost preening under his gaze, and a small smile tugged on Jake’s lips as he took you in, eyes blazing as they reached your neck.

You jumped as Bradley suddenly leaned over in front of you, breaking the spell you found yourself under. A shit eating grin was etched onto his face as he looked at Jake.

“Did you know Skipper here always wanted to be a mermaid?”

You felt yourself begin to splutter as your cheeks warmed for a different reason, eyes growing wide as you peered between the two men. Bradley waggled his eyebrows as Jake’s own shot up on his forehead. A smirk graced his lips, giving him a devilish look to his already handsome features. He looked at you, smirk intensifying as he saw your flustered state. He leaned forward, smirk growing into a grin as you glanced away.

“Is that so?” He hummed, warm breath ghosting over your face.

“I will remind you that I was, like, five at the time,” you snapped, glaring at Bradley. He only chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked lazily up at you.

“I think you’d make a cute mermaid, don’t you agree, Jake?”

Jake nodded with another hum, eyes taking on a look you couldn’t place, but it made you squirm nonetheless.

“Just imagine her swimming around with all her little fishy sidekicks,” Bradley teased, eyes alight with mischief. You scoffed, turning to face him.

“As if,” you snarked, “my sidekick wouldn’t be a fish, it would be a stingray.”

Jake quirked an eyebrow. “Why a stingray?”

“Oh,” you blushed, your nerves kicking up again. “Because they’re my favorite.”

Jake nodded slowly, like he was trying to commit that fact to memory. Bradley snorted beside you, and the two of you looked over at where he was smirking, eyes peeking at Jake before looking back at you.

“How could I forget?” He drawled, taking another sip of his beer. “I met Rusty when you and I were snuggled in bed the other morning.”

“That’s not-”

You were cut off by a growl to your left. You turned to see Jake’s entire expression had changed. His jaw was clenched, eyes trained on Bradley as if he wanted to take his head off. His fists were clenched so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was drawing blood from where his fingernails dug into his palms. He was almost too still as he glared at Bradley, the other man looking smug as he took in his friend’s appearance.

“Are you okay?” You asked the blond, and his eyes glanced over at you, gaze seeming to soften as he took in your concern.

“Bradshaw!” Reuben called from across the way. “Get your ass over here!”

Bradley heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes as he got to his feet. “And that’s my cue,” he muttered.

You watched as he strutted over to where Reuben and Mickey were gathered with a group of people you didn’t know, leaving you alone with Jake.

“He’s such an ass sometimes,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Isn’t he one of your best friends?” You asked him with a giggle. Jake’s demeanor seemed to relax at the sound.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled, casting another glare over at where Bradley stood chatting and laughing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You frowned, noticing how tense he still seemed to be. He looked back at you, hesitating before letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just feeling a little overheated or something,” he muttered, flexing his hands as he uncurled his fists. He moved to stand, and you followed suit.

“Think I’m going to go take a walk to cool off,” he mused, rolling his shoulders back. You frowned, rubbing a hand over your arm.

“Oh, okay,” you said, glancing at the ground, shifting your feet in the sand that covered the towel. Jake seemed to hesitate once more, chewing his bottom lip.

“Do you want to join me?” He asked you, his green eyes hopeful as you met his gaze. You felt a smile tug on your lips as you nodded.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you murmured, moving to grab your bag. You stopped when you noticed it was placed neatly on top of the towel you had been sitting on previously, shells already back inside.

“I, uh,” Jake stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want anything to happen to them, so I put them back in your bag. I guess I should have asked first instead of just moving them. I’m sorry if I-”

“No,” you smiled, “it’s okay. Thank you.”

Jake gave you a nervous, tight lipped smile before nodding. “You can leave your bag here if you want. No one is going to take it.”

You returned his nod, gesturing for him to lead the way down the beach.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, the ocean waves crashing off to your right, and the cool, night breeze ruffling your hair.

“Listen,” Jake started, stopping to turn to you, eyes earnest as they took you in. “I’m sorry about Mandy-”

“Oh, no, Jake,” you frowned, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologize for her.”

“No, but I do,” he stated firmly, face serious as he looked at you. “It’s my fault she’s taking it out on you. She’s been so convinced that she and I are going to end up together, and now that she knows that’s not the case, she’s on the warpath.”

“Jake,” you sighed, “I understand feeling some kind of weird responsibility for her, but her actions are her own. You shouldn’t have to apologize on her behalf. She’s a big girl just like I am, right? We’re adults who are capable of making our own decisions and apologizing for the wrong we do. None of this is your fault.”

He didn’t look convinced, and you took his hand in yours to offer him some kind of reassurance. A bolt of electricity ran through you, causing you to let out a gasp, and a warmth rushed over you, causing you to squirm. You felt like a magnet, drawn to Jake in a way that you couldn’t even begin to understand. You wanted to feel more of him, to consume and be consumed by him. You had never felt anything like it in your life, and you looked up at him hazy eyes to find that he wasn’t any better off.

His own eyes had a haze to them, seeming to glow in the moonlight. His breathing came out labored, almost like he was fighting to maintain his composure. His eyes raked over you, a hand coming up to rest on your cheek, and you nuzzled into it without thinking.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper as he inched closer to you.

“You’re just saying that,” you muttered, leaning into him.

“No,” he stated firmly, causing you to jump just a hair. His other hand came up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer so that you were practically molded against him.

“No,” he said again, gentler this time. “I mean it. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

If it were possible, you were sure your skin would have heated up even more than it already was. As it stood, a pleasant warmth spread through you at his proximity, and the hand that was cradling your cheek slowly drifted down until it brushed the mark on your neck. You let out a wanton cry at the shock of pleasure that jolted through you at the simple touch, and Jake smirked down at you, stroking softly over the mark again and again as he drew more pleasured cries from you.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, leaning his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose against the tip of yours. “I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t find it in you to feel embarrassed at the intense amount of pleasure you felt at the simplest of touches, too focused on the way his hands felt on you. You raised your own, one hand cradling his cheek as the other ran through his golden hair. He let out a groan as you tugged gently on the soft strands, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that spread across your face. Jake’s eyes met yours, the green of them so intense that it took your breath away. He glanced down at your lips, slowly leaning in-

“Jacob Seresin!”

You gasped, grasping at your ears at the almost inhuman shriek that pierced the night air. Jake pulled back, placing you almost protectively behind him. You peered around him to see Mandy glaring at him, blue eyes practically glowing with rage. Her gaze turned to you, and you shrank back slightly, hiding behind Jake a little more. This only served to make Mandy even more irate, and she snarled as she stomped closer to the two of you.

Jake bristled, standing taller as he continued to block you from Mandy’s warpath.

“How dare you,” she spat at him, lips pulled back into a sneer. “You’re mine.”

“No,” Jake growled, “I’m not.”

You shifted behind him, moving out from behind him slowly, and the pair turned to look at you. You gave them a sheepish smile, as you inched around Mandy, hands up in a form of surrender.

“I’m just going to head back so you two can talk in private,” you murmured. Jake looked like he wanted to argue, but Mandy’s glare had you moving before he could say anything.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked back towards the bonfires, already missing Jake’s touch. You had never felt anything so intense in your entire life, and you wondered what had come over you to make you act so brazenly. You weren’t one for hookups, but you weren’t even sure that’s what that was going to be. He had held you so gently, like you might break or run away at any moment. You had been so ready to give him every part of you in that moment. You knew you should have been worried at that thought, but a large part of you thought that it felt right, that you should give yourself to him. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself wanting to turn around and go back to him.

You were about halfway back down the beach when it started. It was quiet at first, distant. But then it grew louder, and you found yourself slowing to a stop, turning towards the crashing waves to your left.

The song was beautiful, melancholic. It was unlike the one you had heard before, this one sounding more animal like than human, but you still found yourself drawn to it. It called to you, begging you to listen, and you did, feeling the sound drift through your mind and pulling you in. You weren’t sure when you started walking, but you felt the sand shift beneath your feet as you slowly made your way towards the water. The fires faded from your sight, the churning waves beckoning to you like gentle hands that promised refuge. The song grew louder, all consuming, blocking everything else out but the need to answer. You felt the wind whip your hair around you, the cold sting kissing your cheeks as the crashing waves grew louder, the song more desperate. The sand beneath your feet grew cold as you ventured into a spot where the water met the shoreline. You’re almost there, the song called to you. You felt a relieved smile tug on your lips at the thought of finally reaching your goal and answering the song. You felt the water come just up to your toes before retreating back. You closed your eyes in anticipation. Just one more step.

You let out a cry as you were yanked away from the water, a strong hand on your upper arm. Your arms reached for the water, your mind still foggy as a loud, keening cry sounded from the water before disappearing entirely. You whirled around to see Javy staring at you with an intense worry, Nat just behind him, worry clear on her face.

“Wha-” you mumbled, pressing a hand to the side of your head as it began to pound. “What happened? Javy?”

“Hey, Skipper,” he murmured gently, pulling you closer, away from the water. “We’ve been calling you for a while now. You okay?”

“I…” you trailed off, glancing between him and the water. “I’m not sure.”

“How about we get you some water, yeah?” Nat suggested, wrapping her arms around you as she led you back to the bonfires. You nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” you muttered, glancing back at the ocean. “Yeah, okay.”

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #top gun hangman #hangman imagine #hangman top gun #hangman seresin #hangman #mmats #meet me at the sea

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undiscovered-horizon · 2 years ago

Text

Old dog, new tricks - Kaz Brekker x Reader

SUMMARY: Looking for someone to give you a quote on a stolen painting, you find yourself reaching out to a middle-man called Dirtyhands or the Bastard of the Barrel. Little do you know, you've met him before. A long, long time ago...

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.7k

It's pouring in Ketterdam. Black clouds cover the sky, hanging so low it looks like the bell towers scrape them. Thunder rolls in the distance. Some say that rain is refreshing, that it cleanses body, mind and soul. Perhaps it does but not in Ketterdam - the rainwater only leaves pedestrians feeling dirtier as though the coal-coloured clouds tainted it. The air begins to smell in an odd way as if the water washes something foul before falling to the cobbled streets; something not quite alive that can’t seem to die. But perhaps those somber words are true and thunderstorms truly do cleanse. In that case, it isn’t some largely unknown flesh rotting away but the sins of the city and its people washing the streets before falling down the drain like many things do in Ketterdam.

Those who can, flee the streets into the warm confines of their homes. Hats, umbrellas, even newspapers - anything just to keep the dirty water out of their faces. Some of them would mutter a swear word between pants and grunts as they made haste to the nearest shelter. Those who can’t, however, do not seem any grumpier than they usually do. For them, it’s just another day of soaking in the black rainwater stained with the unspoken secrets of the citizens. Wrapping worn-out coats tighter around their famished bodies, they cuddle the cold, stone walls a little closer before letting out a tired sigh.

On days like this, bars and pubs earn their most delicious coin. If someone’s home is too far, a brewery is a great place to be with a good drink, a good game and tolerable food. Among the rather large group of workers, traders and unfortunate pedestrians is the most curious stranger. She stops for a moment to look above the heads, at the crow cast from iron hanging above the entrance. Dressed in a foundry worker's clothes and a patchy coat, she fits the landscape of Ketterdam like a glove. Soon, the stranger followers the other patrons inside.

Thunderstorm or not, the bar looks rather cosy and fashionable, considering its location and clientele. The standard was high enough to make the working class feel good about themselves instead of inadequate.

You squeeze through invigorated, already quite drunk, groups of people who have become friends the moment they accidentally sat at the same table. Some bump into you but they never apologize - hard to say where they can’t or won’t. Others, the sober and brighter ones, notice their pouches gone after some time when they go to make another bet. Furious, they throw their hands at the first miser their accusatory finger points to. Despite that, they do not see you, even if they do look. To all those poor bastards gambling and drinking their life away, you're nothing beyond a mirage dancing in the corner of their eye; a fleeting thought that you saw something but can't quite articulate the nature of the illusion. And just like the bar patrons, you, too, quickly dismiss the mare as a trick of the imagination. Just as soon as the thought of the phantom disappears, its place is taken by severely mundane things: a pint of beer, a frivolous smile of a scam artist, a suspiciously good streak of a cocky man.

By the bar sits a man with a top hat at his side. While all the other workers are busy losing their money, that one simply sits there with his back turned to the rest of the room. A bottom-up, empty glass is placed beside his hand. The man is waiting.

Sitting down on the stool next to him, you don’t let your eyes leave the prize. "You look like you've been around, good sir.” The stranger turns to look at you. A spark of amusement glistens in his eyes. His brow lifts ever so slightly, beckoning you to continue. “Tell me, where can I find a man called Bastard of the Barrel?"

He turns his whole body towards you, leaning his arm on the bar counter. "Boss is pretty busy these days, you know? Might not have the time or desire to see you."

You give him a flustered smile, trying to appear a little too stupid to be cunning. "I won't take too much of his time,” you reassure him quickly. “If you could please pass the message to him that I have a painting from the Greaves' collection. I'm looking for someone who can give me a quote."

"That Greaves' collection?” he repeats. His face momentarily lights up as he surely sees right through your facade. “I thought it was impenetrable."

"They say that about every prison, don't they? And yet the world is as it is."

The man stares at you for a moment, his fingers frantically tapping the counter. Clearly, you’ve got someone’s interest. But will it be enough?

"Quote or not, I think he'll be interested in this. Come on."

Without waiting for your response, he takes his top hat and leaves, walking past you towards a small staircase in the corner of the bar. You quickly follow in his footsteps, never getting too far from the man - you’re to appear as nothing more but his shadow.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a streak of darkness move like a plant’s leaf swaying gently when there is no breeze. Curious, you follow the disturbance to what seems to be its source - a young woman dressed in dark robes. Leaning against a wall, in the corner where the yellow light doesn’t quite reach where it should, she’s impossible to notice to anyone who doesn’t know what to look for. In that spare moment, she notices you too.

Having walked up the stairs, your guide knocks thrice on the door but doesn’t wait for an answer before opening them. There, in the small office littered with papers, you notice a face so familiar and yet strange you begin to question your own sanity. Could it be…?

It’s like staring at a winter landscape during a toasty, summer day - you know the fields in front of you are the same but at the same time, they will never be more different. His face is more serious than you remembered. Strong, sharp features accompany his light eyes to create a truly chilling demeanour of a seasoned man. Despite undoubtedly looking like a handsome, young man, a spectre of a boy he used to be lingers beneath his skin.

Feeling lost and shocked, you frantically tear the hood off your head. "Kaz?” you’re not sure whether you’re asking him or yourself. “Kaz Brekker?!"

His eyes widen momentarily. Before he knows it, Kaz jumps to his feet, having to lean against the desk because of his leg. He doesn’t seem any less surprised, although he does appear to be better at hiding it - at least on his face. "You sly old fox,” he says in a low voice. Something akin to a smirk curved a corner of his lips upwards. “You just won't die, will you?"

You can’t help but scoff. After all those years of wondering whether he’s even alive, you find him in a complete accident. "As much as I'd love to see you crying over me, I like being a nuisance a bit more."

"You know each other?" the man, whose name you still do not know, vaguely points between you and Kaz.

To your mutual, utmost surprise, the two of you answer simultaneously: "We used to." The shock seems to drown out the hint of nostalgia and regret in your voices.

“Right…” he nods slowly. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

And before you know it, the door shuts and it’s just you and him. On one hand, again, but on the other - for the very first time. The words used to dance in a merry-go-round inside your head. Painful, yet truthful. Yes, you used to know Kaz like no one else. It sounds, you realize, as though the last time you had met, it was a different world, a different lifetime. To some degree, it’s true.

“What are you doing in here?” Kaz asks curtly. You can’t help but find his tone angry, almost accusatory. A strand of his hair falls on his face.

Unwilling to face the responsibility of years of silence, you settle for half-hearted jokes. “Your office or Ketterdam in general?”

“Both, preferably.”

Has he always been this incandescent or has longing simply white-washed him in your memories?

“Same as you it seems - work,” you say with a shrug. For a moment, the two of you stare at each other, unsure what to make of this unforeseen reunion. Then, you let out a tired sigh. If you have changed as little as you think so, he can definitely see right through you. “I won’t lie to you, Kaz, this isn’t a social call. I come here in business. I stole a canvas from Jurgen Greaves’ private collection and I’m looking for someone who can give me a quote.”

Kaz clenches his jaw. His blue eyes stare into you, maybe through you, as he clearly ponders something. Before continuing, he sits down. “I know an art dealer who might be interested. But first, you’re going to tell me everything.” Do not be mistaken - it’s an order, not a request. Truthfully, he got out of the habit of asking and pleading.

"It's a long story and a lot less interesting than I'd like to admit."

"We've all night,” he states. Not letting his gaze falter, Kaz gestures to the chair across from him. He still doesn’t take no for an answer.

He’s absolutely furious but only partially at you. It’s mostly his lack of understanding that gets on his nerves - the girl he remembered, a skilled and beautiful woman now, could have anything she wanted if she only asked. So why would you choose this path? With pearls and servants within arms reach, what are you doing in the Barrel, among murderers and liars? The surname of Greaves' resounds in his head, only fuelling his frustration: not only did Ketterdam dare to taint you, but you've also made good friends with that black stain of filth.

His chest clenches and Kaz feels disgusted for a moment. The parasite of corruption has nested under your skin, spewing its venom into your veins.

“Oh, don’t make me blush.” Although your dismissal is nothing beyond a jest, you still sit in the appointed chair. Maybe you want answers too, after all.

Still staring at you with that stern, cold gaze of his, Kaz sits back in his chair, clearly unwilling to end this conversation anytime soon.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfiction #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker fanfic #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone fanfiction #six of crows #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows imagine #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you

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vampirepirates · 2 months ago

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THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE .

Masterlist:

authors note + cast list.

parts: 1 2 3

CHAPTER TWO , A TOURNEY.

And who are you? The proud lord said,

That I must bow so — Low? Only a cat of a

different coat. That's all the truth I know.

– The Rains of Castamere.

The simplicity of Winterfell's consistent snowfall was something all too easy to overlook. To under-appreciate when it was all you were subjected to. It's when we spend our days longing for that which is out of our grasp, that we forget what we have already.

Every night since Lyarra's return to the comforting stone palace that she knew as home, she'd snuck out as the moon reached its peak. Every night, she made her way to the same spot. In truth, she wasn't sure exactly how long it had been. Weeks, she thought — maybe months. It was hard to tell. Her days were spent with either Benjen or Lyanna — as her two older brothers had too much responsibility to take on to spare a moment for their little sister. Brandon was coming into his own while Eddard was, more often than not, at the Eyrie. He'd been fostered there for what felt like years, rarely coming back to Winterfell unless it was for a matter of great import.

She longed to return to the days where she could talk to Brandon about anything on her mind, where he would match her vigor with his own — and it felt as if they were the only two who felt things as passionately as they did. She missed Eddard's all too serious tone in her ear constantly, nitpicking at all that she did. Years passed like this. She'd spend her nights in the forest, and her days with her younger brother and Lyanna. Lyarra learned to value the moments that she had with her family, cherishing them as if there wouldn't be another.

When she had the chance, she'd roam the halls with Benjen. Talking about anything and everything they could think of. He had even taken to sparring with her in the courtyard, though it took what felt like years of convincing. He wouldn't go near Lyanna — though she was almost the most enthusiastic for the chance — as there were rumors spiraling that Father was intending on wedding her soon. The girls were closing on ten-and-three, now. They knew well enough what was to come, whether they wanted it or not. A year prior, Brandon had come to Lyarra's room, just before she meant to sneak out. Her nerves were on fire, her palms sweating at the thought of being caught. But that wasn't what her brother was here for at all. In truth, she could've been halfway out the window by the time he entered, and he wouldn't have cared. He sat her down, and in a somber tone unbecoming of his character, told her that their father — Lord Rickard Stark — was considering marrying her to Edmure Tully.

Her initial reaction was to laugh. Her contempt for the boy was evident, even when she was staying with his family. They bickered, constantly. Not in the way that friends — or even siblings — do, no. The two despised one another. In truth, Lyarra wasn't certain what necessarily brought it on. Maybe it was his apparent distaste for her friend, or maybe it was just his attitude in and of itself. The very thought brought an uneasy feeling to her stomach, and that night she forgot all about her peace within the forest. That night, she begged Brandon — inconsolably bawling in his arms, soaking his tunic — to convince father otherwise.

"Please, Brandon. Please, don't let him. I've never met such a horrible boy in my life, truly! It's not fair, it's just not fair." Her words were muffled by his thick fur pelt, as she felt two broad arms come to wrap around her. Brandon caressed the back of her head, petting her hair as she continued to fall apart in his arms.

The two sat wrapped in one another for so long, that she hadn't even noticed her eyes growing heavy. She woke up to the sun in her vision — lighting up her puffy, tear-stained cheeks. When she sat up, she had her brother's cloak on. After that day, Edmure Tully was never mentioned to her again. Lyarra wasn't a fool. She was lucky, lucky that her father had started mulling over potential matches with the worst possible option. And more than anything, she was lucky that she had a brother caring enough to tell their father that he was a fool.

Lyanna, however, was not so lucky. She was to be wed to Robert Baratheon. A boy that the twins knew well, due to how close he was with Ned. Lyarra had never felt any particular way about him, not entirely. His longing for her sister was known, and oftentimes if he was drunk enough he'd confuse the two. She pitied him, in a way. A stupid boy, who fell for a brash girl — who knew all too well she'd be doomed to an unhappy marriage. Robert, though he claimed to love her sister, would never pass down an offer from a woman. Would never look away, when someone would strip themselves bare. He would be an unfaithful husband, even if no one was willing to acknowledge it but her and Lyanna. Eddard didn't disagree, necessarily. He knew the boy better than anyone. But his love for him was as clear as her own love for Petyr.

The night that the news was delivered, Lyarra clutched onto her sister's hand as tightly as she could. 'Lyanna was the most beautiful girl in all the seven kingdoms', Lyarra had thought. For all of her 'boyish' qualities, there had never lived a girl with more beauty. Both in spirit and in body. Compassion bled through Lyanna as if it was her own blood. When the two bid their farewells from the dining hall, Lyarra held her sister in her quarters as she all but sobbed in her arms. This time, she couldn't go to their father as Brandon had. She couldn't stand up for her, force him to make another decision. It was in that moment that she realized just how weak she was. How powerless she would be, from this day until the end of her days.

At ten-and-four, the betrothal was official. Lyanna Stark would wed Robert Baratheon, at a time that they saw fit. The night that it became an official decree throughout the realm, Lyarra spent hours sitting on her stump. At first, she sat in silence. Not even staring up at the sky, as she usually would have. This time, she gazed curiously down at her hands. Her fingers, though littered with calluses and scrapes from holding a blade, held no power. She couldn't help anyone. She couldn't fix anything.

Later, her eldest brother would scold her for missing the feast. Claiming that her sister needs her at her side now, more than ever. But it wasn't unnatural for her to miss celebrations. She rarely attended any sort of gathering, had she not been forced to do so. She'd seen her sister staring after her longingly, pleading with her to not go. But Lyarra wasn't strong enough to help her sister to begin with, so why should she try to be brave for her?

These nights repeated themselves, a consistent routine. It was only when it was announced that the children would be attending Lord Walter Whent's tourney at Harrenhal, that she took a pause. She hadn't left the castle properly since Riverrun. It was a fool's wish, but she couldn't help the giddiness that crept up her, as her thoughts swept to Petyr. Benjen took that moment to list off who he knew would be attending. He was fascinated by the knights, after all, and Lyarra couldn't blame him. Had she not been born a woman, she'd spend her nights dreaming of a life as a knight. A sworn brother, giving his life to his king. A strong, brave hero. By the end of the list, she couldn't help the displeasing churn that twisted in her gut. She missed her friend, dearly. As everything began to spiral out of control in her life, her need to see him was stronger than ever.

She'd sent ravens. Half a dozen, by now. They all contained various messages. Some describing what was going on, some detailing what she'd be doing right now if she could, and some asking him about what was going on in his life. Yet after years, she'd yet to receive a response. Perhaps he'd never gotten them. Perhaps something went wrong with each and every bird she'd sent. Or perhaps, he no longer wanted to hear from her at all.

The journey to Harrenhal wasn't nearly as discomforting as it had been to Riverrun. This time, she walked ahead with the eldest members of her family. Her and Lyanna would have to ride different horses this time, and seeing as she couldn't stand another minute of discussing Robert Baratheon — Lyarra chose to ride alongside Eddard, who had hardly seemed surprised by her presence. He cast a longing look towards his two younger siblings, as Benjen and Lyanna had begun bickering about anything and everything. First, her horse was too close to his. Then, his horse stunk — and it was making her horse stink. Then, all horses stink. Lyarra and Eddard were nearly in hysterics by the end of the ride, after hearing their ridiculous arguments.

Harrenhal almost made Lyarra miss the castle in Riverrun. Though it'd felt almost like a cell while inside, this castle was bordering on ruin. And by the looks of it, it always had been. The first event of the tourney itself came quickly. Her eyes caught on the shields, on the way that the clashing almost appeared to be a dance. She knew some of the knights by their sigil alone, while other times she needed Benjen to name them for her. Across the stands, Lyarra's eyes were caught curiously by what she saw before her. Across her stood a boy, who couldn't be more than a year — maybe two — her elder, with a scar stretching across his cheek. A boy who, to most, no doubt appeared monstrous. With a patch of hair missing, and puckered burns across his face, the sight would make any take a shallow breath.

But Lyarra, forgetting herself, couldn't take her eyes off of the boy. For all the monstrous things about him, his eyes were captivatingly beautiful, enraptured in a way she had never seen. He was fascinated by what was going on, entirely absorbed. His own adoration matched her own, though she was sure she was not able to express her excitement exactly the way that he was. After a beat or two longer, the boy's head seemed to snap up in an instant — his eyes finding Lyarra in the crowd, as if he knew exactly where she'd be. She watches as his brow, or what is left of it, furrows at her stare. She did her best to pull her lips in a soft smile, so that he would know she wasn't staring out of ignorance or anything of the sort. But his piercing eyes flitted away just as quickly as they had appeared. He seemed to compose himself, his previous childlike grin dampened to ash.

Lyarra couldn't help the guilt churning within her. She hadn't meant to upset the boy. She wanted to ask her brother if he knew who the boy was, but she decided to take the attention off of him for a moment. Instead, she focused her gaze on what was transpiring before her. Benjen had been talking throughout the competition, apparently, but she only tuned back in towards the end. She didn't need him to name the golden boy below her, who stood proud as he was bestowed the honor of Kingsguard. She'd never met the boy personally, but one knows a lion when one sees it. Jaime Lannister carried his ego with him on his shoulder wherever he went. Not that Lyarra could blame him. He was beautiful, even she could admit that. He almost resembled a knight that she would read about in her stories, who'd come to save the fair maiden in her time of need.

Jaime Lannister, for all of his overwhelming self-confidence, had never seemed so small as he did in that moment. She took the time to scan over him with curious eyes. He was just a boy. His eyes only just barely gave away his facade, breaking away to show the display the true fear beneath them. He wanted to prove himself as badly as she did – as badly as anyone competing today did, she'd argue. When Lyarra came back from her train of thought, recognizing that her brother was speaking again, Jaime's eyes began to sweep over the crowd. It felt as if he were committing the moment to memory, and she couldn't help but sit up in the slightest to applaud properly. For only a moment, his eyes caught on her — flickering in vague recognition. A lion recognizes a wolf just as easily, it'd seem. By the time that Lyarra pulled her eyes away from Jaime, she glanced to the spot where she had seen the scarred boy from earlier. In his place left a small, almost unnoticeable gap in the crowd. Yet she couldn't help the faint pout on her lips as she tried to find him.

"Enjoying the tourney, my lady?" The Lion called to the Wolf. The festivities had been wrapped up for the night, with the final event being a knighting of a large man that Lyarra couldn't quite recall. Clegane, she thought. A monstrous man. Twice the size of her father, double that of her brother. There were whispers throughout the crowd, as he was bestowed the title of knight. However, she paid them no mind. Coming back to herself, Lyarra couldn't help the small smile on her lips as she turned to face the golden-haired boy. Jaime matched her smile with a coy grin of his own, his helmet buried in the crux of his armpit.

"It's fascinating, Ser Jaime. Though a bit tedious at times, if you don't mind my saying-" at that, she was cut off by a sharp laugh from the boy. Of course, even his laugh was princely. Lyarra decided then and there that Jaime Lannister was perfect. He had no faults. How could he, after all? Every step he made left a golden footprint, his words pure honey pouring out of his lips. Unbecoming of herself, she couldn't help the blush that crept up her neck. "But fascinating regardless. Congratulations are in order, I'd assume?"

"I thank you, my lady. I'll remember it for the rest of my days, I'm sure. There's nothing quite like standing in front of a crowd and hearing them all chant your name. Not mocking you, but worshipping you, cheering for you.." He trailed off, his eyes unfocused in the distance. Lyarra's own smile turned the slightest hint of bittersweet, at that. She'd never get to feel that, not the way he had. She'll never be a knight, nor will she be worshipped. Even if she is married off, it won't be to someone important enough to have the people chant her name. Her own eyes gaze longingly into the shrubbery for a moment, before she is stolen out of her stupor by an arm being presented to her.

"Would you accompany me to the feast, my lady? It's a terribly long walk, I'm afraid. I wouldn't want for you to get lost. Or me, for that matter!" Jaime's words were charmingly sweet, with a grin that stretched across his features wolfishly. Her arm linked with his before she could think through the action properly.

"The newly appointed Kingsguard lost on his first day? Oh, no. We can't have that, can we?" The two shared a laugh, as if they'd developed their own language within minutes of speaking to one another. Lyarra had half the heart to be wary of the lion, of how charming he was. But as he continued to make her laugh — to say exactly what she was thinking, just before she said it, her trepidation melted away, leaving only something warm and all encompassing within her chest. The two made their way to the hall with minimal conversation, Jaime making a few comments throughout the trip — clearly just seeking to hear her laugh again.

"Ah, yes. Here we are. Lord Whent's favorite bush. It's said he comes out here, at the cusp of night when he knows that no one is watching..." He trailed off then, widening his eyes expectantly. Lyarra felt a snort building up, and let out a quick cough to maintain her dignity. Her belly laughs quick became giggles, as the two continued throughout the night. "And uh, well. Looks at it? I'm not quite sure really. Can you really do much with a bush?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised! Think bigger, Ser Jaime. Think bigger."

"You know, you're not the first person to tell me that."

Once they had arrived to the feast itself, Lyarra moved to sit by her siblings. Jaime bid her farewell by kissing the tips of her fingers, and she promised to find him again before they made their journey back home. She did her best to ignore the looks coming from his family, as well as the confused glances from her own. Instead, she sat down harshly — with far too much weight than she should have. Had Old Nan been there, she would've called it 'unladylike'. To all seven hells with that, she thought. She directed her attention to once again scanning the faces in the hall, looking for the boy from earlier. At Benjen's inquisitive look, she went to describe him to ask for his aid — but thought better of it. If he was already offended by just her staring, of course he would hate it if her whole pack of wolves gawked at him too.

She was briefly distracted by this train of thought when her siblings began to argue. Apparently, Lyanna had been paying too much attention to Rhaegar Targaryen (not that anyone could blame her, for that matter) and Benjen took to mocking her like a child. Not only that, when the man had begun to sing — Lyanna couldn't hold back her tears. Their brother was laughing so hard that he was bordering on tears of her own. Lyarra sat back as well as she could on the bench, scanning the hall for the boy from earlier. Her eyes caught Jaime's from across the room, as he sent her a curious look. She brushed it off, turning her attention back to her rowdy siblings — who were now spilling wine on one another.

Lyarra had half a heart to chastise them for their behavior, but Eddard had spoken up in that moment already. She took one more glance around the room before standing to take her younger brother's arm, guiding him out of the hall.

"Does she have to act like such an idiot all the time?" He grumbled to himself once they were outside of the hall. Had Lyarra not been so close to him she likely wouldn't have heard it to begin with.

"If I remember right, you started it, dear brother. Perhaps, don't mock a woman while she holds a glass of wine." Lyarra added with a shrug, moving to ruffle his hair half-heartedly.

"Woman is a stretch. You're both children. Act like it too." His words were met with a sharp sigh. He was right, of course. They were only treated as women because of matters outside of their control. As if bleeding once should make you ready to bear a child, to take on the responsibilities of a lady.

"Like you're any better." With that, the conversation had ended. Benjen all but avoided her eyes as she guided him to his quarters. She'd intended on leaving the boy there to retreat to her own, before an arm shot out to grasp onto her. Lyarra jumped at the sudden movement, spinning back to face her brother.

"D'you mind staying, just for a while? I don't like being away from home. It's better when you're around." His admission was quiet, eyes cast low. She took this moment to raise her palm to his cheek, moving him to face her.

"Of course, Benjen. I'll stay as long as you'd like." And she did just that. The two only talked for a short while. He continued prattling on about Lyanna's fascination with Rhaegar, and Lyarra only scoffed and nodded along as she listened. She, in turn, told him of her time with Jaime Lannister. This was met with a bit of a scowl, but Benjen nodded nonetheless. The boy had fallen asleep soon after, but Lyarra did not leave his side until she saw the sun peaking over the castle.

The remaining days of the tourney seemed to wane on. She, along with the rest of her family, had been forced to attend every competition. Every blade swung just reminded Lyarra further that she would never be able to hold such a position. She'd always be the lady stuck in the crowd, watching as the men have their fun. She hardly held a scowl as she observed, though several times she was chastised by her brothers. Some nights Jaime would meet her in that same garden, escorting her to the feast in the same way he had the nights prior. Other nights the two would only meet one another's eyes from across the room, and smile in their own secretive way before moving on. All things considered, Lyarra was merely content to find a friend. The boy seemed to have mutual respect for her, as she did him.

On the fourth day of competition, Lyarra had decided she'd had enough of playing the silent observer. There had been two jousts already, and just before the men could begin the third — she'd heard a distant yell. It wasn't loud enough to catch the attention of the men in front of her, but it did catch the ears of her and her siblings. Benjen, at the very least.

"Men for the Night's Watch! Any able bodied man looking to serve the realm, look for the Night's Watch! The shield that guards the realms of men!" A poor advertisement, really. But effective to one, it'd appear. Lyarra watched as Benjen sat forward, his eyes muddled in thought. The very thought of her brother in the Night's watch forced an unladylike cackle out of her lips. Her brother? The boy who had begged her to stay in her room, so that he did not have to sleep alone, only nights ago? Regardless, the boy was transfixed. He only looked away when a group of boys behind them began to call out to the man.

They mocked him, belittling him for such a 'cowardly job', as they'd put it. The Night's Watch was embarrassing to them. A way to escape the duties of a 'proper man'. In Lyarra's eyes, she considered the men of the Watch brave. They were sacrificing their lives for the realm — for the better of everyone else's life. She stood up then to chastise them, before being yanked down by her older brother. Eddard shot her a sharp look, before quickly returning his focus to the tourney. Lyarra bore the man no mind, as she once again stood up, moving to empty the remainder of her cup of wine on them. They'd shot up instantly to retaliate, before remembering themselves — and quickly ran off. She could hardly hold back the prideful grin on her lips, as she turned back to her brother.

While she considered the idea of Benjen in the Night's Watch laughable, she wouldn't allow others to dampen his dream. That was her job, after all. She moved to place her hand on his, then, interlocking their fingers. He seemed to breathe after her touch, sending her a short — almost imperceptible — nod in thanks.

Lyanna did not pay much attention herself, until Rhaegar Targaryen was out. Lyarra couldn't help but admit that her sister did spend an odd amount of time watching the man. She thought he was fascinating herself, of course. The Targaryens were hard to not look away from. They were beautiful, almost standing as mythological beings. However Lyanna had yet to look away from the boy once. Robert had come to speak to her at one point, stomping across the stands — drunk already, no doubt. Lyarra had to step harshly on her sister's shoe to get the girl to notice, too transfixed by the mop of white hair in front of her. This seemed to delight Benjen, as his theory had been proven correct — to which Lyarra turned to stomp on his boot as well.

On the night before the last day of the tourney, Lyarra held back in the gardens to wait for Jaime. While she waited, she observed the flowers surrounding her. Winter Roses grew proudly everywhere she looked. Lyanna would love this, she couldn't help but think. Perhaps she should bring her sister down tomorrow, before the tourney starts. Or perhaps her sister had already come, with Rhaegar at her side. The man had begun to take interest in her too, no doubt. Only a blind man couldn't see that. Lyarra knew this blooming interest between them would only end poorly. Lyanna was to be wed, and King Aerys hardly seemed like a man to strike a bargain for her sake. She knew as well that Rhaegar was married himself, to Elia Martell, though in truth she had never seen the two together. Another Stark could easily be wed to Robert, to establish the bond. Unfortunate, that she knew well enough in that moment that no man would ever relinquish their 'right to a woman', regardless of how she felt.

At that moment, a snap of a branch caught Lyarra's attention. She whipped around with a smile, expecting to see Jaime Lannister's golden grin. Only, instead of Jaime, it was a much larger beast. There stood Gregor Clegane. Ser Gregor, she supposed. He was easily triple her size. She'd seen him maybe twice now in the tourney, crushing every man he went against. He peered down at her, his eyes the furthest thing from human she had ever seen. As she moved to speak, he stepped forward, all but backing her against a column. For the first time in her life, Lyarra was truly speechless in terror. Men had made their intentions with her clear more than once, and she was accustomed to a brutish man with a wandering hand. But Gregor? He wasn't a man at all. He raised his palm to her cheek, and was only halted by a sharp voice calling from across the garden.

"Brother! Your king is calling you. Says he needs you, now. Wouldn't want to keep him waiting. He seemed angry." The voice, unrecognizable to Lyarra, rang out. His words seemed to echo, as Gregor made no move to retreat. His eyes pierced into hers, and she couldn't help but tremble against the wall. With a grunt, he moved across the garden — staring daggers into whoever had spoken. It was then, as Lyarra sat forward to collect herself, that she was able to spot whom the voice had come from. It was the boy from the first day of the tourney. The boy with burns across his cheek, brown hair sweeping across his face. He looked so small, now that she could see him closer. His scar almost made him appear that much younger. She moved to thank the boy, before another voice rang out.

"My lady! I apologize for such a dastardly wait. The king has been rather unhappy tonight, I'm afraid. It was a chore to rid myself of him." Jaime Lannister took the opportunity to appear then, making quick strides to her. It was only when he'd reached Lyarra, that he noticed her ragged state. He glanced down at her, before turning accusatively to the boy who still stood silent as ever in the center of the garden. Lyarra shot up, then, placing a calm hand to Jaime's shoulder. The boy took this chance to make his leave, never once breaking eye contact with her. Just before he'd left the garden, she'd stepped forward, leaving Jaime's grasp.

"Ser?" She called, her voice ringing across the area. The boy stopped then, turning to her with a grimace. She could see then, that he truly wasn't much older than her. Not old enough that he couldn't be a knight, but he didn't carry himself like one at all. He was much larger than her. Smaller than Gregor, of course. But far larger than Jaime — or anyone else she'd met, for that matter. "Thank you."

"I'm no Ser," And with that, the boy had disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived. She almost deflated at that, leaning back on the soles of her feet. Jaime had taken her arm as quickly as he had the previous nights, only this time he lingered — glancing over her to make sure she had no lasting wounds. Her explanation came quick, leaving out names due to the man's connection with the King. Jaime promised her that he would find the man that attacked her, and Lyarra could hardly force a timid smile on her lips.

Lyarra did not leave her sister's side after that. She rarely saw Jaime, and if she did it was only in passing. The two would send one another a weak smile, before carrying on their respective paths. She knew better than to mention what happened to anyone. Lyarra, in truth, didn't even know if Gregor would be punished, and did not want to suffer his wrath unknowingly. Lyanna spent her time ogling Rhaegar Targaryen, unsurprisingly. She hardly looked away, and if she did it was only for a brief moment.

On the last day of the tourney, Lyarra could hardly force herself to pay attention. She knew that the purpose of the whole tournament was to name a 'queen of love and beauty'. A nameless title, used only to bring praise and further celebration to the victorious knight who would place the crown in a lady's lap. She spent her time scanning through the crowd, searching desperately for the boy that had her curiosity spiraling like a mad dog. He'd been almost frightened by her wandering eye originally, only to come to her aid when she needed it most. 'Brother', he'd called Ser Gregor. So he was a Clegane, then. Lyarra made a mental note to ask her brother of the Cleganes later, as she knew little to nothing of the name.

She only refocused her attention on the tournament when she noticed white hair sweeping through the field. Rhaegar Targaryen stood victorious over the other men, thus presenting him with the crown — to bestow upon a lady whom he saw fit. Lyarra had brushed the very concept off, choosing to clasp onto her sister's hand — assuming that he would pick his wife. Lyanna was to be wed, and he had a wife of his own. Regardless of whether there was something budding between the two, they'd have no choice in the matter. It was only as Lyarra watched Rhaegar approach in horror, that she began to reconsider. In a flash, Rhaegar placed the crown of blue winter roses in Lyanna's lap. Just as quickly as he'd arrived, he was gone. Lyanna's cheeks were flushed, a red hue creeping up her neck. She never quite thought she'd seen her sister as full of life as she was in that moment.

However, Lyarra was no fool. She knew the repercussions to this. The action itself was scandalous, and she watched in mute horror as Robert Baratheon turned his own shade of red in the face. Princess Elia was gone, disappeared in a flash before anyone else had noticed. She couldn't help the pang of pity that rang through her chest, at that.

The trip back to Winterfell was a quiet one. Benjen and Lyanna rode far from one another, with Lyanna lingering in the back alongside her sister. Lyarra did not leave her sister's side, save to speak with Eddard. Throughout their short talks, Ned did not take his eyes off of Lyanna. He wasn't pleased with her, no doubt. Though, Lyarra maintained that it was no fault of her sister's. Rhaegar made his decision on his own, she took no part in it. He seemed to grow a bit more complacent at her words, muttering a vague comment of appreciation before hastening his horse ahead.

Lyarra thought then of the golden lion she'd left behind. Jaime Lannister, for all his perfections, was a curious man. She'd only made one friend in her life, yet her bond with the Lannister boy blossomed almost just as quickly. They weren't nearly as close, however, and her heart did not long to return to him as it did to Petyr. Jaime Lannister was a kind, charming boy. Their goodbyes were short, away from prying eyes, in the garden that they'd properly met. He'd had to leave early as it was, with the intention of guarding the Queen Rhaella. Jaime had pulled her hand down to his lips, kissing her knuckles — as if she were a proper lady. Lyarra would miss the boy, she decided then. She only hoped that he'd serve his king well, and that they would later meet under better circumstances.

The Clegane boy, however, she had yet to see again. She searched for him after the tourney, eyes wandering where they could, but her brothers hardly let her out of their sight after the incident with Lyanna. She would be forever grateful to him, even if she never would get the chance to properly speak with him.

Lyarra rode silently at her sister's side, doing her best to observe her when she had the chance. She'd seemed somber, since the tourney. Originally, she was elated. Her spirits were only dampened when she'd seen the reaction of the onlookers surrounding her. Lyanna Stark was not one to let the opinions of the many disturb her. She was far from a typical lady. There were even rumors spiraling that she'd presented herself as a Knight at the tourney, though Lyarra was not by her sister's side enough to confirm nor deny that.

"Are you looking forward to returning home?" Lyarra asked tentatively, leaning down in the slightest to move into her sister's path of sight. It took a few moments for her to respond, and just before Lyarra had gone to ask again she was interrupted.

"Would you look forward to walking back into the arms of your captor?" Her words were venomous, yet the fury in them was not meant for Lyarra. She knew that well enough.

"You're not his captive, Lyanna. Robert loves you, at the very least-"

"At the very least? Oh, so I am meant to love a man because he gives me a golden cage rather than a steel cell? That is not love, dear sister. Robert will find and fuck the first thing he sees, you know that as well as I do." Lyarra was stunned for a beat too long, and before she could collect herself her sister had already ridden ahead. She was right. Lyarra knew she was right. Lyanna had never felt as adored as she had when Rhaegar placed the crown in her lap. A crown of her favorite flowers, solidifying her as the most beautiful lady in attendance. She would never get that from Robert, regardless of how he claimed to love her.

Lyarra rode on in silence, watching her sister's back as she faded in the distance. She'd wished in that moment, that she hadn't begged her brother to spare her from Edmure Tully. That she was locked in a cage of her own, if only to relieve her sister from the pressure of carrying that weight alone. As it was, she did not know how it felt to be tied to a man that she did not love. She would, in due time. Yet it was her sister who had to shoulder that burden alone now.

Okay. Well. There's that! I kind of had to force myself to end this chapter here, because I had too many ideas on where to go with it. I did not mean to make this 6k words.. Please bear with me.

I do have some things I'd like to note about this chapter! One, this is all from Lyarra's perspective, so if something is not included it is because she was not there to witness it. The bit with Howland Reed and the Knight of the Laughing Tree is only briefly touched on in his chapter. Partially because I do not know too much about it, and also because Lyarra was just not present for it. She is always up to smth.. Free my girl. Two, the friendship between Jaime and Lyarra admittedly came out of nowhere. As I was writing, it just felt natural. The chemistry between the two was so entertaining that I could not stop writing for a moment. It feels fitting to me, though, considering what happens between the two later on (maniacal laughter)

Three, we got our first Sandor appearance! Who cheered. I did not intend on introducing him so early but I saw my chance with the tourney and took it. Bless Lord Whent and his timing (that I altered with creative liberties) Four, the third chapter is likely going to be much shorter than the previous two have been. I have a lot that I'd like to write about Lyarra's life after what happens with Lyanna, so I know that I must separate the two chapters. Fifth and finally, there is a lot of history in the Stark line that is not touched on in this story. Ned being fostered in the Eyrie is only briefly touched on. Lyarra is a bit of an ignorant child, all things considered. She is very curious, but she spends a lot of her time in her own head. If something isn't touched on, it's likely because I felt that something was more important to include instead. I try to keep the familial storylines as close to canon as I can, so if anything isn't explicitly written feel free to assume it happens without saying.

That is all I have for the time being! If you have any comments, feel free to leave them.

Thank you, as always

Zevran.

#the hound x reader #the hound #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane #petyr baelish x reader #petyr baelish #lyanna stark #jon snow #got x reader #tormund giantsbane #benjen stark #brandon stark #eddard stark

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