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theferrarieffect · 2 months

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jealousy, jealousy - chapter 4: those eyes

f1 fanfic: lestappen (max x charles)

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summary: the grid arrives in melbourne, and max and charles are going through it. they each decide, independently, that they want to get in on some exercise-induced endorphins. and immediately run into each other at the gym.

chapter 4: those eyes

This was the least relaxing off-week Max had ever experienced. Most of the grid had arrived in Melbourne a week in advance to adjust to the time zone and weather, and were making the most of the last vestiges of Australian summer. But Max could not for the life of him shake what had happened last week in Saudi.

“Let me go,” Charles’ angry voice rang in his head. And then his own, “I don’t know why I grabbed you like that."

He didn’t, really. All he knew was that as the paramedics lifted Carlos into the ambulance, he was seized with this feeling, that Charles would run after him.

And why would you care? He didn’t. Shouldn’t. God, Carlos was Charles’ teammate. Wouldn’t Max feel concerned if Checo suddenly passed out during grid breakfast?

Not to the point that I’d forfeit the race. That was it. Max wasn’t afraid of losing Charles, watching him slip through his fingers. He was disturbed by the fact that Charles would give up the race to wait uselessly in a hospital. But that realization didn’t make him feel any better.

Normally, Max would default to his sim racing rig. But even that didn’t seem like it would be enough to quell his anxiety.

His eyes fell onto his ill-used black duffel.

Max had never been all that passionate about working out. He wasn’t particularly athletic like some of the other guys on the grid—visions of Charles viciously returning Nando’s serve on the padel court and Carlos jogging easily with Danny down the track while Max could barely breathe came to mind—and personally believed an hour on iRacing would probably get him closer to a WDC than an hour pumping iron.

So he figured if he felt the urge to exercise voluntarily, he should probably capitalize on it. Who knew, maybe all those workout junkies would be onto something when they harped about endorphins or whatever.

Even though it was past 9, Charles was itching to get in a quick lift, maybe a spin as well. He quickly changed into a pair of lightweight shorts. He debated wearing a shirt but doubted anyone would be in the gym at this hour anyway.

George Russell style, he thought, laughing to himself.

The gym as vacant, just as he’d hoped. He started on the bike, wedging his buds into his ears and queueing up some Hans Zimmer. It felt so good to just dissociate, vaguely aware only of the sweat starting to trickle down his back. The dramatic climax of a song hit and Charles stood up out of the saddle to ride it out—

—and almost fell off his bike when he saw that he was not in fact alone at all.

Max ambled through the doors of the gym, and judging by the looks of the bag slung over his shoulder, he’d only just gotten there.

Charles pulled an earbud out and continued cycling, sneaking peeks at Max but having trouble thinking of what to say to him. If anything. Maybe Max was in another touchy mood and would ignore Charles or see him and leave. The thought made Charles feel…strangely empty. Not as relieved as he would have thought.

He needn’t have worried. Max, spying Charles on the bike, made a beeline towards him first.

“Charles,” he nodded.

“Hey, Max.” Charles wiped his brow with the towel he’d slung over the handlebars. “Here for a lift?”

“Ah, yeah, I was thinking so.”

“Want to spot each other?” Charles dared.

“Sure.”

Charles climbed off the bike and waved Max over to the bench. “I was going for a push day, you good with that?”

Max nodded and loaded the barbell. Charles placed his hands under the bar as Max pressed. His hands brushed Max’s forearms by accident, and Max’s eyes flashed up at him. Charles’ stomach lurched. Calm down right now, he told himself sternly.

Did Charles suddenly think he was George Russell or something? Max rolled his eyes when he saw him pedaling shirtless, bobbing his head to whatever sadboy soundtrack was blasting through his earbuds. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck and collected in the crevice formed by his traps and collarbone. To be fair, his pecs put Max’s to shame…and so did the rest of his chiseled torso. He should’ve been better about going to the gym.

And he just might. He didn’t remember lifting ever being so enjoyable. When his triceps trembled on the last rep, Charles’ tanned forearms rescued him from the bar. And after a set that left him totally gassed, he relished seeing Charles smile brightly, and the feeling of his warm hand clapping him on the back.

His arms felt like jelly, but he wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.

“Mate,” he groaned. “I’m gonna hit the sauna.” He wondered if Charles would join him. Was it weird that he was hoping he would?

“I’m so finished,” Charles agreed. He slung his towel over his shoulder. “Can I come with?”

Max held open the door for him in response.

The gym sauna was actually quite nice. Dark panels of cedar lined the walls and floor, and nozzles mounted to the ceiling intermittently subjected them to blasts of eucalyptus-scented steam.

Charles stretched luxuriously out on a bench, extending his muscular legs and leaning back onto his hands behind his head. “Ahhh,” he sighed. “I feel like I never see you here.”

Max swallowed. “Dunno, I guess the gym’s not really my scene.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen the light yet, mate. I wasn’t really into it either, but Carlos”—Max stiffened at the name—“is a total gym rat. He converted me.”

“What?” Max asked. “Aren’t you a sports guy?”

Charles giggled. Like, actually giggled. “No way mate, that’s a new side of me. When I wasn’t karting as a kid, the other sports I played were piano and chess.”

This was news to Max. He always felt like a nerd compared to a lot of the other guys. You would never know that about Charles, with his tanned abs and sculpted shoulders and his sun-bleached curls. Max had felt self-conscious the second he’d taken off his shirt as they’d entered the sauna. He was pretty certain that he was so pale it was blinding. Not that he could tan even if he wanted—as soon as his epidermis so much as glimpsed the sun, it decided to go bright red. Bonus points for blisters.

Max stole a glance at Charles. His eyes were closed. There was a freckle right below his right eye that Max had never noticed before. His gaze roamed over Charles’ thick eyebrows, finely shaped nose, neat stubble, down to his lips, the upper one starting in two perfect peaks and curving up into an impish smile. He thought about how the guys regularly gave him shit for being a pretty boy, the legions of girls who fangirled over Charles’ looks.

Girls, Max had seen plenty of pretty girls before. But the Monégasque dozing in the sauna next to him…pretty simply couldn’t do it justice.

Charles’ eyes fluttered open, and Max suddenly remembered that, as a child, he’d bike along the Meuse river in Maaseik. Ninety-nine days out of a hundred, the river was so dark gray it was almost black, but every so often the sun would make its presence known on a spring day, and the river would turn a brilliant azure, fading to green at the banks where the water reflected the trees. He might as well have been right back in Maaseik, gazing at that river. He was happy then. He felt like he couldn’t ask for anything else right now.

Charles must have seen something in Max’s face, because the tops of his ears turned pink. Max felt his own cheeks flush in response. Without so much as a warning, Charles sat up and leaned forward until his face was barely three inches from Max’s. Max felt his stomach somersault, the way it always did before rounding a steep turn. His eyes searched Charles’ desperately, looking for any sign of what he was thinking, what he was going to do.

Then, light as a feather, Charles gently touched a spot on Max’s chin. It tingled; he barely registered that it stung ever so slightly.

“You cut yourself,” Charles said quietly.

Max’s heart hammered so hard, he was convinced Charles could feel the blood rushing through his jaw. Or just see his entire body quaking in time to the beat.

“I…yeah, I must’ve. Shaving,” Max managed, hoarsely.

Charles withdrew his hand. Max fought the overwhelming urge to grab it before it was gone forever. He felt utterly lost in his eyes.

“When I was a kid,” he heard himself say, “Jos took me cycling by this river. In Belgium. I was too young to go karting.”

Charles said nothing, but held his gaze.

“Most days, the river was grey,” Max rambled on, feeling faint. “But every so often, it would be sunny outside, and the water…the water was so blue. And green and brown and all the colors. Like—like your eyes.”

Max saw that Cupid’s bow lift in a tiny, devastating smile. But then it spoke.

“You live in Monaco now. Next time we’re back home, I want to take you to La Mala on my boat. I don’t know why we haven’t been yet.”

Max’s heart threatened to take a flying leap right out of his chest.

Charles continued slowly, “When we get to the horizon, you look in the mirror. Maybe my eyes look like your river, in Belgium. But yours…” His voice dropped a full octave lower. “Yours are where the sky meets the sea.”

He pulled away abruptly, stood up, and left only a trail of wet footprints as he exited the sauna. Max stared dumbly at what was left of Charles, not at all sure if what just happened was real.

It was all Charles could do to not break out into a sprint as soon as he closed the sauna door behind him. His body felt like it had been braised; every inch of his skin felt like it could erupt into flames at any moment. Maybe the sauna had quite literally scrambled his brains. He could not believe he had just told Max Verstappen that his eyes reminded him of the fucking ocean. And he found it even harder to believe that his own had inspired such a comparison on Max’s end.

George’s voice echoed in his head. “He was giving me these eyes…”

No. No no no. This could not be happening. He could absolutely not be thinking about leaving his hand on Max’s jaw, leaning in, letting their lips brush. Except he knew, sitting in that sauna, that was all he wanted to do.

Charles turned the corner to the lockers and promptly slammed into Max, who had replaced his shirt and had his shoes dangling by the laces in one hand.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “I am so sorry.”

Max, at least, looked equally perturbed. “No, that was my bad, I didn’t see you—”

Charles was sure his face was positively maroon. Maybe even his neck. “Uh, well, nice working out with you,” he fumbled lamely.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh, thanks for spotting me. I think I might come to the gym more.”

“You should,” Charles said emphatically.

Max smiled at him, genuinely smiled, and Charles felt like someone had pumped his head full of helium. “Well, see you around.”

“Yeah, see you.” Charles pulled on his own shirt and slipped into his slides. He turned to leave.

“Wait, Charles.” Max called.

Charles stopped short.

“I don’t know if you really meant it, about boating in Monaco,” Max said from behind, his voice betraying the slightest crack. “But if you did, I think it would be nice to see La Mala together.”

notes: i'm not gonna lie guys i screamed a little writing that last line i am unwell the boys are back is officially chapter 3 and has been labelled as such. this is a continuation of that chapter.

tensions will be boiling next chapter. you have been warned. >:)

also, i have been made aware of something called a taglist (tumblr newbie, sorry), so please feel free to reply on any of the chapters if you want to be included on it!! i never thought anyone would read any of this tbh so...v grateful for those of you who've enjoyed the ride so far :')

taglist @fangirl-dot-com

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ghostkingdoesstuff · 3 months

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A friendly reminder I am not to be held accountable for the things I'm about to say. Percy Jackson Season 1 FINALLY (SPOILERS BUT THAT'S THE LEAST OF YOUR PROBLEMS)

The visceral noise I made eating popcorn as Luke said "look you didn't ask to be a half-blood" caused an earthquake in Alaska, I'm sorry I was facing northwest.

"Riposte" I'm sorry, no I'm sorry no-

Also, the background of the sword fighting scene was very pretty.

Poseidon showing up for his son!!! Letts gooooooo! THE WEIGHT OF THE OCEAN UPON YEE!!!

Right in the heel, it's gotta hurt!

Percy asked his uncle to please return his mom, wholesome family gold.

"He'll kill you." "I done to stop running from monsters." "You're gonna need all the luck you can get." The show gets why these two work. Friends before anything else.

Glory as a theme is something that I like that the show highlights more. But Grover is right. at least send an insurance email or something. A quick "on my way, please don't kill anyone"

Dropping the master bolt on some poor dudes desk, legendary.

Olympus is so fucking beutiful omg

I'm gonna cry if Luke and Percy are in the same scene as each other in this episode again. ILL DO IT! THAT'S A THREAT!

The dead silence, I'm shitting omg... yes I know what happens and?

Followed by "I didn't steal it! Neither did any of my friends" IM GONNA CRY! IM GONNA DO IT

The pin strip suit, the sky blue paisley tie, the presence, the voice, THE KING OF THE GODS PEOPLE

Lotta talk for someone so small and scary

POISIDEN GETTING BETWEEN HIS SON AND HIS BROTHER I'M GONNA THROW UP

POSIDEN AND ZEUS SPEAKING GREEK I'M GONNA PISS

THE SEA DOES NOT LIKE TO BE RESTRAINED (🎶BRING ON THE MONSTERS BRING ON THE REAL WORLD!!!🎶)

SALLY JACKSON TEACHING PERCY GREEK I'M GONNA-

"Of course we dream. why do you ask?" "Do you ever dream about mom?" ;-;

Thalia looking strudy as ever.

"Ready?" NO FUCK YOU NO

Another reminder I am not to held liable for anything I might say, you need only see how many times I've listened to "Last day of Summer" from The musical to understand how much I've thought of this moment in fictional time.

Confirmation that Luke was indeed what mattered most in the end? I'm gonna make myself cry shit-

Honestly, this Percy might be too smart for his own good. Bro's never gonna live this heartbreak down.

"You...I'm here to recruit." I- fucking- AHHHH

"OUR WAY OUT" RICK YOU BASTARD I HOPE YOU ROT IN ASPHODEL

"Stop saying "we"!" "It’s the word Zeus fears the most."

AND SHE HEARD EVERYTHING! Wasn't she supposed to be watching Clarrise? He'll, if Percy could figure it out, I'm sure Annabeth would. It's worth it to see that LOOK on Luke's face. I'm sorry. Feel the weight of your actions, man.

Miss my old friend the pit scorpion but I also like my new friend "the first scars we gave eachother"

He knows Luke won't hurt him physically, but the psychic damage hurts more and has lasting status de buffs.

"Just be a kid" that's it

"I'll find you" that's it

Promising to meet again next summer...Percy just you wait.

THE FAKE OUT OF A LIFETIME

"Grandpa" "don't call him that"

They are the ultimate mother son duo

BLUE PANCAKES!

Kinda hate that Sally didn't intentionally do a murder, or at least she has a lot more possible deniability now, but I hope she still makes a sweet sale on that sculpture!

And that's it! Fuck it's over what to do now... RE READING THE LIGHTING THEIF LIFE BLOG COMING SOON! As well I'll probably drop a summary of my thoughts on the whole season at some point soon! Happy Finally, y'all! Can't wait to see the discorse!

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo fandom #pjo tv adaptation #pjo disney+#luke castellan #percy jackon and the olympians #annabeth chase #grover underwood #thalia grace #pjo spoilers

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brewsterispunkk · 5 months

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marriage of convenience: part 5

pairing: pero tovar x f!reader

WC: 10.1k (longest part yet!)

summary: reader’s relationship w/tovar develops. she and lisbeth dare an adventure.

a/n: thank you to everyone who has stuck with this. it has been months (!!) since I updated this story so if you’re still here—thank you. i hope u enjoy this extra long update :)

series masterlist

PART FIVE

“My love,” your mother called as you made your way to the door, rushing. Tovar was already annoyed at how late you were running, waiting outside, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting for long. He was already unpleasant enough.

“Yes?” You threw over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

“Will you see Lisbeth today?”

“I expect so.”

“Give these to her for me,” she handed you a bundle wrapped in linen–herbs, of course. Your mother was practically an apothecary at this point. “They’re for her mother’s headaches. And when you stop by Olga’s today, see if she has any of the lemon-honey concoction she uses during the cold months.”

You puzzled. It was late May–your family would not be in need of such a thing until mid-autumn at the latest.

“Why? Will she even have some? It is early summer.”

“I expect she will,” Your mother walks in from the kitchen. “She always has some reserves for the occasional late spring cold. It is for your father. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Your stomach turns to stone, but you force yourself to nod as you take your basket and leave through the rickety front door.

Of course. Of course it was for your father. You silently said a prayer to whatever god was listening for his recovery, like you always did whenever he took a turn for the worse.

He had always had issues with his health, ever since he came back from the war when you were twelve.

It began with a leg injury that never really recovered–he’d taken an arrow to the shoulder and fallen off his horse, breaking his leg in the process. If your mother had been there, he would have healed almost completely and even been able to walk again, but the encampment he had been in had no one with healing knowledge. The wound had festered, according to your mother, and your father was lucky to be alive. He hadn’t walked fully since.

The injury had caused your father to have to sell his blacksmith’s shop in town–the one Tovar apprenticed at now.

His health had been slowly declining ever since. Last winter, he suffered a chill and a bout of a coughing illness that took his ability to breath unencumbered, the winter before that, he’d suffered fainting spells and lost feeling in his injured leg. Until recently, he’d been able to hobble down the stairs with the help of your mother, but in the past weeks, he has been too weak to even make it downstairs for supper. You feared the worst, as you always did.

Graciela and James, your two siblings with enough sense to know something was wrong, were more hopeful than you.

“He will recover soon. He always does.”

Grace had told you the night before, over mending by the fire. Your mother was so weary these days that the two of you had to do much of the household chores. “Womens’ work,’ Petyr called it. You dreaded it and found it odious, but it was your duty. You would not let it fall to your mother, who had enough on her plate keeping the family afloat.

You wished you could believe your sister, but you were always the more cynical one.

You’d spent the better part of your life waiting for the next hammer to fall; waiting for the day when your father didn’t recover and the family was left in the care of the next male relative in line. Petyr. The very thought made your blood turn cold.

If Petyr treated you the way he did now, when your father was alive and coherent, you had no desire to discover what horrors would await you when your father departed from this world.

There had been a time when you dreamed of marriage; yearned for it, even. There had been years when you and Lisbeth, on May Day, had gathered ten different kinds of wildflowers and put them under your pillow to dream of your true love, a practice your mother swore led her parents to find each other.

But as you grew older, more well-versed in the ways of the world, it dawned on you that real life was rarely like the tales that bards sang of. At least, for people like you. You also knew that if you ever dreamed of escaping your village, of seeing all the world had to offer, marriage would end all aspirations of that.

You squared your shoulders as you stepped out into the fresh morning air in front of your family’s small home, urging all thoughts of your father’s illness to the back of your head.

“Took you long enough,” Tovar grunted from where he leaned on the small wooden fence meant to keep the family goat in. “We will be late. The blacksmith will not like it.”

You rolled your eyes, opening the gate and walking past him onto the small road that led through the forest and into town.

“Then remind him who it is you live with. He will have no qualms.”

It was one of the things you hated most about him; his tendency to take everything so seriously.

“Just because your father trained him does not mean he will extend me grace,” Tovar grumbled from behind you. You could hear the buckles bump against the metal of his armor.

That was something that puzzled you; you didn’t know why he still wore it—he wasn’t at war, and nothing so exciting as a sword fight ever happened in your village.

“And why not?” You asked, entering the treeline. The trees cast shadows on the dirt road in the early morning light. “He would do so with William or any one of my brothers if they expressed interest in the family trade.”

Tovar huffed in annoyance from behind you and your lips curled into a smirk. It had become one of your pastimes in the weeks that he’d been escorting you to and from the market. You liked to see how annoyed he could get.

“I am not like your brothers,” he said. “Or William for that matter.”

You chuckled—that much was obvious. Your brothers and your cousin were much more open, more kind than Tovar, who barely expressed any emotion besides annoyance and occasional anger.

“That I know,” you threw back at him. “No one would ever accuse you of being as sunny as them.”

“That is not what I meant.”

You puzzled and turned behind you, realizing what he was implying.

“You think it is because you are foreign?” You asked in disbelief. “From another kingdom?”

Tovar kept walking, face impassive, not betraying any emotion but annoyance.

“It is the same in this part of the world as it is in others,” he says like it’s nothing. “They need but look at me for a moment to tell that I am unlike them.”

You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

“This village is used to foreigners,” you said matter-of-factly. “We see strange people from strange places every day. People trade everything from silk from the far east to salt from the continent to the south. You aren’t so special.”

Tovar just leveled you with a dry look, and you took it as a sign to keep talking.

“Your scowl and that armor don’t help,” you added with a smirk, swinging your basket back and forth beside you as you walked.

“What is wrong with my armor?” Tovar sounded puzzled. You stifled a laugh.

“Really?” You turned your head to stare at him, but found his brows furrowed in genuine confusion. You sighed. “You walk into the village everyday in full armor. Like you expect someone to put a dagger in your side at any moment. You do not smile, do not try to speak with anyone unless it is for trade. You should not be surprised people are wary of you.”

“I wear my armor everywhere except when I sleep. It is—”

“A habit, I’m sure,” you finished for him. “But still, this is a peaceful village. The most violence we see is from a brawl at the tavern or a rowdy group of traders on leave. Wearing full battle armor sends the message that you don’t trust us. And that makes people nervous.”

It was true—there hadn’t been even a skirmish on your lands in years. Not since the war, when the old Lord died and power passed to his son. Since then, your land had known peace.

Tovar huffed what you almost thought was a laugh, but when you looked back at him, his mouth was downturned and his eyes were narrow.

“I don’t trust you.”

At that, you laughed, a deep thing from deep in your stomach. If someone told you Tovar slept with a knife beneath his head, you’d believe them. You weren’t even sure he trusted William.

“That I believe,” you shook your head and continued down the dirt road to town, leaving a grumbling Tovar trudging behind you.

—-

In the recent weeks, you and Tovar had begun to form a kind of begrudging companionship.

You still didn’t like him–not in the least. He was uncouth and rude. He never exchanged pleasantries with anyone at the market and you were sure you’d never seen him smile. Not even once. And the two of you often bickered. So much so that your mother had taken to seating you on opposite sides of the table at dinner to avoid as much conflict as possible.

Hence, the begrudging part. The companionship merely meant that you had begun to be able to tolerate his presence. Barely.

Your brother hadn’t reared his ugly head in the recent weeks either, being either too drunk or preoccupied with other things to notice you. That was a blessing in and of itself. You still hadn’t really gotten over the embarrassment that had come over you at Tovar seeing your bruises. You knew it was what caused him to volunteer to escort you to town daily and still, you hadn’t addressed it with him.

Still, as May slogged into June, you were stuck with him. Unless you wanted your drunk, unpredictable, brute of a brother to accompany you to the townsquare every other morning, you had to learn to endure the company of the quiet Spaniard.

And endure you did.

You’d learned not to ask questions; whenever you did, you were either met with silence, or a stilted, annoyed response. In fact, the conversation you’d shared this morning was the longest conversation you’d had with him.

That was just one thing that set Tovar apart from your cousin, William. Both men had seen so much of the world, lived so many different lives, and while William spoke of his time abroad with bright eyed and excited words, Tovar’s past hung over him like a heavy cloud. You didn’t know what the grizzled mercenary had experienced during his time traveling, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it.

Which was difficult for you—you could listen to William talk for hours about his time on the road. But, you’d heard all of William’s stories. Tovar kept whatever tales of his travels closer to his chest than his armor. And you resented him for it.

You resented that with all the freedom in the world, with a lifetime of stories and lived experiences under his belt, with the blessing of being born as a man in this world, he had the nerve to act the way he did: angry at the world, scowling at every kind face.

The absence of that—of freedom—pulsed and throbbed deep in your chest. And all you could feel was anger.

The sights and smells of the town’s center flooded your senses when you reached the market. You took a deep breath and tried to savor it: the aroma of spices from far-off places, the sharp smell of lemons from Arabia, the colorful hues of silk and fabric, the bustle of business and trade. It was as much of the wide world you were afforded, so you took it in with wide eyes and a smile.

You looked down to your basket, mentally going over the deliveries and trades you had to make before meeting with Lisbeth by the bakery. You were fingering a sprig of stray lavender when Tovar nudged your shoulder, breaking your train of thought. You turned and glared at him.

“I will leave you here,” he mumbled, looking around you and scanning the faces of the people bustling by. “You will meet me at the blacksmith’s when you are finished.”

“I will, will I?” You asked, feeling your temper flare. You hated when he gave you orders–like you were an animal and not a person.

Tovar leveled you with a dry look, before rolling his eyes himself.

“Do not be late,” he said, before adjusting his satchel and walking away.

You glared at his back as he went, cursing the broad expanse of his shoulders. Not only was he an ass, but he was a handsome ass. That was even worse.

With a sigh, you set about making your first delivery, already planning on being late to meet Tovar later in the day.

- -

By the time you’d completed your second delivery, the sun was high in the sky and strong. You could feel the back of your neck glisten and knew that when you looked in the mirror at the end of the day, there would be freckles dusted across your cheeks.

You’d already delivered one order of tea to the miller’s wife, who promised you a satchel of grain in return by week’s end, and traded the town seamstress for some new thread. Your stomach buzzed with excitement at the news you’d heard as you left the seamstress’s parlor.

It had been a normal business dealing: the seamstress, an elderly woman who had been a friend of your grandmother, had long been a customer of your mother’s. You knew her well. Your mother had sent you to get new thread for mending, but you always stayed for a cup of tea whenever the seamstress, Agnetha, whenever you traded with her.

“You look more like your grandmother every time I see you,” she said, sitting down gingerly on a stool behind the wooden counter at the front of the shop.

You smiled at her. You’d never met your paternal grandmother, but you had always been told that you resembled her—the same facial structure, the same hair, the same stubborn spirit. It warmed you to hear it from someone who knew her so well.

“Thank you,” you said, finishing the cup of herbal tea and setting it down. “And thank you for the thread. My mother sends her regards. She apologizes that she can’t be here to see you in person.”

“Oh, pay it no mind dear,” Agnetha’s gnarled hand pats yours. “With a household to run and that business with your father, god only knows how she can manage it all.”

You clench your teeth at the mention of your father. That was what it was like living in a village of this size: no one’s business was private.

“I was sorry to hear about your father, dear,” Agnetha continued. “Do let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“Thank you,” your lips spread into a tight-lipped smile.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the sentiment–you did—it was just that you had grown tired of hearing the same sentiments from everyone. It was suffocating, having everyone know the trials of your family.

“I must take my leave, I’m afraid,” you said after a beat. “I must make haste if I am to finish all my business by day’s end.”

“Of course,” Agnetha waved you off, but then held one finger up, turning back to the back room of her shop. “But give me one moment! I had forgotten—I have something for you.”

You puzzled but obeyed, your interest piqued. What could she possibly have for you?

After a moment, the white-haired woman reappeared with a bushel of flowers with small, white petals: yarrow. She held them out to you.

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“What is–”

“For tonight, my dear,” she leaned in and smiled at you like you were in on some secret. Your confusion grew.

Nothing save for seasonal festivals and feasts ever happened in your village. Besides, if there was anything happening tonight, you were sure you’d know about it.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean—”

“Oh, hush,” Agnetha cackled. “I remember it all too well when I was your age. Your grandmother and I snuck off to Geris many a time when we were girls. These are for your hair. It is said they will bring you good fortune and a happy husband if worn on the feast of Saint Julia.”

“Geris,” you mumbled, all of it clicking into place.

Geris was a neighboring village—a town really—nearly an hour walk north of your own. It was larger and a bigger hub for trade than your own home, as it bordered the sea. Petyr would often go there to drink or gamble with his friends, sometimes not returning for days on end. You had never been.

“There is a festival in Geris today?” You asked Agnetha, who now looked as confused as you had been moments ago.

“Why yes,” she laughs. “The largest one of the year—Saint Julia is the patron saint of Geris. I–did you not know?”

“No,” you laughed, suddenly giddy with excitement, already plotting in your head how you could sneak off to experience it for yourself.

“How the times have changed,” Agnetha hummed. “When I was young, it was every mama’s worst nightmare for her daughter to sneak off to the festival of Saint Julia.”

“Is it still as grand as you remember it?”

“I imagine so,” she smiled. “The dancing is what I loved the most.”

“Well then,” you smiled at her. “I believe I shall have to dance, won’t I?” You took the flowers from her. “With flowers in my hair.”

Agnetha smiled a secretive grin and patted your hand.

“Do, dear. Twirl a little extra for me,” she said. “Now, be on your way—and be safe!”

You thanked her and left, walking out into the balmy warmth of mid-morning, feeling all-of-a-sudden more hopeful than you had that morning.

You met Lisbeth by the miller’s pond just before noon, like you’d planned. It had been your meeting place whenever the two of you were in town for years. Growing up, since your father’s property bordered here, you’d often meet in the forest. But, once you’d become old enough to do some of the household work trading in the village, you’d had to find a place to meet during the day.

Now, you buzzed with excitement, the news of the festival on the tip of your tongue.

Recently, you’d been itching to do anything to distract yourself from the monotony of life in your village. As the days got warmer, more and more traders passed through, bringing with them goods and stories from far-away lands. Lands you longed to see, but knew you never would. You longed to stretch your wings, if only a little. Sneaking off to Geris would be the perfect opportunity to do that. Now the only issue was convincing Lisbeth.

You wiggled your toes in your shoes as you saw her approach, eager what you’d heard back to her. You just hoped she would be willing to go with you.

While Lisbeth understood your desires to leave, explore, and see the world, they were not desires she shared. She had always, ever since you could remember, wanted to be married. She sighed at tales of princesses and knights, longed to fall in love and have children. And you knew that when she did that, it would be beautiful. Still, a small part of you envied her for her dreams. You wished that that could be enough for you.

As she approached you, Lisbeth rooted through her basket, looking for something buried in its depths.

“Please tell me you have the herbs for my mother’s headaches,” she groaned as she came to stand beside you, leaning on the wooden fence by the pond. “If I have to listen to her moaning for one more day, I will bash my skull against the wall.”

You grinned at her.

“What?” She asked, finally looking at you. She furrowed her eyebrows. “Why do you have that look—”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh dear God,” she sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Before I begin, you must promise to at least consider my proposition,” you raised your eyebrows. Lisbeth sighed your name. “Promise.”

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll consider it. Now tell me, I am withering away in suspense.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “We always complain that nothing ever happens here, right?”

“Yes.”

“And we moan about wanting to see more of the rest of the world, of the rest of the country—”

“I would say you complain more than I—”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” you waved her away, causing her to laugh. “Tonight, there is to be a festival in Geris. If we leave after sunset, when our families go to sleep, we can be home before dawn—”

“Geris?” Lisbeth’s eyes widened. “That is madness—”

“It isn’t!” You assured her. “We have walked further distances many times to trade before. The only difference is—”

“It will be night!” Lisbeth shook her head. “After reports of criminals in the woods in the surrounding villages, do you really think it smart to go venturing to Geris after dark?”

You sighed.

“No,” she raised her hand. “Do not try to argue. You have a chaperone now because of the dangers. Even your father can see we are at risk.”

Your heart sank.

“Lisbeth,” you reasoned. “That happened weeks ago. Nothing more has happened–it was likely ruffians passing through. Traders, nothing more.”

“You are mistaken,” she folded her arms. “I heard tell this morning of another attack on a young couple. At a village only a few leagues away.”

“What?”

“It was a farmer’s daughter from Frayley,” she elaborated. “She snuck away in the night to meet with a boy from the village. Her lover was killed, and the girl was ruined. Her honor sullied, barely living.”

Your breath left your chest, a familiar clamminess taking over your hands.

This story was nothing new; when you were younger, before the new Lord of your county had taken power, such attacks were commonplace. The forests around your village had been infested for a time—small bands of ruffians and criminals who would carry maidens away in the night and burn houses to the ground after looting them. There were several girls in your village who had been abducted and held for ransom, and one who had even been forcibly taken to wife. By the time the Lord of the county had gotten word, they had already been married in the eyes of god. There was nothing to be done.

It had been something that had enraged your mother. You were too young to worry about such things, but you have vivid memories of the doors being always bolted shut, your mother sleeping with a dagger beneath her pillow.

The thought of such uncertainty and violence returning to your land made your stomach turn.

“I see,” you said.

“Yes,” Lisbeth sighed. “I wish to explore, but not at the risk of our lives and honor.”

You smiled at her sadly and nodded.

“Two women alone in the wood at night is a recipe for disaster anyway,” she continued. “How I envy men.”

You threw your head back and laughed at that, having had the same thought multiple times.

You wondered often what navigating the world would be like if you weren’t seen as a target simply for your sex. You would ponder what the world would look like if you could walk alone, unaccompanied, how different your life would be if you were able to work, own land, travel alone. If you had the liberties afforded to the likes of William, of Tovar. The very thought of it made your stomach turn with envy.

That’s when it hit you: William. Tovar. And you knew what you had to do.

- -

When you arrived at Olga’s little stone cottage at the edge of the village, your brow was damp with perspiration.

The sun was high, well past mid-day, and you knew you had to meet Tovar soon. You would be late, just like you’d planned. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d kept him waiting and you knew that he’d be in a sour mood for the rest of the day–well, sourer than usual–and that was detrimental to your plan. You needed him agreeable if it was to work.

You sighed as you made your way up the dusty road to her door.

Olga was someone who you held fondness for. She was an old woman, a widow with white hair and a thick accent. Her husband was a merchant who left her a reasonable sum of money when he died, so she lived comfortably and alone, something you’d never seen a woman do before her. She was from a country from the far South, Aragon, and she had forsaken her homeland for her husband. For love. It all sounded so romantic to you that you almost forgot your own personal objections to marriage.

You have memories from your younger years of your mother and her exchanging herbal wisdom over tea. She educated your mother on the herbal remedies of her homeland and in exchange, your mother shared her knowledge of the plants native to your own kingdom.

As you approached her cottage, you heard the faint sound of voices conversing inside made you puzzle. Olga was a generally reclusive woman–it was rare for her to have visitors.

You approached her door and knocked gently, calling inside.

“Olga?” You called, hoping your voice would carry through the open window.

“Ah, yes! Come in, come in,” she called back, voice painted with laughter.

You nudged open the door and took in the small sitting room in her cottage. On the wooden table in the center there was a clay bowl filled with oranges, no doubt traded from a merchant. Your mouth watered. You knew oranges were commonplace in the South, but here they were a luxury few could afford, including yourself.

“In here,” Olga’s voice called, louder now, from the adjoining room which served as a kitchen.

What you saw made you stop in your tracks.

There, standing in Olga’s well-furnished kitchen, leaning against the worn brick of her stove, stood Tovar, arms folded in front of him, across his face a genuine smile. A smile. It was the first time you saw one cross his face. Your breath left your chest.

Of course he’d have a gorgeous smile, you thought spitefully.

You hadn’t realized you were frozen until a warm hand on your shoulder startled you.

Olga looked at you expectantly, the lines on her face graceful in the early afternoon light. You blinked.

“What?”

“I said, have you met Pero, mi amor?” She smiled at you softly. “He is a blacksmith’s apprentice in town. New.”

You stumble over your words for a moment, tongue like lead in your mouth.

“Si, Doña.” Tovar–Pero’s–eyes caught yours from across the room. “We are acquainted.”

“Ha!” Olga laughed, throwing her head back. “Doña he calls me. You flatter me, caballero. I am no Doña.”

You smiled at them, shifting on your feet. You knew nothing save a word or two of the strange language they spoke. Castillian, you thought.

“He speaks to me as if I am a high-born lady, child,” Olga said, sensing your confusion.

“You are mistaken,” Pero smiled slightly at the older woman. “I know una mujer honrada when I see one, Doña.”

Olga leveled him with a wry smile and held up a finger, wagging it at him.

“You watch out for this one,” she looked over to you. “He is a charmer.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped your lips. Of all the words you would use to describe your surly bodyguard, a charmer was not one of them. Pero shoots you a withering glare at your laugh.

“What is so humorous?” He tilted his head.

“Forgive me,” you smirked, sensing his wounded pride. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘charmer’ to describe your countenance.”

Olga tilted her head, hands finding her hips.

“How exactly do the two of you know each other?”

“I am a companion of her cousin’s,” Pero’s gaze moved to the woman in between you. “We have traveled together for… too long. Her family is providing us with lodging until we are able to find work and continue on.”

“Well, a small world indeed,” she smiled. “How have you found our village, then? Quite different than Toledo, no?”

Pero chuckled, shaking his head and looking down.

“Quite,” he said. “In truth, it has been a long time since I have journeyed home. But compared to other places my trade has brought me, it is not so different. Though I have found the people of this kingdom more skeptical of outsiders than my own homeland.”

The admission surprised you; you had spent months trying to pry any bit of information out of Tovar you could to no avail. And now, with Olga, he was an open book. It made you wonder: was it just you that he had an aversion to sharing with? You bristled at the thought.

“Yes, it is something to adjust to,” Olga patted Pero on his shoulder. “They are not used to Southerners here. We must stick together.”

Olga turned to you.

“What brings you here, child? Do you bring me more concoctions from your mother?”

Your smile thinned and you clasped your hands in front of you.

“No,” you admitted. “It’s my father. I was sent to see if you have any of your lemon-honey tonic left from the cold months. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Olga’s lips pressed together in a sympathetic smile.

“Of course,” she said. “I keep some reserves in the cellar. I’ll go get them now, and I’ll have another batch brewed specially for him in a fortnight.”

“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself–”

“Hush, it is no trouble at all.” She walked over to you and grabbed your shoulders, her eyes sparkling as she regarded you. “With my Louis gone, there is no one for me to look after. I daresay I have missed it. Besides,” she placed a soft palm on your cheek. “Your family has shown me true kindness in the years I have known you.”

You smiled a tear-filled smile at her.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Think nothing of it,” she patted your cheek. “It seems your family has a habit of adopting strays.”

With a wink, Olga flitted away to the wooden door that led to the cellar, leaving you and Pero standing awkwardly in her kitchen.

“So,” you began before an awkward silence could settle. “What brings you here?”

“A delivery,” he huffed. “A new lock for her door.”

“I didn’t know Colm has you running deliveries now,” you picked at a fingernail. “I thought the whole point of being an apprentice was to learn.”

Pero rolled his eyes at you, annoyance clouding his features. He leveled you with a glare.

“I know my way around a forge better than that man,” he hissed at you.

You smirked. You always knew how to set him off—how to wound his pride just enough that he would lash out.

“I have been an apprentice since I could walk. I have nothing to learn. It is only an easy way to earn coin.”

“Your father was a blacksmith, then?”

Pero’s eyes narrowed at you before he sighed, seemingly tired of your antics.

“Yes,” he said. “He taught me his trade before I took up my sword.”

“Hm,” you said. “I always wished I would’ve learned the trade. But no, it was too unladylike for me. My mother forbade it.”

Pero snorted at that. You bristled again and shot him a venomous look.

“What? You think it silly for a girl to want to learn something other than sewing or weaving?”

“I think it silly that people in your kingdom think that is all a girl is good for,” he countered. “A waste. My father made sure my sisters knew a trade before he died.”

You blinked.

His response surprised you. A sentiment like his was rare, especially in a place like here. But more than that, it was the first time he’d said something remotely kind to you. In your mind, he was a brute, with no compassion or regard for others.

“You have sisters?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. It wasn’t often you could squeeze information out of him; you wanted to see how much you could get before his mood turned sour again.

“So many questions,” he shook his head.

“Forgive me for trying to make conversation,” you replied dryly.

“It does not matter,” he huffed after a moment. “They are gone now.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Olga’s footsteps nearing the kitchen stopped you.

“Here we go,” she said kindly, handing you a clay jar sealed shut. “This will help. Come back next week for another batch, or come tell me if it gets worse.”

You smiled at her kindness.

“Thank you, Olga.” You said. “Your kindness will not be forgotten.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Thank you, Doña, for your hospitality. But I’m afraid we must be going if we are to make it back in time for supper.”

“Of course, of course.” Olga waved her hands, ushering you to the front door. “Be safe. I’ve heard tell of bands of criminals in the woods as of late.”

“We will,” you waved as you left her house, basket in one hand and the tonic for your father in the other.

“No preocupes, we will be home before dark,” Tovar said over your shoulder from where he walked in front of you.

He seemed more chipper as he walked down the dirt road, beginning the journey home. You silently thanked the gods for it–you’d need him in a good mood for your plan to work. Even though you knew the deciding factor would come down to William, you still needed Tovar to be there in order for Lisbeth to feel safe enough to journey to Geris. You would be futile in convincing him, you knew; he hated you. But, though he put up a front, you knew that William could convince Pero of anything.

As the two of you walked home, you silently hoped that your plan would work.

- -

“You are out of your mind,” Pero’s eyes were wide as he regarded William, hands on his hips in front of the fire.

It was well past sundown, and your family had gone to bed already. You hid in the loft, peeking down into the large room below where William stood speaking in hushed tones with Pero.

You’d pulled him aside before dinner with your proposal: to sneak off to Geris in the night for the festival and be back before dawn tomorrow.

You knew he was your best chance. You’d begun to recognize the signs of restlessness in him–the twitching of his fingers, the brainstorming with Pero about where they would go after the harvest ended in the autumn. He and you were alike in that way: always longing for adventure. The only difference was that he actually had the freedom to seek what he longed for.

Either way, after some badgering, he’d agreed. You always had that effect on him–he couldn’t ever say no to you, even as a child. Besides, you’d already told Lisbeth to meet you after dark in front of your family’s house, with the promise that the two mercenaries would be there to protect you on the road.

Now, the only one left to convince was Pero.

“Come, brother.” William reasoned. “We have had nothing but work for weeks. Don’t you fancy a drink in a tavern? A change of scenery?”

“There is a tavern here,” Pero ground out, throwing up his hands. “There is no need to traipse through dark woods in the dead of night for an ale. I have spent my day laboring in front of a hot forge and acting as a sworn sword to your child of a cousin. All I wanted was to come home, fill my belly, and sleep. Now you ask this of me.”

You felt a pang of hurt at the belittlement, and a surge of resentment toward the Spaniard. You were not a child; you hadn’t been for quite some time. You’d practically had to be the man of the house in the months before William arrived, with your mother so preoccupied with your father’s help and Petyr drowning in his cups. That was a responsibility you suspected Pero would never have to shoulder.

William’s voice called your attention back to the men by the fire.

Pero had moved, sitting in the wicker chair to the left of the kitchen, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. His eyes looked deadly trained on the blade. William stood with his arms crossed next to him.

“She is a woman grown and you know that,” William said, sighing. “I do not know why you dislike her so. She is a fine young lady.”

“You watch her then.”

“Really, Pero. Why do you let her affect you in such a way? You can face the enemy’s sword without so much as a flinch, but put you in the presence of a maiden and you tremble like a leaf.”

“I do not tremble,” you heard Pero seethe. “She is insolent and foolish, and cannot follow a schedule. I am always late because of her.”

William laughed at that.

“You are bothered too easily, friend.”

Pero grumbled in response, eyes still focused on sharpening his longsword. You heard a rustle from outside the opened window and realized with a start—it must be Lisbeth.

You hurried over to the window and peeked out, catching a glimpse of Lisbeth’s auburn hair in the light of the fire that showed through the downstairs window. She was hidden by a long dark cloak, no doubt belonging to one of her brothers.

A surge of pride shot through you at the sight of her. You knew she was risking a lot–much more than you–by sneaking off into the night like this. She was of a higher station than you, and would soon be wed to some far flung lord, or even a duke. She risked her reputation being tarnished. And yet, here she was, brave as ever.

“If you do not agree, you will force my hand,” you heard William’s voice. You hurried back to the loft to spy yet again, knowing that soon you’d have to go fetch your friend who watched from the downstairs window.

You saw that now, William stood in front of the fire, blocking the line of light Pero needed to sharpen his sword.

“Move, amigo. I’m not in the mood.”

“And I lament that, but you are coming with us.”

“Us?”

“Yes—”

“I should have known she was behind this. No. If my mind wasn’t made up before, it is now. I will not go with her—”

Your laugh interrupted him, and gave away your hiding place. Pero’s eyes, full of ire, snapped to you. You stood up and raced down the stairs, conscious to not make too much noise, lest you be discovered by your family.

“Oh, please Tovar,” you said, approaching where he sat. “It will be fun.”

He looked at you with a dry expression.

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” He gritted his teeth, standing up to come and stand toe-to-toe with you. You flushed at how close he was—you could see every wrinkle, every freckle, every dimension of his scar. It made your throat dry.

“Why?” You asked, voice packed with as much irritation as his.

“I am driving myself mad escorting you to and from town every day, Señora.” He spat the word, making you blink. “I will not spend another moment more than necessary in your presence. Not unless forced.”

“I’ll call in my favor, then.” William drawled amusedly from in front of you.

You started, having forgotten that he was there. You took a step back from his counterpart.

“Pardon?” Pero turned to William.

“My favor,” William smirked and tilted his head. “You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing—”

“Remember Vienna, Pero?” William’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already–”

“I’ve forgotten nothing.” Pero’s glare would scare even the fiercest of knights, but William didn’t even look phased by it.

“Then it’s settled,” William clapped his hands together. “We will leave immediately. We’re losing moonlight already.”

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” you piped up, already pulling your satchel over your shoulder.

Pero looked like a deer caught in the headlights. William moved to follow you, picking up his sword from where it was leaned against the brick of the fireplace.

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” he repeated after you, smiling at his companion, who glared into the side of his head. You giggled.

“Make haste, Pero,” you called over your shoulder. “Or we’ll miss the festivities.”

Wordlessly, he sheathed his sword and stood, glaring at you. The glare didn’t scare you though. You knew it was one of annoyance—one you often drew from Pero.

He grumbled to himself before shouldering his sword and following you out the door.

- -

William had convinced Pero that the horses could handle two riders, with the distance being so small between your village and Geris. Besides, the two mares had gotten little to no excitement since the two mercenaries made their way into your small village. William reasoned it would do them well to stretch their legs.

So, you were two to a horse each. And since Pero intimidated Lisbeth, you were stuck with him while Lisbeth rode comfortably with your cousin. The two made small-talk as you trotted through the kingsroad by moonlight. You gazed over at their shadowy figures as they talked, Lisbeth sidled up to William comfortably in the saddle behind him. You smirked. She had always thought he was handsome, ever since you were children. She was quite at her leisure. In contrast to you, who was trying to sit as far away from the grumpy man steering the horse in front of you.

You jostled as the horse trotted over a bump in the road, yelping and grabbing roughly onto Pero’s waist.

“Alright there?” William called from a few steps away. You nodded a yes.

“Hold on,” Pero grumbled. “You’ll break your neck, and your mother will have mine.”

You had no quick-witted response to that. If there was anything in this world that could cause an experienced mercenary to tremble in fear, it was your mother. So, you simply tightened your grip around his waist, locking your hands together. He stiffened as you did.

You hated how comfortable his broad back felt pressed into your front, how his scent overtook you. He smelled of fire, the forge, sandalwood, and leather. It was a far-cry from the rank stench that followed him and William when they arrived.

Lisbeth laughed from her place on the road beside you while William regaled her of stories from his travels. You frowned at the grumpy man in front of you, silent save for the way he mumbled under his breath to the horse in his mother tongue.

“Does your horse have a name?” You asked.

“Hmm?” He grunted, turning his head a bit to face you.

“The mare. What is her name?”

“Horse,” he replied shortly.

“Horse?” You asked incredulously. “Her name is horse?”

“She has never needed a name,” he said.

“All animals need names,” you sighed. “All of mine do.”

“Hm,” he hummed, not unkindly. “I suppose I wouldn’t know what to name her even if I desired to.”

You paused and thought for a moment. This was perhaps the most civil conversation you had ever had, and it was about a horse. Still, you were loath to see it end.

“She is quite fond of the clovers that grow by the barn. I often see her grazing there. What about clover?”

“Clover,” he repeats, turning the words over in his mouth. He hums. “It is better than Horse, I suppose.”

After that, the rest of the ride is filled with comfortable silence save for the sound of the hum of conversation from the couple on horseback beside you. Despite yourself, you smile. Perhaps you and the Spaniard could find middle ground after all.

The festival was like something from a fairy story. And as you stood there, even Lisbeth, who had grown up surrounded by nobles and visits to court was in wonder at the gaiety of it all.

As soon as your group had approached the city gates, you could hear the music—upbeat and lilting, with clapping and voices singing accompanying it. Your heart had leapt at the sound.

Dancing. There was little in life you enjoyed more than letting the music take you and spinning away.

As you took in the city, you didn’t know where to look. There was light everywhere: torches and lamps making the streets seem like they were glowing. You could hear strange languages on the tongues of passersby as you walked, making sure to keep close to your group. The smell of the sea breeze lingered in the air, telling you you were close to the sea. You smiled at it. You’d never seen the ocean, and though you knew you wouldn’t tonight, the smell of it awakened something in you. Above the thatched roofs above your head, you could make out the shadowy figures of the tops of sails—boats, resting in the harbor.

You and Lisbeth followed William and Pero to a stable near the heart of the city, where William payed to have the two mares quartered for the few hours that you planned to be there.

When you reached what must’ve been the town square, Lisbeth gripped your arm tightly, face beaming as she took in the grandeur of it all.

There were countless stalls set up around the perimeter of the cobbled town-center, tents and poorly-built shacks selling all manner of trinkets and gifts. There were food-stalls, jewelry, flowers, tapestries—too much for you to fully take in. In front of one of the taverns that bordered the town center, there was a group of people, sitting in rickety wooden chairs and stools, playing music. There was an old man with a mandolin, hair graying and beard long, a young woman with a lute, a lumbering man sitting behind them playing a violin with startling precision.

In the center of the square, countless couples danced in tune with each other. It was a popular dance in your part of the world—an upbeat ballad about a hare and a tortoise, one you’d been dancing at harvest and midsummer festivals since you were a child.

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt.

“Look!” Lisbeth cried, turning to you, grip still on your arm. “Do you remember when were ten and you had to dance with—”

“Eldon!” You winced, remembering the handsy youth only a few years older than you that you’d been forced to dance with by your mother. There had been a time that she was hopeful for a match between the two of you, but he’d ended up marrying a girl in a neighboring village and moving there to take over her father’s house. You were glad of it; he’d been an unpleasant boy.

“The candle-maker’s son?” William smirked from the other side of Lisbeth.

“The very same,” you groaned.

“Oh, he was the most odious boy,” Lisbeth added.

“Really?” William asked. “I remember him being quite shy, if a bit ill-,mannered.”

“Ill-mannered doesn’t even begin to describe him,” you countered, remembering his wandering hands and leering gaze. “I don’t know if I can remember someone else whose face was so vile.”

“Are we remembering the same boy?” William asked. Beside him, Pero’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking bored with the conversation. “I remember him differently.”

“Because he wanted to be you, cousin,” you smiled at him. “He was positively disgusting.”

“He had a scar that cut across his forehead,” Lisbeth added. “From a riding accident.”

At that, Pero stiffened and his jaw clenched, his eyes finding you as William and Lisbeth continued talking.

“Yes, that’s the boy,” William nodded. “Was he truly so bad?”

You opened your mouth to respond before being interrupted.

“Ah yes,” Pero snapped, surprising you. The sharpness of this tone was something you were unused to. His lip curled as he addressed you. “Because a scar is truly what makes a man’s character. How unfortunate for you that you had to look upon the face of someone so…what did you say, Senora? Disgusting.”

He spit the word at you like it was poison. You gawked at his tone, at the malice in his voice, before feeling your own ire bubble in your gut. William and Lisbeth stood perplexed between you.

“He was disgusting,” you countered, taking a step toward Pero. “Because of his untoward behavior and hands that had a habit of wandering up ladies’ skirts. The scar had nothing to do with it. Though how good it is to finally know your opinion of me, Tovar.”

He just opened his mouth, gaping like a fish, before you grabbed Lisbeth’s hand and began to walk toward the crowd.

A new, more slow, group number had begun to play, and you and Lisbeth fell in line with the masses enjoying the festival. From behind you, you could faintly hear the sound of William scolding his companion.

“I see what you mean,” Lisbeth said to you after a moment.

You looked at her in confusion, before turning into the next step of the dance.

“He is unpleasant,” she elaborated. “And rude. No matter how handsome he is. I am sorry for ever thinking otherwise.”

You sighed and linked your arm with hers, as the dance called for.

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “You couldn’t have known.”

She returned your smile and squeezed your arm.

“I wonder why he is so…”

“So…uncaring? Aloof? Unkind?”

“...melancholy.” She finished, and you started.

Of all the words you would use to describe Pero Tovar, melancholy was not one of them.

“What?” She asked, noticing your confused look. “You cannot deny he has a sad air about him. Besides, to think someone so cruel as to call a young boy disgusting because of his scar? To think that you could be that cruel? He must have a sad outlook on life indeed.”

You hummed, reflecting on her words.

Lisbeth was right—as she so often was. It hadn’t been a point of view you considered before. Perhaps the reason why Pero’s countenance was so impatient and dreary was because of something else, something out of your control. As soldiers, he and William had seen the worst of mankind. You remembered what he’d said to you earlier that day, about his sisters. It doesn’t matter, they’re all gone. Perhaps there was a reason he didn’t wish to discuss his travels.

You rid all thoughts of the Spaniard from your mind as you finished the dance; you didn’t want your one night of freedom ruined.

As you and Lisbeth exited the center of the town square, you spotted Pero, sulking and leaning up against a wooden beam that supported the awning to a tavern. You suppressed a smirk at the glowering look on his face. William must have scolded him for speaking to you how he did.

Good, you thought.

“Pero,” Lisbeth called cheerily once you got close enough. “Where has William got to?”

Pero’s eyes flickered to you for a moment, clouded with something you didn’t understand. He opened his mouth to say something, deep, dark eyes still trained on you, when William’s booming voice interrupted you.

“Cousin!” He called jovially, four frothing metal cups in his hands. They were overflowing with an amber-colored liquid.

“That had better not be beer,” you wrinkled your nose, always having hated the grainy-tasting drink.

“Mead, cousin. Come! Let us make merry while we can,” William looked as if he’d had a drink himself already. “I would beg of you both one dance before the night is through. I cannot bring the most beautiful women in the land to a festival and not demand a dance.”

You rolled your eyes fondly at your cousin’s silver tongue. Beside you, Lisbeth blushed behind her cup. You took your own drink, the metal cool beneath your fingers, and relished in the sweet, honey-flavor of the fermented drink. Mead was a delicacy to you. Your family was rarely rich enough to afford more than ale, and you had long been wary of it, not wanting to fall prey to the cup like your brother. Tonight, though, you drank eagerly. Behind his own cup, Pero’s eyes remained trained on you, full of an emotion you couldn't place.

- -

After her dance with William, Lisbeth pulled you aside.

Her pale cheeks were rosy with exertion and with drink, her breath sweet and smelling of mead. You smiled at her, glad to see your often high-strung best friend relaxed for once.

She stepped on an uneven stone and lost her footing, stumbling into you with a giggle.

“Oh!” She exclaimed through a laugh, leaning into you. “If my mother could only see me now. She would be aghast.”

You giggled with her, pushing a stray auburn hair away from her eyes.

“Her high-born lady, absolutely ruined,” you teased.

“And dancing with a mercenary, can you imagine?”

“What ever shall we do with you?”

Lisbeth just laughed. It was a deep laugh, coming from her belly. One you didn’t hear often. Once she caught her breath, Lisbeth sighed, resting her head on your shoulder. The two of you watched as the people danced in the square, content.

“Thank you,” she mumbled after a moment. “I have had a wonderful time. I am glad to have had at least one night like this before—”

Lisbeth stopped herself, clamping her lips shut. You paused.

“Before what?” You asked.

Lisbeth pulled away from you, wringing her hands together in front of her, gaze trained on the cobblestones below your feet.

“Before what, Lisbeth?” You asked again.

When she looked up at you, her eyes were teary. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth before she spoke.

“I am to be wed,” she said, voice warbling. “Before midsummer. My father just told me this morning.”

“What?” you asked, all breath leaving your chest.

“I wanted to tell you right away,” she said, a tear streaming down her face now. “But when I tried, I just couldn’t. Then, I wanted to enjoy tonight. I thought if I’m to move away and become a wife, I’ll at least have tonight.”

You blinked, processing what exactly this meant.

Of course, she’s to be married, you thought. It was strange enough that she wasn’t betrothed at the age of ten and nine. Her father had finally made his decision. She was a lady of high station, the daughter of a Lord—this was her duty. One she was excited for, even. She had always wanted to be the mistress of her own house. You should be happy for her.

So why did you feel so sad?

“Who,” you croaked, before clearing your throat. “Who is he?”

Lisbeth smiled weakly.

“A Lord,” she said, laughing a little. “He lives a two-days ride to the North. My father says he is kind.”

“Have you met him?” You asked.

“Once,” she smiled. “But I was little more than a girl, and I barely remember.”

“Will you have time to…be acquainted before…”

Before the wedding. The words hang in the air between you.

“Yes,” she nodded. “He will come visit in a fortnight.”

You nodded dumbly, realizing the reality that faced you: your best friend would be leaving you to begin her life, and you would be left behind. The thought brought tears to your eyes.

“And he’s not…old, is he?”

It had long been one of Lisbeth’s fears that her father would wed her to a man too many years her senior—an old, country lord who she could never grow to love. If she was to be sold off like a broodmare to a man old enough to be her grandsire, you didn’t think you could stand it.

“No,” she smiled shakily. “He is young—only nine years my senior.”

You breathed a sigh of relief at that. Little mercies. You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders, willing the moisture to leave your eyes. You would not cry in front of her.

“And, are you happy with the arrangement?”

Lisbeth considered it a moment.

“I am… relieved he is not old. It is too soon to tell without actually meeting him, but I trust my father’s judgment. I am his only daughter. I do not believe he would part with me for someone unworthy.”

You smiled at your best friend–your ever constant, loyal companion. Her auburn hair shone around her head in the yellow light of the evening. Her eyes shone with hope. She was ready for this, you knew it. You ignored the pang of melancholy in your stomach and squeezed her arms. For now, you would be happy for her. You would save your tears for later.

“No, I daresay he wouldn’t.”

You pulled her into a hug. She sighed against you.

“You shall be at my wedding,” she declared once she pulled back. “I will refuse to be wed without you.”

You laughed at her.

“Me, surrounded by lords and ladies,” you snorted at the idea.

“Hush,” she smacked your arm. “We are not so different from you lot. Besides, I much prefer your company to theirs any day.”

You smiled at her, linking your arm with hers as you ventured into the square to find your companions.

“Come, let us enjoy the rest of the night,” you said.

“Let us,” she replied jovially.

As the two of you continued on, you ignored the pit in your stomach at the idea of Lisbeth’s impending nuptials.

- -

Your group departed with hours left until sunrise—plenty of time to return to your beds without your families noticing.

The hopeless feeling that struck you at the revelation of Lisbeth’s engagement stuck with you, though, even after you bridled your horses and began your trek home.

Beside you, William hummed a tune while Lisbeth dozed off behind him. Your arms were loosely wrapped around Pero’s waist as he rode silently. The two of you still hadn’t exchanged a word since the tense encounter in Geris’s town square. Still, you hadn’t been on the receiving end of any of his glares for the rest of the evening.

You pondered what your life would look like after Lisbeth left. You couldn’t help it. For as long as you could remember, it was you and her. Your mother has acted as midwife in Lisbeth’s birth, and ever since, her mother had been a loyal patron of your mother’s herbal remedies. You and her had been friends since infancy. And now, she was leaving. Entering and finding her place in the wide, expansive world. And you were going to be stuck where you’d always been: caring after your ailing father and serving as a punching bag for your drunken brother.

The thought of Lisbeth’s absence from your life made your eyes fill with tears, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks.

You turned your head away from William, knowing if he saw you cry, he’d make a fuss. You took a few shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself, but failed. Before you knew it, you were shaking with tears against Pero’s back.

You knew he could feel your sobs, but couldn’t find it in you to care. He was going to judge you no matter what you did—he’d made that much clear tonight. You might as well let yourself weep.

After a moment, though, he surprised you. You heard Pero breathe your name, so quietly you scarcely heard it.

You sniffled, trying to cover the sounds of your tears. You mumbled an apology, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. But instead of pestering or making fun of you, Pero only hummed in acknowledgement, before wrapping a rough palm around your own and squeezing.

His hand remained wrapped in yours the rest of the way home, a silent show of support. It baffled you, but you didn’t have time to even begin to question it. Instead, you just let yourself cry, leaning against the Spaniard for support. The rest could wait til the morning.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar x reader #pero x reader #pero tovar fic #the great wall fanfic #the great wall fanfiction #pero tovar x y/n

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pedropascallme · 6 months

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The Good, the Bad, and the Better

Pairing: gunslinger!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: "You stretched your legs when you got off the train, wondering how so much sitting could make your joints so sore. You had one bag, which was, truthfully, more than enough. You fit your entire life into the handheld leather case, and it felt both freeing and deeply, deeply woeful."

Content: Mentions of death, uuuh US cholera epidemic? gnc!Ellie because I said so. That's all for now. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: hi I’m trying something new….felt the need to get Joel involved with a sexy lil cowboy AU. Full disclosure this was inspired by @qwimchii and the AMAZING gunslinger!ghost series she’s been writing (go support her work!!). Lmk if you guys want more of this in the future, I have….plans….for this story, to say the least, so treat it as an intro of sorts?

Jefferson Territory (Colorado), September 1847

The executor of your father’s will wore small bifocals, perched gently on the bridge of his nose. You bounced your leg, perhaps unladylike, but it was all you could do to steady your mind in the tight office that smelled of wood and purified alcohol.

You clutched your handkerchief to your chest, fresh out of tears to wring from your eyes and waiting to get the bequeathing over with. With breaths so deep they threatened the lace of your corset, you were able to look up at the executor, who had been kind enough to wait for you to give him the ok to continue.

“Alright, miss?” His voice was nasal, but not condescending. You nodded. “To my daughter, my only child and carrier of my good name, I leave my land in Texas; doing so in the hopes that she will live out her life there, with kin.”

The man stopped reading and looked up at you. That was all he had for you.

You hadn’t been expecting any more. Hadn’t even considered you would be getting any land—an unmarried woman with land, though, was sure to catch the attention of a gentleman, and you’re sure that your father had known that.

“Thank you.” You mumbled to the man, dry lips cracking under the moisture of the tears you had licked up. “Am I meant to sign anything?”

“No, miss.” He seemed sorry for you, and you felt a flare of anger at him in that moment; you were sick of hearing people speak to you so slow and soft, as if the weight of their words would knock you down and bury you along with your parents.

It hadn’t even been one year since the death of your dear mother, the woman who had brought you up like a proper lady, who had taught you your prayers, and the proper way to tie your hair up so that God would smile upon you along with the sweet church-going boy on the ranch next to your own home. Your family had been naïve in thinking that the cholera outbreak wouldn’t reach them in the west. When word first spread in the papers, it was a small number of people in the City of New York; your father was quick to dismiss the cases as God’s wrath upon those who didn’t appreciate the frontier, too busy with their fancy jobs and big-city values to go to church. But your mother fell ill that summer, vomiting and lethargic, and it wasn’t long until you watched the priest say his prayers over her coffin.

You admired your father’s will to keep going, until you didn’t. He kept busy, and you thought he would work himself to death—maybe that’s why he seemed so calm when he got sick, compared to the panic your mother had in her eyes in the days before she died; he knew he wouldn’t be on the mortal plane much longer, soul too deeply intertwined with your mother’s and ready to go where she went even in death.

So here you sat, in the same mourning clothes you had worn for the past 11 months, listening to this law man explain that he would be taking care of any other business that had to do with your father’s measly estate. You thanked him, giving him a polite curtsey before you exited his office and found your way back onto the street.

You didn’t have much left in Jefferson Territory. You made the short walk back to your family’s home with your head down, ignoring the coaches that passed on their routes and the women who spoke in hushed tones when they saw you walking all by your lonesome. "Poor thing", “just a girl,” “should have been married off sooner.” You wanted to bite back at them, tell them you’d rather die along with your parents than ever abandon your family and run off with some boy just to mother ungrateful children who would in turn run off themselves. You were happy, at least, that your parents had died in your presence; you couldn’t imagine the suffering had you been gone from their home, the pain after being there with them when they took their last breaths was bad enough.

You walked through the door of the house, careful to close the door and lock it how your mother always told you—even without her present, you knew she would appreciate the little things. You appreciated them, too, now, more than you had ever thought you would.

“Auntie?” You called out to your father’s sister, hearing a bustle in the kitchen and smiling for the first time that day; your aunt was a wild woman, never married and never sitting. Her kindness was perhaps the only thing that motivated you to wake up every morning without your parents. You found her kneading dough, moving her whole body over the clay-like clump with a force, upper half covered with flour. “Auntie.”

She turned, noticing you for the first time since you arrived back home. “Welcome home, little one!” She greeted you, and you watched her run a hand over her forehead to combat the sweat running over her eyes, leaving a trail of flour over her brow. “You doing alright?” She turned back to her ball of dough, leaning an elbow into it, anticipating your answer.

You just sighed, pulling up a chair close to her and studying her movements, unsure of how to tell her just how alright you were; it was like you had no emotions left, your heart a husk keeping your body moving with nowhere to go. Not nowhere, maybe.

“I got land in Texas.” You were quiet, and her movements stalled.

“Texas?” She quirked a brow and slapped her hands together, sending flour to stray over her apronless front. “Who got you land in Texas?”

“Papa.”

“Your daddy had land down there?”

You shrugged, “That’s what the lawyer said. Said it’s all mine, now.” You hadn’t yet absorbed the news, unsure of what to do with yourself or your earnings.

“War’s bad, little one,” your aunt huffed, not angrily, but with a concerned look spread over her face, “not much use with Texan land until Mr. Polk can figure out how to appease the folks down south.” You nodded, aware of the conflict and uneager to get anywhere near it. “Still…” Your aunt looked at you now, the black fabric of your dress bunched up over your knees with the specks of white dust she had covered you with.

“Still?” You questioned, feeling a wave of anxiety cross you.

“…Nothing left for you here.” She spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, looking you dead in the eyes.

“You’re here!” You felt trapped, scared, but mostly confused. She of all people would be the only one to condone such an outlandish notion—dropping everything and running off to a war-torn territory away from everything you ever knew—but you had hoped she would appeal to her more realistic side in this particular matter and tell you to forget the whole thing before dinner.

“I’m not staying, little one,” her eyes were pleading, “got my own life, got people in other places to look after.”

You felt tears well in your eyes, appalled that you had any water left in your body to cry out today. “I don’t want to leave…I don’t want you to leave.” You felt yourself begin to cry again.

“I’ll never leave you,” she whispered, the ghost of a smile on her lips, “but I can’t stay in Jefferson Territory…got plans back east.”

“East?” You practically yelled it, offended that she would leave the life your extended family had built in Jefferson Territory despite the unease that churned in your stomach whenever you thought of living out your own life in the same spot you'd known since you could toddle.

“East.” She was calm, balancing your abject terror. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m not exactly cut out for…roughin’ it.” She emphasized the last words, using the accent your father had worn so proudly. “I got friends in New York—going out to be with them…it’s safer there, easier.”

You were enraged; the one final person you trusted was abandoning you for a life you couldn’t ever imagine. It was safe here, you were safe here—with her, and your mother, and your father. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not a big city fool like you!” You felt yourself tremble, “I’m sorry you’d rather have it easy than live the life God gave you!” You were seeing red, standing now to lord yourself over her and make her seem as small as you felt. It didn’t work, and she looked at you now like everybody else did—full of pity.

She let you cry, sobs taking over your body and forcing hiccups up your throat. You shouldn’t be mad at her, you realized, couldn’t be mad at her; she was a grown woman, with wants and needs, and maybe someday you would be, too.

“Take me with you.” You pleaded through sniffles, wiping your nose on your sleeve in a move that your mother would have tutted you for. Your aunt stayed silent, placing a hand on your head to smooth over the hair that had come undone in your rage.

“I would,” she explained, “but I don't think you...I don't think you'd enjoy it any more than you enjoy it here. Not now, at least. Not yet." The pity in her eyes faded to reveal the compassion she had for you, and you nodded into her chest when she pulled you into her, acknowledging the truth she had spoken. You wouldn’t know up from down in a place like New York; too many people, too much smoke and noise. You let her hold you for as long as she would, soothed by the hand she combed through your hair and the way her heartbeat thrummed in your ear. Maybe someday.

“We’ll get you a train ticket,” she murmured above you, chin resting on the crown of your head, “I know a fella in Texas—real gentleman, cross my heart—and I know he’ll have a place for you away from all the ruckus.”

“Cross your heart?” You asked her to promise once more.

“Cross my heart, little one.”

~~~

Texas, October 1847

You stretched your legs when you got off the train, wondering how so much sitting could make your joints so sore. You had one bag, which was, truthfully, more than enough. You fit your entire life into the handheld leather case, and it felt both freeing and deeply, deeply woeful.

Your aunt had arranged for her associates (her words) to pick you up, show you around, and help you to your new home, but she hadn’t given you much of a description; you had no idea who you were looking for, or what they might look like. All she had done was give you a name. You felt small, already sweltering in the Texan heat and feeling out of place in your black mourning gown. Maybe it would be ok, given the circumstances, to forego the entire outfit, and simply wear a veil, but you felt that the only thing grounding you was the way you were dressed, the reminder of why you were here in this dusty sand-and-brick station.

You looked around, not minding the jostling of the people passing you to get to where they needed to go. You tried to identify anybody that might look as if they were waiting on a lonesome orphan, but all you saw was a pool of sweaty businessmen and women in large hats.

Attempting to find a map to get the lay of the land, you turned a corner, and collided into the chest of a tan man with long black hair and a hint of a mustache.

“I’m terribly sorry—” You felt yourself go bright red, already a nuisance and you hadn’t been in Texas for all of ten minutes.

“Woah, there,” the stranger tipped his hat down to you, offering a wink and a toothy grin, “no harm done, ma’am.” He patted down the front of his vest, smoothing out any wrinkles that remained from the collision. “Y’look lost.”

“I am lost,” you straightened your posture, trying not to seem so inconsequential compared to those around you, “Um—I’m looking for…Mr. Joel Miller?”

The man in front of you laughed, and he flashed the same toothy grin again. His laugh came from his stomach, and you watched him take his hat off to fan himself after he calmed down.

“Found her, El!” He called over his shoulder and a shorter, much younger boy appeared; he was wearing the same style of hat but was much paler than the man who had yet to introduce himself. His clothing gave away how young he was—that, and he was shorter than you, with a babyface and nary a whisker on his chin. He looked almost feminine up close, and was clearly quite a few years your junior.

“Oh, I’m sorry—you’re Mr. Miller?” You closed the confused ‘o’ of your mouth to form the question.

“No, no no no—I’m Tommy Miller,” he put his hat back on, “Joel’s my brother.” You nodded, trying to appear as though you understood the series of events that were taking place in front of you. What an odd introduction to the people whose care you were in. You had never questioned the company your aunt kept—she had her life, and you had your own, much more conservative one. Still, you began to think that these men had just as little an idea as to what you were doing here as you did. “’N you’re Tess’s girl.”

“I’m her niece,” you clarified, “my parents are dead.” You winced when the words came out, unsure of why you felt the need to share that with a man you had just met. Surely he must have been aware by now, and if he wasn’t, why would he care?

Tommy let out a low whistle in lieu of an apology. “Best get you goin’ then, girly.” He turned on his heel, encouraging you to hurry after him through the crowds. El grabbed your sleeve in a manner that, although gruff, was clearly meant as reassurance.

“Mine are, too,” he spoke softly, and his voice was similarly feminine to his face. When you gave an inquisitory glance at him, he continued, “My parents. They’re dead, too.”

“Oh,” you tried to think of a way to make the subject more lighthearted, aware of how tiring it got to hear constant apologies for something out of everybody’s control, “so you’re not—”

You didn’t even have to finish your sentence; El had anticipated your question from miles off. “Do we look related?”

“Well…no…” You muttered, embarrassed by how obvious the answer was.

“They’re like…well,” the younger boy mulled over everything he could say, but instead placed his arm in yours and laughed, “you’ll see.”

~~~

The ride back to the Miller’s land was long and bumpy—or maybe it just felt that way with Tommy looking back on you and El to ask various questions and soothe any anxieties, though it wasn’t as much help as he had thought it was. You taught El cat’s cradle with a string you had found in the cart, and it amused you for long enough before you switched to cards instead. El was shocked to hear you didn’t know how to play poker, and tried to teach you blackjack before Tommy reprimanded him for trying to corrupt you; you opted for go fish instead.

The cart came to a short stop in front of a rundown shack. There was a horse tied to a post with three feed bags in front of it—the extra two, you assumed, belonged to the two horses pulling the cart you were in.

Tommy helped you down, and you were careful to pat down the front of your dress when your feet touched the ground, not wanting to look unkept in front of new company. El jumped down behind you, making quick strides towards the door of the cabin. You and Tommy followed suit, with the older man taking your arm to lead the way.

When the door opened, El swore. “Jesus H., Joel!” he jumped backwards when a large figure stepped over the threshold and onto the dirt outside, “Scared the hell out of me!”

“Language, young lady.” The man in the doorway was tall, with a chest and shoulders to match his height. He was older than Tommy, and had the salt in his beard and dark hair to show for it. He wore the same hat, but didn’t have a full outfit on, with only the pants of a gentlemen to go with his undershirt and heavy boots.

So this was Joel Miller.

You were so focused on the new addition to the group that you almost didn’t catch what he had said to El—“young lady.” Tommy, still holding your arm, sensed your confusion.

“Well, cover’s blown,” he laughed, and El rolled his eyes. Taking off his hat, you watched thin, curly locks of hair come down to frame his face, and when you looked under the dirt and grime that coated his skin, you saw a little girl.

“El’s short for Ellie,” El laughed, tossing the hat in the air and catching it before walking past Joel to go inside.

You were almost more confused now than you had been.

“Little girl living with two grown men, wearing men’s clothes?” Tommy read the look on your face, trying to offer an explanation, “she’s a natural at bein’ a boy—‘n it draws less questions.” You nodded.

Joel continued to stare at you, and you couldn’t help but feel exposed to him despite your body being covered in the modest dress you had on. He was riddled in scars, and his tan skin flexed under his white undershirt; he looked so masculine, and it frightened and excited you in a way you decided to repress. He strolled over to you, taking slow steps and examining you with dark eyes that looked like honey under the Texan sun. He stopped in front of you, and you let go of Tommy's arm to curtsy, unsure of what else to do under his gaze.

“You’re Tess’s girl.” He said it with more confidence than Tommy had when he found you. Joel didn't bother returning the friendly gestures of introduction you had extended, shifting his weight on his heels and letting his eyes drag over your face.

“I’m her niece.” You clarified as you had at the train station.

“I know, darlin’.” He smirked down at you, and the way it was painted on his face made him look almost predatory. You offered a weak smile in return, hoping he would mistake the blush creeping up your face as a sunburn. He grunted something that sounded like approval.

Joel turned around and walked in after Ellie, leaving you with Tommy.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy took your arm once more, “he’s like that with everyone.”

You didn’t know if you liked that.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

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sailoryooons · 4 months

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In Every Life | Drabble | kth x pjm

☾ Pairing: Taehyung x Jimin

☾ Summary: Taehyung has lived thousands of lives. He has recognized his soulmate in every single one of them, a gift of his bloodline. Finally, he has crossed paths with his soulmate once again.

☾ Word Count: 1,206

☾ Genre: Reincarnation, Soulmates, Implied Romance, Stranges to Something

☾ Rating: SFW

☾ Warnings: Brief discussions of life and death and some saddness - mostly just talking about living multiple lives and loving someone in their multiple versions. Obscure hints at magic/unexplained ability to recognize soulmates in every life.

☾ Published: January 1, 2024

☾ A/N: This is my first drabble for the 100 Drabble Challenge that @gimmethatagustd and I are doing together! I am so excited to be doing this and look forward to using this as a way to get myself writing at LEAST twice a week, and to explore AUs I normally wouldn’t get the time to do. This is also going to be a test of self-restraint and making myself write actual drabble-length things. Please make sure you check out Jai’s drabbles too - we are going to have so much fun!! Today's number generator provided number 70 for reincarnation!

☾ A/N 2: HAPPY NEW YEAR! What better way to ring in the New Year with a brief drabble about soulmates Vmin meeting each other for the first time in a new life! I hope everyone has an amazing 2024 - here is to more writing, more joy and more fun!

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾

Taehyung would know his soulmate in the dark. He would know them in the blinding light of morning, when the golden sun spills like yolk over the horizon, making it impossible to see. He would know them in the warm summer rain, carrying in on violent winds off the tropical coast, thunder echoing across the sky. He would know his soulmate if he were at the bottom of the ocean, too cold to feel and too dark to see.

Recognizing his soulmate in every one of his lives is both a blessing and a curse. Taehyung has experienced the joy of knowing his other half every time he has been able to walk across the earth. He has laughed with them, smiled with them, and fallen in love with them, each and every time.

But sometimes, it has brought inexplicable pain. Every once in a while, Taehyung loses them too early. He tastes the sourness of grief as he waits to reach the end of his current life before he starts the next one anew. Sometimes it’s Taehyung who leaves too early - gone in a snap or withering to illness. He might have some sort of magic in his blood, but he’s not impervious.

The magic is a strange thing. His grandmother told him that it was gifted to their family by the gods when the first of their lineage saved the god from a hunter’s snare. Now, Taehyung is always able to remember a handful of things in every single one of his lives: that he has the gift to recognize his soulmate each time he begins a new life; that he is - according to grandma - blessed by the gods with this gift; he has had past lives and they are all as familiar to him as a recent dream; and that when he remembers these facts about himself differs each lifetime.

Sometimes Taehyung remembers these things when he is ten, overcome with emotion that he hasn’t quite learned the words for. Sometimes, Taehyung remembers when he’s twenty, stricken by the fact that he has the chance to find his other half in the world again. Sometimes, he doesn’t remember when he remembers, just that he does.

In this life, Taehyung remembered everything about his special gift four years ago. Sometimes he feels lonely. In other lives, it’s taken a short amount of time to find his soulmate. They always come in different versions and at different times. He’s eager to meet every version, though. Loves every single one of them, every different face, gender, and shape.

Today, it happens.

Taehyung doesn’t go into every single one of his days hoping it will be the one. He’s learned after many lives that he has to treat each day the same, lest he fall into a constant cycle of disappointment when he doesn’t see the person he is hoping to find. He remembers one lifetime where it took him twenty years to find his other half.

And he still loved them.

But today.

Today Taehyung goes to Seokjin’s coffee shop on Third Street like he does every Saturday morning. Winter rain mists down the street, car tires hissing on black pavement, and water flooding the storm drains. Taehyung ducks his head to keep his face away from the cold bite of the wind and rain, pulling his umbrella a little lower.

Inside the coffee shop is warm, the smell hitting him immediately. He shivers and shakes off the rain, closing the umbrella and sticking it in the umbrella bin alongside others. He smiles when he sees a plastic yellow one covered in ducks. Cute.

Seokjin waves at him over the counter. Taehyung lifts a hand before placing it back in the warmth of his pocket, forgoing ordering at the counter to walk to his favorite table in the back. It faces the park and even though it’s raining, he likes to watch the world go by. Seokjin always brings Taehyung his coffee, memorized from years of Taehyung haunting his little corner of the world.

Holiday music plays, and Taehyung is so wrapped up in humming and the routine of his morning that it takes him a second to recognize there’s a buzzing in his ears and a tingle in his spine. He stops for a moment, head snapping up as his eyes flicker from booth to booth, heart picking up speed.

This is it, he thinks. Taehyung knows this feeling. Knows that it means today is the day. He squeezes his hands inside his coat pockets, slowly turning around to look over his shoulder at the booths he’s already passed. His eyes settle on one, and the world goes cotton-soft at the edges, fading to the background.

Taehyung’s soulmate is beautiful. His heart pounds harder as he stares, drinking in the soft brown hair hanging in the man’s eyes, the pouty lips as he reads a book held by dainty, soft hands, and the hoop earrings that catch the dim light of the cafe. Taehyung can barely breathe, eyes sweeping over a small, but fit frame. Round cheeks with a natural blush, and beautiful eyes that remind Taehyung of a siren - or perhaps some other temptress of old.

His mouth goes dry. He feels everything all at once: the deep breath before skydiving, the first at the concert of his favorite band, the last second before the New Year. None of it sums up the feeling of rightness that settles into Taehyung’s bones. He swears the world sits just right on its axis now, as if it were off before.

Without thinking, he walks over to the table, chewing his lip. He isn’t sure what he’s going to do until he’s standing at the edge of the booth, staring and shaking and smiling.

His soulmate looks up. For a moment, the man looks confused. Then, something like curiosity glitters in his warm, brown eyes. His mouth twitches upward in a smile, tentative but pleasant. He grips his book a little tighter, tilting his head as he drinks Taehyung in.

“Hi,” Taehyung offers. A hundred lifetimes and he still never nails the greeting, too nervous.

“Hi,” the stranger says back, smiling. “Do I know you? You look… familiar.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “No.” He gestures to the open seat. “Mind if I join you? Today is a good day for company.”

“Please, I enjoy new friends.”

Taehyung can’t help but smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he sits, peeling his jacket off. His soulmate watches him, interest piqued as he shuts the book he was reading and sets it down on the table. Taehyung recognizes the novel.

“I love The Notebook,” Taehyung admits. “It’s a comfort book. And movie.”

The man’s grin grows. Taehyung warms from his fingertips to his toes, happiness spreading. “It’s my favorite,” the man admits. He sticks a small hand over the table between them, an offer. “I’m Jimin.”

Taehyung takes Jimin’s hands, watching as the spark catches in his eyes. Jimin doesn’t know what he is to Taehyung, but there’s something there. As though his soul recognizes Taehyung, somehow.

“I’m Taehyung. I look forward to getting to know you, Jimin.”

And so he does as he always has, in every life.

#taehyung fic #vmin fic #vmin #vmin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x jimin #bts fanfic #bts fic #100 drabble challenge

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looby1302 · 4 months

Text

Part III of guilty conscience…

Hope you all enjoy.

THIS IS COLES P.O.V

I have written one for Jackie also.

When Cole decided that he was going to leave Colorado and head to New York in hopes of winning the girl he loves over, he didn’t plan in advance. Alex was leaving for camp the next day. He needed an alibi, so that his mom wouldn’t try and stop him.

Cole came up with a plan to tell his parents that he was going camping for a couple of nights with his old football friends to relive some happy football memories now that he was in a good place emotionally, after finally convincing them. He went to school to see Mr C.

Cole made up an excuse as to why he wouldn’t be in school for a few days he said that his grandmother was extremely ill and he wanted to go and visit her but if he could take some of the work with him to complete while he was gone. Mr C sympathetically agreed. Cole knew that once he headed for New York and he finally saw Jackie that she would make it her mission to make him return to complete summer school.

After sorting out everything other than transportation, he used his saved up money from working at Tony’s and bought a plane ticket from Colorado to New York. He was just waiting for the morning to come around.

As the morning quickly rolled around. He opened his bedroom door to find Alex stood there. Tension and awkwardness was in the air. “Hey, you almost ready for camp?”. Cole said in a hushed voice. “Like you care Cole, you’ve ruined my life once again, have you finished? Or is my girlfriend gonna suddenly come back and tell me she’s pregnant with your kid?!” He said sharply and sarcastically. “Alex, come on!” Cole shouts but he’s cut off mid sentence. “You drove her away, I haven’t even spoken to her!, I hope your happy with yourself”. Alex then walks Down the stairs on his way out the house.

So many emotions go through Cole’s head. Guilt, anger, confusion and love. He packs his bag. Says goodbye to his parents and the rest of the family. Gets in his truck and heads to the airport. Once the plane had landed at JFK he grabs his luggage picks out his phone and calls Danny. “Hey Bro, how’s New York?”. He says with a smile on his face. “It’s good, it’s all new to me but I think you would like it too!”. He says happily. Cole sighs “actually I’m in New York, I’ve just got off the plane, Don’t tell Jackie please! I want to surprise her, but I don’t know where I’m going or even where to find her?”.

Danny is left torn, on one hand he knows that deep down Jackie has always had this connection with Cole. The other part of him knows that Alex wouldn’t be happy with him.

He huffs and then answers “she’s at her internship downtown, I’ll text you the address, she should be on her lunch break shortly”. Cole smiles and has this feeling of hope bubbling inside. “Thanks bro, I’ll see you soon”.

As the ping came through of the address. Cole mapped it on his phone. 23 minute walk from the airport. He started walking after almost getting there his injured leg started hurting. He pushed through the pain. Then he saw her through the window, all the pain subsided. She had her hair down straightened, make up on point, stunning green professional dress. My god he wanted her.

She looks up from the table where she’s sat and see’s this blonde haired farmer looking man through the window. At first she thinks she’s going crazy then he enters and she knows she’s not. He walks toward her slowly, keeping eye contact at all times. “Hey New York”. He says with that stupid grin on his face, the one that is so addictive to her.

She stands up looks around making sure there is no one in site. Walks toward him grabs his face and brings it to hers. As the kiss grows deeper the strap of his bag falls from his shoulder and hits the floor with a thud. They both stop startled and eyes fixed on each other. He smiles “Jackie, you are going to be the death of me, you know that?”.

LET ME KNOW IF YOU ENJOY THIS! This is just the start ready for the smut and angst to come! Once again I am not much of a writer but please let me know if you would like more parts! I’ve just finished the Jackie POV :) love to you all! Xx

#cole walter #Spotify #SoundCloud #cole and jackie #jackie howard #my life with the walter boys #cole x jackie #mlwtwb #noah lalonde

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thetorturedbuckydepartment · 4 days

Text

guilty as sin? an important update

hey so, turns out I have chosen the very worst time to start my fanfic roll out seeing as I've got extremely important exams in the next 6 weeks followed by a summer where I may not be able to write a lot, so I don't know how often ill be posting -- I've only written about 3 chapters and the fic is standing at 5k+ words already so it's gonna be long (that's what she said?)

im also going through a period of immense change in my life as I'll be starting university in September, so a lot of things to keep me busy in the holidays!

that being said, I'd love to post chapter 1 at 3PM GMT tomorrow, but I thought I should let you know that the rollout for this fit will be extremely slow! I've posted chapter titles, hoping it'll spark intrigue

I hope you guys do enjoy the little crumbs I give you, and while you wait, here's a sixth snippet:

“Yes! Let’s get my pretty baby some well deserved rest. Works too hard…” His eyes begin to close with his hand , but you jerk him awake.

“No, Buck, not like this. Properly, let’s find you some comfy clothes and tuck you in. Come on.” You stand up, extending a hand to him. God, he looks so pretty from this angle, staring at you like you’re his sun and it’s a lazy picnic in the park. He entwines his fingers with yours, again bringing up that feeling of desperation in your system but you tamp it down. You gently hum the latest song stuck in your head as you get him ready for bed, slowly taking off his socks and handing him his comfiest pair of sleeping shorts, informing him of every step before you take it so you can give him the chance to tell you if you’re about to do something he doesn’t want. What you don’t realise is that there is nothing you could do that he wouldn’t welcome. He knows you wouldn’t hurt him, only show him the gentle warmth he’s been deprived of for decades with your light fingertips and heavy gaze. You turn your back as he changes, giving him some privacy.

He doesn’t let you leave, scared you won’t come back to him. He’s never been like this, so desperate to keep you by him. You’ve only known each other a month, and you two often stay up together when he knocks after a nightmare, either diffusing the bomb in his head with mellow hands, or holding him tight as you both lose your worries to some old sitcom you introduced him to. In your heart, you can’t find yourself to leave, either. And so you use a spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom to get ready for bed, stealing one of his shirts he handed to you with the brightest, most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. When you throw it over your head, you relish in the remnants of his cologne and something else, something so innately Bucky, that all you want is to bury yourself in his scent intertwined with the magic fabric of his shirt, which turns out to be loose on you.

You set your hair, marvelling at how big he is, that his shirt is loose on every part of your body. A secret part of you wonders if he’s done it on purpose, intending to give you his clothes and opting for this looser fit…You quickly dispel the notions, ditching your bra and formal outfit on the floor, rubbing your tired eyes.

Bucky lays on his side, facing you and taking you in as you walk out. He lets out a groan and you wonder if it’s related. “You look so pretty in my clothes…fuck. Come back to bed, beautiful.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #x plus size reader #marvel

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f1-stuff · 1 year

Note

I would love to know about Mallorca AU

I'm so glad you asked anon! This is lowkey one of my fav WIPs that I absolutely plan to finish in time for f1's summer break this year. It's essentually an AU where Charles is still a race driver but Carlos isn't, and they meet when Charles and his family is on vacation in Mallorca for the summer break...

Because I'm feeling ridiculous and indulgent today, here's another 2k-word snippet.

The next day, they head to a secluded beach that promises amazing waves, as well as lots of rock climbing and hiking. Charles expects to see some surfers, but it’s also quite windy so he’s not sure how safe it is. He’s gone surfing a couple times, but he’s not very good yet. And since he doesn’t like when he’s not good at things (who does?), he hasn’t tried again recently.

When they arrive, there’s still a fair number of people there as it is a weekend, but nowhere near the crowds on the more popular beaches. They find their own spot and set up camp, although he and his brothers immediately get to work hiking up one of the cliff faces to get a good view from the top.

The view is worth it, but they’re hot enough by the time they get back down to run straight into the water. He’s right about the wind, which means the waves are definitely gnarly. But they have a good laugh attempting not to drown.

They even find a small rock outcropping not too far from shore that they can climb and jump off of. Lorenzo protests at first, claiming it’s not safe. But when Arthur ignores him and does it anyway, he sees that it’s not too bad and joins in.

They rest on the rocks for a bit, tired from the climbing and swimming, but when Lorenzo mentions their mum might be getting worried, they decide to head back. Lorenzo jumps down and Arthur follows him, starting the swim back. Charles (stupidly) decides he’ll dive off, and wouldn’t you know it, as soon as he hits the water, his swim trunks are pulled clean off.

He surfaces with a laugh, dragging hair off of his face and wiping water from his eyes. But when he glances around, he can’t see the trunks anywhere. He spins a full three-sixty degrees at least four times before he wonders if he’s going crazy. A wave might’ve pushed them into some rocks, but he swims around the rock outcropping and doesn’t find them.

So a wave pulled them under, then. Fantastic. He really liked those trunks, too.

He starts the swim toward shore, his brothers having gotten a head start, but still within sight.

“Arthur!” he calls, as he’s closer than Lorenzo.

His brother either doesn’t hear him, or ignores him. He hopes it’s the former because the latter doesn’t bode well for if he were in any actual danger. He tries to catch up, but by the time he’s reached about the maximum depth he’s comfortable with before he’s flashing the whole beach, Lorenzo is already back at their chairs and Arthur is out of the water.

“Arthur!” he tries again.

This time, Arthur does hear him and turns around. Charles sighs in relief and beckons him over with his hand, but all Arthur does is wave and cock his head to the side, beckoning Charles over with a matching gesture. Charles sighs in frustration, repeating the gesture with more intensity.

“Come back!” Arthur just continues to look at him like he’s crazy, before waving at Charles and heading to their chairs. “Idiot,” he mutters.

Most of the time, he says that with affection. But he’s thinking rather ill thoughts at the moment, as he watches his brothers greet their mum and take sips of water.

Lorenzo must ask Arthur where Charles is because he sees Arthur point over his shoulder, Lorenzo following with his gaze until his eyes land on Charles. He stands up straighter, making a clear gesture for Lorenzo to come back. His older brother just continues to look confused, until he himself repeats the arm motion, beckoning Charles to come back.

“My God, they’re both idiots.”

Well, eventually they have to wonder why Charles won’t leave the water, right? That, or he has to wait for someone else to come along. Or he exposes himself to the whole beach.

Yeah, no. He’ll wait.

There are other people in the water, but most of them are women and kids. He doesn’t really fancy swimming up to a kid and their mother and asking for a spare pair of swim trunks. Somehow, he thinks a strange man implying he’s naked would at the very least make someone extremely uncomfortable and at the worst, get him kicked off the beach.

He’s actually starting to get cold despite the hot summer sun, when someone paddles by on their surfboard.

“Hi, excuse me! Um, sorry - perdóneme,” he says to the guy.

He looks to be about Charles’ age, maybe a little older - dark hair that’s long enough to tuck behind his ears, slicked back from the water. He looks significantly less likely to be creeped out by Charles. Not a hundred percent, but...less likely, for sure.

“Inglés? Please...” He mutters the last part to himself. He knows a few Spanish words and phrases, but he’d probably have better luck speaking Italian and hoping the guy understood.

“Yeah?” the guy thankfully replies, his brows furrowing at Charles. He stops paddling and sits up on his board. “Alright?” He has a Spanish accent, so Charles assumes he’s either a local or from Spain on holiday.

“Do you have swim trunks - uh, another pair?” Charles asks, laughing awkwardly. “I’ve lost mine.”

Then, after a brief pause. “Lost them?” The guy is attempting not to laugh for Charles’ benefit, presumably.

“They were...taken by a wave.”

“Ah, this clears things up.” Charles thinks he’s being made fun of, but the man looks like he’s enjoying this rather than bothered. “What should I do? Give you mine?”

“No!” Charles says, flushing for some reason. “I don’t know. Could you bring me a towel or something? My family is just there, but they are being idiots.”

The man is faintly smiling as Charles speaks, but doesn’t look in any rush to help. Charles is about to resign himself to wait for someone else or just ask the guy to get one of his brothers, when he suddenly nods, laying back down on his board.

“I will be right back, francés,” he says, starting to paddle toward shore. “Rápidamente!”

Charles realizes, after he’s been watching the man paddle for several seconds, that he has a weird smile on his face. He purses his lips and rubs his arms when he shivers a bit from the cool water.

The man reaches shore, and Charles watches with more than a little incredulity as he saunters with his surfboard under one arm all the way off the beach and disappears into the parking area. Charles sighs, fearing he’s just struck out again in obtaining help. The guy could be just going to his car to grab extra swim trunks, but Charles isn’t holding his breath.

He’s not only tried to get the attention of his brothers again, but also started wondering if he should look around for another potential savior, when he sees the man emerge back onto the beach, sans surfboard. Charles nearly scoffs when he seemingly stops to chat with a couple of girls, but he can faintly see something like trunks clutched in the guy’s hand, so he won’t curse him out just yet.

And soon enough, he departs from the girls and makes eye contact with Charles, waving the trunks in the air like a chequered flag at the end of a race. Charles sighs. Day one of vacation and this is what it’s come to.

He smiles weakly and gives a thumbs up, hoping that’s enough to get the guy to fucking bring him the trunks. The man gestures for Charles to come to him, and Charles is a second away from losing it, when the guy laughs and wades into the water. Charles lets out a deep breath, relieved.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” the guy jokes when he gets close enough.

“Very funny,” Charles says, catching the trunks when they’re thrown his way. They’re a pretty standard aqua, but there’s the silhouette of a shark on the backside in a darker blue. Charles notices a tag hanging off the waistband. “Have you bought this just now?”

“There’s a shop down the road, very close,” the man says. And he looks so much like he doesn’t mind, sinking low in the water with his chin resting on the surface and hardly paying attention to Charles, that Charles doesn’t protest the kindness. And anyway, it’s done now.

“That’s nice of you,” he does say, smiling. “Thanks, mate. How much was it?”

“Bah, I don’t remember,” the man says, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Charles takes a peek at the price tag anyway, before pulling them on underneath the water. He’ll try to offer him some euros once he’s back with his stuff, but he also knows from experience that it can sometimes be more polite to just accept a gift when it’s given.

“Thank you, again.” The man just nods and straightens up to walk alongside Charles as he heads back to shore.

“I’m Carlos,” he says, holding out a hand for Charles to shake. He takes it with a slow, dawning smile. “¿Qué?”

“Hello, Carlos. I’m Charles.”

“You are kidding,” Carlos says, grinning. “Mate, this is fate.” He elbows Charles, who can’t help his answering laugh. “I’m honored to be the one to help you out of this, eh- hairy situation.” Charles just shakes his head.

“Not French, by the way,” he says, and Carlos raises his brows. “You called me French, before.”

“Not French,” Carlos says, adopting a thoughtful expression.

“I speak French - Italian, also. But I am not from France.”

“Speak French but not from France,” Carlos repeats, rubbing his chin. “Swiss?” Charles shakes his head again. “Belgian?”

“No,” he says, laughing.

“No, no, no. Of course not. You don’t sound it,” Carlos says, as if someone else had suggested it, rather than himself.

Charles raises a brow, enjoying this game more than he should. They’ve already reached shore by now, but they’re just sort of idling near the water, wet feet collecting loose sand as they drip dry.

“Canada?” Carlos suggests. Charles gives him a moment to stew, before shaking his head.

“Do I sound Canadian?”

“I don’t know,” Carlos laughs. “Ehm, Africa? No. Madagascar?”

“Madagascar?” Charles repeats, mystified.

“Maybe! Why not?” Carlos says, shrugging.

“You will never guess it.”

“Well, tell me then.”

“Mm, I don’t think I should,” Charles says, laughing.

“I will never guess it, huh?” Carlos mutters to himself, thinking.

Charles is surprised he’s still trying to figure it out. It reminds him of how competitive Pierre can be - how competitive all the other drivers on the grid are. Carlos is certainly built like an athlete, so the competitiveness seems to fit. Charles decides to distract him.

“You are from Spain?” Carlos nods.

“I live in Madrid, but I come here during summer to work,” he says. Now standing next to him, Charles realizes he’s a little taller than Carlos. He doesn’t know why that surprises him. “Are you staying in Palma?”

“Near there,” Charles says, forgetting the exact name of where they’re staying.

“Ah well, me and some friends are getting drinks in town tonight. You’re welcome to join. We can show you the right way to party in España.” Carlos grins and Charles laughs, but he’s not sure he should agree. A group of people he doesn’t know, any of whom could recognize him and post about where he is and what he’s up to?

“Tempting,” is what he ends up saying. “Maybe, if we don’t have something planned. Where will you go?”

“Eh, here and there. We’ll probably start at a place called Calama.”

“Calama,” Charles repeats, making sure he’s got it right.

“Sí. It’s on ____. That’s the street name. Say it because I don’t trust you.” Charles laughs, but obliges, stumbling through it a bit, but getting there in the end. “Okay. Bueno.”

“Thanks again for the swim trunks,” Charles says.

“It’s no problem.” Carlos grins again, and Charles gets the feeling he’s someone who likes to laugh. He supposes that’s a stupid thought - who doesn’t?

“See you, mate,” he says, waving as he takes a step toward his family.

“See you,” Carlos says back, then pauses. “Luxembourg?” Charles raises his brows, shaking his head. “Mierda. I will guess it.”

Charles laughs and turns around, finally joining his family who appears to hardly notice his arrival. He flicks his brothers each on the back of the head, who both yelp more in surprise than in pain.

“What was that for?” Arthur says, rubbing his head.

“For being an idiot.”

Lorenzo squints at him. “Are you wearing different shorts?”

You could call this a charlos 'meet cute'... lmao

#tag game #rpf #charlos #mallorca AU #anon #ask

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cozy-fantasy-corner · 3 months

Text

Band of Idiots Pt. 4: Coney Island

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst, pining, language, Steve being an angsty cat, mentions of violence, alcohol, illness, death, and fondue-ing

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Steve, Y/n, and Bucky are as thick as thieves. They spend a day at Coney Island together. Feelings are discovered and lies are told.

Author’s Note: It’s been ages since I’ve updated this fic. My apologies. Life got crazy. I graduated high school, moved out of state for college, and then got super sick. But I’m back and better than ever. My inbox and dms are always open!

(not my gif. credit to the owner)

-------

Brooklyn summers could be unbearable. The molten heat pounding on the asphalt of a concrete jungle was enough to make any seasoned New Yorker feel faint. The air looked like a blur and felt like it was baking the city alive. The sun a constant, unrelenting oven.

July of 1934 was no different. In fact, it was somehow worse.

Just two weeks ago, Stevie had his fourteenth birthday. And boy was he rearing to go. The torturous temperatures had Stevie acting like an alley cat. He was always yowling about something and picking fights with any and everyone.

Three days this week he’d come home while Miss Sarah was at work cut up and bleeding. I’d be an amazing nurse with the amount of times I’ve given that boy stitches and set his nose.

With Bucky’s new job down at the docks, he couldn’t save Steve so easily from all of his fights like he used to. Poor Buck is so worried about our boy. The thought of him biting off more than he can chew is enough to cause a knot in all of our stomachs. We wouldn’t know what to do without him.

-------

Today, Bucky had the day off of work and he’d been saving for weeks to take us to Coney Island to blow off some steam. For him, that was spending all his money to impress dames. For Stevie, it was drawing while next to me on a bench or the beach. As for me, I loved to just sit and observe all of the people: the sights, the smells, the sounds.

The train ride to the amusement park was crowded and boiling with body heat. It smelled like stale sweat and old people in the worst way. The screams of children and the loud chatter from other patrons were enough to give me a headache, even with my bad ear. My back was killing me from standing for so long without a break, forcing me to brace myself on Steve and Bucky’s shoulders. Of course, Mister Meat-Head over here was flexin’ his suddenly very toned shoulder under my grip which caused me to blush. Thank God my face was already red from overheating, or he’d have poked fun at me about it.

My shitty lungs were being squeezed by the warm, wet air, and I wheezed slightly. My wheezing was met with Steve’s and a concerned glare from Bucky. I moved my hand to my bag, fumbling for my peppermint oil. My fingers met the cold glass and pried it open near our noses. A deep inhale eased the pressure in my chest.

“You alright, Kiddo?”

“She’s peachy, Buck. We’re on a hot train with a buncha loud, smelly assholes and we both got shit lungs. Wattaya think, ya jerk?” Steve snarked back, radiating thick annoyance. My mouth fell open in shock.

Bucky threw up his hand defensively, a mildly hurt look on his face. Steve was never this cross, even on his worst days. Something was wrong, had been for weeks. Getting into fights, coming home later, skipping meals, being snippy, even to me. Now it was getting worse. I hoped that it wouldn’t ruin our day out, but part of me knew that things would only go downhill from there. And all I could do was brace myself for impact.

I pulled my shoulders closer to my neck and inched towards Buck a little bit. My eyes squeezed themselves shut and I tried to breathe in, hoping for calm. All I got was B.O. and a frown from Steve. He knows I only do that when I’m nervous, and he was the thing making me nervous.

Buck seemed so set on enjoying the day that he glazed over everything and plastered his trademark Bucky Barnes grin on his sweaty face. I almost wanted to pinch his arm just to snap him out of it. No one should smile that much or look that good doing it. Especially not on a train in the summer heat. Honest to God, it was annoying.

Between Mister Sunshine and Mister Scrooge, the day was bound to be interesting to say the least.

------

Bucky had stopped to grab me some pop while Steve stormed off, a bit too eager to be rid of us for my taste. A minute piece of my heart crumbled away. Never, in all the years that I had known Steven Grant Rogers, had he voluntarily put distance between us. I couldn’t figure a rhyme or reason, all I could feel in that moment was hurt.

I ambled along the dock, book in hand. The salt-tinged air lapped at my frizzy locks and splotchy skin like a cooling balm. It felt like I could fully exhale finally. Deep breaths were a blessing.

Very little time passed when Buck had bounced up beside me with his angelic grin. His baby fat had melted away in recent months, giving him a devilish yet heavenly appearance. That stupid, perfect grin caught me off guard. I was in awe that my safety net, my friend could possibly be this beautiful. He had always been handsome, but not once in my life had I seen someone, anyone, look so perfect. I wasn’t aware that my feelings for him could grow, but by-golly they did.

Just staring at him wouldn’t do, so I elbowed him in the ribs. His playful pout made my chest squeeze. It wasn’t in the usual painful way like my attacks. It was something new, unfamiliar. He chuckled and pulled me under his arm as we continued down the dock. I felt so small and safe at his side. Tiny jolts of electricity seemed to pass from his skin to mine with every step.

Nestled into Bucky’s side, we meandered towards the rides. A good handful of summers had passed since we’d been able to come here, but we had long outgrown the attractions we were used to. We bickered back and forth about which adventure to choose. I was thankfully able to convince him to take me on the ferris wheel at some point today, but I knew I’d have to let him have his fun first. The way his eyes lit up talking about the Cyclone told me that I wouldn’t have any choice but to go with him. God, I hate roller coasters.

That Godforsaken ride was the bane of my existence, but my boys loved it to death. I always ended up with my head tucked into someone’s chest as we whipped ‘round and ‘round. On especially good days, like today, I was able to hold my lunch down.

Something about this time felt odd. Bucky kept looking at me with a goofy grin. This smile wasn’t his normal endearing, toothy grin; there was something more to it that I couldn’t quite place. That look had my heart pounding in my chest, not from fear, but excitement maybe.

------

Many more strange glances were exchanged over the next couple of hours, Steve’s attitude problem mostly forgotten. I couldn’t help but worry that something was wrong with Buck. Over the last 7 years, he had looked at me a lot of ways: worried, annoyed, caring. Today was a whole fresh set that I couldn’t quite name. It made me uneasy, yet giddy at the same time. A tiny, delusional part of me thought that maybe, just maybe the older boy loved me like I loved him. That would be impossible. He loves me like a sister.

The rumble of Bucky’s voice shook me from my thoughts.

“How ‘bout that ferris wheel now? I think I’ve tortured you enough for one day.” he said with a chuckle. I nodded eagerly.

As I went to start walking towards my favorite ride, I felt a hand in mine. Bucky’s. My breath caught in my throat, but I wouldn’t allow myself to freeze up. He couldn’t know how that tiny gesture affected me. Instead, I smiled up at him, squeezing his massive hand as we moved.

Such a simple motion brought all of the thoughts I had shoved to the side crashing forward. My mind was in such a state that I didn’t even realize that we were at the front of the line, about to enter our car. Bucky moved to help me up with his kind smile and I sheepishly accepted.

Damn him. Damn his beautiful smile. Damn his gentlemanly ways.

After we settled beside one another, he took my hand in his again. His calloused thumb smoothed over the back of my velvet soft hand. It was almost like he was trying to tell me something. Lord, I need calm down.

As we reached the top, Buck peeled me away from his side and turned look at me. He had an energy about him like he wanted to say something. His brow was furrowed, his eyes serious. His hands rubbed themselves down his thighs nervously. I couldn’t help but feel a little scared. Bucky is the calm one, the happy one. There has never been something he couldn’t turn into a joke. His brow only set itself this way when he was uncomfortable.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

I gulped.

This had to be bad, right? But it couldn’t be. Nothing bad could ever come from such beautiful lips. Nothing.

A sudden warmth on my lips jerked me out of my worry. My eyes blew wide in surprise. The warmth was Bucky, more specifically, Bucky’s lips. Everything faded away, even the shock, as I melted into the soft feeling of him against my mouth. His work-hardened hands came up to cup my cheeks while I sat there limp in his arms. We had all kissed on another over the years, light pecks on the cheeks and forehead. This one was different.

Bucky pulled back for air and I sighed softly. Our foreheads met, eyes closed. My body was still limp, but my head spun a million miles a minute. He feels the same way. I’m not crazy. What does this mean? What about Steve?

Steve!

We jumped apart when a sharp, familiar cough pierced through the haze. My startled eyes met Steve’s angry ones. Dread filled my stomach as I clamored away from Buck and onto the platform of the ferris wheel. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

------

Steve grabbed my arm roughly and dragged me towards a building nearby. Buck ran after us, yelling for us to stop. I was filled with panic and guilt. Steve looked like he was going to kill someone, well Bucky specifically.

“What the FUCK was that, Y/N?” Steve growled, fist closing more tightly around my bicep.

Before I could respond, Bucky was towering over both of us looking just as confused as I was. He paused for a second, taking in my shaking figure. His eyes hardened with rage. No one was allowed to scare me, not even Steve. He grabbed his shoulder harshly and spun him around.

“You wanna let her go, Punk?” Buck hissed. Steve bristled and clenched his jaw.

In true Steve fashion, he decided to forgo using his words, leaping straight to using his fists. His fist connected with Bucky’s jaw and I screamed. Bucky shot me a worried glance before pinning Steve to the wall as gently as possible. They stared one another down. All of our chests were heaving.

Steve looked up at our friend with tears brimming his baby blue eyes, “How could you, pal? You know better”.

Bucky’s face softened instantly and my panic grew. Steve has feelings for me?

Buck muttered an apology and let Stevie go. I pushed myself between them, tears rolling down my flushed cheeks. Their gazes on me were piercing, my skin heating under their eyes. I grabbed Bucky’s hand and turned to Steve. He grabbed my free hand and squeezed softly, eyes full of tears and remorse. I put my head on his chest and hugged him tightly.

“Stevie, what’s goin’ on, huh?” I whispered pulling back slightly.

He just croaked, his words seeming to escape him. Buck squeeze my hand, whispering his goodbyes. As the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the alley, a heavy silence enveloped us. Steve's gaze was distant, lost in the swirl of emotions that had consumed him. I stood there, my heart heavy with the weight of unspoken truths and tangled feelings.

"I... I don't know where to begin," Steve finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes searched mine, a mixture of pain and longing flickering within them.

I reached out, gently touching his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. "It's okay, Steve. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together," I said softly, offering him a small, reassuring smile. Of course we could, I love him more than life itself.

He nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I... I've been trying to deny it, but... seeing you with Bucky, it just..." His voice trailed off, his expression haunted.

I took a step closer, closing the gap between us. "Steve, whatever you're feeling, it's okay. You don't have to hold it all in," I whispered, my heart aching for him. I didn’t mean to hurt him. We had promised as kids never to harm the other. That promise lay shattered at our feet, and it was all my stupid fucking fault.

Tears welled up in his eyes, reflecting the fading light of the setting sun. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion.

I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. We stood there, clinging to each other in the dwindling light, the weight of our unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. I shushed him softly like Ms. Sarah would, hoping, praying that I could ease his pain with imitation of his mother’s love.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of tangled feelings and fractured relationships, the crushing realization that I had potentially destroyed the most meaningful bond in my life washed over me. One kiss and our worlds had crashed apart.

Steve and I remained locked in our embrace, the warmth of each other's frail presence a balm to our troubled souls. The world seemed to fade away around us, leaving only the echo of our steady heartbeats and the whisper of our shared breaths. Clinging to him seemed to be the only thing keeping the ground from vanishing beneath us. He would never let me fall.

With a gentle touch, I tilted Steve's chin up, meeting his gaze with a tenderness born of years of friendship and unspoken understanding. "I need you to say it." I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of years of shared memories and unspoken emotions.

Steve's eyes searched mine, his gaze filled with a vulnerability that tore at my heart. "I love Bucky. More than you will ever know, Minnie." he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. Something inside of me fractured.

He loved him? I felt betrayed. Steve had known for years how I felt, and he had kept this to himself. To what, protect me? Tinges of frustration bubbled up inside of me. He had lied to me, let me confide in him in the earliest hours of the morning, given me advice. None of it was in earnest.

My anger fizzled out when I saw the tears falling from his pleading eyes. There wasn’t a way in the world I could stay mad at my Stevie, however betrayed I felt.

I brushed away a stray tear that clung to his cheek, my thumb tracing a gentle path across his skin. "We'll figure it out together, Steve. Whatever comes our way, we'll face it together. All three of us," I promised, the conviction in my words unwavering. He flinched at my mention of all of us. His eyes begged me to keep his feeling for Buck between him and myself. I nodded knowingly, unwilling to betray him.

In that moment, amidst the fading light of a Brooklyn sunset, I knew that this God-forsaken mess was far from over. But as long as we had each other, I was certain that we could weather any storm that lay ahead. And with that knowledge warming my heart, I held Steve a little tighter, silently vowing to never let go.

#Band of Idiots Part 4 Coney Island #stucky x reader #mcu #steven grant rogers #james buchanan barnes #stevie #bucky #hurt/comfort #feelings #young love #confessions #mlm #MJ writes

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an-anonimous-writer · 2 years

Text

Grocery shopping

GIF credit not mine

Summary: Your relationship with Peter isn't the best right now, maybe if Peter cooks you dinner it could improve or maybe not.

TASM! Peter Parker x GN! Reader (not use of any pronouns)

Warnings: implied sex, angst, cheating, crying, mentions of food. (Let me know if I forgot anything)

Words: 1764

A/N: Well, I'm back after a big hiatus, school was stressing me out (since it was my last year of high school) and I decided to enjoy summer and spending time on myself. I also had quite a writer block and the only thing that came out was a TASM! Peter Parker fic, so here it is. As always, let me know if I made any grammar or/and spelling mistakes for English is not my first language and any constructive criticism will be well receive. So with no further do… Hope you enjoy it!

mcu masterlist

Earbuds in, you were walking down the streets of New York, it was so cold that it felt as if you were in the middle of December, even though it was almost April. With your bare hands you pulled your coat tighter to protect yourself from the winter-like cold weather.

That afternoon your boyfriend, Peter, asked you if you could go and buy some groceries, since the pantry was almost empty and he decided to be a chef for you and cook that one meal he showed you a few months ago and you obliged, now cursing him for the coldness your body felt.

The store was just a few streets away from your apartment. You prayed not to run into anyone, because you knew they would love to catch up with you, even in this invernal cold. But thankfully, you arrived at the shop without any encounters. There you took the shopping list Peter crafted with the ingredients for his recipe and with a few more basic things, such as milk.

You knew why he was doing it. These last few weeks hadn’t been the best for your relationship, college and his vigilante work made him skip some important dates, like your second year anniversary. Both of you decided to go out for dinner, to the fancy restaurant right besides Aunt May’s house. You arrived dressed beautifully, a blue dress that accentuated your eyes and your free hair that fell like a cascade.

Peter made sure he didn’t have to work as Spider-Man that night, moving and rescheduling, but nevertheless, you were stood up. Three hours sitting in that chair made you think you weren’t a priority to him and you could feel as you shrinked in that cahir, making yourself feel tiny.

The waiter, that was serving you, came by the table for the 15th time asking if you had decided yet, you smiled at him with a tight-lipped smile and shook your head, standing up and giving him the restaurant’s menu. One hour later you received a text from Peter:

im srry 11:56 pm

smthg came up :(( 11:56 pm

ill make it up 2 u, promise x 12:03 am

You felt disappointed in him, you both planned the night so he didn’t have to dress up as Spider-Man and had to watch over the city, but as always, he had to, not even for a night, an important one (at least for you), he could not leave it alone.

For the next weeks all that could be heard in your apartment was shouting, screaming and reproaches thrown to one and other. They were filled with venom. Each word thrown was like a dagger in your hearts, it hurt you.

“You know damn well, I can’t leave the city for an anniversary!” he would shout. “As if it was so important, we will celebrate plenty of them! Ugh, God!”

But today, he decided to compensate for it, he wanted you to feel fancy and special, as you should have felt on your anniversary, or so you thought as you picked up some tomatoes he asked for. Peter always regretted standing you up because he knew, deep down, you would never stand him up, not even for an emergency and he knew that always hurt you.

You were on the queue revising everything you were about to buy when you realized you didn’t put cheese on the cart, so, quickly, you stepped out of the line and went to the dairy aisle, cursing yourself because you only wanted to arrive home, eat that delicious dinner Peter was about to make and get drunk on some cheap wine. But the universe had other plans, apparently.

Suddenly, you heard your name being called from down the aisle, you turned your head and saw one of Peter’s friends. It was Gwen, a beautiful, not to say gorgeous girl. He was Peter’s ex, but they decided to remain friends since they knew each other since preschool. Gwen was one of the only people who also knew about Peter's secret identity, so of course you always went to her for advice or just to feel heard. She was so very nice and you could always count on her, even if you weren’t as close as she was with Peter.

‘‘Oh my God!’’ she started approaching you so she could hug you. ‘‘How are you? It’s been ages since we’ve last seen each other!’’

Her embraces were comforting and safe ans that's how you fell between her arms as you reciprocated her hug.

‘‘Yeah, it’s been’’ you said. ‘‘How have you been?’’

‘‘Well, I’m fine, but you must’ve been feeling horrible these past months’’ she responded feeling sorry for you, a knowing look on her face.

You were confused, you’ve been perfectly fine, with your highs and lows, but like every other person and of course Peter and yours relationship wasn't having its best time, but you wouldn’t complain, nor say you were feeling horrible because of it.

‘‘I know about you and Peter, so don’t worry, you don’t have to act all confused’’ she assured you, squeezing your forearm, as if she wanted to comfort you. You were even more confused now.

‘‘What about Peter and I?’’ you looked at her, now with your arms crossed. Everything was fine. Were there any rumors? ‘‘We are fine’’ you added with a nervous laugh.

Gwen was the one with the puzzled look on her face now. She removed her hand off your forearm and smile just as confused as you.

‘‘I thought you guys broke up, you know since he…’’ she laugh, she then stopped, her smile dropped and gasped aa she realized. ‘‘Oh no! I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Peter is an awful idiot.’’

You placed the cheese on the cart and let out a nervous chuckle followed by a trembling what, why? Gwen only gave you a tight hug and whispered:

‘‘I’m here for you, it is all going to pass, ok?’’

You remove yourself from Gwen embrace and went to the line, thoufhts running wild all over your brain.

You just wanted to go home and ask Peter about it. Why did his friend think you broke up? You didn’t want to jump to conclusions and think bad about Peter, but what if he was... No, he would never do that, right?

You paid for your things and went speed walking, almost running, down the street to your apartment. You opened the door and sprinted up the stairs with two bags full of food and miscellaneous stuff on them. You needed an explanation, why did his friends think you guys were over?

In your head, you imagine yourself as a jealous partner. Sick by the idea of it, you tried not to second guess yourself, but your gut knew what was going on, you juat wanted to deny it.

As you arrived at your door, your heart was pounding against your chest at such speed you could feel it coming put your chest. One hand on the knob and the other one turning the keys, while the plastics bag was hanging on your forearms. You were deciding whether or not to open the door, whatever the trith was, you know that it behind that door your heart would ache.

You finally enter your shared apartment with your boyfriend Peter. He was in the kitchen preparing the pots he was going to use. You welcome yourself by saying ‘Hi’, Peter didn’t see you at first.

When you arrived ar the kitchen, Peter went and gave you a peck, instead of butterflies, you felt sick in your stomach, how would you even think so lowly of him?

‘‘You are freezing, my my’’ he broke the silence and you were so relieved he was the one to do it. He put his hands on either side of you and start running them up and down to make you warmer.

Maybe Gwen was wrong, maybe he told her about one of their fights and so she thought the broke up.

‘‘Yeah, well, it is as if we were in winter and not at the end of March’’ you laughed it off. You left the bags on the counter and put off your coat, hanging it. ‘‘You know, I’ve run into Gwen at the store’’ you added, while you were in the hall.

He only hummed picking up the ingredients he needed. you took a deep breath as you reentered the kitchen. Peter looked so handsome while cooking under the dim light of the room. You didn’t want to do this, but your brain reminded you that you deserved an explanation.

‘‘She told me, she thought we broke up’’ you said, chuckling nervously. Peter looked up to you immediately, he had guilt written over his features. ‘‘She started, like, oh you must be feeling horrible, y’know Peter, you, relationship over, blah, blah, blah’’ you added, also chuckling.

Peter directed his gaze to the pots as swiftly as he looked up at you before. You tried to calm yourself, a small smile appeared on your face, maybe your suppositions were wrong, how could you not trust him? He had heart of gold.

‘‘I obviously denied it all, because we are great, with some rough weeks and some fighting, but, we are great, no?’’ you asked, pushing Peter to confess something you expected him to, but he only shook his head while gulping. ‘‘She also apologized and told me she was there for me, which was so weird by the way.’’

Peter pretended he didn’t listen to that. His jaw was clenched, however you didn’t notice it and you started talking again.

‘‘I was so dumb because it really seemed as if you would cheat on me!’’ you then laughed, loud, so loud you swore the neighbors could hear you. ‘‘But you would never cheat on me, right?’’

Silence.

The only thing that was making some sound was the boiling water, but nothing more. There was silence.

You fear for the worst. The truth you didn’t even want to believe. Your heart sank. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not your golden heart boy.

‘‘Right?’’ your voice was cracked this time, the smile you had dissapering from your face. Peter looked at you, eyes read and tears whealing in his eyes.

You couldn’t take it anymore as tears began to flow down your cheeks and anger mixed with sadness was controlling and consuming your body.

Peter opened his mouth, he needed to explain himself, but you had enough.

‘‘Baby, I-’’

‘‘Don’t baby me, Peter. Don’t you even dare to look me in the eye!’’ you shouted, interrupting his explanation. ‘‘How could you even…? WHAT DID I DO? WAS I NOT WORTH IT?’’

Peter was shaking his head, nervously, while tears streamed down his face, you were more than worth it, you were so much better for him. He was trying to form an explanation, but he could only form sobs. He was now regretting everything he did that led up to this moment. Meeting that girl, taking her to bed, continueto hook up with her… His heart broke as you were breaking down in front of him and he couldn’t do anything, because he was the one to fuck it up.

‘‘Was it her?’’ you sobbed, trying to even out your breath and looking up tearing your gaze off the floor.

Peter looked at you confused.

‘‘Was it her what came up in our anniversary?’’ you asked again, praying to whoever was up there it wasn’t, that it was Spider-Man.

He just nodded. Your whole world collapsed. So it was true, you weren’t important, not to him at least. You nodded, as well, containing your cries by biting your lips, he didn’t deserve seeing you like this. He didn’t deserve you, not at all.

‘‘For how long? I just want to know that’’ you lied, you wanted to know it all. You wanted to know the juiciest details, how many times he had fucked her or how many times he had lied to you and his friends. You deserved to know it all, but if you stayed in the same room for more than five minutes you would burst into tears.

“Three months before our anniversary’’ he admitted. It had been going on for over five months now. ‘‘But, I… I never loved her, not like I love you, baby, please. You have to believe me.’’ he added, crying.

That was the final straw.

‘‘If you would have loved me, you would never look out for another girl’’ you sentenced as you put on your coat and left the apartment. Peter followed you right behind, but stopped once you were out on the hallway. If he loved you he would go right behind you, running up to you. He never did.

The crude reality settling down. You wanted to shout, cry your heart out, and curse Peter Parker's name, but that’s the thing about you, you wouldn’t do it because you couldn’t. Even after the revelation, you still love him, even when you were this hurt, even if he kissed her right in front of you, even if he disappears from your life, you will forever love him. You gave him your heart, he took it, played with it, kept it and left you out there in the cold street of New York City crying.

Earbuds in, you were walking down the streets of New York, this time crying for a boy with a heart of gold for others, just not for you.

#tasm! spider man x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tams! peter parker x you #peter parker #andrew garfield! peter parker #andrew garfield! spiderman x reader #andrew garfield! peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader angst #peter parker fluff #tasm! peter parker fluff x reader #tasm! peter parker smut #tasm! peter parker fluff #tasm! peter parker smut x reader #peter parker smut

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