#maybe the first conversation the two of them have with francis clear headed and hes already holding himself differently — more assuredly

[stevethehairington]

okay but i need ALL of the fics that take place during crozier getting sober. like i feel like there is SO much potential here bc it is THEE biggest turning point for him! esp with regards to fitzjames and their relationship. like fitzjames seeing crozier's choice to sober up as this huge defining moment, one that ultimately and unequivocally earns his respect (back, really, because he DID have respect for crozier at first, before he met him. and now he sees that that respect wasnt misgiven, not really). and like the way this choice is what causes the first crack in james' mask around crozier! ugh it's just DELICIOUS.

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♪ ◦∘ Timothée Chalamet - Concerto ∘◦ ♪ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote and posted this almost a year ago on my Wattpad. My writing has evolved a lot since then, but I’m still proud of this piece, and hope you enjoy it. I do not know Tim, nor do I claim to in any way. This is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - smut. Detailed (but protected and consensual) sex, slight BDSM, overstimulation. Cursing. Legal alcohol consumption and smoking. Also 10k words of sickening fluff though, even the smut is fluffy.

Summary - At a classical music concert, the last person you expect to meet is a young man as charming and suave as Timothée. And the last thing you expected is for him to invite you back to his flat. Turns out music really is food for the soul, and other things...

IT’S A FRIDAY EVENING IN NEW YORK CITY. The sun is setting behind the towering silhouettes of undulating buildings all across the city, the moon casting shadows all around au contraire to the luminescence of building lights, beaming all around as well as the street lamps, bringing colour and light to people’s faces in the dark.

You’re standing on the pavement outside Symphony Space Concert Hall on the Upper West Side, people watching. Nothing more or less conspicuous, just observing everyone flooding into the hall, though none of them seem to be under 50 years of age. After checking the time, you take your phone out of the pocket attached to your delicate silk jumpsuit you’re wearing for the night, the one reserved for classy parties and sophisticated concerts only (though very handy). You open the email holding your ticket for the evening, a Poulenc appreciation concert, and you show it to the bouncer who grants you entry to the auditorium.

The room looks incredible. Photos of Francis Poulenc, as well as some old parchment sheets of his music spread out delicately over the usually bare walls. The lights create a perfect ambience in the hall for what's sure to be an incredible evening. The red velvet seats are half full, dotted with people at least twice your age, except from one seat near the front where you can see merely a defined jaw and brown curls. On the stage stands two glossy black grand pianos, slotted beside one another with plush velvet stools and their lids propped up, allowing one to see the inner workings of such wonderful instruments. Behind the pianos are seats enough for an entire orchestra, creating a crescent moon shape. A couple of the seats already have instruments atop them, aching for their owners to play beautiful melodies with them. You make your way down to where your seat is, familiar with the layout of the auditorium. You’re on the right hand side of the centre stalls, third row back, but as you arrive, there’s a boy you saw earlier, not much older than yourself.

“Hi, do you mind if I squeeze past?” You ask him, watching his head jolt up from the programme to reveal a mop of beautiful dark brown curls framing his chiselled face, piercing green eyes with flecks of hazel when the light changed direction. You recognise him, an actor, you simply can’t place him.

His look of incredulity melts into a smile. “Sure.” He says, moving his legs so that you can squeeze past and take your reserved seat on his left. He turns to face you, smiling. He’s wearing a crisp navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a matching tie. He looks well presented, and by his nervous and lopsided smile, you guess that he’s rather nervous to be at the concert alone too. “Timothée.” He tells you, holding his hand out.

You return his gesture, smiling right back at him, and tell him your name. “You here alone?” You ask him, turning in your seat to get a better view. He nods.

“Thought I’d be the only under fifty here.” He laughs, “I’m 24 by the way, but I shan’t ask your name since you're a lady.” You can't help but laugh at this, just a little giggle at how sweet he is, but your interaction is cut short as the lights turn down in the auditorium but shine brighter on the stage, and a full orchestra enters the stage, accompanied by their instruments, two pianists and a conductor. Murmurs in the hall settle down to a faint hum while the musicians tune to the sound of the oboe, and then begin to play.

The music is mesmerising, starting with orchestral pieces with faint piano accompaniment, then just a nocturne for piano, split between the two lead pianists. You could listen to it all night, but an interval has to come. As the lights slowly turn back up, you see an infantile smile on Timothée’s face, as though he’s just watched the most excellent thing in the world.

“Come on,” you say to him, smiling sadly while you tap his knee, “let’s get a drink.”

He reluctantly stands up to follow you out of the auditorium and to the small bar area. You order two margarita’s without consulting him, but he seems grateful as you sit beside each other on a high table, people watching once again.

“What's your job then?” He asks you, making small talk.

“I’m a piano major at Juilliard, teaching piano on the side though.” You respond, and he seems really taken aback. His jaw falls a little slack while his eyes bulge a tad.

“Wow, you must be excellent!” You blush a little at his words, elegantly taking a sip from your drink while he eyes you carefully. You feel awkward under his gaze, though flattered nonetheless. He’s gorgeous, and he’s complimenting you and accepting drinks from you, what a night.

“What about you?” You inquire. He's an actor, you know that, but asking means that you may be able to get some more context and maybe it’ll click where you’ve seen him before. He clears his throat, and you can see some older people walking by who pull faces, judging the pair of you, but you brush them off.

“I’m an actor, mainly small films though.” He says, remaining vague. You don’t push much more, realising that he probably likes not being fawned all over for once, so you simply ask of the favourite names he’s had the honour of working alongside, which must be an uncommonly asked question because a light flickers behind his eyes.

“Selena Gomez, Steve Carell, Armie Hammer, Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Robert Pattinson, Maia Mitchell…” He begins to list, but only when he mentions Maia does it click. You aren't huge into films, but you have seen him in a film with Maia Mitchell and Maika Monroe a few years ago.

“Hot summer nights, right? You were in that?” His cheeks turn a magnificent crimson and he bows his head as though embarrassed. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘not my best performance’, but you disagree. “I think you were wonderful, and did you mention Armie Hammer?” He nods again, seeming a little brighter. You take another sip from your drink, and he follows suit, watching your poised movements.

“Call Me By Your Name.” You nod in recognition, you remember watching the film when it first came out and loving the music from it.

“You’re excellent you know, at piano I mean, and the intimate scenes aren’t half bad either, you make them better.” You say with a teasing smirk on your painted lips, making Timothée’s eyes widen again. You chuckle and grasp his hand, dragging him into the auditorium for the second half.

The second half is a whole concerto, Poulenc’s Concerto For Two Pianos And Orchestra. Ten minutes in, Timothée’s hand finds your thigh and seems very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you don't dare move it. As the concerto flows further on, his hand slides further up your clothed leg and squeezes your upper thigh a little You tense under his touch, infatuation and lust filling every cell and exiting through your pores, just waiting for more passion to fill your body and make you drunk on the feeling.

When finally the concert ends, both of you stand to applaud the musicians for a solid few minutes, and you could swear you see a tear leaving Timothée’s mysterious eyes and rolling down his heavenly made, painfully defined cheekbones. While you clap, you surreptitiously edge closer together, millimetre by millimetre until you’re hip to hip with elbows nudging. Your head comes up to his chin, making you feel a little small, but you’ll feel even smaller once your heels come off. Once the majority of the audience have filed out, you grasp his hand and pull him through the crowds where you stand on the corner of the pavement, only metres from the venue. You’re reluctant to loosen your grip on his slim hand, as he is with yours.

“Cigarette?” He offers, holding a half full box out to you. You half smile and shake your head in refusal.

“I don’t mind if you do though.” You say, meeting his gaze. “I love the taste of smoke when I kiss someone.” You add in a whisper, leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He goes rigid, making you smirk to yourself. This is going to be a good night.

He lights his cigarette and takes slow drag, only looking away to blow the smoke in an opposite direction to you. How respectful, you think, as your stomach fills with butterflies and bubbles with anticipation. He puts it out on top of a bin and throws it away without littering, and just that small and helpful gesture makes you crave his touch, having his fingers trace your sweaty skin and making your body tingle, your back arch with desire and pleasure.

“Wanna get a drink?” You ask, pointing to a nice bar across the road. You’re desperate to sleep with him, but not without pleasantries first. He, however, shakes his head and intricately entwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll do you one better than a drink.” His smirk sets off a different kind of longing in you, forcing your body to follow him wherever he takes you.

As you walk, he starts conversation, but you’re so breathless from the desperation speed walking that your answers are brief. He asks you why you attended the concert, only to remember that you’re a music student and piano teacher; so in turn, you ask him the same question.

“When I was doing Call Me By Your Name, I had to learn the piano, and while I was learning classical pieces, I kind of just fell in love with classical piano music, I don’t know.”

His nervousness is sweet, making him appear far more humble than anyone of his stature would usually be.

You get to his building after a twenty minute dash in heels, and he pulls you flush against him while entering through the revolving doors, allowing you to lay your weight on him for a moment while you gather your breath. You feel his heartbeat thudding and racing against his ribs, reverberating against your own chest. You turn around to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” You say to him, allowing him to release a long held breathy chuckle. You leave the doors, both laughing, and fervently press the buttons to wait upon a lift. “So,” You then continue, breaking the silence where only your breaths were heard. “Favourite piano piece from the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack?”

“Hallelujah Junction!” You both answer at the same time, just as the lift doors open. You fall into the lift in a fit of giggles, clinging onto each other. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cold metal handle bar in the elevator with Timothée’s face inches away from your own. Your breath mingles together. As soon as he presses the button to his floor, he nudges his nose with your own.

“God, you're so beautiful.” he says seconds before his mouth is pressed hotly against your own, kissing you with an unrivalled passion. Your lips mould and move together like it’s second nature. His one hand holds your waist while both of yours grip his face, feeling a slight stubble.

The lift dings and he drags you out, unlocking his apartment door and leading you inside.

“Welcome to Casa del Timmy.” he says while hugging you from behind, allowing you to get a full view.

His apartment is stunning. Sleek, yet also vintage. Your eyes follow across the perimeter through a door to the left, where he has an office area containing a sleek white desk with a mac and a stack of papers and pens, next to it is a vintage white bookcase stacked as high as possible with novels of all shapes and sizes, and even an indie style rug underneath a colourful modern dining set..

The door next to the office is a kitchen, white countertops with wooden cupboards and a beautiful view of the city out of the window. To the right is a set of glass doors that open onto a small balcony where you can see the whole city, even Manhattan and Brooklyn depending which way you look and how the moon beams down. There’s a closed door right in front of you and through the entry hall and living room which you assume is his bedroom held behind a golden doorknob.

His living room, where you remain standing, holds an array of house plants with a couple of very comfortable looking plush sofas, his TV stand as well as his coffee table look like polished vintage items, refurbished from a flea market maybe, while his book shelf and rug are grand and modern. The best part of all though is a grand piano in an oak wood, matching the wood from his television table, and you become instantly entranced by the instrument that you don’t even notice the velvet stool or the perfectly organised cabinet of music, with a guitar propped up against it.

“Wow.” You breathe. Timothée grips you tighter, trailing kisses across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, inhaling every few seconds to treasure the scent of your perfume. Gardenia, rose champagne, grapefruit, davana; heavenly. You grip his hands with your own, holding them tightly where they’re settled on your tummy. You roll your head against his shoulder to give him better access to kiss you, but he stops abruptly and leads you to the piano stool. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a well loved piece of music.

“I know it’s for two pianos, but let's have some fun.” He says, grinning at you, an infectious smile that you can’t help but return. Hallelujah Junction, first movement. He puts the music out on the piano and takes a seat beside you, your thighs touching and hands overlapping as they begin to glide over the keys.

Playing this piece is second nature to you, allowing you to find your way easily, slipping your fingers between Timothée’s, and the white and black keys. You begin a harmonious melody spanning the whole of the piano, but after only a couple of pages, you realise that its not working as your notes cross over, making it very difficult to play on just one piano. You laugh together, but only for a moment before he is trailing his tongue up your neck, then your lips, and delving inside your mouth. You gasp, moaning into the passionate kiss that he’s giving you, and within seconds you find yourself straddling his lap on the piano stool. You trap his thighs between yours, moving and grinding your hips a little against his to receive more friction where you can feel how needy he is.

Within seconds, he has your legs wrapped around his waist and his teeth on your clavicle. The pleasure makes sounds escape your lips that you didn’t even realise were possible. You knot your ankles as he stands up with one hand around your waist and the other feeling his way around his apartment. After a few funny missteps and close calls of him dropping you while only walking the expanse of his living room, he pins you against his bedroom door, finding your lips again

He gently pokes at your dusty pink bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, exploring avidly and devouring every taste of you that he can muster. You do the same, but become too infatuated by his taste to put much more passion into it: gin, mint, bergamot and smoke. Smoke, sugar and sin, the most deadly combination of them all, and that's all you can smell on him, making you moan even louder. An erotic moan that makes Timothée twist open the handle to his bedroom door as quickly as is humanly possible.

He as good as throws you onto the bed, but undeniably, it turns you on a lot to see his dominant side this early on into the evening. He doesn't seem like the type to pin you down and boss you around, but as he shuts his bedroom door and delicately takes off his probably very expensive shoes, you can see a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s planning on doing unspeakably pleasurable things to you. Just the thought makes you wetter than before.

As he locks the door and shuts his shoes away, you take a quick look around the room. His bed is nice, comfortable and exquisitely large, like other things you hope. He has a nice colourful throw, vintage looking pillows to match his nightstand, holding only a pillbox, a glass of water, hand sanitiser, and a box of tissues. The simplicity makes you want to laugh, but you restrain yourself. He has a big dresser to match his bedside table with the drawers a little skewwhiff and clothes poking out. His wardrobe is fitted to the wall and by the looks of it, surprisingly neat too. That much cannot be said for his sofa though. A plush, light grey sofa sits on one side of his room just away from the window, and it's covered with clothes. At least he made the bed though, that's more than you can say for most 20-odd year old mans rooms that you’ve been into.

He sheds his blazer and crawls up to where he left you on the bed, needy and craving more. He looks down at you with desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but to attack his lips, threading one hand in his beautiful dark curls while the other nimbly pulls open his tie and undoes his shirt. You shrug it off his shoulders and run your nails up and down his spine. You feel him shiver beneath his touch while your hands travel all over his body. His shoulders, his biceps, his toned stomach; he’s skinny, but has enough substance to him to be strong and sexy as hell.

“You’ll kill me if you stop.” He whispers, followed by a string of breathy curses. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving you ample opportunity to grasp his shoulders and slip the pair of you over, pinning him beneath you. His eyes flit all over your face before kissing you again.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He mumbles between kisses. He slips his hands up to find the zip of your jumpsuit which he slides down crazily fast, only breaking the kiss to shrug it off your shoulders. He just lies in awe, noticing that you don’t have a bra on beneath it. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he examines every undulation of your body, following the swell of your breasts right down to your hips. Your nerves return under his scrutiny, making you want to hide your face, but instead he holds your wrists behind you.

“You never have to cover up,” he says, nothing more or less than genuine love in his eyes, “not for me.”

Despite only meeting him hours ago, you know that you can trust him, so you ungracefully clamber off his lap and lie on your back to shimmy off your burden of a jumpsuit. He practically leaps at the opportunity to worship your body, before him in only your panties. He starts at your ankle, placing feather light kisses all the way from your ankle, up your leg, not minding the slight harshness of your legs, and only stops at your knee joint to switch his lips to his tongue, licking a straight line all the way up your inner thigh, stopping centimetres from where you need him the most. Not through any of this ritual does he break eye contact though. He skips over your panties and only pulls them down a little to trail kisses from your pelvic bone, up past your navel, through the valley of your breasts, and finally back to your lips. He makes you feel things that you could only dream of before meeting him.

“Timothée…” you breathe, hearing his breath hitch in his throat at the way your tongue curls around his name.

You reach between the two of you to his trousers. You undo the belt buckle with ease and push his trousers off his hips and down his thin legs, allowing him to kick them off at the bottom. He seems embarrassed, wearing Y-fronts that make more visible just how much he wants you.

“How about we strip together?” You offer, and Timothée reluctantly nods. He pushes himself off of you and stands up, giving you a hand to stand up as well. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you left the concert hall. “3, 2, 1…”

You both remove your underwear, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them, only to step closer together so that your chests are flush against one another. He moves his hand up to cup your face, brushing your hair away from your face while tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a lustful yet also sensual kiss.

He nudges you and your legs hit the bed, making you topple over and break the kiss from a giggle, but he doesn’t seem to mind and only laughs with you, moving your body further onto the mattress. He doesn't go to you again, he just lies beside you and dances his fingers absently down your pubic bone, ghosting circles around your clit.

“Jesus Christ.” You exclaim at the sudden feeling. Timothée kisses your jawline, but adds in between kisses, “Less of that, darling, I’m Jewish.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. You know he’s joking, just trying to mess with you, but as a punishment for laughing, he thrusts two fingers inside you with no warning, making you cry out in a mixture of both pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, never going deeper than the second knuckle even when you cry out for more. Only when your moans turn to gasps for breath and you’re writhing beneath him does he delve in further and add his thumb to your clit, giving you a more intense orgasm than you’ve ever had before.

You immediately feel blood rushing back to your cheeks, colouring them from embarrassment, but Timothée doesn’t mind. He removes his hand from your core, and makes sure your eyes are fixated on his every movement as he licks his hand clean of all your cum. You’re so turned on that you even reach for his own hand, interlacing all your fingers except for his index one, of which he takes the hint and slips it into your open mouth, allowing your tongue to curl around it, making him groan.

He slips further down the bed and locks his eyes onto yours, you can see different shades of green and hazel in them and a whole world locked behind those beautiful eyes. Slowly, he delves into your heat, licking up everything that his hands missed. His mouth works wonders, sending your mind into a state of mild euphoria. The tip of his nose nudges your clit and you can feel yourself involuntarily gasp, so when Timothée finishes savouring every taste of you that he can get, he harshly bites your sensitive clit for just a moment, stimulating parts of your mind and body that you didn’t know could feel pleasure, let alone pleasure that intense.

He comes back up and kisses your lips, planting his hands in your hair as you kiss him back and get lost in the moment, your tongues dance together in an exploration, an experimentation of passion.

You pull away after a minute or so, gasping for air. Timothée examines your face for a moment, and you find yourself once again losing your thoughts and sanity in his eyes, until you feel the tip of his throbbing cock brush against your bare thigh. You feel bad for how much he’s been neglecting his own levels of desire in order to pleasure you, so you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. He takes a sharp intake of breath and flutters his eyes closed, his long dark eyelashes twitching alongside his eyelids whenever you grasp harder or pump him.

He’s surprisingly big, causing you to take longer while rubbing your hand up and down his member. Half way down one thrust, you squeeze his cock a little, hearing him whimper a little. The mere sound of him drowns your core in want. You edge your way down the bed and swallow as much of his dick as you can take until his tip hits the back of your throat. He lets out the most sensual guttural groan that you’ve ever heard, his eyes still closed while placing his hand on the back of your head to keep you steady. You bring your head back up to look at him while your tongue swirls his tip, his mouth is parted a little with breathy moans of your name escaping every once in a while, his eyelids switching from being lazily half open to squeezed so tightly shut that they wrinkle a little.

You go back down slowly, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. You work your hand in the part of him that won’t fit in your mouth and continue to bob your head up and down. You lick a strip up a vein on the underside of his dick, making him near enough scream your name. With one final bob of your head where you deep throat him, you pull away with plump lips, climbing up his body to straddle his waist. He looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, pulling you down for a sensual kiss.

“Are you clean?” He asks breathlessly, kissing down the hickeys that he’s already littered your skin with.

“Yeah, i got tested after my last break up a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Is that because I just…” He nods and you laugh a little, the vibrations from his chuckle rumble throughout your body.

“I did the same, but I’ll still…” You get what he’s saying and climb off him. He flings open the top drawer of his bedside table and after a minute or so of rooting through it he pulls out a condom packet and places it next to his glass of water. You give him a questioning look with your brows knitted together, but Timothée just smiles at you. He slips one slim arm beneath your back and the other under your knee joint before scooping you up and holding you close to his chest.

“Well hey there Timothée.” You say with a chuckle, secretly astonished at how strong he is, because with one arm still holding you, he throws away the decorative pillows and pulls the duvet back, throwing you onto the mattress and leaping on top of you. You smile into his kiss, savouring every second of the feel of his lips pressed hotly against your own, the taste of smoke driving you crazy.

He pulls away and sits up, tearing open the condom packet and grasping his hand sanitiser. He flicks the lid open and squeezes it liberally onto his hands before applying it and rubbing it into yours. “Are you sure?” He asks you, and your urgent kiss to his jawline is followed by a string of fervent reassurances that you are desperate to have him inside you, though you respect that he wants consent and that he wants to be clean. He slips the condom on, his eyes trained on your lips and the way they part from wanting every few seconds. He’s enjoying torturing you and making you wait, the same way that you edged him but denied him orgasm.

He slips the condom on and slowly enters in one smooth stroke. You gasp at the contact, especially how deep he goes with the first thrust, so deep that his pubic bone hits your own. He reaches for the duvet and he pulls it up over his shoulders, covering the pair of you since he can see that you’re shivering a little in the open. He looks for reassurance, but then begins to thrust inside you, holding his weight above you. You can see his biceps tensing while trying to hold his weight up and keep a steady rhythm.

“How about we spice this up?” He suggests, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cocks an eyebrow, and the sun hits his face at an angelic angle, only making him more beautiful. You nod eagerly to him, only making his smirk grow wider.

“Yes Mr Timothée,” you say, triggering a dominant smirk to relight behind those stunning eyes.

“That's Mr Chalamet to you tonight, Miss.” Words cannot even explain how wet he makes you by saying that, already making your mind want to submit to his every want. You let out a whimper and remove your hands from his hips to lay above your head on the pillows. He joins his fingers around your wrist and proceeds to lay his slender hand flat against your wrists, preventing you from moving.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his movements coming to a halt. You nod and kiss him again. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He must really enjoy what he’s doing to you. “Yes Mr Chalamet.” You reply, making your eyes as doe like and innocent as possible.

Timothée’s thrusts restart, faster this time. You moan louder, ecstasy filling every inch of your spent body before you’ve even properly begun. His moans are lower, more like groans, all of your name. It sounds heavenly coming from his lips, the way his mouth moves when he says your name just makes it better. His hips hit yours with vigour, adjusting to get a better position where he hits the best spot inside of you.

“There Timothée!” You scream desperately, your back arching on the mattress while your hands fight to break free. Submitting isn’t as easy as you hoped.

“I’m close.” He warns you and frees your wrists, but he doesn’t let your hand go too far. He interlocks his fingers with yours, using one elbow to prop himself up. His thrusts turn sloppy, more fervent, and just as he’s finishing, he digs his thumb into your clit.

Your entire body turns limp, screaming his name in a state of complete euphoria like you’ve never felt before. It travels from your brain to the tips of your fingers, setting a fire in your belly and making your toes curl. Your back arches so far off the bed that your chest becomes pressed against Timothée’s, your breasts moving in time with his breathing. You feel him come to his own climax, silencing his screams by kissing you with more passion than he has before.

You ride out your highs, but the level of pleasure illuminating every nerve ending in your body means that you don’t notice Timothée pulling out and disposing of the condom, you only notice when he flops down beside you on the bed and pulls you closer to his slightly sweaty body. You rest your head on his chest that seems to be glowing in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat. He absently plaits your hair, staring off into the distance. The faint thudding of his heart within his ribs comforts you, it's a little faster than would be normal, making you smile a little.

“How was that?” His hand grips around your shoulder even tighter, pulling you closer to his body. He seems content in simply holding you, maybe he just enjoys cuddling. “Wait, don’t answer that.” He corrects himself, his pupils dilating and his excellent, angelic body going rigid. You chuckle to yourself, drawing circles on his chest with the pad of your forefinger,

“Excellent, Mr Chalamet.” You tease him.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He looks fearful, fretting, it's evident in the sudden sulk of his face, pulling his cheeks and forehead down. You shake your head again, slowly but surely moving your leg to lie over his. Ye inclines his neck to place a gentle kiss to our hairline, and you can feel him smile into it.

“Timothée?”

“Yes beautiful?” Just his simple words make you giggle and blush, such a sweet sentiment from a gorgeous and well meaning man.

“I’m hungry.” You say, feeling slightly embarrassed. He laughs, you feel his body move from it, and he proceeds to pepper your face with the softest and sweetest kisses possible.

“I’ll make us some food, grab any shirt you want and meet me in the kitchen.”

You watch him pull on a pair of grey sweat pants and walk out. His pale hips sway just a little as he walks, and he looks so lanky from where you’re laying on his bed, the covers pulled up around your chest. He kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen, what kind of a man does that on the first night? He’s a famous actor and the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, let alone a couple of years above yourself. He really knows how to please a girl, your skin rises in tiny goosebumps of pleasure while a shiver shoots down your spine and leaps across your synapses just at the mere thought of what he did to you, by far the best climax you’ve ever had.

You slowly slide out from under his warm, plush covers that smell just like him, only leaving with severe reluctance that melts away as soon as you shrug on the pale blue button down that he wore for the concert. Only a few hours ago you’d met at a concert for old people, already having a common interest that few your age have, yet he’s so eager about classical piano which is so special to you. You fiddle with the buttons, leaving the top few open in hopes of another round - he is making you an almost-midnight feast after all.

You walk out of his room and pad barefoot across his living room floor, only to have a little grey cat come and rub at your feet. You lean down to tickle behind its ears, hearing it meow, and you continue your way too where Timothée has left the kitchen door open for you. He’s standing over the stove with some ingredients laid out on the spotlessly clean countertops. You smile in spite of yourself, running a hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. You place a couple of kisses to his shoulder blades until he turns around and picks you up in one swift movement, sitting you on the counter so that you meet his height.

“It looks better on you.” He whispers, pulling you closer by your bare thighs to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s making you feel things you’ve never experienced before, you can’t wipe the smile off your face for the first time in a while, and he's making you food in the middle of the night after cuddling you.

Dreamboat.

After watching him cook for a while, you slip out of his kitchen and take a seat at his piano. You run your fingers over the smooth wood, it’s well loved but well kept. Then you take a seat on the stool. You can feel where Timothée sits to play, your smile turning a little sad. There’s so much to him that people won’t see because he’s getting famous, but he’s still a person and that’s something that you’re able to experience first-hand.

Eyes closed, you feel for F and Ab with both of your hands. You press the keys down gently, creating the soft blend of notes that is Clair De Lune. You fall lost in the music in a new way, a new feeling washing you with all of tonight's new sensations and sitting at a piano that is neither your own nor at school, it feels somewhat ethereal.

Your fingers glide all across the keys, black to white, flats to sharps, switching between octaves like its second nature. Your mind dances along with the rhythm, your whole mind, soul and being becoming lost in the symphony that you’re creating, one that you haven’t been able to create for a while, and it’s only thanks to Timothée.

You become so absorbed in playing that you don’t notice him leaving the kitchen to listen. He just stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his head lolled a little to the side, completely mesmerised by your movements, your music, and just everything you are. Only when you play the final notes are you alerted of his presence from the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. He walks over to you with purpose, a slight grimace on his perfect lips, but he just hugs you. Timothée just holds you close to his chest, allowing you to entwine your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face in his bare chest.

“Stay the night?” He asks, such a simple request but he truly does seem anxious. You want to be genuine, kind, but it’ll be best to relieve the tension.

“You’re making me a late night post-sex feast and giving me your shirt, of course I’m staying the night.” After a moment of silence, he exhales a laugh and node, brushing a curl or two into his face. “Anyway, your cat likes me too, so it’d be a shame to disappoint the little cutie.”

After only a few minutes, you find yourself back in bed with Timothée. He’s carrying a tray full of food that looks and smells gorgeous, followed by his cat who decides to dance between his legs. He serves you a strangely shaped piece of an odd looking pizza, though it still looks excellent, and it has some perfectly cooked and seasoned vegetables next to it on a white plate.

“What is this?” You ask him as kindly as possible.

“Flammekueche with some vegetables. It’s a French pizza with crème fraiche and bacon. My dad makes it all the time and always gives me some that I just freeze and reheat. I can only make microwave meals and vegetables, so this isn’t bad for me.” The way he explains it makes him so endearing, and even makes the food seem more than enticing. “You’re not allergic to anything are you? Or vegetarian?” You shake your head with a smile, kissing him and thanking him for the meal even though he won’t let you touch it before you sanitise your hands.

You talk the whole while that you eat, learning little things about his favourite books and his family. His favourite book just happens to be Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book you both know and love, and Timothee has a Jewish mother, a French father, an older sister, and he grew up in the city. You however are from out of the city with an exceptionally normal family, and your favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He seems to be growing fond of you, wiping the pizza sauce from your lip, followed by a kiss each time.

He places your plates on the floor as soon as you finish, snatching at the speed of light for some hand sanitiser, lube and another condom. You more than happily oblige with all of his steps and strip off his shirt, kissing the living daylights out of him before he’s even slotted the condom on. He kisses you back with equal fervour nonetheless, exploring your whole mouth with the tip of his tongue. He cautiously adds some lube to the sides of the condom and slips into you while you’re still atop him. You moan at the penetration, arching your body forwards and hereby giving Timothée a full view of your breasts and the way they bounce with his every thrust inside you.

You moan pornographically at his slow and passionate movements upwards and deep inside you, finding your special spot within moments. He settles his hands upon your hips, squeezing them and guiding your every movement. You ride him just the way he wants you to, you can see it in his eyes. He looks at you like a teenage boy would at a naked supermodel, of which you are only naked and most definitely not a supermodel, despite him treating you like one, and Timothée is thankfully older than a teenage boy yearning for sex.

“You look so fucking brilliant.” He tells you, admiring the way that your face contorts with pleasure while taking every inch of him.

You rhythmically grind your hips against him, swirling them occasionally just to hear him cry out. Nothing is a hinderance from you going faster, but this sex isn’t needing to be urgent to be satisfying. He squeezes your hips harder and you decides to move up a little further, bouncing back down on him as he becomes buried to the hilt in your desperate core. You do it again, engulfing him anew and moaning his name continually from the mix of friction and pleasure that’s sending you into another euphoria, but not enough to release again just yet.

Timothée still hasn’t taken his eyes off you, namely your breasts where he’s currently focussed, eyes trained on your hardened nipples - partly from not wearing a shirt and partly from Timothée’s ministrations. He leans up and captures your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing and swirling his tongue around you in the most divine way possible. He moves his hands away from your hips too, allowing you to grind your hips on his in any way that you like. His one hand moves to your other breast, tweaking and pulling at your right peak and sending sensations through your body that you’d never realised could be real before; while his other slips to the rounds of your ass, squeezing delectably.

“Mr Chalamet, p-please,” you find yourself begging, leaning down while still riding him, his torture on your breasts never ceasing, not even when he thrusts his hips up one final time, allowing your core to devour him whole and sending you into your third otherworldly climax of the night.

“Timothée!” You scream, your climax pouring out of you. You feel him come too, and you hear him cry out your name like a blessing.

He doesn’t pressure you, he just waits until you’re able to clamber off him with as minimal pain and exhaustion as possible, though you do whine at the loss of contact as you lie beside him, his arms securely around you and holding you as close to him as possible. It doesn’t matter that you’re both sweaty or spent, it just feels special.

“Look at that, done before 1am.” He chides, cuddling into you. You laugh a little at him, especially his humour, but it is rather remarkable.

“Two rounds, a meal, and a concert. Can’t speak for you, but I’m knackered.” He smiles at you sleepily, passing you the shirt that you wore earlier. You shrug it on and do it up while Timothée puts his joggers back on and draws the curtains, leaving the two of you in dark for the most part. You lie further down, still close to his thin chest, you hear his breathing rattle a little, but it's soothing.

“Night beautiful.” Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep in his arms.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The only issue about sleeping with Timothée is that you forget it's a Saturday morning, and on Saturdays, you have to work. Your phone alarm starts to go off at 7.15 precisely, which when you’re home, gives you enough chance to get ready for teaching in a calm manner so that you aren’t already angry before teaching little children how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Today however, that is not the case.

Timothée sleeps through it somehow, but your eyes are shocked wide awake, causing you to leap from the comfort and warmth of his bed and cuddles just to crawl on the floor in search of your phone and where it fell last night. You find it next to his door somehow, and switch the alarm off immediately, propping yourself up against the door to release a long held breath and to watch the sun rise through his windows. He looks so beautiful asleep, his lips parted slightly, soft snores escaping every so often, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mop of curls haphazardly lying around him like a halo. The morning glow makes his cheekbones appear even more defined.

You want to gather your belongings without waking him, get dressed and catch a cab back to your flat, but just as you go to open his door, he stirs.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful? Come back to bed, I’m keeping you here with me forever.” You know he’s joking, and his words melt your heart and inhibitions a little, but you can’t justify staying

“I have to work, my first student is at 9.30.” You say, walking across to stand beside his bed and brush some hair off his forehead, kissing him and your lips lingering on his sweaty skin a little longer than they probably should have.

“And? I’ll drive you home in time, if you live near Juilliard then I know a shortcut. Just come back.” He's virtually pleading, puppy eyes and quivering lip just to add to the effect, and you simply can’t say no when he looks so perfect. You place your things on the floor by the bed and slip beside him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut just a moment longer.

His finger traces your naked body beneath the shirt, focussing on the bruises he left on your hips and the marks on your neck. Just his touch is enough to take control of your body, to give you goosebumps, to electrify every feeling of love and lust held within.

“Can I use your shower please?” You ask him, and he nods, placing his chin atop your head.

“I’ll take you to my bathroom and then I’ll make you breakfast. Grab whatever clothing you want from my room, but you can’t leave this bed until you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold at his gesture, and you want to take a leap of faith and say yes straight away, but that would be playing your cards too quickly. “We’ll see.” You respond sultrily, making your way to leave, but his strong grip pulls you flush against him with no space to move. You can hear him laughing in your ear.

“Say yes to dinner and then you can leave.” He slips his hands further down your front without losing his grip and decides to toy with your clit as though it’ll get you to talk.

“Y-yes! God, Timothée, of course I’ll go to dinner with you, just don’t stop!” You find it impossible to understand the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating and electrifying your every sense from an action as simple as the pads of his fore and middle fingers twisting and pressing your sensitive clit. It’s so incredible that after the previous night, it feels like overstimulation, and you can’t get enough.

“I’ll never stop.” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, you can hear the hoarseness that smoking causes but god it sounds and tastes so good.

He pulls your body closer and rolls you over. “Hey baby.” You say as calmly as you can, but within seconds you find yourself sitting on his face, half of his stunning bone structure lost beneath you. He delves his tongue into your already dripping heat, licking as far as he can get and only pulling away to kiss and suckle at your clit.

“Let me come Mr Chalamet!” You cry out, and with one final swipe of his tongue around your core and a squeeze of your ass, you let go. Timothée licks you clean while you still chant his name, and he proceeds to pick you up in order to carry you to the bathroom. You settle your heels at the base of his spine, digging in a little, and his arms tense beneath your ass from the manner he carries you. You like being above him, able to trace every line and bit of stubble on his face with your focussed eyes that he stares so deeply into at any given chance.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll be tempted to join you.”

You slowly cross the threshold of the bathroom, winking at him as you close the door. He inaudibly groans, but you can tell from his facial expression and the tension in his joggers that make him look utterly sexy. You slowly unbutton his shirt, reluctant to take it off, but when you step under the warm jet of his shower, that reluctance washes away along with any inhibitions you may have had about Timothée. He’s an angel: clean, respectful, enjoys classical music, has a cat, isn’t a cocky dickhead, and he’s literally the most gorgeous human being that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing directly beneath his showerhead. The steam clouds your vision, but you can hear Timothée singing while he cooks, Mystery of Love. What a dork, you think, chuckling to yourself while you rinse Tim’s shower gel from your body, and you just know that after this you’ll smell like him, but he smells delectable. As the water hits the most sensitive parts of your body, you remember the previous night. Just the thought of what he did to you makes you crave his touch again.

Through the bathroom window, you can make out the New York traffic that builds every morning, accompanied by the screeching of tires and sirens and car horns. Despite it being a ruckus, it's soothing as you step out the shower and wrap yourself in one of Timothée’s fluffy towels.

“How do you look so sexy when you’re getting out of the shower? God, I can't stress it enough, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life, even without any makeup and with your hair un-styled, just wrapped in my Goddamn towel. You’re gonna be mine, mark my words.” You feel tears come to your eyes at his kind words, watching him purposefully walk from the kitchen and all the way across his apartment just to place his hands on your waist and tell you how beautiful you are. Those words are better than a concerto to you.

Once you’ve finished getting dry in his bedroom, you ferret through his drawers until you pull out a white top with various tie dye patterns across it. It’s cute, very Timothée. You pull it on and it reaches your mid thighs, making it clock in your head just how much of a lanky lad he is. You bundle together your stuff and head out of his room, closing the door behind you and greeting him with a kiss. He sits you at the breakfast bar and serves you a proper cooked breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.

“There's ketchup and syrup in the cupboard if you’d like.” He offers, sidling up on the seat beside you, nudging the tip of your nose with his thumb. The smile hasn’t left your face since you met him.

“This is good, you’re an excellent cook.” You tell him, resting your hand on his. His cheeks glow an even brighter red in the cascading morning sunlight, dappled by his blinds, but he looks magnificent despite his embarrassment.

You take out your phone, just to take a picture of the breakfast while it’s still untouched, and of your hand held by Timothée’s, already wearing rings. You notice that he’s already wearing a silver chain too, and a couple of bracelets on the wrist away from your own, which you find unusually attractive.

“I wish you could stay all day.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours.

“Me too.” you say softly, smiling sadly and caressing his cheek.

You finish your breakfast and make your way to the living room in a strange kind of waltz orchestrated by Timothée. He insists on holding your waist and turning around a little, moving your feet in sync until you yank him down onto the sofa, catching his lips mid sigh which leads to a much more passionate make out session than you anticipated. Once that’s over, he plaits your hair beautifully, explaining how it used to calm his sister down before an audition. By the time he’s finished a very good pair of plaits, you check the time and it’s already 9, time for you to leave with NYC traffic, but Tim won’t let you go.

“Not without a photo.” He insists, but you question his reasons. Who would want a photo of you with wet hair in plaits, an oversized tee-shirt and a bare face? But his answer is too sweet to refuse. “I like taking pictures of beautiful things, and of which, you are the most beautiful.” Your cheeks flush a raging scarlet, and Timothée takes your few moments of silence as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of you, sunlight hitting your face in all the right places, and he takes another for good measure, his hand on your cheek and his lips on yours, a kiss that shuts you up for good.

He takes you down the stairs right to the garage where he keeps his car, and surprisingly, it’s an understated car, not crazily extortionate nor flashy, something which you respect highly. He sits you in the passenger side, making sure to kiss you before closing the door, and he gets in the driver's side. After starting the engine and leaving the parking lot, he lays his palm flat against your thigh and keeps it there the whole drive while you change gears for him. You tell him all about your childhood, your high school, your time in uni while he tells you his life at a performing arts high school and then his life as an actor, he truly fascinates you.

Once he pulls up outside your building, he tries to convince you to let him come in, or at least walk you to your door, but on the grounds of not scaring the life out of your neighbours and students, you say no with a promise to see him later.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk.” He says, pulling you in for a final passionate kiss before you step out of the car. He made you wet just before you have to work, you’ll get him back later, but the revenge melts as soon as he leans out the window to blow you a kiss and tell you how stunning you are.

You’re so lost in your trance of Timothée that you don’t notice your first student tapping you on the shoulder and excitedly saying “Was that the Timothée Chalamet?”

You chuckle to yourself, watching him drive off into traffic, all for you. “Yes it was love, yes it was.”

[juletheghoul]

Oblivius Chapter 10

We've come to the end my friends.

This is the last chapter for Francis & Spills and hopefully you'll enjoy it. I have had such a great time writing this story and have received so many lovely messages & asks about my two dumb idiot babies.

Although this is the end of the main story - you can always send in an ask about them because I will literally jump back in at the drop of a hat. (and who knows, might randomly drop a chapter / dabble if I get into my feelings)

Thanks for sticking with me!

Likes & reblogs are appreciated

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Fluff & general cuteness, Smut 18+ - dirty talk, p in v sex (NO MINORS + WRAP IT UP) language *time jump at the end - which has a little surprise* (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Prev Part Playlist

--------

Age: 29

He knew he shouldn’t have been nervous, but he couldn’t help it.

He was working on his feelings for her, on coming to terms with his hurt and his anger. Once the initial burn of it cooled he could admit to himself that they’d both been utterly stupid. Both were to blame for how things shook out.

He knew this was the right course of action. He knew from the way he felt right at this moment, getting ready to pick Spills up for their first official date. He’d never once in the whole time he’d been with Claudia felt like this.

He had decided to keep it simple. Dinner and a movie. Can’t fuck that up and after everything that had transpired, he needed simple. It had been a couple of weeks since their conversation and things were a little awkward at first - trying to navigate this new dynamic but their conversations had gotten more comfortable. Both of them agreed to make the first date official.

He couldn’t help but smile as he made his way over to her place, even though his stomach was in knots. Even though a small part of him was terrified to fuck this up. Nothing could be sadder for him than for this not to work and have them drift apart but when he saw her rushing over to his truck all the doubts and worries melted away.

Of course this’ll work. I love you.

“Ready?” He asked and the smile was bright on her face when she climbed in and buckled her seat belt.

“Of course. Where are you taking me?” She ran her fingers through his hair and he could have purred, the touch felt so right.

“To our place.” He pulled out and made his way over to Marcellos.

--

The food was just as good as you remembered. The two of you found your rhythm as you ordered your meals and when they came he wasted no time in tasting your food and offering his plate to you. You sighed at how your heart swelled. This was so easy - so natural and you kicked yourself mentally over and over for not opening your mouth earlier.

You’d been afraid that things would be awkward after your talk and at first it was. The conversations and texts were weird, impersonal and almost forced but after a little while it was easy to fall back into your friendship.

It was so easy because you were friends. You already had the solid foundations for this to work and you were going to put everything you had into it.

You laughed, and you ate, and you enjoyed each other's company - forgetting the time and when he ordered the tiramisu and two forks you smiled big.

“I already bought the movie tickets, so we should leave soon or we’ll miss the previews.” You told him as the waiter cleared the table.

“You did?” He was surprised. “What movie are we watching then?” He asked as he paid for dinner.

“I picked a horror movie, looked terrifying.” you pulled out the tickets and he laughed. Kissing your hand as he walked you out of the restaurant.

--

He paid for dinner, so you bought the movie and popcorn. You made it with enough time to get good seats in the middle of the theatre, for the best vantage point according to him. In reality you didn’t actually care where you sat.

He lifted the divider as soon as the two of you sat, making sure you could tuck yourself into his side at the scary bits and you wasted no time getting comfortable. His arm was around you reassuringly as the trailers started, the two of you whispering a bit too loudly, deciding what was worth your time and what wasn’t.

You tucked your face into his neck at the jump scares, asking in whispers if it was okay to look. You could feel the rumble of his chest when he laughed, not unkindly. Felt him kissing your forehead softly when it was okay to look.

Despite having already kissed before, despite having had sex once before - this felt so intimate. You looked up at him to find him already smiling at you, your heart racing at the closeness. At the tenderness on his face.

You kissed him. Petal soft and chaste at first but he deepened it, his big warm hand coming up to rest softly on your cheek. His tongue tasted like popcorn and sugar and you couldn’t help but smile into it at first. The movie forgotten, the fear morphing into warmth and desire for him. As far as you were concerned - this was your first real kiss, and it took your breath away.

The rest of the movie was spent with your head on his shoulder. His hand steadily rubbing your arm and his nose buried in your hair and you couldn’t remember ever having a better first date.

---

You left the theatre quietly, the walk back to the truck was a leisurely stroll. Both of you smiling to yourselves as you held hands, your other hand holding onto his arm - you couldn’t get close enough.

He walked you to the passenger side, pressing you up against it to kiss you again quickly. You could see that he was taking every opportunity to press his lips to yours and you let him. Both of you quiet, breathless and giddy. You didn’t need words. Not for this.

After placing a couple more onto your neck and cheeks he remembered himself, and opened the door for you, running around the truck to get in. His hand found its way into yours on your lap as he drove you home.

He walked you to your door and asking him to come in was on the tip of your tongue but he forestalled. Speaking before you could ask.

“I’m coming in to check every corner so you aren’t scared.” He followed you in, closing the door behind him as he spoke. “But I’m not staying over, as much as I want to. I want to take this slow.” He was looking at you and you could have cried, not from disappointment, but from regret. Regret at having wasted so much time - regret that it took so goddamn long for you to get the courage to tell him how you felt and he must have seen the emotion on your face because he was holding onto your face in a flash. Cradling your jaw softly.

“What’s wrong Spills? Did I go too fast?” His brow was furrowed and despite your happiness the regrets swallowed you whole, you couldn’t stop the first few tears from falling.

“No no! I’m sorry. This was perfect and I just- I feel bad that we waited so long and I wasted so much time and we should have done this so fucking long ago.” You couldn’t stop the sob from clawing it’s way up your throat as he held you and he sighed loudly. Pulling you into the crook of his neck within the soft glow of your home.

“No - stop honey. Stop crying please - this isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have blamed you for everything. We’ve both been absolute idiots and maybe if we’d talked about this like grown-ups years ago all this bullshit could have been avoided, please stop crying.” He kissed your forehead as you clung to him. The smell of his clothes, the feel of him against your skin - his voice in your ear. It was all home and the longer he held you the better you felt.

“Listen, I was angry and hurt but the more I think about it the more I realize that we’re both to blame but it’s okay because we’re starting again right?” He pulled away to tilt your face up to look at him.

“We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be and this is going to work. It’s going to work because as far as I’m concerned you’re it. You’re the only person for me and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Do you understand? Forget everything and focus on this.” He was looking at you so intensely it was hard not to cry all over again. “Tell me you understand honey.” He kissed your cheeks, one after the other.

“Yes, I understand. I feel the same way about you Francis.” You smiled a watery smile up at him and he returned it.

“Good, now I’m going to check before I leave- kiss you goodnight and then we’re going to go out again.” And he did.

—

“Good morning!” You climbed into the truck after putting your beach bag and your cooler in the back. His face smiling at you brightly as he leaned over to you, lips pursed. You kissed him and he handed you your hazelnut coffee.

“Good morning honey.” His good mood was shining through as he pulled away from your home and drove towards the beach, just the two of you. “Did you bring me breakfast?” He kept looking over to see if you had anything for him, which of course you did.

“Of course - open up.” You put the buttery bagel half in his mouth and he ate it with gusto.

---

The day was gorgeous, absolutely perfect for the beach and he set about getting the blankets and the umbrella ready for the two of you. You watched him, savouring the sight of his deft hands making quick work of everything.

“You’re staring at me Spills.” He said it with a smile on his lips and you didn’t look away.

“Yes I am.” You couldn’t help but match his tone - he turned to you then and leaned in to kiss you. He kissed you at every turn and you cherished it, you loved the way he showed his affection for you. He was a physical creature and he luxuriated in being close to you.

“Good.” He smiled as he handed you the sunscreen and once you'd finished, he made himself comfortable against you. He chose to sit with his back pressed up against your chest, between your legs - despite having laid out his own towel.

--

You were floating.

The water was enveloping you, lapping softly at your skin as you let it carry you. The sun was shining and you had your eyes closed to shield you from it. You had gone into the water first while Frances read but now he was there too, always an arms length away but it wasn’t close enough and you both fell back into your usual rhythm of splashing and teasing until you were wrapped around each other.

You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself up against him. Even in the cool water, his skin was warm and you felt as he wrapped your legs around his middle. His hands started at your waist, but they quickly moved down and held onto your ass. You laughed.

“What are you doing Francis?” You asked it with a smile, these days it felt like everything you did was with a smile.

“I’m holding onto you Spills.” He was nuzzling his nose into your neck, placing little kisses around your collar bones and up the column of your neck to your ear. You hadn’t had sex since the night before his wedding, the two of you agreeing to take it slow but his hunger for you was becoming more and more evident as the weeks rolled by. His hands roaming a little more each time you were together.

“Onto my ass?” You looked into his face, cherishing it.

“That’s right.” He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, wanting to be closer, always closer. “Do you not want me to?” He smiled lazily - biting at your ear playfully.

“I never said that.” You breathed out the words, he was affecting you and you had to remember that you were in public. You fell into a comfortable silence. The two of you happy to float in the water as well as your happiness alike.

“Francis?” You were staring out into the water as you spoke, your head resting over his shoulder.

“Hmm?” He was resting his head on yours, eyes on the shore.

“Promise me we’ll live near the ocean one day.” You rubbed his back, tracing lines into his skin with pruny fingers.

“I promise, one day we’ll have a little house by the ocean. You’ll be able to hear it when the windows are open.”

The two of you floated out there for a long time, peaceful and quiet and in love.

—-

Your hand found its way into his curls on the way home, the salt water always defined them and it was too inviting to ignore. He never minded.

His hand found its way onto your lap and the two of you were connected the whole way.

“Come in. Park the rustbucket and stay over.” You didn’t want him to leave, not yet. You were ready for the next step in your relationship.

“Are you sure?” He asked even though he was parking the truck.

“Yes, we can order in.” You smiled a smile that had nothing to do with food.

“You’re gonna kill me Spills.” He was hurriedly unbuckling his seat belt, he wanted this just as much as you did and you couldn’t get inside fast enough. When you were finally inside he almost tackled you. Crashing into you with a bruising force, mouth insistent and unforgiving in its need for you.

“I want it in my bed.” You were pulling his shirt off as you pushed him towards your room and he growled.

“What do you want, baby? Tell me.” He was pulling off your shirt, undoing the top piece of your bathing suit as you finally got him into your room.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum like you did before, make me feel good.” You pushed him onto the bed and straddled him. He wasted no time and within a few seconds your nipple was in his mouth. Your grip on his curls was tight as you held him close to your chest. His tongue a slow swirl around the pebbled peak of your breast. First one, then the other. He was ruthless in his teasing, sucking roughly and then biting softly.

“You want my cock baby?” He was kissing your chest as he held onto your ass, your clothed core pressed up against the stiffening pillar of his sex. The arousal was a burning coal in the pit of your stomach and every time he pulled you closer it burned hotter. Your cunt ached for him, drooling out your passion into your underwear, the threads of you unspooling for him at your entrance.

“Yes, give it to me - please.” You bit at his neck, tasting the salt of the ocean on his skin and he moaned. You used the momentary distraction to pull off him and finish undressing. You helped him pull off his swim trunks and you pulled him into your shower, both of you were still covered in sand and you wanted to wash the day off him.

His body curled around you as you turned the shower on. His cock was hard and pressed up against the cleft in your ass. His hands were around your waist, holding onto your belly; your breasts. Anything and everything he could get his hands on and you both laughed as you got into the shower. You dragged him under the hot spray, helping him wash the salt and sand from his skin and his hair and he did the same for you.

Once you were clean he pressed you up against the wall, the cool tile against your nipples made you hiss and he pulled your waist toward him, one hand on your back to tilt your pelvis enough for him to slide in.

“Can I fuck you like this baby?” He leaned forward to press a kiss to your neck. You wiggled your hips against him in response.

“Yes Francis, give it to me just like this - please.” He groaned as he rubbed his cock through your folds, even under the spray he could feel how wet you were and he slid in to the hilt. His pelvis flush with the plump skin of your ass. “Fuck, I feel so full - you’re so big.” You smiled at the groan he let out at your words.

“You’re so tight, feels so fucking good.” He snapped his hips, fucking into you hard and fast. Both of you so keyed up that this wouldn’t last and you knew it. “That’s it baby, take it. Just - like- that.” He held onto your shoulder for leverage and you reached down with one hand to rub at your clit.

“Yes, make yourself cum, soak my cock.” He pulled you up holding onto your breast as he split you open on his dick.

“I’m gonna cum…” Your orgasm crashed into you, making you clench around him while he sped up, chasing his own high and you felt it when he groaned into your ear. Felt him emptying himself into you.

—-

You were both naked, laying in your bed in the fading light of the sun. His head was resting on your chest as you played with his hair.

“I'm starving, have you seen my phone? We should order a pizza.” He got up and looked around and for a moment you couldn’t believe that your Francis was walking around your place naked. Even though he’d fucked you in the shower, even though he’d fucked you in your bed; made you cum with his fingers and his mouth and his cock. Your pleasure seemingly more important than his.

“I think you dropped it onto the counter when we came in.”

He came back with it in his hand and ordered your usual order before dropping it onto your nightstand.

“We have forty minutes until it gets here.” He smiled darkly as he crawled up between your legs and despite everything you’d done, you flushed, wrapping your arms and legs around him lazily.

“Better make them count.” You kissed him, and he did.

When the pizza finally came you needed another shower, which you took together. He stayed the night, and never went home again.

——

Age: 30

“Francis, wake up honey, happy birthday!” You were kissing his face, pulling him softly out of sleep. He groaned and smiled as he buried his face into your hair. His hand travelled down to grab at your ass. Even half asleep he pawed at you, making you laugh.

“Mmmph, sleep.” He mumbled onto your skin. Soft and pliant on the bed you shared.

“Francis, come on - get up so we can celebrate.” You pulled him away slightly so you could pepper his face with kisses, something he loved. “Come on baby, get up, I have a few surprises for you.” You ran your fingers through his hair. It was getting longer and you loved it like this.

“Are you naked?” He didn’t open his eyes but you felt his wits sharpening.

“No, that's later, I have other surprises for you, three of them. Hmm?” You waited a few minutes and he opened his eyes.

“Alright alright, I’m up. What’s the plan?” He yawned and stretched.

“The plan is they’re coming to get you in about half an hour so get dressed.” You got up out of bed pulling him up with you.

“Who?” He was lost.

“Your surprises.” He frowned and then it dawned on him.

“Pope? Benny and Will?” His eyebrows shot up in shock.

“Yes! They’re on their way so come on, up up let’s get you ready, they’re taking you out and then we’re going to have a big dinner.” He was moving on his own now and you could see how happy he was.

“Did you set this up?” He was brushing his teeth and you nodded.

“Yes I spoke to Pope a few weeks ago, thought it would make you happy to have them here for your birthday. They’re going to take you out for the morning and then we can meet up at your parents place for a big dinner.” You smiled at him.

“You’re not coming?” He frowned despite his joy at seeing his closest friends in a few minutes.

“No, you have your time with them and I’ll see you in a few hours.” He pulled you close.

“I love you Spills.” He kissed you, deep and insistent, all of his feelings for you behind it and you had to pull away as his phone went off.

“I love you too Francis, now get your ass in gear. See you later, have fun!” You pushed him out, patting him on the butt to get him moving.

———

Age: 33

“I am completely in love with it Francis, look at the windows!” You were walking through the little house like a kid in a candy store. Trying to take it all in.

“It’s really nice, floors are good.” He was looking at the wood, taking stock of the layout and the sturdiness of the staircase leading upstairs.

“Do you think we could afford it?” You were pulling him towards the kitchen, to the big window over the sink where you could just see the water. The yard was a little on the smaller side but it was big enough to put a little patio set and a grill, big enough for the three of you.

“Do you want it?” He stood behind you, his arms around your waist as you both stared out through the window.

“Yes, I think we’ll be really happy here. Do we have enough?” You turned to press a kiss to the stubble on his cheek.

“Yes, we have enough saved and with you going back to work we’ll be fine.” You felt the little hands then, grabbing at both of you and he bent down to pick up your daughter. She was tired and rested her head on his shoulder. “I think she likes it.” He ran his fingers through her soft curls as he kissed her forehead. You couldn't help but rub her little back as she melted into his shoulder.

“Open the window.” He gestured towards the latch and when you did you heard the soft sounds of the ocean drifting in. He was smiling at you, holding onto the little life you’d both created.

“Welcome home Spills."

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

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[letthebodyfall]

She snorted, smirked. "I'm sure the masses would be in disbelief if they heard that from Saint Savillon."

Masterlist

Part 10

Part 12

Savillon and Carver decided to talk to the married couple. That is all.

---

Bumping into heroes was never something that Aleksandra welcomed, even as a civilian. Especially not in a supermarket of all places.

Placing several cartons of milk in her cart, she looked deliberately towards the fruit aisle, not so subtly ignoring the blonde hero at her heels with a shopping cart of his own.

"Hi," was all he said, and she just knew that he suppressing the grin he had on the moment she saw him from the other side of the market.

"Bye," and a swift glide towards the fillets of fish and chicken was all it took to get rid of the man for now.

But she knew he was persistent.

He was always there as if an expert of pursuit predation. She knew of the complaints that often came up from her family whenever the conversation was about him.

She respected the man, but even she would admit without hesitation that he was a pain in the ass.

Her first mistake was being in the cereal aisle.

Cursing at her inability to remember the layout of the store, she tried to make an escape but the blonde was already there and was trying hard to pick between Honey Wheat Crisps or Jumbo Flaky Mocha.

Gripping the handles of the cart, fingers twitching at the thought of maybe, maybe using her power but suppressed it at the memory of her promise to Max.

"Savillon."

"Please," the man grinned a dazzling grin, one that often made civilians swoon.

It made her roll her eyes.

He held up his hands in a gesture of peace and keeping his distance. "Francis," he said. "We're not working right now."

"I'm not a villain anymore."

"I am aware." There was a glint in his eye, one that she's come to know after living with siblings. "And I know both of us are aware that some habits just don't leave."

The shadows flickered, just a tiny flicker, but was easily snuffed out when the blonde took a step, taking two jumbo packs of Honey Wheat Crisps into his cart. "No need for that, sweetheart. I just want to talk."

The click of her tongue resounded, and he only laughed.

So for the rest of the hour, they did their groceries with the blonde blabbering about his days against her wall of silence.

He helped her load the groceries into his car, opening the passenger's side of the door for her before getting in and driving towards her address.

"So," the traffic light turned red and the expected resounding of angry car horns blared against their ears. "You didn't kill him."

"I didn't."

"But you wanted to."

"Yes." Dark eyes stared straight ahead, watching street thieves trying and failing to get their mark.

"Did you do it for him?" Slender hands rested loosely on the steering wheel, fingers tapping against the beat of the pop song neither of them knew.

"No."

"Does he know?"

Her breath hitched, the grip she didn't know she was holding weakened. "Not yet."

The car hummed as the light turned green, moving forward soundlessly.

"I can't say I don't understand why you did it. I'd probably would have done the same."

She snorted, smirked. "I'm sure the masses would be in disbelief if they heard that from Saint Savillon."

His laugh was loud and clear as he made a turn.

It was companionable now. The silence permeated once again but it wasn't suffocating anymore. The weight that lingered inside her chest lifted.

"Max wouldn't like that you signed the contract." The car in front of them barked a high pitch wailing of the horn, the driver getting out and started pounding on the car in front of him. "The boy may be dense but he dislikes forced change."

"He didn't complain when he moved into my apartment."

"He made the choice." The look he gave her was pointed, akin to the look of reprimand that her father used to give them. "I'm more surprised that he only moved in a month ago, given the amount of times you tried to come on to him."

She chuckled despite of herself as she leaned her head against the window. "I can't believe he actually accepted."

"He'll get around eventually. You're a good fit for him." There was a glint in his eye that made her sigh, shaking her head at him.

"I'm not getting my hopes up."

"It won't be in vain. I can tell."

He rounded the corner and stopped in front of her building, once again helping her carry the groceries to the lobby. "Oh by the way, Carver said we're coming over in a few days so better expect us."

Ah, fuck.

---

Body still tender, bruises dotting his skin as he leaned against Carver, face now covered by the woman's shoulder as a blade twirled between her fingers.

Savillon and Aleksandra were in the kitchen, talking about the latest political debacle between the city councilors that no one really bothered to pay attention to.

Between them a pot bubbled, the scent of meats and vegetables permeating the apartment as the two groups of... heroes? Heroes and ex villain? chatted.

Carver, feet up on the dark wood of the coffee table, had her fingers flying over the screen of her phone, unbothered that she was being used as a pillow of shame by the electricity hero.

The mere appearance of his two partners standing in front of his doorway, bags and bags of groceries held between the both of them and his wife peeking from behind him, made his temples throb to kingdom come.

He didn't have a choice.

They just barged in without hesitation, leaving him just a little bit bewildered.

Carver was immediately evicted from the kitchen even before wandering ten feet from the doorway, deciding to just raid their living room instead.

It didn't take long for Savillon to chat Aleksandra up, using that beguiling charm that he's perfected after years of being one of the top heroes.

"So," she knew that the speed of which she was scrolling through her feed gave him a headache and she was fine with that. "Had a talk with her yet that like, lasted for more than ten minutes?"

The groan he emitted confirmed the theory she already had in her head. She punched his shoulder. "You're such a dipshit."

"What do you want me to say? I can't just go 'did you kill a terrorist with your bare hands?'" He gripped his shirt, face burying deeper into Carver's shoulder. "I already fucked up once. I don't wanna fuck it up again."

"Well you're fucking it up even more by not talking to her." Carver looked at him for the first time in the hour and bonked his head with her phone. "Dipshit."

Max slid off from her shoulder and straight down into the sofa, unbothered when she leaned back and used him as the backrest.

"Come again?" She raised a brow at the muffled babbling behind her, leaning forward now so he could breathe.

"She's nice to me," his voice was soft, eyes unfocused. "Why is she nice to me?"

"The fuck do I know." She knew she was being crass, knew that to most people, this was unacceptable behaviour. But to him, this was what worked when it came to their dynamic. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"I don't know!" The frustration seeped out of him in waves, fingers digging into his thighs. "I don't know."

She sucked in a breath, breathed it out, patted his leg.

"Buddy ol' pal." Her voice wasn't at the least bit sympathetic at her friend's plight. "You better do something about it, and soon."

---

Hello! I've been real busy with work lately so there wasn't a chapter last week. I've definitely missed writing about them and this is my stress-relief series haha

I have more on the masterlist!

Part 12

[madswonders]

A Lesson In Romance #11: Actions

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: A little ✨spice✨ and a little ✨action✨

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, gun violence, mild (???) dirty talk

Word Count: 2.3k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they pretend to be married.

A/N: I would like to dedicate this chapter to the Classy Restaurant Music playlist on Spotify for capturing the fancy restaurant vibes I needed hahahah

Masterlist | All chapters here!

---------

"You know, this is not how I imagined coming back here." You said quietly. Next to you, Spencer smiled.

Your eyes were still adjusting to the warm light, a stark contrast to the blue winter evening outside. This was your second time here, technically, but the sensation of his hand on your waist and the cool metal on your left hand made it all feel brand new.

"Table for Mr. and Mrs. Reid." He said to the hostess, calmer than you'd ever seen him before. You didn't miss the way he tugged you closer when he said "Mrs." and despite the truth of the matter, giddy smiles tugged on both your lips.

But it was the hostess' reaction that gave it away for you. When she glanced at your intertwined hands and matching rings with a soft smile, you began to realise why the two of you were chosen for this in the first place. The effect you had on each other was hypnotising.

Sending you and Spencer undercover as newlyweds was probably the easiest decision Hotch has ever had to make. His reasoning came from basic human psychology; people are drawn to extreme events, and while this generally applied to accidents and tragedy, it also applied to marriage and child birth.

In this case, few things would stand out more in a crowded restaurant than a pair of shiny new wedding rings, a large bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of champagne for two. And to top it all off, he had the two of you. Everything else came secondary.

Still, it was strange. Being isolated from the operation only made you more in awe of your team. Even under the duress of three hours, they operated like clockwork; devising a comprehensive undercover mission, building a profile for an unsub they didn't even know, and training an entire restaurant's staff in a handful of hours.

By the time the final pieces fell into place, all that was left was for you and Spencer to carry out the final stage of the plan.

Maybe it was the pressure of having the entire team rest on your shoulders, or this new "character" you had to play, but something felt different tonight. It was like electricity crackled in the air; you felt it when his hand lingered on your back, low enough that you felt a growing warmth in your belly, making you yearn for his touch long after he let go.

Maybe it was the stress from going undercover for the first time that made you trail your gaze down his suited figure, muscled and lean as a side effect of this job. Maybe that's why the image of him standing at the foot of your bed in this very suit couldn't leave your mind, until the physical action of squirming in your seat jolted you out of your own imagination.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Spencer locked eyes with you, his hazel eyes dark under the dim restaurant lighting.

"Just thinking about you." You admitted, placing your hand across the table. He took your hand in his instantly, his thumb tentatively resting on the jewel on your ring finger.

"All good things, I hope?"

"Nothing but good things."

"Well, perhaps I can add to that. You look beautiful." He pressed a soft kiss to your hand, his eyes crinkling playfully when your cheeks turned pink in response.

"How do I know you're not just saying that for our audience?" You whispered, eyes darting to his tie where the mic was hidden.

"If it weren't for our audience, I'd be saying a lot more, love." He replied lowly, and you bit back a thought you didn't want any of your colleagues to hear. You could already imagine them cringing as they listened in on your conversation, and the image made you giggle.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Dr. Spencer Reid?" You accused jokingly.

"When love is not madness, it is not love." He answered simply.

You thought for a moment, before the reference clicked in your head. "Pedro Calderon de la Barca. Interesting choice. You weren't lying about your education in classic literature, doctor." You looked impressed.

"I'm hurt that you even doubted it." He mocked insult, and you grinned.

"No, I'm just surprised."

"Wait until you see my actual surprise." He smiled, gesturing behind you as a waiter appeared carrying two plates in your direction.

"I took the liberty of ordering our food in advance." He explained. When you looked at him in surprise, he simply shrugged. “I figured I should expand my theory beyond breakfast.”

"And here I thought tonight couldn't get anymore exciting." You said, marvelling at the appetisers as they were placed in front of you two.

“You can reserve your compliments for when I guess everything correct, and I will.” He mock bowed.

“You're on." You giggled. "Now, can we finally have some of this champagne?"

Dinner went by smoother than you thought it would, and thankfully for your team listening in, your conversations steered away from thinly veiled flirting to classic films as the food appeared.

Not that it was any easier for you talk about Billy Wilder and Francis Ford Coppola with what was happening in front of you. Spencer had taken to playing with the ring on your finger while you talked, and each time his long fingers brushed against yours, it sent chills down your spine.

But it was when his leg brushed against yours underneath the clothed table that you felt yourself lose grip of your facade. The first time it happened, you even thought it might be a mistake. But after the second and third time, it was clear that Spencer knew exactly what he was doing, even if the innocent expression on his face didn't betray anything.

If you didn't know him better, you would even think that he liked it, teasing you underneath the restaurant table on case, where you couldn't act on it. Instead, you pushed away the thought and allowed your skin to prick with every touch; all the while you sipped on your champagne, taking the chance to observe the patrons around you through the rim of your glass.

Unfortunately, your luck was a little worse in the unsub department, and your concern only continued to grow as your entrées made way for dessert.

Before you entered the restaurant, the team had discussed the best-case-scenario for tonight — identifying and apprehending the unsub quietly before the dinner shift was up. But if you ran out of time, there was always one back-up plan, something that would definitely force the unsub's hand.

The good thing about having two unsubs now was that victimology became incredibly simple to decipher. What you and Spencer had considered inconsistencies at first, were now clear patterns distinguishing each one.

The first one was impulsive but experienced, driven purely by a compulsion to complete his pattern as fast as possible. Despite that, he had the sense to stick to high-risk victims and secluded locations, which made him so hard to catch in the first place.

It was the second unsub that was interesting. He seemed more controlled and calculating, choosing low-risk victims and public locations. The team profiled him as the narcissistic component of the original profile. The more high profile the victims, the more they attracted him.

And now that you’d spent the entire night drawing attention to yourselves, all you had to do was present an easy opportunity for the unsub to pounce — right into the BAU’s trap.

The moment Spencer beckoned you to come closer, you knew something was up. "Listen carefully, love. I'm going to call for the bill, and we're going to go outside. If I'm right about my guess, the unsub is going to be right behind us. Do you understand me?" He whispered into your ear, low and calm.

You made an obvious move to cup his cheek as you leaned back. "Can we go home now, baby?" You cooed. Yeah, you got him.

As you walked out of the restaurant, you intentionally stumbled as you clung onto his arm, letting out a loud giggle. Your gaze fixed adoringly on your date, even as Emily and Hotch called for their bill on your left, Derek and Rossi no doubt already rounding to the front of the restaurant from the back exit.

"Trust me." Spencer murmured as he opened the door for you, and when you nodded, he pulled you into one final kiss for the public. What you didn't expect was for him to move his hand down and squeeze your ass, causing you to let out a loud squeak at the doorway.

If anybody was looking at the two of you before, they were certainly staring now, and the doctor confirmed this with a low whisper. "He's coming."

When he finally caged you against his car, you had to remember not to go overboard for your listening colleagues, but you couldn't help but let out a quiet moan into his mouth as he pushed his leg lightly against your core.

"Sp— Spencer—" You breathed, locking your fingers behind his neck.

"Just hold on a little bit more, love." He muttered, cupping your cheeks with his large hands and stroking your hair. "Just a bit mor—"

You heard the sound of a gun cocking next to you as you broke apart, lightly gasping. A middle-aged man stood in the shadows, waving his gun aggressively. Bingo.

"Get into the car."

The two of you raised your arms warily. "Who are you?" Spencer shouted, moving to shield you from the unsub.

"I said, get into the car!" He yelled. "Starting with you."

"Okay, okay." The doctor conceded, unlocking the car and slowly getting in the backseat. He left some room for you to get in next, but the unsub trained his gun on you.

"Not you, sweetheart. I'm going to finish you right here." He narrowed his eyes at you. "Drop your bag on the ground."

Everything seemed to fall silent as you slowly lowered your bag, and your hidden gun, to the ground. When you stood back up with your hands in the air, the unsub slammed you into the side of the car and you groaned at the sudden impact.

You didn't need to gather your senses to know that his gun was pointed right at you.

"Leave her alone, James." Spencer threatened, already out of the car and levelling his gun at the unsub. All around you, the team moved into the light.

"FBI! James Luther — put the gun down." Hotch ordered.

The unsub looked shocked for a moment as he looked around, finally realising the situation he was in. His expression was unusually calm, and it chilled you to the bone.

"Very, very interesting. Are you a fed too?" He sneered down at you.

"It's over, James. Either you put the gun down, or you don't walk out of here alive." Spencer warned, but the unsub only laughed.

"I should have known that it was too good to be true. It's not often I get such a perfect couple, much less one with a wife this pretty." He drawled, waving the gun in your face.

"Spencer. I'm okay." You ordered through gritted teeth, already knowing what the genius was about to do.

"Look at her, so brave. Are the two of you even married? Or is everything about this fake?"

"I won't say this a second time. Put the gun down." Spencer repeated, cocking his gun straight at the unsub's head.

"T-think about this, James." You reasoned. "If you kill me, they'll kill you, and you won't be able to hear what the press will say about your murders after we expose you. Isn't that what you want? Don't you want to stop living in somebody else's shadow?"

The unsub's grip on his gun slackened. "They're not going to run a story on me. Why would they unless I keep killing?"

"They will if you give us the names and descriptions of all your victims, and we will make sure your face is front and centre for every single one." Spencer added. The unsub looked into both your eyes, seemingly searching for a hint of a lie, but there was none.

"Fine. Looks like the lady lives, this time." He gave up, dropping his gun to the floor and putting both hands on his head.

"James Luther, you are under arrest for the murders of Lucy Patt..." Derek recited his rights while dragging him away. You braced yourself against the car, catching your breath.

"Are you okay?" Spencer rushed over, sweeping you into a hug before you could even reply. You buried your face into his shoulder, tears welling up in your eyes involuntarily as you inhaled the familiar scent of paperbacks and coffee.

"I-I'm okay, baby. I'm okay." You mumbled, not sure if you were reassuring your boyfriend or yourself in that moment.

"It's okay, just let it out. You're safe now. I'm here. You're safe." He repeated, stroking your back as he kissed the top of your head again and again and again until you lost count.

You'd never been so relieved to arrive back at the BAU. Penelope was the first to give the two of you a big hug when you returned, fussing over the small cut on your face and the bruises on your arms, while you reassured her that you'd been cleared by the medics to go home.

"Good work today, both of you." Hotch called out from behind, shooting a small smile at you and Spencer. "Reid, take her home, and take a day off tomorrow. The two of you deserve it."

"You wouldn't be able to drag me into work tomorrow if you tried." You joked, and Spencer chuckled. For the first time, he wasn't about to argue with an order to take a break.

Nor was he about to argue when you asked him to come in to your apartment, or when you asked him to stay the night.

The only thing he wanted after tonight, was you.

---------

Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @mellowalieneggsknight @kenny-0909 || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

[anntoldst0ries]

None shall sleep (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, post Chapter 5 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.8k, T Summary: In the privacy of the diagnostic's office, Ethan & Noelle reflect on recent changes around them. Category/Warnings: Fluff, None Trope: And there was a bit of Hurt/Comfort

A/N: This chapter reminded me of things that have never been addressed... so this is a story of how things left unsaid all collided in my head. Hope you enjoy.

Also - yes, Ethan Ramsey can sing arias. Is anyone still truly surprised by the fact that this guy can do anything?

There is something mesmerizing about watching the lights of day go out, overpowered by darkness, ablaze with colours - from the depths of blue, through indigo, navy and all the way to pitch-black.

About how, in a sense, it washes away all the bothers and allows you to start anew with the next rise of the almighty sun.

Ethan Ramsey was hoping for this exactly, maybe more than ever, but all the signs showed it wasn’t in the cards for him.

Or at least not today.

He stared into the void, interwoven by occasional human figures passing by through the front lobby. No voices of the day were able to reach him on the 7th floor of his kingdom. Behind the glass wall, he was almost in a different world.

It had been yet another day that brought him more gritted teeth, holding himself back and resigned sighs, than actual satisfaction from helping those who counted on him. All these ‘activities’ were not only annoying but also highly energy-consuming.

Bringing the index and middle fingertips to his pulsating temples, he started to compress and massage them in small circles, trying to soothe the pounding inside his skull. He could hear the blood rushing through the highways of his veins, the sound almost drowning out all external stimuli.

But there were certain sounds his expert ear was trained on, the ones he would’ve recognized even in his sleep.

Like the one reaching his ears right now, the sound of the door handle being pressed.

With his back facing the door, he couldn’t see who was trying to impose on his much-needed solitude. But since the unexpected guest did not precede their ministrations by knocking, the possibilities narrowed down significantly. There were only two people on the premises of Edenbrook who could invade his personal space without a modicum of manners.

“Can I help you?” He modulated his voice to ensure the tone was expressing two things: annoyance and irony in the otherwise polite question.

“I’m sorry.” From all the voices, this one he did not expect to hear now. A melodic tone was joined by a scuffle of retreating steps. “Do you want me to go?”

Ethan curled his lips in a tiny smile. They both knew she wasn’t apologetic and that he wanted anything but her to leave.

“No, it’s just that there are only two people in this hospital that wouldn’t bother knocking and I thought it was one of them paying me a visit.”

“Let me guess… Zaid and Baz?”

“No, but in terms of concept, you were actually close…just another type of evil ‘twins’."

“Oh, you mean his majesty King Bloom & his annoyance Dr Carrick?”

“Even as a joke, it sounds creepy and horrible.”

“Well, count me as a third now. Heads up though, I will only stop knocking after twilight.”

It was clear as crystal Ethan’s already specific sense of humor had less than ever space for amusement.

“I brought you this.” She put a brown paper bag on his desk, which immediately revealed the aroma of something delicious. “I figured you’re probably gonna stay here all night, so I thought I’ll pop over and check on you.”

He didn’t say anything, staring into the darkness. Not because he didn’t want to - he simply didn’t know what. This simple gesture was very touching and filled him with gratitude. But he was lacking the right words.

Then, for the first time since she’s interrupted his train of thought, he turned around to look at her. Tired and with puffy eyes, she’d still put everyone else to shame. Even on the worst of days, the light radiating from her turned heads and made the room brighter.

She extended a hand and when their fingers touched, he felt this weird, tingly feeling that has traveled from his palm, through his arm and neck, and then straight to his core.

Pressing him gently against the edge of the desk, she took his glasses off. Then loosened his tie and nonchalantly disheveled his hair. Ethan wouldn’t let anyone else in the world touch them, let alone put them in a state of such disarray.

With her, all the rules existed only to be broken.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on in this big brain of yours?”

“Smart move, Valentine. You’ve pacified me so that now I will have no choice but to tell you whatever you want to know.”

“You always have a choice, let’s just hope you’re gonna make the right one.”

Ethan nodded, no sound escaping his lips. She knew she’d have to take it upon herself to get any information out of her stubborn converser.

“So, how are you holding up? I want an honest answer."

“I’ve been better.”

“I thought so.”

“It’s just that… Tobias is driving me crazy. His presence really tests my patience… I don’t know if I would’ve stopped myself from punching him had it not been for you.”

“Why thank you, I didn’t know my therapeutic services were that good.”

“They are.” Ethan cleared his throat. “But it’s… not just that.”

Dead silence lingered between them and he knew he had no other choice but to continue.

“The only reason why I haven’t wiped this ridiculous smirk off his face yet is that whenever I look at him, I… I see you in that room with Travis. I’m trying to remind myself that, as much as I hate to admit it, he was crucial to finding the cure on such short notice.”

“Ethan…”

“I already told you” - he interrupted her as if not to stop the words from flowing, afraid they may be trapped forever otherwise - “that there was so much more at stake last time Tobias set foot in Edenbrook.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes going slightly wider.

“The truth is, for me… everything was at stake. I would’ve done anything he’d asked me to, I’d have forgiven him if it meant saving you.”

Elle turned still, all her body movements, her breathing and even her blinking ceased.

It was one of those moments that mean so much but leave you with so little to say.

Using the power of non-verbal communication and their deep affinity, she bestowed on him the most gentle, loving and grateful expression her face could muster after yet another exhausting shift.

Ethan extended his arm and before she realized it, her back was gently pressed to the older doctor’s chest. Having wrapped her slender frame with his broad shoulders, Elle inhaled his familiar aroma. He smelled of comfort and felt like a safe harbor. He nudged her hair with his nose and placed a featherlight kiss on the crook of her neck. She smelled of calmness and felt like coming back home from a long journey.

“So,” - he murmured directly into her ear - “whether you like it or not, I am using you to soften the blow every time I look at Tobias’ face.”

“I think I can live with that.”

“But I can’t guarantee it will always be enough, he is a cocky son of a bitch.”

“Let's make a deal then. I see how much it costs you and I’m not telling you to trust Leland or forgive Tobias, I still believe you should be cautious. Let’s just wait and see where this goes, I think we’ll know sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we should focus on what matters the most, our patients.”

“Where is the deal part?”

“If it turns out you were right, I will hold Tobias and you will punch him. Deal?”

“I believe it should be the other way round. Declan Nash’s face told me your right hook is exquisite, Rookie.”

They both laughed at the memory which seemed so distant now, almost as if it's happened in another lifetime.

But Ethan went quiet again and she felt his body tense up, his arms tightening gently around her. It wasn’t very obvious, but she knew. It still came as a shock how well she actually knew him.

“Ethan? What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Ethan.”

“I’m sorry, I am not the most cheery companion today. You’re probably better off not spending too much time with me before you turn into a cynic.”

“Dr Ramsey, what a pathetic attempt of trying to get rid of me. You’ve never been the most cheerful type and I’ve survived your gloomy companionship, hell, I think it grew on me over time. So I should be ok today, too.”

It looked like silence was very much their third companion today.

“I’m thinking about Francis.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m thinking about how hard it would be not to see. So many beautiful things, colors, all turning into nothingness.”

“I take it you mean the opera?”

“That too, but let’s just say I’ve learned to appreciate things that are right in front of my nose… literally and figuratively.”

The butterflies started somersaulting in her stomach.

“I didn’t want to add more to your plate at the time, but I’ve already felt this way… when we diagnosed Caroline and Leland.”

It was funny that, despite his obvious animosity towards Bloom, whenever his wife was in the picture, he spoke about both in an almost affectionate way. His doctor’s instincts were kicking in, because first and foremost he was a doctor who had his patients’ best interest at heart.

“The thought of not being able to touch you…it reminded me of touching you through the layer of hazmat suit. And now with everything Francis has been through, I just can’t be bothered to think about anything else but you. This is my true personal connection to this case.”

It was her turn to be speechless.

Ethan tightened his grip over her once again, this time protectively rather than out of stress. Slow hum started filling the air, the melody soon joined by lyrics, which he sang in fluent Italian; a private concert, performed for her and her only.

Tu pure, oh Principessa

Nella tua fredda stanza

Guardi le stelle

Che tremano d'amore

E di speranza**

She remembered their patient’s face, which seemed calmer once Ethan started singing the aria before the depths of illness contorted it with pain.

Francis' husband's words echoed throughout her head.

Even though the man holding her in his arms didn’t say it, there was no need.

She knew.

He will always be here.

And she will always be here, too.

-----

** Lyrics - aria "Nessun Dorma" (‘None shall sleep’) from the opera "Turandot".

Translation:

Even you, oh Princess,

In your cold room,

Watch the stars,

That tremble with love

And with hope.

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[hetalia-has-a-secretary]

Can you write something where the shyest boys finally kiss their crush at a party in a human au. But then some other mischievous character catches it on camera. Then they try to show it to everyone to tease them? (Not really maliciously more playfully. More like a trickster.) Sorry, but I am a sucker for shy characters since I am shy myself.

So my shy boys in my human AU are Japan, Canada, Russia and England (I'd put Romano but he's just a lone wolf who tends to bite when he's disturbed. Metaphorically.)

A/N: I HIT ONE OF MY NOTIFICATION POP UPS AND IT FORCED ME OUT OF THE FIRST DRAFT! I had to redo Japan and Canada's scenerios •́ J ,•̀

Human AU: Shy Boys kiss their crush! On TAPE!?

Japan:

He wasn't really enjoying the party Alfred was throwing. The only reason he was there was over the fact he promised to record some footage for a homemade music video, and he knew his crush was going to be there.

At some point he found himself watching his crush as they danced away with their friends. Was it kind of creepy? Yes. Did Kiku realize this at the moment? No.

He just about jumped out of his skin as his crush made eye contact with him, and his heartbeat quickened as they started dancing towards him.

"Hey Kiku! I thought you didn't like parties?"

"H-hai! I do not usually partake in such events, but I promised Alfred I'd get footage for one of his YouTube videos..."

His crush's head tilted, not hearing him through the loud music and talking. Even with him shouting he wasn't loud enough. So naturally he had them follow him to the porch.

He could have sworn that every star in the night sky was reflecting in his crush's eyes as they were waiting for him to repeat his anwser.

"I have to admit to some urges that have been occuring..." (Not what he was hoping he'd say)

Kiku cringed at his wording, and cursed himself for cramming so many english classes in before he transferred to America. He only calmed back down after hearing his crush laugh and egg him on to continue.

"I... kisu si te ii desu ka?" (Can I kiss you?)

Even though he was rather nervous, he was pretty close with his crush. During their lunches they asked him to teach them japanese so they can help him with translations. Even after two years they still had trouble with it.

"... What about a kiss? oh! Did you kiss someone at the party!"

His face turned red, and he shook it rapidly.

"No! You!"

"What do I have to do with a kiss and you- Oh!"

Kiku covered his face as his crush slowly caught on to his question. Soon enough they had taken his hands away, and lightly pecked his lips.

Flash.

That looked like the flash of a camera. Sure enough Alfred and England were standing at the doorway, polaroid camera in hand. Al being his usual loud self.

"I saw you bring them out here and just KNEW something was going to happen! Didn't I tell you, you had it in you! Now the whole class must know of your bravery!"

By the time Alfred finished his speech, Kiku was already after him. Sadly he was no match for Al's speed due to tripping over everyone, and everything.

Canada:

It wasn't like he was exactly shy, but he didn't have many friends since not many people in his class had much in common with him. His only real friend was his crush, so of course he was terrified to ruin that friendship. Though the constant jokes the others at the party made didn't help, since most of it revolved around them dating.

He was also getting more and more frustrated with the amount of attention his crush was getting. Some of it they welcomed with open arms, some of it not so much. The thing that really annoyed him was seeing Alfred himself flirt with them.

This was the final straw that gave him the courage to walk up to him, and accuse him directly.

"Why are you flirting with my date?"

"Date? I thought you said they were just a friend?"

Mathew had turned his head towards his crush, and planted a light kiss on their lips.

"There. Now we are!"

Matt's face went pale as he realized the scene that was playing out got the attention of some party goers. Phones already recording in case a fight broke out. Leaving no possibly way to get everyone to delete those videos.

Not realizing his crush had a hold of his hand to prevent any conflict, he tugged them out the door, trying his best to shield his face.

Once outside they both sat on the stone slabs of the sidewalk. Matt's crush clearing their throat to help stop the akward moment.

"You know... If you wanted to kiss me, you should have just asked..."

"Oh maple leaf! I am so sorry! I didn't even know I had it in me!"

His crush shook their head, chuckling, then leaned in for another kiss.

"There. Now we're even."

All matt could do was repeat their words with a dreamy sigh.

"Now we're even..."

Russia:

Ivan was already pretty shy, but he really wanted to hangout with his crush. So he let them rope him into going to the party Francis was having. It was a small party, so it wasn't all bad. Other than no one wanting to talk to him due to his lack of English.

His crush was certainly doing plenty of talking through out the night though, and they eventually pulled him aside to ask him something.

"Hey, Ivan? You okay? You don't look like you're enjoying yourself much".

His crush knew to keep sentences as simple and short as possible since he struggled with English. But he still managed a good enough response.

"Da. I am... Not good at the parties. Not one person, speeches? To Ivan..."

His crush smiled, reaching up to playfully ruffle his hair, earning a small giggle.

"You mean to say 'no one speaks to me'. I'm sorry. It can be hard, da?"

He nodded at them. Giving a smile knowing his crush at least tries to conversate with him. But there was something else on his mind. The more they talked, the more he seemed to stare at their lips. He was struggling more and more with hiding his blush. Eventually his crush took it as a sign he was overheating and they dragged him to the bathroom to splash water to his face.

"It is too warm for a turtle neck and scarf! Your face is very warm!"

Ivan shook his head, face getting redder from the embarrassment.

"Nyet!"

His crush gave a look of confusion, and Ivan took this as a sign to try and explain.

"You do much of the talking. I... Do much of the seeing. Nyet. I do much of the-"

He gestured his gaze to his crush's lips, unable to convey his message and when it still didn't sink in for them, Ivan did the next best thing out of pure frustration.

He kissed them. It felt like forever, but it was cut too short as the sound of a gasp interrupted them. Breaking away he spotted Francis standing at the door that was left wide open. A phone with the light on, signalling it was recording them.

"Oh ho ho! This is quite the confession! A love that goes beyond language barriers is just as strong as love itself!"

Ivan couldn't seem to follow Francis' words, especially because he was more concerned with the phone footage.

"You take video for just us, da?"

Francis gave a smirk and took off without another word. Ivan wasn't dumb when it came to body language, and he took off after him. Taking no time at all to corner Francis, scaring everyone else as the two of them bickered over the phone.

"Throw out the phone!"

"I will do no such thing!

"I will throw you instead!"

It took his crush snagging the phone and deleting the video for everything to finally settle back down.

England:

He was kind of popular in the sense everyone knew him as the punk kid who could play the electric guitar. But so did others students so he wasn't exactly special. So yeah, he was wicked shy and insecure about how everyone viewed him.

But his crush seemed to treat him differently, and honestly? He was secretly hoping that meant they really liked him. Maybe even more than liked!

The best part is, he wasn't even expecting his crush to show up at some random person's party. He, himself, was only there to help a band entertain. But there they were, his crush, dancing and bopping along to the music.

He found himself making a lot of eye contact with them, and when the first break came around, he bounced off the makeshift stage. His crush immediately walking over to him to pester.

"That was amazing! I didn't know you played so well!"

Arthur pulled at his bangs.

"Thanks love. It means quite a lot coming from you. Especially because you didn't expect to see me here, of all places..."

"Actually I-"

Before they could continue, they were dragged off by some of their friends to be introduced to someone. He decided to follow, wanting to know what the fuss was about. And of course his crush's friends were trying to hook them up with... Francis...

He gave a verbal sigh, watching his crush shift uncomfortably as Francis did his best to act all suave. His crush looked back at him with pleading eyes. This gave him an idea.

He walked over, slinging an arm around their shoulder, speaking up and over their conversation.

"There you are darling! I've been searching the whole bloody house for you! Oh, hello Francis. I didn't see you there!"

Things got intense, and before anyone knew it, Francis and Arthur had gotten into a fist fight. There wasn't a particular winner, but Arthur certainly left the fight with the only bruised lip. Sitting at one of the spare couches, his crush tended to the bruise.

"I can't believe you did that! Are you nuts? Why do you two fight anyway!"

"I'm sorry love... It's just... He gets in the way is all".

"In the way of what? Some male pride?"

"...you"

Silence filled the space between them, only to be broken by the chaste and airy kiss from his crush.

"I didn't know..."

"Part of me didn't want you too..."

Neither of them knew someone had recorded them until the day they returned to the college. Someone had thought it was funny to make a "fancam" of Arthur "fighting for his loved one". The only words his new lover could mutter was:

"At least no one is going to have to ask us if we're together now..."

[inkstaineddove]

Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up.  They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

“Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they’re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

[dcbutinamrev]

laurloch meeting for the first time perhaps?

Of course! Requests always open!

***

Eighteen-year-old John Laurens sighs as he stares up at the building before him. He presses his lips firmly together as he shifts his bag onto a comofortable position. He readies his hands, rubbing them together before finally gripping a brick from the wall in front of him and lifting his right foot. He reaches his left arm up an inch higher before finally fixing his right foot on the brick. Laurens stares at his goal a few feet above him: a ledge that connects to the brick building. This is where he usually sits in the early mornings or late evenings to clear his mind, to give himself some time for him and just relax.

Laurens grins as he grunts, shifting his body a little over to the left as he lifts his right foot and arm before shifting his body again over to the right as left foot moves up an inch, followed by the arm. His bag thumps against his back with each step he takes as he climbs the brick wall, his fingers burn against the bricks, his muscles straining. But his face remains determined and stern, his jaw clenched as he huffs and puffs.

Laurens glances over to his left where ledge connects and grins. Only a few inches now. Not feet. Laurens grimaces as he lifts his other foot up, fixing it into the brick, some chucks of the brick crumbling onto the streets of Geneva below him. The sun sizzles, causing Laurens to feel a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face and down towards his chin. There's a faint, cool breeze blowing by, but not enough to fully cool him. Birds crow in the distance and flap their wings across the clear, cloudless rich blue sky. People mill around the streets below him, some chatting and laughing, carriages being wheeled by horses, the wheels clattering against the cobblestone streets, the horses whinning as they come to a stop.

Laurens holds his place for a moment, trying to catch his breath as he glances down below him, watching the other citizens of Geneva go about their day, children laughing and squealing as they race down the sidewalks, chickens gobbling about as they chase after them, the dogs barking with their tails wagging. Men laughing as they sit in front of a tavern, holding out a glass of wine or beer, taking an unhealthy swing. Women in beautiful, flowy, colorful dresses ranging from pink to violet to blue to gold roam about the streets, some having their arm looped through their husbands as they walk or others just stand near the market, giggling discreetly as they eye something. Gossiping to one another.

Laurens rolls his eyes at them before continuing his task, huffing and puffing with each step he takes. Once Laurens has reached the ledge, he wraps his arm around the edge of the building before swinging his leg around so his back is pressed against the edge. Laurens huffs and puffs again, closing his eyes gently as he rests his forearm on his forehead, trying to catch his breath. Laurens opens his only to glance up at the sky, thankfully no where near the sun. Laurens pouts a little, his bottom lip puckering out.

"Wil it ever rain here?" Laurens grumbles to himself as he swings his bag around to place it in between his legs.

He unties it and rips it open, searching for his sketchbook, his ink pot and quill. He mutters a breathless, "Ah ha" when he finds it, zips the bag shut and leans against the edge. Laurens sighs, relieved now and he runs a hand through his honey colored hair, glancing down at the streets below him. Laurens eyes a couple of women chatting to one another lively, spies a couple of men laughing, some whistling to get their horses' attention. Laurens chews on the inside of his cheek, furrowing his brows as he wonders which to sketch out.

Laurens brings his knees up to his chest and flips the book open, unscrewing the inkpot lid and dipping the tip of his feathered quill into the inkpot. Laurens bites his lip. He begins, as a warm up, to sketch his mother, a vivid vision he alway keeps in his mind. He starts off with her eyes, since those seem to be the easiest part for him. He frames out the irises and the pupils, the little dents for the bridge of the nose. Laurens frowns. His least favorite part or the one that's most difficult for him to sketch is the lips.

Laurens tips his head up to meet the sky again before sighing heavily and glancing back down at the paper before him. He chews on the corner of his lip as he draws a straight line with his quill. He refreshes his ink and draws a slight larger curve at the bottom of his mother's lip and a thinner curve barely visible for her upper lip. Laurens then defines her cheekbones before framing out her face. Once that task has been completed, he then does her neck and shoulders. He only does from the neck up. Laurens flicks his quill around as he does her hair, pulled up into a high bun with a few curls dangling in front of her ears. He creates some dots on her earlobes to show her earrings before creating her necklace next and some part of her dress.

Laurens sighs when he finishes, leaning back against the ledge and staring at his drawing, his chest squeezing as he remembers his mother. His sweet, beautiful, trusting, kind, caring mother who loved him more than the world. Laurens blinks his eyes and shakes his head before quickly flipping to the next page.

He glances down at the streets again, wondering who to draw next. Perhaps that woman over there with the purple hat and white feather in it? Or that man over there under the tavern with the rocking chair, his glass of wine in hand? Or those two children in the distanace playing what Laurens thinks is hopscotch.

"Hey!" a voice suddenly shouts, startling Laurens from his thoughts.

Laurens yelps, his book and quill fumbling around in his hands. He breathes fast in and out, his heart thumping as he holds his items to his chest. Laurens frowns, glacing around him with his brows furrowed together.

"Hey!" the voice calls again.

Laurens glances down as he sees a man perhaps around his age, maybe a year older with slick, dark brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, a black ribbon securing it and a tricorn hat perched on his head. He wears a dark blue coat with a navy waistcoat and tan colored breeches with stockings that come up to his knees, his black boots up to his shins. Laurens stares into his eyes: an emerald green, a beautiful shade of green. A green Laurens has never seen before.

His chest squeezes and his stomach twists.

"You! What do you think you're doing?" the man below him says, his voice distant as he places his hands on his hips. He raises an eyebrow.

Laurens doesn't say a word. He just stares into those eyes, his heart fluttering.

"Well?" the man presses. "Come on, now! What's your name, kid? You have family around? What are you doing up there? How the hell did you get up there?"

Laurens opens his mouth to say something, clutching onto his book close to his chest. His feels his cheeks becoming unusually warm.

"I..." Laurens begins, but he can't seem to find the words.

The man grins. "Come on down, now. You'll hurt yourself."

A pause.

"The name's Kinloch, by the way," the man--Kinloch--says. "Francis Kinloch."

Laurens swallows as he seems to relax, his tense shoulders slumping and he smiles wide.

"Laurens," he says. He clears his throat as he presses his lips together. "John...I'm...John Laurens..."

"My!" Kinloch gasps. "John Laurens?"

Laurens nods.

Kinloch grins. "Well, I've heard much about your father. An aspiring man he is. And he's lucky to have a son like you."

Laurens grimaces, though he tries not to show it. Yeah...lucky me...

"What are you uh...what are you doing here, kid?" Kinloch asks.

Laurens scratches the back of his neck. "Oh, um...my father sent me here to Geneva to search for schools. I'll be schooling here for a couple of years too."

"Really?" Kinloch gasps. "Well. I'm schooling here in Geneva."

"Really?" Laurens says, blinking his eyes.

Kinloch nods. "Yep. I'm uh...I'm at Eton."

"Me too," Laurens mutters, his voice feeble and shy.

Kinloch stares at Laurens for a breath before offering his hand. "Why don't you come on down? You'll hurt yourself and I don't want your father blaming me for his injured son."

Laurens couldn't help but giggle as he nods and packs his things away before he climbs on down. He grunts when his feet reaches the sidewalk, dusting his hands together as he turns around to face Kinloch. Kinloch freezes, his eyes widening as he sucks in a breath.

"Mr. Kinloch?" Laurens says after a moment of silence between them.

"My...Laurens...you have...such...such beautiful eyes..." Kinloch whispers. "A rich blue...blue as the sky. I've never seen eyes so beautiful and vibrant as yours."

Laurens feels his cheeks grow warmer as he shifts on his feet. "Um...I...I thank you, sir."

"Please, call me Francis," Kinloch says, extending his hand out. "A pleasure to meet your aquaitence."

Laurens smiles with his lips pressed together as he shakes Kinloch's hand firmly.

"Call me John."

Laurens sighs as he watches Kinloch turn around and guides him throughout the streets of Geneva, giving him the history of some of the buildings, telling him his childhood, about his future. But what Laurens finds most entrancing in Kinloch's apperance, are his eyes. That beautiful shade of green: not to light not to dark. Just right in the middle.

Laurens smiles and nods appropriately duringt he conversation. His heart flutters and his chest squeezes as Kinloch meets eyes with him or when he laughs or smiles.

Laurens doesn't understand this feeling, but he knows for certain that never in his life has ever been so helpless.

[bluemoonbeam15]

Hey, so I saw this video and it got me thinking. What if the reason Hopper bullies the ants for food so much is because he molted into a locust during a time of famine? Maybe his family didn’t have anything to eat and he had to do anything he could to stay alive? What if because of this change he’s always hungry, and that causes a lot of his outbursts? That poor bug. If Flick knew maybe he would’ve shown him more mercy or reached out.

https://youtu.be/uURqcI08IC4

^That’s the vid.

This is actually the first time I've been introduced to the differences between a locust and a grasshopper. For a long while, I assumed they were two different species in the same genus or family.

After watching the video and doing more research, it turns out the only defining difference between them is their psychological state. A grasshopper is only defined as a locust when it is surrounded by others of its kind and it essentially "panics" and grows manic and savage. That's why locusts are known for wreaking havoc on crops, it's like a manic episode for them.

This manic state happens when the sensory glands on the grasshopper's hind legs are rubbed constantly over a period of 4 hours. So, when they are surrounded by more due to famines, that spot is getting rubbed and it drives them crazy.

In comparison, it's similar to how a cat will oftentimes bite when you scratch that spot at the base of its tail. That spot is actually a sensitive gland that, when touched, overstimulates the cat's senses.

Based on my research, the molting that transpires during this psychological change is because of the stressful environment of being overcrowded. Kind of like how people themselves will lose more hair when stressed or a lot of animals shed their fur when facing anxiety. It's a consequence of the circumstances more than a method of adaptation.

That being said, I tried researching to see if locusts could go back to being grasshoppers, or essentially reverse that psychological state. And, unfortunately, came upon controversial answers. It's one of those, yes and no type questions.

This means I get to interpret the information however I want! XD

So for this short story, I'm going to be assuming that the psychological state can be reversed when they are distanced from the other grasshoppers (locusts). However, because they have already been in that manic state, Hopper and Molt find themselves in dangerous territory where the glands on their legs are much more sensitive. Meaning, they have a higher chance of reverting back to that manic state if they are too stressed.

Additionally, I'm twisting it a little bit from what we see in the movie. Now that these glands are more sensitive, the brothers are prone to be driven into a deeper manic state than what they were initially in. Especially Hopper, who was shown in the movie to be more on edge compared to his brother. Thumper's mentality is a prime example of this deeper state. So, Hopper and Molt -- mainly Hopper, but Molt must also tread lightly -- can easily be coaxed into that savage state if the glands are rubbed.

<><><><><><><><><>

"Come on! You'll have a great time, I promise!" Flik tugged on Hopper's arm. It was times like these he wished he weighed even half of what Hopper did.

The grasshopper didn't have to resist much. "Kid, I don't think that's such a good idea," he scratched the back of his neck.

Flik dramatically groaned, "But everyone will be there! Do you realize how often the Monarchs throw a huge party like this? Every ten years! This is our chance to meet them in person! The Monarchs, Hopper!"

"Yeah, no, I get it, really...but it's really just not my scene," Hopper unclasped Flik's hands from around his arm and stepped back. "You can go without me. The Circus Bugs are going aren't they?"

The ant gave a defeated huff, "Well, yeah..."

"Well there ya go," Hopper shrugged and nudged Flik toward the entrance of his room, "You'll have the time of your life. Go and enjoy yourself."

Flik spun around, "But it won't be the same! It's just for the night, Hop."

He sighed, "Flik--"

"Please?" The ant drooped his antennae back, lip quivering and eyes doleful. It was the most pitiful thing Hopper had laid eyes on.

His resolve lasted about five more seconds before he dropped his head, "Alright, fine...I'll go."

Flik laughed in victory, "You won't regret it!" He pulled Hopper with him down the tunnel.

"I highly doubt that."

____________________

The lightning bugs were flashing around, creating a mystical ambiance. Flik was awed at the plethora of species dancing and conversing with each other. The Monarchs held their celebrations in The City, which seemed fitting for a social creature.

Unfortunately, some of the creatures there weren't exactly social...

Flik laughed as Heimlich immediately zoned in on the food table, clearing a wide path among the crowd. "See Hop? Isn't this great?" His question wasn't answered. "Hop?" He looked around behind him, pinpointing the grasshopper a ways off.

Hopper tried staying calm, biting his lip unconsciously. There were just...so...many...insects. So much noise and racket. Where was Molt when he needed him? Lucky idiot made the excuse of helping Dr. Flora restock her infirmary. Now here he was. Why didn't he just say no? All the voices seemed as if they were blaring in his antennae.

"--op?" He blinked his eyes open, not realizing he'd squinted them closed. Flik was looking up at him worriedly, "You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine," Hopper gave a wavering smile, "Just...enjoying the view," his heart felt like bursting from his chest at the sight. Everyone was just inches from each other...swarming the area.

Flik, in all innocence, gave an encouraging smile, "Well come join the fun! You can't enjoy yourself just standing here!" He went behind the grasshopper and nudged him forward.

Hopper jumped back when another insect brushed against him, "Wait, Flik! This isn't--"

Another insect bumped into them, apologizing offhandedly before moving along. Flik was small enough to not worry too much about the overcrowding. He lived in a colony for goodness' sake. Hopper felt the world spinning around him as more insects kept sliding past. To any other insect, the faint brushes of their wings against their leg would have passed them by. For Hopper, it felt like lightning jolting through his body at every touch.

While everything blurred around him, the sound of Flik calling his name was becoming white noise. A scream pierced through the chaos of his senses.

"Everyone watch out!"

"Be careful!"

"What's wrong with it?"

Flik was pulled back by the arm just as a claw sliced the air in front of him. Gypsy pushed Flik back cautiously. He stared wide-eyed at his friend, "W-What's happening?"

Hopper was doubled-over, clawing at his head momentarily before lashing out at the closest bug to him. A dragonfly fell back trying to get away, "It's gone savage!" she screamed and scrambled back into the crowd. Everyone started panicking and pushing to put distance between them and the grasshopper.

"Hopper! Are you okay?" Flik stepped forward, but Gypsy kept him back.

The grasshopper flattened his antennae baring his teeth at Flik and stalking toward him. His pupils were dilated, wings flared out, and breathing manic. Flik swallowed and shakily called out again, "Hop?"

Like a blur, Hopper lunged forward with claws sheathed. The crowd dispersed in a panic. Gypsy moved Flik behind her protectively, "Dim! Rosie! A little help over here!"

She closed her eyes shut as Hopper snarled and came inches from her face. A heavy thud directed her attention to the rhino beetle beside them. Rosie was perched on his back, working quickly to shoot her webbing around the grasshopper. Hopper tried cutting through the material but it wound tightly around his arms, immobilizing him.

"Man, what the heck happened?" Francis and the others dared walking up to Hopper, earning a hiss in response. "He...he's acting kinda like Thumper."

Flik stepped out from behind Gypsy, keeping his eyes focused on Hopper, "Hop? What's wrong buddy?" He yelped when the grasshopper snapped his jaws toward him. "Th-That's not Hopper..."

Gypsy put an arm around Flik's shoulders, "Let's take him back to the colony. Maybe Dr. Flora knows what's wrong."

_______________

"Goodness! I-I can't say I have anything of use," Flora frantically searched through her herbs. Hopper was on the floor still wrapped in the webbing, his back pressed against the rock-slab bed.

Molt walked in with some supplies in his arms, catching sight of the others, "Oh, you guys are back early!" His smile dropped when he saw his brother. "Hop!" the supplies were quickly forgotten about. Molt slid to the ground beside his brother, "Aw, Hoppy, I knew that party was a bad idea."

"You know what's wrong with him?" Francis tossed a seed at the grasshopper's head, making him snarl and push against his binds.

"It was probably 'cause o' the crowd," Molt cautiously brushed Hopper's antennae back, ignoring the growls. "The stress can make grasshopper's go savage."

Francis snorted, "Stress?"

"Well, yeah," Molt shrugged. "That and...say, were there a lot o' bugs swarmed together?"

Flik blinked, "Yeah, it was a party."

"Did he run into anyone? Or brush against anyone?"

Slim rolled his eyes, "The place was so crowded you couldn't take one step without touching someone."

Molt hummed, "Well that's why he went savage. We grasshoppers have a gland on our legs that's sensitive to touch. It's overstimulating and drives us crazy." Tentatively, he drew a claw over Hopper's leg, making the grasshopper squirm and growl from the sensation. "It's a survival tactic for when there's no food. We'll join a swarm of grasshopper's that will trigger those sensations and drive us to find food."

Flik felt a bit braver to sit down beside Hopper, "Is that why you guys were in a gang? For survival?"

"Yeah, a drought hit us bad at our old home and we were forced to find others to get food."

The ant looked back at Hopper, taking in his demeanor. Was Hopper savage back then? He certainly hadn't acted this wild. But he was definitely on edge. He was just...hungry. Starving, actually. Driven on fear for his own survival.

Gypsy kneeled down in front of Hopper, "Well, I can't do much for that gland. But I do know how to relieve stress." She forced her thumbs beneath his jaw to keep him from biting, pushing her other fingers against the back of his head. "There's a pressure point called 'the gates of consciousness' that helps relieve stress." She carefully pressed down on the back of his neck.

A deep shudder coursed his body before going limp. Gypsy felt his jaw relax and she slowly drew back, lifting his head up, "Alright, Dear, let me see." He blinked his eyes open groggily. They were back to normal from what she could see, "There we go. How are you feeling?"

Hopper groaned, "What...What happened?"

"You went a bit...feral, Dear," Gypsy sat back as Hopper took in his surroundings.

"Feral?" Everything began returning to him. He remembered the party, the lights, bugs, crowding, touching...

He shuddered at the memories, "My head hurts," he groaned.

Gypsy rubbed his temple and began cutting through the webbing, "I can imagine. We'll get you some poppy seeds to sleep it off." Dr. Flora was already getting the medicine together.

Flik wrung his hands together, "I'm sorry, Hopper. I shouldn't have pressured you into going. Why didn't you tell me this would happen?"

"What was I supposed to say?" Hopper gave a mirthless laugh, "I'd go savage if anyone touched me? Yeah, I don't think you would've believed me."

Dr. Flora handed Gypsy a few poppy seeds. "Here, eat these," she placed them in his hand. Hopper took them and laid his head back against the bed. She patted his knee and stood, "You get some rest, Dear. That headache should be gone by morning."

Flik hesitated, "I hope you're not mad."

"Me?" Hopper peeked an eye open. Flik nodded, "Why would I be mad? You didn't know, kid. On the bright side, I got to leave early," he chuckled.

Flik laughed a bit too, "Yeah, and I won't force you to go to another party again. I promise."

Hopper squinted, pinching his fingers, "I'll go to small parties, how about that? And just with our friends."

The ant grinned, "Works for me."

[astralaffairs]

voltaire to versace 01 | thomas jefferson

title: voltaire to versace 01

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: 7.3k

warnings: implied sex, heavily suggestive content but nothing explicit, hella teasing, dolley madison payne

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

WASHINGTON D.C. — HOME to the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, a metro that no longer catches on fire, and most importantly, one Y/N L/N's new university. Coming in as a transfer student in the second semester of her junior year wasn't exactly her ideal scenario, but walking across a stage in a cap and gown sixteen months later certainly was — a degree is a degree.

She'd spent the previous two semesters abroad, traveling throughout Europe and trying to figure out her next step. She hadn't yet paid her junior year tuition, and on one fateful night in northern Italy, she transferred to the University of Westphalia on a whim (that whim being a generous financial aid package and a pre-existing housing offer, but that was neither here nor there). It'd been a jarring few months, spending the Christmas season packing up her entire life to not only leave Europe — a process that came with many heartbroken nights of hotboxing a friend's apartment and mourning the loss of her societal nap times — but also finally abandoning her hometown in favor of moving to the east coast.

The change may have left a lump in her throat, but it lifted a weight from her shoulders; she felt light on her feet despite the heavy D.C. snow. Much of the credit for that had to fall to her dearest Dolley Payne, the light of her life, the wind beneath her wings, the old best friend who'd found herself a dirt-cheap apartment just outside of campus and offered that Y/N come be her roommate. How could she resist a proposal like that?

However, that was also how she found herself a drink and a half deep and putting back on her boots at nine o'clock the night before classes started.

"Are you sure going out right before the first day back is a good idea?" Though Y/N was eyeing Dolley skeptically, she just rolled her eyes, pulling on her coat and scarf.

"Relax, it's not like we're going clubbing," she assured her, but when Y/N raised a dubious eyebrow, she continued, "Come on! You literally moved in last night. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't take you out at least once before everything's back in college mode?"

Dolley nudged Y/N playfully as she pulled on her coat, and the latter sighed. "I'm a new student here, Doll. I don't think showing up hungover to my first class is a particularly good look."

"You don't even have class until 3 PM!" she argued, and though she pursed her lips, Y/N had to admit Dolley had a point. "Relax, I won't even get you drunk. I just need you to come see the cute little speakeasy on fourth street. It's my favorite spot."

"'Speakeasy'?" Y/N questioned, buttoning up the front of her coat, and Dolley nodded enthusiastically.

"Mhm. You've gotta know somebody to know about it," she said. "It's a pretty open secret in this neighborhood, but it's one of the only bars that isn't always crowded."

"It's a Sunday night; how many people are really going out drinking?"

Dolley gave her a tired glance. "You'd be surprised."

———————

AND WHEN THEY stumbled upon the bar not twenty minutes later, surprised she was.

"This is really the place?" Y/N was looking around skeptically, struggling to believe that the dirty, dank alley she'd been led into was was the entrance to Dolley's favorite spot in town. Had Dolley decided to murder her now that her name was on the lease, if only for the insurance payout? Had she been dealing with the mafia? Maybe she'd changed more in the past year or so than Y/N thought.

"Do I ever steer you wrong?" Dolley asked, eliciting a heavy sigh from the other woman.

"Too often to try and count."

"So then it's long overdue that I get it right." She finally stopped in front of a nondescript, weathered metal door in the back of a mildly battered building, and Y/N all but skidded to a halt, having been expecting to keep walking a while longer. She was hesitant to follow when the door Dolley opened revealed a set of stairs going up, but taking a step forward revealed the warm light filtering down toward them, carrying alongside it traces of jazz music and animated chatter. "See? I know what I'm talking about sometimes."

"Sometimes," Y/N repeated, unconvinced.

When they emerged just moments later, Y/N decided fairly quickly that she liked it. It was quaint, old-fashioned, but a warm, charming space.

"So?" Dolley asked, and though she gave a noncommital shrug, Y/N was smiling. "Let's get a drink or two in you and maybe you'll give it the credit it deserves." And maybe, just maybe, Dolley had hit the mark once again.

Two drinks and an hour later, the both of them were seated at the bar, giggling and slumped over one another but far from drunk. As it turned out, a year apart left them with a surprising amount to talk about, from Y/N's hostel horror stories to Dolley's nightmare of a former roommate -- both of which left them endlessly grateful that they were going to be living together from then on. Their coats were draped over the backs of their seats, and the energy spilling over from their spirited conversation was born more of a sugar high than of any real intoxication -- both their drinks were heavy with fruit juice and mixers, if only for the sake of sobriety.

"...but that was when the cops showed up."

Y/N's eyes widened. Dolley had only finished detailing about a semester and a half of her freshman year, and she was still at least fifteen minutes into sharing her first run-in with UW's notorious midterm rager. "You can't just stop the story there!"

"But there's no more to tell! No one stuck around to get arrested. We were on the steps of the library, for heaven's sake."

"So you just left? How'd you get away?"

"Oh," Dolley giggled, a hand resting on Y/N’s knee as she leaned toward her in her short fit of laughter. "Well, I just ran for it, and very nearly got myself hopelessly lost. A grad student ended up letting me hide out in the library until it all cleared up."

"A grad student, huh?" Y/N wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "And you spent the whole night locked in there with them?"

"Oh, you know it's not like that! I was nineteen, don't you start making drama where there isn't any."

"But Doll, you know that's my specialty," Y/N whined, and Dolley laughed. "Anyway, were they cute, though?"

"All I'll say is that if I were trapped in a library with them tomorrow, I'd feel lucky to be on birth control."

Dolley's sly grin made Y/N gasp teasingly, leaning back to eye the other woman as though she'd just instigated a scandal. "Dolley Payne! I am ashamed at your lack of self restraint."

"You wouldn't be if you were on the receiving end of it."

"You offering?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink.

"I mean, my roommate just moved out, so there's no one at my apartment right now," Dolley said mildly, giving a slight shrug. "Any chance you wanna spend the night?"

When she winked, Y/N couldn't help but laugh outright. "Mm, I'll definitely consider it," she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice, and despite her dry tone, Dolley once again burst into a fit of giggles, her hysterics more contagious than Y/N would've liked to admit. Perhaps her roommate couldn't hold her alcohol quite as well as as she thought.

Dolley leaned back toward the bar for a refill, and Y/N's eyes began to wander in her absence. The room was packed with leather furniture, tufted couches and armchairs; it had a fireplace along one wall and a pool table in the corner at which two men seemed to be escalating quite a heated argument. The sight amused her, if only in the least, but she turned away with her small smile, taking another sip of her drink. That was when her gaze landed on the man directly to her left where she sat facing Dolley, his arm draped over the back of the couch and his stare fixed on her friend. Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, don't look now, but the hottie at your three o'clock is totally checking you out."

"'Three o'clock'?" Dolley repeated, brow furrowed, "Y/N, it's past ten, what are you--"

"Military directions, Doll; just--" Y/N cut herself off with a scowl, glancing back to her side. "Don't be too obvious about it. He's directly to your right." When Dolley's head whipped around toward the man, subtlety be damned, Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. However, the other woman's eyes widening gave her pause. "What, d'you know him, or something?"

With the way Dolley was biting her lip and fiddling with the rim of her glass, it was strikingly obvious that there was more to the story. "...Sort of," she replied vaguely.

"Which means what, exactly?" Despite Y/N's newly uncovered intrigue, Dolley's eyes didn't leave the man in question, and her best friend scowled. "Spill. Now."

"That's James," she finally answered, wearing a wide grin. "He's a friend."

"I need details here!" Y/N demanded. "Based on how he's looking at you, I'm not sure I buy that he's just 'a friend.'"

"He's a PhD candidate. We've crossed paths in the school of economics a couple of times, and he's a big sweetheart. But you didn't hear that last part from me." Y/N raised an eyebrow at her words, and Dolley continued, "And I might've slept with him, like, once or twice."

"How is that the last thing you think to mention? You've been holding out on me," Y/N said, swatting at Dolley's shoulder, but she just shrugged. "So are you gonna go over there and talk to him, or what?"

"Oh, no, I can't leave you alone here!" she protested. "This is our night to celebrate your finally moving here. I wouldn't abandon you like that."

"I can take care of myself; I promise." Y/N gave her a pointed look before nodding back toward James. "Besides, you're stuck with me all the time now. Don't pass up something like him just to spare your conscience. C'mon."

Dolley hesitated, stealing another glance to her right, and when James met her gaze, giving her a small smile, Y/N could see her face light up. "Are you sure?" Despite Dolley's hesitance, her eyes were shining, and Y/N nodded.

"Go. Have fun. Live a little."

"I'll be back for you in a bit, dear." Dolley squeezed Y/N's shoulder affectionately as she stood up, sending her a grateful look before starting off to her right.

Y/N turned back to the bar with a chuckle, finishing off her drink and asking the bartender for a glass of water, musing about what her first few days at the university would look like, her gaze absent as she looked up at the shelves of alcohol across from her. She was still sad to have left her semester of travel behind, but she'd long since decided to embrace the change this year had already begun to bring. She was living at the nation's capitol, paying next to no tuition at a prestigious university. New beginnings were bittersweet, but she was excited for her path forward.

Her thoughts had begun to gravitate toward the semester of actual classes she had before her (because apparently, to get a degree, she had to "get good grades") when she was pulled back to the room before her, the bartender setting a martini down in front of her. It looked tempting, but-- "I'm sorry; I think there's been a mistake?"

Her words seemed to catch the bartender by surprise as he stopped himself in his tracks, returned to where she was sitting. "What seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

"No problem at all, but I think this drink is someone else's," she said, pushing it back toward him with a polite smile. "I've just been having water."

"Actually, it was sent by the gentleman at the end of the bar." Her eyebrows shot up, and when she glanced to her right, she caught the gaze of a well-dressed man whose eyes were already trained on her, wearing a barely-there smile, an expectant eyebrow raised. She hadn't realized she was staring, gaze wandering from the v-neck of his sweater to where it was pulled taut around his dark forearms, until the bartender cleared his throat, and she turned back to him with a start. The man several seats over was now grinning outright, in her opinion overly self-pleased, and she deigned not to acknowledge how the way he was looking at her had her heart pounding against her ribcage. "Take it or leave it, but it's no mistake."

She bit her lip, not daring to turn to her right once more; she could already feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, creeping up her neck. "Would you please send it back to him?" She asked in a small voice. "Tell him that if he wants to talk to me, he can come here and do it himself."

To her relief, he obliged her with a surprised laugh, continuing off with the glass she'd been offered, and she thanked him quietly as he went on his way. It couldn't have been a minute later when a low voice from behind Y/N made her jump.

"Y'know, when I buy women drinks, I don't usually get 'em returned to me with stipulations."

The corners of her lips twitched upward, but she didn't look at him until he came around to stand beside her. "Then maybe you've been buying drinks for the wrong women."

"It's like that, huh?" His soft huff made her smile. "Maybe I bought a drink for the wrong woman just now."

Y/N turned to him with her brow furrowed, already opening her mouth to rebuke him, but when she saw his teasing smile, she stopped herself. "You still decided to come over, didn't you?"

"So, what, you're just too irresistible?" He rose an eyebrow, and she shrugged.

"You said it, not me."

He laughed, drumming his fingers on the back of the chair beside her, and she pursed her lips as she eyed the man. He had a full head of dark, thick curls, and his tight sweater bulged at his biceps, drawing her distracted gaze away from his winning smile. "Mind if I join you, then?"

She was leaning onto the bar, resting on her forearms as she considered him, lips pursed. "I suppose some company couldn't hurt."

"Glad to hear it." Y/N was struggling to pull her eyes away from the wide grin he wore, but as he took a seat beside her, he didn't seem to mind. "So what's a woman like you doin' drinkin' alone on a Sunday?"

"Good question," she started, lips pursed as she considered him -- because really, what was she doing? Playing ghost wingwoman for Dolley? Reminiscing on her shitty flings in Europe? Trying to sober up from the sugar content of her sickeningly sweet cocktails so she didn't throw up from something other than alcohol? "Maybe I've just been waiting for someone to finally approach me."

Her mischievous smile made his eyebrows shoot up, surprised but more than pleasantly so. "'S that right?" The noncommittal tilt of her head gave him little to go on. "Sorry to say it, but if you're lookin' to meet people, this isn't the first place I'd recommend, sweetheart."

"It seems to be working for me so far," she pointed out, raising a smug eyebrow, and the man laughed, eyes shining. "Then again, I don't even know your name. Have we really even formally met?"

"You make an excellent point," he conceded, and when Y/N took another sip of her water, his eyes flickering down to her mouth was the furthest thing from subtle. "But what's the intrigue of a mysterious stranger approachin' you at a bar if I just tell you my name, hm?"

"What, are you going to make me beg for it?" The undertone of her own words certainly wasn't lost on Y/N, not as her voice dropped to a murmur, the corners of her lips curling up into a mischievous smile. He didn't seem thrown off, either; his eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, a fire blazing behind them that Y/N could've sworn hadn't been there even a minute before.

"Don't you start givin' me ideas," he said quietly, and she could feel her breath catch, her stomach turn, but she paid it little mind, "unless that's what you're really lookin' for."

"I don't think I know what you're implying." The innocent smile Y/N had plastered on made him raise an amused brow, despite that her voice sounded as though she'd been winded. "But it does seem awfully mean to make such a fuss over something so simple. I have to say, I almost feel like I'm being exploited."

"Hey, I came all the way over here. 'S your turn to put in some leg work now." When he bumped his elbow into hers, she hadn't expected to laugh at the brief, teasing action, but whether it was hormones or her excessive consumption of glucose, something about that night had her feeling just a bit lighter than usual.

"Alright, alright," she finally caved, dropping the coy facade. "What can I ever do to make up for the wasted martini and two meters of walking you had to overcome?"

"You can tell me where you're from, for starters." Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow at the question, folding her arms, but he only shrugged. "What? Haven't seen you around here before; I know I'd remember if I had." She rolled her eyes when he winked but didn't cut him off. "So what's your deal, then? In town visitin' a friend? Here for some kinda election event?"

"I just moved here, actually. I'm new to the neighborhood."

"So you're livin' around here?"

"So you're already trying to stalk me?"

He laughed at her accusatory stare, her lips pursed. "Nah, 'm just from this part of town," he said, but hesitated a moment to continue as he eyed her curiously. "Can you blame me for takin' interest when I hear a pretty face like yours is gonna be out 'n' about here more often?"

"Excuse you, I'm much more than just a pretty face," Y/N said defensively, but the man just shrugged.

"Well, since you're refusin' to tell me anythin' about yourself, how am I supposed to know that?" The look in his eyes was challenging, and she let out an amused huff, trying to bury how endeared she was in a facade of exasperation.

"Alright, smart guy; you win this one," she said with a scowl, but her lips quirked as she continued, "I just settled into an apartment building a block or two over. Now have I earned your name?"

"I'm Thomas," he supplied.

"Y/N."

"Y/N," he repeated quietly, the look in his eyes softening. "So, where'd you move here from?"

"A little bit of everywhere," she responded vaguely, taking another sip of her drink, and Thomas cocked a brow.

"Care to explain?"

"I've been abroad," Y/N laughed, enjoying his look of bemusement. "I'm from Ohio, originally, but I went to Chicago for school, and I've spent the past year or so in Europe."

He nodded, pausing a moment at her words. "Really? Ohio?"

"I spent a year halfway across the world, and that's what you choose to focus on?" Her words were almost indignant, and the disbelief in her narrowed eyes made him laugh.

"'M sorry, I just..." He trailed off, his eyes wandering down her figure, and she gave him a skeptical glance, turned back to her drink. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a Midwesterner."

"There's a reason I ran for the hills the first chance I got." She snorted, taking a sip of her seltzer water as she shook her head. Her gaze was absent, drifting across the wall behind the bar, but before Thomas could question it, she'd turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "So what about you? What's your origin story? Texas? Alabama?"

"Virginia, born and raised," he answered easily, clear pride in it laced through his voice, but he glanced at her suspiciously a moment later. "I really strike you as bein' from Alabama?"

"Listen, the southern accent was all I had to go off of. I did my best," Y/N defended, trying and failing to keep a laugh out of her tone, and he scoffed.

"Sure you did, sweetheart." The sarcastic lilt to his voice came alongside a broad grin, and had his voice not been so playful, she may have written him off right there and then. As it was, though, she couldn't even bring herself to scowl at the words. Instead, she held his warm stare, trying not to concentrate on the fact that she could feel his body heat permeating his sweater just inches to her left, trying to reign in her spiking pulse. Being beyond hyper-aware of just how close Thomas was, though, it shouldn't have startled Y/N when he knocked his knee into hers. When her eyes refocused, having been lost in thought, she could see in his eyes the pleasure he was taking in how skittish he'd made her.

"Anyway, now that I'm not some cryptic intruder," he started -- he didn't seem to notice that Y/N's focus was still fixed on subduing the heat rising in her neck, "can I buy you that drink?"

—————————

THUS BEGAN THE rest of their night. It was nearly eleven when Dolley texted her from the other side of the room, a frantic plea for forgiveness if she went home with James. (She swore, she hadn't meant to leave Y/N alone on their first night out together -- besides, Y/N seemed to have found a nightcap of her own. Forget a tall drink of water; the stranger in burgundy was a daiquiri and a half -- Dolley's words, not mine.)

And really, Y/N didn't mind. She was more than willing to walk home alone if it meant a night of just a little adventure. She ended up staying at the bar with Thomas until the owner nearly had to throw them out -- and Y/N couldn't blame them. Neither of them had had anything to drink in over an hour, so she supposed that as the clock neared midnight, they really weren't making much of a dent in the profit margin.

But it wasn't her fault, really. No one told her when she'd left her apartment that evening that, for once in her life, the person sending her a drink wouldn't be an incel with a god complex. Quite frankly, not only was that bullet dodged, but Thomas quickly proved to be more than a few inches above the low, low bar she'd set.

The night grew colder outside the windows, but the pair of them were preoccupied, busy inching closer, her hand falling upon his arm when she laughed, his legs brushing against hers as he acted as though he hadn't even noticed. They could both tell her demure front was just for show; her skin burned under his touch, layers of fabric be damned, and his gaze was electric. She'd long since thrown caution to the wind, anyway. Where the night was headed was clear only minutes after he'd sat down beside her; the air between them was charged. Sure, she'd only met him a couple hours prior, but any sort of a spark could certainly make a fire to last at least one night -- and last it did.

However, she didn't expect to have to be the one to push it that far. Brazenness seemed to be Thomas's mode of operation, so she was almost surprised when their being herded out onto the street below didn't immediately end in his hands on her skin, her body pulled flush against him. When they reached the musty alleyway, she was struggling to believe the firebrand of a man who'd bought her a drink hours before had suddenly become so mild in the night air.

But he'd bought her a drink. The ball was in her court.

"You cold, sweetheart?" Y/N glanced back over her shoulder, shivering, to see Thomas watching her with concern in his eyes. To be candid, she was fine -- winter in D.C. had nothing on the frigid bite of the air in Finland -- but she couldn't pretend how worried he looked wasn't part of what was tempting her to deal with the devil, heavy shadows clinging to his brow.

"I'm alright," she replied quietly, offering him a reassuring smile, but his creased brow didn't part.

"You sure? That coat doesn't look all that heavy."

"Really. I'm okay," she said with a light laugh, though she didn't think how she'd begun sniffling as her nose started to run was helping her case all that much. "I have a short walk home; it's no biggie."

That, however, made his eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. "You're walkin' home? Y/N, I dunno how safe that is."

"It's hardly snowing."

"I mean for you to be alone in the city in the middle of the night," he said, pausing as he reached where she stood just before the opening of the alleyway. "Can I call you an Uber?"

She turned her head to find him right by her side, perhaps an inch between the pair, his warm breath tickling her neck as he looked down at her. Her smile was hesitant. "I'm not letting you burn up some fossil fuels for a two block car ride. I can take care of myself."

"How 'bout if I walk you home?" he offered, and she let out a light sigh. "C'mon, leavin' you here alone in the middle of the night doesn't sit right with me. If somethin' happened..."

Though he trailed off, the implication in his words was obvious, and Y/N raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying that, because a stranger might follow me home, I should let a different stranger follow me home to prevent it?"

When she put it like that, Thomas couldn't help his quiet laugh at the irony of the situation. "Hey, I thought we'd agreed I'm not a stranger anymore," he protested, but Y/N looked him up and down skeptically.

"What, you paid for my drinks and called me pretty, and suddenly we're besties?"

"Now, we both know 'besties' wasn't exactly what I was goin' for," he said matter-of-factly, his smile sharp but playful, and despite how tilted the whole situation felt, she couldn't hold back her chuckle. She rolled her eyes, stuffed her hands in her pockets as she turned back to the well-lit sidewalk before them, the January snow crunching under her boots, but when she met his eyes, Thomas's expression had softened. He rose an inquiring eyebrow, and finally, she sighed.

"Yeah, you walking me home would be nice."

A grin split his light demeanor. "Alright. Lead the way, sweetheart."

"Follow me."

They took a right out of the alleyway, and as traffic continued to roar by beside them, speeding through the night, as the low buzz of the antiquated streetlights permeated the air, they fell into a comfortable silence, never falling out of step with one another. Snow was flecked across both their coats, and shadows were cast across their features, cycling back with each passing lamp.

Y/N hadn't been exaggerating when she deemed it a short walk home; it couldn't have been more than five minutes before they found themselves nearing the front steps of her building, and she looked up at him.

"Hey, thanks for tonight," she said, voice timid, and he turned to her with a wide smile.

"'S been my pleasure," he replied. "Sorry for keepin' you out so long; your roommate must be startin' to wonder."

When Y/N laughed lightly, Thomas raised an eyebrow, apparently not following whatever she'd taken away from his words. "I have a feeling she's a little too preoccupied to be worrying about me right now," she said dryly. She'd been back in town for not 48 hours, and Dolley was already going out on her own -- as supportive as Y/N was, Dolley had a habit of getting too attached too quickly. She was praying James wouldn't end up another regrettable hookup.

However, Thomas couldn't exactly hear her thoughts, something Y/N hadn't considered before tightly grabbing ahold of the rope to her mental tangent -- it was his fault, really. She couldn't be blamed for his lack of talent in mind-reading. But as he continued to watch her expectantly, as she pulled herself back to the present, she finally said, "She's spending the night with someone else tonight. Make of that what you will."

He shook his head in amusement. "Good for her."

"I'm sure her host thinks so."

A moment passed in quiet under the frigid night sky, Y/N hesitant to act but Thomas hesitant to leave. He was the one to break it.

"It was good to meet you, Y/N," he said softly, and she raised her eyebrows. Her window of opportunity was dwindling. "Hope I'll see you--"

"D'you want to come upstairs?" She hadn't meant to cut him off, but the words were spilling from her tongue before she could lose her nerve. Her heart was pounding; she wasn't fond of having to make the risky move, and the tentativeness in his raised eyebrows wasn't helping.

"Seriously?" Oh, God. Was it really such a ridiculous idea that he was struggling to believe she was asking? "I..." Thomas let out a heavy sigh when he trailed off before pursing his lips, tongue in cheek and looking everywhere but at her. "'S temptin', but... I can't do that to you."

Y/N only stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"You've been drinkin' all night." His tone left little room for negotiation, but she was on the edge of taking offense. "I know you don’t seem drunk, but if your judgment isn't all the way there, it's not happenin'. G'night, sweetheart."

She was still standing in stunned silence when he turned to walk back the way he came, but when he started retreating in her field of vision, she called after him, "Hang on." To her relief, he looked back at her quizzically, footsteps stalling on the snow-coated sidewalk, and she took a step toward him. "I've been drinking seltzer water and fruit juice all night, Thomas," she said, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "So if you're not interested, you don't need to make excuses, but I'm asking you while perfectly sober."

Her stomach seemed to be trying to turn itself inside-out as she waited anxiously for him to respond; the calculated way he looked her over only exacerbated the feeling. "Have you had anything to drink tonight?"

"Next to nothing." The pause between them was heavy, both their minds racing but far from in consensus. "Your move, Thomas."

Not three seconds passed before he was striding toward her decisively, and she inhaled sharply when his arm snaked around her waist, his other hand cupping her cheek, thumb sweeping over the expanse of skin. She was flush against his chest, too surprised to even react, her hands resting at his upper chest, and her eyes widened when she felt his cheekbone brush against the crown of her head. He tilted his head down to look at her, his lips hardly a hair away from the top of her ear. She could feel his breath down her neck, setting her nerves alight. "Can I kiss you?"

Her answer was immediate. "Please."

And before she had time to think, his lips were on hers; he was tangling a hand into her hair. He wasted no time in starting to walk her back toward her building, steadying her with a firm grip on her waist as she stumbled backward.

She yelped when her heel hit the bottom step up to her building's door, and she broke the kiss, then clinging to his shoulders in an effort not to fall, struggling to hold her weight on her legs as she lifted one foot onto the first step. Both their chests were heaving, and Thomas wore a wry grin.

"I've been wantin' to do that since I sent you that martini," he murmured, dipping down to kiss along her jawline, and Y/N let out a breathy chuckle.

"So you had to wait, what, three hours?" she retorted, tone dry. "Oh, how you've suffered."

"Had to wait three hours too long," he corrected her, and before she could jab back at him, his mouth again found hers. She moaned against him when he bit down lightly on her bottom lip, responding in kind by rolling her tongue teasingly against his. It was too much and yet still, not enough. His hands were all over her; she couldn't focus on how his body felt pressed into hers as the sensation quickly overwhelmed her, and when his grip on her hip tightened, she gasped into his mouth.

"Thomas, wait, I--" She was cut off before she could get the thought out. "Thom-- Mmh--!" He kissed her ardently, reveling in her response to his touch every bit as much as she was reveling in the feeling of it. Regardless, she pulled back, looking him in the eye, and held him off with a hand on his chest. "Let's go in. I'd rather be somewhere a lot warmer and a little more..." --she traced a finger down the lapel of his designer coat with a sly smile, finally using it to pull him closer-- "...private."

"Don't have to tell me twice." He split from her, tugging her alongside him and up the stairs by her hand, and her eyes widened at his frantic movements. She didn't even flinch at first, stunned by how abrupt the action had been, but when he glanced back over his shoulder at her, her fingers already linked between his, she drew in a shuddering breath.

"Let's go."

From there, their night was a blur of heavy jeans and chunky sweaters being scattered across Y/N's bedroom, their coats discarded and long forgotten not three feet past her apartment door. Whatever gods were above seemed to have smiled on her; she and Dolley both striking it lucky on the same night felt too perfect for it to be coincidental, especially as Y/N's bedroom door slammed loudly behind them, her body pinned against its interior moments later.

Every impatient touch was ablaze, brimming with fireworks and crave as her eager hands found their way up his shirt, his curls bouncing when he pulled it over his head.

It was all reckless, every second of it, but as Y/N saw it, what was the worst that could happen? The occasional uncomfortable run-in with Thomas if they passed on the street? That was beyond worth her evening of adrenaline. She gasped when he pushed her back onto her mattress, climbing on immediately after her.

"Thomas," she moaned, threading her fingers into his curls as his lips worked their way down her neck.

"What is it, sweetheart? Hm?"

She squealed when he nipped at her sensitive skin, nails digging into his upper back, but her tense muscles relaxed as he began sucking a hickey into the same spot a moment later. "I need you. Please."

She could feel his smile against her skin, the vibrations of his light chuckle. "Well, since you asked so nicely..." He pulled back as the pads of his fingers dug into her hips, and she inhaled sharply. His eyes were shining, predatory and smug. "How could I say no?"

——————

COME THE NEXT morning -- or, really, the next afternoon -- Y/N was grateful to have escaped without a hangover, completely absent a headache, the light of day not even a bother as it glared past her curtains. However, the minute she tried to sit up, she realized that she certainly had a backache, and she wasn't entirely convinced her legs would be willing to work when she tried to stand.

Realization struck her a moment later; she winced as she sat bolt upright, ignoring the ache in her shoulders when she lunged for her phone. Oh, shit.

"Thomas," she hissed, shoving his snoring body through her comforter. "Thomas, wake up."

He sniffed as he shifted in her bed, trying to speak through his heavy yawn. "What's goin' on?"

"What's going on is that it's almost two o'clock." Her scowl was deep-set as she shoved the covers off of herself, paying him little mind as she began to root through her drawers for something to wear. "And you need to go. I have somewhere to be."

It hadn't occurred to her to be self-conscious as she paced through her room, but when she turned back to see Thomas's lazy stare following her still-naked body, she could feel her cheeks flare. "Get dressed."

"Alright, alright," he said, sleep still heavy in his voice as he reached for his phone where he'd discarded it on his long-abandoned jeans. She didn't see it, busy pulling on underwear and yanking on a hoodie over her the heavily-marked skin of her chest. "Fuck. I'm gonna be late."

She rolled her eyes when his own panic was finally what kicked him into gear, as he began shoving his legs back into his pants in a frenzy. "Jesus, do I need to get home," he muttered to himself, unsteadily typing something into his phone with one hand as he struggled to buckle his belt with the other. "Sorry for crashin', I--"

"It's fine; it was late as all hell," Y/N cut him off, too preoccupied to concern herself with what'd happened the night prior. She was clinging to the desperate hope that her laptop might not be dead as she dug through he drawers for its charger. "When you find all your stuff, you can just go."

"Alright. I..." He glanced to her hesitantly, pausing in his quest to put himself back together before he could flee with his dignity and whatever plans he had for that afternoon still intact. She glanced at him inquisitively in his silence. "I'll see you around, Y/N."

She offered him a small smile before he returned to trying to dig up his sweater, completely oblivious to where he could've possibly tossed it. "Let's hope so."

Those were all the words exchanged before she ducked into her bathroom, began running the shower, and wiped her smeared mascara from where it'd been running down her cheeks. Thomas left with no more pomp or circumstance.

She hardly had time to fix her appearance after she showered, doing the bare minimum before she rushed back to check on the charge her laptop had left. 74% would be enough to make it through her first lecture, right? She didn't waste a second on dwelling.

Her first class was, to her dismay, halfway across campus from her apartment. She hardly slipped into the lecture hall in time, the clock striking 2:59 PM as she took a seat toward the back, quietly greeting the person in the seat beside her as they glanced up from their phone. Maybe her rolling up less than sixty seconds before the lecture began wasn't exactly the best first impression for her, coming in as a 2nd semester junior at a new college, but she'd managed to beat Professor Jefferson, so it appeared she was safe.

It was 3:03 when he showed up; Y/N had just finished convincing the fan on her laptop to stop shrieking, had found a pen nestled into the deepest depths of her bag. She was scrolling absentmindedly through Twitter when the back doors of the lecture hall were thrown open one final time. She didn't look up at first, but his voice made her eyes widen.

"Afternoon, everybody. Hope you've all been doin' well through the long winter." His voice was upbeat as he padded down the carpeted steps toward the desk at the front of the room.

Y/N was fairly sure she was going to be sick, and unfortunately, she had no hangover to chalk it up to. Disbelief permeated her every shaky breath, the feeling trounced only by dread. Her throat had gone dry.

"For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm Professor Jefferson. I started in the political science department this last fall," he said as he reached the floor, loud voice projected through every corner of the hall, tone joking when he added, "And for anyone who's eventually gonna ask, I promise 'm well aware of how young I am."

When he turned around, Y/N's worst fears were realized -- though, she was certainly surprised at how put-together he looked, having left her apartment just one short hour earlier.

"I've spent the past few years workin' in government, but I'm glad to be back in classrooms, even if I'm on the other side of 'em." He set his briefcase down on his desk, looking the room over as he withdrew his papers, opened his laptop. Y/N was sinking progressively further and further down in her chair. "I trust you've all done the assigned readin'?"

He was met with a scattered chorus of yeses and halfhearted noises of affirmation, and he chuckled. "Well, 'm glad to hear you enjoyed 'em so much."

She wasn't sure whether his words being met with soft laughs dispersed throughout the room was because of the sarcasm sitting heavy in his words, or instead because of how contagious his bright grin was.

"Alright, alright, the enthusiasm'll get there. Feel free to pull up the syllabus on whatever you've got with you, but it'll be projected up here as we go through it." The class sounded slightly more awake by then, and while it surely wasn't everyone, Y/N felt confident enough that a decent fraction of the noise was her classmates murmuring with disbelief about how this was their professor, no doubt interspersed with jokes about suddenly taking an intimate interest in political philosophy, capped off with a wink.

But she was no one to judge. Despite being unsure whether her heart was trying to beat its way through her ribcage or if it'd altogether stopped, when Thomas leaned against the front of the desk, arms folded and ankles crossed, she couldn't bring herself to regret the events of the past sixteen hours -- were she given a chance to turn back time, it was a mistake she'd readily make again.

"I'll take any questions as we go on through it," he continued, but that time, as he scanned the crowd, Y/N's luck seemed to have run out. However, though she'd been given the luxury of a gradual realisation, the inevitable punch in the gut of recognition hit him all at once. His eyes locked onto hers, immediately going wide, his expression dropping to one of alarm, and she held his gaze warily.

His silence was a fraction of a second too long, long enough to raise questions, before his self-awareness kicked in, and he picked his jaw up off the floor. The smile he plastered on was riddled with unease. "Hope everything in the course description was clear. I have no doubt this'll be an... excitin' semester."

He played off his shock easily, falling back into his upbeat persona, but as he went on, Y/N felt lucky she'd already read the syllabus — she didn't process a single word out of his mouth. The class was three hours long, and only five minutes into the first day, she’d apparently already slept with her professor.

If this was the semester she had ahead of her, then, well... 'exciting' was certainly a word for it.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

Beth’s Template in S11

Okay Bethyl Enthusiasts! Here goes!

I’ve been promising to talk to you about exactly what I think will happen in S11 with Beth’s arc, and that’s what I’m going to do today. I’ve had a basic idea of things for a while, now, but these bonus episodes and their epic symbolism have really kicked things into high gear. They’ve helped me see things more clearly and even helped give me a more definitely (disclaimer: though still somewhat fluid) timeline for how/when it will all happen.

So, of course we all hoped to see her in ep 22. But if he we had, it would have had to have been in a coda. Like a preview of some kind. Because they didn’t quite get to the part of the story where I’m expecting to see her. But I’ll get into that in more detail.

So, we’ve been saying for a while that we think she’ll come through Eugene’s storyline, so that’s what I’ll be focusing on here. Because that’s specifically what I think we’ll see in S11. @wdway has found a TON of Beth symbolism around Eugene. She did most of her investigating and reporting over the long, CoVid hiatus, but I haven’t gotten around to posting much of it. Maybe I still will. We’ll see. There’s been so much to talk about lately.

Let me also state that, while I firmly believe we’ll see Beth in S11, I don’t think we’ll get to the point where Daryl will see her. And yes, that kinda sucks. But they probably won’t have their reunion until the spinoff. I know the Bethyl reunion is what we’re all waiting for, but hey, at least once we see her, we’ll know it’s coming, right?

So let’s start by going through the relevant template.

I’ve mentioned parts of this before, so I apologize if any part of it is repetitive. But it will help you if  you understand not just what I believe we’ll see, but why.

So, let’s return to 6x08/09. At the end of 6x07,  the church fell and all the walkers got into Alexandria. Eugene ends up in a garage with Tara and Rosita. They can’t get into the house connected to the garage because the dividing door is locked. After a discussion between the two ladies about whether they’re going to give up hope or else “do something,” Eugene offers to pick the lock and they get inside.

Inside, Morgan was keeping Creepy Wolf Dude (who I’ll abbreviate CWD) in the basement. He brought Denise (Beth proxy) in to patch up his injury, which she does. Carol wants to kill CWD and tries, but Morgan stops her. He’s on his “all life is precious” kick and ends up body slamming Carol, so she passes out. But when his back is turned, CWD also hits him over the head, so Carol and Morgan are both down for the count.

Just then, Eugene, Rosita and Tara enter, but CWD takes Denise hostage and leaves.

Everyone with me?

Okay, let’s start with Denise. Because of the way she died, Daryl’s reaction to her death, and AALLLLLL the Beth symbolism around her, she’s clearly a proxy for Beth. So what I’m going to argue is that this little sequence is a foreshadow and template for how she’ll be reintroduced into the show. Notice how Daryl isn’t present in any of these scenes. So again, this is how we, the audience will see her. Not how Daryl will first see her. Kapish? Okay.

So, I think Eugene unlocking the door to a new place represents him finding or “unlocking” a new community. Kinda like the one he, Yumiko, Zeke, and Princess are now in the process of discovering.

How did we come up with that? I honestly don’t remember in detail. Like I said, it’s something we’ve discussed for a long time. I think we started with Denise=Beth and worked backward from there. It kind of feels like out of all the members of TF, Eugene will see her first, but then she’ll be taken away from him right away.

Now, he’s in the midst of discovering new people/a new community. A few other pieces of evidence for this:

1)      Before they run into the garage, right after the church falls, Eugene gets on the radio and calls for help. Remember, Daryl hears him? So that parallels to Eugene talking with Stephanie via the radio.

2)      If you go through the dialogue of Rosita and Tara in this scene and compare it to dialogue in the scene in 10x16 between Yumiko and Ezekiel (the scene where his horse dies) the parallels are ridiculous. They aren’t the exact same lines of dialogue, but the meanings and chronology of it is almost exact.

3)      In terms of Denise = Beth, before she patches up Creepy Wolf Dude, she says to him, “show me the wound.” In Rick’s dream in 9x05, we heard Beth’s voice say, “What’s your wound?” It’s almost like they were trying to show us that Denise = Beth and that this template would play out with her return.

Okay, I hope that’s all clear. Shit’s about to get really interesting.

Before we continue, I want to remind you of THIS POST I did about 5x09. If you haven’t read it, I suggest doing so. I talk about the radio voice in 5x09 and how it talks about “attacks against the republic.” We couldn’t have known what that meant before, but now it’s clear that it’s a foreshadow of the CRM and the CRM war, which won’t happen until the spinoff.

It’s super interesting because Andrew Lincoln was the radio voice (he’s currently with the CRM) but he has his English accent. (I’ll tell you why that’s important in a minute. It wasn’t a casual or irrelevant choice on the writers’ parts.) So if that suggests Rick being with the CRM, which he is, it’s kind of interesting that Beth’s voice, singing “Struggling Man” also comes out of the radio at first, before we see her sitting there singing it. That suggests that she, too, will be with the CRM and part of the CRM war. None of Ty’s other death hallucinations spoke from the radio. I’m just saying.

The voice there even mentioned brutal attacks against the republic, including setting people on fire and hacking them with machetes. And that’s important because that’s just what the wolves did at Alexandria, and in the above template, we have CWD taking Denise (Beth). So it’s all interconnected.

But even so, I’ve had a hard time nailing down what it means and what the story line will actually be when Beth return.

Enter episode 10x21 and @bluesandbeth​’s inspired research.

In ep 21, Carol snoops around in Daryl’s room and finds the book “The Golden Age of Piracy.” Now, I’ll admit I didn’t look into this reference very extensively because I THOUGHT I knew what it meant. We had a “pirates” reference between Daryl and Carol in 10x01, when they first discussed leaving together on his bike. Since we already know they’ll be leaving together for the spinoff, that conversation was a foreshadow of what will happen in the spinoff. And if you’ve been following my posts,  you know that I see their whole arc in the bonus episodes (6x18 and 6x21) as a foreshadow of that same story line. So to me it was just another confirmation of the spinoff arc.

Then @bluesandbeth contacted me because she’d been looking into the Golden Age of Piracy book. She looked up the author and found out some interesting things. This author is real and basically wrote two kinds of historical books. (X) Books about piracy, and books about the American Revolutionary War. The author wrote a book called Greene and Cornwallis. (X)

Yikes! Yes, Greene is a real person and a patriot who stood against Cornwallis in the Revolutionary War. But what are the chances the writers use an author who just happens to have written a book with Beth’s last name in the title?

Historically, Nathaneal Greene was George Washington’s top general and right hand man during the war. I’ll come back to him. For now, it’s enough that he shares Beth’s last name.

I immediately hopped online to see what @bluesandbeth​ was seeing and look for more. And boy did I stumble upon a treasure trove!

I noticed a second book by this author called Swamp Fox. (Full title is Francis Marion: Swamp Fox.)

Now, you may wonder why that caught my attention. It’s not anything I ever posted about. It has to do with Leah. While me and my fellow theorists were discussing her and episode 10x18 endlessly, we noticed that Leah often wore a fox-fur scarf:

We conjectured back and forth about what it meant. Foxes, just like most animals, can have many different symbolic meanings depending on what culture you’re looking at. They’re often seen as sneaky and wily and deceptive, so we wondered if it was a reference to the writers “deceiving” us because Leah is a hallucination. But that was about the best we could come up with.

Well, when I saw the title of Swamp Fox, I immediately thought of Leah. And of course symbolically, Leah = Beth. So I decided to investigate.

And guess what? When I started reading about the Swamp Fox book, all the stuff from the S6 template above and the 5x09 stuff about Beth being part of the CRM war started clicking into place so fast, it made my head spin.

The Swamp Fox is about Francis Marion, a real man and patriot who also fought against the British during the American Revolutionary war. He’s the guy Mel Gibson’s character in The Patriot is based on. He faced down Cornwallis (one of the main British generals during the American Revolution) and was awesome at guerilla tactics and staying hidden. You know, in the swamp. Hence, they called him Swamp Fox.

Does that sound familiar to you? Think about what Andy Lincoln/Radio Voice said in 5x09 about Guerilla warfare and attacks against the Republic. You could describe Francis Marion’s military career any better if you tried.

And then I went to Wikipedia to look up general information on Marion and pictures of the British flag are all over the place.

Okay, this is another thing that won’t be very familiar to you because I haven’t focused on it much. In one of the episodes of TWB, Julia Ormond’s character is at home and we see a huge British flag hanging on her wall. Not surprising, given that she’s British. But it was such a huge, blatant symbol, and the camera focused on it for so long, that we figured it had to mean something. We just didn’t know what. The best we could figure is the colors (blue and red) and the fact that there’s both a huge X and a T/cross on the British flag.

Well, I now know what that symbol represents in TWD world. Reading about Marion and seeing the British flag on his Wikipedia page made it all make sense to me.

In short, Francis Marion, a.k.a. The Swamp Fox = Beth. She’s going to be the second-in-command general/guerilla warfare expert against the CRM. That’s why they had all that stuff in 5x09 when we saw her and heard her sing. The reason for the British flag is that Julia Ormond’s character = Cornwallis.

Read up on Francis Marion HERE.

(This is also why I said it’s important that in 5x09, they had Andrew Lincoln use is British accent for the radio broadcast. It’s meant to be from the point of view of the CRM, which symbolically represent the British in the template.)

So they’re using the American Revolution as a loose template for how the CRM war will go.

Back to Nathaneal Greene of Greene and Cornwallis? Yeah, same thing. Greene was George Washington’s direct under-general and right-hand man. Kind of like a…second or new sheriff? In the CRM war, George Washington = Rick and Nathaneal Greene = um, Greene (Beth).

More on Nathaneal Greene HERE.

But here’s the thing. None of that is going to happen until the spinoff. So why am I talking about it for S11? Well, it has to do with Charleston.

You can look this up on Wikipedia for more details, but Charleston was an event that was huge for Francis Marion. It was Charleston, South Carolina in that case. And it was a stronghold that the colonists were holding against the British. Then one day, the British attacked and took everyone there as prisoners of war. Marion WAS stationed there at the time, but he wasn’t there when the attack happened because he’d BROKEN HIS ANKLE in an accident and left the city to recuperate.

Okay. Anyone recognize Charleston in terms of Eugene or TWD world?

When talking to Stephanie over the radio, he got her to finally tell him where her settlement was. Any guesses? Charleston.

Now, in this case, it’s Charleston, West Virginia, but I don’t think it’s any coincidence that the writers went with the same name, even if it’s a different state.

So, here’s how I think it will play out.

I don’t think Stephanie’s group is actually the Commonwealth, or at least not the major, Commonwealth city everyone knows from the comic books. They DO have the white storm trooper guys, so I think they’re linked to the CW somehow. Like maybe they’re a branch of the CW in the same way Grady might have been an outlying branch—or at least in communication with—the CRM.

So again, maybe they’re PART of the CW, but they’re not living with the main group.

So, I think Eugene’s group will be taken to Charleston in S11 (that should happen next) and they will see Beth there. I have no idea if Eugene will recognize her or not. Given that we still don’t know what went down during the missing 17 days after Coda, and Eugene was hurt, we don’t know if he actually saw Beth at all or if he was out during that time. I’ve agonized over this a lot, but understanding this new template, I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t really matter. Maybe he’ll recognize her. Maybe he won’t. But either way, he’s not going to be in the same place with her for long.

I think soon after Charleston will be attacked. Now, historically, it was by the British, right? And because Julia Ormond’s character = Cornwallis, it’s got to be the CRM who attack Charleston. And we’ve seen them do this with other communities in TWB, so it makes sense.

But here’s where I had the S6 template wrong for a long time. Because CWD takes Denise, I thought a group would attack Stephanie’s community and take prisoners, and Beth would be taken with them, while Eugene and the others were left behind. 

But because of the Marion/Swamp Fox/Charleston thing, I think the opposite is true. Sounds like Eugene and co will be taken as prisoners by the CRM. Why did they do it the opposite way in S6? Because they couldn’t have had all the Alexandrians taken and Denise left behind. It just wouldn’t have worked for that S6 storyline. The point is mostly the separation. Eugene gets into a new place, briefly sees her, and then they’re separated.

So Charleston will be attacked and all the people (probably including Eugene, Yumiko, and Zeke) get captured by the CRM. If Beth is Marion, then she won’t be there when it happens.

I’m wondering if she’ll be out in the woods, hunting or getting supplies or something, and this is where she’ll step in the bear trap, injuring her ankle. That would fulfill all the bear trap symbolism around her, including Alone when she stepped in the small game trap. Just a guess on my part, but I think it’s highly likely.

Even if I’m wrong about that detail, I think she’ll be away from the Charleston community, just as Marion was, when the CRM captures the people there.

This is why it doesn’t really matter whether Eugene recognizes her or not. If he doesn’t, and they don’t realize they know the same people, she won’t know that Maggie and Daryl are (relatively) nearby. I think at this point she’ll go to try and rescue the people from the community who were captured (if she’s been with them for awhile, there are probably people there she cares about) and that’s how she’ll run into Rick and first cross paths with the CRM.

She and Daryl will meet down the road at a later date.

Even if Eugene DOES recognize her and she knows about TF, I still think she’s going to go try and rescue her friends before attempting to go to D.C. because they’re in more immediate danger and she’ll have some loyalty to them.

So, this is what I think we’ll see in S11. And I have no idea where it will cut off. Maybe the last thing we’ll see with Eugene in S11 is the fall of Charleston. Or maybe that will happen in episode 2. I really have no idea.

But I’m going to mention one other thing before I stop for today. I know this is getting wrong.

Who is Creepy Wolf Dude in this template? I mean, the wolves attacked Alexandria, so we could assume it’s just the CRM, and maybe a particular person in the CRM. Might be.

But rewatching 6x08, something caught my ear.

Morgan and Carol were arguing about whether or not to kill Creepy Wolf Dude, right? She keeps saying he needs to die. Morgan keeps saying no. And then we have a really interesting conversation.

Carol (talking about wolves): They made us kill. We had to stop it. I had to stop it.

Morgan: Where there’s life, there’s possibility. Even if we never let him out—

CWD: I’d get out.

Morgan (talking over him): Even if we never let him out, he could know what he’s done.

Who else killed and made TF kill? And rather than killing this person, they put him into a cell, vowing never to let him out. But he got out?

Negan! They’re basically talking about Negan’s fate after AOW here.

And guys, that’s CRAZY. I think CWD = Negan.

And I have more evidence for this.

In the TTD after 5x09, I remember that Nicotero was on it. And they were talking about how intrigued CWD was by Denise. I think it was Chris who said something like (and I paraphrase), “I guess it wouldn’t be right to say he fell in love with her or anything…”

And Nicotero corrected him and said CWD kinda did fall in love with Denise. Maybe not in a lifelong, deep, abiding love like we see with Bethyl/Glaggie/Richonne/Etc., but he’d never met anyone like her and he was intrigued by her. He fell in love with her as much as a killer like him could fall in love with someone.

Then, in 7x16, we had Sasha’s death. We went on and on about all the Beth symbolism around Sasha in that episode. It was ridiculous! Kind of like these bonus episodes had been. And Negan…kinda liked Sasha. I mean, I don’t think anyone would have described it as falling in love, but he liked and respected her. Said she had beach-ball-sized lady nuts and he truly respected her and was sad to see her die.

So I think these are both templates that point to what will happen next.

(BTW, Eugene was present for a LOT of Sasha’s final episodes.)

The main reason we always thought Beth would show up with the Saviors is because of the Negan (bat, actually) symbolism around her. But if she and Negan have a major arc together or interaction later on, all of that will suddenly make sense.

So again, I’m not sure if we’ll see this in S11 or if it will come later, but I think after Charleston falls, Negan and Beth will somehow meet (maybe he leaves the communities at some point) and have a lot of scenes and episodes together.

All right. I’ll stop there. Do I know any of this for certain? Of course not. As always, it’s subject to change. Especially the details. And the instant I see anything that changes my thinking or makes me realize I interpreted something wrong, I’ll let you know.

But my biggest point is that this really SHOULD be the next thing we see with Eugene’s group. Of course, this is TWD and it might still take us 8 or 10 or more episodes to get there as they have a lot of things to focus on S11. But it’s coming. And soon.

Remember that S11 is scheduled to start in June. So we don’t have long to wait. (Yay!)

Thoughts?

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summery: Tom is not entirely sure of how it happens. But one moment he’s the gardener of Locksley Hall, and the next he’s run off to marry the lords daughter. A girl he despises.

Well, sort of.

Warnings: Smoking.

A/N: this is (loosely) based on the Locksley Hall poem by Tennyson, but the relationship between them is pretty heavily inspired by Atonement by Ian McEwan (the first part of the book) and the story at large also slightly inspired by Downton Abbey.   Also, I’ve changed the law in this. As I understand it (from watching Downton Abbey) girls could never inherit the estate, no matter if she was married or not. Here you will inherit, but only if you are married and it will then go to your husband. Also, I was listening to Old Money – lana del rey the entire time I was writing this. 

-

Locksley Hall, England – 1920.

It’s June, and Tom finds himself praying for rain.  

It’s one of those summer days when the air stands still. Not a whiff of wind, no breeze in the trees, not a cloud in the sky. Just an ever-pressing, inescapable heat that seems to paint the whole world a hazy golden shade.  

He’s knee-deep in the earth, sweat running down his back, shovelling soil under the merciless sun. It’s midday and the warmth is intolerable. He can already feel the blisters he’ll have on his hands tomorrow. To top it all off his head is pounding and he reminds himself to give Harrison a good kick in the chin the next time he sees him; for convincing him that one more drink wouldn’t hurt.  

And god, he desperately wants a cigarette.  

“God, it’s hot today” Madeleine’s bored voice drifts out the open window. “One can hardly think straight”.

Tom lifts his head and observes her through the glass. The owner of the voice is in the conservatory. Wearing a lace dress and her dark curls perfectly pinned into place. She is primly drinking tea alongside her mother; safely hidden away from the beaming sun.    

He swipes the sweat from his forehead before shovelling the spade further down in the dirt. A sudden urge to throw some of the earth through the conservatory window hits him, just enough to dirty up her white gown. But he resists it. Instead he sits down by the flowerbed and leans his pounding head against the wall. His sore muscles scream in relief. Lighting a cigarette, he then closes his eyes and inhales deeply. The whole world goes white as the sun shines through his closed eyelids and a soft sigh escapes him.  

“Have you received any more letters from Sir Hatfield?” He hears lady Locksley inquire from inside.  

“What, James?”  

“Yes, of course James, has he written you again?”  

“Thankfully not”.  

“Oh, don’t be silly child, he’s the owner of Hatfield house! God knows you could do worse than him” Lady Locksley scolds her oldest daughter. Despite himself Tom’s interest is peaked, so he keeps smoking and listening to the conversation, ignoring his gardening duties.  

“But he’s such a bore” Madeleine whines in response. “Honestly mother, all he ever talks about is hunting. And Hatfield house is a terrible building, you know I can’t stand Tudor architecture. Plus, James is ancient.”  

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s not ancient, he’s ten years younger than your father.”  

“Exactly, and I’m two-and-twenty years old!”  

“Oh, do be quiet, you’re very lucky he’s shown any interest in you at all. I have talked to your father about this. It’s high time for you to get married. Ever since Francis…” she trails off and Tom knows why. Francis had been her oldest child and only son, the one set to inherit the land and the title. Who had died in the war during the battle of the Somme. Tom had known Francis and had not been fond of him. Upon hearing about his death he’d wondered if the heir had been shot by one of his own, though he did not air this suspicion. Tall and handsome Francis may have had been, but he had also been entitled, rude and unkind to animals. He’d beaten his horses, screamed at the servants and taunted his sisters.    

Lady Locksley continues with a new air of authority in her voice. “It’s more important than ever before that we find you a good match. You know what’s at stake if you don’t marry and marry soon”.    

Silence for a second, and unease is setting like lead in Tom’s stomach. Maybe this isn’t a conversation he should listen in to.  

“Yes, I know.” The words sound heavy and reluctant in Madeleine’s mouth.    

He opens his eyes and discretely as he can he pops his head up to sneak a look through the window. The look on the young heir’s face strikes him. It’s not sad, nor angry or dismayed. It’s apathetic. Like she’s somewhere far, far away.  

“Boy, I thought I told you to start digging!” Bertie Higgins voice booms over the grounds as he crosses the corner of the building and walk towards Tom, who quickly puts out his cigarette.  

An elderly man, with bushy beard and eyebrows, a bit too fond of beer and with fingernails so dirty Tom wonders if they’ve ever been cleaned, walks towards him. Mr. Higgins has worked as the head gardener on the grounds of Locksley Hall for longer than anyone could remember.  

“Sorry Mr. Higgins, I just took a breather” he says before putting out his cigarette and picking up his shovel again. Mr. Higgins observes him for a moment, then he leans in closer and whiffs of the beer the older man had for lunch hits Tom’s face. “Listen, boy” he says in a low voice “no good will come from spying on them gentle folks, hear me? No good will come of it”.

“Mr. Higgins I wasn’t -” Tom begins to defend himself but the gardener pats his shoulder and continuous in his stern voice. “Is no use lyin’ to me, boy, I’m too old, I’ve seen too much. You’ve been sniffin’ after that young heir since you came back. ’s no use lad. Them folks are not for the likes of us, above your station she is, well above your station.” Tom wants to protest. For he has most certainly not been sniffing after anyone, least of all Madeleine Locksley, but Mr. Higgins continues. “Now Alice,” he says and pats his shoulder again “she’s some good maid she is, why not ask her out?”  

Alice was indeed a maid at Locksley Hall. Pretty and always ready for a laugh. She’d made it perfectly clear of her interest in him too. There was however a streak of pettiness to the girl that he wasn’t too fond of, and therefor he’d reclined her thus far. But he doesn’t particularly feel like sharing that with Mr. Higgins.  

“Now boy” Mr. Higgins goes on. “You had your breather, go back to diggin’, if I told you once I told’ you a thousand times, you dig when the sun’s out and the dirt is dry an’ you water when the sun’s gone down”.  

Tom goes back to digging, the sun burning his neck, and his joints already protesting.  

He doesn’t notice Madeleine’s brown eyes observing him from within the conservatory.  

***  

The bathwater has gone cold. Still, she stays in the water. The prospect of putting down her book and getting up and ready for yet another family dinner seems dull at best. The rose-scented cold water feels refreshing against her skin. Today really had been unbearably hot. 

Still the heat lingers in the air.

Outside the bathrooms leaded windows the last rays of daylight are lighting up the grounds. Though the light in the gardener’s cottage is already lit.  

Dropping her copy of Pride & Prejudice to the floor she sinks further down into the water. Leaning her head back against the edge of the tub she closes her eyes and sighs.  

She’d just gotten to the part in the book where Elizabeth refuses Mr. Darcy’s proposal and it had annoyed her. How Elizabeth could refuse Mr. Darcy and all his possessions, and it didn’t lead to despair and desolation for her entire family, instead, as if by the waving of a magic wand, everything worked out beautifully in the end. That wasn’t real life.

Everything was annoying her today. Her mother’s persistent nagging, her father’s detachment, granny’s constant complaining. Tom’s strong arms wielding a shovel. The cotton shirt sticking to his sweaty back, the suspenders holding up his muddy trousers.  

She sinks further down into the cold water.  

Tom had looked annoyed today as well. But then again, he’d seemed permanently aggravated ever since he got back from France, at least in her presence. She’d seen him laugh plenty of times with Harrison from the pub when she visited the village, and with Alice too. He’d even crack a smile from time to time with Mr. Higgins. But her presence always seemed to put a frown on his face.

It had not always been this way.

As children they had played. They had explored the woods like travellers discovering a new world. Had run over the poppy fields pretending they could fly. They’d made it down to the sea and Old Sailor Joe had told them stories of Odysseus, and his long journey home. They’d sneaked out and slept under the stars and he had told her all of what Mr. Higgins had taught him about botany. Of how the things we sow in the ground with time will grow. About which flowers could kill you, and which ones could heal.

They had shared secrets and kept them between themselves, solemnly sworn blood-oaths with all the seriousness of a promise between children. They’d sworn that whatever happened between them stayed that way. That his secrets were hers and she’d keep them to her grave, and likewise for him.

Then she’d been sent away to boarding school and he had gone to the village school and that had been the end of that. During the holidays so much time had seemed to have passed between them that it was hard to pick up the threads of childish games where they’d left them. Then, war had broken out and she’d been sent to live with relatives in Canada, and Tom, well, Tom had joined the army.

Once they’d seen each other again years had passed, and they were strangers to one another.

The last evening light shines over the grounds of Locksley Hall, but Madeleine doesn’t move out of her bath, instead she stares out the window, feeling no motivation to move.  

Everything is fleeting, that was what she kept feeling. The hours, the days, the weeks, the months and years. Time passed her by so rapidly and yet all the days looked the same. She felt like a leaf landing in a river, being swept away with the stream with no control of where it was going or were it’d end up. Soon, she would be married, most likely to dreary James Hatfield, and then they would settle in Hatfield house and she would never spend her days roaming the grounds of Locksley Hall again.

Or maybe, she wouldn’t marry, and upon the death of her father and in the lack of a male heir, all their lands and possessions would go to the crown, and they’d all would be left with nothing.

A scream works itself larger in her throat. It had started earlier that day, with her mother in the conservatory. It would only grow larger, and larger until she wouldn’t be able to hold it in any longer. She knew this much from experience.

It felt like this,

In school they’d been taught about diamonds, about how with heat, pressure, and time diamonds are formed to something so unbreakable and everlasting that only another diamond can cut it. She’d imagined how all the screams she’d held inside, pressed between two lungs, over time created so much pressure that they’d turn her insides into diamonds.

As a child she and Tom had snuck into the library one night. In a book of medical terms they’d found the word autopsy with the description:  “An examination of a body after death to determine the cause of death or the character and extent of changes produced by disease — called also necropsy”. Not understanding much of this they had searched the other medical books until they found a more thorough description of what the word meant.

She had been horrified upon finding the truth in all its bloody glory. How, upon one’s death, a pathologist would cut you open to see what they could find. Painted pictures of the procedure followed, and Madeleine is still certain that the image of a cut open human heart is imprinted on her retinas forever.

She imagined it like this,

When they cut her open they won’t find veins, or blood, or intestines. But instead a cloud of smoke as they’ll tear her up, and inside –

dust. 

And a diamond heart; at the living core of which a handful of secrets shared between children years ago were kept. And the pathologists will look at one another and ask themselves, ‘why did she walk around with a diamond heart for all those years?’ Not realising, that her diamond heart was a perfect symbol of her.

Beautiful and valuable.  

And essentially useless.

The door to the bathroom bursts open, and a very aggravated eleven-year-old girl stands on the threshold. Her cheeks are flushed red, not only from a day spent playing in the sun, but from barely held-back rage.  

“That hag!” she bursts out. Her curly, brown hair a mess, wearing a grass-stained dress. A big hole at the sole her left sock.

Madeleine finally steps out of the cold water, pulls on her robe and turns to Beatrix.

“Beanie darling, you know you can’t call people that. Now, what has happened?”

“She told me I’d only be fit to marry a sailor the way I look! And then she had the nerve to say that I was lacking manners! Just because I told her I’d love to marry a sailor, at least he wouldn’t be such a bore!”

The older sister tries to hold back a smile, not wanting to encourage this kind of behaviour. “Would we perhaps be talking about granny?” she inquires.

“Do we know of anyone else that fit the description absolute hag?” her little sister answers, hand on her hip, clearly still annoyed. “Also, she says I have to change for supper in the nursery, god knows why; I’m hardly trying to impress nanny, and that they are waiting for you downstairs.”

And thus, it is time to face the unavoidable and join the lion’s den. Madeleine steps into her adjoining bedroom to get dressed and Beatrix follows closely behind.

“You’ll never guess who she suggested you should marry” Beatrix continues, amusement in her voice, as she sits down at her sisters dressing table, inspecting the bottles of scent and jars of powder with a bemused look on her young face.

“Was it by any chance James Hatfield?” Madeleine answers as she steps into the blue frock Alice had laid out for her earlier.

Beatrix stares at her sister in incredulity and in a heartbroken voice she wails with disbelief in every syllable,” OH, surely not! Leine, you can’t marry him! You simply can’t!”

Benie and Lenie were the affectionate nicknames the sister had for one another. As a child Beatrix had not been able to say Madeleine, but instead only pronounced the latter part of the name and dragged the vocals out into a ‘leeniee’ every time she called out for her.

“Well, he hasn’t proposed yet, so nothing is set” Madeleine answers while avoiding her sister’s questioning eyes, inspecting her hair in the mirror instead.

“So that’s why they’ll have a ball then, I was wondering what called for such an occasion”. 

“A ball?”

“Yes” Beatrix states, inspecting her own freckled, sunburned face in the mirror. “Mommy told granny that they would have one as soon as possible”.

The scream works itself larger in Madeleine’s lungs.

“Oh, well. It can’t be helped” she says and leads her sister out of the bedroom. “Now, you really do need to change, or nanny will be furious with you, and I’ll have to join them downstairs”.

The bedroom door closes behind them as they leave.

***  

The late evening air is loaded with the scent of rhododendrons. In the trees the nightingales sing, and the summer air feel cool against her bare arms as she steps out into the night.

Carefully, as to not be seen from any of the windows, she makes her way across the garden. It is dark, but on her childhood paths her feet still knows where to tread. She walks past the house, the gigantic rhododendron bush, and along the pathway lined with pink geraniums, down the trail past the summerhouse by the lake and further still until she arrives at the fountain by the labyrinth. The deep green hedges are lined with powder pink hydrangeas, blue hyacinths and cardinal red peonies. In the middle of it a square with a fountain. And if you look past that, the entrance to the labyrinth itself. 

If she had walked further still, away from the labyrinth, she’d come to a wide field of poppies. Had she, instead of walking north from the house, walked west she would have ended up by the sea, and the cliffs and Locksley Bay. East of the house laid the road to the village, and then the road to town. South of the manor the forest grew.  

She doesn’t go through the entrance of the labyrinth but sits down by the edge of the fountain. From her pocket she picks up a package of Woodbine cigarettes, but when she goes to light it, the lighter only flickers.

“Need a light?”

She nearly falls into the fountain, taken by surprise by the familiar voice. Tom laughs and walks out of the shadows. Hands in pockets and hair a wild mess.  

“Wanker!” she burst out, heart beating painfully hard in her chest.

“Now, now, where did you learn a word like that?”

He’s so smug, and it’s making her skin crawl with anger. She ignores his question and ask, “did you follow me here?”

He moves closer still, until he’s right in front of her. Then he takes out his lighter. She puts the cigarette in her mouth and he lights it for her.

“No” he answers eventually. “Was just finishing up watering the peonies.”

“You water the peonies in the middle of the night?”

He lights a cigarette for himself and blows out pearl white smoke into the summer night before he answers. “Yeah, as Mr. Higgins keeps telling me. You dig when the soil is dry, otherwise you’ll shovel mud, and you water the plants when the sun’s gone down and the soil is cool, or you’ll just end up boiling the poor things”.

She looks at him, really looks at him; while he’s busy looking up at the moon. His white cotton shirt is filled with stains of earth and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, a worn linen jacket thrown over his shoulder. Worn suspender holds up his muddy pants. His brown locks frame his face perfectly and in the moonlight his skin, tanned from working out all day, seems to almost radiate. He looks positively angelical. A sudden urge to pull her fingers through his hair overwhelms her. 

She looks away.

The nightingales sing louder than ever in the silence, as do the buzzing insects. Somewhere in the far distance a fox screech.

“You know” he says, sitting down on the bench opposite the fountain, leaning back he spreads out into a relaxed position. “Whenever I hear a vixen’s cry I think about Gideon’s ghost.”

“Well, you are the inhabitant of Gideon’s cottage”.

When, or indeed why, the gardener’s cottage on Locksley Hall had been baptised Gideon’s cottage no one seemed to know. Not even Old Sailor Joe, and rumour has it he’d been guarding the boats in Locksley Bay since the first wave crashed against its shore.

But the gardener of Locksley Hall had, for as long as anyone could remember, lived in Gideon’s cottage.

As a child her older brother had frightened her with tales of Gideon’s ghost, and how he still roamed the grounds of the manor, still volatile over long forgotten quarrels. When ever she’d hear a fox’s cry at night, as they laid tucked up in their shared nursery, he’d told her it was the ghost of Gideon, seeking out small girls to take out his revenge on. She had been terrified.

When she’d told this to Tom he had lost his temper with her brother, the two had never gotten along, and he’d taken the older boy to the ground, punching him with his small fists until a furious Bertie Higgins, who’d seen the quarrel from across the yard, had pulled him off him. Madeleine knew Tom had gotten a trashing from Mr. Higgins for the attack and a stern telling off from her father.

“I love that old cottage” he says with a found smile on his face, blowing out more smoke into the air between them. “But I’m yet to see his ghost. ’s a shame really, would have asked if the legend was true about gold being buried at the cliffs of Locksley Bay”.

She smiles, and the nightingales keeps on singing. The scent of peonies and hyacinths is heavy in the air, despite the smoke.  

Tom observing her with an intensity that unnerves her, so she turns away from him to look down into the fountain. Slowly she lowers her hand into the cold water and she watches as the goldfish swim around her.

“Why are you out here smoking at night?” he asks, and she turns to back to look at him, pulling her hand out of the water. He’s still observing her, and she feels almost naked under his glance, despite the silk gown she’s still wearing from dinner. It makes her nervous when he looks at her like that, because underneath their easy tones of conversation, she’s not actually sure he likes her all that much. She shivers, goosebumps all over her naked arms.  

“Here” he says and throws her his jacket. She utters a thank you and pulls it on. It smells of earth and smoke, and fresh cut grass. It smells like him and her diamond heart beat harder in her chest.

“Papa doesn’t like me smoking in the house.” She answers in the end.  

In fact, her father was against her smoking at all. It was a habit that had begun at Talbot Heath boarding school. Smoking with the other girls behind the gymnasium. They’d practised smoking without coughing, feeling mighty smug when they succeeded.

But smoking was, as it had been pointed out to her by her father, ‘not a dignified habit for a woman of her class to partake in’. When she’d gotten back from Canada after the war they’d have words about the subject. In the end the general agreement was that she did not smoke in the house, or amongst other people. She didn’t always follow these rules. There were days when all she did was sit in her bathroom, smoke cigarette after cigarette and read books. A part of her wanted to walk around the house and leave a trace of smoke in every room. Like a ghost, reminding them that she is still there. But a deeply rooted respect, verging on fear, of her father has always kept her from doing such a thing.

Tom hums in reply, that smug smile on his face again. “And what’s dear papa to say about this then? Hmm?” He nods at her, sitting just a meter away from him, wearing his jacket. “Princess sneaking out at night to share a smoke with the gardener?”

“Oh, do shut up”.  

“You know you really have improved your vocabulary since we last spoke” he replies dryly, “must be all that reading”.

“How do you know I read so much”.

And maybe it’s a trick of the moonlight, but she swears he blushes, his cheek the colour of peonies. “I can see the light in your window from my cottage at night”.

“Oh, and you’re keeping tabs on me? How sweet!” You reply in a mocking tone, grateful that you get the chance to be smug for once.

“Well, it’s hard not to notice it” the annoyance is clear in his voice. Then he changes the subject. “What are you reading so late at night anyway?”

“At the moment, Tennyson”.

He groans, “of course you like Tennyson” he scoffs, puts out his cigarette and lights a new one, offering her one as well, which she accepts.

“What’s wrong with Tennyson?” She asks, indignant.  

“Nothing I guess” he responds, “unless you’d like to read about things other than knights and fair maidens”  

“He did not only write about knights and fair maidens!” She defends fiercely. “He wrote about love and loss and death and privilege and -”  

“Oh, he wrote about privilege, did he! Well, you know all about that, don’t you? Little miss ivory tower”.

“And what do you read then? What is so good it makes Tennyson look foolish to you?” She tries to keep her annoyance out of her voice, but its difficult, especially when he looks at her like that. Like he finds her laughable.  

“Recently? Mostly Gorky.”

“You always did prefer your literature Russian. You’re politics too if Alice is to be believed.”  

He smiles, a little less condescending this time, “and you always loved your poetry, and no, she isn’t”.

“You must like some of the poets, surely?”  

“I’m rather fond of Shelley, actually”

“And the sunlight clasps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea:  what is all this sweet work worth, if thou kiss not me?” she quotes, not considering the implication of her words until they’ve already left her mouth. It had always been her favourite poem, and the words fell from her lips so effortlessly. But the intensity in his eyes as he observers her seem to change the very air around them. It is as though the whole world stills, if only for a moment. Like the nightingales and the foxes and the crickets all have heard her, and quieted down, in suspense over what’s to happen next.

He stands up and puts out his cigarette. Looking away from her he suggests, “we should head back, it’s late. I’ll walk you”. So, she puts out hers as well and follows him, and in silence they head back to the manor house, each avoiding the others eyes.  

She pulls his jacket closer to her.  

Then, he stops in his tracks. “Look,” he says and points up at the night sky “Andromeda burns bright tonight”.  

Already as a child he’d been good at recognising the constellations. Many a night they had sneaked out and wandered off to the poppy fields where they’d laid down their heads, and he had pointed up to the sky, just as he was doing now, and taught her to read them.  

“Andromeda, who was tied to the rocks, to be eaten by the sea monster Cetus?”

He nods, but doesn’t look away from the sky, “but Perseus rescued her”.

“And you criticised Tennyson for writing about knights and maidens” she teases.

He looks down at her then, a smile tugging the corners of his lips. They start walking again, his hands in his pockets, looking at the road ahead.  

“So, what did your dear Tennyson write about privilege?”  

“That opportunities are only given to those with riches already” she answers, and then she quotes, “every door is barr’d with gold, and opens but to golden keys.”

Tom is silence for a moment. They’re nearing the end of the road; they’re by the rhododendron bush, and they’ve reached the points were they have to walk their separate ways.  

She removes his jacket and hands it to him.  

“Keep it, for now. You can give it back later, you’ll freeze.”

“No” she argues. “No, Alice will see it and wonder”.

He doesn’t argue with her on that point but takes the jacket from her outstretched hand. “Well” he says, awkwardly. “See you around, Lady Madeleine”.  

They part ways.  

***

FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED

(A/N: I’m reposting this because the first time i posted it didn’t show up in the tags and it had like 3 notes)

Taglist: @londonmademedoit  @isthataladybag   @ceexreverse  @daygiowvibe @averyfosterthoughts @applenter @viwihere @youcompletemess @marvelpeters @youngsenpaibaby @duskholland @vanillanestor​ @panicattheeverywherekid​ @starrycigarettes​ @primadonnasdream​

[juletheghoul]

Oblivius Chapter 5

I have so many feelings about these two, Spills & Francis may be two idiot babies but they're my idiot babies and I LOVE them. Lots of yearning in this chapter, and maybe a different side to Claudia.👀

Likes & reblogs are appreciated

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Angst, yearning, 18+ language, mentions of alcohol / being drunk (Please let me know if I forget anything)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Part 4 Part 6 Playlist

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

Age 18:

His truck was full.

He was driving, you were shotgun - like always - and there were three more friends in the back. The trunk held boogie boards and towels, sunscreen and a cooler full of food and drinks.

You got there early enough that you found a good spot and within half an hour you were completely set up. There were three big beach blankets spread out with two big umbrellas to hide under when the sun got too hot.

“Spills, can you get my back?” He was handing you the sunscreen as he pulled his shirt up.

You were momentarily taken aback, you’d known him for so long, this wasn’t your first beach trip but he looked… good.

You spent a little longer than you should have making sure every inch of the golden skin of his back and shoulders was covered in sunscreen. Making sure to dip your hands just under the band of his swim trunks. When he turned he had a big smile and you had to ignore the way your stomach flipped.

Get a grip, it’s just Francis.

You couldn’t get a grip though, not with the way butterflies swarmed in your stomach whenever you paid attention to him. His hair was growing out a bit, curling slightly at the edges. You’d never thought about him this way and you had to keep reminding yourself to look away.

Later on in the day when you were in the water you played the same games you’d played since you were kids and when you jumped on his back he didn’t push you away; his skin warm from the sun. Instead he let you wrap your legs around him and everything felt right.

“You okay back there?” He laughed as he held onto the back of your knees.

“Peachy.” You smiled as you held on.

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

**Present Day**

“Hola Mijo, you better go in there and calm her down.” His mom greeted him at the door when he walked in, her eyebrows raised at him.

“Hola mami, what happened?” He kissed her on the cheek like he always did before making his way further into the house. She couldn’t say - just that Claudia was upset. He was walking towards her, but his mind was still back with Spills. He could still smell her hair as he made his way into the den.

It’s the same shampoo, she still uses the same shampoo. Focus Francisco.

Claudia was almost shouting into her cellphone.

“Well I need it here sooner than that. My wedding is in three weeks and I need everything to be perfect - so I don’t give a shit what you have to do to get my dress here in time but you better find a way to do it!” She was looking daggers at him and he let her finish the phone call before he spoke.

“What’s going on babe?” He put his hands on her arms and started trying to calm her but she shrugged out of his grasp.

“What’s wrong Francisco, is that I told you this would be difficult.” She wasn’t yelling but her tone was icy. “How am I supposed to get married without a wedding dress. Would have been fine if we were back home.”

Not this again.

“Claudia, I told you when we got engaged that I wanted to get married here and you agreed. I explained to you very clearly that I’ve been away from my home, my life, my family - my friends for years and I wanted to get married here. Now tell me what the problem is.” He wanted his feelings to be clear. He loved Claudia, he really did. She was sweet and beautiful and she treated him well. She could be a little spoiled though and if he didn’t put his foot down now, he’d never have a choice about anything ever again.

He would not live his life that way.

“Yes I know I agreed, and for the most part I’m okay with it. I know your whole life is here, but it would have been so easy to get married there.” She pouted and it didn’t invoke the feeling it should have. It didn’t spur him to try to please her, it annoyed him.

He momentarily thought about when Spills pouted up at him, it never annoyed him. He pushed the thought away.

“Maybe, but we’re not getting married there. We’re getting married here, now what can we do? Let's look for a solution.” He softened up at her a little bit, after all he wanted her to be happy.

She sighed loudly and put her arms around his neck, her voice got a little higher as she tried to appeal to him.

“Frankie, baby- I just want everything to be perfect.”

That doesn’t work on me.

“Let’s just try to have everything go smoothly. It’ll be our day regardless, right?” He put his hands on her waist to bring her close, trying to get her out of her head.

“How long do we have to stay here Francisco?” She leaned back to look up into his face and he sighed.

“We have to talk about that, after the wedding we’re going back to stay with your family for a little while but then we have to talk about where we’re going to live.” He held her, but she pulled away.

“I don’t want to live here after Francisco. I appreciate that you grew up here and everything and we can visit but I do not want to live here.” She crossed her arms petulantly, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. They’d spoken about this before and she had agreed to give it an honest try, but they’d been in town less than a week and already she was telling him she hated it.

“You can’t know that in three days babe.” He sat on the couch.

When they agreed to get married - he’d been scared of this, he’d been scared that she’d do this. He knew she loved him, and he loved her - as much as he could - but the look on her face when he’d put his foot down about spending this time at home should have told him everything.

She didn’t say anything, she sat with him and reluctantly agreed.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I just miss home. I’ll give it another shot.” She sounded genuine and he wanted to believe that. “How was your night with Spills? Is she feeling better?” She smiled at him, putting her hand on his thigh and he placed his over hers. A silent truce.

“She’s doing much better, we ate dinner and watched a movie.” He held her hand as he spoke and she smiled at him.

“I’m glad to hear that - hopefully she doesn’t get that drunk at the wedding.” She laughed lightly.

He knew she didn’t mean it in a nasty way, but he bristled at her words.

“She was just nervous about meeting all of you, and even if she did it would be fine. Everyone gets drunk at weddings.” He tried not to sound defensive but she raised her eyebrows at him. “I just don’t want you to think that she’s a mess. She’s like a-” He couldn’t say sister, he’s never thought of her as a sister. She was so much more. “She’s just really important to me.”

“I know babe. I didn’t mean it like that, she seems sweet.” She smiled at him. She was still trying to get back in his good graces, taking his defensiveness as residual anger. Thankfully.

“We should plan something for all of us to do together. It could give us more time to bond.” He thought about it momentarily then agreed, he knew exactly what to plan.

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

There was something playing on the TV, you caught vague flashes - people talking but you weren’t taking anything in. Your sweatshirt smelled like Frankie and all you wanted was to cuddle up to him. He had been so sturdy beside you, so strong and comfortable.

What the fuck is a wedding emergency?

The mature - adult part of your brain said she was a nice person and if Frankie was with her it was for a reason. Obviously he was happy with her or he wouldn’t be marrying her. Frankie had never been the kind of person to settle.

The other part of your brain, the jealous possessive part told you she was a bitch. She was ruining the life you’d planned out with Frankie. If he’d never met her you’d be together now, laughing and planning the rest of your lives together. He’d be in your bed, or you’d be in his.

[Francis]: Hey Spills, we’re planning a get together for the wedding party - day after tomorrow - beach day. I’ll be there to pick you up at 7am.

It was like the universe was testing you. How many memories could he taint with Claudia?

[you]: sounds good, Claudia, you, me and who else in rustbucket?

[Francis]: Just you and I, and don’t call her that. Claudia’s family is coming so she’s going to ride to the beach with them. I’ll grab coffee on the way. =)

[you]: Hope you have a new tape in there, if I have to listen to queen I’ll jump out of the car

[Francis]: lol a ride is a ride Spills, see you then

[Francis]: was really nice hanging out with you today btw, goodnight

[you]: I had a great time with you - like always, thanks again for all the food, goodnight Francis!

--------

It was easy to ignore everything when you were getting work done, you had taken off a few days when you knew Francis would be home and you were taking advantage of it. The day before your beach trip was used to do all those little tasks you tended to put off.

Your laundry was done, the kitchen was clean, even the fridge had gotten a bit of elbow grease. Everything was ready and packed for the trip.

You tried not to think about the ride to the beach with Francis, you tried not to think back to your previous trips to the beach with him. Those memories were so precious and thinking about how your next memory would be with him, and his new in-laws was tearing you up inside.

Please let this go well, please don’t let me make a fool of myself.

You hoped someone was listening.

The anxiety didn’t let you sleep and you watched the clock crawl closer to morning; it seemed pointless to lay there.

Might as well get ready.

-----

He wasn’t nervous, but he wasn’t excited.

He made his way over to her house, stopping to grab coffee on the way. He thought about his conversation with Claudia, about the possibility of leaving this place. He really didn’t want to. He wanted to be close to his mom, he wanted to be close to his friends and his home.

I want to be close to Spills, I want to see her everyday.

He scolded himself, he was going to marry someone else. He kept trying to remind himself, but when he saw her walking towards his car it all went out the window.

God Spills, you’re killing me.

She put her beach bag and a small cooler in the backseat and got into his truck with a big smile, pushing all other thoughts out of his mind. He handed her the coffee he bought and she took it gratefully, brushing against his fingers, even now - she affected him so much.

Snap out of it Francisco, you aren’t a teenager anymore. This is your friend.

“Hazelnut?” She asked as she smelled the steam floating around her pretty face.

“Of course.” He pulled away from her place, making his way towards the highway. It would be an hour or so until they got to the beach.

“Open up.” The buttery bagel half she put into his mouth as he drove tasted better than he remembered.

------

The drive was over much too soon.

If only it had lasted all day - catching him up on all the gossip he’d missed out on while away. Watching his excitement when he talked about flying, you could have listened to him talk forever.

“Finally!” Cheers rang out when the two of you arrived. The boys had set up a bunch of blankets and umbrellas and you suddenly remembered the state you’d been in the last time they saw you and you felt the blush creeping up.

Benny smiled big when he saw you, tapping the place beside him after you’d all said your hellos. You had no reason to deny him so you sat, setting up all your stuff within the space he made for you.

Blessedly, Claudia hadn’t arrived yet and you cherished this time without her, maybe it was mean - maybe it was selfish but you couldn't help it.

“Hey - Thanks for the other night, for getting me home and making sure I was okay.” Pope set up his stuff on the other side of you.

“No problem, glad to see you feeling better.” He was talking to you but you noticed him give Benny a curious look. Benny ignored it. You watched as Will and Frankie set up a volleyball net, you studied both men and there was no denying that Will was gorgeous; but your eyes were drawn to Frankie. You couldn’t help it, your eyes raked over him greedily.

He was so broad, stronger than he had been in his teen years and his belly had gotten a little softer with age but it suited him. He was gorgeous, he had always been gorgeous. He felt your eyes on him then and he smiled at you, walking over to you with the sunscreen in his hands like he always did. His smile faltered slightly when his gaze landed behind your place in the sand.

“Hey babe, how was the drive?” Claudia and her family had arrived and they were setting up just behind you.

Do you have some sort of alarm? How are you always ruining every single goddamn moment?

“It was hectic! Left a little later than I meant to but we survived.” She was breathless as she came to greet him. You busied yourself with something, anything in your bag to avoid watching them kiss. When you looked back she was squeezing sunscreen onto his back, rubbing the lotion much the same way you used to whenever you’d come to the beach together.

He didn’t meet your eyes when she did it, and you were thankful. You didn’t think you could handle seeing him enjoying her touch so much. Instead you focused on the people around you. You focused on Benny and Will and Pope, trying your best to ingratiate yourself to them. Hopefully erase the memory of you as a belligerent mess.

---

As the day went on you found that you liked these guys, not just as an extension of Francis - but because they were fun. They made you laugh, they spoke to you like they’d known you your whole life. They almost distracted you enough. You also noticed that Claudia was only here to lounge in the sun. She had absolutely no interest in getting in the water, no matter how many times she was asked by Frankie to join him.

He played it off like it didn’t bother him but you knew it did, and that in turn hurt you but your heart leapt when he turned to you.

“Spills, wanna come in the water with me?” He smiled and held out his hand and you gladly accepted. Following him in like you always had.

“Not much of a swimmer?” You couldn’t help but ask when the two of you were in the water.

“Not really, it’s a shame - the water's perfect today.” He floated, making sure to splash you and you waited until he was perfectly relaxed to splash him back. “God I love it here.” he spoke as he floated closer and closer.

“Me too. I want to live near the ocean one day.” You spoke absentmindedly, trying to feel for little shells or rocks as you walked further and further from the shore. He followed you.

You felt him splashing you from behind and you tackled him. The two of you turned into children in the water and it ended with you wrapped around his back like always. His hands on the back of your knees as you held on. You both watched the shore in silence, everyone too focused on whatever they were doing to notice your closeness and you were thankful for it. It made you hold on tighter, trying to get closer and he wrapped your legs around his tummy.

Maybe it was inappropriate, maybe if Claudia had been watching she would have had some words for him, or you, or both of you - but it didn’t stop you.

“Let’s just stay out here Spills. Let’s stay in the water forever.” He stroked the skin of your shins under the water and it was so hard not to cry right then and there. “Just you and me, living in the water.” He laughed but it came out sad.

“I’m game.” You rested your chin on his shoulder briefly and he bumped your head with his. This one little moment made the whole day worth it, and when he pulled away as you knew he would, your heart broke just a little bit more.

You were both wrong in your assumptions however. The moment you had thought was private, that you thought you’d stolen without anyone knowing had been seen and catalogued by someone on the shore. Pope had seen the whole thing, and he had some words for Francis.

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

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[msilwrites]

(A 3AM Update) A True Gentleman, Chapter 21 - A jealous husband?

A/N: Chapter 21 is up! Isaac confronts Diana, like a jealous husband! By the way, Henry, Diana's cousin face claim is 'Henry Cavill', and Sam McLean's face claim is Sam Heughan.

Oh, before I forget, if you don't like the story, please do move on to others, the internet has lots of them. Please don't hurt writers, ya? Good! so without further ado...

TWENTY-ONE

A jealous husband

"Diana!" her cousin, Henry approaches her. "That was a stellar performance!" he compliments.

Every time Henry and she are seen together, people often mistake them for siblings. The blue cold eyes, thick eyebrows, strong jawline, and dark hair were the signature that belonged to their family.

"Thank you, Henry!" was her grateful reply. "But I know why you are here for, go and lead the way!" she says, as he leads her to where her father sat. She knew what Henry approached her for. It was time for her father's interrogation and lengthy sermon.

Francis watched Henry, followed by Diana, approaching him where he sat.

"Relax Uncle..." Henry says, as he taps his uncle's shoulder, telling him to listen instead of scolding Diana. He then walks away to give the two space.

He took a deep breath before turning to his daughter. " Why don't you take a seat..." he offers, patting the empty space beside him, which she took.

"First of all, why are you singing at a wedding?" he tried to sound calm instead of being confrontational.

" I was trying to earn money to buy a 3D Printer," was her direct answer.

" Why?"

"I'm trying to build a small workshop studio, and I need a 3d printer..."

"Oh..." Francis was taken aback, he didn't expect his daughter to have such plans. "But what happened to the money you got from the sale of your old penthouse with Jesse?"

"That, I'm keeping it to the side. I plan to use it to buy real estate and most probably have the place rented for passive income. If not, I'll turn it into the workshop studio. I planned to save money, but I think I'd earn more if I were to rent the place out."

His eyes widened in disbelief, was this still the same Diana whom he met a few weeks ago? No! This Diana has ambition, plans and direction. She was actively taking charge of her life. "Wow! I did not expect that... That is actually a good plan"

Diana smiled and just nodded.

"Do you need help?" he offers, sincerely this time, without a hint of being condescending.

"Maybe? From time to time, Thank you! Da!" Diana says gratefully. "Your advice and input would be helpful from time to time" she adds.

"That was a stellar performance by the way!" Francis complements his daughter. " Those wedding songs reminds me of a time when I was..." he said trying to find the word.

"Hopeful? Yes, I did feel the same..." she admits to her father.

Francis sighs. " You know, I really did love your mother. It may have not gone well for the both of us, but not once did I regret loving her,"

Diana looks at her father, surprised at his sudden confession. Not once did her father open up to her about this issue.

"Why?!"

"Why what?"

"Da! She hurt you!" she exclaims.

"Yes, she did... and I may have done things that I shouldn't have, but what happened to us in the past, is what makes us who we are now. We grow and become wiser,"

"I guess you do have a good point..." she agrees. It made her think about her past abusive relationships, and what it thought her. Though it was terrible, it made her learn and it made her wiser.

"So how did you exactly end up here?"

"That's a really long story..."

" We have a lot of time,"

She began her story (omitting some parts of course) and told him about the music director Aedan looking for an alto-soprano which led her to where she is now.

"I see... I am glad you're able to use your classical training, anyways, when is the date of your performance?" he inquired.

"Why?"

"I want to see it of course!" he declares.

**********

"I see trees of green. Red roses too, I see them bloom. For me and you. And I think to myself, What a wonderful world..." Diana opens the dance floor for everyone, with the song 'What a wonderful world'. The strings followed, in harmony with her voice.

Couples, young and old, approached the dance floor and began dancing to the sweet tune.

The night was about to end, and she was grateful that her performance went well. Hopefully, she would also perform well with the orchestra at the outdoor theatre.

"I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do They're really saying I love you..."

She scanned the area and saw her cousin, Henry, being surrounded by girls. She stopped her from rolling her eyes, knowing that he was a known ladies man, even since they were young. On one side was her father who seemed to be enjoying himself, chatting with others. The atmosphere felt jolly that she swore she'd try to catch up with Henry or talk some more with her father after finishing the song.

"I hear babies cry. I watch them grow. They'll learn much more than I'll ever know. And I think to myself... What a wonderful world Yes, I think to myself... What a wonderful world. Ooh, yes I think to myself... What a wonderful world..." and with the last verse, Diana closes the song and the audience applauded. She smiled and thought, that it was still somehow a wonderful world despite everything she had gone through, there was still things she was thankful for.

With a sigh, she gives a toast to the newly married couple, and then turned to the quintet and thanked them, which gained her another set of 'Thank you's coming from them.

She looks around and found the bar, wanting a cold drink, preferably a beer. It's been weeks since she had anything cold and gassy. It wouldn't hurt from time to time to have an ice-cold beer after a long day of singing.

Wasting no time, she requested a pint of ice-cold craft beer on tap from the bar-tender, and he quickly poured her one large pint, its surface bubbling.

"Good job out there, you earned it, enjoy!" the bartender says, before moving to other requests.

"Thanks!" was her response.

She looked around trying to find Henry or her father in the crowd, whilst drinking her glass. However, before she could even make a move. Her father had already gone up to the podium, about to start his 'godfather' speech and before she could even look for Henry, a handsome guy had already sat beside her and tried to engage her in a conversation.

"Hello..." was his greeting, his voice deep. She looked at the colour of his kilt's Tartan, and immediately knew which family he is from.

"Wait! your name is probably something McLean!" she declares.

"Oh! wait, are you a Scott too?! Well, I am Sam McLean..." he said, stretching his hand for a handshake which she gladly took. She felt a little confident today, and talking to a handsome man isn't so bad thing to do to pass the time. Unless he actually is an asshole otherwise. She already has an escape plan.

"You may call me, tonight..." was a flirty yet witty reply from her, causing Sam to laugh. "Or you may address me as, Diana"

"Well, Diana, that was a stellar performance throughout..." he compliments.

"Thank you! I'm glad you like it,"

"You have a very nice voice! So... may I buy you a drink?!" he offers.

"Of course! Or you could get me food since I haven't had my fill yet..." she said sheepishly, not having eaten anything yet.

"Oh! of course! what do you want to eat? I'll get it for you!" he offers.

" Cake" she implores, placing both her hands together as if praying.

"Of course, I'll be right back!" he said, immediately taking a small slice on a plate for her.

"There you go! Enjoy!" he says, pushing the small plate to her.

"Thank You, Sam!" she chuckles at the mention of his name. It was the same as the pseudonym she used when she wrote those 'love' letters to herself. "Thank you. I'd say 'God Bless you!', but it looks like He already did." was her flirtatious reply followed by a wink.

Sam bit his lips and laughed. He didn't know how to respond to that. "Thanks... I guess..." he holds his laughter, and clears her throat, "So Diana, what do you do? Besides singing? "

"I am independently impecunious..." was her answer.

Sam throws his head back laughing, knowing that he had found a hilarious person and the night will definitely not be boring.

"Enough about me, Sam! Let's talk about how attractive you are!" she adds.

Sam takes a deep breath but ended up laughing once again. " You're too funny for words!" However, before he could even say more...

"Sammy, laddie, hands-off! that is my daughter you're flirting with!" Francis chastises Sam from the podium after he finished his speech, causing everyone to turn their attention to Diana and Sam at the bar, upon finding out that she is Francis' daughter.

"Well, nice to meet you Diana!" he says. "Yikes..." and slowly backs away from her. It didn't matter how beautiful she is to him, she was Francis's Rutherford's daughter and there is no way she would want to incur her father's wrath.

"Sam? wait!" she says, perplexed at his sudden change.

**********

"Sam is an international playboy, he isn't the ideal man to date!" Henry says as he fiddled with his phone. Seated beside him inside the car is his cousin Diana, whom he ended up sending back home instead, as his Uncle, Francis, still had to stay at the wedding reception.

"Oho! You're one to talk Henry! " Diana chuckles, knowing her cousin's reputation.

"It can't be helped..." was his response.

"Should I tell the girls who chase after you, the same thing you told me?"

"It won't work... they'll chase after me more!" he declares, and both of them erupted in laughter, including their chauffeur in the front seat of the car, at how true the statement was.

"Well, aren't you afraid I'd chase Sam more?" she asks.

"You won't" was his quick reply.

"Because life has already knocked some sense out of you..." was his confident statement, aware of what Diana had gone through, all those years.

"I guess you're right," she sighs and smiles at herself, turning her attention to the view outside the car, whilst a classical piano rendition of 'Moon River' played inside the vehicle, making it a relaxing atmosphere.

"Lady Rutherford, we're here..." their chauffeur announces, and he gets out of the 'Ghost' to open the car for her.

"Thank you, Higgins!" she says, referring to Henry's chauffeur who opened the car door for her.

Henry followed after, alighting at the other side of the car. "Let me send you to your door..." he offers.

"Yes, walk me there," she says, as Henry walked beside her.

"We should have lunch sometime, eh? It's been a long time since I caught up with you!"

"Yes, we should do that" she agrees.

" If you don't mind, Mum wants to catch up with you too, can she come along?"

"Of course Aunt Minerva is more than welcome! How long has it been?!" she realizes suddenly that she had met her immediately family for years now since she started her relationship with Jesse, that was no longer the case now.

"It's set then" he declares, trying to find a spot inside his phone's calendar. "I'll set the time next weekend..."

"Alright! Well here's my door" she says turning to him to give him a quick hug.

Henry gladly returns her embrace " I'm glad you're in a better place now!" he adds, giving her shoulder a squeeze as an affirmation. "Well, I have to go, I have an early day tomorrow!"

However, before Henry could leave, the door opens to reveal Isaac, glaring at him.

"I'd normally say get a room, but this isn't a hotel" was the first thing Isaac said, the moment he opened the door, and 'caught' Diana, and some man, embracing each other in front of his door.

Henry looked at him puzzled, and when he realized that Isaac got the wrong idea about them, he released Diana from his arms. "Eww..." he grimaced and quickly turns around and gave a two-finger salute before he left "See you, Diana!"

Diana took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to burp before entering the house. She had four large pints of beer and 2 slices of cake which made her feel bloated, which made her feel regretful going on a drinking spree.

"Diana?" Isaac called, which she almost didn't notice because she was busy nursing the bloatedness.

"Mmmmm?"

"Remember you had 10 things you have to do for me?"

Diana just nods and covers her mouth, trying to burp as silent as she can. "Yes..."

"Well, I'm gonna use 1, let's have a talk..." was his stern reply.

"Dr Skovgaard? can we do this tomorrow?" she pleads, as she was bloated and tired.

"No, because I don't know where you will disappear to again..." he reprimands.

She sighs as she follows him to the dining room where a long session of scolding and preaching awaits her.

She sits down, resigned to her situation and prepared herself for Isaac's long preaching.

"Diana, you often disappear and reappear to I do not know where to, it's like I'm living with a Ghost. And when I message you, you do not respond..."

"But I do respond!" she reasons.

"Yes, two days later..."

"Oh... hehehe... I'm busy, sorry, please don't be mad at me" she apologizes, and laughs softly, struggling to also hide her drunkenness.

"Busy with what exactly??!!" he inhales sharply.

"Uhhh.... you know, things? work? earning a living?" she says a little sluggish. "You know, I gotta earn my keep..." the Scottish accent of hers, starting to come out.

"Men!?" he adds.

"Ahahaha yes... men" she giggles. "I'm not really busy with them, they're busy with me, which in turn... takes up a portion of my time, they're handsome, eye candies! So I guess it's worth the time..." she laughs.

"Unbelievable!" he throws his hands up in the air in exasperation.

"Dr Skovgaard, what are you really scolding me for?" she says, trying to suppress another burp.

He sighs " First, you disappear to who knows where and then reappear a few days later! You leave my message on 'read' and respond to them a day or two later as if I'm a weird guy you have been avoiding, and then you came home late, drunk! In the arms of another man! Do you know how I felt, do you know worried I was?!" he stressed out.

Diana stares at the tall ceiling and then laughs at the realizations " You make me sound like a stray cat who just comes home to eat!"

"I never said anything like that." he shakes his head in disapproval.

"I know... I'm just visualizing..." she adds, waving it off.

"Diana, you're not taking any of this seriously-"

She didn't know if it was drunkenness, but she felt a little brave, and without warning, got up from her seat and wrapped her arms around Isaac. "Alright, my love... I'm sorry, so sorry, I promise not to do it again!" she says, as her arms tighten around his waist.

Isaac, caught off-guard, stood there, frozen, unsure of how to react. "Diana?"

Diana just laughed, as she brought her hands to his cheeks. If anyone were to see them right now, it would look like they were a couple making up, after having a banter. "Oh, Dr Skovgaard... you sound just like a jealous husband!" she exclaims and laughs at his face. "You know I'd normally kiss you, but I'm not your beau..." she adds, tapping his cheek. "So, let's end this argument, and call it a day! I'm sorry, alright?! Good Night!" she says, kissing his cheek.

Isaac jolted in surprise due to her actions. He felt his cheeks, starting to get warm.

She releases Isaac from her embrace and sluggishly walked back upstairs, to her room, whilst singing a funny Scottish folk song and laughing halfway.

He sits down for a moment to collect himself and tried to process what had just happened. Trying to make sense of the feeling he currently has in his chest.

A/N: I have most probably made some grammatical errors, here and there... so I'd do some soft editing. I hope you enjoyed this one! I would also love to hear from you in the comments below.

[thirteenisles]

The Beau-chelor | Part 1

A/N: Ok baby and we are back and better than ever. I really hope you guys like this? It’s kinda my precious baby. Please let me know what you think, your feedback means everything lol. Also big shout out to my brother for actually helping me out a lot and encourgaing me to get back into writing, y’all can thank him.

For story sake, Tito is 26. Also it’s fic so I messed with the rules of how the Bachelor works.

Word Count: 3.9K

Tagging: @bandgirlsclub​ @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69​ @matbaezal​ @prettyboybarzal​ and @pookie-cleary​

-

Allow me to start off and say that my season of The Bachelor isn’t a conventional fairytale love story. I had originally signed on as a joke, but even then there was a small part of me that hoped that I would find love. In the end, after weeks of countless trips, dates, and unnecessary drama, I did find love...just not in the way everyone expected me too.

My name is Anthony Beauvillier and this is my season of….The Bachelor:

-

Imagine, me, as the bachelor.

Well, it happened. And definitely not in the way I expected it to.

When I first got the call, I thought it was a joke. I thought that maybe Mat was pranking me after our conversation, which included me filling out the online application for shits and giggles after a drunken night out, but it had turned out to be the real deal.

I was going to be the next Bachelor.

It didn’t feel real, not even after I talked to Chris. Not even I had a flight booked for me and I was told what to pack. Not even the plane ride to the mansion in California. It wasn’t until I was nervously standing in the driveway on a clear spring evening, knowing that out of twenty-four women, one of them was my potential girlfriend or wife.

And I won’t lie that terrified me.

Not for the commitment aspect, but this experience was all so new to me. I was putting myself out there for the whole world to see, with more cameras in my face than what I was used to. When it came to hockey, interviews, and the press was a normal walk in the park for me. I got to talk about our game, my play, and how we could improve for the next one. Now all the cameras would be on me, everyone will be following my journey.

I made some ground rules pretty early on before filming even started:

1. I was not on the show to get married unless I was TRULY felt that I could get engaged to someone after two-three months.

2. If I wasn’t going to marry either of the remaining two, obviously I’d hope to have enough feelings to date them. If it works out then it works out and if it doesn’t then well...it doesn’t (although I secretly hoped it would)

3. When it came down to hometowns I don’t want just one night with the family. I want to actually get to know them and spend a few days with them.

I felt like it was both fair to myself and to the girls on the show. I didn’t want anyone to feel that I was misleading towards them. After all, they were coming on the show to find love.

We started filing mid-May after our playoff run was over. Out of twenty-four girls I meet, there are four who have so far stood out to me the most:

Hannah: a strong farm girl, who loves to talk about her love for healthy and organic food and making that accessible to everyone. We have a great connection with our love for an athletic lifestyle.

Jasmine: an incredible lawyer with a passion for exposing and bringing justice to abusive corporations. She has a great sense of humor and she always knows the best jokes to have you laughing.

Kyndal: an inspiring writer with strawberry blonde hair and a bright smile. Her stories that she comes up with are nothing short of amazing but have dreams to work in the criminology field. 

Fiona: a petite young model who has worked hard to get where she’s at. She loves her family and is close to her older sister, we’ve bonded over our close family ties and out of all the girls we have the strongest connection.

The weeks go by a lot quicker than I anticipated, I spend time with the girls individually. Taking them out on dates and getting to know them and traveling around the world to these beautiful countries and sightseeing, things I wouldn’t normally get to experience because of my tight schedule. 

Mid-July approached and I was spending time with each of the girls and their families. So after spending time with Hannah, Jasmine, and Kyndal’s families, all of whom I loved spending time with, my decision was becoming more clear on who I wanted to be with.

Or so I thought.

The flight to JFK was long, but I had Fiona by my side, as she told me about her family. Her father was an engineer before meeting her mother who was a florist and he gave up his career to be a high school teacher and help support her mother’s business. Her older sister, whom she gushes over, how close they are and how important their relationship is to her. I told her about my older brother Francis and my parents and how close I was to my family still despite being in the NHL. It was easy to talk to Fiona when it came to family, because she was just as close to hers as I was to mine.

After an entire day of grueling travel, I was out on the patio deck on a summer evening in Connecticut, enjoying the cooler breeze and delicious food with the Matthew’s family. Fiona’s mother had cooked a delicious meal of which included roman chicken with garlic mashed potatoes and a side of sautéed veggies. We enjoyed wine and her father and I talked sports, while Fiona seemed more affectionate than usual and was sitting in my lap cuddled up to me. The camera crew is long gone, deeming they had what they needed and they’d see me tomorrow for Fiona and I’s hometown date, which I was looking forward to.

“So…” I start as dessert is being passed out, looking at Fiona, “Do you think I’ll end up meeting your sister on this trip? From all the things you’ve told me about her, I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

She nods, “Uh yeah, Parker. She’s a veterinarian so she couldn’t make it tonight cause she’s doing clinic hours or something like that. She’s really busy plus- she doesn’t want to be on camera.”

“You know your sister values her privacy, Fiona.” Her father chimes in.

Fiona makes a face, “Yeah- but she could at least learn to suck it up. Besides it’s for one episode.”

The conversation dies quickly after that and I help clean up before joining the family in the living room for a movie. It’s about halfway through before her parents retire to bed, bidding me goodnight and leave Fiona and I to ourselves. As soon as we are alone, she’s climbing onto my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck with a smirk on her face.

“Finally...I thought they’d never go to bed.” She leans down and brushes her lips against mine, but the slamming of a car door has her pulling back with an annoyed look on her face. “What the-“ her face then lights up, “Oh it’s Parker!” Her voice goes overly sweet almost as if she’s faking it. 

She jumps out of my lap and walks out of the den and I’m left there on my own and in confusion before I get up and start to head to the kitchen to grab something to drink in the meantime.

“Oof. Jeez, Fiona. What the hell?” I hear another woman’s voice come from down the hall.

“So happy you’re home. You get to meet Anthony!”

“Uh- who? Oh...the bachelor right?” Their footsteps grow closer.

“Yeah yeah, you’re going to like him!”

“Well- hopefully he’s not like your other boyfriends…”

“He’s not!” Fiona walks in the room first with a smile on her face, “Anthony- this is my sister Parker. Parker, this is Anthony.”

I didn’t believe in love at first sight. Honestly, it seemed comically trying to understand the whole aspect of it. How do you meet someone and feel like you’ve known them your whole life? But then she walked into the room and it suddenly made sense. It was like coming home to yourself through another person and I knew at that moment, that she was someone I never wanted to let go. Standing there in scrubs, tired eyes, and a mischievous smirk on her face as she eyes me up and down, she extends her hand to mine and we shake hand and gently buzz of electricity -- 

“Hey, Anthony. How the-” she replaces the swear word with a dolphin noise, causing me to choke on air, “are ya?”

“Oh my god! Parker!” Fiona turns the darkest shade of red, glaring at her older sister.

I can’t help but laugh, not only understanding the reference behind it but because it was coming from her. She could make the worst joke in the world sound funny.

Parker rolls her eyes and shrugs, giving me a wink, “Ah- come on. He clearly thinks it’s funny. Just trying to make him feel welcome.”

“Hi, Parker, nice to-” I try my best to mimic her noise, which just comes out as a strangled gurgle causing her to burst out laughing, “meet you too.”

She stands nearly my height, with dark hair pulled back away from her face showing off her beautiful brown eyes and high cheekbones. She’s got two dimples on the left side of her mouth when she smiles and all I want to do is see her smile, for the rest of my life.

My own cheeks hurt from smiling so wide and she’s got a matching grin. It feels like time has suddenly stopped and it’s just the two of us in this room and all I can think about is how badly I want to get to know her. I wanna know what makes her smile, what makes her laugh, what is she most passionate about, what does she love the most in this world, what makes Parker Matthews so captivating?

“Anthony, let’s go finish our movie.” I snap out of it, tearing my face away from Parker’s and down to Fiona who's now wrapped around my arm. 

“Oh- yeah,” my eyes flicker back up to Parker who's now facing the fridge as she looks for something to eat. “Hey Parker, come join us when you’re done. I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Babe, she’s probably exhausted. She has been on her feet all day; she probably wants to get to bed.”

“No no- I’d love too,” Parker cuts Fiona off, “Besides, I’d love to get to know him seeing as you haven’t told me much about him.”

I raise my eyebrows at this, “Uh- really? I was under the impression that you knew about me.”

“Oh she does,” Fiona does that sugary sweet laugh again that I haven’t heard until today, “Parker is just forgetful.

“Or maybe you just didn’t tell me about him.”

“I did!” Fiona gets defensive now, “You just don’t pay attention when someone is talking to you.”

Parker rolls her eyes, muttering about not wanting to argue before she gives me another smile, “I’d love to join you guys, gimme a few.”

I completely miss the look that Fiona gives me as the two of us make our way back into the living room. We settle back into the couch, Fiona resting her head on my chest as the movie starts to play again, but my eyes keep drifting to the kitchen where Parker moves about.

Eventually, she catches my eye and just smirks, one eyebrow raised as she looks back at me. 

“What?” She mouths.

“Nothing.” I mouth back, smiling again, even wider when she giggles and smiles back. I can’t even care that I’ve been caught staring because I keep catching her looking back at me.

This back and forth game goes on for a while before she strolls into the living room and plops herself down on the couch adjacent to Fiona and I.

“Parker, you know how mom feels about you wearing scrubs on the couch.” Fiona reminds her.

“I’ll remember to Lysol the couch when I’m done.”

“You know that’s not-“

“Fiona,” she gives her sister a look, “I was just in a three and a half hour surgery, I didn’t come home to get lectured.”

The silence that follows just makes the room that much tense and all I can do is sit there and watch the movie as Fiona cuddles back up to me, pressing kisses to my neck and cheek. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Parker roll her eyes before her eyes lift to meet mine again.

“Huh?” I’m snapped out of it when Fiona is now standing up, tugging on my hand. “I said let’s go to bed.” She’s got this look on her face and I know what she wants, but I don’t have the desire to fulfill that. “Uh, I’ll be up in a little bit. I just wanna finish my wine.”

Pouting, she leans forward cupping both my cheeks and kisses me passionately before pulling away with a wink. “I’ll be waiting.” And then she’s out of the room, up the stairs, and gone.

“So…” I turn my head as Parker starts to speak, “How does it feel to be the bachelor?”

“Honestly, the whole thing started as a joke between me and my best friend on the team. I was actually surprised they called me for the show.” I laugh, shaking my head, “But, he and the guys always tried to set me up with people they knew of.  I just always wanted to focus on my career, and because of that I never really dated anyone.  Being on the show really has opened my eyes to a lot.”

“Sounds like you’re enjoying it, you deserve it after choosing to focus on your career. I get where you are coming from though, since high school all I focused on was getting into my college and then NYU’s vet program.”

“So, was being a vet always a goal for you?”

“Yeah, always. I love animals. It has always felt like my calling, in fact, back when I was at NYU, my professor used to say that I was born for this profession. Animals have always trusted me the moment they met me.” She shrugs, picking at the remaining scraps on her plate.

“Sometimes people are just born with a gift, and it takes an even more special person to recognize that gift and follow their dream.”

Her smile lights up her whole face as her cheeks turn a bit pink, “Thanks. I mean you get to live your dream too.” She must see the confusion on my face, because she pauses, “My roommates back in college were HUGE Islanders fans and used to drag me to games all the time. Also- one of them had a huge poster of you in our dorm room so I kinda put two and two together.”

“Oh! So you’re a fan?” I smile widely.

“Yeah, something along those lines. I mean I guess so? I rarely have time to watch games anymore, but I always really enjoyed going to games when I did have the time.”

“I’ll have to get you tickets then so you can come see me- us play.” I quickly cover my slip up, but I notice the corners of her mouth twitch up.

“I’d love to.”

Eventually we found ourselves side by side, facing one another, a grin on my face as Parker tells me an embarrassing story back from college. I reach up and tuck a piece of hair back behind her ear, smiling a bit as she stutters on her sentence before continuing. It was electric, touching her and I would take any excuse to fix her hair or graze my fingers along her arm. It felt so natural the conversation between us as we started to get into more deeper conversation. I felt like I could really open up and be vulnerable with her and at any other time that seemed impossible for me, but there was something growing between us that just made this so easy. There was nothing more intimate than being understood and understanding someone else. Before either of us knew it, it was coming up at three in the morning, but I wasn’t about to stop talking to her, even if my eyelids felt heavy and my body ached for sleep. She was intoxicating and I couldn’t get enough of her.

“Shit I didn’t realize it was so late…” she bites her lip and I can’t help but stare, the sudden thought of kissing her plaguing my mind.

She taps my cheek with a soft laugh, “I think you’re starting to fall asleep on me.”

“How could I ever? You’re so interesting. I could listen to you talk all day.”

She laughs again, but I don’t miss the blush on her cheeks. “Now you’re just sweet talking.”

“Eh- or maybe it’s just really cute seeing how red you get.” I wink at her, smiling again as her cheeks go redder and she shoves my arm gently before standing up. She looks down at me, a small smile on her lips. There’s a comfortable silence between us as we look at one another, before she breaks, “I should get to bed.”

“Mhm, yeah…” neither of us move, “Me too.”

Before I can even blink, her lips are brushing against my cheek, “Night Anthony. Thanks for the conversation. Sleep well.” And my eyes follow her out of the room.

I barely sleep that night and I realize that this is what it meant to feel like you were on cloud nine. I couldn’t stop smiling and I felt like a lovesick teenager, what the hell? Was this the same feeling that people talk about in cliche rom-coms- because I was buzzing with excitement. I wasn’t sure when I finally fell asleep, but I know for a fact that Parker was on my mind. When I finally wake up, the side next to me is empty, and I roll over to see it’s nearly noon and I wince; there’s nothing more I hated than wasting the day away. I quickly get up and shower, before heading downstairs. As I enter the kitchen I find a similar freshly showered and sleepy Parker leaning against the counter holding a cup of coffee.

“Morning. There’s coffee if you want any.”

“Yeah, that sounds fantastic.” I grab myself a cup before standing across from her.

She smirks over her mug, raising her eyebrows at me. “You know, it’s rude to stare.”

“Hm- I could say the same thing to you, Parker.”

“How’d you sleep?” She asks, changing the conversation.

“Pretty good.” That’s a lie, I was thinking about her. “How did you sleep?”

“Slept like a rock honestly. Being on your feet for thirteen hours does that to you.” 

“Yeah,” It suddenly occurs to me she’s wearing nothing more than a giant sweatshirt that just brushes her mid thigh and all I can do is admire the smooth skin and my mind starts to wander. “I know the feeling.” Before I know it, she’s in my space with a smirk on her face, “take a picture, it'll last longer.”

I can barely concentrate the rest of the day, not even while Fiona and I’s date is filmed. I feel bad feeling so distracted and I blame it on the jet lag when I know that is the furthest thing from the truth. Fiona doesn’t seem to take much notice, she just hangs off my arm, rattling off stories from her childhood and her modeling career, and then would pause to take pictures, but my mind keeps drifting back to Parker. I’m wondering what she’s doing right now, I wonder if she’s thinking of me too.

Later that night, I offered to help her do the dishes after dinner, even though the rest of the family protested, I figured it was only fair, plus it was just another excuse to be close to Parker.

“You’re terrible at being subtle you know.” She scolds me.

“And you’re great at it. Says the woman who wouldn’t stop staring at me across the table.”

“I was not staring.”

“I apologize, wrong wording, eye fucking makes much more sense” I grin and then yelp when she smacks me with a twisted up towel.

I laugh, taking the towel from her, waving it around calling a truce, “I’ll dry then?”

“Works for me.” She smiles and starts loading the sink up. “How about a game of twenty questions?”

“I’m up for it!”

“OK…what are you most proud of?”

I think for a moment, “I think I’m most proud of where I am today, I’m very happy where I am in my career and where I am in life.  What about you?”

“I am most proud of how all my hard work has paid off to this very moment. But there is a part of me that feels like I’ve missed out on certain experiences. You know, dating and parties, stuff like that.” She shrugs, handing me a plate.

“I get that, it’s not what it’s cracked up to be though. Building off of missed experiences because I’ve had my share too, what’s one place you’ve always wanted to visit?”

“Montreal. It’s been on my bucket list for a while. The culture, the history, the language, I’m just drawn to it all. I wanna visit the Notre-Dame Basilica so badly and then explore the city, go hiking, try the food, especially poutine. And I am fluent in French so it wouldn’t be an issue for me getting around. What about you? What's one place you always wanted to visit?”

I can’t stop the smile that grows on my face seeing the opportunity, “Well maybe one day I can make that happen! I’m from that area, so I can definitely show you everything you want to see.  For me, I know this is going to sound random, but I want to see Denmark one day!  I’ve heard there it’s beautiful and so peaceful!”

Really? Anthony that would be so cool! I’d love that!” She smiles, “And I’ve heard nothing but great things about Denmark, it sounds like the experience of a lifetime.”

“It’s Tito, by the way.”

“What?” She has the cutest look of confusion on her face.

“Just call me Tito.”

“OK then Tito...so um...what do you do to relax?”

“Honestly, I love baking! I make a MEAN banana bread! What about you?”

“It’s gonna sound silly, but napping. I rarely get to sleep so on a rare day off I start off with a nice soak in the tub and then take an obnoxiously long nap in bed. Bonus points if it’s raining cause it just makes it so much better.”

“Oh man- I know, there’s something so great about taking a nap while listening to the rain and-”

“Anthony- babe? Are you done in here yet?”

Fiona stood in the doorway of the kitchen with an unreadable expression on her face. She walks in with her head held high as she walks up to me and kisses me. Her fingers trail down my chest and she smiles.

“I’m sure Parker can take over from here, come on, there’s something I wanna show you that I couldn’t show you on our date today.” She giggles and I immediately catch on to what she’s saying.

“It would be rude to-”

“Parker can handle it right, Parks? She’s a big girl, come on, let’s go.” She laces her fingers with mine and started to tug at my arm.

I look at Parker helplessly as Fiona tugs me out of the room, but all I leave with is the sad smile on her face.