#miles morales suspended

[venusbloo]

Review: Miles Morales Suspended by Jason Reynolds & Zeke Pena

Book: Miles Morales Suspended  Author: Jason Reynolds, Zeke Pena (illustrator)  Pages: 320  Source: Library  Publisher: Atheneum/Caitlyn Dlouhy Books  Genre: Fantasy, Sci-fi, Young Adult  Publication Date: May 2, 2023  Goodreads Summary:  Miles Morales is still just your average teenager. He has unexpectedly become totally obsessed with poetry and can never seem to do much more than…

[quirkycatsfatstacks]

Review: Miles Morales Suspended: A Spider-Man Novel

Writer: Jason ReynoldsArtist: Zeke PeñaPublisher: Atheneum/Caitlyn Dlouhy BooksReleased: May 2, 2023Received: NetGalley Goodreads | More Marvel Books Book Summary: Miles Morales is not your typical teenager. He’s been juggling his superpowers with normal teenage aspects for a while, and it still hasn’t gotten any easier. Unfortunately, being a teen and a hero is tough, especially if you want…

[milimeters-morales]

a little game that Miles has is that whenever he gets the urge to sleep a certain way, like in a hole underground, he tries to figure out which spider does that and then researches that spider

[ramp-it-up]

Source: IG • @jasonreynolds83 This one is different.

May 2nd.

Shouts to the genius @zpvisual

[moralesmilesanhour]

The Spider Within: A Spiderverse Story (2024) // Miles Morales: Suspended by Jason Reynolds

[venuscrashed]

Prowler Miles Morales x Quiet reader

18 + blogs DNI

pt 2

Start:

At the beginning of school he didn’t really notice you, or at least payed attention. He didn’t really care, just trying to survive school without trouble.

But something about you was…alluring.

You didn’t talk nor listen to anyone. You were just there being in your own little bubble, not caring about the world.

It wasn’t until you were loud did you get his attention. No, not loud in the sense of screaming. But loud as in you bashed a kids head into the table.

Class had been going on for about 20 minutes now but it was torture. The kid behind you decided to mess with you. He was pulling your hair, clothes, taking your work and you tried your best to stop him but it just didn’t work. It wasn’t until you he stole your backpack did you get triggered.

You looked at him, staring at him as a way to tell him stop. He only looked back amused. “What?” He asked, “You gonna say something?”

You laughed, this idiot. You turned around full now. He was about to say something but before he could you grabbed his head and slammed down into the desk in-front of him. The noise echoed through the classroom, catching the attention of every student, including the teacher.

The teacher stood up and walked over to both of your desks. As part of their job they sent you to the office and took the kid to the nurse.

You were suspended.

That was the first time Miles payed attention to you.

He learned your name and quickly took a liking to you.

While you were suspended, Miles was stalking you in his Prowler costume. He made note of your everyday schedule, learning you favorite stores, hobbies, favorite places, etc.

He knew where you’d be and it was only by coincidence that he met you at the park. Right?

He went up to you and introduced himself. Hoping to be friends. You, of course, agreed.

Confession:

It took a while for you guys to start dating. Him being as emotional as a wall and all. But that didn’t stop him from catching feelings first.

He only noticed his feelings after you backed him up in a fight with some kid from your school.

Miles had no idea how to confess. He asked his mom what to do. He was so desperate he asked his uncle even!

After a while of thinking he just confessed to you outside of your window.

It was cold and windy and you were absolutely bored. You were just unsuspended and wee already at school for a week but that still didn’t stop your parents from ungrounding you. You had no phone or tv and no motivation to do anything. You were laying in your bed contemplating life until you heard a noise from your window.

You lifted your head, it was Miles. Miles, your only friend and reason to escape this boredom. Reluctantly, you got up from bed and opens your window.

“[Name].”

You hummed in response.

Miles was unusually hesitant. You couldn’t really tell but you could have sworn he was blushing. “[Name], I…” He took a deep breath before making eye contact, “I like you.”

Your eyes widened, you stared at him in shock, you couldn’t believe this. He was staring at you waiting for you to process this.

After a couple of minutes he asked a question. “Will you go out with me?”

You shook your head yes and that’s all he needed before he kissed you.

“[Name]-“ your mom walked in.

Dating:

You got grounded longer.

Although, your parents finally met Miles and somewhat approves if your relationship.

Miles is clingy. He’s always by your side or at least watching you from afar.

If anyone bothers you, he steps in and starts to talk back. You may have to hold him back if they get to personal.

He’s pretty quiet to but more vocal than you.

He does the talking for the both of you, talking for you in conversations with him and others.

If someone comments about how your quiet he’s already punching them.

If you ever get in trouble he’ll always try’s to take the blame.

When he introduces you to his mom and uncle he’s telling them everything about you, even when you leave.

“And [Name] looks good in purple, especially in winter time and-“

“Miles, I just wanted to know what their favorite color was not their whole life story.”

This man has his are wrapped around you all the time.

He likes to just lay there and watch a movie with you in his arms.

Sometimes he’ll listen to music with you and just tell you random stuff in his mind.

Overall he’s protective and quiet with you.

[yeagerfate]

YELLOW MORNINGS

Summary: Your parents make you ride on the bus on the first day at your new highschool. You soon realize that this bus is full of both kids you’re scared of and want to be friends with. Who’s on it, and what are they like? + Headcanons on what they’re like in school.

Warnings: None. This is fluff and slight crack! Also, reader is a minor in this and Miguel’s is platonic since he’s a grown ass adult and reader’s 15. (Every other character in this is assumed to be either 15 or 16.) Additionally, the sketchbook thing mentioned in Miles’ is a true story. That actually happened at my school LMFAO

Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Miles Morales (Earth-1610), Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar, and Gabriela O’Hara gets her own little feature in Miguel’s.

Notes: I’m a bit nervous for how this’ll go, but I’m excited for its reception, since I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone write this before. Anyways, thank you guys so much for all the love on my posts. From the bottom of my heart it means so so much to me. I have always loved writing, but it’s a hobby I’m really shy about. Your support really helps me come out of my shell more, which is greatly appreciated. You all are awesome and I love being in this fandom so much. It is so so much fun!

MIGUEL O’HARA

is the angry bus driver that beeps at you four times despite you walking towards the bus in his direct line of sight. He says “good morning” to you in a gruff, tired voice and tells you to just sit down and not cause trouble. As you walk in the aisle of the bus, you can see his daughter in the front seat right behind his, wearing the school uniform for the private elementary school down the street from your high school. She’s sipping on apple juice while holding a bag of chocolate chip mini muffins, staring out the window blankly. When he drops you off at the high school, he tells you to stay out of trouble. The questioning look you give him makes him sigh exasperatedly before telling you to have a good day. Maybe he isn’t so bad?

MILES MORALES

Is staring at the black sketchbook in his hands thoughtfully before he makes eye contact with you. He smiles politely and waves at you, but doesn’t say anything else. When you sit with him, he places the sketchbook on his lap and asks your name. He seems grateful for your presence and tells you it’s been ages since someone new has been assigned to this particular bus. Suddenly, he asks you for your schedule, and is elated when he sees you have biology class together. Though, he lets out a pitiful sigh when he sees who you have for Algebra II. “Good luck with her,” Miles says. “She took away my sketchbook last year because she thought it was a phone.” Miles is always asking you to go to his basketball games on the weekends. He’ll even give you his jersey to wear to cheer him on. Also, if you ever need help on homework, he’s your guy. Especially if it’s math related.

HOBIE BROWN

Has his expensive looking Sony headphones on, and his foot is bouncing to the beat of the song he’s listening to. He nods at you, and waves you over once he sees that all the other seats are taken. You are taken aback by his eccentric fashion style. He asks if you’re new. When you say yes, he tells you which teachers to specifically avoid. The next day, he brings in his earbuds so you both can listen to his music. Hobie is always snacking on the bus, and makes sure to bring you some food too, even if you already have some. Gets yelled at by Miguel for not sitting in his seat (He’s just tall. He does sit.) Even though he’s pretty much always a respectful student, he repeatedly arrives on the bus with detention slips for shadow boxing. Also got suspended for a week for piercing people’s noses in the bathrooms during third period. Oh well!

GWEN STACY

Is quietly scrolling on her phone before she makes eye contact with you. She’s the only other girl in the back of the bus, so you decide to sit with her. Gwen seems shy, so you are the one to make conversation. You quickly find out that she’s a catcher on the softball team and is in a band with Hobie, the kid in the seat next to yours. Gwen informs you of all of the school’s drama from the year before, including the time she got an ISS for giving girls ibuprofen for their period cramps. Regardless of this, she tells you, “I still have it in my bag. If you need it, just ask.” She also sends you the quizlets she makes for the Spanish class you have together. Frequently, Gwen gives you gum, but it is a silent exchange as to prevent the other students from asking for it as well. She is a very generous person.

PAVITR PRABHAKAR

Is fiddling with his bright school bag before he insists that you sit with him. He is a talker, and tells you all about himself. He urges you to join theatre for the winter musical, which is apparently “The best school event of the year!”. Pavitr is very involved with the school, and is the president of the theatre club, the secretary of the choir club, and is starting a culture club this year. He tells you to sit with him at lunch kindly. Though, his pleasant rant is interrupted when he tells you to avoid the lunch lady whose name is Linda. His reasoning is that, “She argued with me over chai tea.” which you laugh boisterously at. Although Pavitr has a somewhat ingenuous spirit, he forges your mother’s signature on a detention slip you got for going to the bathroom despite your English teacher’s hard “No.” He’s always going out of his way to help you!

WHAT IS IT LIKE TO BE FRIENDS WITH THEM?

Miles is known as one of the best players on the basketball team. Even though he doesn’t bounce it in the hallways, teachers are always telling him to put the basketball in his hands away, which irritates him to no end. Although teachers adore him, they always have to tell him to turn his phone off because it’s always buzzing from Snapchat notifications. He trades food with people at lunch and is on the Robotics team. Miles is one of the only two in the friend group who hasn’t gotten a detention. Is the only boy in your P.E. class who doesn’t treat it like the olympics and makes sure everyone has a good time. Cried once on FaceTime with you because out of stress he drew a dick on his AP Calc packet and forgot to erase it before turning it in. Unironically, Miles will play mermaids with you in the pool.

Hobie has both girls and boys fawning over him all the time, and people are constantly asking for his number. Never pays attention in class but passes. Hobie’s a “C’s get degrees” type of person, regardless of how well he does in school. For school spirit week, instead of bringing a backpack, he brings a Walmart shopping cart. Makes people laugh in class, but does it respectfully to not piss off the teacher. Teachers get sick of how often you pair up with each other for group projects but he tells them you’re a package deal and that you can’t be separated. Once you get your driver’s license, you make him check your parking jobs. He proceeds to ask you who gave you your license. Grew from 5’9 to 6’5 in the span of a school year and was always asking when second lunch was.

Gwen wasn’t on the bus last year, so she was introduced to the friend group because of her role on the theatre’s stage crew. It’s how she met Pavitr, who played the leading role in the Spring musical. To her dismay, her hydro-flask always falls off her desk, which makes such a loud clang she almost cries. Gwen’s locker is messy, with little magnets all over it. Has the best handwriting you’ve ever seen. Says random Disney bully quotes like, “I’ll kick you into next week if ya don’t give me your lunch!” when she sees you in the hallway. When she gets partnered up with you for a lab, she makes sure you finish before everyone else so you can just chill. Gwen always gets you a snack at the vending machine before any class you have together. She paints your nails in the back of the class.

Pavitr is a straight A student. People think he’s stuck in 2016 because he still wears those bands that you slap on your wrist. Gives people haircuts during break time, and wants to become a hairdresser when he’s older. During a fire drill he got yelled at because he stopped, dropped, and rolled for no reason. Tears fall from his eyes frequently because he holds in coughs in class. Jokingly put in a quote from the Lorax for his senior quote when he was on the yearbook team but forgot to take it out. His senior quote is, “Let it grow.” Pav fake falls in class but nobody suspects a thing because they think he’s innocent. He screamed with you when he saw a spider. Gets out of getting in trouble for being late because he got everyone Starbucks. (He got you a cake pop)

[tossawary]

Still in love with the fact that "Into the Spider-Verse" had Miles facing down the question of: "Can someone like him BE Spider-Man?" (Yes!) And then "Across the Spider-Verse" followed up with Miles facing down the question of: "Is there a specific way that you have to do being Spider-Man?" (And presumably "Beyond the Spider-Verse" will finish answering this.)

Because it definitely seems to be a point of conflict for legacy characters, not only to face pushback for whether they're allowed to step into the shoes at all, but to then face pushback for how they walk forward. If it's too similiar, then they get accused of copying and being boring. If it's too different, then it's accused of being too radical and unfaithful. They are constantly being compared to the original (to be fair, this is unavoidable with legacy characters, and I don't think comparison is inherently bad) and there often seems to be no way for them to "win" acceptance. There sometimes seems to be a general lack of compassion from audiences and an unwillingness to suspend disbelief in order to give them an honest chance.

Why does Miles Morales' Spider-Man need to follow the exact same life events and story beats as Peter Parker's Spider-Man? He's not Peter Parker. They had different pasts. They have different presents. Miles Morales deserves to explore a different way of being Spider-Man and new narratives. It's all so meta and so cool.

[helloitsghost]

Pest in the Side

Merry New Year and Happy Squealing Santa 2023 for @alexielve :D sorry it’s so late😭

Image ID:

A digital illustration depicting Miles Morales, Peter B Parker, and Mayday Parker from Into The SpiderVerse. Miles is suspended upside down from his webs. Peter is on the right, and Mayday is strapped to Peter by a baby carrier. Peter is tickling Miles on the armpit and Mayday on her foot while calling a friend explaining how he is tickling them to “teach them a lesson”. (Not shown) Miles and Mayday were bothering Peter repeatedly for attention so Peter retaliated. Miles is suspended in the air in hysterics trying to apologize to Peter through his laughter. And Mayday is giggling as her father tickles her foot.

Image Caption:

Peter: “Oh yeah don’t mix the kids, had to teach em a lesson.”

Miles: “EEEK- P-PETER I-IM SOREHEHEEHHEE AHAHAAH!”

I prob will reblog with a color update as I’m super happy with how it looks and it’s my first time drawing spiderverse :3

Special thanks to @squealing-santa and @hypahticklish for hosting!

[parisiterileymoon]

Miles morales x male reader (one sided)

Inspired by the end of “suspended” by Jason Reynolds. It’s so good go read it!

C/W:unrequited love, crushing on a straight guy, Miles x Alicia, angst with no happy ending, mild sexual references

~~

You’ve had a bad day. There’s no denying it. After a bad day, the next logical step is to see your best friend/supercrush, miles morales. It is usually frowned upon to walk into somone else’s dorm unannounced but Miles and Ganke had dubbed you an unofficial third roommate. You arrived at the door and opened it only to see something mortifying. Alicia kissing Miles. And Miles kissing Alicia. And Alicia kissing miles. And hands where hands shouldn’t be. His hands were all over here. All. Over. Her. Your vision went blurry and you backed out of the room. “I TOLD YOU TO LOCK THE DOOR!” You heard Alicia shout, followed by the sound of miles hitting the floor. You were hyperventilating a little. You looked around slinked to the ground. Tears welled up in your eyes as you stared at the closed door. Miles came out and sat on the floor next to you. “Sorry you had to see that, man.” He clears his throat. “Look (___), I know you got a thing for me.” You look at him with a deer in headlights look. “I’m sorry.” You didn’t know why you were apologizing. “It’s ok, you can’t control how who you catch feelings for.” He looks at you sympathetically. “I know. It just feels bad. Knowing that…no matter how hard you try you can never be with the person you’re in love with. It hurts.” Miles looks like he’s about to cry as a tear falls down your cheek. “You’re in love with me?” You can’t tell if he’s disgusted, flattered, or he just feels bad for you. “I said too much” he nods in agreement. “Yeah. I think you have.” You stand and begin to walk away, only to turn around to give him a chance to say something. He just walks back into his room to apologize to Alicia. You turn around and head to your room.

You’ve had a bad day.

~~

Hah suffer/j anyway if you see anything wrong with this plz let me know, I’m always looking to improve:)

[asterkallium]

what is the pale blue dot?

Pale Blue Dot is a photograph of Earth taken on February 14, 1990, by the Voyager 1 space probe from an unprecedented distance of approximately 6 billion kilometers (3.7 billion miles, 40.5 AU), as part of that day's Family Portrait series of images of the Solar System.

In the photograph, Earth's apparent size is less than a pixel; the planet appears as a tiny dot against the vastness of space, among bands of sunlight reflected by the camera. Commissioned by NASA and resulting from the advocacy of astronomer and author Carl Sagan, the photograph was interpreted in Sagan's 1994 book, Pale Blue Dot, as representing humanity's minuscule and ephemeral place amidst the cosmos.

Carl Sagan comments on what he sees as the greater significance of the photograph, writing:

From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of any particular interest. But for us, it's different. Consider again that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand. It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

Earthrise is a photograph of Earth and part of the Moon's surface that was taken from lunar orbit by astronaut William Anders on December 24, 1968, during the Apollo 8 mission. Fifty years to the day after taking the photo, William Anders observed, "We set out to explore the moon and instead discovered the Earth."

[katiebug586]

Honestly, it's criminal how underrated Pelswick is. As a cartoon created by a disabled cartoonist, it's incredible how pro-disability and anti-ableist it is. The entire moral of Pelswick is essentially 'Treat me like you would a normal person, you weirdos', with it not afraid to delve into the inherent issue with infantilizing disabled people and how some people act all righteous but are really just being performative.

I re-watched "Hear No Evil, PC No Evil" last night (Yes, the PC does indeed stand for 'politically correct') and I don't think it stuck with me that much when I first watched it a couple years ago, but wow. The plot is basically that Pelswick's dad is seeing a supposedly multi-ethnic woman named "Spagna", who turns out to be one of the most infantilizing characters I think I've ever seen on TV. She refuses to see Pelswick as a kid who happens to use a wheelchair, instead acting as if he's helpless and needs everything done for him because he's such a 'poor, helpless' boy. She ends up accidentally 'Sigmund Freuding' herself into calling Pelswick the C-word when he rightfully tells her off for treating him like he's some kind of fucking charity case, then loses her shit because how dare she say the c-word, (like yeah, you shouldn't, but there's a couple of other things you need to work on first, lady) and scrubs her mouth with a soap she conveniently has on hand and leaves the house sobbing. Pelswick's dad immediately says he's breaking up with her after she leaves. Not for the c-word comment, I don't think, but "have you ever seen somebody so PC in all your life?".

I vaguely remember there being another episode where Pelswick got suspended because he refused to make his ventriloquist dummy or whatever they were with a wheelchair because gasp! he sees himself as himself, and doesn't base his whole character and personality on being paralyzed. There was another where he couldn't go on a school field trip to go camping because of his wheelchair, even though Pelswick does snidely remark that he's the only kid who couldn't accidentally get paralyzed.

Not ALL of the episodes involve Pelswick being infantilized though, there's plenty of episodes that revolve around him being a kid and doing dumb kid shit without his wheelchair being brought into question other than it just being there, which I think adds to the point I was trying to make with the three episodes I mention. However, when the subject/issue DOES come up, Pelswick doesn't just nod his head and take it, he ends up giving out various clapbacks (sometimes with the help/vague advice of his guardian angel, Mr. Jimmy) to them. And more likely than not, these people end up outing themselves as being ableist shitheads anyway.

Pelswick does need some aid/help, his house has an elevator installed so he can get to the second floor, and a ramp he can use instead of steps, but that's miles better than just assuming he needs everything done for him.

Anyway, if you enjoy good disabled representation and want a recommendation, watch Pelswick.

[mintaikk]

My school's library app has a section on banned books, and I want to list some of the books that were banned in other schools and why I think they were banned

Skippyjon jones -You know, the children's book about a weird dog cat think? Yeah, that was banned. I'm assuming it's because the dog/cat thing is Mexican

Miles Morales: Suspended (Jason Reynolds) -Miles is black

Rick (Alex Gino) -Rick is LGBT so obvious no :(

Perfect Mexican Daughter - The girl is Mexican

I Am Jazz (Jessica Herthel, Jazz Jennings) - it teaches kids about trans people, which is an OBVIOUS no no 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️ (heard about this girl before and I think her book is adorable. It's a picture book and a good way to teach young kids about the existence of trans people)

Anne Frank's diary -Nazis, I assume, but honestly probbaly Jewish people as well. God forbid history

The Rebellious Life or Mrs. Rosa Parks (Jeanne Theoharris) -She made white people look bad

The Magic Fish (Trung Le Ngyuen) -The kid is Asian. Ya know, I'm starting to see a pattern of the books their banning

Ban This Book (Alan Gratz) -About a 4th grade black girl fighting book bannings. Can't give those kids ideas 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

All Are Welcome (Alexandra Penfold) - a literal children's picture book with short poems on accepting people of different backgrounds. I'm not making this up. That was banned

And Tango Makes Three (Justin Richardson, Peter Parnell) -NO I LOVE THESE TWO PENGUINS NOO!!!! It's about REAL LIFE PENGUINS at the Central Zoo Park who were gay and adopted a daughter at a zoo. It's a picture book and a children's book. Jesus Christ, book bans

Hood Feminism (Mikki Kendall) -A book about black feminism. Was banned for obvious reasons

There's more but there's literally hundreds of books there. I'll probably renlog later when I feel like looking again

[moralesmilesanhour]

what you're searching for.

summary: Margo goes to a shitty poetry slam and gets more out of it than she expects. wc: 4.9k warnings: alcohol consumption, and it's like very VERY lightly implied that they had an Adult Sleepover if you get my meaning. Nothing really too suggestive in here I promise. One singular reference to a tiktok. a/n: this took me a whole ass week but I'm very proud of where my writing style is going! somewhat inspired by the film 'Love Jones'. If you enjoyed this pls feel free to leave your thoughts or your favorite line if you have one! EDIT: OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO ADD: the first poem is actually taken from the Junior novel 'Miles Morales: Suspended' by Jason Reynolds! The poem at the end is mine though lmao I'm not the best poet

Margo can’t stand poetry.

Someone gets up in front of you with a piece of paper clutched in their hands, and recites what is simultaneously the most vague and the most painfully obvious string of fragmented sentences you’ve ever heard as if they’d just touched your soul.

It’s not rapping, not preaching, but the ugly middle child standing between them. Some odd bastardization of music for people who thought they were too smart for either of the first two, but weren't brave enough to just give speeches.

Speeches, at least, are coherent, specific, and can be scrutinized.

So far, sitting in the front row of the bar that her classmate Zoe had invited her to for poetry night, no one has changed her mind. 

Tonight’s performances consisted of an assembly line of men (and a couple of women) in vintage sweaters ranting about their exes to the rhythm of bongo drums, or some mildly relevant social issue that none had the lexicon to really say anything in stanzas that hasn’t already been said. She had heard nothing yet that sounded much more profound than an Instagram post.

Although, one girl had come up and recited a short poem about her late mother that Margo thought was quite sweet, and the least tortuous to sit through.

The crowd erupted in snaps again for a poet with long braided dreads and an ankh tattoo whose words she had tuned out. The host took the mic and announced the final (thank god) participant:

“Now this next one I had to practically drag over here to get him to share his beautiful poetry with us tonight. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to one of my close friends and colleagues, Miles Morales!”

A lanky young man–Margo suspects about six feet even, given the way he’s towering over the host–awkwardly shuffles over to the center of the stage, offering the crowd a tight-lipped smile. 

He’s in a plain green sweater with the sleeves hastily rolled up to his elbows and a bomber jacket tied around his waist. As soon as he’s handed the microphone, it seems to dawn on him that there’s no turning back, and his body visibly tenses. 

He clearly just got here, and for once Margo doesn’t know what to expect.

Squinting beneath the bright spotlight, he clears his throat and speaks into the mic. 

“Um, hi.”

A few scattered ‘hi’s from the crowd.

There’s something bright and sweet in the tone of his voice that makes him sound a little boyish, and she wonders what he could possibly have under his sleeve that warranted him getting dragged up here last minute.

He takes a deep breath.

“It’s said

That nobody

Is ever more

Than ten feet

From a spider.”

Miles began the poem carefully, like he was confessing something. 

“They be everywhere you and me are.”

A few members of the crowd laugh, others shudder at the thought and frown. 

“And even though

We see them only

When they big enough to see, or when

They move,

Like a cursor

Across the blank white

Page of a wall…”

His voice loses some of its airiness in exchange for confidence as he recites the rest of the poem, and Margo realizes that he isn’t reading off of anything. 

Either he’s improvising, or he has it entirely memorized.

“Or when we trip

The web-like wire

Of a booby trap

Or when they

Fang our flesh

We should probably

Assume most

Just be right there…”

Miles paused and looked somewhere far beyond the crowd, lifting his arm to point to the back of the room. Then he repeated:

“Right there,

Right here,”

He gestures toward the front row, where his eyes land directly on Margo. It’s not so close to the stage that she can tell for sure, but she thinks she sees a hint of a smile cross his lips.

“Looking at us,

Looking over them.”

Silence. 

His arm falls limply to his side as his eyes frantically scan the audience, searching for some kind of response. 

Then, someone begins to clap. Then another. Then another. WIthin moments, the entire room erupts in applause, causing a shy smile to spread across the young man’s face.

“Uh, thank you!” he says, surprised at the positive reception, before shrinking into himself again and leaving the stage the same way he came.

The host returns and takes the mic from him.

“Miles Morales, everybody!”

-

After the poetry slam, Margo insisted that Zoe take her to the sushi place across the street. It had a bar sitting off to the side, one with significantly less poets. The decorative lights hung directly above the shelf filled with glass bottles and shrouded them in cherry red.

Zoe takes a sip of her sherry and leans in.

“Sooo, how was it?”

“It was a’ight.”

The light-skinned girl’s lips pull into a pout. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I told you poetry wasn’t my thing,” Margo pauses, then amends, “I liked the last guy, though. Breath of fuckin’ fresh air.”

“Right? His style really caught my attention, subtle.”

“Glad you liked it.”

Zoe’s eyes widened as she glanced just beyond Margo’s shoulder.

When Margo turned towards the familiar voice and froze. 

The poet in question was standing just inches away, a friendly smile gracing his features. His jacket is no longer around his waist, neatly folded over his arm like an expensive coat. He is with the excitable darker-skinned man who’d just hosted the event, and a man the shade of sandalwood standing just behind him.

They’re both wearing the same type of muted cardigan as Miles, but they’ve got actual coats.

“Y’all were in the front, right?” Miles asks the both of them, though he’s only looking at Margo.

She nods wordlessly. Zoe picks up the slack.

“M-hm, you were great up there! You’ve really never shown anyone your work ‘till tonight?”

Miles snorts at the wording of the phrase. ‘His work’.

“I wrote that poem in high school,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, but my roommate…” 

He gives the dark-skinned man a dirty look. 

“...swiped my journal and found it. Told me I should read it out loud somewhere.”

Margo examines Miles’ face and imagines him as a baby-faced high-schooler, sitting in the back of the classroom with a protective arm around the beat-up red composition notebook he’s writing in. He stuffs it in his bag as soon as he’s done, because he has just poured his heart out onto that page, and his crush’s name is in there. Maybe there are tiny doodles of her in the margins.

“Yo,” the sandalwood-colored man claps Miles on the shoulder. “We about to hit up Tiff’s place, you coming?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Miles nods dismissively. “I’ll catch up with y’all.”

The two other men give each other a knowing look before brushing past him.

“Alright man, catch you later then.”

Once she finally regains the ability to speak, Margo remarks, “You were the only performance I really liked, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that so?” 

“Oh yeah, this one hates poetry,” Zoe places a hand on Margo’s shoulder and laughs. “Tried to change her mind by bringing her over here, but no dice.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “What made mine so different?”

“Hm, I dunno…” Margo’s eyes float over his form before making their way back up to his face. “Your delivery, I guess.”

Safe to say, he looks amusedly unconvinced.

“My…delivery.”

She catches herself and quickly adds, “I-I mean, it also kinda felt like everyone else was trying too hard. So.”

He tilts his head at the remark.

“Are you just saying that to flatter me?”

.“I don’t flatter people. Too close to lying.”

“That sounds like half a poem already. Maybe you should go up there next week.”

She gives him a lopsided smile.

“Only if you’re there. I need something to actually look forward to.”

His tongue darts out and passes over his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Margo.”

Miles hums, softly repeating the name before inching his way over to the counter where he leans his hip on it.

“Pretty. Can I buy you a drink, Margo?”

She doesn’t think her name is all that pretty, but he makes it sound that way.

“Knock yourself out.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Zoe teases as she rises from her seat. “I’m gonna go order us some sushi.”

Miles takes the stool to Margo’s left as he waits on their drinks, his long legs never needing to leave the ground to do so.

He has a funny way of sitting, hands folded neatly in front of him with his back just a few degrees off from being perfectly straight. As if you needed to look distinguished at a sushi bar.

Church boy, Margo guessed. That, or his daddy’s a military man.

It’s adorable either way.

“You in school?” she asked.

“Yup. Princeton.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh shit, me too! I’ve never seen you on campus, though. What’s your major?”

“Physics. You?”

“Comp Sci. Been coding since I was in middle school, so…”

Margo remembers the echoing ‘click-clack’ of her keyboard as she sat in an empty computer lab for hours on end after school because she preferred it to her parents’ house.

The bartender hands Miles two glasses of white wine, and he sets the second glass in front of Margo, his warm eyes still focused on her. 

She’s intrigued by how clear they are - no trace of suspicion or calculation behind them. Just the warmth.

“So, where you from? My folks are over in Brooklyn.”

“Georgia.”

Miles’ brows jump to his hairline.

“Damn. What brought you all the way up here?”

To get as far away as possible. 

“Well, it’s Princeton,” she says beneath a forced laugh.

“Yeah, but you got, like, eight different HBCUs over there. How’d Princeton win you over?”

Margo breaks eye contact to stare into her drink.

“Needed a change of pace.”

When she looks up to gauge Miles’ reaction, skepticism is written all over his face. But he doesn’t push it further.

“That’s fair. Princeton’s got a cutting-edge quantum physics program that I’m aiming for. Had to beg my parents to come here,” he grins proudly, “but here I am.”

Margo is silent for a moment.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks suddenly, beckoning Miles to lean in.

“Yeah?”

Grinning, she half-whispers, “I’m actually here on a scholarship.”

He gives her an odd look. 

“Why’d you say it like that? Nothin’ wrong with getting a full ride. The opposite, actually.”

“Some people might feel otherwise. You’re like, the second person I’ve told other than my parents.”

“And why me?” Miles chuckles. “My poetry was just that good?”

“I just…Hm.”

Margo leans back and takes a contemplative sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. 

Why did she just tell him that?

“I guess I just sorta felt like telling you.”

Margo cautiously sets the wine back down. She figures if she’s not careful, he’ll have her full government name and social security number by the end of the night.

“Y’know, I actually get that a lot,” Miles laughs. “One time, I had this lady I was standing in line with at Target turn around and just start telling me stories about her dead son and how much she misses him. And it’s like, I’m sorry for your loss, but we’re in Target right now and I literally do not know you.”

“Wait, people just go up to you and…tell you shit?”

“Yup. There was this other time at church, too. Just as service ends and I’m about to get up and leave, this short old dude–Dominican, I think–stops me and starts telling me about his entire life. I’m talking start to finish! Apparently I reminded him of his nephew that died in the military or something.”

“Jesus.”

A crease forms between Margo’s brows. She wishes she could say she didn’t understand the old man at church or the lady at Target, but she does. No, it’s not the poetry. It’s got nothing to do with words. 

It’s the way that Miles looks at people. 

Like he already knows all of your secrets, but you’re not worried because they’re safe with him, so might as well tell them. It’s a merciful sort of gaze; you get the impression that he won’t judge you. You might even tell him more after his friendly ‘boy-next-door’ voice coaxes them out of you. The thought unsettles her because she had done just that.

“You ever had a girlfriend before?” She asks, all of a sudden.

Miles shrugs, “Yeah, in tenth grade, then again freshman year. Didn’t really work out.”

“Why not?”

His brows furrow gently for just a second, as if he’s still trying to figure out the answer to that.

“I…don’t know, actually. It goes well the first few months and then…”

“It fizzles out?”

“I get ghosted. Something about how they’re ‘not ready’. Understandable, I guess, but you don’t have to ghost me, y’know?”

He awkwardly examines his fingers, then his glass. 

Margo feels a bit guilty for suddenly bringing up his exes when they’d just met. Would they end up the same way? She saw herself there too, being in a relationship for six months before his weird pastor’s eyes get to be a bit too much and she takes off.

“Yikes, sorry I asked.”

“It’s no problem,” a smile starts to return to his face. “Onto better things, right?”

“Right.”

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“You ever been in a relationship before?”

Margo smiles awkwardly and messes with one of her fingernails.

“Well…not exactly.”

Miles’ eyes widen.

“Never?”

“I mean, guys offer, and then we talk for a little bit, but then…”

“They flake out on you.”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn shame,” he says with a bit of sharpness to his voice. “Not even a first date?”

“Nope, just ‘Read at 4:15’.”

“You know what I think it is?”

Just as he asks this, his knee brushes against her thigh. Margo isn’t sure if it’s an accident, but it distracts her nonetheless.

“What?”

“You’re too smart for them, I can tell. It scares ‘em.” But it doesn’t scare me, is the suggestion.

He smiles then, the kind that shows the whiteness of his teeth on every vowel. It’s wide enough that a dimple comes out of hiding on his left cheek, and she suddenly wants to tell him everything again. She takes another sip of wine.

“So! What’d I miss?”

Zoe finally returns from ordering their sushi at the front with an expectant grin. Miles still hasn’t taken his eyes off of her friend, while she is staring at him like a string of code, which, if you know Margo, is better than nothing.

“You didn’t miss much,” says Margo. “We were just talkin’ about our majors. School stuff.”

Miles checks his phone and lets out a low whistle.

“Well, it was lovely meeting y’all, but I gotta bounce. After getting dragged onstage, I get to be dragged over to a house party, too.”

Just as he rises from his seat, he stops and points at her.

“Before I go, though, d’you mind giving me your digits? I’d love to talk about, uh…computer science…over lunch.”

She snorts, “Who still says ‘digits’?” but hands him her phone anyway. 

It couldn’t hurt to try. 

“Sure.”

His eyes light up as if he wasn’t expecting her to say yes as he saves his number as ‘poetry slam guy’ in her phone, then hands it back.

“Cool,” Miles begins his walk towards the entrance backwards, holding eye contact for just a little longer before turning around. “G’night!”

“Goodnight!” the two women call out in unison as he leaves.

Margo looks to her left at the now-empty bar stool. The glass of wine Miles left on the counter is full, completely untouched.

It’s still on her mind as she's sitting in her single dorm room, re-writing her lecture notes on cyber security in a meticulous neat print that could almost pass for a font.

Every few minutes her pen stops because she’s distracted by the sound of clinking glass in boxes downstairs, or because she pauses to stare at the white wall in front of her that brings to mind one of the lines of Miles’ poem. 

There might be a spider that I can’t see sitting ten feet away from me right this second, she muses to herself. The thought gives her an idea, and the perfect excuse to call him without seeming too desperate.

Margo unlocks her phone and scrolls through her contacts. She smiles to herself at the contact name Miles chose. Did he think she’d forget his name that easily? 

His voice soon filters through the speaker.

“Hey, you didn’t throw out my number!”

“Yup, lucky you.” she replies. “I wanted to ask you a question? About your poem the other night.”

“What about it?”

“See, I was thinking about that first line. Are we really never more than ten feet away from a spider? Like, at any given moment?”

There’s a moment of silence from Miles before he asks:

“You…called me just to ask me that?”

“What? It’s a very pressing issue! There’s probably one in the corner  of my room as we speak!”

“Alright, I’ll humor you,” Miles laughs. “That’s actually a myth from the 90s. Your distance from the nearest spider really depends on where you’re at, so if you’re in a spot with hella bugs, you’re more likely to see one. You’re probably fine.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Margo gasps dramatically. “So you lied to all those poor folks in there?”

“Sure did. Played ‘em all like a fiddle.”

“Terrible.”

“So, why’d you really call? You don’t sound as concerned about spiders as you say you are, if I’m being honest.”

So much for an excuse.

“Don’t nothing get past you, huh?”

This earns a burst of laughter from Miles’ end.

“You’re a worse liar than me, I wouldn’t recommend making it a habit.”

“Ugh, fine,” Margo admits,  “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You could hear my voice in real life, you know. Offer’s still on the table, and I’m free today.”

Their second conversation, and already a lunch date? But as she’s reminded of what his voice sounds like, she quickly realizes that just the voice is not enough. 

Still, she tries to sound casual and makes a non-committal noise.

“Better than being cooped up in my room all day.”

“Great! Where you wanna go?”

Margo shrugs as if he can see her on the other end.

“Wherever you wanna go.”

“Ah, the ‘wherever you wanna go’ paradox,” he chuckles. “Okay, well–lemme ask you this then. Do you like eating with or without music?”

There’s a beat of silence as she considers.

“Hm…is the music good?”

“I’d never subject anyone to a place that plays shit music. Promise.”

“Music, then.”

“Cool, what time works for you?”

“How does two sound? I’ll catch you in front of the Engineering Library.”

“Bet. See you in an hour, then!”

-

The place Miles chose had a live band playing at the front.

A bass player, a keyboard pianist, a saxophonist, and a few background vocalists on occasion. All are propelled forward by the rapid-fire snare of the drummer. It’s jazz - the easy, conversational kind you hear in the background of 90s romantic comedies where the love interest wears nothing but dark lip liner and filled-in brows with a bit of smokey eyeshadow in the crease.

This is the look that Margo has decided to go for as she sits across from Miles at a mahogany table positioned ideally by the window.

It was all she could do other than frantically adjust the braided 'fro-hawk sitting atop her head and spin around in a mist of ‘Champagne Toast’ before bolting out the door.

She doubts he can even smell it right now through the curry and garlic.

“Figured out what you want yet?” Miles asks as he looks over his menu at Margo.

“Eh, I dunno,” she replies, running her index finger down her own menu. “I’m tryin’ not to blow half my paycheck on pasta right now.”

Miles gives her a strange look, then it clicks.

“Oh! Lunch is on me,” he laughs. “Your bank account’s safe for now.”

Her head snaps up.

“You should’ve mentioned that! I thought we were going half and half this whole time, I had my whole budget for the week planned out.”

Margo has to hold back an ugly cackle at the look of horror on Miles’ face right after she says this.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

With this new information in mind, she orders a bowl of chicken alfredo with a glass of lemonade that she sips on as the band seamlessly transitions into a cover of Solange’s ‘Cranes in the Sky’.

“So, Margo,” Miles rests his chin on his knuckles and squints his eyes comically. 

“If that is your real name.”

Margo giggles, and plays along.

“It’s not, it’s my alter-ego for when I go on top-secret missions.”

“Is it short for something? Or just Margo?”

“Hm,” she puts on an affected, ‘action movie’ voice, “If I tell you, I might have to kill you.”

“It’s worse ways to die out there.”

Margo looks around her as if to make sure no one’s listening, then leans in.

“It’s short for Marguerite.”

Miles snaps his fingers.

“I knew it!”

“What? You think I look like a Marguerite? Seriously?”

“No, but you got a lil’ country twang in your voice. Ain’t no way in hell Margo wasn’t short for something.”

“Man, alright,” she laughed. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he winked, “I like ‘em country.”

“Boy, don’t give me that! You look like you’d pass out at the sight of a jar of pig’s feet.”

“Hey now, I got family in South Carolina. I used to go down there and see about ten of those every summer.”

“Fine, but you were still raised a Northerner. I could hear the Brooklyn from a mile away.”

Miles removed his hand from under his chin to clutch his chest.

“Ugh, I feel like I’m caught between two worlds!”

The reference to one of the more choice lines from the poetry slam makes Margo snort and let out a loud guffaw, which she quickly muffles with the palm of her hand.

“Why would you remind me of that!”

Miles is soon infected by the fit of laughter and has to put all his strength into not doubling over at the table and drawing attention.

“This nigga said,” he wheezed, “ ‘I keep doing the Achy Breaky to Suavemente!’ “

“I thought I was the only one who thought that shit sucked,” Margo sighed as she wiped a tear from her eye. “But I didn’t wanna be mean ‘cuz I’m not like, half Puerto Rican, or anything like that.”

“Well I am, and that whole poem felt like a microaggression. And I knew that guy!” He starts gesturing wildly with his hands at the outrage, which Margo finds hilarious. 

“He's like, one-eighth Boricua. His last name is fuckin’ Schwartz!” Miles scoffs, “He don’t know shit about no damn ‘Suavemente’. Bet he looked it up.”

“You should write your own poem, then. ‘Take up space’, as they say.”

“Hell no,” he said. “I left that behind in high school. The other night was an exception, remember?”

“Look, I’m not one to encourage more people to become poets, but you never know. Something might inspire you.”

Miles calms down and gives her a meaningful look.

“Maybe.”

The rest of the conversation saw Miles slyly gathering intel through bites of roasted chicken. He’d quickly learned from their meeting at the bar that his line of questioning with Margo ought to be less direct.

He even hit her with the ‘what’s your sign’ question, though Biggie would’ve advised against it (Margo was a Libra, he was a Leo). He didn’t actually care for astrology, but Margo wasted no time in proclaiming that she couldn’t stand Scorpios because they were ‘too nosy’. 

Miles’ only error was asking if she’d ever dated–correction–spoken to one, and her eyes hardened with suspicion again. He quickly elected to change the subject.

“Okay, totally random question, but humor me. How do you like your eggs?”

Margo blinks twice.

“What?”

“You heard me. You can tell a lot about a person by what kinda eggs they like, true shit.”

“Alright, fine. I like ‘em fried, with the crispy edges. What that say about me?”

“I dunno, but when I find out it’ll all make sense.”

Margo laughs.

“Okay, well, how do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled, fluffy,” A childish grin spread across Miles’ lips. “And seasoned with Adobo to make ‘em all orange.”

“Never had ‘em like that before.”

“Maybe I could make some for you sometime, if you’d let me.”

“Maybe.”

She remembers his promise a month later when she wakes up to the aroma of the seasoning and hears the pop of frying oil, letting out a sigh of relief at the realization that Miles is still there.

His back is facing her when she enters the kitchen, the morning light illuminating a tattoo she had never seen before. 

It’s a spider with sprawling legs that cascade all the way down the expanse of skin, the movement of his shoulder blades bringing them partially to life. She hadn’t noticed it in the dark, and he was not one to walk around in anything revealing enough for it to have ever seen daylight. It’s faded, which means he’s likely had it for years.

He’s only twenty-one, she thinks. Did he get it in high school?

Amusement creeps onto Margo’s face at the image of Miles sneaking around the house, darting in and out of the bathroom to clean it without his hawk-eyed mother or straight-edged father taking notice. Picturing this, it’s suddenly much easier to believe that their son would have to beg and plead for them to send him a measly forty-six miles away for school, even for an Ivy League. 

Miles doesn’t turn around yet, but Margo catches the way he stops, tilting his head playfully and placing a hand on his hip.

“Man, I can’t believe I’mma have to eat this whole thing of scrambled eggs all by myself, with the ones I just fried! How sad.” “You’re not very funny,” Margo says with a smile, pulling out a chair from beneath the dining table.

He switches the stove off, then does a dramatic spin to face her with fake surprise on his face.

“Oh! Where’d you come from? I didn’t see you there.”

He turns back around to grab two plates–ceramic ones, not the stack of styrofoam ones–from one of the cupboards to serve the eggs in, starting with fried.

Margo watches him silently. The tiny, squint-or-you-might-miss-it gold chain around his neck catches the light as he moves, and she remembers feeling the cold metal brush across her lips.

“The fried ones, are they–”

“Crispy at the edges?” he finishes, with a smile in his voice. “Yes ma’am!”

“You could really be a detective, can’t get nothing past you.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“See?”

The two burst into laughter, and the ink on Miles’ back does also. His poem was accurate, in a way. For the past five weeks, Margo has been no more than ten feet away from a spider.

They have a brief and quiet breakfast, wherein Margo finally asks to try the scrambled eggs and is delighted by the burst of flavor added by the Adobo. They aren’t too dry or too soggy the way they tend to be in restaurants - just fluffy, as promised. She thinks it might be time to finally start taking Miles at his word as she watches his back again while he’s washing dishes.

Once he is fully dressed and about to leave, Miles stops suddenly, as if he’s forgotten something. He reaches into the left pocket of his jacket and pulls out a neatly-folded sheet of paper, nervously running his other hand through the short dreads sitting atop his head.

“Before I leave, I, uh…I took your advice and wrote a lil’ something.”

He hands it to Margo, who takes it gingerly. 

“Well, good for you.”

“It’s been a while, so it’s kinda rough, but hopefully the sentiment is there.”

Miles plants a quick kiss on her cheek, and she smiles easily for once as opposed to the usual raised eyebrow.

“I’ll be sure to let you know if it is.”

Some time after he leaves, she finally sits down to read it while sipping on a cup of tea, because coffee wreaks havoc on her nerves. His handwriting is strange, overly graphic as if it’s the title card of a cartoon, but she reads it.

I know you don't like poetry 

but you said you liked mine,

and the way you sip your wine

has set my pen to paper,

so I hope 

you'll make another exception. 

You've already claimed

half of my sketchbook 

because I just can't get your eyes right.

I always make ‘em too soft,

or too round.

They don't pierce through me,

like they did when

you stared at me over your glass,

eyes narrowed.

When you search my face

and pick me apart,

I'd like to know what it is 

you're always searching for.

[amaiguri]

Amaiguri's Tumblr Intro

How's it going? <3

My name is Belle aka. Amaiguri. I'm a narrative designer and game writer but in my spare time... I also make Things TM -- I write fantasy fiction, I make YouTube videos, I draw, and bumble through arts-n-crafts! And worldbuilding is like frosting to me; I love trying to create plausible cultures in fantastical settings! Like, yes, take me to a fantasy land with beaked dragon-like fire elementals and continents suspended a mile into the air by stone pillars but then tell me what they eat and show me the etymology of their languages. I wanna know how those languages relate to politics and power and morality and in-universe storytelling! <3 <3 <3

Admittedly, I don't know what I'm doing here cuz I'm fleeing Twitter... Please educate me on Tumblr culture -- I am fascinated. I feel like I understand Tumblr culture as well as I understand Japan: Through cultural artifacts rather than through actually being here.

I'll probably focus my Tumblr blog on writing and Worldbuilding -- especially for this fantasy, community Worldbuilding project I founded, called Yssaia. (Besides, I need a new place to host all the images O_O)

So, yeah, come be my friend! I like friends and it's harder to make those as an Adult TM now. (I'm over 21, if that's the sort of thing that worries you.) If I do something that makes you die inside, understandable.

But yeah, please say "Hi!" if I sound cool and you wanna be my writer/worldbuilding buddy!

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Ivy & Stone, Chapter Thirteen: A Lovely Bride She'll Be

pairing: victorian au!frankie morales x oc (florence bell) / victorian au!javi gutiérrez x florence bell

rating: E (18+ only, angst, jealousy, one mention of being drunk, not gonna list any other warning so i don’t spoil anything but if you’ve been reading this far, it’s just more of the usual shit!)

wc: 8.4k

a/n: so much here to digest, please do not be afraid to screech in my ask box 🫶🏼 i am screeching too

series masterlist

While the Bell family carried on with planning and arranging Anna’s engagement dinner, Frankie fell right back into what he knew best: tending to the garden.

Poppy sat outside with him in the uncharacteristic English sun for as long as she could stand it, but eventually made her way back inside the house to carry on with Lady Elizabeth, Anna, and Maribel, the women all taking a quick liking to her in a way that made Frankie feel all the more insecure. It was his status and his status alone that made him an exile here, cast aside as nothing more than a tool to make their estate look as nice as they considered themselves. Although truthfully, he didn’t mind making himself useful and his appearances scarce. He’d all but made up his mind that his proposal to Poppy had been a terrible mistake and didn’t wish to face her anymore than he had to.

It was around midday when a carriage came rolling in, its wooden wheels crunching along the gravel as it neared the estate. He knew who it must be, the final members of the Bell family coming to offer their congratulations to Anna and Andrew. Setting down his hedge trimmers in the tiny workshop that his entire affair with Florence started, he rushed over to the water spicket to rinse his hands and forearms clean before disappearing back to his cottage for a proper bath, knowing that tonight was the big dinner—a dinner he was shockingly invited to, surely all in thanks to Joseph Bell.

With every step he took towards his cottage, he could feel his heart racing in his clammy palms, his thoughts spinning enough to make him sick, the anticipation of seeing Florence after so long—and so much—finally settling in. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but couldn’t control his shaking hands as he took his suspenders off one at a time, his eyes a blank stare ahead at the pond behind his cottage. Stripping himself down to nothing, he stepped in the cold water and let it shock his nervous system, washing away every anxious thought and sickening worry. He let himself sink beneath the water, cooling his heated cheeks and wetting his sweaty curls, before surfacing again with a deep gasp for air.

Just mind your own. She won’t even notice you. She may not even look at you…may not even remember you.

Somehow the thought of being in the same room with her and her ignoring him like a stranger or a ghost made him even sicker.

To say that Florence had been giving Javi the cold shoulder would be an understatement. The entire ride from Swalley to the countryside just north of London was silent, aside from Leo’s occasional questioning about the passing sights.

Something about his distance the night prior had turned her feelings a bit sour. She hated his constant insistence to shield her from the world already, but there was something in his eyes that told her that this was something new, like he was shielding his thoughts from her. She was no longer this precious thing he wanted to protect, and instead of feeling relief over that fact, she was hit with the harsh realization of why that was. He now saw her as something to fear, or something too dangerous to hold close.

“Are we close?” Leo asked Florence, his eyes trained on her as she simply stared out of the window, giving no signs of even hearing him.

Javi cleared his throat, glancing at Florence before turning to the little boy. “Yes, just a few more miles.”

“I cannot wait to see everyone,” Leo gushed, a wide grin on his face as he continued trying to get a response from his sister, going as far as knocking his boot against hers. She finally looked at him with a jerk, her eyes lost as she met his eyes before quickly glancing at Javi and finding him already staring. “Have you decided to stay at home, Flo?”

Florence’s eyes turned stern as she kept them locked on Javi’s and replied, “Yes, I think I will.”

“I thought we were going to stay at my family’s home, my love?” Javi said, his brows furrowed.

“No, I would feel much more comfortable in my old bedroom,” Florence replied, her tone flat as she spoke to him.

Javi nodded, his lips pursing into a flat line as he accepted her coldness as though he expected it.

“Whatever you’d like, Florence,” he said, turning his gaze to the window.

She watched him for a moment, her heart breaking slightly at this sudden shift that seemed irreparable. Could she ever really spend the rest of her life proving that she was a friend and not an enemy, that she loved him as she said she did, that she was perfectly content…most of the time, at least? No, she thought. She’d grow to despise his insecurity and turn even colder than she already was. Looking down at the ring on her finger, she suddenly felt all of its weight, the urge to pluck it off rising high in her throat until she was forced to sigh and leave it be for now.

“Frankie, my love. You look dashing.” Poppy was in her dinner gown, a soft blue number with gold detailing down the skirt, her golden hair done up in an elaborate braid with two delicate curls framing either side of her face. Frankie felt she looked right here, like she was born for this world, and he supposes she technically had been.

He, however, couldn’t help like he was wearing a costume of sorts, his coat and vest suffocating him even more than the tension in the air as the family stood around the first floor awaiting the arrival of Florence, Javi, and Leo.

“Thank you, as do you,” he managed softly, hating how formal he felt he had to be around the person he was expected to spend the rest of his life with.

“Mr. Morales,” Joseph Bell walked over with two glasses of red wine in hand, offering one to Frankie. “Pardon me, Miss Poppy. Could I steal your fiance for a moment?”

“As long as you bring him back,” she joked with a winning smile, watching as the men walked off into a lone parlor together, Joseph shutting the door behind him for extra privacy.

“Florence is coming tonight,” Joseph said, taking a seat in the chaise by the window while Frankie remained standing by the fireplace. “How are you feeling?”

“I haven’t given much thought to it,” Frankie lied poorly, earning a hearty chuckle from his employer.

“If that isn’t the most blatant lie you’ve ever told,” he said. “Be honest with me, now.”

“I feel as though at any moment my heart is going to give out,” he confessed with a small, weak laugh. “Is this normal?”

“You know, when I was younger, I was in a position much like my niece’s. I fell in love with a girl from the country, no money, no land, nothing. And though I must acknowledge my hardships were lessened on account of my sex, I was threatened by my parents when I informed them of my plans to marry her that I’d be disowned and cut out of any inheritance I had claim to,” Joseph said, taking a more sympathetic tone.

“Are your intentions to remind me of why it is clear I must leave her be? Because I assure you, I have not forgotten for a moment,” Frankie said, sipping his wine before taking a seat in the armchair across from Joseph.

“No, my intentions are to convince you to follow your heart,” he said, smiling gently at him. “I followed mine and left the country with her to start anew, and although she left me far sooner than I would’ve hoped the Lord would’ve called, I cannot tell you that a single bit of me regrets choosing love. Look at everything that became of me, all that I’ve gotten on my own. There is no reason the two of you can’t find that, as well. Especially if you return to America with me and run the landscaping company I intend to start.”

“You’re serious?” Frankie asked, his brows knitting together. “You want me to run a company of yours?”

“I do,” he smiled. “Me and my wife never got to have any children, but I see something of a son in you, Mr. Morales. I’d like all of my companies to eventually go to you, and whatever family you start.”

“And if I choose Poppy?”

“My offer will remain,” he said. “Poppy will make a perfectly lovely wife, but I know you know deep in your heart that you will never love her, at least not the way you’ve loved before.”

Florence swore she could hear her heart beating as she stepped out of the carriage to greet her family, her hand reluctantly resting on Javi’s until she was on solid ground. Javi remained at her side as they watched Leo run into his father’s arms, Lord Thomas scooping the boy up before setting him down again to fix his attention on his wife and daughter’s reunion.

“My, you’ve gotten darker,” Lady Elizabeth said as she stood in front of her daughter with a small smile. “Has France been very sunny?”

“It has,” Florence replied, her tone all-too cordial.

“Well, perhaps you’ve brought some of that sunlight with you,” she said, nodding at her daughter before moving her attention to Javi. “And you look well rested. I trust this vacation has all but secured an upcoming wedding date?”

“My love, we have plenty of time to discuss that later,” Lord Thomas interjected, inadvertently saving both Javi and Florence from having to vocalize the current state of their relationship. Instead, Florence was pulled into a tight embrace, her arms willingly squeezing her father back. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

“I’ve missed you too, father,” she hummed, closing her eyes to soak up his familiar warmth that she hadn’t realized she missed.

When Lord Thomas pulled away to corral everyone inside the home, Florence felt that weight on her ring finger again, her eyes fixed on the way her parents fawned over her fiancé while she could hardly even look him in the eye. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she had something new to look at, a pale, bright, and pretty face with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, hair as golden as the stars in the sky, a white-gloved hand resting upon her ex-lover’s arm.

Feeling her lips start to part from the shock of not only seeing Frankie standing in the dining room, but with a woman on his arm, Florence quickly composed herself and turned her eyes to her uncle as he approached her with a wide grin.

“Florence, my God, you’ve grown!” Florence forced a smile onto her face and welcomed him in for a tight embrace. “You need to visit me more often. I think you’d love New York.”

“I’m certain I would, only issue is getting there,” she said with a chuckle. “Between mother’s controlling nature and my own personal…circumstances, I’m not sure I’ll ever get to visit you.”

“Just stow away like your sister,” he suggested with a wink, earning a genuine laugh from her.

“Speaking of, where is the bride-to-be?” Florence asked, turning to look around the room for her younger sister and her mysterious love.

“I believe they are likely helping each other into their outfits for the night, judging by the noises I heard coming from Andrew’s room last night,” he whispered, causing Florence to gasp at the gossip.

“While our parents are around?” she asked in disbelief. “I cannot imagine Anna even speaking to a man let alone—“

“Hush, your mother is coming over here and I don’t wish to see the two of you come to blows this evening,” he smiled and turned to let Lady Elizabeth in on their conversation. “Hello, Lizzie. I was just getting reacquainted with the niece you’ve been keeping from me.”

“She’s far too busy with her engagement to visit you in dreary old America,” she scoffed before turning to her daughter. “Anyway, I’ve just come over to remind you that while we’ve invited someone from your past, that does not mean you have to interact with them.”

“Mother,” Florence sighed, feeling a headache come on. Joseph quickly intercepted a server to grab a glass of wine from their tray, handing it to his niece. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Go take your seat, dinner will be served shortly,” Lady Elizabeth ordered with an eye roll, watching her daughter walk off to take her seat at the table across from Javi, neither of them looking at the other.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Florence turned to the soft voice sounding from over her shoulder, finding that pretty faced blonde from earlier sitting beside her. “I’m Poppy, Frankie’s fiancé.”

“Fiance?” Florence asked, trying to conceal the way her gut twisted with jealousy and anguish. Frankie appeared next to Poppy, taking his seat beside her without meeting Florence’s shocked eyes. “I wasn’t aware Mr. Morales had gotten engaged. Allow me to offer my congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Poppy beamed, oblivious to the tension on either side of her. “You must be Florence?”

“I am,” Florence nodded.

“I know so little about you unlike the rest of your siblings, so please, tell me a little about yourself,” Poppy rested her gloved hand on top of Florence’s, and though every primal instinct inside of her told her that this was her competition, she couldn’t bring herself to hate this woman simply because of her choice in fiance.

“Well, I love to read, I love being in the sun, I enjoy painting, although I’m not very good at it—“

“She is perfectly lovely,” Javi interjected, earning Florence’s eyes on his. “At everything.”

“Is this your fiancé?” Poppy asked Florence, earning a hesitant nod. “Congratulations to you as well, then!”

“Yes, thank you,” Florence managed before reaching for her glass of wine and downing it in one gulp before asking the server for another. “I have to make a visit to the powder room, but I’m sure my fiancé would love to have his brain picked at until I return.”

Watching Poppy laugh and turn to Javi, Florence stood up and turned to walk out of the dining room and up the stairs to the second floor, passing Anna and her fiancé on the way, although she did not stop to greet either of them. She seemed to be in a sort of catatonic state that left her ears ringing and heart beating so fast she worried that this was going to be the end for her.

Opening up her old bedroom door, she locked herself inside and instantly began to hyperventilate, her chest heaving as she paced around the room trying to concoct an exit plan to get her out of this living nightmare.

“Florence?” Anna’s voice sounded from the other side of the door, causing Florence to fall silent in hopes of her sister giving up and leaving her to stew in her dread. “I know you’re in there crying, let me in.”

“So you can laugh at me?” Florence called.

“Let me in,” Anna repeated herself. Florence sighed and wiped her eyes as she stomped over to the door to open it, seeing her sister’s face contorted with concern. “Oh, sister.” Florence was frozen as Anna pulled her into her arms and held her tight, unaccustomed to such affection from her. “I know this must be very difficult for you, seeing Frankie after everything.”

“It is,” Florence agreed earnestly, melting into the embrace once she realized how oddly nice it felt to be held by such an unlikely person. “But…that isn’t all that’s wrong.”

“What else is it? Poppy?” Anna asked, pulling away to shut the door behind her before walking Florence over to the chaise by the window.

“Well, yes,” Florence sighed. “But it’s more than that. It’s…it’s Javi and I.”

“Has something happened?”

“I fear too much has happened, that’s the issue,” she said, allowing Anna to lift her handkerchief to her eyes to dab away her tears. “He doesn’t trust me.”

“Even after all this time?” Anna frowned. “What else can you do? You’ve agreed to marry him, Frankie is engaged, what else could possibly stand in the way of your happiness?”

“He knows something that I’ve been trying to convince myself isn’t true,” Florence said, meeting her sister’s green eyes. “He knows I’ll always love Frankie more than him. Even in marriage, even if I have to watch him start a new life with that perfect woman downstairs—why did he have to choose someone so beautiful and kind? Couldn’t he have chosen someone at least a little bit unlikable?”

“Poppy is a sweet girl, but I can see clearly how much more she is in love with him than he is with her,” Anna said, resting her hand on Florence’s knee. “Besides, it isn’t like you chose someone unlikable. Frankie told me himself that the worst thing about Javi is how little there is to hate him for.”

“But I do,” Florence cried again, letting her face fall into her gloved hands.

“You don’t hate him,” Anna assured, rubbing her palm over her sister's shoulders.

“Perhaps I don’t hate him, but I cannot even look him in the eye without wondering when I will,” Florence replied. “It’s only a matter of time before we become his parents, living separate lives in separate homes, only seeing each other during the holidays. The thought alone makes me feel as though I’m doomed. And the only thing that is making me feel the least bit better is the fact that I know he feels this way, too. He may never admit it, he may always try to fight it or ignore it, but he knows.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Not since last night,” Florence said. “I came to his room—and do not judge me for this, because I have it on good authority that you’ve developed your own habit of sneaking into rooms—“ Anna laughed and nodded. “I came into his room in hopes of connecting, of reassuring him that although Frankie would be here, I did not care. But he turned me away and shut down entirely. He couldn’t look at me let alone touch me. I am a young, beautiful woman, Anna. I want a lover who will love me, touch me, look at me. I fear with him I’ll only ever get a passing glance.”

“Well,” she said, sighing. “What are we to do about this then?”

“What do you mean?” Florence chuckled dryly.

“I’m aware I haven’t always been the most sensitive person, but love has changed me. I can now see the difference in a person when they’re in love and when they aren’t. Everything about them becomes lighter, easier, you can see their happiness glowing in their eyes. And you, my sister, have not been glowing for a long, long time.”

“How do I fix this? Mother will disown me—“

“To hell with mother and what she wants,” Anna said. “What do you want?”

“I want…to be happy,” Florence shrugged and felt a tear slip down her cheek. “I want to not have to sit beside Frankie and his bride to be and pretend that it doesn’t kill me. I want to travel and see the world without a male chaperone. I want…to be able to choose my own life.”

“Then you need to tell Javi,” she said, offering a sympathetic smile. “Everything else will come after.”

“I cannot tell him tonight, it would ruin your engagement dinner.”

“Trust me, having a dinner with our family is the only thing ruining my engagement dinner, but if you don’t want to do it tonight, that is your choice. We can send Javi home after dinner and you can take the night to figure out what you want to say and do tomorrow.”

Florence nodded and wiped the remainder of her tears away.

“But for now, we must go down before mother throws a fit,” Anna smiled and stood up, holding her hand out for Florence. “Just a few hours and you’ll be free to wallow.”

“Did love really turn you into someone I like?” Florence teased, earning a pinch to her side.

“I can go back to the mean sister you used to have if you want.”

“No, no. I like this Anna much better.”

If the charade of dressing up like one of these high society monsters wasn’t enough to make Frankie feel sick, Florence’s presence surely did it.

She was sat so close to him that he was forced to smell her familiar perfume, had to hear her whispering to her uncle who sat beside her about her mother’s overly emotional speech to Anna and Andrew, and worst of all, had to witness every single glance between her and Javi, which thankfully was rare for some reason tonight. The only thing between their bodies was Poppy, and though he should have been glad for that space, he only felt trapped by it.

Once dinner ended and everyone began to migrate from the dining room to the main sitting room, Frankie found himself remaining in his seat, unsure of where he could go to alleviate himself of this burning ache to talk to her, to touch her, to engage with her.

“What are you doing sitting here all by yourself?” Poppy asked, walking up to where he sat and combing her fingers through his curls. “Come sit with me in the parlor.”

“I—“ Frankie started, shaking his head as he continued staring at his half-eaten plate of food. “I feel unwell. I think it would be better if I went back to my cottage.”

“It must’ve been something in the food,” she frowned. “Florence and Javi aren’t feeling well, either.”

Frankie swallowed his disgust at the thought of the two of them running off to be together.

“Poor Javi’s had to take his carriage back to his estate all alone,” she continued. “I can’t imagine taking a carriage ride with a nauseous stomach, especially when there’s no one there to tend to me. Though I suppose he’s got servants, hasn’t he?”

“Florence didn’t go with him?” he asked, turning to look at her.

“Of course not, they aren’t wed yet,” she giggled. “Unless you all have different customs than we do in America.”

“No, you’re right,” Frankie nodded. “I thought they’d already got married.”

“No,” Poppy said, giving him another pet. “Anyways, perhaps you should get to bed, then. I can walk you?”

“No,” he assured, shaking his head as he stood up. “I will be fine on my own, but thank you.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, cupping his face with her hand.

“Yes,” he nodded, forcing a smile. “I think I just need a bit of rest from all this travel and excitement.”

“I will see you for breakfast, then?”

Frankie only nodded in response, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles before excusing himself quietly from the home.

By the time Frankie had made it back to his cottage in the woods, night had fallen and turned the entire area dark except for the clearing in the pond where he took a cold plunge earlier, the moonlight peeking in from overhead lighting up a feminine silhouette in a wash of midnight blue. He squinted at the figure as he stood near the door to his cottage, wondering if all those myths and legends he’d read about as a boy were in fact true and that a siren stood waiting to take his life.

“Hello?” he called, watching as the figure began to sink further into the water until only her head remained visible. When he parted his lips to speak again, his voice was less confident, terror beginning to creep in and take control of his body. “Hello?”

When no response came, he was forced to decide whether or not he should lock himself inside his old cottage and wait for this entity to consume him or approach it, and against all reason and logic, his feet began stepping towards the bank of the pond until he was mere feet from this shadow of a creature.

“Frankie,” a sob sounded, the shadow turning to face him. Frankie breathed a deep breath of relief at the sight of Florence’s face washed in the moonlight, but the minute he saw the sorrow in her eyes, his fear returned.

“Florence, have you gone mad?” he whispered, looking around for anyone who might see this odd interaction. “What are you doing? The water must be freezing.”

“I just wanted to take a swim,” she said, standing up in her soaked and now sheer slip, his eyes falling to her body before lifting again to meet her stare. “I forgot how cold it gets in the evening,” she continued, attempting to climb out of the pond only to stumble and fall back into the water. “I think I might be a bit drunk, as well.”

“Come here,” he sighed and walked to her, his pants getting soaked from the knee down as he reached to help her up and out of the pond, her skin ice cold. “You’re ice cold, come on.”

Frankie took his coat off and wrapped it around her shoulders as he guided her into his cottage, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Give me a moment to light the fire,” he said, the sudden realization that this was their first interaction in nearly half a year dawning on him and turning him awkward. “You can, um, undress. I’ll keep my eyes—“

“I went from being desired by two of the most beautiful, good men in England to being shunned by both,” she said, her tone dark as she chuckled. “Have I really aged so poorly in the last year?”

“Florence,” Frankie sighed, keeping his back turned to her until he heard the wet slap of her slip against the floor. “I have spare clothes in the basket next to—“

“The bed, yes, I’m familiar,” she snapped.

Frankie clenched his jaw as he watched the flame ignite in the hearth, his head shaking as he tried to gather the strength not to argue with her.

“I’ve put on your clothes, now will you look at me?” Florence asked, finally pulling his eyes to hers. “Can I confess something?”

Frankie nodded, resting his hands on his hips as they remained on opposite sides of the open room, the sofa the only thing separating them.

“I want to strangle you,” she said flatly, earning a chuckle of shock from him.

“You want to strangle me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked, watching her as she stepped forward.

“Because,” she said, suddenly sounding less confident and more childish.

“If I’m to let you strangle me, I think I deserve a proper explanation—“

“Poppy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “She’s certainly as pretty as a poppy.”

“She is,” he nodded, trying to mask his emotions with indifference.

“That’s why I want to strangle you,” Florence said, throwing her leg over the back of the sofa to climb onto it. “You’ve gone and found someone I cannot hate.”

“Or perhaps my choice in partner had nothing to do with you,” he returned, remaining tall over her as he stood by the fireplace watching her make herself comfortable on his sofa.

“You want to marry her?”

Frankie didn’t answer.

“And you love her?”

Again no answer.

“For the love of God, the least you could do is answer me!” she shouted.

“I cannot answer you because I do not want to lie to you!” he shouted back, the sound so foreign to her that it forced her into silence, her eyes meek as she looked up at him. “How can I lie to you and tell you that I want to marry her when the only person I can imagine spending the rest of my life with is you—a quarrelsome, indecisive, selfish, maddeningly intoxicating woman who I have not stopped loving since the minute I saw you reading in your little nook in the garden! How can I lie and tell you I love her when there’s no room for it in my heart, because you’ve taken up every bloody inch! I am not a liar, Miss Bell, and so I will remain silent.”

“You think I’m quarrelsome?” she asked, standing up and slowly stepping towards him.

Frankie nodded.

“And indecisive?”

Another nod.

“Selfish?”

She was close enough now that her chest was pressing against his, her fingers lifting to trace the ridge of his furrowed brow.

“And maddeningly intoxicating,” she purred, honey pouring out of her mouth with every breath as she eyed him up like a feast.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, his eyes falling to her plump pout.

“Intoxicating you, I hope,” she smiled, her finger trailing lower to trace the curve of his bottom lip. “I’ve missed you, my sweet Frankie.”

“Florence—“ he groaned, his eyes shutting in hopes of holding onto a semblance of his honor and strength.

“I’m leaving Javi in the morning,” she whispered. “I’ve realized something on the trip from France.”

“What is that?” Frankie whispered back, his voice breaking with emotion.

“I haven’t loved Javi since the night he betrayed me,” she said, causing his eyes to bat open. “Since the night he hurt both of us. I tried…I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting, that I could move on and be his wife, that I could forget you, but I can’t. And he can’t either. He knows where my heart lies and always has, it’s been me who’s been ignorant this entire time.”

“You love me?” he asked, a tear falling from his eye and down his cheek. Florence caught the tear with her thumb and pressed it to her lips.

“Every moment of every day since the first time I saw you trimming that bush of violets,” she smiled, bringing her hand back to his face only to have him move it down to his heart, holding it there

“Do you know how mad you drive me?” he asked, bringing his lips to hover over hers. “I had to cross a sea in order to breathe, and even then…” He shook his head and sighed. “And even then, I was suffocated with missing you.”

“I’m here,” she said, her voice a wanton whisper. “I’m here and I’m choosing you. My mother and father can shout and disown me, I do not care. I only care that…that I haven’t lost you.”

“You haven’t,” he whispered, a look of pained adoration on his face as he filled in the gap, pressing his lips to hers and repeating the same words over and over until he ran out of breath. “I’m yours.”

Frankie lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her over to his bed, her hands cradling his face to keep his lips against hers. It was sloppy, messy, and desperate the way they clung to each other, both of them practically falling onto his bed, the wooden frame cracking beneath them.

“Your bed,” she giggled.

“It doesn’t matter,” he rasped, trailing his kisses down her neck as his hands fumbled with the button on his trousers.

“Wait—“ Florence stopped his frantic movements with her hand over his, drawing his dark and desperate eyes to hers. “We don’t have to rush anymore.”

Frankie nodded and moved his hands to rest on her hips, his white blouse on her frame sliding up as he let his hands roam up and down her curves as he kissed her slowly and more intentionally, her legs falling open to allow him room to rest in between them.

“I never want anyone the way I want you,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever touched, do you know that?”

“I hoped it was still true,” she smiled at the ceiling as his kisses trailed lower down her jaw and neck.

“The only woman I want to taste,” he rasped, his hands bunching up the white cotton blouse on her frame until he was peeling it off and casting it aside, his lips finding the stiffened peaks of her breasts. Florence moaned and arched her back, her eyes fluttering closed at the pleasure of feeling his tongue on her skin after so long. “My sweet Florence,” he cooed, kissing his way down her stomach until he was settled between her thighs, spreading them even further apart with the breadth of his shoulders. “Can I taste you, my love?”

“Please,” she whispered, combing her fingers through his curls in encouragement. The first genuine smile to grace his face in the last six months appeared and with it came that simple she loved so much, the sight bringing a grin to her own face as she watched him lower his tongue to her folds, dragging it flat and slow up her seam just to hear her sweet moans again. “You feel so good, my love. I can hardly—god, I can hardly take it.”

“You taste so sweet,” he groaned, a pained look of arousal and hunger on his face as he pulled back to watch as his fingers circled her bundle of nerves slowly, inching her towards the high she knew was bound to come.

Frankie’s hands gripped her thighs as if she’d vanish if he let go, as if he still wasn’t sure this was really happening. Here she was in his bed singing his name like he was a god she’d been forbidden to worship, and suddenly nothing else mattered anymore. All the hurt, all the longing and all the cursing of her name vanished before him into the air with every soft sigh and sweet, melodic moan his skillful tongue pulled from her.

“Frankie, I want--,” she gasped as Frankie interrupted her begging by giving her exactly what she wanted, his finger easing into her and curling causing her hips to buck against his mouth, a ragged sob of relief leaving her lips. “Frankie.”

Frankie pulled back and sat up on his knees, keeping his fingers inside of her to work him open while the other hand popped open the button of his trousers and shucked them down enough to let his aching cock free, the tip angry and weeping at the sight of her spread open beneath him, her face wreck with pleasure as she cupped the weight of her breasts in her palms.

“I need you,” he panted, forcing her eyes open, a smile replacing the open-mouthed look of awe on her face. “Can I?”

“Please,” she begged, her voice hoarse from her cries.

She reached for his face as he slipped his hand from her and planted both by her head, holding his body over hers as he leaned down to kiss her languidly while he pressed his hips into hers, his length lining up with her entrance a slowly pressing in an inch at a time, each time pulling all the way out before pressing back in until he was fully engulfed in her heat. Frankie let out something between a sob and a groan, his face falling into the crook of her neck, his lips pressing sweetly against her collarbone as he stilled himself inside of her for a moment to gather his composure.

“You--” he rasped, turning his face to meet her for another slow kiss. “You’re heaven.”

Florence smiled and stroked her thumb over his cheek as she held it, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose before tossing her head back against the pillow as he pulled out and pressed back into her, setting a slow and deliberate pace that had her hands traveling to his back to carve her name into his skin with her nails.

“Fuck,” he moaned, clutching the sheets for purchase as his strokes grew rougher, her moans spurring him on. “Tell me what you need, my love.”

“Just this,” she cried, hugging the breadth of his shoulders. “Just like this, I’m so close.”

Frankie moaned again, kissing the side of her face and jaw as he pounded his hips into hers, not daring to change the tempo in the slightest as he felt his own release building dangerously quickly at the feeling of her walls pulsing around him.

“Frankie, my love,” she cried, her eyes squeezing shut and legs crossing around his waist to keep him right where he was.

“Baby,” he whined, nipping at her jaw. “I’m--”

“Stay inside,” she begged, turning her face to meet his lips, both of them panting in unison. “Please, stay inside.”

“Do you know--”

“I know, just,” she interrupted herself with a gasp as her high finally hit, warm sparks of euphoria trickling down her spine and thighs. ”Please.”

Frankie nodded and pressed himself even deeper with each stroke until he was spilling inside of her, the foreign feeling taking his breath away as he let himself fall into her arms, careful not to crush her. He sung her praise and kissed every inch of skin he could find, slipping his arms under the curve of her spine to hold her tight to him as their hearts pounded in unison.

After they both regained their sense, Florence let out a giggle that was infectious enough to pull one from him as well, the two of them laying tangled in the sheets with a satisfied glow on their cheeks.

“I cannot tell you how much I’ve missed this feeling,” she said, tracing the curve of his nose with her fingertip.

“What feeling is that, my sweet Florence?” he asked, catching her fingertip with a soft kiss.

“Total contentment,” she replied, trailing her hand to his shoulder to smooth over his warm skin. “Feeling like there’s nothing missing in the world. With you, I’m not wanting for anything in the world. I have it all right here.”

Frankie smiled and leaned in to kiss her deeper than he had all night, no lust or desperation in it, just complete and total adoration. “I love you, Florence.”

“And I love you, Frankie,” she grinned.

Frankie rolled them onto their sides, his elbow propping up his head as he watched his hand map the curve of her side.

“It may be premature talking about our future, but…earlier your uncle mentioned something to me, and I haven’t been able to shake the image of it since,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “He asked me if I’d run one of his companies, which would…well, it would give me the chance to provide for myself, but also…a family.” Florence smiled, resting her hand over his as it sat on her hip. “I could provide for our family.”

“Are you asking me to follow you across a sea and become an American? Raise your babies?” she asked, a playful lilt to her voice that left him unsure of whether or not he overstepped. “Because I’d love that. I’d love being anywhere in the world with you in any condition. You are the love of my life. I will follow you anywhere.”

“You would?” he smiled, his eyes turning glossy with emotion.

“Francisco Morales, I want to be your wife. I want to have your children. I want to spend our lives together far away from all of this, from my mother and this world she clings to. Will you--”

“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to ask?” he interjected with a grin.

“Then go on and ask, because I will if you don’t.” Frankie laughed and nodded.

“Florence Bell,” he started, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “Make my wildest dreams come true and be my wife.”

“That isn’t a question,” she grinned. “But yes. In this life and every life, yes.”

After a warm evening spent inside Frankie’s cottage, her dress hung out to dry overnight, Frankie bid Florence a temporary goodbye, watching as she walked back to her family’s home in the morning mist and dew to face the reality of her situation while he handled his own and packed the last of his things to prepare for a quick evacuation to the port.

A few hours had passed since she left, and now that the birds had begun to chirp, he knew that the rest of the house would be awake and making their way down for breakfast. He changed into his usual clothes today, vowing to never dress up in that costume again, and started towards the back of the house where the kitchen and servant’s entry was, hoping to bypass Elizabeth and Thomas so that he could find Poppy and explain his situation, apologize for the torment his own pain caused her, and then leave her.

When he arrived at the kitchen, the head cook and her red-headed daughter that had fawned over Frankie last winter were standing at the stove, not even glancing at him. He was thankful for their ignorance, the thought of another confrontation draining him of all of his energy. He found Poppy soon after in the main dining room sitting at a table with most of the family, Elizabeth and Thomas the only noticeable absences besides Florence.

“Mr. Morales!” Joseph Bell chimed, a gleeful look on his face as he sat at the head of the table, his fork loaded with a fat sausage. “Come, sit. We have a plate waiting for you.”

“I’m afraid I must decline,” he said, his eyes glancing at Poppy as she sat gossiping with Anna. “Poppy, can I have a moment with you in the garden?”

“Unchaperoned?” Benjamin teased with feigned disgust.

“Of course,” Poppy said, setting the napkin in her lap on the table before scooting out of her chair and following Frankie out through the kitchen to the garden where he took a seat on a wicker bench. “Is everything alright?”

Frankie swallowed his nerves and shook his head, his eyes fixed on the wet grass beneath his feet as he couldn’t muster the courage to meet hers.

“I…want to start off by saying that none of this was ever my intention,” he said, not seeing the immediate drop of her smile. “I thought I could move on and start a life with you, forget about the person who…who I truly love and long to spend the rest of my days with, but…I can’t.”

“What are you talking about?” Frankie turned to face her, regret and sorrow written all over his face.

“I’m in love with Florence,” he said. “I feel as though I always have been, even before we ever met. This world and her parents forced us apart, but…last night--”

Poppy sighed, shaking her head as she turned to look into the distance.

“You weren’t sick,” she said. “You were only lying to sneak away with an engaged woman? While I sat worrying over your health?”

“I am truly sorry, Poppy,” he said earnestly. “I had no intentions of seeing her, but I found her outside of my cottage and--”

“All thoughts and care of your fiance vanished?” she spat, standing up. “Save your apologies and explanations. I do not care to know what happened or why, I only care that minutes ago I was happy and in love and set to marry a man I thought was good and kind and honorable, but you are none of those things. You are cruel and selfish, just as Florence is. Both of you chose lust over honor and are shattering hearts you do not plan to mend. I cannot say you aren’t fit for each other, because it seems you are a perfect fit. Two irresponsible, heartless souls who only care about yourselves.”

“Poppy, I truly--”

“I wish to never see your face again,” she said, taking off the ring he gave her and throwing it at him before storming back into the house, leaving him to stew in the reality of the hurt he caused. The hurt that still felt worth it for what he got.

Perhaps he was everything she said and more, or perhaps he’s simply a man in love, unable to curb all of its demands.

It was hardly dawn when Florence snuck her way into her home, finding her mother and father pacing in his study still dressed in their pajamas.

“Florence?” her mother called, stomping out of the room to her daughter who stood frozen in just her slip and Frankie’s overcoat in the foyer. “You stupid, selfish, insolent child. I cannot believe you come from my loins, I cannot fathom where you find your nerve--”

“I do not care what you think of me,” Florence said. “You have always held me to a standard I would never reach. You expect me to be you, to live exactly how you’ve lived and to do as you’ve done, but I hate you. I resent you. I do not want to be you.”

“You’re ruining your future,” her father chimed in. “Have you thought for a moment about Javier?”

“He’s all I’ve thought about for the last year!” she bellowed. “I’ve thought and thought and hoped and sacrificed, but the truth is that he and I are far better off without each other than we’d ever be together. He wants a different life than I want. He…he is better off chasing that life than settling for a woman that grows colder and crueler with each passing day. I love him enough to want better for him, and I love myself enough to want better for me.”

“You’re going to regret this when you’re my age,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head at the ceiling.

“I don’t think I will,” Florence sighed. “I know I’m making the right choice, and when I tell Javi, I know he will agree.”

“I--” Elizabeth was stunned into silence, her head shaking as she met her daughter’s eyes. “You are no child of mine. I want you out of this house by the end of the day. Take your gardener with you.”

“They can come with me,” Joseph said from the staircase, making his way down in his robe, a pipe in his mouth. “If you do not want them, I do.”

“This isn’t a matter that concerns you,” Thomas said, pointing his piercing glare at his brother.

“It wasn’t, no. But the minute your wife disowned your own child, your eldest daughter, it became my duty to care for her as my own. She is my family and deserves a home, whatever home she chooses to create with whomever she wants to create it with,” he said, turning his eyes to Florence. “Florence, my dear, we can leave this evening.”

Running into his arms, she hugged him tight and whispered, thank you.

“Now go on and get dressed, I will accompany you to Lord Gutierrez’s estate.”

Florence wasted no time in hurrying to get dressed, knowing that it did not truly matter what effort she put into her appearance for this meeting. Her gown was the last thing Javi would be thinking about.

It was a thirty-minute ride from her family’s estate to Javi’s, and the entire way, her uncle offered his support and advice.

“Just tell the truth, not about what has happened with you and Mr. Morales, but about how you are feeling. He already knows where your heart lies, but he does not yet know how you feel about him.”

When they finally arrived, Florence’s stomach was twisted in knots as she saw Javi sitting on the steps of his front door, his hands clasped as he watched the carriage come to a stop.

“I’ll be waiting here for you,” Joseph said, patting her shoulder.

Florence stepped out of the carriage with the help of the footman and kept her eyes locked on Javi’s as she closed the distance between them, the realization that this was the most eye contact they’d shared in the last two days dawning on her.

“Hello,” she started meekly.

“You’ve come to give me my ring back,” Javi said simply, resolution written in his brown eyes.

“I have,” she confessed softly, slipping the ring off her finger and handing it to him.

“I understand,” he said, his eyes locked on the piece of gold in his palm. “You love him.”

“I do,” she nodded, her eyes round with sympathy. “And I love you too. Enough to stop us from making the worst mistake of our lives.”

“I know,” he whispered, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “I never would have found the courage to do it myself, so…I do thank you.”

“You know I never intended for any of this to happen,” she said, taking a seat beside him. “Everything I said and felt for you was genuine, it just wasn’t--”

“Enough,” he completed her thought. “I knew the entire time, I just…committed myself to the idea of spending my life with the first person I truly connected with. I didn’t stop to think about whether or not it was realistic.”

“You have so much life left to live, Javi,” she said earnestly, reaching for his hand. “You will love and live and experience so much more without me beside you dampening your light. Please, go out and live. Do not listen to your father, do not worry about pleasing anyone. Love whoever you want because life is too short to settle for normalcy when you are not normal. You are exceptional.”

Javi smiled weakly and nodded.

“I hope he treats you as good as you deserve,” he said. “And I hope our paths cross again so that I can see it in your eyes as I do right now.”

“I wish for that too,” she smiled and squeezed his hand.

“How has your mother taken the news?”

“She disowned me,” Florence chuckled. “But that’s alright. I never wished to be owned in the first place.”

Javi laughed too and nodded. “No, you didn’t.”

After a tight hug and a farewell, Florence climbed back into her carriage and sighed in relief.

“Are you alright?” Joseph asked, surprised when she smiled and nodded.

“I’m more alright than I have ever been.”