#imagine going to a different country and falling in love with a handsome stranger

[drrav3nb]

SUMMERTIME (1955) (dir. David Lean)

I was thinking of the first evening I came here. First time I saw you, you were wearing that yellow tie. I don't want to forget any of it. Not a single moment. I don't think I ever shall.

[mabelstone]

Handsome Stranger

matt stone x reader

summary: where reader falls in love with the stranger in the apartment building across from her; part one.

word count: 1045

note: this is gonna be a softer fic but knowing me will probably spice up eventually. i've had this idea for soooo long but i'm not sure how everyone else will like it so please give me your feedback! <3

also surprise i'm australian so i made the character too... u can just ignore this and pretend she's from wherever you're from :)) so your version doesn't HAVE to be australian, she could have lived there briefly? its not that deep enjoy use your imagination

You'd only just moved to Brooklyn from Australia two months ago. The change was daunting and you were struggling to find your footing in such a new place. Though it'd always been a dream of yours to move to New York, you were still feeling out of place and the home sickness was starting to creep up. You'd heard it takes three months for the homesick feeling to flee, so your goal was to hold out just that little bit longer and try to enjoy the experience.

Coming from a small country town, the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple outside your window evoked a strange sense of comfort for you. You never truly felt alone, even though you were 10,000 miles (you'd had to learn the difference between kilometres and miles) from your friends and family. You'd often sit on your windowsill, as your apartment had no balcony, and watch all the pretty lights, and the cars, and hundreds and hundreds of people who occupied the streets. And more often than you'd like to admit, your eyes would wander to the handsome man in the apartment opposite yours. Your buildings were relatively close to one another, and it was safe to assume he also liked to enjoy the city life from afar. His eyes would often wander to your window as well.

Although you'd never shared a word, he'd become a huge comfort for you, almost a part of your nighttime routine. You'd get home from work around five, shower, play music or watch tv while you made some simple dinner, and then your favourite part; sit by your windowsill with a glass of red and admire your new life. Sometimes you'd read, sometimes you'd catch up on work emails. Most the time, you watched the handsome man in the other building smoke his nightly cigarette. Your buildings were quite high from the bright streets with just enough moonlight that you could just make out each others' faces.

Each night you'd watch the orange light illuminate his face, revealing the deep contours of his sharp bone structure. He'd lean his elbows on the windowsill, enjoying the autumn breeze as much as you, who sat with your back to the right side of the wall with your legs out in front of you, giving you the perfect view of the handsome stranger.

You wondered what kind of person he was. You believed you could tell a lot about a person from their apartment. From what you could see, he was relatively tidy and maybe a minimalistic, a single tall lamp responsible for the warm glow in his space. He wore button up tops and dress pants everyday, making you all the more curious about this man.

Each night after your shared glances and appreciation for the chaos below your buildings, he'd send a wave your way, and you'd always reciprocate, smiling ear to ear. You'd take that as your cue to close the blinds and get into bed.

You nearly missed it, but tonight he didn't wave. Instead, he gestured to himself, then you, then down to the ground. You cocked your head, raising your arms with a laugh he couldn't hear as a means to say "what?" He threw his head back dramatically, repeating his gestures slower and more exaggerated this time. "Oh, you wanna go down there?" You shouted across to him, hearing a faint, echoey, "what?" in return. You laughed again, shaking your head. You mirrored his own gesture back to him, earning yourself an eager nod and a thumbs up from the stranger. You chuckled to yourself as you watched him disappear back into his apartment, your heart racing as you comprehended what you just agreed to.

Only clad in silk pyjamas and slippers, you quickly grabbed your phone and keys and made your way to the elevator. You blood was buzzing through your veins like electricity at the thought of finally getting to hear his voice, to properly see his features in light.

Your heard thrummed in your ears as your elevator reached ground level, and suddenly you didn't want to meet the handsome stranger anymore. Your hands started sweating and you felt sick. You cursed your legs for dragging you out of your warm building and out onto the busy street, a little embarrassed that you were in your pyjamas. Just as you were about to back out, your eyes landed on him, and as if you were in a cliché movie scene, it all suddenly felt fine.

"Hey," he smiled breathlessly, towering over you, the sweetest tooth gap on display.

"Hello," you smiled equally as big, unable to control the blush that wildly painted your cheeks. "I'm Y/N."

"I'm Matt, pleasure to finally meet you." He stuck his hand out for you to shake, ripping a nervous giggle from you. You shook his hand back, still struggling to comprehend the situation.

"Likewise," you blushed even deeper, if possible. He was massive. So tall, broad shoulders. So incredibly masculine, yet the two words you would use to describe him would be handsome or... pretty.

"I'm kind of embarrassed to be out here in my pyjamas," you quietly spoke, moving in close so only he could hear. Your knees nearly gave out when he craned his neck down to hear you better. "I know we just met, but would you like to come up to my apartment?"

Although the words sounded suggestive, neither of you even thought of the invitation in a sexual way. It was like catching up with an old friend. In the elevator, you both pointed out the elephant(s) in the room. His height, your accent. He made fun of the way you said certain words, but you could tell he liked it by the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, and the way his tongue got stuck between his teeth when he'd laugh particularly hard. He was funny. You really liked him. Although you'd just met him, his presence was warm and somewhat felt like home. You couldn't believe the pathetic words that plagued your brain like a teenagers diary. But after he left your apartment at 4am, your stupid heart continued to pang against your ribcage, and your stupid mouth couldn't stop smiling.

pls send asks with ideas, i'd love to have you guys involved xx and if this is boring PLEASE tell me thx

[purplesong1028]

Of Men and Games

Chapter 1: A New Game

To a lot of people in their country, Fernando Mateo Gomez is the perfect poster boy, but to Cali or any other cartel, this is the worst kind of politician to strike a deal with. The reason is simple: they don’t need anything.

Rating: General Audience

Paring: Pacho/Male OC

Words: 2,175

“My partner will be here soon.” Pacho turns to the man walking besides him along the horse ranch. “I have to say, we didn’t expect you to be half an hour early, Señor Gomez.”

“Please, call me Fernando.” The young politician takes off his sunglasses, squinting a little under the sunlight, but it doesn’t make his smile any less brighter. “The state council meeting ended early, and I just couldn’t wait for another second to get the hell out of there, you know?”

“I could imagine.” Pacho stops in front of a tall, light brown mare, gently running his fingers along her smooth hair. “But in that case, I’m afraid you just walked yourself right into another meeting.”

“Ah that’s fine, completely different kind of meeting.” Fernando observes the beautiful horse from the side, eyes sparkling with sheer appreciation. “Hey wait…isn’t she the champion from three years ago? Catalina! Sí?”

“Sí, Catalina. She won her last trophy three years ago before she retired.”

“I’m glad she found such a nice new home.” Fernando smiles fondly as he looks around the ranch where several other horses are running around on vast green. “I love horses, always had a soft spot for them.”

They fall silent as the guest seemingly lost himself in the scene, and for a moment, Pacho starts to suspect if this is the politician’s way of hinting he wants a horse from him, which sure as hell isn’t happening.

“My bad, I got distracted.” Before he could think deeper, Fernando snaps himself out of it, laughing apologetically. “It’s just been a while since I last saw my own horses back at home.”

“No worries, you’re welcomed to pet any of them if you want.” Pacho puts on his standard polite smile, gesturing one of the equestrians to come over.

“No, it’s ok. I get it. They’re not dogs, not all of them like strangers.” Fernando gestures to stop the equestrian, and nods at the little pavilion in front of them, where several waiters are setting up the table. “I assume that’s where we’re going?”

“After you.”

***

Once they settle down, Pacho takes a good look at the young governor for the first time. He’s no stranger to that handsome face, since it’s been all over the news for a few months now. Well-established family, Ivy League education, the youngest person to ever serve as a governor in the history of Colombia… To a lot of people in their country, Fernando Mateo Gomez is the perfect poster boy, but to Cali or any other cartel, this is the worst kind of politician to strike a deal with.

The reason is simple: they don’t need anything; not money, not votes, not women, and in most cases, they don’t even have enemies they can’t take care of by themselves. There’s no reason for them to risk what they already have by associating themselves with drug trades. Therefore, when Fernando took office as the new governor of a state where Cali owns multiple ports, Gilberto made it quite clear that the first priority was to ensure their deal with the old governor would stay. Usually, the most efficient way to get someone’s cooperation is through blackmailing, which they had Jorge working on immediately. However, before they found anything substantial, to their surprise, the new governor was the first one to reach out.

“I believe your organization has some unfinished business with my predecessor.” He sounded polite and curious over the phone, even a bit excited for some reason. “I thinks it would be the best for us to meet and discuss in detail.”

***

So here they are, sitting across from each other, with two glasses of wine and a very exquisite cheese platter in between.

Fernando glances at the empty chair next to them, “I assume you’d want to wait for your partner before we start talking business?”

“We won’t draw any conclusion before everyone’s here, but feel free to talk to me.”

Pacho takes a grape from the cheese platter and puts it into his mouth, something completely mundane and unimportant. But at that exact moment, although it only lasted for a split second, his guest was absolutely following his movements with an intense gaze, from fingertips to lips.

“That’s ok. It’s nice to take a break and enjoy the view.” Fernando quickly shifts his focus to something behind Pacho, could be another horse, or it could be the clear blue sky.

Pacho tries his best to hide a smile. Well…who would have thought? What a surprisingly interesting turn of events.

“The view?”

Fernando raises the wine glass, and looks directly into his eyes with striking candidness and determination, like a soldier charging into the battle field with full force after a minor setback. “Well, I have to admit, everything so far has been…very pleasant.”

Pacho gives a thoughtful look to the glass waiting to be clicked, but leaves it hanging midair, for now. “Pleasant? How come?”

“Well, about two weeks ago I was invited to this party with a few other governors and congressmen.” Fernando brings his glass back and takes a sip, doesn’t seem to be bothered at all by the rejection. “It was hosted by Pablo Escobar, and man…what a fucking disaster.”

“Are you seriously telling me…” Pacho cross his hands and leans forward with a firm stare, “that you’re also Pablo Escobar’s valued guest?”

“No, I’m telling you I did not like his party, or the purpose of that party.” Fernando’s keeping his voice calm, but his nervousness is showing from the way his tightens his grasp on the wine glass. “I assume it’s not a secret to you that he’s planning to run for office.”

“Why do you not like that?” Pacho makes an open-armed gesture toward their surroundings. “I assume it’s not because you have a problem with what he does.”

“No, I’m not someone like Galán, as admirable as that would be.” He drinks a large gulp of wine, “Look, the way I see it, he’s trying to play a completely new game with the same rules in his old game, and that can’t possibly end well.”

“And why do you care if it ends well for him or not?”

“Because it’s not just for him. If he keeps going at it…” The politician takes a deep breath before giving the closing line of his argument. Pacho has seen him doing that so many times on TV, that it’s almost a bit funny seeing it in real life.

“There’s a chance that, he might ruin both games.”

With that, Fernando simply stops talking and locks their eyes across the table, with layers of complicated emotions flashing across his dark pupils. Now that is something Pacho’s never seen before, so he takes his sweet time studying it: it’s vulnerable in a way, but not weak, hopeful yet reserved.

It’s an honest look, and a very endearing one.

***

Pacho smiles and raises his glass, mimicking what his lovely guest did earlier. “That was hell of an answer.”

Fernando immediately laughs out, not trying to hide the fact that he was holding his breath. “Well, I’m very happy it all worked out.”

“No, not so fast,” Pacho refills both their glasses, “you still haven’t answered my first question.”

“What was that?”

“What I asked, was how is this pleasant to you, before we got distracted with the whole Escobar issue.”

“Oh that!” Fernando takes a few seconds to swallow a piece of gruyere cheese. “Well, when I mentioned Escobar, I was trying to say his party was loud and obnoxious. There was a freaking monkey drinking tequila, and a bunch of women in swimsuits.”

Pacho hides his smirk behind the glass, the wine tasting even sweeter now with the sight in front of him. “I assume that’s not your type of scene.”

“No. I prefer this type of scene a lot more.” Fernando raises his eyebrows, and flashes him a cheeky smile. “Hope it’s ok for me to say this, but I’ve seen your pictures on newspapers, and they really don’t do you justice.”

Pacho regards his handsome guest with a smooth, intentional stare: his meticulously styled dark hair, full lips that always curve up, long fingers tapping on the wine glass…

“Maybe the newspaper should hire your photographers. They seem to do you justice pretty well.”

“You know, I might not know what you looked like before, but I’ve heard stories about you.” Fernando tilts his head slightly to the side, as if he’s thinking back to the stories right now. “Quite a lot, actually.”

Pacho smiles, holding Fernando’s suggestive gaze with a teasing one. Politicians…doesn’t matter how smart they are, or the fact that they have a bright smile, and eyes like obsidians, their tricks are always old-fashioned.

“All good stories, I suppose?”

“Not good or bad, for that matter. Just interesting.”

“Even better.” Pacho leans forward, just slightly, barely a hint. “No one likes boring.”

“That’s right. This is the least boring 20 minutes I’ve ever spent with anyone.”

***

Fernando traces the edge of his glass, carefully wiping away a drop of wine. The scarlet liquid rests delicately on his fingertip, before flowing down the smooth skin on his palm.

Pacho licks his lip.

“Do you know what game you’re playing?”

“I’m just getting started in the game. I’ve got time to figure it out.” Fernando covers his hand with a napkin, wiping it clean.

“Everyone believes that.” Pacho suddenly reaches over to press his own hand on the napkin, closing his fingers tightly around Fernando’s wrist. “But you should be careful, my friend, sometimes our time runs out before we realize.”

“My apologies, have I offended you in any way?” There’s caution in his voice, but not the tiniest sense of fear, his pulse slightly elevated under Pacho’s grasp. “Because that sounds like a threat.”

“If I were to threaten you, you wouldn’t need to ask for confirmation.” Pacho chuckles with genuine amusement, loosening his grip to let the napkin fall down. “So no, it’s just a well-intended warning. You are awfully open for a politician.”

“What can I say? I like straightforwardness.” Fernando gently brushes his fingertips along the back of Pacho’s hand. “But I’m never open to wrong people, about wrong things.”

“Then answer me this, and I’m only going to ask you once.” Pacho takes his hand and gently presses it down on the table.

***

“Why are you here?”

Fernando looks down at their folded hands, and then, for the first time, looks to the side to avoid Pacho’s gaze, like he’s finding the right words to say. But Pacho’s not in a rush, because this is finally getting to the good part, the part he’s been wondering ever since he received that call from the young governor, the part that even Gilberto couldn’t figure out prior to this meeting.

“Up until now, I’ve been playing a game that I’m supposed to…expected to play.”

“You mean your family.”

“Yeah, it’s not a game, really, more like a script, already written on the day I was born.”

“But I want to change that.” Fernando finishes half of his glass in one go, like he’s drinking some hard liquor instead of wine. “It’s not about money, and I’m not looking for a favor, at least not for now, but I want my own game.”

The young politician meets his eyes with unprecedented excitement and raw ambition, “So I would really appreciate a friend like you.”

“A friend like me, and this so-called game, isn’t what you imagined.” Pacho scoffs and shakes his head; in a way, this almost feels anticlimactic, just some spoiled rich boy going through his much-delayed rebellious phase. “Be careful what you wish for, before you waste my time.”

“I understand why you see it that way, but here’s the thing.” Fernando tries to move his hand under Pacho’s, and when he fails to do that, he places his other hand on top, so now both of his hands are on the table. “I might not be what you imagined, and I think you should give me a chance to prove that.”

“And if you fail to prove it?”

“Well…” Fernando bites his lip, fingertips drawing little patterns on the back of Pacho’s hand, but his voice is serious and determined. “Then I guess it’s up to you.”

“Very well,” Pacho retrieves his hand, looking at the sky where a helicopter is approaching, “then I suppose my partner will be very happy with the good news.”

Fernando takes the chance to lean closer, raising his voice. “That’s great! But too bad we don’t have more time alone here, right?”

Pacho fixes his lips with a stare, but doesn’t move one inch, “If you’re as honest as you claim to be, this won’t be the last time you see me.”

“I’d like that, Señor Herrera.”

“Please,” Pacho sits back straight as Gilberto walks toward them, “Call me Pacho.”

@ashlingnarcos @yourlocalspacewitxch @mandaloria314 @cherixrosa @cositapreciosa @criatividad-e @narcolini @kesskirata @cheesybadgers @marrianena

[sehunniepotwrites]

sakura kiss | n.yt

PART III OF FOR YOU IN FULL BLOOM: THE HANAHAKI COLLECTION

🌸 synopsis—the four times you noticed yuta’s love for flowers and the one time you realized it was not the flowers he was in love with

🌸 genre—  would you be so kind? universe ; hanahaki!au, university!au, flower shop!au, angst, romance, slight fluff, mutual pining, strangers to lovers!au 🌸 pairing— art student/florist!yuta x art student!reader (f) 🌸 word count— 9000+

🌸 warnings — cursing; mentions of coughing, vomiting, hospital visits, death (no one dies!!), two idiots in love

🌸 author’s note—so i finished a fic with my favorite trope in time for my birthday today (dec 11th) and i’m posting to celebrate! it all started with this tweet that said yuta used to work at a flower shop and enjoyed drawing the plants during his free time! 

this was a fun write and it takes place in the same verse as wybsk, which is linked above! you can read sakura kiss as a stand alone or after wybsk to get a better understanding of two scenes! to those you came from my mark fic, i gave yn a name (kira)!

but here she is! enjoy and be sure to tell me what you think!! i love feedback uwu

Nakamoto Yuta, you noticed, was an unusual fellow. He was your senior in the art department, a fourth-year preparing for his graduation while you were a couple of semesters behind him. Other than his small circle of friends, the foreign exchange student kept to himself, burying his handsome face in his sketchbook. You had classes together before but those were large lectures with over fifty students in the room— this was the first time you shared a small studio lab with him.

Barely interacting with him in the past, you were determined to change that no matter how intimidating Yuta was.

Were you intimidated by his extremely good looks or his unmatched talents in the fine arts? Both. Definitely both. He turned heads without fail and when he smiled, oh my god, you thought he was the sun. Yuta was pretty, beyond pretty even, with his striking face, brown eyes, and perfect body proportions. 

To add on top of his perfection, his art style was immaculate. The artist never failed to steal your breath away with a couple of strokes and a swipe of his blessed hand. Anything he touched turned to gold. Never sharing those thoughts with him in the past, you made a firm decision to tell your senior this coming semester.

Yuta sat at the easel next to you, barely two feet away from your station. His sketchbook and drawing utensils were already splayed out on the holder. He was fiddling with his phone to pass the time, his painted nails rapidly hitting his touchscreen. How did Yuta make something so mundane as checking his phone look so ethereal? The inner most thoughts in your head cursed whatever beings lived in the beyond for not endowing you with such looks. 

You gulped, gathering up the courage to talk to him. “Hey,” you greeted shyly. 

Hey? That was the best you could do?

Yuta turned towards you, gaze shifting away from his phone. “Hey,” he said back with a slight curve of the lip. 

“I don’t know if you remember me but we had a couple of classes together last semester,” you forced yourself to say with an awkward smile.

He grinned and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, almost like he was holding back a laugh. “Yeah, no, of course, I remember you.” Your name slips from his mouth, causing your awkward smile to turn into a genuine one. His tone is kind and his voice is low, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried your best to keep the conversation going, wanting to finally compliment him on his work but your professor entered the room and called for everyone’s attention. He handed out the syllabus to a student upfront and around the papers went, signifying the start of your first class. Yuta shot you an apologetic look, conveying that you could always continue the conversation later. 

The overview of the course’s syllabus was always the boring part of the first days. Your eyes glazed over, still not fully awake from rising early, and you tried to shake the sleepiness away. Stealing a glance at Yuta, you almost laughed at how his easel was angled in a way to hide that he wasn’t paying any attention. His syllabus outline was discarded off to the side and Yuta’s hands were moving rapidly, sketching out a large tree in full bloom in a page of his notebook.

It looked like flower petals raining from the branches and a person leaning against the tree trunk, hiding underneath the shade. His sketching speed and quality amazed you— how exactly did he sketch that fast and that beautifully?

You made sure your professor wasn’t looking in your direction before nudging Yuta’s side to grab his attention. He snapped out of his drawing daze and turned to you with widened eyes. A red seeped into his ears and pale cheeks, but you missed it completely, eyes zoned in on his quick draw.

“Hm?”

“That’s really good,” you whispered.

He rubbed the back of his neck at your compliment. “It’s just a quick sketch,” Yuta tried to play it off. He was never one to take compliments so well.

You leaned over to get a closer look. Noticing you almost falling off your stool, Yuta shifted his easel slightly closer to yours. “Is that a cherry blossom tree?”

He nodded, “Yeah, they’ve been on my mind a lot.”

“Do they remind you of home?” you asked. You couldn’t imagine being an exchange student in a foreign country— you would miss home too much.

“Yeah but that’s not really the reason why I’m drawing them,” he replied. His eyes shifted to a look of pain or discomfort as if he was reminded of a scarring memory. You watched him closely to make sure he was okay. He cleared his throat before letting out a couple of concealed coughs, face digging into his shoulder. 

“You alright, Nakamoto?” You were too embarrassed to call him by his first name.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a little cough.” Yuta gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “And you can just call me Yuta, you know?”

“Right, noted,” the name felt so foreign on your tongue. 

“I have cough drops in my bag if you want some,” you offered, already reaching down to grab your backpack. He quickly dismissed you, telling you it wasn’t necessary. 

Continuing to watch him sketch, you admired the way Yuta fussed over the smallest details— the lining, the shading, etc. It was nothing more than a simple sketch but if it was gifted to you, it would be framed and hung for the world to see. 

He really was an artistic genius. 

“Cherry blossoms are my favorite flowers,” you said.

You were too absorbed in his drawing to hear him mutter, “I know.”

“You say something?” 

Yuta cleared his throat again with a pained expression. His hand held his neck for a second before shaking his head. “I said, they used to be mine too.”

Huh, you never really picked him as the flower loving type. 

—🌸—

This was the third time Nakamoto Yuta had flowers growing in his chest and he hated it. 

It was less painful the first two times around, probably because they were nothing more than fleeting crushes. He was in high school then, wholly infatuated with two different students during those years. Yuta followed them around like a lovesick puppy, all smiles and waiting on their hands and feet. He coughed a couple of petals out and it caused some uneasiness, but after being rejected harshly, Yuta pushed himself to move on. 

The pain of high school rejection could never compare to the dull ache he was feeling as he looked at you. There you were, the person he secretly admired for the past two semesters, merely two feet away at your own easel. 

You looked so in your element, eyebrows knitted and pencil in hand as you sketched away. A sight so captivating, Yuta almost forgot to breathe. Being an artist himself, he wanted to preserve that image on a canvas but he didn’t think his hand could do you justice. No pencil sketch, no painted canvas, no marble or clay sculpture could even compare to you. 

This was more than puppy love. More than infatuation. Yuta was sure of it but how was he to let you know? You barely knew each other and a confession out of nowhere wouldn’t be the best way to get acquainted. 

Perhaps another time, he thought to himself, before turning back to his sketch. 

You would’ve never guessed that Yuta Nakamoto had a thing for flowers but he did.

Then again, you didn’t really know what he had a thing for to begin with— your friendship just started to bloom. It was like a bud barely opening under the sunlight; with each interaction, there was something new you learned about the quiet yet charismatic art major. 

You knew he was a Japanese exchange student that majored in art, that was a given. You recently learned he loved cherry blossoms and that watercolor was his favorite art medium yet you still wanted to learn more. 

The first time you ran into him outside of class was in the university library. Yuta sat at one of the tables, his space surrounded by books on flowers. There were books on the language, arrangements, and gardening tips. His face was deep into his sketchbook once again, back bent over the desk but his focused eyes darted back and forth between his drawing and his page of reference. 

Yuta didn’t even notice as you hovered over him, debating on whether you should say hi. Even with your shadow casting over his body, his deep concentration never faltered. 

His page was filled with various plants and flowers, little notes in a messy scrawl right under their pictures. He was currently drawing cherry blossoms, the page he was referring to showcasing the anatomy of the famous flower.

“Cherry blossoms again, Yuta?” you broke the silence.

Your voice startled him, causing his pencil to slip from the artist’s grip. It made an accidental mark and you whispered an apology as he clicked his tongue. 

“Don’t worry about it, nothing an eraser can’t fix,” Yuta reassured you as he rid his paper of the unwanted mark. He blew the eraser bits of his page, hand sweeping his surface clean. He offered you the seat next to him and you gladly took it.

“So, why are you always sketching flowers?” you posed as your hand gestured to all the books he had on his person. 

“They’re beautiful, don’t you think?” he answered with another question. He gave you a cheeky little grin, his lips widening to show off his beautiful pearly whites.

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s a shame they die so easily,” Yuta said, fingers running over his sketches. “Beautiful but fleeting.”

“But that’s life, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is.”

You hummed at his answer. “You’re really passionate about flowers, aren’t you?” 

“Something like that. I actually work at a flower shop nearby, maybe you’ve seen it?” Yuta fiddled with the front pocket of his backpack to pull out a business card. “I like learning about the meanings to help the customers in the shop, amongst other things.”

You took the card from his grip, examining it. For You in Full Bloom was printed largely on the thin piece of cardboard. Staring at the name, you wondered why it sounded so familiar until it hit you.

“Oh, I pass by it everyday while walking to campus! I live two blocks away from the shop.” Your smile grew wider and he smiled back for a second before his face contorted into one that conveyed pain.

Yuta turned away from you to cough into his hand, his free one hastily digging into his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief and began to cough into that. Shocked by his sudden sick fit, you quickly patted him on the back, hoping it would help him hack out whatever was lodged in his throat.

You saw him peek into the small square of fabric and wince at whatever it caught. He cleared his throat before turning back to you. “Sorry,” Yuta muttered, rubbing the front of his neck to soothe it. Placing a cough drop in his hand, he took it without complaint and popped it in his mouth. The relieved sigh he let out made you feel slightly less worried. 

“You’re still sick?” you frowned. “You should really get that checked out, you know?”

He waved you off, “It’s nothing serious, I swear. What were we talking about again?”

“Cherry blossoms?”

“Your favorite flower.”

“And yours,” you added.

He hummed, “And mine.” There was a solemn tone behind his words but before you could press on the subject, he coughed again.

“Did you know that they’re also a symbol of renewal?”

Shaking your head, you urged your classmate to continue.

“Cherry blossoms hold the bittersweet meaning of life and death but they also bring the message of new beginnings.”

—🌸—

Yuta just wished when it came to you and him, the flowers meant the start of something new but no— instead, they just reminded him of the ache in his chest. 

They reminded Yuta of how alive he was but also how he was one step closer to his grave. 

Yes, you were merely classmates but he felt like he knew you solely from all the stories that were shared by your mutual friends in the art department. Ten and Taeyong sang praises on how thoughtful you were, always helping professors clean their studios after hours. Sicheng brought up how passionate you were about your major— Yuta himself bore witness to this many times during lectures and he wanted to know more about you. 

A lot of charm filled your figure and it was enchanting, it really wasn’t that hard for him to fall. 

Yuta fell for you much like the blossoms from the cherry trees. 

And just like the blossoms, his time was fleeting but you were so completely unaware.

You left the library first, having forgotten that you had office hours with a professor. He watched you leave, eyes fixed onto your back.

Someone once said that you become miserable if you love someone too much. Yuta believed that to be true. There was a pang in his chest, heart racing against his rib cage as a stronger nausea attack hit him. 

He gasped for air as his weakened stomach turned with sickness. Something was rising, working its way up his body. Yuta quickly slapped his hand over his lips as he hurled. Instead of bile, cherry blossom petals rained out of his mouth and into his palm.

He chuckled under his breath. Was it sad that he found beauty in his suffering? 

Yuta thought himself to be crazy as he quickly shoved away the pain to begin sketching the petals in his hand.

For You in Full Bloom— what a nice name, you thought to yourself as you entered the shop with your friend Sicheng right behind you. The light ringing of the bell attached to the front entrance alerted the people at the counter of your presence. You picked up on harsh whispers before the tall male worker rushed to the back, forcing the young girl to assist you.

“Hi, welcome in!” the girl smiled brightly at you. “How can I help you today?”

Before you could reply, Sicheng stepped forward to answer, “Kira, we’re looking for Yuta— is he here?”

“Oh, Sicheng, hey! I didn’t even see you,” Kira exclaimed. “He’s, uh, not here right now.” Kira shot Sicheng a frustrated look, eyes darting to the back. Your companion sighed, done with his friend’s stupidity. You missed the quiet interaction, being too preoccupied with your surroundings. 

“We’ll catch him another time then,” you answered her.

The small and quaint store was filled to the brim with flowers and your hands ghosted against the magnificent displays in the front window. The petals felt soft and the pleasing smells overwhelmed your senses in a good way. There was beauty all around you— there was no wonder why people loved visiting flower shops.

Various watercolor pieces were framed on the wall and you examined every artwork displayed. They were simple paintings of the plants that found a temporary home in the store. Some pieces were the flowers by themselves and others were of the many arrangements offered. They were vibrant, bright, and so incredibly detailed.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” she paused to ask for your name. You replied with a smile before turning back to take in the art. 

“The paintings are a nice touch,” you commented, finally turning to look at her. 

“Oh those? Yuta painted them,” Kira grinned, her body straightening up with pride. “He paints a lot when the shop is slow and my mom, the owner, loves to hang them up.”

“I should’ve known.” You took a closer look and spotted Yuta’s signature at the bottom of every picture.

“He’s very talented, isn’t he?” Kira hummed. Sicheng snorted for some unknown reason and you slapped his shoulder in response. There was nothing funny about Yuta’s skills and he knew that.

“Yeah, his skill is unmatched. I admire him for that.” 

“Have you ever told him that?”

“God, no!”

“Why not?” Kira pressed. Sicheng joined in on the pressing and you moaned, an embarrassing heat creeping up your face,

“I don’t know. We talk but I find him to be a little intimidating,” you leaned against Sicheng’s shoulder and looped your arm through his. “I can’t just go up to him and fangirl over his work, can I?”

“But you want to,” he groaned. “And I’m tired of hearing you go on about it. Just tell him.” 

A whine left your lips and you pinched your friend’s arm at the comment. He yelped and Kira just watched as the bickering continued. 

“Yuta looks intimidating, yeah, but it’s just his resting bitch face, I promise. He’s just a softie,” Kira laughed and Sicheng agreed. “You should definitely tell him. He would love hearing it, especially from you.”

There was this knowing smile on both of their lips and it just seemed like they knew something you didn’t. You tugged on Sicheng’s arm as an attempt to ask him the florist meant by the last bit of her sentence and he tried to shrug you away.  You just clung on tighter to your friend with a playful smile with Kira keeping a close eye on you.

You heard a cough come from the back of the store, causing both Sicheng and Kira to look up with concern. The coughing fit grew louder and louder, leaving Kira to excuse herself for a bit. 

“If the other florist is sick, they should be at home resting,” you tutted with a frown. 

“Some people are stubborn,” Sicheng threw back with a bit of distaste. Picking up on your friend’s bitterness, you wondered why he felt so strongly about it. You waved it off when a small display of sunflowers and red roses together captured your attention. Holding it in your hands, you admired how the two vibrant colors compliment each other.

Kira swung her way around the counter, “You like that bouquet?”

“It would be really pretty to paint,” you say, still spinning it around in awe. 

“Yuta put it together himself yesterday, he’s pretty good at arrangements,” the florist beamed.

“What can’t he do?” you scoffed.

“Apparently, open his mouth and say what he needs to say,” Sicheng muttered beside you. Kira elbowed his stomach and he lurched over in pain. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing,” Kira laughed nervously. She worked her way to you and gestured towards the flowers, “It’s yours, on the house.”

You rejected the offer right away. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” is what you reply, attempting to shove the arrangement into her hands. With a kind grin, she persisted for you to take it and just asked you to buy from them the next time you visited. “I’m sure Yuta would love it if you took this one off our hands.”

With a promise, you hesitantly accepted the bouquet. Sicheng was snickering in the background and you had to hold yourself back from whacking him with the flowers. Thinking you’d taken too much of the florist’s time, you quickly said your thanks and headed out the door with a coy Sicheng trailing behind you.

—🌸—

“They’re gone,” Kira yelled towards the back of the shop. Yuta made his way back to his spot at the cash register while wiping at his mouth with his uniform sleeve. He quickly pulled out his art supplies from underneath the counter, setting everything up to resume his painting. Taking a seat on the stool, his body was slumped over his makeshift desk as he messed with his pencils. 

His coworker rolled her eyes at him as she began to work on a bouquet of blue cornflowers and daisies— good fortune and new beginnings. Her nimble hands hastily worked their magic with ease as if she’s done it a million times before. Yuta observed her, quickly sketching her hands at work. 

“You’re ridiculous, I don’t get why you had to hide.” 

“I didn’t want her to see me like this,” Yuta said, his pained eyes covered by the long bangs that drooped down over his sketchbook. 

“Like what?” Her hands went to her hips. “Sick and hopelessly in love?”

“Yeah, let’s put it that way.”

“There’s a solution to this, you know,” Kira pressed with furrowed brows. “You don’t have to keep suffering.”

This. Hanahaki is what she meant— the disease of unrequited love.

“I’m fine, Kira,” Yuta hissed with a bit more annoyance than he intended to. She flinched at the tone but still pushed on when he coughed again. He felt the discomfort of something being lodged in his throat and his body had the urge to hack it out. Suddenly, he was leaning over the counter with cherry blossom petals littering the cash register. 

Yuta practically hacked up a storm, body curling in pain. One hand was clutching his stomach while the other had a death grip on the edge of the counter. The dizziness returned and he felt lightheaded as the retching subsided. A weakness took over his athletic body and Kira rushed to assist him back onto the stool. There was a bottle of soothing eucalyptus oil sitting right on the counter and she scrambled to open it before shoving it under his nose. 

“You’re obviously not fine. You need to go to the hospital to get checked,” she said as Yuta took the small bottle from her grip. He dabbed a couple of drops onto his hands and rubbed it on his nose and throat. “Why won’t you accept any help that’s offered to you at the hospital?”

“I’ve gone through this before, Kira. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sometimes you forget I’ve gone through this, too!” she yelled. “I don’t want you to end up on your deathbed like I was at one point.” 

Yuta couldn’t argue with that. He was hired back when she was in the hospital recovering from the final stage of the dreaded disease. 

“We’re all worried about you here. Mom, Jongin, Mark? And your friends— Sicheng, Ten, and Taeyong? We all hate seeing you like this!” her voice grew louder and louder with each word, causing him to flinch at the shrill tone. Deafening noises plus nausea and headaches never meshed well with him.

“You don’t see how much it hurts seeing someone you care about suffer like this, Yuta. It hurts even more when we can’t do anything to help you go through this.”

Silence filled the room.

“Have you seen Dr. Kim lately?” Dr. Junmyeon Kim was the Hanahaki specialist that Kira recommended. He eased her back into normalcy after her scare.

“I will soon, I promise,” he said through haggard breaths. She guided him through a couple of breathing exercises and it calmed his racing heart down. 

Kira sighed. With a quieter tone, she said, “It’s a shame the world made us experience heartbreak this way, isn’t it?”

Yuta smiled sadly at her— it was a shame.

The front door of the shop opened and the bell rang. They both turned to see Kira’s boyfriend Mark walk in with a cute grin. He clumsily hopped over the counter to plant a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Well, at least you got your happy ending,” he muttered too low for his coworker to hear. 

Yuta knew there was a chance of having it too, he was just too afraid to speak. 

If one were to look at him at that moment, his features hid nothing. Nakamoto Yuta was slowly ripping at the seams with the sakura branches poking their way out of his built figure and although multiple options were given to him, he still felt so unbelievably helpless.

It was the middle of the semester when you caught Yuta wandering the halls of the main art building. A grin found its way to your lips as you saw him with his messenger bag and a tubed container slung over his shoulder. Running to catch up with him, you slipped your arm into his free one. Your classmate yelped at the sudden contact and you let out a loud giggled that echoed in the empty hallway.

You finally felt close enough to initiate contact after sharing supplies with him during one studio session. That being said, it didn’t mean you were comfortable with revealing the feelings you harbored towards him— you wanted to keep that a secret for a little bit longer. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t have classes in here today,” you asked.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Yuta sighed. You felt your heart drop at his words but you played it off with a scrunch of the nose and a teasing tone. 

“Were you expecting someone else, Nakamoto?” you nudged his stomach and he avoided it, already predicting your actions. Yuta held back another series of coughs, quick turning away from you to cough into the handkerchief always kept on hand. He looked in pain as he continued to hack into the small piece of cloth and you brought a comforting hand to rub at his back.

“Every time I see you, you’re coughing,” you frowned. “You really need to get yourself checked, it’s been months.”

“No, no, I promise you I’m fine,” he replied with the shake of the head, his dark hair moving along with him. Even when ruffled and out of sorts, he looked good. He attempted to clear his throat by downing some water. 

Your lips pursed at his words, not satisfied with his dismissive answer. “If you say so. Promise me you’ll see someone if it gets worse though.”

He agreed but you suspected it was to stop you from nagging. “To answer your question before you went all mom on me, I was here to talk to the department about my senior project.”

“Have you decided on your theme for your exhibit yet?” 

Yuta smiled wistfully, “Flowers.” 

“Should’ve known— it’s always flowers with you. It’s like you’re in love with them or something.” 

He let out a scoff at your words. When you shot him a questioning look, he dismissed the act completely. 

Time spent with Yuta always passed so quickly; one moment you were on the top floor of the building and the next, you were already at the bottom of the staircase. Ever the gentleman, he held the front door open for you and you thanked him with a smile. His brown eyes shrunk into little slits and whiskers appeared at the corners as he grinned back with a little chuckle.

How you longed to sketch that image.

A strong breeze blew through, causing a couple of leaves and fallen petals to fly around your figures. You crossed your arms around your front to keep the cold from seeping in and shut your eyes to keep debris out. Peeking at Yuta, you saw him cover his eyes with a calloused hand and he gently pushed you behind him to use his body as a makeshift shield. As soon as the breeze stopped, his grip on your arm loosened but the grip he had on your heart was still as strong as ever.

He whirled around to make sure you were alright and next thing you knew, his hand was lingering above your head. “You have something in your hair, do you want me to take it out?” 

Yuta looked down at you with cautious eyes and you just noticed how close you were. Heat radiated off his body and your cheeks as you nod in approval. One dry hand moved to delicately clutch the side of your head as the other plucked a leaf out of your hair. 

Your breath hitched as his fingers ran against your skin and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. There was a sudden pounding in your ears that matched the drumming rhythm of your heart.

“There,” he whispered as he let you go. With a smile, Yuta added, “good as new and pretty as a picture.” 

“Pretty enough to paint?” you fired back with sarcasm.

“Definitely worthy of being displayed for the world to see,” he winked.

Was he flirting? It seemed like he was. 

Maybe, Sicheng was right— Yuta could have feelings for you. But it could also just be wishful thinking.

Were you flirting? Is this how flirting works? 

“Speaking of displays,” Yuta started nervously as he walked you to your car. He slowed down his walking pace and you easily matched it, your steps moving in time with his. The main walkway on campus was devoid of people, seeing how it was later in the school day. The path from the art building to the lot you parked in was short and you wished there was some way to extend it so you could spend more time with him.

“Will you, uh, come to my show?” he asked, his hand scratching the back of his head. His hair flopped with the wind and his unsure grin made him look so incredibly endearing. “I know it’s still too early to give you a set date but I’d love to see you there.”

“What? Of course I’ll come!” you said, stopping to slap his arm. 

He winced at the contact. “Ow?”

“I would’ve gone even if you didn’t ask me,” you proceeded on the path with a smile. “I have to go and support my friends.”

There was a coughing fit coming from behind you and you whirled around to see Yuta hacking into his handkerchief again. It looked more painful than the last attack he had a few minutes ago. His breathing was shallow and he clutched his chest as the coughs continued. 

“Oh my god, Yuta!” You were pretty sure you heard him gag as you rubbed his back. “Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital. You’re clearly not alright.”

He lifted a hand to tell you to stop. “No, no. I’m fine. I just—I gotta go,” was all he said with his hoarse voice before jolting away.

Staring at his strong back as grew smaller and smaller, you almost missed the fallen piece of cloth on the ground. Keyword: almost.

“Wait, Yuta!” you shouted, bending down to pick it up. “You dropped your hanke—” As soon as you lifted the handkerchief, perfectly preserved cherry blossom petals fell out of its hold. They rained towards the ground, decorating the sidewalk with the prettiest shade of pink.

Yuta was long forgotten. You were too lost in your confusion of the flowers. 

“Cherry blossoms?” you asked yourself. “They’re not in season yet.”

—🌸—

Yuta heard you calling for him but he refused to turn around. He pushed himself to keep running despite the tight pain in his chest. Pulling out his phone, he sent quick text messages to Sicheng and Kira with his location, asking them to stop by and help him. The disorientation hit faster this time, causing him to tumble into a bench. He gripped the iron lining as he hurled and for the first time, it was so painful that it brought tears to his eyes. His mouth trembled as he let out a cry.

Yuta tasted the bit of blood that poured out of his lips. 

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, Yuta ignored how the crimson stained the fabric. A butter chuckle escaped him. 

“Pink goes good with red,” he whispered to himself as another stinging pain made its way up his body. 

He felt the branches slowly poking his lungs, climbing a path up his chest. It was just as Kira described— it was piercing like a sharp arrow to the heart. The arrow pressed and pressed and pressed until he was exploding with petals, blood, sweat, and tears.  It was aimed to kill. He thought arrows to the heart were supposed to fill him with love, not a heart-wrenching pain that tempted him to rip the beating organ out of his chest.

This was all too much to bear.

The full flowers and the scratching of wood tickling his throat. 

The lack of oxygen and struggle for air.

He felt it all. He wished he didn’t. 

Yuta wished he was one of the people that found their soulmate with that ridiculous red string of fate tied to the end of his pinky. They were blessed with a lifetime of happiness while he was cursed with what felt like an eternity of agony that his weakening body could no longer withstand. 

Yuta knew you didn’t love him but he adored you anyway. 

This wasn’t a shoujo manga, Yuta knew that. This was real life. No one was going to kiss, kiss, fall in love with the blink of an eye.

Picking petals off of flowers wouldn’t solve his problem. He wished it did, though.

If only it was that easy.

The rest of the semester flew by quickly with midterms and mid-semester projects keeping you at bay. You barely saw Yuta, yet alone the rest of your friends, if not for your classes. All of you shared the same appearance: dark circles, eye bags, sunken cheeks, hunched backs, and glazed over eyes. Your group survived the weeks with a crazy amount of caffeine and not enough food.

 With the school year finally over and graduation season starting, that meant one thing for the college of fine arts at your university— exhibitions. The music and dance departments already had their concerts and showcases. Final showings of the theatre department’s newest production just wrapped up yesterday; the only thing left were the senior art exhibits.

Dressed to the nines and not at all like a struggling artist, you paced back and forth at the entrance of the student art gallery with a bouquet of irises in your hand. Sicheng, your emotional support for the day, stood as you walked the same path with annoyance. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint why you felt nervous— it wasn’t even your exhibit, it was Yuta’s. 

Ten and Taeyong wrapped up their exhibits the week prior; Yuta’s was the last one.

“Are you done freaking out? Can we go in now?” Sicheng cocked a brow at you with his phone in hand. “The others are already inside.”

Wringing your hands together, you took in a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do this.” 

Sicheng rolled his eyes before opening the doors to the gallery. Stepping inside, you were immediately welcomed by paper flowers of all sorts hanging from the ceiling and the quiet chatter of the gallery’s visitors. To the right, you saw a sign displaying the exhibit’s name: Efflorescence. A brief description of the exhibit was placed below it and you took the time to read it before stepping further in.

Snapshots of his life told through the appearance and language of flowers.

Ten and Taeyong, your seniors and close friends, were waiting for you off to the side. 

“Sorry for the wait, you guys.”

Sicheng grumbled, “Took her long enough to calm down.”

Ten laughed, “Were you nervous for him? You weren’t like this for our final exhibits.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Taeyong hushed the other two. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you close, “She’s nervous because this is her crush we’re talking about.”

“For heaven’s sake, say that any louder and he’ll hear you!” you screeched. The boys chuckled at your embarrassed state as you went ahead of them, ready to walk your way through the large room. From the corner of your eye, you saw Yuta smiling by the exit, surrounded by people singing praises about his work.

You weren’t in a rush— you wanted to take the time to appreciate every piece before talking to him about why he chose to display each work. Talking to the object of your affection could wait.

The first few paintings were of his childhood and the flowers that accompanied each scene all had similar meanings— innocence, purity, etc. You noticed that most of his paintings were done with watercolor, which made complete sense. 

It seemed like he was always prepared to paint something, brush and paint always at the ready. The genius basically carried his foldable watercolor palette and pad everywhere he went, not wanting to miss an opportunity to paint a beautiful picture if he were to pass by one. That was another thing you admire about him— Nakamoto Yuta saw beauty in everything.

Deeper into the gallery, you found more familiar scenes and faces. There was a landscape of the fine arts department, with daffodil petals scattered across the canvas and it was titled New Beginnings. You passed various portraits of your friends, their beauty rivaling that of their birth flowers that shared the same space. Marveling at how realistic his paintings looked, you made a note in your brain to relay that thought to the artist later. He captured the essence of each person perfectly in a painting, breathing life into it, and you honestly couldn’t understand how one could do that. 

Spotting Kira’s familiar face admiring a painting up ahead, you quickened your pace to catch up to her. Feeling the light tap you placed on her shoulder, she turned around with a surprised look that turned into a genuine smile upon seeing your face. She released her hold on her companion, a cute boy with doe eyes and bright smile, before giving you a hug. 

“You’re here!” she squealed. Taking notice of the flowers in your hand, she winked, “Irises, huh? Nice touch.” 

“I stopped by your shop beforehand looking for you and an older guy wrapped them up for me,” you smiled sheepishly. “Should’ve known you would be here and not working.”

“My brother, Jongin,” Kira said. “And of course, I wouldn't miss Yuta’s exhibit for the world. He’s done a lot for me and my family.” She shared a fond look with the boy next to her and he squeezed her hand in return.

“This is my boyfriend, Mark, by the way,” Kira gestured to the boy next to her. 

“Yo, nice to meet you, dude,” Mark extended his arm out towards you and you gladly took in your hands to give it a shake. You laughed at his casual greeting; it was charming. 

“Back at you, dude,” you giggled back. 

Turning to take a peek at the picture they were admiring, you couldn’t help but break out into a wide grin. It was the two of them with the flower shop as their background. Yuta had painted Kira seated on top on the counter, eyes closed with glee and hands clutching a small bouquet of blue flowers. Mark, on the other hand, leaned towards her with fingers gripping the table top and looking at her with a loving smile. 

You could feel the love pouring out of it and it warmed your lonely heart. “Wow,” you whispered.

Kira leaned her head on Mark’s shoulder and he placed a tiny kiss to her temple. “I’m buying it from him once this is all over,” she said.

Knowing each flower played a part in Yuta’s paintings, you tried to distinguish what flowers she clutched in her hand. “They’re cornflowers,” Mark answered the question that lingered in your head.

“Why cornflowers?”

“Oh those things put us through a lot— a little pain sprinkled in with their beauty,” Kira smiled, leaving Mark to chuckle lovingly at her comment. It felt like a secret between the two of them and you were invading in their space. “They were what got us together in the first place.”

Her  sentence made you cock a brow. How could flowers be painful? That was awfully cryptic, even a little unsettling but it sounded a little familiar to you; it was on the tip of your tongue. 

“Yeah, they’re pretty special,” the boy grinned, gaze still glued to the person wrapped under his arm. “Cornflowers are my favorite.”

“They’re starting to become one of mine, too,” she returned the look. 

Mark’s bright brown eyes were shining with the love you wish someone had for you. It was a sweet sight, to see such a young couple in love. A part of you was jealous that they found a love like that so early in their lives while you pined after an artist that was so infatuated with flowers and their meanings. 

Wanting to leave them in their moment, you excused yourself with a smile. There were only four paintings left to see.

The first was a design you recognized. It was a more detailed painting of the sketch you had seen Yuta draw on the first day of the semester. A girl was seated on the grass, leaning her back on a trunk of a cherry blossom tree. Her hands were outstretched to the sky, trying to catch the falling petals in her hand. Stealing a glance at the title, Yuta titled the piece, Wishful Thinking. 

Moving to the next piece, it was a close up of Yuta’s hands. His palms were pressed together, cupping cherry blossoms in his hand. Petals and full flowers were scattered around the canvas, filling out all the empty spaces. The bright pink stood out against the color of his skin. You admired the amount of detail this piece had— the wrinkles on his skin, the gradient found on the petals. It held your interest, leaving you to wonder what this piece titled Inside meant to him. 

Yuta’s self-portrait was showstopping. He borrowed the flower shop’s name, calling this piece For You in Full Bloom. The painting brilliantly depicted him in all white, his eyes closed with pain and hands clutching at his throat. The blossoms were spilling out of his mouth, the petals tainted with a blood red. You could feel the sadness and the suffering emitting from the picture and it pained you to see such a vulnerable depiction of him. 

Putting two and two together, you figured it out. 

Hanahaki. You had read about the disease before, one of the artists you admired had it. They created art as a way to tell their story. It was their escape from the suffering, a way to ease their pain, and the one course of action they took to be remembered after their death.

The only piece of information you lacked was who made him tolerate such pain.

Skipping the last painting of the exhibit, you made your way through the crowd to find Yuta. He stood at the end with a polite smile, thanking everyone who attended his exhibit. Onlookers were showering him with compliments, leaving you to wait until the small crowd cleared out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” you breathed out with a concerned look. You couldn’t even spit out the name of the disease.

His smile widened into a genuine one, eyes gone soft at the sight of you. “You made it.”

Spotting the irises in your hand, he gestured towards the bouquet. “Are those for me?”

Still in shock that the person you were in love with was suffering all this time, you handed them to him without a word.

“Irises mean ‘congratulations,’ nice choice,” he laughed, trying to steer the topic away from his illness.

“Who?” you asked. “Who is it?”

Cocking his head, he answered you with another question. “You didn’t see the last one, did you?”

Shaking your head negatively, Yuta took you by the hand and the feeling made fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart was beating rapidly as he led you a few steps away. Nodding his head towards the last frame, he whispered, “Take a look.” 

You felt his hand break out into a sweat and you wondered why this last one made him so nervous. Glancing at the title, you read the words Love Me Now. 

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself to see the person who had a hold on Yuta’s heart. Unlike him, you thought yourself strong enough to take the heartbreak— after all, you weren’t the one with flowers blooming inside you. Shifting your eyes over, you gasped as soon as you spotted whose face was framed on the wall. 

Staring back at you was the most beautiful painting of yourself. It was a you that you had never seen before. He painted you in flourishing pastels to match the happy look on your face. He captured your smile lines, the curve of your eyes, and the scrunch of your nose in such detail; it amazed you beyond belief. 

There was movement in your hair, the strands swaying in the wind along with the petals behind you. Your hands held a branch of your favorite flowers, half of them covering part of your face.

Captivated by seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

“Your smile makes flowers grow in my chest,” Yuta’s voice came from your side. You turned to see him wear a strained smile. Yuta’s huge eyes that were usually filled with kindness were taken over by something else— pain. 

There was pain in his words and you hear the ache in his voice. His tone is hoarse, like his throat is unbelievably dry or irritated. 

“I— I don’t know what to say.” 

Everything was extremely overwhelming. 

He shook his head to tell you that it was okay; he just needed to get the words off his chest. “It’s so beautiful and enchanting and it makes my heart clench and flowers take over my lungs.”

“Cherry blossoms,” you found yourself saying. You couldn’t believe this was happening. There were words you wanted to say but you were struggling to find them.

“Sakura,” he repeated in his native language.

“My favorite flowers.”

“Your favorite flowers.” 

“You were never in love with flowers,” you stated, still in a state of shock. 

Yuta released this low, almost bitter sounding chuckle that comes from deep within his chest. “Never.”

“Then, you’re in love with—”

“You.”

“—me.”

Just like the artist you admired, Yuta painted his way through his pain of loving you. 

Nakamoto Yuta felt like he had been in love with you for the longest time. He had loved you before he could even muster the guts to let you know it, to invite you to this exhibit that displayed art dedicated to you.

He really hoped that you would show so he could take the chance to confess. Sure, you had promised but sometimes, people never intended to keep them. If he didn’t get it off his chest, he would never be able to breathe and Yuta desperately wanted to.

Yuta wanted to fill his lungs with breaths of fresh air and just breathe you in. That was all he longed for. 

“Oh,” was all you could breathe out.

“It’s okay that you don’t feel the same,” Yuta tried to comfort you, getting the wrong idea from your lack of words. “I just needed to let you know.”

The sharpening ache that became so familiar to him was building up in his chest again, preparing him for the worst. Yuta swallowed thickly, already feeling the petals working their way to his mouth. His airways began restricting, his breaths growing more haggard by the second. He had so many things to say and he was determined to let it out before the petals escaped. The words spilled out his mouth, his lips running like a motor, “I used to be afraid of being in love and being happy with a person that I loved because it hurts.”

“Yuta—”

He stopped you with a lifted palm. 

“Happiness never lasted with me, the flowers always ripped it away,” he explained, his trembling eyes focusing on your portrait and not the real person beside him. 

“But then I met you and felt things I have never experienced before. So, I pushed my way through the pain just to be with you because I felt like I reached for the stars and touched the sky when we were together.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe someone would sit through the pain just to spend time with you nor thought you were worth it but here Yuta was, proving you wrong.

“There were times I wanted to beg you to love me, just so the hurting and the bleeding—just everything— could stop but I was too much of a coward and it led me to this.”

Here he was, pouring his heart out to you with his images and words, and you couldn’t let out a single noise. You forced yourself to move forward, to slip your hand into his. The sensation of your fingers intertwining with his brought Yuta out of his daze to look at you.

“Yuta,” you said with trembling lips. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replied with a sullen tone. You squeezed his palm and he gave you a light one in return. “If I don’t get this off my chest now, I’ll never be able to breathe and I really want to.”

“There’s no reason for you to lose your breath over me.” A sniffle escaped you and Yuta turned to see you crying. He bent down to wipe your tears away, his finger swiping against your skin ever so gently. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“Because you suffered because of me and you didn’t have to,” you shot back with a whimper.

“You couldn’t have known, it’s okay,” he tried to reassure you.

“No, no,” you interrupted him to his confusion. “It’s not that.”

Your voice was so soft under your quivers, he could barely hear you over the loud chattering of the other guests in the room. Yuta guided you just outside his exhibit to a bench and dried your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. 

“What’s wrong?”

Yuta’s question made you laugh through your tears and at all the time wasted. He had been in pain for so long because he was yearning for you just as you were for him. The mutual yet silent pining took you down this route and it could have been avoided if you had just stopped being a coward and spoken up like Sicheng pushed you to.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you said with the dismissing wave. You willed yourself to look him in the eyes and bring a hand to his cheek. “It’s just that I think I’ve been in love with you as long as you have been in love with me.”

Your confession caused him to freeze in his seat. His brown eyes were blown out wide and mouth dropping in shock. Giggling as more tears fell, you quickly slide the hand cupping his cheek down to his jaw to shut his mouth closed. Running a thumb against his lips, you felt his pulse quickening at your touch. 

“You’re in love with me?” he asked, voice as gentle as the breeze. There was uncertainty and disbelief behind it. Yuta wanted to hear you say it again.

—🌸—

“I’ve been in love with you for a while now.” Your earnest words were music to his ears. 

He felt this comforting rush take over this body and it sent tingles down his spine, traveling all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Your confession worked like magic, spelling him with this high that made him soar to the skies. 

Yuta thought you were a witch, entrancing him with a love charm so strong that it brought instant relief to his pain. His heart was trying to fight its way out of his chest and the ache of his airways dulled. The muscle was pounding so loudly against his ribcage, he could hear it in his ears, and he swore you could hear it too. 

His lips upturned into the biggest grin, he felt like his cheeks were about to burst. 

Was this how a requited love felt? If it was, he never wanted to go without it again. 

Yuta rushed to pull you in his arms and sighed when you nuzzled your head into his neck. He shivered when he felt them whisper the three words he longed to hear into his skin. His body shook with laughter as he placed a lingering kiss at the crown of your head, reveling at the feeling of you encased in his hold. 

You tried to fight your way out of his grip but he only tightened his arms, not wanting to let you go. The action left you giggling into his neck, causing him to squirm until his hold loosened. Your hands trailed their way from his waist up to cup his face and suddenly, his eyes were locked onto yours. Just as you were getting lost in the deep sea of brown, his gaze flickered to your lips before looking back at you. His lips quirked up as you did the same. 

He felt your breath hitch as he leaned in to slot his lips against yours and the overwhelming rush returned. It seemed like his heart was racing against time, beating erratically as you kissed him so tenderly. Your lips were so soft and they tasted like the vanilla flavoring of your color, leaving him to chase after you every time you pulled away for a breath. 

Yuta fought the strain in his airways as he pursued your lips again and again, loving the way you felt and tasted. He picked up the smell of your cherry blossom shampoo and laughed into the kiss. The feeling of having you was so addicting— your love was his drug and he was forever hooked on you. He would devote himself to nothing else but you.

The sensation of Yuta kissing you and smiling against your lips sent you into overdrive. There were butterflies in your stomach, fireworks going off in your head, tingles down your spine and you loved it all. 

In the past, you only noticed Nakamoto Yuta’s undying love and admiration for flowers but this was the first time you finally noticed his love for you and it was nothing short of wonderful. 

It was the start of something new. 

🌸 author’s note— that’s it! it came out a bit more angst than i intended, definitely lacked the fluff i was expecting but i’m still satisfied with the ending uwu  i loved writing my little markie and kira in the fic, i’ve missed them! but yes!! that’s the end of my little bday present to myself! i hope y’all loved it! please leave some feedback; i would love to hear what you thought of it!! i think i literally fell in love with yuta while writing this.

🌸 taglist— @danishmiilk​ @hyunjins--laugh​ @littleflowercrown13​ @orange-nimon-cross​ @radiorenjun​ @ncteaxhoe​ @chancrispy​

[dragon-kazansky]

Made with love | Helmut Zemo

Chef Zemo AU 👨‍🍳

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 3

It had been a whole year since your trip to Sokovia. Here you were again, exiting the airport in Navi Grad, excited to be back. You had invited Wanda to come along with you, of course she couldn't say no. This was her home country, she hadn't been back here in years.

She looked so excited as she looked around, taking in the familiar and unfamiliar sights. The city had been improved on a lot since she was last here, yet a lot of the buildings still looked the same.

"My home."

You chuckled softly. She looked like a child who had been told they could explore all they like in a new area.

"Your photos didn't do it any justice," she said, playfully glaring at you.

You glared back, just as playful. "Oh, thanks."

She gave a little giggle and grabbed your arm, wanting to look around immediately. You just let her lead the way.

Along the way she pointed out some places she remembered, telling stories of things she and Pietro used to get up to. She had many stories to tell, and you loved listening to all of them. It gave you a little more insight into her life.

Eventually you came across the square. Wanda looked rather smug as you both stood in the middle of the semi-busy square.

"Ah, yes, just as I remember it."

Up ahead was your new favourite restaurant. It looked just as it did a year ago. It was like a warm welcoming hug to see it again.

Wanda was looking at you, smug grin on her face. You looked down, blushing.

"Want to see him?"

"Not yet," you grab her hand and pull her along, walking in the opposite direction. You ignored her teasing comments as you marched onward.

It's not like he would remember you anyway. You were just one person he met a year ago.

You took Wanda to the little hotel you stayed in last time. You booked a room for the pair of you, only staying a few nights. Wanda instantly lay down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

"We should eat there tonight," she says.

"Why? There's plenty of other places to go eat," you tell her, trying not to make it obvious you really wanted to go and see Helmut.

"You know why. Play coy all you like, but I know you want to go."

You turn to see her looking at you.

"You just want to see him," you say, turning back away from her.

"I do. Maybe I can be your wing woman."

"Wanda!"

She sits up, crosses her legs, and looks at you intensely. You sigh and sit on your bed, looking at her.

"Fine, we'll go. Just don't do anything Wanda. He's just a nice guy, so be nice, and enjoy his food. Seriously, it's the best."

Wanda chuckles and gets up.

"Why don't we go now. Maybe he will recognize you."

"I doubt it," you tell her, "it's been a year."

You find yourself standing outside Escorpión Morado. You have missed this place. You can tell just from where you're standing that its hasn't changed in the last year.

There were a few people dotted about enjoying their meals. It gave you that homey feeling again.

You go inside.

Wanda looks around you both make your way over to the bar. You each take a seat. You turn to Wanda.

"Well?"

"It's very nice. I can see why you like it so much," she smiles at you.

A man comes to a stop in front of both of you. He's not someone you immediately recognize, perhaps he is new, or you didn't see him last time.

"What can I get for you both."

You look to Wanda to see what she wanted first, but you did not anticipate her to say what she did.

"We'll have the chef please."

The man blinks, trying to comprehend if he had actually heard what she said. He was about to ask again, but she beat him to it.

"The chef, please."

You stare at her, mouth agape, eyes wide.

"Wanda!" You hissed.

The man left and went into the kitchen, fetching the man Wanda had asked for. You sat there in great embarrassment.

"What are you playing at?"

Wanda laughs, ignoring the way you were glaring at her. You bury your face in your arms against the counter and try to block out her laughter.

Wanda is still giggling when you hear someone stop in front of you. A cold sweat began to break as you dreaded looking up. Was this him standing over you? You hoped to high heaven it wasn't.

"Someone ordered the chef?"

Well fuck it all. You kept your face hidden, not daring to show your face. It didn't matter if he remembered you or not, you were far too embarrassed to look at him.

You knew his voice. Remembered it. The smooth way he spoke, that amusement that hung off the end of his sentence. They sexy tone he uses.

Helmut Zemo.

Oh, you have missed this friendly stranger.

"Yes, my friend here wanted you." You hear Wanda say. You could murder her sometimes, you were sure.

"Is something the matter? Sam, get them some water, would you?" You hear him say.

You hear, presumably Sam, fetch you some water.

He didn't recognize you. Good.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," you reply, though your voice was heavily muffled by your arms. You wouldn't dare lift your head.

"Perhaps if you sat up. We could move you closer to the door, get some fresh air, yet sit in the shade," he offered.

You felt Wanda place a hand on your shoudler.

"Come on, Y/N. Look at him," she whispered.

You sigh and take a deep breath. You slowly move your head up, looking up at the beautiful bastard across the bar. Is it even legal to look that good?

He stops his worrying when he sees your face.

He remembers?

"Y/N?" He smiles.

"Yes," is all you can bring yourself to say. His smiles drops a little.

"Helmut, remember? Last year?"

"I remember."

His smile is soft as he looks at you. He doesn't look any different than you remember. If anything, just more handsome than memory serves.

"Did you forget me?" He asks, seeing your laid back reaction.

"No. I'm just surprised you remembered me."

He stands there, hands on his hips as he grins at you smugly.

"How could I forget someone so interesting. Also, you are wearing that coin." He nods, respectfully, at your chest where the coin was hanging.

"I am." You clasp it gently between your fingers.

"It's good to see you again," he speaks softly, genuine happiness lifting his expression.

"It's good to see you too," you smile back at him. He looks far more elated now you're smiling at him.

"What can I get for you? I can't imagine you came here only to see me," he grins smugly again.

"Food," Wanda said. "Though he is quite a snack, isn't he?" She whispered the last part. You turn to her sharply and glare. Zemo hadn't seemed to notice what she had said.

He was too busy watching you.

"Shall I surprise you again?" He asks.

You turn back to him and smile.

"Yes. Do that. I trust you."

Hearing those made him happy. Helmut points his chin up a bit and glides back into the kitchen, though not before telling Sam to fix you up some drinks.

Wanda nudges your shoulder.

"You sure do have taste, and I am not talking about the food."

"Wanda, please, stop!"

She laughs as Sam puts two drinks down in front of you both. You resist looking at her any more and thank Sam for the drinks, he smiles and then leaves you two alone to enjoy them. You take a sip.

"We're going to get you a boyfriend, Y/N."

"Wanda, please, I am begging you, stop!"

She laughs again.

"I'm joking, but it would be a real big shame if nothing came out of it. You two would look so good together."

You ignore her statement.

Zemo returns and places a dish in front of each of you. He stands back, smiling, and watches you both take a bite.

Wanda let's out the strangest moan you had ever heard. You have to cover your mouth as you laugh at her.

"What was that noise?" You ask, just about getting through your mouthful of food.

"This is so good."

Helmut chuckles.

"Success!"

You take another bite and nod. You swear there isn't a bad thing on his menu. This man knows exactly what he is doing when it comes to his restaurant.

"Do you like it?" He asks, specifically asking you this time.

"Yes, very much."

He smiles at you.

"I got your letter, by the way."

"My letter?" You ask, confused on what he was talking about.

Helmut digs into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. It's crinkled and has been early opened several times.

Now you remember.

"Oh, that letter."

"You wrote him a letter?" Wanda looks at you. "You didn't mention that."

"It's not important," you tell her.

"It is to me. It's the only goodbye I got when you left," Zemo said, holding the letter carefully in his hand. His dark eyes were scanning over the words you had written a year ago.

"It meant that much to you?"

"Yes, actually," his eyes cast to you.

You sat there, biting the inside of your cheek softly, pink dusting your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

Helmut smiled at the sight. He folded the letter and tucked it away into his pocket.

"I'll keep it forever," he says, mostly just to tease you.

"Please don't."

He chuckles and leaves your side to see to other customers. Wanda sits next to you, smiling wickedly. You dare not look at her, nor do you let your eyes follow Zemo as he walks away.

"You have it bad," Wanda chuckles, giving her nose a little scrunch with a grin.

"I know," you admit.

Wanda chuckles softly and leans in a little closer.

"He likes you too, you know. I think you left an impression on him."

You glance behind you, seeing Zemo taking an order. He was talking to the customers, smiling at them.

"Really?"

"Yes. I saw it in the way he looked at you."

"You do realise I only met him last year. I only saw him twice," you look at her, doubt written all over your face.

"Doesn't matter. It only takes a moment to fall in love with someone." She winks at you.

Zemo smiles at you as he passes by, disappearing into the kitchen.

"I think you're overreacting a little."

She shrugs and sips her drink, eying you with a mischievous glint in her gaze.

Zemo brings the couple their orders and returns to you and Wanda. Meals finished and drinks empty.

"Went down well I see."

"Very much so," you say, smiling softly.

"Would you like another drink?" He asks, his gaze lingering in you more than Wanda.

"I would," Wanda says, holding up her glass.

You chuckle, "just one more."

You had no idea how happy he was you agreed. He wanted you to stay a while longer. He grabbed your empty glasses and took them away, bringing you fresh drinks.

As Zemo poured behind drinks, he chose to ignore the way Sam was looking at him.

You took your drink gratefully as he handed it over. He stuck around again, seemingly happy to spend his time with you two.

Wanda carried most of the conversation. Zemo and yourself were sharing glances, though always just missing each other.

Wanda finished her drink and made an excuse to leave. You wanted to follow her, but the look she was giving you, and the way Zemo was looking at you, told you to stay.

You watched her go.

Zemo leaned forward on the bar, arms folded and supporting him as he smiles handsomely at you. You smile, though slightly awkwardly.

"It is very good to see you again, Y/N."

"You too. I see business is booming."

He chuckles softly.

"For now."

"For now?" You furrow your brow and tilt your head slightly.

"You didn't see it?"

"See what?"

"There is a new restaurant being done up in the city. Bigger, grander, more elegant than this place. At least, that's what they're saying."

"Oh? We didn't see anything like that. We have only been here a shirt while though. Wanda was showing me some of her favourite places."

"I see. Do you like Sokovia?"

"I do. It's so pretty here."

He smiles.

"I'm glad you think so. You would do wonderful here."

"What do you mean by that?" You watch him curiously, wondering what he was implying.

"I mean, you would be well suited to Sokovia life. If you were to live here," he smirks, hands flat out on the bar as he looks at you with sparkly eyes.

"Really? I don't think so. I stand out too much from the locals."

"Exactly. They wouldn't care. They would have someone so stunning to see every day. I would get to see you more too, a bonus for everyone." He winks at you.

"You're such a flirt!"

"Of course I am. Money keeps the business going, but charisma brings me my customers. I have to make an impact, no?"

You chuckle softly.

"I see how it is," you say, sliding off the stool. You take some money from your pocket and place it on the counter. Zemo tries to stop you, but you don't let him.

His hand hovers over yours as you leave the money on the counter.

"It was nice seeing you again, Helmut, but I must go."

"Will you come again?"

"I expect so."

He smiles.

"Don't leave without saying goodbye this time," he tells you.

"We shall see."

"I'll come looking for you if I have to!"

"No, you won't," you grin as you leave.

Zemo watches you go, his heart doing somersaults in his chest. How could one stranger make him feel so much?

Sam looks at his boss and grins.

"You have it bad, Zemo."

"Get back to work, Sam."

"Yes chef."

Zemo glances down at the money you had left for the drinks. He slides into his palm and puts it into the register.

He will count down the seconds until he sees you again.

@namethathasnotbeentaken @belle82devart @cathrin2405 @lieutenantn @wilder-fangirl @latenightartist-author @lucky-luck-lucky @hb8301 @charistory @thatoneartgalsstuff @thesuitkovian @malkaviangirl @zemosimp420 @realremyd @the-chaotic-cow @lostghostgirl94 @zafiro-draco @lazygurl05 @pinkcutiepiee @goddessofmischief03 @whovianayesha @myybebe @awesomesauce-abbie @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @zemo-is-my-muse @nonamec0s @apparrio @scuttle-buttle @alex-the-nb

[wastelandcth]

Better Love - cth

part two: the wild and us

summary: Maeve and Calum meet. The rain outside puts on a show. 

author’s notes: I hope you guys enjoyed the first part of this series! This part had one of my favorite scenes I’ve ever written so I hope you enjoy! 

warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of breakups, mentions of food. 

masterlist || request || join my taglist! 

part one

Staring in the blackness at some distant star The thrill of knowing how alone we are, unknown we are To the wild and to the both of us

"What are you doing in my hotel?" she asked shakily, her wariness prevalent in the way her voice shook as she stared at the man in front of her. 

The towel she was pulling closer to her body felt like nothing in the room with him. Maeve, who had only made it  back to the cabin an hour prior, had expected to be alone. She'd hadn't expected to walk out of her shower to find a tall man sleeping in the bed she'd rented out for the week. She also hadn't expected the rainstorm to be so bad, her weather app claiming her entire week here would be sunny and perfect for hiking, so finding a man in her cabin hadn't been in her plans either. 

And wow was he a sight for sore eyes. 

"What are you doing in my cottage?" he asked, Maeve's eyebrow raising as she heard the trace of an accent, "Mrs. Bagby rented this place out to me, she never said there was someone already staying here," he huffed, his eyebrows furrowing as he studied Maeve's. 

"Mrs. Bagby? Who the hell is Mrs. Bagby? I'm renting this from Mrs. Baird," Maeve said, "I was here first! You're the intruder!"

Maeve, who had always been prepared to debate with anyone, was not backing down no matter how exposed she was in front of a handsome man. She wasn't going to stand for a stranger barging into her space, she needed this vacation more than anything in this world and she'd be damned if she let this ruin it. She watched as the man in front of her opened and closed his mouth, looking like a fish out of the water as he tried to come up with a solution to the very obvious problem. If Maeve was honest, she had no idea how the confusion had happened or how they'd both ended up in this situation, but she didn't have much time to think about it. 

The thunder outside shook the walls of the small cabin, rattling the jars and the decorations on the walls throughout, and it wasn't until Maeve heard the crack of lightning that she realized just how bad the storm outside had become. The view outside the window had been fogged, the colorful autumn trees disappearing behind the wall of water falling from the sky as the landscape blurred into a mixture of grey and orange with red splotches. Maeve, whose attention had switched from the man in the green hoodie to the raging storm outside, had grabbed the pile of clothes she'd left on the dresser. Without another word, she walked back towards the bathroom and made sure to twist the lock before she let out a breath. 

The man in her bedroom for the week had been, breathtaking to say the least. His eyes, although wide and filled with confusion when Maeve had looked into them, were brown and shone even in the gloominess of the weather His hair was short, the tufts of blonde hair curling near the ends. Maeve guessed that his hair had been a darker color naturally, the roots she'd spotted proving her point. He looked like a kind person, maybe he was like Maeve as well, just another person looking for an escape. 

That's all her trip to this cabin was meant to be, an escape. 

Maeve's life had always been simple if you could call it that. She'd been born on a rainy afternoon, her mother liked to tell her it was because she was meant to outshine the sun itself. Her parents, who'd met in Scotland years before she ever came to take her first breath, had always told her about the magic the country had to offer. They told her stories of the forests so vast and large that even the biggest of problems could shrink down into pebbles that flowed away in the rivers. She'd grown up in a small town, dreaming of the wonders that Scotland had for her when she was old enough to see them. 

Maeve had moved when her time at university peaked when her nose was stuck in books that spoke all about the history and the cultures that made up the world. It had been the first time in her life that she'd been away from her parents, from the only home she had ever known, and it had been so thrilling. She went from only traveling to big cities for concerts or when her father had needed to run errands to living right in the heart of all the commotion. The quiet nights that had been filled with only cicadas singing into the night were replaced by the sound of a city, alive and cheerful at all hours of the day. Maeve had never experienced so much at such a fast pace and her life at her university flew by before she had a chance to slow down. One day she was unpacking her bags in her dorm and the next she was accepting her diploma and applying to jobs around the country. She felt the burnout, felt the way her brain tensed whenever she read through application requirements and the thought of having to pack up her life again. She felt the way her eyes forced themself open while riding the train to interviews. She knew that she needed a break, a few days off to remember who she was and what she wanted in life. To make matters worse, her relationship had been going downhill. She'd met James at a social event the school had put on, both of them were in the same program so it wasn't hard to make conversation with him. After too many history jokes and a trip to the campus bar, Maeve found herself awake in his arms as he slept. She'd laid there that first night, looking out at the stars through his window, wondering why she'd felt a pull towards a different place, a different person.

That feeling hadn't stopped since that night, she'd stayed with James, he was a nice guy who made her laugh and kept her company as they both studied. But he wasn't someone she saw herself spending the rest of her life with. She had a feeling that James felt the same way even if they were both too afraid to admit that the spark that had been there before was fiddling out. The arguments were getting worse, the silence lasting longer as time went on. It wasn't until one night when Maeve had been studying for a final exam that it had all exploded. Words were thrown around, tears were shed, and she was left feeling like something was wrong with her. She couldn't understand why she couldn't love James as he loved her, she'd turn distant and pushed him away until all that was left between them was a broken flower vase and tears.

That's why she'd jumped on the opportunity to fly to Scotland when it arose. She'd been sitting at her desk, scrolling through an endless list of applications and teaching opportunities when the email had popped up. She'd read through it a couple of times, making sure she wasn't imagining the words on the screen. Her professor, who'd helped her in more ways than one could count, had recommended her for a teaching job abroad. She would have to visit the school, make sure that it was both a right fit for her and for the administration, but it seemed like they were more than ready to offer her a spot and helping her make Edinburgh her home. 

Mrs. Baird, the lovely older woman who had driven Maeve up to the cabin and helped her unpack, had told her that she was glad she'd arrived a few days earlier after Maeve had told her all about why she was visiting Scotland at such an odd time of year. She'd been a curious soul ever since Maeve had stepped out of the taxi that had taken her from the train station out to the main residence Mrs. Baird had seemed to be the owner of. She'd asked Maeve all sorts of questions, which Maeve had taken as to her host just making sure she wasn't escaping from anyone dangerous or anything like that, it was a tough time to be a woman traveling alone.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll love the spot you'll be staying in then. It's very private, it'll be good for you to clear your head and relax before your big interview," she'd nodded as she packed up a few bags with groceries Maeve hadn't recalled reading about on the website. 

"Oh, um, I don't think I paid for anything like that, Mrs. Baird," Maeve chuckled and shook her head, "I was thinking of just popping into town and picking up a few essentials."

"Oh don't you worry, darling! It's my pleasure. Plus, the cottage is quite secluded so it'd take you almost half a day to get to the shops and back," she shrugged, "Let's get going, yeah?"

The drive up to the cabin had been slow and gave Maeve a chance to take in the sights. The forest was alive with colors that Maeve's eyes had craved to see. It seemed like everything her parents had told her about the place they'd met was still the same. The trees still sway in the chilly breeze and somewhere in the distance, a river flowed with a power that only came with years of flowing and receiving rain. The drive itself had been plenty enough to get Maeve excited about her days of rest but the second her eyes saw the stone bridge that led to her home for the next couple of days, she knew her life was about to change. After helping Mrs. Baird with bringing in all the bags and thanking her for the candles she'd also brought, telling her a rainstorm was predicted to pass through the next day, Maeve was alone. 

Her first day in the cabin had been spent unpacking and unwinding. Mrs. Baird had been kind enough to bring a bottle of Scottish whiskey, telling her," when in Scotland" and Maeve had sampled the liquor, letting it burn her throat as she stared out at the river flowing outside her bedroom window. Her trip had been going great so far, she'd successfully beaten jetlag, had managed not to burn the small kitchen down during her dinner, and she had taken a nice and relaxing show when the rainstorm had shown up the next day. She'd made sure to light a few candles around the place, not wanting to walk around in the dark if the power did go out. Then, of course, everything took a turn for the unexpected when Maeve walked out of the bathroom and was met by a man sleeping in her bed. 

By the time she'd walked out of the bathroom again, fully dressed and a little more confident in herself, the power had gone out and the whole cabin had been illuminated with an orange glow coming from the candles. The man was no longer in the bedroom, but the storm outside the window was winding up more and more as the seconds passed. She knew she couldn't make him walk out in the forest during the storm, it was too dangerous and mean in general to kick someone out in the middle of a downpour. So she'd let the guy stay until the storm passed and then they'd both walk down to the main residence and sort out whatever the hell was happening. 

"Calum," he mumbled, looking over as Maeve stepped out into the living room, "I'm Calum."

"Maeve," she replied with a nod, "You're not here to murder me, right?"

Calum chuckled and shook his head, which made Maeve warm and sent a shiver down her spine. His smile was nice, a murderer wouldn't have waited for her to get dress unless he was into that, she thought. She'd smiled at him, tugging the sleeves of her sweater down a bit as she looked around the living room. The candles gave the entire room a moody glow, the storm had stopped the sunshine from coming in through the windows and it had felt later on in the day than it actually was. 

"So...tea?" she asked softly as she motioned towards the kitchen. 

Maeve had found out that Calum, which was a very fitting name for the man sitting across from her watching the rain outside, had been in Scotland for a little over two weeks. He'd been traveling on his own, exploring the smaller cities and seeing what the Highlands had to offer. Maeve had told him about her interview, confessing that she wasn't the most prepared and that these few days before were to help her hopefully calm down. To her surprised, she’d learned that Calum was a professor at a university near his town, both of their widening at the confession of just how similar they were.

"That's exciting, what are you hoping to teach?” Calum asked, his eyes meeting hers in the candlelight, “I specialize in Art History.”

“History,” she nodded, a blush on her cheeks, her eyes glancing down to the cup of tea that had been warming her hands, “I’ve always loved studying it and I want to help others learn about it too.”

“Yeah? I get that. The history department at my school isn’t the best Some older man names Rainer runs it like it’s still warm times,” Calum chuckled, “He’s the worst.”

Maeve laughed, shaking her head as she thought about her fair share of professors who had yet to catch up with the times She thought about what kind of instructor Calum was. It was only his second year teaching so was he the one who made his students excited for lessons ahead? Did he use fun activities and assignments to incorporate them into his plans? Maybe he assigned cool projects, where the main point was to gain a bigger understanding of something a student has been wanting to talk about. Calum seemed like the type and from what Maeve had learned about the man in the short hours she’d known him, she knew he was kind and attentive.

“How was your hike up here?” Calum asked as he set the cup of tea down on the table, his legs stretching out as his head leaned on the back of the couch. 

“Hike?” Maeve asked, furrowing her eyebrows as she looked over at him.

“Yeah, I left around like five and didn’t get here until ten,” Calum chuckled and shrugged, “And somehow you look like you just took a leisurely drive up here,” he teased, sitting up as he saw the look on Maeve’s face, “Oh my god, you drove up here, didn’t you?”

"In my defense," Maeve giggled out, holding her arms up, "Mrs. Baird offered to bring me up here"

"Oh, and she forced me to walk for five hours and fall in the mud!?" Calum whined, shaking his head as he let out a groan, "She's so not getting a good review from me, whatever her name may be."

Maeve laughed softly, watching the way Calum ran a hand down his face and pouted over at her. She was surprised at how easily they both got along, usually, Maeve had trouble getting out of her own head and talking to new people. But with Calum things just felt so carefree. She wasn't sure if it was such a good thing, opening up to a complete stranger who had been booked into the same cabin as her, but the rain outside wasn't letting up and she was more than willing to work out a compromise to share with him until the rain stopped and they could take the quad bike Mrs. Baird had told Maeve about before leaving her in the middle of nowhere. 

"Do you want to go freshen up? I'm sure your five-hour hike up here more than justifies a nice warm bath," Maeve nodded, giggling as Calum glared playfully over at her, "I'll try and mix something up for lunch?"

"That sounds lovely, if the rain doesn't stop soon I'll make us dinner," Calum shrugged, standing up from the couch and walking over to the entrance of the cabin, gathering his bag and a pile of clothes that Maeve hadn't even noticed were on the floor before making his way over to the bathroom. 

The rain had not stopped by the time Calum had gotten out of the bath, much to Maeve’s pleasure since she’d heard his soft voice singing along to whatever song he’d been playing. The rain hadn't stopped while the two ate their lunch, a stew that Maeve had managed to throw together in the tiny kitchen. And the rain had, surprisingly, not stopped while Calum had been bustling around the kitchen a few hours later, making dinner while Maeve read through one of the many books she’d packed with her for her trip If she hadn’t known anything about Scotland before traveling there, she would’ve assumed the Earth was flooding and that her adventure abroad would end before it even started.

It wasn’t until a crack of thunder rocked the walls of the cabin that Maeve realized just how extreme the weather has turned. The window was howling against the windows, shaking the panes with the intensity of it. The power had yet to come back and as the day had gone by, the cabin had only grown gloomier and gloomier. Their only source of light had been the many candles that their host has left them, something Maeve would be eternally grateful for. They crackled and glowed in the darkness of whatever room Maeve would get up to look out the window through. Her shadows mixed with the firelight and danced across the dark walls of the safety she’d come to know in her short stay. The river outside of the house, which was louder now that it was filled with rainwater, had grown taller as Maeve would barely see the giant rocks inside of the river which had caused the small rapids earlier in the day.

It was all terrifyingly beautiful.

Nature had put on a show for her and Calum, letting them in on the secret dance the forest and elements did for one another. The trees danced with the wind, swaying wildly from side to side and switching directions when they pleased. The river water jumped over the stone bridge above it, splashing cold water onto the top and lowering as it sprinkled back down onto itself. The woodland animals, who would be hiding in the safety of their own homes, hidden somewhere Maeve couldn’t quite see but hoped they’d be just as amazed watching the show that the world put on for them. It was all so terrifying and violent, the rain submitting to no one but itself as he disappeared into the river only to come down harder from the clouds in the night sky. It wasn’t until the thunder, which had been singing a song for the forest itself, cracked again that the stone bridge took its final bow.

Maeve watched as the bridge crumbles. It started slowly, one of two big pieces crumbling into the river below as if by accident. But the water was cruel and greedy, splashing upwards and sending more and more stone into its hands. Maeve, who could do nothing more than watch as their only way back out to civilization crumbled and washed away into the river below, gasped and leaned against the window. The glass shook underneath her hands, the wind greeting her palms from the outside and howling in excitement as the once-solid bridge was split into two pieces, never to meet again, as the final act of nature’s show came to an end.

“Did you hear that?” Calum asked as he walked into the bedroom, where Maeve had been watching the show, “Maeve?”

She turned to face the stranger, her wide eyes softening as she was met with the definition of a word she couldn’t place in her brain. Calum had changed into a pair of joggers, the grey material hanging loosely off his hips and only held up by a haphazardly tied knot. His upper half was dressed in a warm green sweater, the color reminding her of the fields of green she’d seen on the train ride to the small town, his board shoulder stretching the fabric a little bit in the candlelight, he looked breathtaking. Maeve knew he was good-looking, it was one of the first things she’d noticed when he’d jumped up from the bed with tired eyes that had been filled with fear. He was beautiful and kind and…stuck with Maeve.

“T-the bridge,” she stuttered out, her cheeks flushing as she realized Calum was still standing in front of her waiting for an answer, “The bridge fell.”

taglist: @hoodhoran​​​ @finelliine​ @moonlightcriess​​​ @dinosaursandsocks @mxgyver​​ @calpops​​ @karajaynetoday​​ @notlukehemmo​​ @calumrose​​ @devilatmydoor​ @lyss-xo @lowkeyflop​​  @matchacal​​ @hemmo1996-5sosvevo​​ @myloverboyash​ @2fangirl4u​​ @multistann​

[slothsnuggle]

"Am I? " (Rhys x OC)

Disclaimers :

-Most of the character and the ACOTAR universe belong to SJM, I'm just having fun writing about one of my favorite book series!

-The main relationship that will be developed being between Rhys and an OC, I'd like to say I still LOVE feysand and have nothing against it, I just wanted to try something different!

-Also English is not my first language so I'm really sorry if there's some things that I write wrong! Do not hesitate to correct me 😊

CHAPTER ONE

She observed the three men now standing in front of her.

The High Lord of the Night Court and her father - the Emperor of Vask - seemed as different as they were similar. Her father was kind of the physical opposite of the Lord, who had purple eyes, so bright they disturbed anyone who dared looking at them, black, short hair and sharp facial features. Alexander of Vask was blond, his hair falling on his shoulders, a bump on his nose, and had brown eyes and a serious obsession for royal blue, the main color of his Empire.

But she was positive that they were both as cunning, egotistical and cruel. As a lot of kings were.

There was something about the Lord though, in his stillness or maybe behind his fake smirk that was truly frightening. She thought the last thing she could wish was to find herself alone in a room with that man. Not to mention that everytime she stood near him, she felt like something was staring at her, looking at each of her moves - something as dark as invisible, that gaves her uncontrollable chills. She didn't like him. Her father referred to him as "Lord Valtyan", which must be his name. His son, who was standing next to him, was called Rhysand, if she had heard the name right. She knew that he was about the same age as her, maybe 18 or 19, though he was already a bit taller due to his race.

Illyrians. Her parents always described them as violent beasts, savage warriors born to fight. Thinking about it, they were saying almost the same things about some slaves. Slaves who had been forced to fight their whole life not to let their family starve. But the boy's bat wings and his dad's were nowhere to be seen. She had imagined some sort of hideous monsters, but the two individuals in front of her looked pretty much like any of the high members of her own court. Except maybe that they wore darker clothes and that their skin was tanner. Well, even if it wasn't very difficult to look tanner than her. She let herself stare at the prince a bit more.

He was very good looking in his traditional suit, his dark hair perfectly displayed under a thin, silver crown. The Night Court heir's crown. His chin was high and his back straight, and she could have sworn that she could even see a bit of arrogance in his eyes. Typical.

But when she looked closer a bit later, she realized how obvious it was that the boy was trying his best to satisfy his father, controlling each of his moves and words. Was he scared of him? She almost smiled sarcastically, saying something like "yeah, we're all there playing roles aren't we?", but instead kept her face neutral and her mouth shut. After all, that was what was expected from a good little princess. To look good, smile a bit and let the big men talk together. A pleasure.

She wondered if the prince's true self was really different from his father or if he was just another handsome asshole. Their eyes were not exactly alike.

__________

Rhysand turned himself into his father's son. The heir of the Night Court. The glorious Prince of Darkness.

He hated that. That character he was forced to play. But he had no choice. As he had no choice to make his beloved wings disappear : the pride of any Illyrian. To be honest, he was as scared of his father as he admired him. And the Lord won't forgive any error from him.

So he pushed back those thoughts deep into his heart and entered the reception room as his father called his name.

"I present to you our guests for this week, the Emperor Alexander of Vask and his daughter Eelin."

Rhysand greeted them as conventionally as he could and stood with a remarkable obedience next to his father.

He kept the same lame face as he remained shocked by how obvious it was that the man in front of him was a stranger from a very different country. He had nothing to do with his people or himself. This huge, blue cape he was wearing mixed with this golden, overdecorated armor and the big crown on his head was one of the most extravagant yet ridiculous things he'd ever seen. No one, not even his father would wear anything like that on their land. The Emperor looked very confident though, and Rhysand had to admit he really looked like a monarch.

His daughter next to him looked far more discreet. She was wearing a light blue, fluid dress with just a thin belt and some jewels. Some parts of her dark-blond hair were tied behind her head and she had pink lips that contrasted a lot with her extremely pale skin. She almost looked sick. Rhysand knew the people of Vask were generally naturally pale, but even the Emperor's face was more colored than hers, though he wasn't supposed to be exposed to the sun that much. Maybe she wasn't allowed to go out of her family's castle at all, which was possible since most of the princesses weren't allowed to do much on their own until they were married. He noticed later the coldness of her face, the authority in her way to simply stand here, and the way she looked at him. Mother, for a second he thought she was as intimidating as a grown High Lord. If his father had heard him saying such things, he would probably have been slaughtered. But he couldn't be reading his mind right now, right?

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Owning A Bakery In Tokyo Japan And Gaining Gojo As A Repeat Customer

(A/N:) Hello lovelies I'm not dead! I've been busy here lately that I haven't had time to write. I'll be getting even busier now that the holidays are coming up but I'll try to write a little here and there. I've been obsessed with Jujutsu Kaisen for the past several weeks and I just had to write something for Gojo Sensei. So I'm still learning about this universe and trying to catch up on the manga so if things seem out of whack just treat it as an AU. Hopefully I won't be so long in posting my next imagine. Until next time happy reading!

~Countess

Gojo Satoru X FemReader

Warnings: None just some steam in the bonus

There may be several bakeries across the expanse of Tokyo Japan but as a foreigner from America you were the only store that offered treats from your home country. As soon as the doors of your business opened your life got more hectic. Running a business was stressful, but tack on a whole different culture and barely able to speak the native language you were beyond stressed. You were thankful for the two people you hired, they of course spoke their native language but knew English as well and were helping to the fullest of their ability. Evening hours weren't as busy and you found yourself able to handle the shop by yourself. Walking home was a little creepy but besides that you enjoyed the evening hours alone surrounded by your baked goods.

It was one evening where you found yourself beyond tired and struggling to stay awake when the bell above the front door chimed.

"Hello," you greeted turning from the shelves that held whatever goods was left. What you saw made your jaw drop. A man with silver hair stood before you ogling the different treats at his disposal. But his silver hair wasn't what took you by surprise but the blindfold that covered his eyes. His form was clad in black clothing that seemed like a peculiar type of uniform but it suited him quite well you thought. Though you wondered how he could see whatever he was looking at.

"May I help you," you finally spoke after getting over your shock.

"I think so," he smiled making your heart jump in your chest. You didn't have to see his eyes to know he was handsome that you couldn't deny. His personality was shining through too and you were falling. You knew it was completely ridiculous but your heart couldn't help it, you were weak at this handsome stranger that stood in the midst of your store. He ordered several items that you packed carefully before handing them across the counter. He paid the exact amount but while you had your back turned to pack up the remaining treats he left a generous tip in the jar by the register. As the bell chimed once more you had a feeling that it wasn't going to be the last time you saw that handsome but strange stranger.

Bonus:

Months went by after you opened your shop and while the excitement of a new thing faded you found yourself with a regular customer. Gojo Satoru made it a part of his day to stop by and purchase treats. You became fast friends until something between you two blossomed.

Gojo gently laid you down on the couch his lips somehow staying on yours. His body pressed you into the cushions. You clung tightly to the uniform he wore, he smirked against your lips before focusing once more on ravaging you. You felt warm and loved as he focused all his energies on showing how much he fell for you. Your hands trailed up his neck, through the silver of his hair, before settling on his blindfold. He flinched feeling your fingers find purchase on the jet black material and beginning to pull it down. He grabbed your hand stopping your progress of satisfying your curiosity of what lied beneath.

"Please," you begged breathlessly from his steamy kisses.

Gojo sighed relenting as he released you to continue on your conquest. As soon as the blindfold fell to encircle his neck what you saw took your breath away, you let out a little gasp Gojo took the opportunity to plunge his tongue into your mouth. Never in a million years could you have prepared to see what that one scrap of fabric was hiding. Beauty that could be deemed criminal for a male to possess. Lashes that fluttered like fresh snowflakes that encircled eyes that housed the icy blue gems that he called eyes. You found yourself drowning, sucked into a warm blue void that never ended. You shivered at the intensity he gazed upon you.

"I think I'll burn your blindfold," you breathed touching his face that he kept hidden.

Gojo chuckled, "Then you wouldn't be awe inspired whenever you saw my gorgeous face."

"I beg to differ," you tugged him back down longing for more of his warm lips on yours. Gojo obliged not wanting to leave any part of you untouched.

[bxllafanficc]

Masterlist

Fanfictions:

Damiano David:

Take me out: (teasing)

Summary: Going laser tagging seemed like a great idea back then. But after an hour of both the teams refusing to surrender, Vic suggest that the only way you can bring your team to victory is a dirty one. And it involves seduction.

Matching YSL-bags:

Summary: You’re a writer coming to your favorite coffee shop to write and have a coffee just like every morning for several months now. Expecting everything to go exactly as it always does, you enter and take a whiff of the lovely scent of coffee and pastries. But had you entered that shop at all today if you knew that nothing would be like every morning leading up to now? Even if you knew in advance that the gorgeous stranger with eyes like melting honey you’d been watching for months would bump into you? That you’d by mistake put the notebook with embarrassing drawings of him in his Yves Saint Laurent bag, the same model as yours?

In your eyes: (angst)

Summary: one-shot angst of which Damiano misses to shoot his shot with (Y/n) and she ends up going home to her country for a month. Damiano believed in a few seconds of her return that their friendgroup would never change. However, much can happen in a month. (basically just Dami our poor baby being miserable so read on your own free will:))

Marvel

Bucky Barnes:

The winner takes it all (teasing, kind of smut)

Summary: When Steve and Natasha invites you to a game night laser tagging, you happily accept and pair up with Nat as your team player. When you later find out that Bucky's coming to, and with that, pairing up with Steve, you understand that the way to victory won't be a piece of cake. And the losers has to pay for pizza and drinks for the entire team. Needles to say, you have to win. And every creative way of getting there is an option.

What lies within our voice (part one)

Summary: The hottest current singing competition in your country; Beyond The Voice, is taking contestants for this years new season. And you’re competing, something you’ve dreamed of since you were a little kid. Your best friend Natasha joins you on your audition day with the assurance that everything’s going to go just as planned. As in; you preform, get all the standing ovations from the jury and then you go out to celebrate. But it doesn’t quite work like that, does it? Especially not when a handsome blue eyed singer with angelic pipes (and dare I say, jackass?) enters the competition and gives you some serious problems; both on a competitive and on a personal level.

Cap’s shirt; his girl (smut)

Summary: The laundry gets messed up on the day your boyfriend comes home from a hard undercover mission. Not a big deal, it would seem? Wrong. Cause when you accidentally wear one of Steve's shirts to Bucky's arrival, it's not the greeting he imagined from you. And he intends to show you exactly why.

Loki Laufeyson:

Lady of Mischief:

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Summary: Asgard is having a change of power so there are several events Loki has to get right before he can announce victory as the next king. But one lady’s approval will change the whole outcome if the stakes are right. That lady is you, intended heir to the throne of Olympus but tied down to a marriage of convenience with one of the princes of Asgard. The prince you choose to marry will be the next king but you refuse to let yourself be a pawn in this game for power. Loki, with his intentions to take you as his queen has far greater reason to marry you than just for the reason of being king. You however, would rather cut off your left arm than exposing yourself for the fact that there’s another purpose besides Loki getting a throne to sit on.

For your entertainment (smut)

Summary: Loki decides to loosen up your sore shoulders with a tender massage after a hard days work. Little do you know that the God of Mischief also has something else in the back of his mind. And he let's you know it without hesitation. But if he only was prepared for what you were up to. And if he only would have known that there's a different side to you that you have yet to show. 

A world without heroes - (angst)

Summary: Loki is imprisoned after the sudden attack on New York and with that, rest of the earth. And while you always thought you would have your lover's back, you find yourself unable to forgive this one. It's time for you to decide when enough's enough.

Steve Rogers:

Sparkling diamonds (smut)

Summary: Steve's sent out to receive a chip containing important intel from an undercover agent working at a strip club. Here's where the situation gets complicated. See, Steve knows how this job should be done in a proper professional manner but a subject is clouding his judgment, making him fall for the heat of the moment. The subject? You.

Star Wars

Anakin Skywalker:

My dear apprentice:

Summary: Things have been falling behind for Anakin lately. So how do the council plan to make him feel better? His own Padawan, of course! While Yoda thinks this is an extraordinary idea, both Anakin and the Palawan has some complaints.

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five:  (part 1) (part 2) Chapter 5 is divided into two parts since I reached tumblr’s maximun word limit. Sorry...

Part six

Yuri on ice

Yuri Plisetsky:

¡Skate/sing your hearts out!

Part one. Part two Part three. Part four Part five part six Part seven

Summary: After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership.

Imagines:

Bucky Barnes: 

Night at the bar

One-shots:

Damiano David:

In your eyes - angst

[peeterparkr]

The Holiday.|Tom Holland

chapter two: Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)

↳ read Sophia’s version here and Tom’s phone call. (Tim fic) BY @jambrosemc​

There’s two sides to the story, the Tom fic written by me and the Tim fic by @jambrosemc​ for thw full experience (though you don’t need to) be sure to check out both! 

STORY SUMMARY:  Two women troubled with guy-problems, one who’s in love with love and one who doesn’t believe in it are both suffering from a broken heart, with little reasoning and nothing left to lose, they swap homes in each other’s countries for the holidays, where they’ll meet a local guy who will probably change their destiny.

chapter summary: new beginnings and first impressions pairing: tom holland x y/n | warnings: Chad word count: 7.8k

story masterlist.

previous chapter

next chapter

wanna be tagged?

You had gone through every single stage of a broken heart before, every single one of them. Haircuts. Wine. Clubbing. Reading. New life. Sobbing on the floor. Denial. Sort of acceptance. Working out. Eating your feelings. Coffee shops.Bars. Sleeping all day. Not sleeping at all.   But this? Exchanging homes with a complete strange and travelling to the other side of the world? This was crazy. Completely crazy, and yet, you didn’t want to back off. This was the one thing that, if it didn’t work, you were screwed. 

This was certainly not what you had imagined you’d end up doing for the Holidays, yet it was better than any other idea you’d come up with, because maybe, though you tried to avoid the thought of knowing damn well you’d feel lonelier in a foregin place, it’d help you get out of your suffering. 

“So, okay, we went through dog food already right?” You asked, as you were on the back of the Uber on your way to the airport, your dog was still your number one concern. 

You were on the phone with Sophia, the british woman who had her life sorted up. “We did, yep.” She paused, thoughtfully. “And I told you everything about the shop and it’s hours?” 

You were getting cold feet, honestly. “Yes, right, but… I don’t have to worry about opening right?” You asked her. “That guy…. what was his name?” You couldn’t remember. “Ted? Opens up right?” 

“Tom,” she cleared up. Of course, how could you forget his name, his name was the same as your damned dog. “And no you don’t. He’ll take care of it all, or should. She got off the phone for a bit but then turned back to you. “If you don’t mind, keep me updated about him though?” 

“Oh, of course, I wouldn’t trust a man either, “ you laughed. “I’ll check on him.” If you had the time, you were going to make yourself explore the city. 

“Thanks.” She sounded relieved. “And I’ll of course update you on Tommy.” 

You were so nervous of leaving your dog to a stranger, maybe you could tell your brother to go and check on him, too. Yeah, you needed to give Tim a call. “Please, I’ve never been away from my baby… “ You pleaded and then went through the basics on your head. “Uh, so the keys are under the porch thing I told you.” 

“Right, and I put mine on that book,” she recalled. 

“Right, right…. “ And then suddenly you were arriving at the airport. It had turned real. “Okay so we are doing this.”

“Apparently so… This is a good idea, right?” Sophia asked you. 

In all honesty, it wasn’t. This was one of the-if not the craziest idea you’ve ever had, but at the same time it was thrilling. Exciting and inviting and it gave you the opportunity for a story, or time to write one, if you could. 

“Having second thoughts now?” You asked, amused. “When we’re both on our way to the airport?” 

That was a lie, you were already arriving. 

“No, no. I just… I guess I’m just a bit nervous is all,” Sophia admitted. 

You chuckled, nervously. “I’m kidding, I’m terrified, too.” 

Because who wouldn’t be? This was the one thing that was incredibly terrifying. 

“Well, I’m nearly there. I guess there is no going back at this point,” she said. 

Because there wasn’t. You were having second thoughts, honestly. Wanting to give up and go back to your boring life. But then again, this was your chance to escape your boring life and this was your chance to actually make something interesting for once in your life. 

You finally looked up, the driver was waiting for you as you got out of the car. 

“I’m… actually here, so I’ll…” You paused, you couldn’t breathe, your nerves were tickling as you picked your bags and then faced the small airport standing in front of you. “I was gonna say see you on the other side but that’s stupid so… I guess this is a sort of goodbye?” You gulped. 

This was it. 

“Guess so… I’ll talk to you later?” She suggested. 

You wondered if she was losing her shit as much as you were, honestly you wanted to jump and scream. You were excited, but excitement can often be confused with being scared, and you weren’t sure how thin this line was. 

You took a deep breath. “Right, and please send me a picture of Danny so I can personally slap him,” you were only half-joking. 

“Oh of course, and you’ll have to send one of Chad so I can slap him as well,” she answered with a sort of relief. 

“Well, this is…” You were shaking, you closed your eyes. “I…”You paused again. Good luck, here’s to a well deserved break.” 

“Good luck to you too.” Sophia on the other side sounded just as scared as you were. “I hope you’re able to clear your mind.” 

You hoped so, too. You hope your mind could finally get out of the trance that having Chad was. 

“You too, well here goes,” you said before heading to the airport.

“Goodbye then.”

“...Bye.” 

You hung up, and suddenly the small airport had never looked any bigger. You were so close to changing your life. Big opportunities, big, big chances. You couldn’t possibly dare. But you were there, at the airport, so hugely standing in front of you. You felt very small, that was nothing new. You always did feel small, The world was waiting for you.

But you were not ready for it. You were going to back away, you felt fear invading your stomach, you stepped back, but then you saw a couple, kissing in the distance, you felt sorry for yourself. You couldn’t keep longing for that if you never risked anything. You couldn’t continue saying you were tired of being a secondary character if you didn’t risk doing main character things. This was just halfway to it. 

You finally stepped in and made your way across it. 

Because this was the first time you ever did anything, this was the first time you were getting lost in a dream, and letting yourself slip into time and actually going through with things. The day had been sunny. This was supposed to be your day. You wondered if people even turned to see you, you were nothing important, not really standing out from the crowds. But they didn’t know you were having the biggest adventure of a lifetime. Silly to think. 

As soon as you were sitting on the plane, you knew you couldn't back away now and this was it. This was it, a new beginning, tarnishing every single fear upon you, you tried to mingle your feelings and calm down your nerves. You knew it was the right choice, otherwise  you’d end up curled up on your sofa, digging your nose into each and every one of the books you’ve read already and staring at the ones waiting to be read, but never did for a reason or another. You couldn’t have another Christmas like that, this was it, not another one with you trying to avoid the question of why you were lonely again on Christmas and giving an excuse for each year. Sure, you’d be lonely but at least you didn’t need to answer questions about it. Besides, who knows, this was your chance, and you were already in the place so you couldn’t do much. You had an open window for freedom, for lessons to be learned and—Probably not that much, honestly. It was just a trip, how much can a trip change your life? 

A handsome man had walked in, and smiled at you. He was around your age, gentle smile and blue eyes. This was your first sign, because you did believe in them, mo matter how stupid you believed life found a way to tell us we were doing the right choices, only you’d always avoided them. Yes, it had been the right choice. Who knows? Maybe you’d end up finding love in a plane. Oh who were you kidding, you probably had no chance, and you were proven you wouldn’t right away as you saw the man’s beautiful girlfriend sitting right beside him. 

You wouldn’t find a chance like that, you were not a main character. You’d always known you were a plot device. There were main characters, secondary characters and plot devices. You were the last one. 

Your phone dinged. And the sound made you shiver. A friend of yours had once advised to give a specific notification sound for Chad, so therefore you’d avoid it. Needless to say, it had been counterproductive since you would dream with that sound and hope you’d end up hearing it every day. 

But this was different. This wasn’t him answering to another one of your lame attempts to start up a conversation. Chad had been the one who reached out to you. 

“Hey, y/n! Couldn’t see you after the party, are you up for tonight?”

You only stared at the text. This was the reason why you needed to get out. Him reaching out and your heart jumping a little. You needed some willpower. You couldn’t let yourself fall again for the lie his lips were, you couldn’t let yourself be tangled against the sheets with a man who didn’t love you as he should, who didn’t love you for that matter. 

“I’m going on vacation. London. “ you answered. 

He texted back, quickly. That was a first.  “First vacation in three years is turning point. 

It was, for sure. “Yeah.”

He didn’t answer. 

“Congrats on your engagement.” Though you did not mean it. 

“Thanks xx. So, when can we facetime?” He asked. 

With all the pain in your heart, but with the same courage you’d taken to finally go away you said: “We both know I need to fall out of love with you. Would be great if you would let me try.” 

You sent it and then turned your phone off. 

You didn’t need any more Chad. This was it, the one time you needed to escape and this was your chance. 

A chance to finally get away from him for real, a chance to forget it. And to not feel deplorable on Christmas. You needed to forget him, you couldn’t stay with someone who didn’t celebrate your love. You needed to be loved and though you knew you wouldn’t find love in London, maybe you could learn to love yourself. It was the main reason why you knew you loved Chad, because you didn’t stand up for your own. 

You slept for most of the flight, then connected to the other one and then it was real. You had left the US, and off to the other side of the water. Maybe it hit you until that point, the last person you’d ever gone on vacation with had been Chad and this--- No, this was the reason why you were leaving, your mind had to stop going back and forth with him. 

Before you knew it, you were in London, the dawn welcoming you in all your esplendor. And it felt… different, and it hit you. For the first time you’d gotten out of your little cage and this was big. This probably had been the best idea, though crazy, the best idea you’d ever had. You were out, you were in a city that was giving you endless possibilities to wander, and to explore and endless possibilities to find yourself. 

Someone had once told you that to find yourself, you’d have to be lost first, you had never felt more lost in your life, so this was your chance, to get even more lost in a city, and this was your chance, to get out there.

 It was raining as you’d arrived, and as you’d ran out of the airport, small droplets had fallen on you. You could go straight to the house, but something about trying new things had gotten on to you. 

It felt like Christmas, in a way. Everyone walked with their coats and umbrellas and scarfs around their necks, people who were busy, people who weren’t. People walking into shops, and people walking to their jobs, and drunken people walking out of the pubs, welcoming the sun. 

The city lights felt magical, and you had always loved the feeling of being away from the ocean on Christmas. But now, this was a city, full of possibilities. This was exciting. 

You’d seen places you’d seen in movies before, there was a nearby park, you thought about going there later, and exploring a nearby market. You’d be walking all day. Kensington, this place was absolutely gorgeous. And just 6 minutes away from Notting Hill, you still had the thought of the fantasy in your mind. But then… suddenly you were there, standing in front of the bookstore that would be your home for two weeks. Sophia had warned you there was a way in from the shop, and another one from the other place, but the key would be in the bookshop, inside this specific book. 

You had walked into the bookstore, a bell had rang as soon as you’d opened the door, you had looked up, it was decorated, elegantly, christmas lights hanging on the shelves, the place was small and comfortable, topped with books here and there, taken out of your dreams, it was small, but it gave a sort of feeling that it was eternal. Infinite place where you could read books over and over. You’d seen the guy-Tom, you assumed, look up and hint a smile as he was talking to an old lady about a book, he was carefully listening to her, so attentive. 

“Oh, eh, uh, morning,” he managed to say.  He had turned to give you a second glance, you locked eyes with him for a brief second, he had smiled again and then turned away.  

“Morning,” you answered. 

You’d barely looked at him, but you couldn’t help but notice he was attractive. Very attractive. Had you… blushed? You quickly shook the thought away, this was no time to crush on an english boy, besides this was the guy who probably was in love with Sophia, and you were the plot device, you knew that, you couldn’t even bother to look at him. No, you couldn’t. 

Besides, were you that desperate? So incredibly drawn to something you knew would lead nowhere. And how quick were you to jump to conclusions from barely a glance. A smile, a very pretty smile, that crinkled his eyes. No, you couldn’t keep staring 

He kept talking to the lady, you could barrel and overhear the conversation as you, still with your luggage, strolled through the places, touching the books, books you’ve read, books you hadn't. 

“Yes, I want to give this to my granddaughter, I love this book, Momo,” the old woman explained.

“Incredible read,” the british man answered with a grin. “Michael Ende is-” 

Michael, he said Michael, not ‘Michael’, he knew how to pronounce it. Like it was supposed to be pronounced. In german, not like you’d pronounce your friend’s Michael name. Mi- cha- el. Not sure why that had made him even more appealing—No, you couldn’t do this to yourself. This was old y/n kind of thinking, to get out of  a broken heart. You always did this, try to fixate on someone else to get over Chad. It never worked. But you were in London, but—No. He was Sophia’s coworker, Sophia’s friend and he was most likely in love with her. Someone like him had to love someone like her. 

However, it didn’t hurt if you looked again. Or—did it?

You decided you could look at the guy once again, his eyes brightened up as he watched the woman ramble. He was so delicate, yet bold. Handsome, very. Under his sweater he probably was hiding some well defined muscles, you could tell, not that it mattered, but it did grow something more appealing to him. He was very handsome. Not in a conventional way for your taste, so different from the guys back home. He carried a certain sensuality, but was also heavy on being adorable. A very dangerous combination. His lips were small, his jawline defined, but his sight… As if that pair of eyes could paralyze you, tender eyes with a hint of joy and innocence. He wasn’t innocent, though, he could look, but he wasn’t. He was tapping his fingers, anxiously and he took deep breaths as he listened and gave the lady wider smiles and melodious chuckles. He had blushed at the old lady’s remark that he was handsome, you agreed. His lips were dry, probably from the cold, and he licked them too much while he was speaking to the lovely lady in front of him. His eyes were surrounded by some-not so heavy dark circles, but you could tell he hadn’t probably slept. You wondered why. 

 You liked to observe people, you were a writer so you liked those little details that people didn’t stop to look at, like the way he would bite his inner cheeks while listening, or raise his eyebrows with surprise every now and then. You liked those details, thinking one day you’d have enough to build up a person, made completely out of details. 

You looked away once again, fearing he’d notice your staring and strolled through the books, the arrangement was impeccable, of course Sophia would have the place perfectly ordered. But there were some books here and there that didn’t—make sense for your taste. Or didn’t make sense at all, like an autobiography in a section that was definitely for fairytales. 

You heard the bell ring again, an old man. Early 80’s, you guessed, he used a clutch. He wore a vest, a cardigan on top, and a very nice green beret on top of his head, a grey scarf around his neck, he had a coat, still covered from the rain. He seemed adorable. 

“Good morning, Thomas!” He greeted him. 

Tom smiled. Felt weird knowing his name without having met him yet.“Henry, good morning, I’ll be there with you in a second, I’m here with lovely Doris,” he announced, still listening to the lady.

The old man, Henry gave him a smile  and then  looked at you. “Good morning, young lady, it’s pouring isn’t it?” 

“Morning,” you answered, shyly. “Seems to be.” 

“Ah, american, interesting,” he pointed out, his voice was cheerful, old but you could tell he was a lovely human being. “What brings you here to a lovely bookshop in London?” 

You smiled. “An adventure,” you said without thinking about it. It sounded better in your head. 

He smiled, “I love that answer,” he pointed out. “What kind of adventure?” 

You looked around the shop, “Don’t know yet,” you admitted. “I’m trying to find a good story.” 

He grinned, “Hm what kind of story?” 

“Don’t know,” you admitted again. “I’ll keep looking through the books.” 

“Oh,” he nodded slowly. “I thought you wanted a story for yourself.” 

“Myself?” you chuckled. “No, I’m good at reading someone else’s. Not good enough to be one myself.” 

He stared at you, kindly. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he declared, and then looked at the shelves. “What to read now.” It amazed you how big of a main character he was, too, you’d probably love to write about him. He turned to you. “You seem… Like a reader.” 

“I am,” you said. Though, lately you’d been stuck reading the same ones, never wanting a new story. 

“Do you have any suggestions?” He asked. 

You grinned, “Well, I guess it depends,” you said. “What do you feel like reading?” 

He shrugged and gave you a tender smile, his eyes were shining. “Romance, perhaps?” 

“What kind of romance?” You asked, following the same path he had when asking you questions. 

“Classic.” 

You gave it a thought, he probably had read Shakespeare already, he seemed like a connoisseur.  But, somehow,  you looked him in the eye and knew your answer. “Love in the time of Cholera, have you read it?” you asked. 

“Surprisingly, I have not,” the man seemed perplexed. 

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez, it’s… about true love that endures and overcomes adversity for a lifetime, it is a tribute to love, adventure, time, old age and death, ” you said. “It’s an ode to true love.” 

“Sounds lovely,” he said. “Well, can you help me find it, please? I’d ask young Thomas but he’s there talking to lovely Doris there.” 

“Of course,” you grinned. You proceeded to walk through the store trying to find the book, hoping they would have it. 

“What’s your name young lady?” Henry asked. 

“Y/N y/l/n” you answered simply. 

“Hm, a main character name,” he pointed out. 

You shook your head. “You’re wrong about that,” your eyes kept looking through the shelves. 

“I’m Henry, Henry Abbot,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet Miss y/l/n.” 

“Pleasure is mine.” 

You needed that book and... It was not in the poetry section, which had you perplexed, they had to have it. “Oh.” 

“Is it not here?” Henry asked. 

“It’s not,” you frowned. “It’s-” 

“Hello, Henry, hi, hello, is there anything I can help you with?” Tom had asked as he had snuck behind, you accidentally stepped back and bumped into him, causing him to knock down two books. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you said. You were an idiot. 

“No, don’t be, it’s alright, it’s my fault, I should’ve announced myself,” Tom answered with a smile, that you knew was probably a fake customer service smile, as he picked up the books. 

You then saw the old woman, Doris walk out with not only the book you’d initially seen her with, but other four, Tom was good at selling, you saw Henry had his eyes on her but proceeded to turn back at you. 

You were definitely not expecting Tom, right in front of you, you could smell his cologne, it smelled good. Why the hell had you noticed that? You shook your head, before he could notice any sign of your stupidity. 

“Oh, er-” 

He only raised his eyebrows with a smile. 

It was no secret that you were stupid around men, especially around men who were attractive. 

“The young lady, miss y/l/n here is helping me,” Henry intruded quickly. “She recommended a book.” 

“Oh,” Tom grinned. “Thanks for helping me out with Henry, did you not have trouble giving him a recommendation?” He turned to you again. “He’s read everything,” he said with complicity. 

You only smiled and shook your head. 

“She didn’t,” Henry pointed out. “Gave me an option right away, perhaps she should have your job instead,” Henry joked. 

Tom brought his hand to his chest, hurt. “Henry; now why would you say that to me? Thought we were friends.” 

You chuckled and turned to Tom, “Love in The Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez,” you said. “That’s the book—I thought it would be here.” 

Tom turned to you, his eyes were even prettier than you thought they were. No, you had to stop. You couldn’t be attracted to him. 

“Oh,” Tom was surprised by your statement. “Yeah, yeah, he’s… mexican, right?” 

“Colombian,” you corrected. 

“Yeah, yeah, it should be--” Tom recalled and then walked to the other side, he searched through the titles and then finally found it in the language section.  “There, this one?” 

“This is not in the right section,” you said. 

“Why not I put it there myself this morning—“Tom chuckled, handing over the book to Henry. “Another one, or shall I help you check out, Henry?” 

Henry smirked. “No, I want to know why she believes is in the wrong section.” 

“This is romance,” you cleared up, as if it was obvious already. 

“Oh?” Tom raised his brows. 

“It’s in the Spanish section,” you continued. 

“He… speaks spanish,” Tom said. 

You only stared at him, in shock. Any kind of sign of attractiveness had been completely erased. 

“Besides,” Tom smirked. “You were looking for it at the poetry section, not romance novels,” he pointed out. 

“I…” You blinked. You had said that particular book for another reason. It was the book where Sophia had told you she’d hidden the key. She told you she’d moved the book from the romance novels to the poetry section. 

Tom reached the counter, holding the book himself. You tried to reach for him, 

“Ah, er, can I see it for a second?” 

Tom furrowed his eyebrows, and grimaced. “Hm?” 

“Yeah, let me see if it’s… The one I meant,” you lied. 

He watched you skeptically. “Umm… why wouldn’t it be?” 

Henry watched between you both, humored. 

“I….please?” You begged. 

“Oh, don’t be rude to the pretty lady,” Henry pushed. “Let her see the book.” 

Tom opened his mouth but defeatedly handed you the book. You mouthed a quiet thanks and then skimmed through it, trying to find the keys. They were not there. 

Weird. There was no key. You blinked with surprise and looked up at Tom, who seemed pleased. 

“Is it?” Tom asked. 

“Yeah—It is,” you handed it over. Tom had a mischievous look on his face, he was humored by this situation. 

“She’s American, and looking for a story of adventure,” Henry said to Tom. 

“We all are, aren’t we?” Tom mentioned. 

Henry looked between the both of you. “Are you here for the holidays, ma’am?” 

So formal. “I am.” 

“Traveling with your significant other, I presume,” Henry said while Tom was checking the book out. 

“I—Well,” suddenly you felt lonely. “That position hasn’t been filled at the moment.”

Henry smirked, and then looked at Tom quickly then back at you. “With family, then?” 

“I—No, I came here alone,” you explained. “

“So, it’ll be £11.03, Henry,” Tom interrupted as he put the book in a bag. 

Henry looked at Tom, “where’s lovely Sophia?” 

“I’d like to know, too,” Tom answered. “It’s not like her not showing up. She hasn’t called me back.” 

Henry nodded. 

You were confused. Had Sophia not told Tom she’d left? It  felt like it was your time to intrude, but before you could explain, Henry looked at you and said. “Go give this young lady a story, Thomas.” 

The man left. 

“I—“you coughed. “Sorry, uh—“

Tom had a wide smile. “So… what can I actually help you with? Miss y/l/n, Any book in—“

“I well, I—“ you couldn’t speak. 

Tom chuckled. “Yeah? Or are you going to complain about another book arrangement.” 

“I wasn’t complaining, I'm just… very observant, alright?” 

He grinned. “Well, did you observe anything misplaced?” 

“Well, I did see a fairytale on the autobiographies sections,” you admitted. 

Tom blinked, perplexed. “Huh we did that yesterday,” he was surprised. “Oh right but--” He coughed. “So, well, you’re seeking for an adventure book-” 

“Not exactly,” you answered. 

“What then, romance?” 

You blinked. What did he mean by that? 

“You seem like you read romance,” he pointed out. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” You questioned him, chuckling lightly. 

He grinned. “Nothing, you just--suggested a romance book easily to Henry,” he pointed out. “It’s a good one, it broke my heart, in a good way.” 

“You’ve read it?” You asked. He didn’t seem like someone who’d read romance. He… honestly didn’t look like someone who read, at all. Of course, you should never judge a book by its cover but of course the cover always tells us a lot, a name and an author at least. You knew his name, who was the author? 

He smirked. “It’s ugly, and it’s sad-” 

“But it’s love,” you finished his sentence, quoting the book. “Yeah,” you smiled, not believing he had actually read it. “Great book. You don’t seem like someone who’d read that.” 

“I’m a sucker for those kinds of stories,” he admitted. “Don’t look like it, but I love that, soulmates and everything.” 

You chuckled. “Me too,” you said. 

“To think that two people are destined to find each other even when life pulls them apart,” he said. “And I mean he… waited 50 years.” 

“Yes, he did, even when she’d made the mistake to reject him.” 

“Sometimes that’s how love is,” he shrugged. And it was, you knew that. 

“It is,” you said. “It’s complicated.” 

“The book? Or love?” He looked into you, with a certain mischief. 

“Both, I guess,” you said,calmly. “But I mean that’s the magic of that book, love is complicated and so is the book.” 

“But also, it’s not-I mean, I loved it, don’t get me wrong but I couldn’t… I understood their love but I’ve-I mean it’s old love.” 

You laughed. “Old love?” 

He laughed softly to himself, “I mean, it’s not-Something I could relate to.” 

“Well, no, because although love is something universal, not one love can be duplicated, love is unique.” 

He watched you perplexed. You wondered if you had said something wrong, or if your way of talking about love with a stranger had bothered him. It bothered most people, most people were afraid of love and were confused by the way you saw it, and confused because you’d lost it so many times. Everyone wondered how you kept believing in it after so much pain, but that’s the thing about love, though there is one love, you can truly feel love for. 

“I’ve never heard someone putting it that way,” he chuckled. “Love being something we all feel but at the same time… it’s different, yeah.” 

Why were you talking about love with this man? 

“That’s what I’ve gathered from all the romance novels you assumed I read,” you chuckled. “Love is universal but it’s personal.” 

He chuckled and nodded in agreement. “No, I guess… You’re… right, huh, I’ve never seen it that way,” he said. “So do you want another romance novel?” 

Was he flirting? 

You shook your head. “No,” you smiled. “I’m actually-that book.” 

“No, wait, actually…” He interrupted, as he shook his head, probably backing away from flirting. “Sorry...This is bothering me, care showing me where the misplaced book was?” He asked. 

You had just told him, was he flirting? You’d never known how to flirt so you wouldn’t know. But you guessed it harmed nobody showing him, you lead the way, still carrying your whole luggage. 

But why the hell had you talked about that with a stranger. It felt weird, but he didn’t feel like one. Probably because you’d already known his name. There was something so incredibly familiar to him. So easily had you blurted out the whole love thing, and he probably was scared of it. Most people were, you would understand if he was, too. 

“So--here,” you headed and tried to reach for the misplaced book on top of the shelf, as you had some stray sticker had flown and landed directly on your eyes, for your own luck. “Ow!” You tried to get it out but you couldn't. 

“Oh, wait, wait, let me help,” he said before. “May I?” 

“Yes, please,” you said, You only looked up, he held your chin, which definitely made you nervous, but he stared into your eyes and finally got the sticker out of your eye. 

“I’m so sorry, sometimes they get stuck and we don’t see them-“ He said quickly getting his touch out of you.

“No, you’re good, don’t worry,” you said. “So, here’s the lost book.” 

He watched you with curiosity and for a brief moment your eyes were locked into one but you quickly looked away. You were not doing this. This was so stupidly cliché, the love conversation with him, having to directly look into your eyes, it was so stupidly cliché and obviously not as romantic as you thought it was going in your head.. You hated it. Because you were not a stupid main character, this was so stupid. This things, in novels, would lead to some kind of romance, but you were not the main character and this was just stupid. 

“Yeah, right,” he coughed. “But uh, wait, so for Love in The--eh, the book, yeah, how did- Why were you looking for it in the poetry section? I mean it is… very poetic but,” Tom was confused as he watched you. Felt weird he was looking at you, his eyes had this charm that made you feel like he only was fixated on you. 

“I—Well, there were supposed to be some keys in that book,” you explained. 

“Hm? Were there?” He asked with fake surprise, but he actually seemed confused. 

You frowned. “They were, in that book and it’d be on that section—“

“Hm, doesn’t ring a bell,” he shrugged with a smirk.

“Yeah, in that book, Love in The Times of Cholera,” you pushed. “So—“

“Yeah, I do remember some keys,” he coughed, shaking his head. “But I’m not giving them to you,” he mumbled. 

“Sophia told me—wait you’re not—?”You blinked. 

“Sophia?” he seemed doubtious. 

“Yeah, Sophia, your friend, right she is—in America, at my place, we—switched homes and so she left me the key there—“

“She did now?” He wasn't buying it. 

“Yeah,” you continued. “She left, we exchanged homes for the holidays.”

“I--” He chuckled. “What?” 

“Didn’t she tell you?” 

“Tell me what, exactly?” 

“She went on vacation, to my place in America, we switched homes for two weeks.” 

He laughed. “I don’t believe you, Sophia doesn’t go anywhere.” 

“Yeah, we have that in common,” you pointed out. “But—But—okay, so she’s in America, in Oregon.” 

“Why would she go to Oregon?” Tom asked. “Of all places—“

“Yeah, look,” you cleared your throat. Did seem suspicious. “I—we both needed to get away so we switched places, and well—Why don’t you give me the key?” 

“So, tell me, miss y/l/n, sorry I’m calling you that it’s what dear old Henry called you, but you’re expecting me to give you the key, to you, a stranger, to my best friend’s home?” 

“Yeah...” you heard how it sounded. 

“You’re expecting me to believe that?” 

Well, he did have a point.  “Well, yeah—I— thought she’d told you.“ 

“Sophia would never do that,” Tom said. You’d learned he was also annoying. 

“Yeah, and neither would I, but here I am in London in a bookshop talking to you while holding my luggage, you really think I’m lying?” 

He stared at you. “Yeah.” 

And there it went, the fantasy had ended. Because you were not a main character in a stupid romance novel. 

“You—Look, I know she—But look, she broke up with Danny, and she needed to get away and we—“

“Yeah but this is mental,” Tom said. 

“It is,” you admitted. “And I might regret it, alright but I’m already here, thousand miles away and please, can I just have the key? I need a break, I need to-” 

“I’m not, I can’t… I’m sorry I just can’t give it to you.” 

“Well—Why—Look, we can call her? I don’t know if she’s there yet? But she can prove we actually did this?”  

“Still I… Look, I would… recommend you a hotel, I mean-Look. There’s this hotel right beside--It’s on Notting Hill,” 

“Please, let’s just… I’ll call her,” you said, taking out your phone. This was stressful enough. 

“Oh, no, no, I’ll call her, how do I know it’s not a crazy friend of yours-” 

“Crazy?” You frowned. If you had been attracted to the man in front of you, you definitely weren’t now. 

“I’m-” He knew he had screwed up. “This is mental,” he whispered. He took out his phone, “She hasn’t answered all day- so-” 

“She was on a plane.” 

“Uh, huh, for all I know you could be a criminal,” Tom pointed out. 

Criminal, he had just been flirting with you second before. “Ah, yeah, I am a criminal,” you snapped. You didn’t like him anymore.

He seemed angry, you didn’t know why. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said before walking away from you to hear. Of course. You technically didn’t blame  him. Still he was rude. 

You felt like crying. Again, this wasn’t right. This was the one thing why you’d left. Was this a mistake? It probably was, why else would you feel so small. He was right, this was.. A stranger, you were a stranger. And not in the way one would think, you were a stranger to yourself. Why were you there? 

Honestly, you wanted to leave. It… was weird. You wondered why he didn’t believe it. Of course, he wouldn’t believe someone like Sophia would do this, Sophia seemed to be very calculated. Like someone who always knew what she was doing. You guessed you understood that. 

But he seemed worried about her. Really Sophia had everything, at least someone was asking her what she was doing. No one questioned you. You watched him, he was angry, or worried or upset, or everything at once. 

You could overhear him, just a few lines, you didn’t want to seem like you were intruding. 

“The—Well, y/n? I don’t know her name—” He said and turned to you, he watched you from agair and you just nervously looked away. This was unbelievably awkward. “Henry called her—Whatever, no, she doesn’t have them, I have them, who is she?”

Henry had called you ‘Miss Y/L/n”, yes. But now  he knew your name. He didn’t know you knew his. 

You overheard again. “She is a stranger.” 

And then it crossed your mind, Sophia was a stranger. Why the hell had you done this? How had you done this? And you felt it in your stomach, this wasn’t like you. You never did anything. This was risking everything. This was getting out of your shell. 

“I… I don’t trust her. I’m… tell her to get a hotel,” you heard him. 

This was just not it. You felt dizzy, and anxious and this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This was supposed to be your fairytale and it felt like the worst nightmare. How was Sophia doing? 

At least she didn’t have to deal with anyone closing the door to your place, she’d have Tommy and you were sure the pup received her well. 

Tom watched you and turned to his phone and then you knew he was speaking at a lower volume, he probably knew you had overheard him. 

Tom was not happy, you could tell. Maybe this was his nightmare, after all, you assumed, he was in love with Sophia. 

He walked back to you, still staring at his phone. 

“Well, she’s gonna kill me if I don’t give you the keys,” he said, not still sure of it. “Look, I’m-” 

“I know you don’t trust me, I get it, but-Look, I am already here, I’m tired, I honestly feel like crap and I’m on a foreign country trying to remain as calm as I coul, look, I get it, I’m doubting it myself, but I trust her, she’s on my place, with Tommy-” 

“Who-?” 

“My dog, and I’m trusting her with that, so I know, I know, it is...mental or whatever fancy british ass word you used, and I myself can’t quite put my head as to why I did this, I don’t do this kind of stuff, I never do anything like this, and I know, it’s-Weird, and crazy but-You don’t have to be rude, alright? I’m not a criminal, I’m not- I’m just a girl whose heart was broken and needed to escape, and I-and Sophia was, too, okay? So maybe we just-I don’t know, I need to...” You knew your voice had broken a litte, and it surely pissed you off. “And Sophia, if she’s your friend, you’d understand why she’s doing this, she got her heartbroken, she was destroyed, someone made her believe it was her fault she was cheated on,” you pushed. “You know, when I talked to her-” 

“You don’t know-” 

“Maybe I just met her but I seem to understand her better than you,” you said. “And-and and before you say anything,” he had opened his mouth to complain. “I know, she is calculated, and I know she makes the right decision, but you don’t…Do you know how she feels with the breakup?” 

He didn’t answer. 

“Look, I don’t… That’s between you and her, alright-I-” 

You’d been saved by the bell, literally. A customer had walked in and Tom had to help them out. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then dug in his pocket. He hesitantly handed them to you, but he didn’t let go as you had your hand reaching for them. 

“It—uh, the red one is—“

“From inside the bookshop and the blue one outside,” you nodded. “Yeah, she told me.” 

Tom sighed before finally letting the keys fall on your hand. His fingers had brushed lightly, something you would’ve noticed and dreamed about 10 minutes ago, but you weren’t so fond of him now. 

“Thank you,” you said and headed to the door where Sophia had told you it would be. At that point you realized, you hadn’t even properly introduced yourself to him. 

You didn’t want to, honestly. 

You had trouble opening the door but as soon as Tom had turned to you, you managed to open it. You walked in, and as soon as you’d closed the door, you wanted to cry, because it seemed like it was your only talent. 

But you went upstairs and found the place, it was so neat, and organized and perfect and… Very office-like. Everything was where it was meant to be, so perfectly organized. Everything had a place. It was so clean. Nothing, nothing out of place. With plants, she’d told you about her houseplants. Elegantly and modernly decorated. 

Perfect. So elegant, with a dining table that had stationery on top. Dining table that was used to work? Sophia really didn’t know how to separate her job from her life. You’d known it since she’d told you she lived above her bookshop. Which honestly, you couldn’t blame, your job was writing and you were sure all your writings were scattered around your house. Your place was a mess, really, compared to Sophia’s squared house. 

Everything was so in place. The order you needed after the mess you had of a life. Just a glance and you felt… great. You’d even forgotten the whole issue with that random british dude, who, you’d avoid. 

This was incredible. You dropped the bags in the middle of the place and ran around her house to discover every little detail, because you knew you’d get to know who Sophia was better by her place. 

Her kitchen was impeccable, and her fridge was filled not with any comfort food that you’d been having since Chad, but everything was perfect. You loved to cook, and you’d end up using this kitchen, but you saw it was barely used, you could tell. She probably didn’t cook much. 

There was another room, another office, you presumed, though the whole place seemed like an office, too formal and ordered,  so organized again, with a small bookshelf, classic books and new ones, never opened. You wondered if she was like you, that couldn’t get to read them. She was a fan of stationery it seemed, and organizers, and post it here and there, color coded. Like everything was there for a reason. 

Three pictures, one of her and her family, one with Danny and another one with Tom. He definitely was in love with her. 

You explored a bit more. You even feared to be stepping on the floor, fearing you’d ruin it. The place seemed incredibly arranged. You didn’t belong there, but at the same time it was soothing. It was bright, and it helped. As if seeing so much order would help put some order in your own life. The place felt like it was cleaning your mind. 

You headed upstairs to the bedroom, and a big bed welcomed you, with a perfect white duvet and plush pillows. You, excitedly ran and jumped to lay down on it. 

This was just what you needed. 

However, you’d noticed that even though she’d told you you lived with Danny, there was no sight of anyone else living here. It didn’t feel like a couple’s place. It felt… Lonely. There was no sign of someone else who lived there. No home. 

But her bed was comfortable. And you were so, so tired. And then again… the bed was so, so comfy. Besides if the math was right, it was 2am back at home, so a nap wouldn’t be so bad. You stared at the ceiling, waiting for an answer. This was it. No, whatever doubt you'd had before, it was erased. This was your chance, sure it was completely crazy, but this… You needed to escape, and you were in a nice place, in Kensington, London. Not in boring Oregon anymore.  What was Sophia doing? Was she going through the big mess you were going through? 

She probably didn’t feel small. But you decided this was no time to feel small. Though, you were tired, this was no time to pity yourself. So you took a shower, put in some nice clothes and decided to enjoy the day. You were away, you didn’t have to feel sorry for yourself. You’d have time for that later, you were in London, you didn’t need to cry on the other side of the world. You’d done enough crying already. Over a guy named Chad. 

You needed to explore London, for God’s sake, you were in Notting Hill, you were no Julia Roberts but who was to say you wouldn’t find your Hugh Grant? 

You were sure to bring the keys and made sure to walk out over the exit that was not inside the bookshop. You didn’t want to face Tom. But when you’d walked out, you’d seen him, not as cheerful as the first time you’d seen him. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, and running a hand through his face. He did look out when he’d seen you, you decided, once again, to ignore him. Even though you were sure he had tried to reach for you. But no, you ignored him. 

And you would keep ignoring him, this was not time to deal with a british man who was not Hugh Grant.

Timmy fic (Phonecall Tom has) 

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[plussizeappreciationfics]

*rolls up to ask box* Lemmee get a Yoongi with plus size black reader where she's a teacher who moved to Korea teaching English at a university. She's grading papers at a 24 hr coffee shop with her 4c hair in puffs & glasses on. He's out getting his beloved iced Americano and he sees her. He's watches her for a bit until she overhears him talking about her fine ass in korean thinking she can't understand him but she snaps her head up and speaks perfect korean to the waitress? Sorry it's so long

I changed it a little bit but here you go wifey! 

First encounter

“God, this is so good…” you sighed in happiness once the delicate taste of your sweet cappuccino hit your tastebuds. This was exactly that you needed after a long day at school: a nice coffee and a new book to enjoy reading at your favourite café.

After clocking out, you had gone home to change into something comfortable and decided to let your hair rest in cute little buns and your glasses just complimented the whole outfit. Thank God it was Friday because you were so ready to just unwind and spend some quality time alone. You had some plans to go and have some fun in Seoul but those weren’t fully convinced of the plans just yet. Teaching had been very exhausted, but you loved your job, nonetheless.

You were about to dive back into your book when you noticed a very handsome guy sitting just two tables away from you. He had his laptop out, with something that looked like a small portable piano keyboard. He was bobbing his head along to whatever tunes were blasting through his headphones. You couldn’t help when he suddenly broke out grinning, showing off his gummy smile and it instantly made your heart swell with happiness.

The handsome stranger continued to grin while tapping away at his laptop, making you lose yourself in his little bubble, you were growing curious to what he was creating while wondering whether you’d ever be lucky enough to listen to it.

“Shit!” you hissed to yourself when the handsome stranger noticed your gaze on him and snapped his head in your direction, the two of you making instant eye contact. In that moment you released two things:

1. You had been staring at Min Yoongi aka, BTS’s Suga 

2. Min smiled when your eyes locked, and he gave you a gentle head nod

To say that you were panicking a little was an understatement. That man wasn’t just a celebrity but also had acknowledged your existence. A boost of self-confidence rushed through your body while you looked down at your book and mentally counted to ten in order to get your shit together. This wasn’t happening.

It took you more than ten seconds to calm down before clearing your throat and trying to focus on the phrases of your book. Your tensed shoulders slowly relaxed again, and a small smile crept onto your face, you had never guessed this would happen in a million years.

Five minutes into your book, you randomly glanced up again and noticed that Min was still staring at you. You gave him a small smile and raised your cup of coffee, not knowing that your beauty was putting the musician in complete awe. He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you as he instantly was interested in you.

Sure, Min had seen and met many beautiful people in his life but something about your smooth brown skin, the clothes that were hugging it perfectly and your simple behaviour was doing something to him. You didn’t know that he had paused his music and made it his personal mission to try and get close to you. Min was happy that today was the day he had decided to leave the house in order to find some inspiration for BTS’s upcoming song, because you were now the newly discovered inspiration.

The group had decided to write another beautiful love song, this time not just only expressing hopes of finding that intense and addicting love but to actually write about experiencing it. Not many knew that Min Yoongi had experienced that kind of love, it hadn’t lasted for a very long time but his heart had once belonged to someone special. The breakup nearly killed him though, the pain was unbearable and the musician had ever since been afraid to even approach someone.

Seeing you there, he felt his stomach flip in anxiety but also excitement because he felt determined to get to know you. Your eyes locked for a few more minutes before you felt like a creep and decided to get back to reading.

Taking another sip of your cup, you noticed your palms starting to sweat as Min’s handsomeness was simply too overwhelming for you. “Such a beauty”, whispered the singer in Korean before shaking his head in amazement.

I BEG YOUR PARDON?!

You screamed in your head, your eyes almost popping out of its sockets. Min didn’t know that you were fluent in Korean as it was a necessity in order to teach in the country and probably didn’t expect you to understand him, so he felt more than free to voice his opinion on you.

You took a big sip from your coffee and decided to take your interaction a step further. You took a few deep breaths before standing up, collecting your book, hot drink and phone before walking over to him and joining him at this table.

Min let out a surprised gasp when you looked at him and replied in Korean “Thanks for the compliment”. Then you started the conversation, saying that you had been fluent in the language for a few years now and that you were a fan of BTS. The way he snapped his laptop shut had you giggling while leaning back against your seat and smiling happily.

Min instantly felt shy and apologised for his comment, expressing how it wasn’t gentleman like and that he just felt so amazed by your beauty. You excitedly let him know that you also found him very beautiful and then you loved his musical talent. The rapper then asked you about your life, you liked your job and how you liked living in Seoul, he patiently listened to you while making mental notes how you beautiful your voice sounded. It was like sweet honey to his craving ears.

You told him a few funny stories that happened while teaching and the way he threw his head back and laughed loudly had you instantly catching feelings. His gummy smile just looked breathtaking, he didn’t give a single fuck about the fact that his loud laughter was booming through the whole café, he just was in his happy moment.

Min then told you different stories of his life as a worldwide known musician, the ups and downs of dealing with fame and even his hopes for the future. It was so easy to read right through him like an open book: that man found happiness in the simplest things of life but was very lonely. He didn’t have many friends and barely had the time to spend some quality time with them, but just from the way he was looking while talking about them, you knew that he loved them dearly. 

Yoongi continued talking about the group’s members, what he had learned from them and how much he loved them despite being very bad at showing his appreciation. You clung onto every word that left his soft and plump lips and imagined what it would be like to feel them gently pressed against yours.

“Hey…Can I take you out sometime? There’s many amazing places I can show you if you want”, Min asked with the most adorable yet shy expression on his face. You were melting away while he was trying his best to not show how much he wanted to hold your hand, listen to you talk for hours and be lucky enough to kiss your plump lips that were calling onto his.

Your numbers already had been exchanged a few minutes into the first conversation so all you could hope for was to get a text from the musician.

“I would love that!” you grinned and couldn’t help but reach out for his hand and give it a quick squeeze. His palms were sweating, and his nostrils immediately appreciated your delicate scent when you leaned in. That man was falling quick and hard for you. You didn’t mind his sweaty hand, actually loved the feeling of his soft skin.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t dare show it. This felt amazing. You wished it never end, but that wasn’t an option, for now. With one final smile you wished Yoongi a nice day before standing up and gathering your things, your cup of coffee already having been consumed. After leaving a few bills and a nice tip on your table, you made your way out of the café without glancing back, knowing damn well that Min was staring at you and your luscious curves.

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-Emmanuelle 💋❤️

[capsized-heart]

Sky Castles

Pairing: Laurie x Reader, Jo x Reader

Summary: Summer has always been your favorite season in Plumfield. Perhaps it’s the lovely, sunny mornings and cool, calm nights, or perhaps it’s the fact that you and Laurie and Jo are practically inseparable in midsummer. 

Follows the summers from childhood into young adulthood, with turmoils of the heart along the way.   

Word count: 6.1k+

Warnings: fluff!!!!!!!!

A/N: hi, everyone. I hope you’re all staying safe and well! Right off the bat, I want to mention that I’ve pinned a post on both this blog and my main blog @sarapii-peachy​ about resources for the BLM movement to raise awareness and petitions you can sign to help make a difference on a smaller scale. Everything counts!

i’m back and now with a bachelor’s degree :’) class of 2020 high school and college esketit!!! we did it!!! in this historic pandemic!!! Sorry I’ve been gone for a bit, this fic has been my rocky transition/attempt out of writer’s block after my INSANE last semester of uni and with all the craziness going on in the world. I hope you can channel and take in some of this innocent happiness and childhood glee into your own lives as we navigate the shitshow that is 2020. Saoirse x Timmy x Reader here to cure me of my depression lmao

this title is also based off a chapter in the Little Women book where Laurie, Jo, and the girls go to a park and gaze at the passing clouds and talk about their futures...it’s honestly really sweet. Loosely based off of that! 

Comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated on this💛! Not that you guys don’t leave love, but this fic like I mentioned is my attempt at kicking writer’s block in the ass, please let me know how I did! :) talk to me I missed you guys :)

tags: @ravenmoore14 @monikakrasnorada @dangertoozmanykids101 @toozmanykids​ @adawn1970​ @mrchalamet-mrstyles @chavezlikesthings @loveylangdon@daygiowvibe @statisticlytimmy @ceexreverse​ @bamposworld​ @lilttletimmy​ @cindere-llaaa​

gif credit to @sheisraging​

You love New England for its rich, distinct seasons, how they each paint the countryside in eloquent sweeps of shade and hue. Snow, sun, and breathtaking landscapes of fall color that tinge the treetops throughout the year. You love Plumfield, Massachusetts more for the warmth and love the March sisters have shown you, each alike in personality, nature, to the equinoxes that have shaped your girlhood, each tender memory from your youth synonymous with Meg, Amy, Beth, and Jo. 

 Autumn. Cozy and comfortable, where motherly Meg showed you how to heat and dip caramel with the apples you’d carefully picked from the orchard for a rare treat, the kitchen swirling with the aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg, turmeric, and spices that left you feeling aglow. She’d taught you how to use an embroidery hoop, how to let dough rise, how to bake a proper pie and how to fix any clothing tear with a simple needle and thread, her compliments quick for your ever growing domestic talents. 

Winter. Like cool, ambitious Amy with her painting and taste for luxury and pleasure, how she would praise you for being the only subject suitable for her artwork. Laurie would moan and complain about sitting for hours by the fireside, begging to be excused to go play in the snow, but never you. Amy called you her muse, arranging your hair and skirts to her liking, softening your lips and cheeks with a touch of rouge. It was always such fun to make a day out of modeling for Amy’s portraits, talking and laughing as she’d set up her paints.

Spring. Sweet and angelic like little Beth, windows wide open as her piano trills would float on the warm air, curtains ruffling in the breeze. You’d sit beside her on the piano bench and turn her sheet music for her, to which Beth would give you a shy, rosy smile in thanks. She taught you how to play Chopin and Tchaikovsky, duet pieces where you’d accompany her on the keys, harmonizing with chords and your fingers flying easily together.

Summer. Your favorite season, refreshing, bright, where you and Jo would spend balmy days and long, cool evenings tucked beneath the shade of tree trunks and willows as you’d read in the sun, listen to Jo’s carefully crafted stories. Her creativity and imagination never failed to amaze you, how her writing could transport you to the farthest countries, or keep you grounded in whatever fantastical setting she’d constructed for herself. She’d often write about the two of you; two young girls, best friends who’d have all sorts of dazzling adventures exploring the corners of the world, without the taxing responsibilities of chores, or schoolwork, or the foreboding, inevitable reality that one day you will be young adults and childhood would be gone forever. You’d have picnics and excursions to the nearby fields, dozing in the sun and picking wildflowers, splashing and wading through the rivers and creeks when the heat became unbearable. Before Laurie would come and spoil your fun, of course. Then, you and Jo and Laurie would be like three rowdy boys playing in the woods, your laughter echoing off the trees and sparkling waters. 

You first meet Theodore Laurence as a young girl in the fields connecting the March’s property and your own. You live just down the road from the March sisters, your house tucked away beyond the bend and you’d make the trek across the meadow and grasses daily to visit your neighbors. Being an only child with your father off fighting for the Union, the March house was like your second home and the girls and Marmee and Hannah always made you feel like part of the family, your own loneliness long forgotten as soon as you’d step through the door and you’d be welcomed back with laughter, squeals, and embraces.

Today, you are seeking the company of your friends as usual, returning a book Jo had lended you with a basketful of scones you’d baked in repayment. A recipe you’d learned from Meg. The autumn air is surprisingly warm against your skin, indian summer, flushed and golden and dappling the plains. It makes you smile softly, your mood pleasant as you gather your skirts in time with your step, adjust your basket. 

Then, you see him. A boy making his way in the same direction, dressed smartly in a black woolen coat and matching trousers, a silk scarf tastefully tied around his throat. His curls are windswept and tousled, his gait relaxed. He feels your gaze and looks up, eyes finding yours and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a friendly smile. Warmth floods your cheeks. You quickly duck your head.

He looks to be your age, but you’ve read tales of highwaymen and bandits roaming the countryside, how they’d feign kindness, only to strike unsuspecting travelers. Perhaps it was the work of Jo’s overactive and contagious imagination playing at your nerves, but why was he heading towards the March’s? You think of little Beth, how boys and newcomers made her nervous, timid. Your resolve hardens protectively. You have to keep this stranger away from the girls. 

Your pulse hammers in your throat as you lift your head to see the boy still looking your way. He waves his hand in greeting. 

“Hello!” he cheers. 

With your eyes still locked, you pick up your pace and keep your silence. Curiously, the boy finds this amusing, laughing, making it into a game as he too begins to walk briskly towards the house, of who will reach the door first. You narrow your eyes, summoning as much hostility and wickedness to your expression, demeanor as you can muster. The two of you are running now, his grin wide and eager, your own mouth twisted with hard concentration as you race each other.

Your chest is heaving when you brace yourself against the doorframe, blocking his way with your arm, back against the wood. He’s not a second behind you and is already on the stoop when you turn to face him.

“Are you Jo’s friend?” the boy asks you with a breathless, easy smile. “You’re quite fast, even faster than her.” He adds. He’s practically bouncing on his feet, jovial and buzzing with energy. The mention of Jo’s name curbs your distrust further. Bandit may now be off the table, and the thought makes you feel a bit foolish now, but how could Jo befriend such a strange boy without you knowing? How did he already seem to know who you are? 

Up close, you notice his eyes are green and mischievous, reflecting back the shimmering plains in flecks of amber as he gazes at you, your pulse fluttering ever so slightly…

You scold yourself internally. 

Handsome or not, he was undoubtedly a boy of trouble who had somehow won over Jo’s attention. And no easy feat, might you add. Headstrong and resolute, Jo’s circle of friends was quite small outside of you and her sisters, and you liked it that way. You’d like to keep it that way as well. 

You feel a sharp, ugly pang of jealousy curl in your stomach. You stick out your lower lip in a pout, turn up your nose in a way that would certainly earn a scolding from Marmee if she were to see your impoliteness. 

“Who are you to ask?” You snap.

Your words do not take the desired effect on him. Instead of hurt, or embarrassment, the boy smirks at you, amused. He cocks his head to one side and leans back on his heels, studying you like you’d just asked him why the sky is blue. His mood is breezy, amiable. 

“I’m Laurie. Is that better?” he offers with a comical pout of his own. You wrinkle your nose. This boy was starting to irritate you more and more.

“Surname?”

“Laurence.”

“Laurie Laurence? My, how silly and dull.”

He laughs, a low and pleasant sound that threatens to melt your angry facade. He shakes his head, hands in his pockets. 

“It’s a pet name. Jo calls me Teddy, but you may call me whichever you like,” he says. Your jealousy burns brighter, flushing your skin, twisting together with a hint of desire and yearning. 

You were once Jo’s everything, her favorite companion. She made this clear with how she’d tell you plainly, how she’d spoil you with compliments and stories and affection. And now, it seemed Jo knew another, this Laurie, well enough to call him Teddy when you had no pet name of your own. She seemed to speak of you, which would explain Laurie’s cordiality, but did she tell him how you were the only one she felt comfortable enough with to critique her writing? How she would encourage your aspirations of becoming a dancer by arranging the foyer into a stage and cheering for you while sitting atop the staircase like an admirer in the box seats? How the two of you could jest and play for hours with nothing but your imagination, crying from laughter until your bellies ached?

You feel a sense of betrayal and heartache at this, an intrusion, a tirade of emotions you can’t quite explain. Did you want Jo all for yourself? Did you want to befriend Laurie as well? Did you just want to be someone’s everything again and to be doted on and loved? 

Then, Laurie’s voice tapers into a quiet hum, a touch of softness. You hear the first indication of bashfulness as he looks down at you through full, dark lashes. “I hope the three of us can be good friends. I’d like to know you as well.” He murmurs. 

You don’t know what to think of him. Your chest feels tight and your cheeks burn, from anger or passion you can’t quite tell. You’re contemplating leaving your basket on the doorstep and shoving past him to go back home when you suddenly hear a clamor of voices and the turning of the knob and then the door falls open behind you. 

Laurie catches you before you can tumble through the entryway, hands finding your waist. Jo, vibrant and chipper as ever, lights up when she sees you and her sky blue eyes shine like glass. She has her cap fitted over her wavy blonde curls, skipping into your arms and for a moment you’re sandwiched between the two of them. You flush scarlet. 

“Oh, good! You two have met. Goodbye, Marmee! I’m going out!” Jo calls into the house, her voice overlapping with her sisters’ as they all greet you in a burst of chaos. But before Jo can usher you outside, you feel your childish temper flare and you squirm out of her reach and back through the open door and into the house. You set your basket onto the table, turning to hide your face in Amy’s shoulder with a flutter of your skirts as you feel the hot sting of tears prickle your eyes. You weren’t going to let this Laurie boy see you cry upon your first encounter.

“I’m not coming.” You mumble. Amy’s hand comes to soothingly pet back your hair with a hush of surprise and you sense her look to Jo with a characteristic glare.

“Jo, what have you done?” Amy presses.

“I’ve done nothing!” Jo retorts with a huff. Then, her voice turns gentle, curious as she speaks to you. “Dear, what’s the matter?”

“She wouldn’t be on the verge of tears if you hadn’t done nothing, would she?” Amy replies. You laugh weakly, tightening your arms around her. “See?” Amy says. “You’ve broken her heart, the poor thing.” 

“Jo’s made new friends,” you sniffle, embarrassed when Laurie’s eyes meet yours. Amy’s arms around you make you feel comforted and safe, brave enough to voice your true burdens when you say, “I’ve been replaced,” and gaze back at Laurie in defiance, protest. He frowns and shifts his weight, looking genuinely sorry with a guilt that touches his eyes. Good, you think. Let him think twice before stealing away your best companion. 

At this, Jo’s expression softens with understanding and warmth as she sees you curl into Amy once more. Jo takes a step into the open doorway, leaving Laurie on the stoop.

“No one could ever replace you, dear,” she says. “I only keep Laurie around for when I’m bored and you aren’t around to play. Look at him,” she gestures in his direction. “He’s aloof and vain, he’s lazy, he doesn’t have an ounce of the imagination you do-” 

“Don’t forget arrogant.” Amy pipes up.

Jo nods, wagging a finger at her sister. “Right you are, Amy. We mustn't forget that.”

Laurie starts to puff up with a temper, his lips twisting together and you can see him struggling with whether to speak up and defend himself, or let the girls have their fun for your sake. Jo goes on, saying he was devious and too pretty for his own good, making you and Amy giggle as she rubs soothing circles into your back. It’s rather polite and charming as you watch Laurie suffer silently, biting his tongue as Jo continues to defame his character before she finally turns back to you.

“I should have introduced the two of you properly, and for that, I’m sorry,” says Jo. “You must have had quite the surprise running into him.” Laurie again glances to you with an apologetic softness, wringing his hands together. “So, what do you think, Teddy? Are we ready to start afresh?” Jo asks him, hands on her hips. 

This makes you laugh, bubbly, your mood perking up as you finally lift your head from Amy’s shoulder. Of course, Jo would be able to comprehend your grievances and somehow peg Laurie with the blame, how she knew your heart was delicate and tender and so full of devotion that you were quick to hold grudges. Your envy dissipates and you feel a bit sorry seeing Laurie now in such low spirits, his theatrical demeanor now quiet and modest. 

“If she’ll have me,” Laurie murmurs, glancing up at you with such a pureness in his glittering eyes that regret starts to settle in your stomach.

“And I’ve written more of that story you enjoyed so much,” Jo holds out a hand to you. “Won’t you come hear what happens next?” she asks. Slowly, like the pull of a magnet, you untangle yourself from Amy’s arms and cross the room to take Jo’s outstretched hand. 

“Alright.” You say at last. Jo beams and cradles your face with her other hand, swiping away your tears with her thumb. You let her baby you like she would with Beth, enjoying her touch against your cheek. 

“That’s my sweet girl.” She smiles.

You then look to a sheepish Laurie and extend a hand, filled with new courage. You tell him your name and echo back his words that you hope the three of you can indeed become good friends, that you and Jo could do well with another acquaintance. The smile Laurie gives you is genuine, sweet and gentle, the corner of his mouth turning up in crooked delight. He clasps your hand warmly.

“I would want nothing more.” Laurie laughs. 

And with that, nestled between Jo and Laurie, you step back outside into the rich and golden light of a warm autumn afternoon, curious, excited for what adventures the day will bring you. 

**

Laurie joins your duo swimmingly and the rest of the year passes in pleasant tranquility as the three of you spend nearly every waking moment by each others’ sides. All Hallow’s Eve finds you dressed in a costume of French royalty, a pompous and comical gown of ballooning fabrics, complete with a powdered wig of pins and curls. You’ve painted your face with overlined lips and the trademark mole below your eye and the March sisters double over with laughter as you enter the foyer, fluttering your paper fan with an aristocratic pout, Laurie saluting your entrance with a roar of, la plus belle fille du monde! Jo is dressed as a fearsome pirate, outfitted in boots, breeches, and a captain’s hat, the wooden sword you and Laurie helped to paint swishing through the air as she parades into the room. Laurie enters last with a bang and a flash of white powder, appearing before your eyes in true magician fashion with a top hat and cane, a false mustache pasted onto his upper lip. All six of you then march across the field to the Laurence residence, now alight with carved pumpkins and lanterns, for your All Hallow’s Eve party of sweets and games.

Christmas brings festivities, flurries, and cheer. Sledding, ice skating, days of cold and winter fun making snow angels and snowmen, decorating the March house with holly, mistletoe, culminating into a hearty turkey dinner as you sit perched next to Laurie. The candlelight is homely, the sound of laughter and clinking silverware washing over you and you catch Laurie’s eye as he lifts his fork to his mouth. The two of you grin, leaning into each other with quiet happiness, heads bowed. You and Laurie both mirror each other in being only children, meaning these times together have been filled with welcome camaraderie. Where your instances of yearning for the companionship of siblings that only those without can understand, you’ve found company in each other, never a dull moment, never lonely. 

The thaw of spring keeps you tucked away indoors with torrents of rain pelting against the roof. Jo reads to you aloud from her novel, asking for your thoughts every so often as you and Laurie lounge on the sofa. When you articulate a point of slight critique on Jo’s use of character, Laurie teasingly tugs on a lock of your hair with a smirk. 

“How perceptive.” He murmurs, grinning.

You swat his hand away, glaring at him in mock anger. 

And as the days grow warmer, so does your heart. You’ve learned to share your affection between Laurie and Jo in a way you think is equally matched and that autumn day where you’d been so sour to both of them seems like ages ago. Soon after that incident, your bravado had quickly morphed into appreciation and Jo had been eager to break the ice between you and Laurie. And like all children, your differences and jealousy had been set aside as you’d discovered he was quite fun to be around. Laurie shared Jo’s quick wit and intelligence, like an androgynous mirror, so much of yourself also reflected in both of them in time and they in you. And yet, Laurie had a certain charm about him; how he could have the two of you in stitches and still maintain the air of sophistication that was so often expected of the Laurence boy. Admittedly, you were thrilled to have them both as your best and favorite playmates. 

In turn, they had done the same, showering you with loving attention and teasing, keeping you entertained with their bickering, quarreling over how they both wanted to occupy your time with their respective ideas for sport. Fighting over you. The thought of it makes you blush furiously. Yet, you feel cared for, like the most precious thing in their lives.You’ve also selfishly enjoyed being the apple of their eye and all the privileges that has bestowed; Jo writing you into her stories, featuring you as a beautiful sugar plum fairy, and Laurie promising to write you a French ballet, to someday whisk you off to Europe to experience high art and culture. 

At last, spring turns to summer and the three of you are back to mischief and horseplay in the great outdoors. The days are lush, agreeable, bright and pleasant with flashing sunshine and lofty clouds. You’re again reminded why summer to you is synonymous with Jo as you run together through the waving fields bursting with flowers, Laurie right on your heels as he too gives chase. 

“Jo! We were only kidding about the toads!” Laurie calls out from behind you. “It’s not like I have one in my pocket this very moment who’s squirming to get free and might have bitten me earlier when I caught him by the river and-”

He gives a shout of surprise and you hear his footfalls pause in the grasses. You and Jo both turn, breathless, already laughing when you see Laurie hopping about like hot coals are burning beneath his feet.

A small pond frog wiggles out of his pocket seam with a croak and then disappears into the meadow, waddling with great speed. With out-turned pockets and wrinkled trousers, Laurie stands there with his hands on his hips, confidence and humor masking his faults as always.

“My, they grow up so fast, don’t they?” Laurie says as he looks out over the crest of the hill with a humorous glint in his eyes, like a mother watching her child leave for the vast, cruel world. You and Jo collapse into a fit of giggles, holding each other upright by the shoulders and gasping for air.

**

Eternal summer and sun, a tender paradise. And as midsummer arrives, so does the heat. It’s stifling, heavy, the kind that suffocates and forbids any excessive movement or play, when being idle is perfectly acceptable, a rarity for you three young adventurers. Today, even nature herself seems to be drowsy from the stifling weather. Sunflowers droop from the weight of honeybees as they float lazily over the fields. Birds chortle from the treetops, as if too tired to fly, their song intertwining with the rustling grasses, tousled by the rare cool breeze. The sky burns a dome of brilliant blue above you, filled with towering, cotton white cumulus clouds. You watch as they drift slowly over the horizon. Like colossal ships at sea. 

You rest your head on Laurie’s chest and he toys with your hair. Jo dozes with her arms pillowed across your stomach and the three of you are a sleepy dog-pile of limbs. The feel of Laurie’s fingers makes you relaxed, drowsy. You hear Jo then give a soft snore and you chuckle.

“What is it?” Laurie asks. You can already hear the smile in his voice, how just your laughter is enough to amuse him too. You shake your head against his chest and the movement makes you giggle again. Laurie joins you, flopping out his legs, the heat making you both delirious and loopy.

You reach up blindly and give him a firm nudge, your hand landing just under his chin.

“Stop it, you’ll wake her.” You scold him with as much seriousness as you can muster and failing miserably. 

“Ow,” Laurie groans. He grasps your wrist, moving your hand to place it against his cheek and he puckers out his lower lip. “You’ve hurt me, I’m unwell.”

“Oh...Laurie, I didn’t mean it..” you sit up and coo, caressing his skin. Laurie looks pleased, a flash of playfulness in the green of his eyes as you lean towards him. “Let me take a closer-” 

You cuff him on the ear ever so lightly, catching him by complete surprise and Jo wakes, cackling, throwing her arms around you. 

Later, the three of you gaze up at the passing clouds, a comfortable silence settling over you all as you enjoy the afternoon.

“If we could fly up into those clouds and there was a castle with anything your heart desired, what would it be?” Jo asks. “Where do you two see your lives leading you?” Her tone is pensive, romantic. You and Laurie both hum in thought. 

“You first, Laurie.” You murmur. 

Laurie turns to look back at the bright blue sky, to the billowy clouds that look like spun sugar candy. 

“I want to live abroad in Europe and be surrounded by music, my music. I want to compose, I want to be renowned for my operas.” He declares with a proud puff of his chest. Jo nods, you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“That sounds very much like you, Teddy,” Jo says. “A bachelor making art in Europe, how capital.”

He makes a face, then winks at you out of the corner of his eye. You stick out your tongue.

“You can do it if you stay focused,” you add. “No more billiards, for a start.” 

Laurie wrinkles his nose. “And what is it that you want, prima donna?” he asks you in challenge. 

You turn away with a roll of your eyes, gaze to the heavens. The thought comes to you easily as you listen to the birds, feel the breeze tickling your skin, drinking in the sky. 

“I want to be a ballet dancer in a prestigious company. I want to tour the world.” You say softly. Before, you would have felt embarrassment to share such an ambitious dream. But something about this moment, of being with Laurie and Jo makes you feel brave and safe enough to speak your mind, to put your words into the universe and have it come to fruition. Like a magic spell of sorts. With them here with you, you feel like any dream is possible.

Another chorus of hums and Jo looks pleased at your response. Laurie smirks up at the horizon.

“No fair if it’s likely to happen,” he laughs. “That’s cheating.”

“Oh, hush,” Jo chides with a rather hard sock to Laurie’s arm. She ignores his whines as he recoils and grumbles dramatically. “You’re well on your way, dear,” Jo tells you. “Now that you’ll be in that New York production next summer, I’m sure your opportunities will be plentiful.”

You hope she’s right. You’d secured a role as an ensemble dancer in an upcoming production of Romeo and Juliet, your most prestigious show as of yet in your young and budding career. Jo’s warm praise makes you blush like the flowers surrounding you, pink and full. Laurie’s quick eyes catch this, envious, and he changes the subject, a muscle ticking ever so slightly in his jaw. 

“And you, Jo?” He asks tightly. 

Jo exhales, crossing her arms behind her head. “Being a writer, of course. A great one. I don’t want to settle for less.” 

“Doubtful,” snides Laurie. “I don’t see it.”

You and Laurie look to each other with a quiet smile.

“No, not with all the prizes you’ve won,” you add. “Impossible.”

Jo shoots upright, too quickly for the heat. She slugs Laurie again.

“Ow...Jo, it’s too hot for your beatings,” he moans. “Don’t be a poor sport.”

She doesn’t answer him, only gives him a final push and hunkers back down onto the grass, turning her back to him with a huff.

“Why am I the only one that ever gets hit?” Laurie grumbles, opening his shirt to cool himself off and throws his forearm across his eyes for shade, frowning. You giggle, curling up beside her.

“I believe in your abilities, Jo.” You whisper to her. She takes your hand. 

It’s not long before the three of you are fast asleep in the sun. 

**

And as the seasons and summers roll on and the fruits of childhood begin to slowly ripen with the passing years, you find your companionship with Laurie and Jo changing and growing like never before. Your friendship starts to blossom into fondness, adoration. Indeed, you’ve loved them as playmates and companions since the three of you were children, but as you flourish amidst that quaint, strange, and budding pocket of time when young men and women come of age, where you and Laurie and Jo are now struck with bashfulness and an awareness of being alone with each other, your love for them arches and glows like summer sunset. 

This makes you acutely conscious of your appearance and dress, your posture, how you carry yourself, your mannerisms. How did your hair look? Did you laugh too loudly? Would Jo think your comments about her writing were too harsh? Why did you feel such warmth in your chest every time you saw her? And why were you starting to anticipate Laurie’s company? Why did you always have a sharp hope that he would come around with every visit of yours to the March residence? The constant whir of thoughts and worries was enough to make your head turn with heaviness, make you collapse from the pressures of simply existing.

“You’re acting odd,” Laurie tells you one day.

The two of you lay in a meadow with summer buzzing all around you, resting beneath the drooping leaves of a willow tree. Jo had been unable to join you as she had Beth’s lessons to teach that afternoon, much to her own disappointment and promising to make it up to you soon with an affectionate pinch to your cheek. You’d considered going home then. The last thing you wanted was to be left alone with Laurie, that familiar crush in your chest, an inkling of dread coupled with a shortness of breath, fear and excitement. You were terrified. But when he’d taken your hand and asked you so sweetly to accompany him to the meadow’s waters, how could you possibly refuse? 

But of course, Laurie was quick to notice your nerves. 

“The heat is getting to your head,” you say evenly with eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face. “Besides, that’s rather rude.”

You hear him move and feel his presence directly in front of you, as if leaning in.

“It is a bit hot, do you feel up for a swim?”

This makes your eyes snap open. Following Jo’s mannerisms, you give him a shove in the chest. “You’re vile,” you grin. 

To your surprise, Laurie’s teasing, playful demeanor is nowhere to be found. His gaze is instead thoughtful, holding your own like you are all he sees. Immediately, you feel your pulse kick up in the side of your throat.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he continues with a shake of his head. “You don’t seem like yourself. I thought a change in our routine could be refreshing.”

You give a light shrug of your shoulders. “I feel fine,” you say. 

He brushes the back of his hand against your forehead. He hums, then curls his fingers down along the planes of your face to rest on your cheek. 

“You’re flushed,” he murmurs. 

Time seems to slow. The roar of blood deafens your ears and the fragrance of the sweet waters and blooms around you is overwhelming, sunlight refracting like prismed rainbow. Laurie kisses you then, a gentle touch of his lips, tilting your chin up to meet him. A sweetheart’s kiss, one that tastes of summer secrets as you’re shaded by vines and mist. When you break apart, he keeps his hand cradled against your cheek, his thumb circling the corner of your mouth.

You don’t know what to say. You’re speechless, your chest rising and falling softly, staring back at him with wide, surprised eyes. Laurie looks reflective, emerald irises half-lidded.

“What am I to tell Jo?” you whisper to him. Heat diffuses through your body like desert wind. You feel elated, cherished, frightened, embarrassed. Guilty. Laurie’s eyes flicker once more to your lips, his dark lashes fluttering with the movement. His smile is melancholy, yet knowing.

“You love her, too.” Laurie hums. It’s a statement, a confirmation of your feelings for both of them. The fact that the boy you’ve adored for so long has uttered your very thoughts out loud should have you completely mortified, yet there’s a small sense of comfort knowing he’d understand. Laurie knows this because he himself feels the same way, knows you or Jo or himself could never bring themselves to choose.

Laurie’s smile prompts you to lace your fingers together in the grasses and you give him a light peck on the cheek. He brightens up, raking a hand through his black curls. 

“You love me.” Laurie beams.

**

When you tell Jo about the kiss, she’s dancing with you on the porch in the evening light. Inside, you can see Marmee and the girls entertaining themselves through the windows as you practice your pirouettes. Jo is dressed in her writing jacket and trousers, keeping you balanced as she plays the part of the male dancer, perfectly competent. 

“What an impish boy,” Jo says of Laurie. You laugh and the two of you continue your steps, running through the dance number in a private rehearsal. Laurie is due to rehearse with you the week before your performance and the thought itself is enough to make butterflies explode in your stomach. Jo is a strong, leading dancer, while Laurie is graceful and firm, both capable of making the palms of your hands sweat with nerves. You know in your heart if you could rehearse with them, you’d have no fear on opening night. You’d already be invincible.

“Again from the top, please, kind sir,” you curtsey to Jo. Her smile is giddy and she gives a click of her heels before returning to her starting position. 

“Of course,” she responds. Taking your hand, she guides you through the steps once more, your heart soft and temperate like the evening around you.

**

The sound of applause is warm and full, washing over you as you take your bows. You feel weightless, aglow, eyes brimming with tears. You think you see Laurie and Jo leap to their feet in the audience, but the stage lights are too bright and you cannot see clearly and you think you may faint from happiness. 

In the auditorium, you’re still in your costume of Venetian silks and flowers when you’re swept off your feet by a boisterous Laurie and he twirls you around in his arms, his riding cloak billowing out behind him. 

“There’s our Capulet! You were phenomenal!”

“I’m so proud of you, dear!” Jo practically shouts with excitement, tackling you next in a bearish hug when Laurie finally sets you down. Their praise is boundless, endless, showering you in so much adoration that your heart feels close to bursting. You gather them close, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“Thank you both for everything,” you choke out, squeezing them tight.

Over Jo’s shoulder, you spot Marmee, Meg, Amy, even shy little Beth with a bouquet of flowers and then you let the tears fall when you run to them and you thank your stars for the luck and love you’ve been blessed with.  

**

Another year, another summer soon arrives. You and Jo and Laurie are back in the fields cloud-gazing, a lazy afternoon of heat and leisurely time well spent. Things feel familiar, recognizable between the three of you, yet there’s a sense of distance between now and when Jo had first asked about your castles in the sky all those summers ago. 

 Jo was now making a name for herself in the writer’s world, having won another prize in a New York newspaper. She’d been gaining the attention of devoted readers and critics alike and was now working on a proper novel, her longest project as of yet. She tells you not to worry, that she’ll be sure to feature you as a central character in the same way she’d done as a child, nostalgic tales of pirates and adventure and love.

“My sweet sugar plum fairy,” she’d gruffed, pulling you into another powerful hug.

Laurie had finished his opera, now with aspirations of pulling funds together and opening a production in Europe. He was still in the midst of planning and conversing with his grandfather about finances and departure dates, but it seemed like Laurie’s promise of spiriting you away to Europe could now become a reality. And with the possibility of your very own French stage debut! 

Thus, you three souls were being tugged into three far corners of the globe, to your respective callings. The realization scares you, to know that this may be one of the few times you have left together. But underneath it all, there was a sense of excitement to see the world and make it your own. You were satisfied, proud knowing that the three of you had come so far with your aspirations and you had no doubt you would find success in your art.

In the comfortable silence, serenaded by the hum of cicadas and birdsong, you gaze up to the clouds gliding over Plumfield, Massachusetts. You feel an aching longing for those childhood days of carefree play, the countless rose-tinted memories of Laurie and Jo by your side, yet looking up at the sky, you know these memories of summers past will always be with you. 

And there would be better and more to come. 

[simsadventures]

Duties: Chapter 3: Princess or Not

Summary: You go about your day as usual in the castle, when a stranger’s scent hits your nose and encompasses all your senses. However, you have always been taught not to give in too easily. And that’s what you’re about to do. Probably.

Warnings: fluff, a/b/o dynamics, scenting, royal AU, medieval AU, my bad English

Word Count: 2425

A/N: More reader in this one. Hope you’ll enjoy this development in the series. What do we all think? And who do we think the reader is? xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

Your steps were light and cheery. Today was the day of a feast for the King’s friend, a prince from Asgard, of whom you heard plenty. You were the help in the kitchen for quite some time now, and you couldn’t be happier with your newly assigned job. In your previous life, you didn’t have any freedom of choice, everything was lined up, and not in a good way.

But now, you were free and definitely joyous about it. You might not have had the luxury in your life anymore, but that didn’t matter to you none. You were simply happy for the second chance in life you have been given, and you were going to use it as much as you liked.

In the kitchens, everything had its place, and while usually life down there would be pretty calm and simple, today was narrating a different story. Everyone was running around, bumping into each other and having the bowls full of food fall to the ground, shattering in the process. The apprentices had to then run and try to clean it up before another person fell down because of the mess on the ground.

You navigated your way through the people, trying to stay clear of their paths while still maintaining a high tempo. You had to, after all, help bake all the bread and rolls for the entire festivities, and, that was a whole lot of baked goods if you said so yourself.

You began your work, kneading the pastry, working it till it was smooth and pliable in your hands so you could make different sized rolls out of it. You liked doing the regular, plain bread because it was simple and quick.

However, what you liked doing the most were the cookies, and different kinds of sweet pastry, in which you could actually show your baking genius. You would add things bakers before you wouldn’t even think of, such as dried fruits, or different home-made jams, and syrups, so that when you bit into the pasty, it would flow out of it like the most delicious sap from a tree. Princess Morgan especially liked your little doughnuts, filled with molten chocolate and powder sugar on top.

It took you and several other bakers a good few hours to bake everything that was supposed to appear on the feast, but when it was done, it was beautiful. Pastry, bread, rolls, and other baked goods laid everywhere you looked, and it was a look to behold. You even managed to bake a little more than was said, because you knew that whatever didn’t get eaten at the feast, king Anthony would send the food to the village below. You just wanted to make sure there was enough even for them.

It was simply in your nature. You always made sure that people around were happy before you made yourself happy. You used to do it from a young age, and your father always thought it was the most remarkable trait of yours.

You smiled sadly and shook your head to shake away the dark thoughts spreading through your mind. You didn’t need that today. Today was a celebration, and you were about to enjoy it, even if you were to just look after the food at the party.

The dress you picked for the festivities were simple, just like your every other dress in your wardrobe. They were plain blue, and the colour reminded you of the colour of the sky in spring when everything blooms and the novelty of life can be felt around you. On top of it, a simple embroidery was sawn, and it was that of a cherry tree, your favourite. There were only a few branches on the dress, but you loved it nevertheless.

You checked yourself in the small mirror in your room, and even though you could only see your neckline (that’s how small the mirror actually was), you smiled at yourself. Your skin was paler than it used to, because now you spent most your time in the kitchen, whereas a long time ago, you could actually run around the gardens.

But it didn’t take the radiance of it. Your cheeks were slightly blushed, and you pinched them some more just to keep that effect. You smiled at yourself one last time before heading towards the main hall, where the party had already started a few hours ago.

The hall was magnificent again. It was really true what most kingdoms said. King Anthony really did throw the best parties, and you were glad you could experience them, even if only as a help in the kitchen.

You walked between the tables full of food, between the people joyously chatting, and smiled at everyone politely, but not really making any eye contact with anyone. It was a habit you kept for quite some time now, just a precaution.

You checked on the tables with your bread, even took one of the rolls in your hand to check if it was still fresh enough, or if you should go back to the kitchen and bake some more. But everything was perfect, and you let yourself get lost in the rhythm of the music playing from the dance floor, where all the dukes and essential people from the country danced.

You liked watching them. You, of course, knew all the dance steps they did, but as only the help you couldn’t even come close to the dance floor. Not to the point of dancing, at the very least. You didn’t mind though, you just enjoyed the play of colours in front of you, and you let yourself smile at all those people enjoying their time there.

There was a nagging feeling in your stomach the whole day, but you couldn’t really decide what it tried to tell you. Your heat shouldn’t come for another few weeks, so it shouldn’t be that. Your stomach shouldn’t be upset because you only ate in your kitchen, and everything there was perfect. You tried to ignore the growing unsettled feeling as long as you could, but as you were watching the people dance, your head felt light, suddenly.

You turned around, telling yourself that it was from watching all that movement that you were suddenly dizzy, and your senses completely ignored the strong masculine smell invading your being.

It was until you came back to your bread, and looked up, that you caught the eye of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. He was tall and muscular, his hair was cut short, his stormy blue eyes standing out this way.

Then his scent hit you. You could swear your heart took a leap from the adrenaline coursing your veins. He smelled like leather, summer sea, and something spicy, which you couldn’t really put your finger on.

Your body called for him, and that’s when you realised what you were doing. Staring at a complete stranger, ready to be at his mercy.

You quickly looked back at the ground, and even though it pained you to scurry away from him, you didn’t see any other option for yourself. You almost leapt out of there, heading towards the corridor for help, praying that he wouldn’t follow you where he obviously didn’t belong.

But when you were halfway through the corridor, and you heard heavy footsteps behind you, you knew the handsome stranger didn’t care one bit for any rules at the moment. He was hunting you down, and although it did send sparks flying to your core, your inner Omega almost yipping with excitement after all those lonely years, you couldn’t afford this Alpha to just take you like that.

You were running now, feeling like you had to escape to save your own life. He might have been a good guy, a good Alpha, for all you knew, but he also could be some brute who would tie you to a bedpost and use you 1000 different ways till your body couldn’t take anymore.

You’ve heard the stories. And you were keen on not being one of them. Eager to save your life, no matter what.

You hurriedly took a right turn in the corridor, running towards your own room, finding the idea of your own space pleasing and calming enough not to break down in the middle of your run. You could still hear him somewhere behind you, and you just hoped his muscles were all for show because you couldn’t even imagine what would happen if he broke into your room. Just you and him.

You breezed in your room, shutting the door close behind you, and letting your body weight lean on the door, breathing heavily, feeling your heart beating like crazy. And you weren’t sure if it was beating so because you had to run all the way to your room, or because of this Alpha chasing you, which was both nerve-wracking, and exciting at the same time.

“Omega! I know you’re in there. Open up!” His voice boomed across the corridor in which he was standing and right into your core. The sparks were now a small fire, and you hated the nature for making you an Omega. You felt helpless, and as if you could never really win.

If he left, you knew you would be whining for him and for the overwhelming scent he was emitting, but if he came closer, you would hate yourself for letting him there.

What you thought was his fist hit the door, and it shook with the power of his punch. You whimpered, and closed your eyes, trying to find what was the right thing to do in your own heart. You tried to imagine your poor father, and what he’d think of you if he knew you let this strange Alpha in your room, just like that.

“Please, don’t hurt me, I beg you, sir,” you whispered, still leaning on the door.

“Hurt you? I would never hurt you, Omega. Please, just open the door so we can talk. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I swear, if I do something that makes you feel uncomfortable, I will walk away, just like that. But please, talk to me,” the last words were hushed, and you knew his head was on the door, and you could only imagine the pained expression on his face. The same pain you felt from his strained voice.

You took a deep breath, and nodded at yourself, before unlocking the door, and the letting the tall Alpha in your little chamber.

You could see the relief on his face, and you had to smile at him. His scent wrapped around you like a blanket again, and you revelled at the feeling of it all. You have never felt like this in the company of a man, and you never even knew you could feel like this. Your mother always told you you would have to marry somebody for the good of it all, and that maybe you would learn to love that person, tolerate his scent.

But despite not knowing the Alpha in front of you, his scent calmed all your senses, and your brain was already playing the images of your wedding, as unlikely as it was.

He smiled sweetly at you, and when you closed the door behind him once again, he sat on the only chair in your chambers, leaving you to sit on your neatly made bed.

You played with your hands, your eyes glued to your lap, unable to look up and face the Alpha sitting across the room.

“What is your name, beautiful Omega?” He asked, his gruff voice making your skin tingle.

“Y/N”, you whispered immediately, still not looking up.

“Y/N,” he repeated, and for a brief moment, you never wanted anyone to say your name again unless it was him. It sounded so different, leaving his perfect pink lips.

“My name is Thor, and it would be my greatest pleasure if I could get to know you, Y/N,” he said, and this time, you actually looked at him.

“THOR?! You’re prince Thor of Asgard? The one for whom these whole festivities were organised? The one who is on a journey to find his mate and to bring her back home? THOR?!” Your voice was slightly raised with the panic settling deep inside your bones. This couldn’t be happening.

“What is the matter? I might be a prince, but that does not change a thing. I do not know if you feel the things that I feel, but there is a connection, certain chemistry between us if you wish, and I could not care less for your title. Princess or a maid that does not matter to me. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, in my entire life, and if you let me, I would like to get to know you enough to ask you to be my mate,” he finished his speech, and your mouth was hanging open.

Not very lady-like, you were aware of that, but you couldn’t help it.

“This is not a good idea, your majesty, I should not-“

“Thor, call me Thor, please. Just give me a chance to show you the real me. I bet you have heard a lot of rumours here and there, and you think you know who I am, but if you just gave me one day to make you see the real Thor.”

You knew it was foolish. You should have told him to just leave you alone, go back to Asgard and to forget all about you.

But the nagging feeling you had since morning, now transferred into a nagging voice in your head, which wouldn’t let you tell him off. The little voice was telling you to just give him a chance. Give yourself a chance on the long lost happiness. Just for a day, and then you could ask him to leave Midgard and never to come back looking for you.

Or you could leave again. You were sure you could go to some other kingdom, and, in the very least, be in some small village bakery. You would work it out just like you always have. You just needed to spend one day imagining what it would feel like if your life took a different turn.

“Alright, you have one day,” you said with a firm nod, and Thor gave you the most breathtaking smile you have ever seen.

You were in some serious trouble.

/ Next Chapter >

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Somewhere to Stay

Read on AO3

The rain is battering down as Magnus comes to the first stoplight he’s seen in miles. His bike which has been living on fumes for nearly two states finally clunks out on him as soon as the light turns green. A sputtering and creaking noise sounds as he hits the gas and smoke billows up from the engine almost immediately shot down by the rain.

He sighs taking out his keys and pushing the bike over onto the sidewalk and out of the roadway, not that there’s any traffic anywhere in sight. Magnus is fairly certain the people in this area don’t even know what traffic is. He rolls the bike until he can set it under an awning in front of a small bookshop.

He takes off his helmet running a hand through his dark hair tipped in pink as he pulls his phone from his pocket. Mere seconds after the screen comes to life the low battery warning signals and the screen goes dark.

“Fuck,” he says looking up at his surroundings for anywhere he might be able to take shelter and charge his phone. It’s nearing two in the morning so most of the small shops on the road are closed. There’s an all-night diner lit neon across the street, a 24-hour pawn shop a few buildings down and in the distance a bright motel sign missing the letter ‘e’ shines.

The motel is his last option, he’s not one for staying anywhere longer than he has to and he’s been on the road like this long enough to know that any pawn shop that runs 24-hours is a murder mystery just waiting to happen. So, the diner it is.

He flips the collar of his leather jacket up as much as he can and takes his duffel bag off the back of his bike shouldering it before stepping out from under the awning and sprinting across the street in an attempt to stay as dry as possible.

He doesn’t bother checking as he rushes across the road, choosing to believe the one stoplight is more of a suggestion than anything else. He swings open the door of the diner and steps inside brushing his wet hair from his forehead.

The diner is fairly empty this time of the night which is to be expected. A tall Black man in a sheriff’s uniform gets up from a booth as soon as Magnus enters tipping his hat in his direction as he heads to the door.

“Be with you in a second,” a deep voice sounds out from the kitchen as Magnus moves to sit on a high seat at one end of the counter. Magnus looks around as he waits looking at his fellow middle of the night patrons. A man in a backwards cap with a guitar case leaning by his side sits in the farthest away booth more food than seems possible for one guy his size sitting in front of him and a young woman with curly hair looks half asleep sitting at the far end of the counter with a half empty pot of coffee by her side.

The walls are black and white checker tiled, an old juke box with an out of order sign takes up one entire wall and each booth is lined with pleather seating in a variety of mix matched colors.

Magnus drops his bag and smiles. He loves places like this. Little hole in the wall diners with too many neon lights and random patrons that Magnus can observe. He’s been driving around from town to town, country to country on occasion, since he was 18.

Fresh out of the foster system he just wanted to be free, free to go anywhere and do anything. So he’d taken all the money he’d squirreled away in secret since he’d landed in the states as a little boy, bought a motorcycle and packed a bag. He’s worked every odd job one can imagine and picked up some wonderful friends along the way. But nothings ever totally stuck, nothings ever been worth staying in one spot permanently for.

London was the closest he’d gotten. Camille had been a mistake and his love for Ragnor and Catarina while vast couldn’t keep him in a place that reminded him of all the shit she’d put him through.

Wherever the hell Texas this is isn’t likely to become a permanent residence, but he can appreciate the tacky ambiance of an old school diner for a while.

“Sorry about the wait,” the deep voice from before says as the doors from the kitchen swing open. Magnus turns back around from his observing and practically falls out of his swiveling seat.

The face and body that belongs to that deep voice is absently flipping through a pad of paper looking for a blank sheet unaware of Magnus’ blatant staring.

The man is gorgeous. Too tall for his own good, obviously fit body clinging to a light grey t-shirt and large hands that in under ten seconds Magnus has at least the beginning of three specific fantasies about brewing. The man looks up from the pad finally finding a blank page and pulls a pencil from behind his ear the end getting stuck briefly in his unruly dark hair.

The man pauses for a moment once he finally looks up at Magnus for just a second which gives Magnus the opportunity to spot and admire the inky black tattoo on the left side of the man’s neck. Magnus knows that looks, that first notice, that immediate burst of attraction, he’d experienced it himself not but ten seconds prior. It’s good to know the feeling is mutual.

He shakes his head gathering himself, “Sorry about the wait, what can I get you?”

Magnus smiles leaning in a bit more than necessary across the counter. “I’m afraid I haven’t actually seen a menu yet.”

“Oh,” the man says smiling a bright smile than Magnus would pay good money he doesn’t have to see again. “We don’t actually have a menu per se, we just write everything up on the board.” He gestures to wall behind him a covered with a large blackboard. The handwriting is neat, but blocky in mostly capital letters.

“We don’t get a lot of non-regulars who basically get the same thing every time, so the owner didn’t bother with menus, sorry about that,” the man continues.

Magnus waves a hand in the air, not having menus is another appreciated quirk of places like this. “Don’t worry about it, I think I’ll just start with a coffee.”

The man nods not bothering with writing it down. “Coming right up,” he says as he sticks the pencil back behind his ear.

“Thank you…” Magnus says with a bright smile leaving an open invitation for the man to give his name.

“Alec,” he says before stepping away giving Magnus one last look over. Magnus replies with his own name and Alec nods making a brief stop to tap on the shoulder of the sleeping girl at the other end of counter. She startles awake and gives Alec a salute in thanks.

Alec returns with a mug filled to the brim and sits it in front of Magnus with a small bowl of creamer.

“Where am I exactly?” Magnus asks as he opens two of the creamer packets and dumps them into the mug.

“Midnight,” Alec replies as he starts to wipe down the counter around Magnus. Magnus frowns at the response before Alec elaborates. “That’s the name of our town. One stoplight, seven shops including this diner all named Midnight fill in the blank here, about thirty permanent residents depending on the day of the week and a motel that’s not nearly as sketchy as it appears on the outside.”

“One of those shops happen to be a mechanic that either knows how to fix a bike or has the tools they’d let me borrow to do it myself?” Magnus asks taking a sip of his coffee.

Alec shakes his, “Afraid not. There’s a shop about 15 miles from here, it’s the only one in the county and it’s closed on Sundays.”

Damn, Magnus thinks as he realizes it is Sunday.

“The motels open though if you need a place to stay and I could give you a ride to the shop on Monday,” Alec says. Magnus looks up at him surprised by the kind offer. “Or not, obviously I’m a complete stranger so I get that that could sound a bit murdery.”

Magnus chuckles which stops Alec’s small panic.

“That’d be great actually,” Magnus says unexpectedly trusting this incredibly handsome stranger in a diner at two a.m.. He lingers for a bit after that making small talk with Alec about how he’s just passing through until his eyelids start to droop and he realizes just how tired he is.

He says his goodbyes thanking Alec with a sizable tip that he really can’t afford to be leaving. The rain has settled giving Magnus the easy opportunity to push his bike along the street and over to the motel just around the corner settling in for the night.

***

Magnus sleeps all through Sunday. Alec was right, though on the outside the motel looks sketchy as hell, the interior is something almost nice. He skips the diner that night after he passes by and sees a different person behind the counter and goes for the Midnight gas station picking up a few snacks to call his dinner.

Monday morning, bright eyed and maybe putting a little more effort into his outfit and makeup than he usually would to go to a mechanic Magnus waits outside leaning against the glass windows of the diner to meet Alec.

Alec pulls up in a stereotypically Texas looking truck smiling a small smile at Magnus as he steps out. It’s the first time Magnus has seen Alec in all his glory and if everything from the waist up was a vision behind the counter the long legs that stride towards him are a whole new thing. Alec helps him load the bike into the bed of the truck and they ride quietly out to the small mechanics shop.

Mornings don’t seem to be Alec’s thing judging from the one hand on the wheel and the other holding the tallest cup of coffee Magnus has ever seen. The trip to the mechanic doesn’t take long, Alec waits outside a picture of beauty leaning against his truck with his head tipped back in the morning sun. The mechanic looks over his bike and shakes his head talking as he goes over it all.

“The short of it is, the parts this thing needs it’s gonna take a few weeks at least to get everything to fix it up for you,” the old man sighs blowing out a breath that makes his mustache shift. “You shouldn’t have let it build up troubles for so long.”

Magnus knows that, but money has been tight for a while and he just figured his trusty old bike could hold out. It seems he was wrong about that.

Magnus thanks the man before he’s handed a cost estimate and flings himself into the passenger seat of Alec’s truck with a heavy sigh leaning his head back. Alec joins him sliding into his seat, his giant cup of coffee is gone now and he seems much more alert than he had on the drive to the shop.

“Everything okay?” he asks starting up the truck.

Magnus shakes his head not moving it from where he’s leaned back.  

“Looks like I let a lot of things go for too long and it’s going to take a while to fix it, and a lot more money than I have,” he grumbles looking down at the estimate sheet in his hands.

“So, you’re sticking around for a while then?” Alec says. For a second Magnus thinks he hears something that sounds like hope in his voice when he says it.

“Looks like it,” he replies tilting his head to look at Alec. He looks very pretty in profile lit up by the Texas sun.

Alec smiles a small smile just at the corner of his lips, “I might have a solution for your money problem. I know they guy who owns the bar outside just outside of town, he’s always looking for new bartenders since they’re quitting on him all the time.”

“What a resounding review of employment,” Magnus laughs.

Alec laughs in kind. “Yeah, well the Cartoon Saloon isn’t known for its high standards, but it is the only bar in about 50 miles with a decent owner and a bouncer who doesn’t let assholes in or stick around once they show their cards.”

“The cartoon saloon?” Magnus asks incredulously. “You’ve got to be shitting me, that can’t be a real name.”

Alec just chuckles, “I shit you not.”

Magnus spends the rest of the day with Alec getting a tour of the town and who’s who of their small number of residents. He learns a bit more about Alec as a person and returns with his own little bits and pieces in kind. By dinner he’s met Meliorn, the owner of the Cartoon Saloon, and secured a position at the colorful bar starting the next night.

Meliorn leaves him at the diner just as Alec’s shift begins.

“They do not seem like the type to own a bar called the Cartoon Saloon,” Magnus says after Meliorn’s left watching Alec collect the sizable tip they’d left behind.

“We like to bust the stereotypes of the small-town Texas here,” Alec says pocketing the cash.

Magnus hums in agreement.

“That’s true,” he says swaying in his seat lightly. “I mean look at you with your big Texan truck and not a hint of accent to back it up.”

“Hey now,” Alec says playfully. “It’s not about the size of the truck, it’s about what you do with it.”

Magnus snorts, an inelegant thing that makes Alec smile.

“Of course, but still you’re not from here originally I take it.”

Alec leans on the counter, Magnus the only customer.

“I’m from New York, Manhattan specifically.”

Magnus had spent some of his formative years in Brooklyn, for a moment he wonders if there’s a chance he and Alec every unknowingly crossed paths.

“How’d a Manhattan boy end up in small town Texas?”

Alec grimaces a bit and Magnus quickly continues, “Not that you have to tell me if it’s too personal I understand.”

Alec shakes his head, “It’s okay, it’s just been a while since I had anyone ask, small town and all that, the story kind of traveled fast.”

Magnus smiles making a go on gesture encouraging him to tell the story.

“The short of it is my homophobic parents didn’t take too kindly when they caught me with my boyfriend when I was 17, things got pretty bad after that. My siblings, especially my sister, tried their best to shield me from it, but I was the oldest and it wasn’t their job. So, the day I turned 18 I left no looking back, no regrets just packed up a car and drove.”

He straightens up meeting Magnus’ eyes.

“After about a month I’d sold the car and traded it in for that big Texan truck of mine and found myself at that stoplight out there,” he smiles tilting head towards the window. The single stoplight red at the moment, not a car in sight. “I don’t know why but I decided to park outside, ended up here in this diner asking about a job and before I knew it a whole year had passed and I was living in the rented space above the bookstore. A few more years and I had a house and a best friend and for the first time in a long time I felt at home.”

Alec shrugs stepping back when Maia the aforementioned best friend and coffee girl from the night Magnus had arrived comes in. Seemingly on autopilot Alec gets her a glass of ice water and a cup of coffee writing something down on a slip of paper that he sends back to the cook. She thanks him as she lugs a stack of books onto the counter.

Alec heads back towards Magnus after that.

“Do you still see your siblings?” he asks once Alec has returned to his position leaning on the counter beside him.

Alec nods smiling fondly. “My sister Izzy and my baby brother Max have visited here and there over the years. My other brother though,” Alec shakes his head a little sadly, but seemingly resigned. “Let’s just say when it comes to Jace my parents picked a favorite and eventually he went along with it.”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus says reaching out a hand and settling it on Alec’s. It’s the first time they’ve touched and it feels right. Magnus knows what it’s like to have the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally do the opposite.  

“It’s okay,” Alec says smiling a little before flipping his hand under Magnus’ squeezing once before letting go and pushing away from the counter when the cook slings Maia’s order out. “I still have two of my siblings and I found a home here, so it all worked out in the end.”

Magnus smiles a little sadly, happy that Alec found that elusive thing he’s been driving around to trying to find for years.

“Especially since he met me,” Maia chimes in from her end of the counter. She picks up her plate, leaving her books behind, and slides into the seat beside Magnus formally introducing herself. He spends the rest of the evening there chatting with the incredibly delightful woman and tries his first full meal from the Midnight diner.

***

Two weeks pass and Magnus barely even realizes it, he now fully understands how Alec ended up just staying here in this small town. What it lacks in the bustle of city life, Midnight makes up for in the goodness of its people and the charm of the quiet area that surrounds it.

In the two weeks that have passed Magnus has gotten to know this little town and appreciate all it has to offer. There’s Maia whose sharp wit could take her anywhere and yet she chooses to stay here, putting a hard worked for law degree to good use to help the local migrant workers whenever she can. There’s the local preacher, Raphael whose religious standings may not be for Magnus, but his dark humor always makes for great conversation over breakfasts at the counter.

And that doesn’t even cover the stately book shop owner, his Zen boss Meliorn who’s all but officially turned the Cartoon Saloon into a specifically themed gay bar, Simon their local musician who often works days at the diner and can pack away more food than every other resident in town combined or the grumpy motel manager that bitches about everything but also leaves an entire bowl of mints on Magnus’ pillow every night when he comes back from a shift at the bar.

And of course there’s Alec who often works the nightshift and Magnus comes to spend his evenings with after he leaves the bar until the sun rises. It’s become his new routine five days a week. Alec whose heart is even kinder than those pretty hazel eyes, who lets him use his truck to get to work and who has depth to him that seemingly has no end.

He’s learned more about Alec in two weeks than he learned about Camille in their entire relationship and in response he’s felt comfortable sharing his own story. Telling Alec things no one else has ever known about his days in foster care, his travels and everything in between. They’ve grown incredibly close in such a short time and the tension that had been there, that attraction that had been instant has only grown thicker with each passing day. It’s like both of them are waiting to see who’s willing to make the first move.

The people of Midnight just make it feel like a place you can stay and the longer he’s there he wonders if maybe he could. So, of course that’s when he gets the call that his bike is back to being rideable.

“It’s not finished, but if you wanted to move along to somewhere where the parts won’t take as long to get it’d be doable,” the mechanic says in his thick Texas drawl over the phone.

Magnus looks over at Alec who’s standing on the other side of aisle as they peruse the bookshop flipping through of all things, a book about knitting, and he thinks for a moment.

“I trust your work, if it takes a little longer, then it takes a little longer,” Magnus says with a shrug. For the second time in his life he wants to stay, wants to see how this all plays out and this time he thinks it might have a better ending.

***

“Tacky is what that is,” Magnus says as Alec tells him all about the pink porcelain bathroom his grandma had when he was growing up.

“Says the guy who works in a bar that’s walls are covered with giant cut outs of cartoon characters,” Alec huffs as he finishes cleaning out the coffee machine. It’s the dead hours at the diner, three to five there’s almost never a single patron, except Magnus who always comes in after last call at the saloon.

“I work there,” Magnus defends swinging his legs back and forth from where he sits on the counter. A thing Alec has repeatedly told him not to do, yet continues to not stop him. “That does not mean I support the décor.”

He actually loves it, not that he’s gonna admit that out loud right now.

Alec just rolls his eyes as he rounds the counter coming to sit in the chair beside the one where Magnus rests his feet.

“What did I tell you about sitting on the counter?” he says once he’s seated reaching out to tap Magnus on the thigh two times in succession with the back of his hand.

He’s been doing that a lot more lately. Touching Magnus in light brushes, standing a little closer. Magnus isn’t sure how much longer this tension between them can stand until the levee breaks.

“I do not recall,” Magnus says his voice bright and cheery, an absolute picture of innocence. He reaches out patting Alec’s cheek lightly with the palm of his hand, much like in the same manner Alec had just tapped his thigh.

Magnus starts to pull his hand back when Alec suddenly reaches up and stops him, holding Magnus’ hand in place. They stare at each other for a moment and then just as predicted the levee breaks.

Alec surges up and in a blink of an eye his lips are connecting with Magnus’. The kiss starts slow a slide of lips and tongue that catches fire quickly. Alec maneuvers them so he’s standing between Magnus’ legs never letting their lips part for long. They stay there on the counter kissing for minutes, hours, Magnus doesn’t know until they pull back to catch their breath.

Magnus keeps Alec close his hands on each side of Alec’s neck and tilts their foreheads together.

“That was,” Alec trails off eyes opening up, his pupils blown wide.

Magnus hums in agreement trailing his fingers along the lines of the tattoo on Alec’s neck. He leans in kissing Alec one more time, chaste in comparison to the previous ones. Alec smiles stepping in impossibly closer his big hands moving from Magnus’ hips to rub along his thighs before leaning back in.

***

Two days later the mechanic calls and Magnus picks up his bike. Alec worries at his lip as he watches Magnus rev the engine to life, the bike sounding better than it has in years. Magnus catches the nervousness out of the corner of his eye as he pays the mechanic.

They haven’t really talked about what happens next. It’s been two days of bliss since their first kiss in the diner the looming reality that Magnus had intention of driving out of town as soon as his bike was ready not even crossing his mind until this moment. Clearly it’s been on Alec’s mind though.

Magnus rolls his bike over to Alec’s truck.

“I’ve got a shift at the saloon tonight, then I’ll come by the diner, maybe you can by me dinner?” Magnus says as he flips the kickstand so he can lean against his bike.

Alec’s head shoots up from where he’d been kicking aimlessly at the dirt.

“You’re staying?” he says a little uncertain and a lot hopeful.

Magnus smiles reaching out a hand that Alec immediately takes. He pulls him in close so they’re chest to chest both leaning against the bike.

“I was thinking I’d stay a little longer,” Magnus says, his turn to sound a little uncertain. Alec’s responding smile is beaming.

“Maia will be thrilled, she’s tired of just talking to me and Simon all the time, you’re way more interesting,” he says leaning in for a quick kiss.

Magnus huffs, uncertainty slipping away, “Just Maia, huh?”

Alec shrugs, “Well maybe some other people too.”

Magnus just rolls his eyes, completely endeared.

***

Another two months pass in a blink of an eye. Instead of going back to his motel room most nights (or days considering their work schedules) Magnus falls into bed at Alec’s house. Their nights at the diners are now filled with sneaking kisses and more and more frequently Alec drops by the saloon on his nights off for a drink or two.

They have breakfast with Raphael every Wednesday sitting on one side of the booth together and Maia drags them out to the Saloon on Saturdays to be her wingmen as Magnus grumbles a bit about being at his place of work on his night off. He even manages to drag Alec to the dance floor a time or two after a few sweet drinks.

He gets Alec on the back of his motorcycle and it’s easily one of the top five highlights of his life so far. The sex they have afterwards, Alec hyped up on the adrenaline of being so free on the back of Magnus’ bike also finds a spot in his top five highlights as well.

He travels to the closest city to attend an art show with Maia, he finds himself looking into renting the apartment above the bookstore and is on the first name basis with everyone in town and a number of the people in neighboring towns as well.

At first they know him as Alec’s boyfriend, but soon enough they know him for him.

He finds himself building a life. He finds himself not just wanting to stay a little longer, but to stay indefinitely.

***

Alec flips the open sign in the front window off before turning to Magnus. Turning the main lights leaving them in a muted neon glow. The juke box Simon finally got around to fixing plays a soft slow song in the background.

“Huh, never had to turn that off before,” Alec says as slides into the booth beside Magnus. “It’s kinda weird.”

Midnight Diner will be closed down the next day for the “once a decade the county inspector remembers our diner exists inspection” as Alec’s boss calls it.

Alec reaches out snatching one of the fries from the plate in front of Magnus.

“Thief,” Magnus whispers with a glare. Alec just smirks. He looks gorgeous under neon lights, the purples, blues and oranges clinging to the tips of his hair and on dark eyelashes and in that moment with that playful smirk edging at his lips Magnus realizes he’s so goddamn in love with Alec.

“I am so goddamn in love with you too,” Alec says casually, easily like it’s the simplest thing in the world as he steals another fry and pops it in his mouth. It takes Magnus a second, to catch up with the fact that he’d said I love you out loud. He doesn’t regret it, it’s truer than just about anything ever has been for him, but he hadn’t meant to say it so soon.

Alec just turns gripping Magnus’ forearm that’s resting on the table and leans in for a kiss. It’s salty and Alec’s breath definitely still smells like that pitch-black coffee he drinks, but it’s just as perfect as every kiss they’ve ever shared.

They sit there for a while longer feeding each other fries and talking about the surprise trip Alec’s been planning for them that he absolutely will not give Magnus any details about no matter how much he tries to pry something out of him. Meals, sexual favors, Agatha Christie novels to add to his ever growing collection, nothing has made Alec budge.

“It’ll be nice to get out of Midnight for a while,” Alec says. “Even if you don’t know where we’re going.”

Magnus just huffs in annoyance at Alec’s stubborn secretiveness. It will be nice, he loves it in Midnight, but a weekend away will be welcome. Afterwards he’s fairly certain that coming back to Midnight will be even sweeter though. He hasn’t brought it up officially with Alec, but Magnus wants to stay. Not just in a month to month their relationship is going well sense, but permanently. Forever, if Alec will have him.

He feels at home here, not just with Alec, but with the town and everyone else inside of it. He has favorite spots and knows local stories and it just all fits so well.

The apartment above the bookshop is now occupied by Simon after Clary dumped him for the fourth time this year according to Maia, but he’s looking into other options and he wouldn’t be lying if he hasn’t considered the fact that he stays at Alec’s house at least five days a week now.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about the future,” Magnus says. Alec drops his fry stealing mission, wiping his hands off and focusing his attention solely on Magnus. He turns as much as he can to face Magnus in the booth and trails his fingers along Magnus’ forearm.

Magnus takes a deep breath gathering up the courage to say what he wants. He knows Alec, but nearly 30 years of people telling him he’s too clingy or he’s too much for too long there’s a fear of saying it out loud.

“I want to stay, indefinitely,” Magnus says eyes shining bright as he looks at Alec. “Forever actually, if you’ll have me.”

Alec looks stunned and even though it’s probably not even a full second of quiet it’s enough for Magnus to think he needs to backtrack.

"Sorry that's too much. I'm too much," Magnus says making to pull away. But Alec's grip on his arm doesn't lessen and he's pulled right along with him. Magnus can't meet his eyes though, can't see whatever agreement or consideration is resting in them. It's quiet the buzzing sounds of the neon lights the only thing filling the space when finally after seconds that feel like hours Alec's hand lets go.

 This is it. Magnus thinks. Too much. He’s heard so many of his stories, even taken the whole Camille debacle in stride and accepted all of Magnus’ eccentricities, but this admittance just two months into their relationship is just too much too soon.

 But instead of the inevitable pull away Alec's fingers return to delicately trace up along his forearm where he'd just been gripping tight to keep Magnus from running. He trails them up along Magnus' bicep and across his shoulders till he reaches the sensitive lines of his neck and moves upward. Magnus lets out a stuttering breath at the reverent touch still unwilling to look Alec's way. 

 The fingers pause at the juncture of his jaw briefly tracing the sharp edge until Alec's large hand slides along his cheek fully cupping it softly and gently urging Magnus to turn his head and meet his eyes. 

 It takes another moment of coaxing, of Alec's thumb rubbing softly under his bottom lip before returning to rest alongside his other fingers but eventually Magnus does finally turn locking out to those hazel eyes filled not with agreement to Magnus' statement or fear or anything of the like. It's a look Magnus has never really seen directed at him before. It's love. It's adoration. It's worship. It's a heady thing that Magnus knows he'd be trying his damndest to send right back Alec's way if his own eyes weren't no doubt swimming with worry.

 "Too much of you is never enough," Alec says into the now nonexistent space between them, finally speaking once he feels that look in his eyes has been interpreted correctly.

 Magnus breathes out a sigh of relief, his eyes clearing of worry and finally he's able to send the love, adoration and worship right back. 

 He doesn't know what to say but he hopes a kiss will say it all. It’s a quick chaste thing, but he puts all the feeling he can into it.

 “I wasn’t sure, I know you never planned on staying and when you did I just wasn’t sure how long and I didn’t want to pressure you into staying in this small middle of nowhere town just for me,” Alec admits quietly.

 “You are a big part of the reason I want to stay; I won’t act like that’s not true. When I first had the option to go and get my bike fixed faster you were the sole reason I stayed, but the more time I spend here the more at home I feel with you, but also with this town. A small town in the middle of Texas with one stoplight is never where I thought I’d end up, but now it’s the only place I want to be.”

 “It’s the only place I want to be to, with you,” Alec says his eyes looking a little wet. “Forever.”

 Alec pulls Magnus in close hugging. The angle is awkward and both their knees manage to hit the table but Alec’s arms are strong and warm and permanent.

 This is home now, this diner, this town, this man.

 ***

Three Months Later

“Love, do you still have that Space Jam t-shirt?” Magnus asks as he flips through their shared closet. It’s Looney Tunes night at the saloon, Meliorn’s idea of a joke saying they need to live up to their name on occasion and Magnus’ wardrobe doesn’t exactly feature a lot of Bugs Bunny to participate in the dress code.

He does however recall spotting a black shirt with a small space jam symbol on the pocket floating around in Alec’s stuff when Magnus had officially moved out of the motel and into the house.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll get it for you,” Alec says standing up from where he’d been lacing up his boots leaving the right one untied, chest still bare.

“I got it,” Magnus says waving him off. “Bottom drawer right?”

Magnus bends down to open the drawer and sees the t-shirt right at the top, but before he can reach for it Alec trips his way over his untied shoelace to the chest of drawers and slams the drawer shut.

“No I got it,” he says clearly aiming to sound casual, but missing it by a mile wide.

Magnus looks at him, eyebrow raised. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” Alec scoffs hand still splayed out against the drawer keeping Magnus from even trying to open it back up.

“Whatever the hell that was just now says otherwise.”

“I’m just being a helpful boyfriend, getting that shirt for you,” Alec smiles a clear attempt to dodge whatever this is.

“Being helpful by nearly falling on your face to close the drawer shut where I’d already found what I was looking for and not letting me open it back up?” Magnus asks still eyeing his boyfriend quizzically.

“Yup,” Alec says popping the ‘p’. “So, you just go have a seat and I’ll get that for you.”

Magnus stands to his full height, Alec following but replacing his hand that was holding the drawer shut with his foot.

“Okay, yeah no, you’re being incredibly weird so I’m going to get the shirt so I can stop wondering if you’re storing a human hand under there or something with how spazzy you’re being.”

Magnus leans back down quick and Alec attempts to follow, but his untied lace gets caught on the drawer handle sending him to the ground flat on his ass. He scrambles to stop Magnus, but it’s too late he’s already picked up the shirt.

“I don’t see why you’re being so,” Magnus freezes looking at the space under the shirt. Alec’s hand falls onto the edge of the drawer clearly not seeing a point in trying to shut it anymore. Because there under the shirt that Alec never seems to wear is a small velvet box, just the right size for only one thing.

“Oh,” Magnus says in realization. “So, that’s why you didn’t want me to get the shirt.”

Alec snorts, “Yeah, no human hand or anything.”

Moments of quiet pass in their bedroom until suddenly Alec is clearing his throat to get his attention. Magnus looks at him eyes finally tearing away from the box and all the implications it holds.

“Go ahead,” Alec gestures pulling his leg up and finally tying his right shoe.

Magnus shakes his head, he desperately wants to look, but clearly Alec had some sort of plan.

“No, it’s fine, it can wait for whatever you were planning to do with it, I can just act like I saw nothing.”

Alec gives him a disbelieving look.

“Okay, I can try and act like I saw nothing.”

Alec laughs at that lifting himself up onto his knees and grabbing the box from its resting space.

“I’d rather do this now, than have you fake surprise over some romantic dinner or something,” he says flipping open the box. Nestled inside the smooth fabric is a silver ring, simple except for the thin line of black and white diamonds running through the center. “Fair warning, Greta at the pawn shop told me that only one of these diamonds is real and I get to guess which one it is.”

Magnus chuckles at that shifting onto his knees mirroring Alec.

“I was going to ask you in Austin,” Alec continues and Magnus’ breath catches. Austin had been two months ago, a spur of the moment trip just days after Magnus had moved in to support a gig Simon had.  Arguably by the standards of most it would have been too soon, but they’ve moved at lightning speed, brick on the gas since the day Magnus admitted he wanted to stay here with Alec forever. Any modern-day idea of perfect relationship timing be damned. “But then I chickened out cause I worried it was too soon after we’d just moved in together, so I’d been planning and coming up with ideas with Maia’s help for weeks so of course the one time you want to borrow one of my shirts instead of the other way around it’s this shirt.”

Magnus just shrugs an innocent smile on his face.

“So, say goodbye to rose petal dinners, instead you’re getting half-dressed on the bedroom floor.”

“I like it when we’re half-dressed on the bedroom floor so you won’t hear me complaining,” Magnus says cheekily.

“Magnus Bane,” Alec says rolling his eyes a teasing reprimand in his voice that he drops with his next words. “Will you marry me?”

Magnus scoots forward draping his arms over Alec’s bare shoulders.

“Alexander Lightwood, I absolutely will marry you.” Alec smiles bright pulling Magnus in by the waist with the hand not holding the ring kissing his fiancé with all that he has.

Eventually somewhere along the line the ring ends up on his finger somehow and they finally pull back for air.

“That’s gonna be Alexander Bane soon enough,” Alec says slightly out of breath.

Magnus leans back, a little shocked. Bane had been a name he’d chosen once he was free of the foster system and here Alec was choosing it just the same.

“You want to take my last name?”

Alec just shrugs, like it’s no big deal, even though Magnus knows he knows it’s a big deal.

“The Lightwood name lost it’s meaning for me the day my parents decided I wasn’t worth their time, so yeah, if it’s okay with you I want to take your last name.”

Magnus smiles eyes suddenly feeling a little wet, “Of course it’s okay with me.”

He pulls Alec in hugging him tight, the ring looking just perfect on his finger as he runs his hand through Alec’s hair.

“We should see if Raphael is free right now,” Magnus says mumbling it into the curve of Alec’s neck where he’s resting. Alec pulls back.

“Wait do you mean-“

“Sure, I mean we both don’t have to be at work for,” Magnus pauses looking at the alarm clock on his side of the bed briefly. “Another three hours, Maia’s a lawyer so I’m sure she can whip us up a marriage license in no time. So why not?”

“Not that I don’t love the idea of marrying you on a whim before dinner, but neither of us are fully dressed and I thought maybe you’d want Ragnor and Cat to be here, and you know Iz and Max.”

“Oh, right, them,” Magnus says feeling a little embarrassed he’d been so caught up in the euphoria of shirtless Alec proposing that he’d forgotten their family who don’t live within their little six block radius.

“Maybe next week then,” Magnus shrugs and Alec laughs which is quickly cut off in favor of more kissing.

A week later somehow impossibly with Ragnor, Cat, Max, and Izzy in the front row Maia hands them a marriage license she obtained “mostly legally” and with Raphael proceeding they exchange vows and rings with only one real diamond between them in front of a small cluster of the town’s residents.

When they kiss after saying I do it feels like the beginning of everything, like all his years of feeling lonely and out of place; of traveling with no real end in sight have led him here to this man, to this town.

He’s never stayed in one place for long, but now here in this tiny Texas town, he’s finally home.

[jenifersaturn]

Loyalty (has always been a flimsy thing)

Lovino’s eyes are closing. The wound is too deep, and the blood is flowing slowly from his torso. He holds back tears of pain and makes sure to stay as silent as possible. The gun feels heavy in his hand and his grip is still strong even through the blood loss. He is ready to shoot anybody that dares to approach before the help Antonio is sending him arrives. He doesn’t even know if that help will arrive, much less if it will arrive on time. He can only hope by this point.

The world seems blurry and his head is hazy. Securing the cloth he is using to stop the blood from leaving his body he lets out a hiss of pain. It hurts so much, so fucking much. He wishes the pain just ended but refuses to give in to the exhaustion and the need to just take a nap. A little voice in his head whispers to him that a little short nap never hurt anyone in the past. He tries his best to ignore it.

He is almost at the brink of falling asleep- dying, he is almost at the brink of dying when he hears a noise in the distance. He doesn’t know whether it is from a friend or from a foe, so he grips his gun and raises it, pointing it to the doorway in front of him. His head quickly whips to the left alongside his hand, pointing at the left of the room where another doorway stands.

The man that stands there is significantly handsome, with spiky and quite unnatural blond hair. He just looks at him, as surprised as he is; it takes him no longer than three seconds to remember who he is. That the man is not just a stranger. He still has a firm grip of the gun, but he doesn’t want to shoot.

“Ma-Mathias”, the man’s name comes out forcefully from his lips. He can barely breathe nor talk without feeling the blood rising through his throat and he is probably going to die today but he doesn’t want to die like this oh god just save him and it hurts like hell.

Matthias looks at him noticing the wound. The moment the man steps forward Lovino moves the gun if only a little, making a garbled sound of warning. They are enemies, and Lovino isn’t letting him get near him.

“Lovino, hey. I’m not- I am not going to harm you in any way. Look, that’s- that’s a lot of blood”, even Mathias looks unsure about what he is about to do. “Please, let me help you. I know we are on different sides but I owe you my life and you’re my friend.”

He isn’t that convinced, but if he doesn’t receive help soon he is most definitely going to die. He doesn’t want to die, so he slowly lowers the gun.

“Good”, Mathias says as he approaches him.

The blond man lowers himself to his knees, taking out a medical kit from one of his many pockets. Lovino can’t help but feel immensely grateful when Mathias stabs him with morphine, because the pain had been hellish. He rapidly relaxes as he feels expert hands working on his wound, having already cut the cloth around it. It stings a bit, but even then the only thing he truly feels is how cold the needle is.

It seems Mathias isn’t happy about him relaxing, because just when he is about to give in to sleep the man slaps his face gently.

“Hey, Vino. How have you been lately?”

The question barely registers, and he takes a few seconds to answer it. “M’fine, have been better”. And he has been better. Right now he just feels drowsy, and sleep seems like the best option. He knows that he shouldn’t, he could die, but he is exhausted and sleeping seems so important right now.

“How’s it been going with Antonio?”, because if Mathias remembered it right, Lovino and Antonio were dating.

“A’stupid a’sever, I love ‘im though”, he tries to answer as clearly as he can, but it comes out more rushed that he thought it would.

Mathias’ hands suddenly stop moving as they grab the scissors and cut the string connecting to the needle. He winces at how weird it is to feel the string move through his skin, but relaxes again in less than five seconds. He tries to look at Mathias as well as he can, because his head is pounding, and the walls are moving.

“Thank you.” No more words are needed. Mathias nods and then stands up, fast, and begins to leave.

He stops at the doorway to the left.

“It was nice to see you again, let’s hope we can meet again in different circumstances”, there is longing in Mathias voice and he can’t help but agree.

He wants to reunite with his friends again, regardless of which side they’re on, and eat Mr. Zwingly’s chocolate as Mr. Edelstein discusses with them how annoying some musicians he knows are. He imagines Matthew having arguments with Yao over the slightest thing, while Alfred spends time with Arthur preventing him from even approaching the kitchen. Ivan would be seated next to Gilbert on the couch as the latter tells his brother Ludwig and Feliciano about his latest endeavors. Mathias would brag about his latest hits to Tino, Emil, Berwald and Lukas while Kiku spends his time cuddling with Heracles as he talks to Sadiq and Gupta about politics. Lovino would be with Antonio whining about the loudness of the reunion before going to the kitchen to start preparing food. Ferdinand would be there too, with João at his side. Vladimir would arrive only once Feliks and Toris arrived themselves. Raivis and Eduard would arrive together, yelling at each other but eventually getting drunk enough to declare their undying brotherhood to anyone and everyone who would listen.

But Lovino knows war isn’t fair, and even in his fantasies he thinks about the fact that not everyone will get out of this war alive. That they are not that lucky. Have never been that lucky. In the foggines of his mind he remembers his twin brother’s words of despair, uttered in that horrible mansion with no sense of time and space, about how daunting everything truly is. About how meaningless things can be sometimes. That he doesn’t understand how wars can be fought when there’s obviously more important things to fight for. Lovino agrees.

As he hears the faint sound of footsteps and someone he is sure is shouting his name, the world finally goes dark.

Mathias doesn’t know what he just did. He had been about to sneak into the enemy camp when he saw Lovino, weak, defenseless, bleeding and potentially dying. He had to help him. He knew he shouldn’t have, he wasn’t stupid. Romano Vargas was in their kill-on-sight list thanks to his uncanny abilities to kill people with their own weapons. Personally, he thinks it suits the italian: using his enemies’ own weapons to kill them seems like the sort of poetic justice bullshit Lovino would love. The thing is, he had hoped nobody saw him. When it came to traitors and treating enemy soldiers they had strict rules.

Mathias doesn’t want to be executed. He might be a high ranking soldier, an Oberst, but he isn’t as ready to die for his country as others. Defending his people to death is definitely one of his goals, but he does it for the people themselves, not his land. He isn’t that patriotic. The blond doesn’t really believe he would be able to live knowing he let one of his oldest friends die from blood loss, especially knowing he could have been able to prevent it.

Now he wishes he knew how to explain this to the familiar finnish man pointing a shotgun against his head.

“Nice going there, Den” the sneer in Tino’s voice is clear. They had never gotten along and they wouldn’t even try to see each other's faces if they could help it, but they were ordered to work together and Tino is dating Mathias’ brother so they can’t really do anything about it. “Do we have a tiny rat in our ranks?”

He swallows, “Look, Tino, it isn’t what it looks like-” the cold feeling of the shotgun against his head makes it somewhat harder to speak.

“I didn’t see you healing our enemy? Nursing him back to health?” and Tino sounds so judgemental. “He might be our friend, but we are in a war, Oberst Kohler! A war! We got no time to go around helping the men that are helping to massacrate our soldiers, our people!”

“But it was Lovino! It wasn’t just a random man! It was our friend, someone we spent hours, days, weeks,and years alongside with!” Mathias takes a deep breath, because he is this close to having a panic attack. “Vino saved our lives dozens of times, I am just… returning the favor. This is the last time I do this, Tino, I promise. Please, please, don’t tell anybody. I am no traitor, please.”

Mathias can’t help it and his voice breaks towards the end of the sentence, but the pressure of the shotgun against his head disappears and when he looks at Tino the man looks conflicted, resigned and his eyes adopt the softened look that is mostly reserved for Berwald, Lukas and Emil. Tino lets out a sigh before the hardened sharp look is back.

“Just this once, Mathias. If I see you doing something so stupid again, I won’t doubt it. Not even once.”

“I know.” The words leave his lips softly and weakly, a murmur that he knows Tino barely catches.

They leave a bitter aftertaste, because Mathias knows in a deep part of his heart that if the occasion arises again, he will help with no doubt.

He realizes something in that moment, and it is that despite the fact that he is one of the best fighters from their mismatched group of friends, he wasn’t made for war. He isn’t strong enough for it. Perhaps none of them were, he reflects, maybe they just had different reasons and that helped them fight. Mathias just wants to go home alongside Lukas, and he can only wonder what Tino wants as he looks at his stoic figure walking across the field (and Mathias knows that beyond that stoic exterior Tino is just a soft sappy idiot). 

He takes a deep breath and the exhales. He grabs his gun close to his chest before continuing scouting, decidedly ignoring what Lovino’s presence means.

(He hears the shots and goes running back to his camp and they have to move further back because somehow the Spanish forces managed to ambush them. He feels bad for the dead, and he can feel Tino’s judging gaze, but Mathias decidedly ignores all of it and tries to help as much as he still can).

Lovino wakes in the morning, two days later. He feels sore, has a headache, his torso still hurts a fucking lot, and he can barely open his eyes without hissing like a goddamn cat. He is half pressed to blame Antonio for this, but he resolves that maybe it is not the best time, and that Antonio technically didn’t have anything to do with it. Still, he wants to blame someone, and the man who did it is already dead.

He blames (and thanks) Mathias, for nursing him back to health. The field medic doesn’t even let him sit up, which irritates the hell outta him, and the fact that he hasn’t seen Antonio since he woke up worsens his mood. He tries to take deep breaths, no need to explode at an innocent soldato’s face.

The moment Antonio crosses the door Lovino opens his mouth to say something insulting but interrupts himself after noticing the blood in the other’s uniform. His worried eyes quickly turn to scan his fiancè’s body, noticing Antonio fiddling with the hem of his uniform, but no injuries are in sight. Antonio is just as worried as he is. 

“Come, tomato jerk, give a goddamn hug before I change my mind” he says, already seated, as he extends his hand to him. Antonio doesn’t even doubt it and he suddenly has his arms full of a Spanish man. The emerald eyed man is obviously trying not to mess up with his injuries, and Lovino readjusts his posture slightly so his lover doesn’t hurt him accidentally. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“I thought you’d die. The moment I kneeled there, in front of you, and held your hand. When you told me to go on without you, that you were going to be fine and that you only needed a gun...” Antonio lets out a sob, muffled by Lovino’s neck. “It felt like a goodbye. I thought when I came back you would be dead and the medic would arrive too late, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

There is desperation lacing tomato jerk’s cracked words as he goes on, so Lovino hugs him tighter and murmurs reassuring words to him to try and calm him down, and when that doesn’t completely work he interrupts him.

“Toni, per favore, listen to me. Common mio amore, listen to me.” His italian accent becomes more marked, and Antonio stops talking completely, panting slightly. “I’m alive, and here, and at your side. I won’t leave in a very fucking long time and you’ll be so done with me that in our next life you’ll hate me. You can’t get rid of me that easily, tomato jerk. Never.”

“I’d never hate you, Vino. Never.” Antonio slowly lets go, standing up and wiping off his tears. “The medic says you’ll be able to fight again in about two weeks. He says he can’t give you longer since we have a deadline to get back this sector, but you may rest meanwhile. I do have a question, though.”

“I don’t know whether to be happy to get permission to do no shit, or be angry that I am bound to a fucking bed for two damn weeks. Whatever, ask away.” As there is no one there but his fiance he decides he is still childish enough to lay down and bury his face in his pillow in an act of pettiness.

“When the field medic got there you were already treated. He has asked around the camp but it seems it wasn’t one of them. Would you be able to name who did it?” Antonio asks, tilting his head in curiosity. 

He is fucking adorable, Lovino aggressively decides.

He wonders a bit, and even entertains the thought of telling Antonio the truth but ultimately puts it aside. Knowing Mathias saved him would probably affect Antonio’s efficiency in the field if they go against him again.

“Way too hazy, I remember little about it, I do remember he was blond, but that’s all. He asked me questions, to keep me awake. I think I ended up talking about you at some point?” He answers, making sure to hesitate a little. Lovino knows how to lie well, he had to learn when he was a child. But Antonio usually knows when he is lying.

“I’ll ask around then, coulda been one of the members of the 158th Regiment, since they’ve been around patrolling” the Spanish man thinks out loud before zeroing his eyes in the Italian. “I’m glad you’re alive”, he mutters softly.

“Me too.” And Lovino can only remember the times in which he would have answered with a I’m not. “Me too, Toni. Me too. I am happy you’re here.”

“By your side? Always.”

[lucacangettathisass]

how the light gets in (ch. 10)

SUMMARY: After your home is ransacked by a group of strange men, you and your cousin are taken in by a group of outlaws. And that’s when the trouble really starts.

PAIRINGS: John Marston x Fem!Reader, Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

check the fic tag for previous chapters!

TAGGING: @mountainhymn @kindred-hopes @sean--macguire if you would like to be added to the tag list lmk!

NOTES: hey everyone! long time no see huh? so, obviously, it's been a while since i updated, not since jan, and honestly i expected the next chapter to be out in feb, but i ended up picking up some extra shifts at work so then i was like "ok march it is!" and now it's april lmao. like many of u i've been stuck inside because of the backstreet boys reunion tour, my entire country is on lockdown because of it, so i've been able to use the time to write! and here we are! hopefully i'll be able to get the chapters out more regularly but who knows? anyway hope you all have been well! stay safe, and stay indoors if you can! love u all!

-

As you all slowly descended from the Grizzlies, you watched as the white snow slowly gave way to lush green, a sight that you hadn’t seen for months now, and you eagerly drank it up like someone being given fresh cold water after being in the desert for too long. You let out a sigh when you saw a patch of flowers, feeling like a weight has been lifted from you.

“Been a while since you’ve seen nature?” Miss Jones asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. It-it feels nice.” You smiled and watched a small bird flit from one tree to another, before flying into the horizon. “The warmth makes a nice change too.”

The other women all laughed, even Sadie cracked a smile. “Can’t argue with that one.” Miss Jackson agreed.

You looked forward, trying to see past Miss Grimshaw and the horses, but your view was greatly obstructed. You leaned over the wagon a little, keeping your hands on the sides to stay steady.

“Easy there chiquita.”

You jumped a little and looked behind you to see Mr Escuella riding leisurely beside the wagon, a smile on his lips. “Don’t want you falling overboard.”

A flush crept onto your cheeks and you timidly pulled away. “R-Right. Of course. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise.” Mr Escuella assured you, urging his horse forward so that he was beside you. “Must feel good, seeing all this after being stuck on that mountain.”

“I have missed seeing the colour green.” You admitted.

To your surprise, Mr Escuella laughed. “I can only imagine.”

Making Mr Escuella laugh made you smile, and you sat up a little straighter. “So, who’s your friend?” You reached out and gently patted the neck of Mr Escuella’s horse. The horse whinnied in an appreciative manner, encouraging you to stroke it.

“His name’s Boaz.” Mr Escuella said. “He’s a good boy.”

“A very handsome one too.” You cooed, hand going up to scratch behind one of Boaz’s ears. You furrowed your brow at the lack of reaction before you laughed lightly. “I’ve been around cats for too long.” You said softly.

“What makes you say that?” Mr Escuella sounded intrigued, and you blushed when you realized that he had heard you.

“Oh, n-nothing. It’s just...I’ve grown to expect animals to purr whenever I pet them.” You lowered your gaze, face heating up even more. “I-It’s stupid I know.”

Mr Escuella laughed again, but it didn’t sound malicious. It sounded friendly, almost fond, like he hadn’t found your admission stupid at all. “We all get used to things.” He said with a warm smile. “So, you grew up with cats?”

You nodded. “Mrs Zamolodchikova loved cats, including stray ones. There were always cats around the house so I got used to having some around. There was even a special nursery for expectant mothers and their litters.” You sighed wistfully, thinking back to the times when you would play with the cats or lounge around doing nothing at all with them in between complicated and arduous lessons. You wished you could go back to those times.

“So you’re a cat person?”

“I suppose.” You shrugged. “But only by default. I do like dogs, I just have more experience with cats. And horses of course.”

“Speaking of, your horse doesn’t seem to be too fond of Arthur.” Mr Escuella raised a brow. “I think this is the first time I’ve met a horse that Arthur couldn’t charm.”

“Oh God.” You said with a frown. “Has something happened? Did Mr Morgan say something?”

“No nothing like that.” Mr Esceulla assured you. “It’s just funny. She’s a feisty one.”

“She’s certainly spirited.” You agreed, relieved that nothing bad had happened. “It can take her a while to warm up to strangers, but once she gets used to you all I’m sure she’ll be better behaved.”

“You think you guys will be staying around that long?”

You paused, looking over at Sadie. As expected, she had been watching the interaction between you and Mr Escuella like a hawk, and she didn’t seem to be at all pleased. “We’ll see.” She said tersely.

“I’m sure Dutch won’t mind.” Mr Escuella said. “He isn’t the type to kick out two helpless women.”

“We ain’t helpless.” Sadie snarled, almost visibly bristling.

“That’s very kind of him.” You said quickly. You gently put a hand on Sadie’s knee and squeezed. “We’re immensely grateful.”

Sadie huffed.

Mr Escuella chuckled. “I’m sure.” He said teasingly, winking discreetly when Sadie looked away.

A giggle slipped past your lips and you smiled widely. “Have you been around here before Mr Escuella?”

“Can’t say I have, you?”

You shook your head. “No. It feels a little exciting, being so far east.”

Mr Escuella raised a brow. “This is your idea of excitement?” He chuckled. “Can’t wait to see how you react to everything else.”

Almost immediately you felt yourself deflate, wanting to shrink inside yourself for saying something so stupid. ‘Idiot. They all must already think you’re a child. Now look at what you’ve done.’ You looked down, wanting to avoid Mr Escuella’s gaze as your face burned with embarrassment.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that chiquita.”

You looked back up shyly and saw Mr Escuella looking contrite, and you immediately felt bad. “No no, it’s alright.” You said gently. “I-I know you weren’t trying to be cruel Mr Escuella.” You could tell Sadie was bristling like mad now, but you hoped that this would be enough to placate her. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what does chiquita mean?”

Surprisingly, Mr Escuella seemed to be relieved that you were no longer upset. “It’s Spanish, for little girl or little lady.” He looked you up and down. “In your case I would say little lady is more appropriate.”

That made your face flush even more. No one had ever called you a lady before. In fact, ‘little girl’ had often been the descriptor of choice for most.

“I’m surprised you can’t speak Spanish.” Mr Escuella said, apparently oblivious to your embarrassment.

“Y-Yes, well, I’m afraid that part of my education had been left the wayside.” You said sheepishly.

“So what languages can you speak?”

“Russian, German, French, and Italian.” You replied.

Mr Escuella let out a low whistle. “Impressive.” He said with a raised brow. “Why no Spanish?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but then suddenly realized that you didn’t really have an answer. “I...I really have no idea.” You admitted. “I never really gave it much thought, but thinking about it now, it certainly would be useful.”

“Well, you’re clearly good at picking languages up, so if you’re ever in the mood for learning Spanish, you can just ask me.” Mr Escuella smiled warmly.

It had taken you a moment to process what Mr Escuella had said, but once you did you couldn’t help but grin widely. “R-Really?” You sat up on your knees, one hand still on Boaz’s neck. The offer had taken you by surprise, but you still felt elated. “Y-You mean it?”

“Course I do.”

A rush of excitement ran through you, and you couldn’t hold back a grin. “I-Thank you Mr Escuella. You’ve been so kind, I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“You ain’t gotta repay me chiquita.” He said fondly. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, but stopped, looking you over. “Actually, there is one thing.”

“What is it?” You asked, curious and eager.

Mr Escuella smiled wider and leaned down so that he was at perfect eye level with you. “Just keep smiling. Do you think you can do that for me chiquita?”

It was certainly an odd request, but more than manageable. You had learned long ago how to smile when it was the last thing in the world you wanted to do. “I believe I can Mr Escuella.”

He chuckled, and sat back up. “Good.”

“Looks like we’re almost at that spot Hosea was talking about.”

You looked up at the back of Miss Grimshaw, and saw that you were all coming up to what appeared to be a well-trodden path, leading into a small patch of trees. It felt strange to see so many different types in one place, but in a welcoming and uplifting way. You smiled and sat up straighter, hoping to see more. “Thank Goodness.” You said.

“Hmm, I can’t see Arthur, Hosea and Charles.” Mr Escuella noted, looking over his shoulder. “I’m gonna hang back and wait for them, make sure they get back OK.” He looked back down at you. “Don’t forget what I said chiquita.” He grinned, and clicked his tongue, urging Boaz to turn around and go back down the path.

You couldn’t help but smile. ‘He’s so considerate and kind.’

Some giggles broke out behind you, and you turned around curiously. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.” Miss Jones said breezily, with a twinkle in her eye that indicated very much the opposite.

(You felt your stomach churn.) 

“There’s a town not too far away right?” Miss Jones asked no one in particular

“Valentine I think Hosea said it was called.” Miss Jackson answered. “Real small cattle town.”

“I’ll take a small cattle town over those mountains any day.” Miss Gaskill said, and you couldn’t agree more.

Further ahead was a clearing atop a cliff, and it appeared to be just big enough for all of you. Miss Grimshaw pulled up at a far end of the clearing, and you watched as Mr Williamson and Mr Van Der Linde, who had both been steering wagons of their own, parked in different spots.

“Alright girls, let’s get to work.”

You and the other women all piled out of the wagon, and you noted Miss Jones groaning and Miss Jackson rolling her eyes as you did so.

“We need to start pitching tents.” Miss Grimshaw looked over at you and Sadie. “Do you two know how to do that?”

Sadie nodded. “I do, my daddy taught me.”

That seemed to please the older woman. “What about you [Name]?”

You immediately felt your cheeks flush hot. “I..I never...learned how to do that…” You looked down, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

“Then what can you do?”

“J-Just about anything else to help!” You said quickly, looking up again, desperate to appear helpful and eager and, above all, of use. “You know how I said my momma was a maid? I would help her sometimes. I-I got good at it.”

“She’s very good.” Sadie said, coming to your aid. “She has a steady hand when sewing, knows how to treat all sorts of stains, and she can cook very well.”

You smiled at Sadie, grateful for the help.

Miss Grimshaw looked you over with an uncomfortably enigmatic gaze. “Show her how to pitch a tent.” She said finally. “The sooner she learns that the better.”

“Yes Miss Grimshaw.”

You let out a deep breath. “Y-Yes Miss Grimshaw!” You quickly followed Sadie to the wagon where the other women had already gathered, getting out what you assumed to be materials to pitch up tents.

“Did that old Russian widow teach you magic or something?” Miss Jones asked with a twinkle in her eye, much like the one from earlier, and a smirk on her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Javier warm up to someone that quick.”

The other women giggled, and you flushed. “N-Not at all.” You said. “I-I’m sure that he just wants me to feel welcome.”

“Oh I bet he does.” Miss Jackson waggled her brows. “Or at least, welcome around him.” She burst into giggles, along with Miss Jones and Miss Gaskill.

“Alright girls that’s enough.” Miss Roberts interjected. “Don’t want to give Grimshaw an excuse to yell at us already.” She looked over at you and smiled kindly. “Don’t listen to them, they get bored easy and just wanna have something to entertain themselves with.”

You failed to see what could be so entertaining about this, but you appreciated Miss Roberts’s words nonetheless. “It’s alright.” You saw Sadie grabbing a bundle of materials and immediately went to her side to help. “So, what do we do?”

“Gotta find some good flat ground first.” Sadie inspected the surrounding area, before finding a patch that satisfied her. “Now we gotta make sure the frame is steady.”

She walked you through the steps slowly, adding clarification when you needed it. Knowing each other as long as you both had, she knew how to explain and teach things to you in a way that would make sense to you, so you were able to follow along and got the hang of it rather quickly.

“I don’t want you talkin’ to Escuella.”

You paused, turning away from the canvas to look at Sadie in surprise. “Why not? He’s very nice.”

“He’s an outlaw.” Sadie’s words were dripping with disdain and venom. “A thief and a killer.”

“And he’s been nothing but nice.” You pointed out. “He offered to teach me Spanish, that could be an invaluable skill Sadie.”

“Don’t matter, I don’t want you talking to him and that’s final.” She knotted the rope in her hands around a stake, with a bit more force than necessary in your opinion.

You sighed, kneeling beside Sadie. “That isn’t realistic and you know it.” You said in a low voice. “Besides, we need to be pragmatic about this.” You glanced around. “We’re outsiders Sadie. Everyone else knows each other, and there are already dynamics and relationships in place, so we need to form our own. The sooner we can endear ourselves to everyone here, the better.”

Sadie gritted her teeth. “These people aren’t like the rich, upper class types you’re used to.” She said pointedly. “They don’t play the same games or go by the same set of rules.”

“But they are human, and humans are social creatures.” You gently put a hand on Sadie’s arm. “If we can befriend a few of them, it’ll make life easier for us. I know you’re an expert on nature survival Sadie, but this is about social survival, and that’s entirely different.”

A silence hung between the two of you, and you let it, allowing Sadie time to think about what you had said. “Why do you always gotta be right.” She sighed heavily. “Alright. Fine. Be friendly. But not too friendly with the men. I don’t want none of them getting too close to you or being alone with you.”

“Deal.” You smiled and hugged Sadie. Truthfully, you never understood why she was so hesitant to allow men near you. After all, no man had ever expressed interest in you before, and why should they? There were always far better, more appealing options available.

“Not bad.” Miss Grimshaw appeared to be pleased and even a little impressed, especially since this was the first time you had ever put up a tent. She looked up at Sadie. “You can help Mary Beth and Tilly with setting up Arthur’s tent.” She then turned her attention to you. “And you can help Herr Strauss with his wagon. He seems to have taken a liking to you, so I doubt he’ll mind.”

“Yes Miss Grimshaw.” Despite yourself, you could feel your cheeks going a little pink at the revelation that Herr Strauss liked you. You felt relieved and happy to know that you had already formed at least one bond, and hopefully alliance, within the gang.

You and Sadie exchanged glances before going to your seperate jobs. Herr Strauss had just finished setting up a table when you approached, and he seemed to be looking for something in his wagon.

“Herr Strauss?” You said gently, not wanting to startle him too much.

Despite your precautions, Herr Strauss jumped a little, staring at you in surprise. “Mein Gott.” He said, a hand over his heart. “You’re certainly quiet aren’t you fräulein?”

You flushed a deep red. “S-Sorry.” You said bashfully.

“Oh it’s alright.” Herr Strauss smiled kindly at you, adjusting his glasses. “Did you need anything?”

“Actually, Miss Grimshaw told me that I should help you.” You looked at his wagon. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

This seemed to surprise him, but Herr Strauss smiled. “Yes actually. I need some help taking inventory of our medicines.” He carefully pushed aside some of the crates, revealing a slightly worn leather satchel, which he reached into and pulled what appeared to be a notebook out of it. “Just go through the crates one by one and tell me what you find and I’ll make a record.”

“Of course.”

You did as you were instructed, reading out each label clearly, and waiting for Herr Strauss to finish writing before moving on. You had also decided to group all of the tonics together in groups, one for the horses, and one for humans, before further dividing them by what it was they helped with-health, stamina, or concentration-and then their effectiveness; all of which you had gleaned from reading the labels, committing it all to memory.

“You’ve already started sorting them?”

“Oh, um, yes.” You looked down, fidgeting under Herr Strauss’s curious gaze. “I-I thought it would make things easier. I can rearrange them if there’s a particular way you want them sorted.”

“Oh no no! This is perfectly fine fräulein.” Herr Strauss said approvingly, his smile and gaze warm. He went back over his notes as he inspected the bottles, double checking to make sure everything had been properly accounted for. “You’ve done a very good job, and there aren’t any discrepancies, so all in all-”

“No! Mister! Wait!”

The sudden shouts made you jump, and you looked up, heart pounding, to see Mr Duffy being dragged to a tree not too far from where you were by Mr Williamson. “Wh-what’s Mr Williamson doing?” You asked shakily.

“Looks like he’s going to tie him to that tree.” Herr Strauss replied, shaking his head. “Poor boy. Can’t imagine he’ll last long without food and drink.”

“W-Wait.” You looked back at the older Austrian, wide eyed. “You’re not-I mean, we’re not-Mr Van Der Linde wouldn’t-”

“He would, and it appears that he has.” He assured you. “I understand that this is rather shocking, but it’s how things are done here. If Dutch says he ain’t eating or drinking, then that’s that.”

“I...I see…” You looked over at Mr Duffy, feeling immense pity. “How...how long will he be...tied up?”

“For as long as Dutch says.” Herr Strauss replied. He seemed to have caught the horrified look on your face, making him sigh. He gently put a hand on your shoulder and turned you away from Mr Duffy. “Fräulein, I know that this sort of thing is particularly...unpleasant for you, being as good and kind as you are. But I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it. Hopefully the boy will tell Dutch what he wants to hear sooner rather than later. Until then, we must follow Dutch’s orders. No food or water for the O’Driscoll.”

“Yes Herr Strauss.” You said quietly, trying very hard not to look back at Mr Duffy.

-

You helped Herr Strauss set up his own tent space and to arrange his things, and by the time you were both finished, the rest of the camp had been set up, and Mr Morgan, Mr Smith, and Mr Matthews had joined you all, and Mr Escuella with them. You couldn’t help but watch Mr Morgan as Miss Grimshaw escorted him to his tent. He moved with such easy confidence and self assuredness, that you couldn’t help but feel envious.You had no idea what it was like to feel like that, to move through the world without a single worry or care. All you ever did was worry and care.

You were quickly pulled from your thoughts when you heard Mr Van Der Linde speak. Everyone stopped what they were doing and formed a small crowd around him, listening intently, and you joined them. He was trying to raise morale, praising everyone for sticking by him, before urging everyone to pull their weight and help out. 

(You fidgeted a little at that, worried if you would be able to do that.)

Mr Pearson, now wearing a top hat, emphasized the need for food, asking for everyone to contribute something. You looked over at Sadie, who was standing with Miss Gaskill and Miss Jackson, and wondered if she would be allowed to hunt. You couldn’t see why not.

“And don’t forget, whatever you get, the camp gets a slice.” My Van Der Linde pulled out a shiny red box and placed it on top of a barrel outside his large tent.

You furrowed your brow and looked over at Herr Strauss. “What did he mean by that?”

“If you make any money then you need to put some into that box there.” He explained. “To help the camp pay for supplies and the like.”

“Oh. Like taxes?”

Herr Strauss chuckled. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Once Mr Van Der Linde was done, everyone dispersed and you rejoined the other women. “So, how long do you all usually stay in one place?”

“Depends.” Miss Jackson said. “If it’s a good spot and we lay low, then usually a good few months.”

“Let’s hope that’s the case here.” Miss Gaskill sighed. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve had enough of moving around.”

You couldn’t agree more, and you were about to say as much when something blue appeared in the corner of your eye. You turned to look and saw Mr Morgan, still wearing his big heavy coat, talking with Mr Van Der Linde and Mr Matthews. For whatever reason, your full attention was on the three men, but Mr Morgan in particular. You took in his profile, his strong jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, the firm set of his mouth. Did he ever smile? You hoped you would be able to see it.

“Stay away from him.”

You jumped, turning to see Sadie suddenly at your side, glaring at something. “W-What?”

“I said stay away from him.” It came out as an angry hiss, and when you followed her gaze you saw that it was focussed on Mr Morgan.

“But Sadie, he helped us-”

“I talked with Tilly and Mary Beth.” Sadie gave no indication that she had heard you, although you were certain that she did. “And they told me what kind of person Morgan is.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. “What...what kind of person is he?”

“Exactly the kind I expected.” She finally tore her gaze away from Mr Morgan and onto you. “He uses force and kills even when not necessary. He’s a mean and sour bastard and I don’t want you around him. I know you feel like you owe him because of what he did, but you don’t. He didn’t do it out of the goodness of his own heart. If Dutch hadn’t been there he probably would’ve put a bullet in our heads.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have Sadie.” But even as you protested, you felt a chill go down your spine. “What would he have gained from it?”

“Men like him don’t need a reason to kill.” Her tone left no room for argument, so you decided not to. Instead you let her put her arm around you and lead you away to the area where the two of you, along with Miss Jones, Miss Jackson, and Miss Gaskill would sleep.

But you were able to sneak one last look back at Mr Morgan, watching as he smoked his cigarette, haloed in the light of the setting sun.