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reciprocityfic · 5 months ago

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champagne problems, chapter ten (epilogue)

title: champagne problems fandom: little women pairing: theodore laurence x amy march rating: m summary: amy accepts fred's proposal, and laurie comes home and marries jo. but instead of it being the end of something, it's just the start of something bigger.

(or, how laurie and amy find their way back to each other.)

chapter one: champagne problems chapter two: right where you left me chapter three: it’s nice to have a friend chapter four: the end is here chapter five: moments that we stole (on begged and borrowed time) chapter six: this godforsaken mess chapter seven: love slipped beyond your reaches chapter eight: cracks of light chapter nine: evermore

author's note: please be sure to read chapter nine (linked above) before reading the epilogue - i posted both today!

epilogue

She’s awakened by gentle, sloppy kisses pressed over and over again along her neck. Even in her groggy state, she can’t help but smile softly. She brings her hand up to rub at her eyes before reaching down and lacing her fingers together with his against her stomach.

She loves when he wakes her up like this.

His kisses become firmer when he feels her stir. She grins again, and then turns her body so she can look at him, taking her free hand and smoothing his mussed hair.

“Good morning, my lord.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Laurence,” he breathes, and she rolls her eyes, making him laugh lightly. Even after these years, being referred to by her married name still sends a thrill through her, which he takes advantage of quite often.

He leans down and presses his lips to hers in a long, lazy kiss. She can already feel him hardening against her, and her stomach flips.

“Good morning, Amy,” he murmurs against her lips.

She places another peck to his mouth in response, then another, until they’re once again engaged in a deep kiss. His hands slip under her nightgown, and she begins to pull his sleeping shirt off his shoulders and over his head. Their actions are second-nature after so much time together, but as he pushes into her and their hips begin to move together, it feels just as exhilarating as their first night together. As their first forbidden kiss on the hill behind Orchard House.

She’s accepted that she’ll never become accustomed to how much she wants him, will always want him. She wouldn’t have it any other way, really.

She takes his face in her hands while he thrusts inside her, beckoning him to open his eyes. He obeys, gazes at her as his breath catches with each of her movements against him. His eyes only flutter close as she finishes, spasming around him, and a moment later, she feels him release within her.

She pulls him down, collapses him on top of her. The warm sun of a late spring morning pours in through the bedroom windows. Between the comfortable light, the cocoon of blankets around her and his weight on top of her, she couldn’t be more content. She begins to drift off, her eyelids drooping as he places one, two, three kisses against her cheekbone before pressing his lips to the tip of her nose.

She opens her eyes sometime later when she hears a gentle knock against the room’s door. She stretches, shifts until she can see who has woken her up this time, and grins when she sees her two favorite people staring back at her.

She reaches across the bed for her nightgown, pulls it over her head as Laurie approaches with Bess, both of them already dressed. The little girl reaches for her as her husband sits on the edge of the bed, wiggling out of his arms and crawling across the mattress to her mother.

“Momma, Momma, Momma,” she babbles repeatedly, as she settles into Amy’s lap.

“Good morning, my angel,” Amy tells her softly, dropping a kiss on top of her soft, light brown curls.

“Momma sleep,” Bess tells her, reaching up to pat her hands against her mother’s cheeks.

“Yes,” she replies, chuckling softly at her daughter before shifting her gaze to Laurie. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon,” he says, and then leans down onto the mattress to catch Bess’ attention. “Momma sleep a looooong time.”

Bess giggles at her father, reaching out and grabbing his finger before turning back to Amy.

“Momma eat?” she asks.

“You’ve missed breakfast, but you should be able to make lunch,” Laurie informs her, and she nods before stretching again, lifting her hands over her head.

“Here, darling,” Laurie begins, standing up and scooping up Bess as she protests and reaches back for her mother. He assures the girl that both he and her mother will be downstairs soon, and peppers kisses on her face until Bess laughs and agrees to be handed off to one of the servants standing just outside the doorway.

Then, Laurie turns back to Amy, a cautious look on his face. She furrows her brow, silently asking him what the problem is. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope.

“This came yesterday morning, while you were with Marmee and Meg,” he tells her gently as he approaches, handing the letter to her. “I meant to give it to you when you returned, but you were in such a good mood I didn’t want to ruin it.”

She looks down at the envelope in her hands, sees her name scrawled across the front in Jo’s unmistakable handwriting; she gulps.

She’d sent a letter to Jo about a month ago. They hadn’t spoken or written to each other for nearly four years - not since that awful, fateful day when she and Laurie had confessed their love, and her sister stormed out, vowing to never return.

She hasn’t. She’s come to visit to see the rest of her family, of course, but has given Marmee strict instructions for Amy and Laurie to stay away.

Amy doesn’t regret one step on the journey that led to her life with Laurie, but she misses her sister desperately. So she wrote Jo, in a probably misguided attempt to start to build a relationship with her once more. She scribbled down about ten versions of the letter - she’d never considered herself a very good writer, especially when compared to her sister, and every iteration came out a rambling mess of thoughts that she wasn’t even sure made sense - before hastily sending the final version without giving it a second glance, knowing that if she started to scrutinize it like she had with the others, the message would never leave her desk. She gave the letter to Marmee afterwards, telling her mother to deliver it to Jo with tears in her eyes.

The letter, again, was jumbled and long, a mess of ideas that ranged from how much she longed to see Beth again, to her overwhelming desire for Jo to meet Bess, to the way her heart ached every time they all gathered at Orchard House for Sunday dinner, knowing that a vital piece of her family wasn’t there, might never be there again.

But above all, she asked for Jo’s forgiveness, in disjointed words and cluttered, crossed-out sentences. Are you angry with me, still? she had asked at one point, feeling once again like she was a young girl sitting in front of the fireplace after burning Jo’s manuscript, ashamed and desperate for her older sister’s mercy.

The letter in her shaking hands now is thin - it can’t be more than a few paragraphs long, if that. The sinking feeling in her stomach knows that it’s probably a curt dismissal, a short and scathing rebuke.

She doesn’t deserve my forgiveness! And I will hate her, I will hate her forever!

Lauries reaches out, grasping one of her unsteady hands and leaning forward so he can press a kiss onto her forehead.

“I don’t regret anything,” he assures her, and she knows this, but it’s comforting to hear all the same. “I’d do it all over again - every bit of it - if it meant I was allowed to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Amy leans into him, buries her face into the crook of his neck.

“I would, too,” she tells him. “But it still…”

She trails off as tears gather in her eyes. He nods, and speaks gently into her hair.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Amy.”

They hold each other for a moment more, and then she lets out a shaky breath, staring down at the letter in her hands once more.

Laurie leans down so he can look into her eyes, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear that has fallen down her cheek, and then kisses her, softly and deeply.

“I love you. More than anyone or anything in the world.”

He’s told her that a million times by now, but butterflies still flit in her stomach every time she hears those words, and she can’t help the small smile that turns up the corners of her mouth.

“As I love you, my lord,” she replies, and he smirks.

“Take your time,” he says as he stands and walks toward the door. “I’ll keep Bess busy until you’re ready.”

She nods, and then he walks out of the room, leaving her alone with the letter. She decides to tear it open immediately, like ripping a bandage off.

She takes one sheet of paper out of the envelope, and unfolds it slowly. It’s one sentence, as she expected, and she closes her eyes before she reads it, preparing for the words to eviscerate her heart.

Then she remembers that her Laurie, her Bess, are waiting for her downstairs, and she opens her eyes.

And, as another tear falls from her eyes, she smiles. There, again in Jo’s unmistakable handwriting.

Life is too short to stay angry at one’s sister.

a/n:

dear readers,

and thus our story concludes.

as always, thank you to each and every one of you that took the time to engage with this story (special shoutout to those who left kudos/comments). this is not only the most popular story i've ever written, but also the one that means the most to me. i'm so glad i could finish it for you all - even if it did take ages - and i hope the ending is satisfying to you all.

lots of love <3

#laurie x amy #amy x laurie #little women #little women 2019 #amylaurie #amy march #theodore laurence #cprobs

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reciprocityfic · 5 months ago

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champagne problems, chapter nine

(or, how laurie and amy find their way back to each other.)

evermore

Amy’s wedding is nothing like she’d ever imagined it would be. She remembers Meg’s quaint backyard wedding, and how she’d boldly told her older sister after the ceremony that, while this was nice, when she married one day, it would be the talk of the entirety of Concord for at least three weeks, with elegant dancing and delicious food and a guest list of at least one hundred. Meg had smiled fondly, put her arm around her youngest sister, and making sure John wasn’t looking, whispered in her ear, “Do it, for the both of us, yes?”

Amy felt a pang in her heart then, for her lovely sister who, although happy and deeply in love, had always had a penchant for beautiful, out-of-reach things. So she kissed Meg on the cheek, and promised. Even then, Fred Vaughn’s face popped into her mind, even though there in the peripheral vision of her brain was a wisp of brow curls, the shine of hazel eyes. She had resigned herself to the fact that he would ask Jo any day now, that all her childhood longing was just a wish that never came true. And she was okay with that. After all, there would be more wishes to chase now, in Europe with Aunt March. With her art.

Oh, how things change, she thinks to herself as she walks down the stairs of Orchard House with her father beside her, dressed in pale blue with a bouquet of Beth’s wildflowers clutched tenderly in her fist. Father had agreed to marry them graciously and without hesitation; their whole family had embraced their union with smiles and open hearts, and they were now waiting for her in the front room.

Or maybe, it’s how things stay the same, as she rounds the corner and sees him standing there in front of the fireplace - the same place she had first seen him all those years ago, her face flushed and stars in her sleepy eyes. She can’t see her own face, of course, but she’s sure the look on it now is no different than it was back then.

He’s staring at the floor when she first lays eyes on him, dressed in a light gray suit that she recognizes immediately; he’d worn it often during their days in France, and it was the suit he was wearing that first time he’d asked her to marry him.

Don’t marry him.

And she’d wanted to believe him so badly, wanted to smile and fall into his arms. Yes pushed against her lips, beat in her heart, but she swallowed the word down and shook her head, told him no over and over as her stomach churned.

She’ll never have to say no to heart - to him - ever again. The thought turns the corner of her lips up.

Her next step makes a floorboard creak, and his head snaps up at the sounds, eyes wide in nervous anticipation. But then, their gazes lock, and a slow, gentle smile spreads across his face. She sees his lips mouth her name, and her vision starts to blur with tears, but she bites her lip and blinks them away. She wants to remember every moment of this with perfect clarity.

It feels like it takes ages to close the small gap between them. When her father drops her arm, she has to stop herself from running to him, and as soon as she’s close enough he reaches for her, grabbing her hands, slipping his fingers in between hers and pulling her in so that they face each other, only inches between them.

She tilts her head up, stares at his beautiful face; she has the battle back the urge to stand on her tiptoes and kiss him, push a stray brown curl from his forehead and run her hands through his hair. She only resists because she knows that they have the rest of their lives now for gestures like that. Forever . So just this once, she’ll be good.

She’s sure her father says something beautiful during the brief ceremony, but she doesn’t hear him. She can’t focus on anything but Laurie, on the way he gazes at her, full of love. He brings her hands up to his mouth and kisses her fingers before saying, “I do,” low and firm. Then, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a ring that he told her was his mother’s. Jo never wore it - she’d never wanted a ring, and Laurie said he’d hadn’t even been able to locate it when they married, instead returning a new ring he’d bought from a jeweler in Boston after Jo’s resistance.

He’d found his mother’s ring a week ago, sitting in his top dresser drawer like it had been there the entire time, waiting for this moment.

She speaks quickly when it’s her turn to say her vow, just as she had when she’d said yes on the hill a few weeks ago. There’s no need for hesitation or pretenses anymore, and she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

“I do,” she murmurs, breathlessly, and the soft smile that’s been playing on his lips since he laid eyes on her today breaks into a wide, happy grin.

“Then, by the power vested in me, I declare you husband and wife. You may - ”

Her father can’t even finish his statement before they reach for each other. She grabs the lapels of his coat, he tilts her chin up, and their lips meet in a firm kiss. When they break apart, she is immediately pulled away from her by Marmee and Meg, and she can vaguely hear their words of congratulations as they wrap her in hugs, but her eyes stay on him. He does the same as John and Father come over to shake his hand.

She remembers how not that long ago, she would never look at him when they were with other people, for fear that she’d stare too long, or too fondly. Instead, she’d turn her head towards the floor, closing her eyes and praying that the fluttering pain in her heart would somehow go away once and for all.

Now, she gazes at him unabashedly, and he stares back, a million promises shining in his eyes.

It’s after dark by the time they make it back to the Laurence estate. She’s tired after a day of subdued celebration with her family; of course, there were two empty spaces at the table. One for her dear Beth, who she knew was there at every gathering, in their hearts, memories and spirits.

The other was Jo’s.

Jo - the only part of this that she wishes she could change. She thinks of her sister in quiet moments, alone in New York, hurt by the people she held closest. The thought and the guilt it brings can bring tears to her eyes if she lets them. But doesn’t make room for Jo right now, selfishly wanting to leave her wedding day unsullied.

They walk hand-in-hand across the street, leaning slightly into each other. He reaches to open the door when they arrive, but pauses first, turns his head and looks down at her. Even in the darkness, she can see the adoration in his eyes, and she realizes she wouldn’t have been able to make room for Jo today even if she’d wanted to. Not when every one of her senses were so full of her husband.

“Welcome home, my love,” he whispers, and then he opens the door. Her heart skips a beat, and then she follows him inside. She gazes around at the large house as he closes and locks the door behind her. Her home. A strange feeling wells up inside her, and for a moment, she worries that nowhere except Orchard House will ever feel like her home. He comes to stand beside her, and he must feel the slight tension in her body, because he takes her hand again, lacing their fingers together.

She relaxes at his touch, and she looks up at him as he, too, gazes around the foyer, as if he’s seeing it for the first time. And she realizes that while Orchard House will always feel like home, this will be their home. The one that they build together. And she warms at the prospect.

He clears his throat.

“Now, I know it’s no Orchard House - ”

“It’s perfect,” she breathes, cutting him off. “It’s ours. ”

“It is,” he declares, like a vow.

She stares around for a few more moments, and realizes how quiet the place is. His grandfather - her grandfather now, too - had left on business a few hours ago, after dinner. They had the whole house to themselves.

He drops her hand.

“Are you hungry at all?” he asks softly, and he suddenly sounds nervous.

Her brow furrows, but then it hits her, almost knocks the air out of her, when she realizes that it’s their wedding night, and they’re all alone.

“I’m sure there’s something in the kitchen if you are. Or, I don’t know…”

He continues to ramble anxiously, but she doesn’t hear him. They’re barely a foot apart, but she feels every millimeter of space between them. Nervousness begins to turn in her stomach as well, but she gulps once and forges ahead into the unknown.

“I think I want to go upstairs,” she murmurs. It sounds almost shy, but she gets it out.

He doesn’t answer right away, and she feels more and more lightheaded with every moment of silence that passes between them. But then, he places his hand low on her back and gently pushes her against him. Heat licks up her spine as she feels every plane of her body pressed against his.

“After you, my lady,” he whispers in her ear, letting his lips linger against her cheek before pulling back and staring at her, desire unabashedly shining in his eyes. Again, warmth spreads through her, collecting in the pit of her stomach.

Their trip up the staircase and down the hall to his - their - bedroom seems to take ages. But as soon as he leads her into the large room, her heart begins to beat in double-time, the combination of anxiety of the unknown and anticipation of what’s to come flowing through her veins. The door closes behind them with a soft thud. She catches sight of the bed in the middle of the room and her breath catches in her throat, but then he comes up behind her and begins to messily kiss down the side of her neck, and she can’t think of anything but him.

He starts on the buttons on the back of her dress, but pauses on the third one, clearing his throat.

“I didn’t ask - I,“ he stutters, his voice rough and strained. Goosebumps rise at the base of her neck where his fingertips still graze the small, new patch of skin that’s been revealed by the undoing of the first few buttons. “Do you want to - “

“Yes,” she breathes, mercifully cutting him off before he tries to stumble through an entire sentence. And then, she laughs, because alongside all the seriousness of how much she wants him - every inch of him - there is the levity of happiness. The joy that he is hers, her Laurie, and she is his. Laurie and Amy, together now and forevermore.

He laughs too, and then leans forward, resting his forehead against her hair. “Thank God,” he mutters, and she lets out a giggle that quickly turns into a gasp as he goes back to unbuttoning her dress, kissing every new inch of her that’s revealed along the way.

He takes off her dress and unlaces her corset deftly, and she cringes slightly as she remembers why, remembers that he’s done this before, more times than she cares to think of. Jealousy of women she’s never met or known tries to bubble up inside her, but as he takes her hand and helps her step out of her skirts, he looks at her in a way that makes her feel like she’s the only person who’s ever existed, and she’s reminded that he is only hers now. She gets to kiss him and touch him in a way no one else ever will again. And she gets to love him in a way no one ever has.

They both kick her clothes to the side, and then they face each other, her in nothing but her chemise now. His hands go to her hips, and he pulls her against him for what seems like the thousandth time tonight. Still, it isn’t enough. She tilts her head up and meets his lips with hers, and he kisses at her open mouth, his tongue swiping across her bottom lip before sinking into her mouth.

She’s never been kissed like this; the only time that’s come close is that morning on the sofa downstairs, the closest they’d ever come to breaking a rule that was even more forbidden than the ones they’d already shattered. This is that and so much more - there is no guilt, no fear or hesitation. They hold nothing back now, and it is so much - nearly too much - but she only wants more of it.

She’s about to wrap her arms around the back of his neck, but the buttons on his shirt catch her eye, and she can’t stop her hands from moving towards them, the prospect of seeing more of him too tantalizing. Her fingers are not nearly as skilled as his, but he reaches down to help her, thankfully, and in a flash, his shoulders and torso are bare to her. Her palms go to his skin immediately, her fingers splaying over his ribs before he ducks down and sheds his trousers and undergarments in one swoop.

And then she sees him, all of him, for the first time. She has a sudden urge to cry at the beauty of this moment, and goes to reach for him again, but he’s on his knees before she can, staring up at her, the look in his eyes suddenly very serious.

“If at any point something hurts or feels uncomfortable, or you simply don’t like what we’re doing, you have to tell me. Alright?”

She nods at him.

“Alright,” she breathes, and a small smile crosses his features.

“This is for you,” he murmurs, kissing her knee before his hands dip underneath her chemise, his fingers sliding up her thighs and bringing the undergarment along with them. “Everything I do for the rest of my life,” he says, with a kiss to the side of her left thigh, “will be for you.”

She gasps slightly when the chemise is pushed up enough that she’s bared to him for the first time. He pauses for a moment, and she’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s staring at her. It makes her want to squirm, but not in a bad way. He exhales shakily, and she almost moans when she feels his warm breath wash over her. He kisses her right hip, then just below her belly button, before standing up quickly, taking the last of her garments with him.

He stares at her again. She’s never had anyone look at her like this before - hungrily, shamelessly, devoutly - and it doesn’t make her self-conscious like she feared it would. She’s too caught up in him to feel anything but endless desire.

He moves towards her quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her off the ground. She squeals slightly before letting out a breathless laugh that he reciprocates as he moves them across the room and towards the bed, laying her down with the utmost care. He kisses her, his hand coming up to cover her breast as he does, and she moans into his mouth, her body lifting into his. She feels him, hard against her stomach, and she aches. She isn’t even completely positive about what she’s aching for - she knows that it goes inside her, but she doesn’t quite know the exact mechanics - but she knows that she wants it more than anything she’s ever wanted before.

He pulls his mouth away from hers, their lips smacking, and she’s about to protest when she realizes he’s moving his mouth down her body. He moves his hand from her breast and kisses it instead, before taking her nipple into his mouth. She moans again, clenching around nothing. She feels empty, she realizes. Like she needs something inside her.

Almost on cue, he speaks.

“Have you ever had anything inside you before?”

Before she can think of an answer, he moves to her other breast. She lets out a squeak that she would be embarrassed by, but he moans around her nipple at the sound, the vibrations traveling pleasantly across her skin.

He lifts his head from her, and she takes it in her hands for a moment, holding him still so she can come up with an answer to his question. Have you ever had anything inside you before? What?

“Some women use their fingers,” he explains quickly, sensing her confusion. “Or other tools to…do it to themselves.”

She pauses, stares up at the ceiling. Tools? What is he talking about? She’s about to question him further, but then he begins to kiss down her stomach, sticking his tongue out to lap at her skin, and anything else other than this moment right now becomes unimportant.

“No,” she whispers, and she feels him nod against her before continuing his journey downward, kissing further and further until, oh, he spreads her thighs apart and settles between her legs. He stops moving, and she leans up onto her elbows to look down her body at him. He’s staring at her, mouth open and panting, and again, she can feel his breath against her.

“Laurie,” she groans, inpatient for what’s coming. Again, she doesn’t know exactly what it is, but she trusts him implicitly.

“If anything hurts…” he cautions again.

“I’ll tell you,” she promises.

In a flash, he presses his mouth to her, and she gasps. He moans against her, and then uses his tongue to lap at her, licking up until he finds something that makes her toes curl against the bed.

“Laurie!” she yelps, leaning back against the bed, and she feels him smile.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” she breathes, her back arching as she grasps at the sheets below her.

It’s divine, she would tell him if she was capable of stringing together a few words. But she can’t right now - Laurie, this moment, this feeling take up her entire mind.

Her muscles clench around nothing again, and although this feels incredible, she knows there must be more. She wants more .

Again, it’s as if he can read her mind.

“Do you feel empty, Amy?” he murmurs against her.

She moans.

“Do you want something inside you?”

“Yes,” she tells him breathlessly.

He repositions himself slightly, and then, his hand is at her entrance, waiting there.

“Laurie, please,” she cries, and then his finger is circling her opening once, twice, coating the skin in the wetness pouring from her before pushing inside gently.

“Oh.”

He begins to move the finger in and out of her slowly, and brings his other hand up to rub the spot he was licking at with his tongue earlier, massaging it in small, gentle circles.

She pants as his finger moves inside her, and reaches for him blindly, needing something to ground her in the midst of what he’s making her feel. She tangles her fingers into his dark hair as he crooks his finger just so, and she tugs. He moans loudly, the beautiful sound ringing out into the otherwise still room, and pushes a second finger inside her suddenly. She gasps as she feels herself stretch further. It doesn’t hurt in the slightest; instead, it makes the fire burning inside her brighter and more potent.

She feels her pleasure start to build as he continues to pump his fingers into her, a steady pressure below that lifts her higher and higher the more he touches her. Her hips begin to move on their own accord in rhythm with his fingers, her body canting her hips instinctually.

“Laurie!” she gasps after a moment, the pressure building to a point that is nearly unbearable. He presses his lips gently against the side of her bent knee.

“It’s alright, my love,” he murmurs. “I’m right here.”

The pressure snaps, like a string pulled too tight, and she lets out a deep moan, the speed of her hips increasing as she clenches around his fingers. She sits up suddenly, pulling him as close to her as she can in their slightly awkward positioning, clinging to his body. He murmurs sweet words into her ear that she can’t quite make out as she comes down, dropping kisses onto her shoulder every so often. When her breathing slowly begins to steady, he moves the both of them up the bed and lays her back down against the mattress.

She kisses him gently, and then pulls on him until his body collapses on top of hers. She rests her cheek against his hair. Her joints feel like jelly, and her hands still shake slightly, but she’s never felt more at peace. A slow smile turns up her lips.

They stay like that for a moment - she thinks for a minute that she’d be content to stay like that forever - before he kisses her collarbone, and lifts up his head so he can look at her.

“Do you want to be done for the night?” he asks gently.

And then she registers the fact that he’s still hard against her thigh, his hips moving ever so slightly as he searches for some sort of relief.

“No,” she says firmly, and pulls back slightly so she can gaze into his eyes. “We’re not done yet.”

She moves her leg slightly, purposefully brushing it against him, hoping it will bring him the same pleasure he had brought her a moment ago. His eyes squeeze shut, and he lets out an unsteady breath before allowing a small smirk to appear on his face. She giggles.

“Not quite yet,” he quips, and he kisses her deeply once before reaching down between them. He moans as he grabs himself. Then, she feels him, pressing against her entrance.

“I love you,” she murmurs, and he looks up at her again. She sees the same peace she feels reflected in his eyes. He leans down, kisses both her eyelids and the tip of her nose before covering her mouth with his.

She can feel the same heat from earlier start to pool in her stomach again, and she knows she’s far from done tonight. When they break apart, he drops his head down into the crook of her neck, pressing his lips against the delicate skin there, and begins to push into her.

She moans, tangling her fingers into his hair again as he enters her. It’s much more than two fingers, of course, but he’s slow and gentle and steady and it feels like everything she dreamed it would be. When he’s finally fully inside her, he lifts his head, his breath unsteady and his eyes shining with both desire and adoration.

“As I love you, Amy,” he vows, reverently, as his hips begin to move.

#laurie x amy #amy x laurie #little women #little women 2019 #amy march #theodore laurence #amylaurie #cprobs

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reciprocityfic · 1 year ago

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7 + 16?

7. how many ideas for fics do you have right now?

oh i always have like....infinite ideas for fics. like i don't even know how to quantify it.

getting those ideas down into words, however...

16. at what point in the process do you come up with titles?

it definitely varies depending on the fic but usually not too late in the process. mainly because i actually enjoy coming up with titles!

fanfic writer asks!

#thank you for the ask!#anons are beautiful

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reciprocityfic · 1 year ago

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I’m Bored and Anxious So I Slapped Together a List of Fan Fic Writer Asks

1. Share a song that makes you think of [fic title] 2. Do you read/reread your own fics? 3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written? 4. How many WIPs do you have right now? 5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write? 6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time? 7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now? 8. What project(s) are you currently working on? 9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written! 10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting? 11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics? 12. Do you have a playlist for your current WIP(s)? Share it! 13. How much planning do you do before writing? 14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick? 15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters? 16. At what point in the process do you come up with titles? 17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic? 18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic? 19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs. 20. What’s a favorite title for a fic you’ve written? 21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why? 22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing? 23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)? 24. Share a moodboard for (one of) your current WIP(s). 25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing? 26. Is there something you’ve written that you would never want your family to see? 27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why? 28. Have you ever tagged a fic “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat”? 29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.) 30. Ask anything!

#ask games

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reciprocityfic · 2 years ago

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you

title: you fandom: little women pairing: theodore laurence x amy march rating: t summary: laurie is nervous on his wedding night.

you

They marry quickly - for practical purposes, of course. Aunt March can no longer travel, and it would be inappropriate for her to travel back to America with only him and his grandfather to accompany her. And her staying there in Europe until they manage to find a proper chaperone is out of the question; not only does she need to see her family, but the thought of being apart from each other for an indefinite amount of time, an ocean between them, is simply unbearable for the both of them.

He promises he'll give her a proper wedding when they get back to Concord, on their way to the chapel the morning they say their vows. She protests, saying that she doesn't need it, that he and her family is all she needs, but he persists, because she deserves more than rushed vows in an unfamiliar church in Le Havre. He whispers to her about all a wedding would entail - the beautiful dress she would wear, the elegant party they would hold with beautiful music and delightful food, the way he would dance with her - and her eyes slowly light up.

"That does sound lovely," she relents, and he smiles.

So they marry quickly, and afterwards go to where they're staying for the evening before heading to England the next day. His grandfather had found the nicest hotel in the city, and when they arrive, they are greeted with the finest champagne and a small cake baked especially for them from the kitchen. They sit in the parlor and eat it with his grandfather and Aunt March, who has become even more high-strung as her illness has progressed. She complains about everything - the china patterns, the temperature, the wallpaper in the room. He only half hears her, though, and leaves it to his grandfather to placate and entertain the woman. His only focus is his bride. His wife.

His Amy.

When the four decide to part for the evening, he leads her to their suite with slow steps, his heart pounding in his chest. He's been with several women before, but this is different - it's Amy. And he doesn't think he's ever been more anxious in his life than he is now.

He barely manages to open the door; his hand shakes as he attempts to put the key into the lock. Eventually, he succeeds, and he opens the door, stepping back for her.

"After you, my lady."

She fights a smile, and looks up at him for a moment before curtsying slightly.

"Thank you, my lord."

He watches her as she walks into the room, taking one deep breath to try and calm his nerves before following her and closing the door behind them with a soft thud.

They don't speak; instead, he sits down on the bed and watches her as she moves around. His grandfather has arranged for their things to be dropped off here, and she looks through her luggage before pulling out a brush and a thin white nightgown. He gulps, his fingers twitching against the sheets.

She sits down at the vanity and begins to take the pins out of her hair. He gazes at her, and catches her eye in the mirror as she reaches down for her brush. She averts her gaze quickly. He frowns; maybe she doesn't want to do anything tonight other than sleep. She's still mourning Beth, of course, and although the day had been happy, it had also been exhausting. Not to mention the long journey they were to begin tomorrow.

It's her decision. He doesn't want to pressure her, and he doesn't want to think she would be disappointing him. He wants her desperately, yes, but he's also willing to wait for her. He'd wait for her forever if it pleased her.

Just as he's about to tell her his thoughts, she speaks.

"Would you help me with the buttons on my dress?"

He looks up, and their eyes meet in the mirror once more. This time, she doesn't look away.

His mouth goes dry, but he manages to answer her gently.

"Of course."

He gets up, takes four long steps towards her as she stands and presents her back to him. He's immediately reminded of that day in her studio, when he'd unbuttoned her smock. It had been the first time he'd realized that his feelings for Amy March ran much, much deeper (and much, much differently) than he thought they did.

He pushes aside her long blonde hair; he doesn't think he's seen Amy with her hair down since she was a child. He immediately wants to run his fingers through it, to see what it looks like splayed out on the bed as she lies below him. But right now, he has a mission to complete, and a dress to unbutton.

But again, his hands shake, and he fumbles with the first few buttons like a fool. She turns around and looks at him curiously, but then, her face softens.

"You're nervous?" she asks, and her voice is almost incredulous. He'd already mentioned the fact that he'd been with other women before. She'd flinched when he told her, and he hated it. He wished he could take back every moment he had ever spent with someone else. But then she'd sat up straight and taken his face in her hands.

"It doesn't matter," she’d told him. "The important thing is that it's only the two of us now, always."

"Forever," he'd told her earnestly.

So he understands her confusion; he should be an expert at undoing the back of a dress, and he is, typically. But yes, he's nervous.

"Why?" she asks.

"Because it's you," he answers simply.

It's Amy. The love of his life. And she deserves nothing but perfection, something she can remember for the rest of her life with fondness and love.

"Are you nervous?" he asks her.

She blushes and looks down, but shakes her head firmly.

"Why?" he asks, echoing her question.

She looks back up at him, the sweetest smile on her face. For a moment, he remembers her face the first time they ever met, her staring up at him from her seat on the floor, her eyes shining with the firelight.

I'm Amy.

Now, she reaches out and takes one of his shaking hands in hers, kisses his palm and then holds it to the side of her face.

"Because it's you."

She smiles softly, closing the space between them and standing up on the tips of her toes to kiss him. And when her lips touch his, his heartbeat finally begins to steady.

a/n: champagne problems is coming soon!

#amy x laurie #laurie x amy #amylaurie #little women 2019 #little women #amy march #theodore laurence

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reciprocityfic · 2 years ago

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asks for fanfic writers

drop a number and a fandom in my askbox and I’ll answer:

things that inspire you

things that motivate you

name three favorite writers

name three authors that were influential to your work and tell why

since how long do you write?

how did writing change you?

early influences on your writing

what time are you most productive?

do you set yourself deadlines?

how do you do your researches?

do you listen to music when writing?

favorite place to write

hardest character to write

easiest character to write

hardest verse to write

easiest verse to write

favorite AU to write

favorite pairing to write

favorite fandom to write

favorite character to write

least favorite character to write

favorite story you’ve ever written

least favorite story you’ve ever written

favorite scene you’ve ever written

favorite line you’ve ever written

story you’re most proud of

best review you ever got

worst review you ever got

favorite story/poem of another author

hardest part of writing

easiest part of writing

alternate title for (insert story title)

alternate ending for (insert story title)

alternate pairing for (insert story title)

single story or multi-part story?

one-shot or multi-chaptered story?

canon or AU?

do you reread your own stories?

do you want to be published some day?

which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series

one song that captures (insert story title)

do you plan or do you write whatever comes to your mind?

would you ever write a sequel for (insert fic title here)

do you write linear or do you write future scenes if you feel like it?

share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet

share a scene of a story that you haven’t published yet

how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?

three spoilers for (insert story title)

writing advice

open question to the writer

#ask meme

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reciprocityfic · 2 years ago

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champagne problems, chapter eight

(or, how laurie and amy find their way back to each other.)

author's note: i so, so apologize for this long break. thank you to everyone still reading after all this time. it means more to me than you will ever know, and inspired me not to give up on this story.

cracks of light

My Dearest Amy,

I’ve been dreaming of you. In my mind, you are beautiful and joyous. In my mind, you are eagerly waiting for my return. And in my mind, you love me still, despite my absence and all my mistakes.

I miss you desperately. Although my dreams of you are pleasant, they are no substitute for being by your side. I understand why you haven’t written back, but it still pains me to not hear from you. I hope you are well. I hope you are happy, as you are in my dreams.

Know that I am working every day to secure our future together. I hope to return soon, but there are a few more things that must fall into place before I can come home to you. Know that I think of you every moment. And know, above everything, that I love you.

Wait for me, my love, please.

Forever yours, Laurie

She jumps slightly as someone knocks on the door to her room. Carefully, she folds the letter in her hands and goes over to her desk, opening the top right drawer and placing it on top of all the saved letters that came before it. She stares at the heap for a moment, runs her hand over the top of it. She can feel the indent of the pen strokes on the delicate paper. She imagines him alone in a hotel room, writing by candlelight, pen gripped tightly in his fist as he put words down on the page.

Her heart aches.

I miss you desperately.

She misses him desperately, as well. And she wants to write to him more than anything. But she’d solemnly resolved to live with as little of him as possible in his absence; after all, it was something she would have to get used to, almost certainly. She still can’t see a future for the two of them - not one together, at least. Although Laurie has been insistent in his letters that he’s working toward a way for them, he hasn’t erased the doubt in her mind or the sinking feeling in her stomach.

She’ll have to live without him, and there was no time like the present to practice. Which meant no writing back. No sketching him. No visits to his home - not even any visits to Mr. Laurence. She even avoided talking about him as much as she could.

“Amy? Are you there?”

She jumps again; this time, it’s at the sound of Marmee’s voice. She walks to the door, opens it to find her mother standing there, a sweet smile on her face that almost distracts from the slight concern in her eyes.

“There you are. You’ve been up here a while. Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she says simply. She’s never told her mother that she comes up and locks herself in her room for sometimes hours reading Laurie’s letters, but she suspects Marmee knows anyway. Her mother always seemed to know everything about her. It would be bothersome if her mother was anyone other than Marmee .

“Good,” Marmee says, her gaze relaxing. “You have a visitor, dear.”

She freezes, and feels all the blood rush from her face. It can’t be…

Her mother reaches out quickly and takes her hand.

“It’s not him,” she assures her. “I would tell you if it was.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and looks down at the floor, cursing the disappointment that floods through her. She even feels tears begin to gather behind her eyes. She doesn’t know how her dread regarding seeing Laurie again can exist alongside how much she misses him, but the two of them do exist, creating a war inside her and constantly tugging her heart in two different directions.

“Come,” Marmee beckons, turning towards the doorway. “It’s not good to keep company waiting.”

She follows her mother down the stairs, idly trying to figure out who would be here to visit her specifically. It’s always a family event when Meg comes, and Marmee has already confirmed it’s not Laurie.

Could it be Fred? For a moment, her stomach fills with dread. But then, she remembers that his response to her letter ending their engagement and calling off their wedding had only arrived two days ago, and it had been postmarked from Berlin. It’s impossible that he could’ve made it here by now. And she doubts Fred ever wants to see her again; his letter, though polite, was quite curt, to say the least.

Her brow furrows; she doesn’t know that many other people. Not anymore. In fact, she’s utterly confused when she walks into the front room with her mother, until she lays eyes on the person in a chair next to her father, chatting pleasantly.

“Mr. Laurence,” she says, and the old man looks up from his conversation.

“Amy, my dear,” he replies, smiling fondly at her.

Her face brightens, despite everything, as Mr. Laurence stands and walks over to her. In the time during Beth’s illness and after her passing, the man had truly become like a grandfather to her and her sisters. She’d missed him dearly, she realizes, as a few tears begin to gather in her eyes.

Before Mr. Laurence reaches her, though, his face becomes serious, and he asks Marmee and her father to give the two of them a moment together. Anxiety creeps up her spine as her parents leave the room. Surely this has something to do with -

“I have news from Laurie,” Mr. Laurence tells her, interrupting but confirming her thoughts. Dread must show on her face, because the man quickly reaches out and takes her hand.

“It’s nothing bad, I assure you,” he says, leading her to the sofa. As they sit, Mr. Laurence sighs. “But Laurie said to be careful, because he didn’t know how you would react.”

The old man squeezes her hand as her stomach churns. She turns her face away and stares at the floor, not wanting him to see her reaction to the news, whatever it may be.

“He’s coming home,” Mr. Laurence murmurs.

Her hand - still grasped in his - tightens reflexively, and she squeezes her eyes shut. She’s silent for a few moments, waiting to speak until she’s sure her voice won’t tremble.

“When?” she finally breathes.

“His train arrives tomorrow morning.”

She doesn’t cry, surprising herself. Instead, something quite like shock runs through her veins and stimies her emotions. The idea that Laurie will be in Concord less than twenty-four hours from now seems almost unfeasible to her. She’d spent so much time trying to avoid and forget him - even the concept of him. She’d honestly wondered if she would ever see him again, despite what he wrote in his letters. And now that he’s coming back, she isn’t sure what to feel.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Mr. Laurence asks, after long moments of quiet.

She feels numb. Like so many different emotions are pulling on her at the same time that they’ve overloaded her brain and heart and broken her.

“Yes,” she decides, “I’m alright. Did he - do you know what he’s been up to all this time?”

“I needed him for a week in Boston about a month ago,” he tells her. “But other than that, I haven’t a clue.”

She nods, and then pulls her hand away from the old man’s, wrapping both of her arms around herself. She feels strange. Maybe stranger than she’s ever felt.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Laurence,” she says, “but I’m afraid I need to excuse myself.”

“Of course,” he says, without hesitation, and stands up as she does. “It was nice seeing you again, dear.”

She smiles at him politely, and then starts towards the stairs. Before she exits the room, though, she hears Mr. Laurence’s voice echo from behind her.

“I do sincerely hope everything works out for you, Amy.”

She stops, and looks over her shoulder. The old man gazes after her, his eyes shining with sincerity. Before she realizes what she’s doing, she walks quickly towards him and envelopes him in a hug.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, then squeezes her eyelids shut again. She can feel inklings of the pressure behind her eyes from tears, but they do not fall.

After a moment, she steps back from him. She almost feels embarrassed, but when she looks up, Mr. Laurence is smiling down at her. She nods at him again, and then starts back towards the stairs.

When she’s finally in her room and has closed the door behind her, she exhales loudly. She still feels muddled and unsteady, and anxious energy starts to bubble up inside her stomach. She paces back and forth in the small room for about a minute before pulling the chair out and sitting down at the desk. She sighs, and then reaches into the bottom right drawer and pulls out a sketchpad and pencil.

When she was a child and needed to calm down after a quarrel with one of her sisters, she’d come up to her room to draw. Art has always soothed her, and she hopes it will soothe her now.

She turns her head to the right to look out the window, but sees nothing that captures her interest. She sighs in frustration, and then turns back to the blank paper in front of her. Slowly, she picks up her pencil, tapping it against the edge of the desk twice before putting it to the page.

She writes down his name. Laurie . She drops her pencil, and traces over her small, neat penmanship, lets her fingertip linger over the letters. Suddenly, she picks her pencil back up, writes his name three times more.

Laurie

She decides to write him, that it will be easier to slip a letter under the front door of the Laurence mansion this evening instead of facing him in person tomorrow. But she gives up only a moment later; she’s never been good with words, not like Jo. And, in any case, she can’t get her thoughts straight. The only word that comes to mind is his name.

Laurie.

Laurie, who’d written to her unfailingly time and time again even though she hadn’t written him a single thing in response. Laurie, who'd said goodbye to her all those months ago, promising he’d find a way for them. Laurie, who’d had the courage to confess for the both of them. Laurie, who’d kissed her and held her and loved her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Laurie in the rain. Laurie in his study that first day, drunk and sorrowful.

Laurie, who’d stayed too long at his own wedding just to dance with her.

Laurie in Europe. Laurie, who’d proposed marriage to her. Laurie, who’d had the habit of gazing and smiling at her for moments too long. Laurie, who’d visited her day after day after day in France during Fred’s long absences, seemingly trying to make up for his bad behavior by spending time with her. Laurie in her studio at Aunt March’s. Laurie, who’d unbuttoned her apron and called her beautiful and asked that she make her last portrait one of him. Laurie, who’d forgotten about her and embarrassed her in front of everyone she thought mattered at the time.

Laurie, who’d been there to catch her when she flung herself into his arms on that street in Paris.

Laurie during her childhood. Laurie, who’d bitterly left Concord and Jo behind. Laurie, who’d helped her make flower bouquets the day before Meg’s wedding. Laurie, who’d written her weekly at Aunt March’s house while Beth was sick, updating her on her sister’s condition and the family as a whole. Laurie, who’d run alongside her on the beach during her first trip to the ocean. Laurie, who’d given her a key to their mailbox in the forest that had a green ribbon because he said it matched her eyes. Laurie, who’d saved her that day at the lake, carrying her home and whispering that she would be alright into the cold air. Laurie, who’d bandaged her hand with the utmost care. Laurie, who’d noticed her outside his window. Laurie, who’d looked at her curiously after she introduced herself to him that first night, her eyes shining, and smiled.

Laurie, who, even though his attention had been absorbed by Jo, had taken the time to whisper to her, “Hello.”

Laurie.

“Laurie,” she whispers into the air, and the corners of her lips turn up.

***

She’s restless the next morning. She wakes up before the sun rises and can’t fall back to sleep; every time she closes her eyes, Laurie’s face appears behind her lids. So she lies on her back and stares at the ceiling until she hears the rest of the house stir.

Even Marmee, Father, and Hannah can’t calm her, though. As they sit at the table, she can’t help but glance at the front door every minute, almost as if she can hear the beginnings of the knock she’s expecting. She’s barely picking at a piece of bread during breakfast when she registers her mother’s voice.

“Meg should be coming today, with the twins and John.”

“It is Wednesday already?” her father answers. “The week seems to be flying by.”

“Oh!” Hannah exclaims gently. “I promised Daisy last week that we’d bake something together the next time she visited. I’ll have to look at what we have around.”

“I’m going to go for a walk,” she says suddenly, tossing down her piece of bread and standing up abruptly. “I’m not feeling well, and I think some fresh air might help.”

It’s not far from the truth. She does feel unwell. She feels like the walls are closing in on her, and her family’s conventional conversation grates at her brain and patience.

Her family knows better than to protest, and as they say their goodbyes, Marmee gives her a sympathetic, knowing, sad smile that makes her heart clench. Before she leaves, she runs upstairs and grabs her sketchpad and pencil.

He’s been gone so long that it’s already spring again, and it’s warm enough outside today. The sun is shining, but there's still a certain chill in the air when the wind blows that harkens back to winter. She’s forgotten her coat, but decides against going back for it. Instead, she wraps her arms around herself tightly.

She doesn’t know where to go at first, but her feet lead her, and she follows them without question today. She ends up on that beautiful hill where he’d proposed to Jo. Where he’d confessed his love for her and kissed her for the first time.

She sits down on the sloping ground, her art supplies still clenched in her fist. She brings them into her lap, puts graphite to paper. She intends to draw the landscape in front of her, and she starts without thinking. She’s a few minutes into her work when she realizes that, instead of trees and earth, she’s drawn the outlines of his face.

She stares down at the paper, pausing for a moment, and then goes back to work, purposefully drawing him this time. The way he looked that day, right before he pressed his lips to hers.

And if you don’t leave now, I might kiss you .

She hadn’t left. She’d stayed. And he’d kissed her.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there drawing him - his windswept curls, red and pouted lips, eyes dark and purposeful - but she drops her pencil into the grass when she’s done, and flexes her cramping hand; she’d never been able to teach herself to be ambidextrous, as Jo had.

She leans back slightly and examines her work, and can’t help but press her lips together in a sad, incredulous grin. She’d tried so hard to forget him - she’d spent months trying to forget him - and had failed miserably, it seems. Although she hasn’t seen him for months, she’s captured his details with near perfect precision. She lifts her hand and runs her fingers over the pencil markings.

“I thought you’d given up on art, Raphaela.”

The sound of his voice startles her, and she nearly jumps off the ground before she registers that it’s him. It’s Laurie.

She’d been wondering what she would do when she was in his presence again for his entire absence. Would she scream, or cry? Would she push him away? Would she run to him? Would she still love him?

As it stands, she picks up her pencil from the ground, and speaks without turning to him.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a minute or so,” he tells her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“It wasn’t a question, so I have no obligation to comment on it,” she retorts calmly.

“Alright, Amy,” he relents.

Amy . She closes her eyes, and lets the sound of him saying her name permeate her eardrums again. She can hear the smile in his voice, as well.

She hears the rustling of footsteps, and then he’s sitting down next to her. He’s close, but doesn’t touch her. Instead, he pulls his knees up to his chest, and drapes his arms across them.

“You didn’t answer my letters, either,” he points out, after a beat of silence. “I’ve learned to expect silence from you. Quite a change from how it was when we were growing up.”

She’s about to defend herself, but then she sees the grin on his face, out of the corner of her eye - she still hasn’t looked at him fully, yet - and realizes he’s teasing her.

“Stop it, Theodore,” she huffs.

“Only for you, Amy Curtis March.”

She can feel his gaze on her. He’s trying to make her smile, and she bites her bottom lip to hold it back.

Silence falls over them, and she’s overcome with subtle amazement - amazement that he’s here again, next to her, but primarily amazement that this is so easy . There is a future full of questions ahead of her, she’s sure, but this - being with him - is still one of the easiest things she’s ever done.

His voice removes her from her thoughts, though, with an sudden rush.

“I’m no longer married.”

Her mouth falls open, and she finally turns to look at him. (He looks beautiful - tired, but absolutely lovely. She would focus more on this if she wasn’t so confused at his statement, she’s sure.) He’s staring straight ahead, one of his knees bouncing nervously. She gapes at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jo and I aren’t married anymore.”

“You’re -”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, because she can’t even imagine it.

“We’re divorced, yes,” he says.

“That’s impossible,” she counters immediately.

“No,” he tells her. “It’s…difficult, but not impossible. You have to have a certain amount of money, and know the right set of people, and be willing to give up a few things…”

“Like what?” she asks, and he sighs deeply.

“Your reputation, mostly. Mine will take a hit, but Jo’s will fall off…quite a bit. At least around here. She said she’s staying in New York permanently. Still, I was afraid she wouldn’t agree. But then again, Jo March has never been one to care much about what other people think of her, has she?”

She can’t agree or disagree with his statement. She’s still too busy trying to wrap her mind around what he’s told her.

Divorced.

“It’s impossible,” she murmurs quietly.

“It’s not,” he assures her again. “Amy…”

He reaches out, puts his hand on her arm. A warm current that stems from his palm flows through her immediately. She stares down at his hand for a long moment.

“Divorced,” she whispers.

She covers his hand with hers tentatively.

“I’m…sorry,” she says suddenly. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your letters. I read them, though. I read them over and over again, and kept each one. They’re in a drawer in my desk, and I read them and read them and read them -”

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until he gathers her into his arms. She grabs on to the lapels of his jacket and sobs once, nestling his face into his neck.

“I missed you so much,” she tells him.

Because she had missed him, even if she hadn’t admitted it to herself. She’d missed him so terribly that the thought of it almost makes her ill, even though he’s here with her now.

“I missed you,” he murmurs into her hair. “My God, Amy, how I missed you.”

He hugs her closer to him for a moment more, and then pulls back. He reaches over to her, takes her face in his hand and tilts her chin up so he can look into her eyes.

“I love you,” he tells her. “I love you, and I don’t deserve you. Especially not now. But I want you, and

I want my future to be with you. I understand if you don’t - if we’re together, your reputation will suffer as well. So I understand if you -”

She kisses him quickly - to quiet him and his doubts that seem so silly now, mostly, but also because she’s missed kissing him so much . When they separate, he’s smiling, and even though a few tears stream down his cheeks, he laughs.

She breaks into laughter as well, and they laugh together until they can’t breathe. Anyone passing would think they were crazy.

But no one is passing. No one is here, except her and him. Amy and Laurie.

This is the way it was meant , he’d said, after he’d kissed her that first time.

Once they’ve calmed down, he reaches for her face again, and rests his forehead against hers.

“Amy. Will you marry me?”

He can barely get the question out before she gives her answer, teary and breathless.

“Yes .”

He smiles, and whispers, “Thank you,” before kissing her again, deep and slow.

She kisses him back, and feels, for the first time since she arrived back from Europe, that she’s finally come home.

#self reblog

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