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nexxen24 · 23 days

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The Sunwalker's Respite

BG3 FANFIC

Spawn Astarion X Female Tav

Chapter 2/6-8

Chapter 1: https://www.tumblr.com/nexxen24/746439650196013056/the-sunwalkers-respite?source=share

NOTE: Pg-13, there will be no smut, only implied.

IMPORTANT: Please read the prologue and chapter one on my profile prior to this one as to not be confused, thank you.

Chapter Two

Cazador's Mansion, Baldur's Gate, 6 Months After the Absolute’s Demise

I awoke with a slight start and it got even worse when I realised that Astarion didn't have his arm wrapped around me and he was standing in direct sunlight. I let out a scream and ran over, pulling him back into darkness before looking him over for any spots that got burnt or affected by the sun. But he looked fine and chuckled before pulling out the small vial of elixir that was now empty, a very large grin plastered across his face. I glared and punched him in the shoulder, Astarion letting out a yelp and jumping back as I frowned at him.

“Ow!” He protested but I just frowned at him.

“That's what you get! You scared me half to death,” I shot back and he sighed before wrapping me in a hug.

“I wanted to surprise you, I'm sorry,” he muttered and kissed the top of my head. “It's just amazing, I can feel it warming my skin and not in a bad way.”

He grabbed my hand and slowly led me over to the beam of sunlight, stepping into it and grinning when he still didn't start sizzling. It had been six months since Astarion was able to walk in sunlight and I had forgotten what bright light did to his eyes. Usually they were just red, the kind of red that you'd see in wine, dark and somewhat shiny, nothing spectacular. But when the sun hit them you could see that his eyes were lighter, red like raspberries and looking so bright and sparkly against his pale skin. The light also hit his hair, shining against it and showcasing the small bits of silver within the white that I had been resisting the urge to bug him about. He couldn't see himself in mirrors so there was no need to point out the small grey hairs and besides, they looked beautiful anyways. In sunlight he looked like a completely different person and it just added to my desire to get that ring, to be able to wake up to this all the time, to see him in the light permanently.

“How are you feeling?”

“Overwhelmed.”

“The others will want to see you, they haven't since the brain,” I said and he nodded, giving me a smile.

“Can we start with Shadowheart? I need to ask her a favour,” he said and I raised a brow.

“What favour?”

“Just something that I have planned for later, at sunset and I need to guarantee that she's available.”

“Sure, her home is right near here. Shadowheart settled in the House of Grief, she's managed to change it, turn it into a house of healing and doesn't support any God, but appreciates them all with an affinity for Seluné.”

“Of course, I'm glad that she's happy.”

“Her and her girlfriend have turned it into something beautiful,” I added and smiled at the thought of Shadowheart and her newfound happiness.

When I met Shadowheart she was a devotee of Shar and stuck in a pod on the Nautiloid, begging me to rescue her. I did and brought her along, got to know her and together we discovered that her entire life was a lie. She wasn't a chosen of Shar, but was forced to live by her rules and halfway through our adventures she quit, gained her own freedom. Sure it cost her the lives of her parents after just getting them back but Shadowheart was happy, she was more carefree and eager to turn her place of torture into a place of love. She bought the House of Grief right after the brain was defeated and it took nearly three months to refurbish it into a refuge for those displaced by both the brain and the Absolute Cult’s reign of terror.

Her girlfriend, a fellow Half-High-Elf named Maisie that was one of the first refugees Shadowheart opened her doors to. They hit it off almost instantly and Maisie assists any animals while Shadowheart handles the humanoids. They make an excellent pair and the few times I've been by have been amazing and it's humbling to see how far she's come. From a devout worshipper of Shar, eager to do her bidding and willing to kill for her cause to a shy, timid woman who would put her life on the line for any creature. Much like Astarion, being wrapped up in all this gave her a chance to be free, to be happy.

I was smiling to myself at the thought of them both being happy as I reached up a hand to knock on the front door of the House of Grief. Astarion was behind me, standing directly in a sunbeam and smiling, his eyes sparkling whenever they met mine. I rolled my eyes at just how happy he looked and was about to call him out on it when the door swung open and I was greeted by Maisie.

“Hello, Maisie.”

“Hanelly, what are you doing here?” she asked and wrapped me in a tight hug, the squirrel perched on her shoulder squeaking in protest.

“I’m looking for Shadowheart, I have a development to show her,” I said and pointed at Astarion as Maisie’s eyes widened.

“Uh…Yeah…She’s this way.”

I nodded in thanks and called to Astarion before we followed Maisie inside and behind the receptionist counter where Shadowheart had discovered a small door that led to a staircase and an upper floor. There was an entire apartment above the main floor, decked out as if one of Viconia’s minions had once called it home. She and Maisie had since refurbished it and gave it their own personal touches, turning the apartment into a home they could be proud of. It was weird to see Shadowheart as someone with a home and a partner, a normal life but it was a simplistic existence that she deserved and the woman was brewing a pot of tea when we walked in.

“Hanelly, I heard you downstairs,” she greeted and wandered over before wrapping me in a hug. “I also heard you, Astarion, how are you here?”

“That’s a long story,” he assured and hesitated, unsure if he should hug her or not but Shadowheart didn’t let him debate and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him.

“I’d love to hear it and it’s amazing to see you both. Tea?”

“I’d love some,” I said and took a seat at her table as she poured me a mug. “Now, you both must be wondering why Astarion is out in the sun.”

“I was curious, assumed that he secretly went back and completed that ritual.”

“Never, never in a million years, this is better than that, much better,” Astarion muttered and took a sip of the tea, glaring at Shadowheart as he went.

“He’s right. Gale had been looking for a cure for his affliction and while he didn’t find it, he found something to help with the sunlight part of it. A ring, the Sunwalker’s Gift that was given to Evalina Szarr, Cazador’s sister, about 360 years ago, right before she went missing. The person that told us about all this is a drow named Maleera, one of the seven spawn and she gifted Astarion a twenty-four hour Sunwalker elixir so he could be here, see it one last time in case it doesn’t work out.”

Saying that felt like having a weight lifted off my shoulders since it was what both Astarion and I had been thinking since we discovered the ring was somewhere in the Underdark. There was always that chance that Evelina didn’t get kidnapped with the ring or that this Kathrac person saw it and took it, destroyed it. Maybe one of the 7000 spawn that had fled down there had the same idea and were wandering around up here, free from the power of the sun. Neither of us had been strong enough to say it out loud and I caught the look on Astarion’s face when I finally mentioned the possibility of failure.

“Speaking of, Shadowheart, could I grab you for a second?”

“Of course.”

“Just a quick second,” he assured and stood, giving my forehead a kiss before moving to another room with Shadowheart trailing behind him.

“Wonder what that’s about,” Maisie said and smiled as I shrugged.

“Could be anything, he mentioned wanting to do something later, maybe it’s about that,” I said and Maisie shrugged, grinning as they walked back in, not looking all that suspicious.

“You’re predisposed later Maisie, don’t make any plans for late this afternoon,” Astarion said and grinned as Shadowheart chuckled, my eyes narrowing at the two of them.

“Is there something I should know?”

“No, just that you also have plans for later this afternoon,” he said and grinned as I eyed him.

“Okay then…I’m going to choose to not find that statement suspicious.”

“Good. Shall we move on?”

“Uh…Yeah…I guess I’ll see you later Shadowheart,” I said and she nodded, pulling me into another tight hug before I chugged the rest of my tea and followed Astarion outside.

“So…who’s next?”

“Might as well go and visit the wizard that made all of this possible,” Astarion suggested and wrapped an arm in mine as I gave him a nod.

“You’re planning something,” I muttered as we trekked our way past a group of people arguing with a guy selling some type of potion.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know…the off to the side moment with Shadowheart and now you desperately want to visit the companion you hated for the entire time we were fighting back against the brain.”

“I just want to thank Gale for making all of this possible, is that so wrong?”

“I guess not, but I’m just curious as to what you’re planning.”

“Don’t make any plans for later this afternoon and you’ll find out,” Astarion said and grinned as we stepped into Sorcerer Sundries where Gale was standing behind the counter.

He glanced up from his book and smiled at the two of us, his eyes widening a bit when he noticed both myself and Astarion had walked in. “Oh! Did it work? Did you get the ring that quickly?”

“No, this was a gift from one of Cazador’s other spawn, we decided to take a day before looking for the ring,” Astarion explained and Gale's eyes widened.

“Wait…so that means…”

“Yes, your advice was good, we managed to find one in Cazador's palace,” I said and Gale grinned, his ego growing with every compliment.

“Oh that's great, I'm glad that I could help. I knew that you'd both find what you were looking for and hopefully the Underdark will prove useful as well. I may have some…”

Gale trailed off and I followed his dumbstruck look towards the front door where a Half-Elf had just wandered in, a crate of flowers and potions clutched in her arms. I raised a brow as she bypassed a couple people before squeezing in between Astarion and I and placing the crate on the counter. She was very pretty with pale skin and long dark brown hair that was braided, dressed in loose fitting trousers, a linen shirt covered in dirt and boots. Gale looked absolutely smitten and kept staring, his jaw still a bit lack until she finally cleared her throat and snapped him out of it.

“Uh…sorry…Good to see you Alina,” Gale greeted and she nodded in agreement.

“You as well, Gale, I have all the ingredients you asked for minus the carrow flowers since they're still blooming. But I did manage to make some extra lemon and herb tea as a gift to say sorry for missing it.”

“Oh that's perfect, you can come by when they're ready and I do love that tea.”

“I'm fully aware, most of my business comes from you ordering it,” she said and I nodded in understanding, finally getting what was being put down between the two of them.

It would only be more obvious if Gale's eyes turned into hearts as she unloaded the crate and placed jar after jar on the counter. He was smitten and was doing a very bad job of hiding the lovestruck look on his face. Gale had never been the best with social interactions in the time I'd known him and had even fumbled a few conversations we had early on. He kept claiming that the time we spent together was changing his entire outlook on life when I had barely known him a day. When I finally called Gale out he got all embarrassed and fumbled his words, something that he was doing with her as well.

“So…you grow flowers?” I observed and she turned to me.

“I mainly grow potion ingredients and since Gale took over for Sorcerer Sundries, I've never been better. He keeps me in business. Also…you must be Hanelly and Astarion, two of the people that stopped the brain along with Gale.”

“We did, yes.”

“Thank you again, it meant a lot, mainly because I live in Baldur's Gate and feared for my life.”

“Well…it was Gale who really stepped up,” I assured and chuckled when he blushed. “He got the final blow on the brain, a fireball that ended the fight and saved us. I didn't know how much longer we had before that. Gale is the reason you still have your shop for more than just his business.”

“Oh wow,” Alina exclaimed and smiled as Gale's face turned even redder. “Gale, you never mentioned that. You claimed that Hanelly and Astarion did all the heavy lifting.”

“What a crazy thing to say, a weak High-Elf like myself is nothing compared to a wizard with his talents,” Astarion added and Gale stared at him in mild shock from the compliment.

“I…well…I'm just very good at what I do…it's nothing really,” Gale muttered, fumbling over his words as his face turned so red it rivalled the colour of Karlach's skin.

“So modest, it's just one of his many incredible traits,” I added and Gale glared daggers at me.

“You know, Alina,” Astarion began and leaned closer to her, a devilish smirk on his face. “I have a little thing planned for late this afternoon and you should come. Bring Gale along with you.”

“What is it?”

“I can't say it out in the open but I can tell you that it'll be amazing and well worth your time.”

“I was going to reorganise the shop but I guess I can wait. What do you say, Gale?”

“Uh…yes…of course.”

“Great. What time?”

“Pick him up at 5, that should be more than enough time. It'll be on the balcony that overlooks the water underneath Sharesses Caress. Do you know it?”

“I do, I'll be there,” Alina said and Astarion grinned before giving her hand a kiss.

“Excellent. Don't forget Gale.”

“I could never,” she said and gave him a smile before grabbing her empty crate and heading out of the store.

Once Alina was gone, Gale took one look at us before he collapsed to the floor behind the desk. My eyes widened and I ran over to make sure he was okay, raising a brow at the lovestruck look on the guy's face.

“Uh…you good?” I asked and he nodded.

“Just perfect.”

“So…I'm assuming you like her,” I said and Gale sat up, letting out a sigh before giving me a nod.

“It's obvious isn't it?”

“No, you're very subtle, I couldn't tell,” Astraion joked and Gale sent him a glare. “Regardless, I like her, and she seems to really like you.”

“Really?”

“You only fawn over a wizard shooting fireballs at things when you really like them. Besides, she agreed to bring you with her, almost like a date,” Astarion added and Gale's cheeks flushed.

“Oh Gods…you're right. I hope she didn't see it as a date,” he muttered and stood, running a hand through his hair and suddenly looking more nervous than lovestruck.

“You'll be fine. Just be yourself,” I suggested and was quick to shove Astarion who looked eager to disagree with me.

“Really?”

“Why not? It can't hurt,” I said and he sighed with a nod.

“I guess you're right. I'll see you both later today, I need to prepare, make sure I look presentable.”

Gale grabbed a couple books off a shelf near the desk before bolting up the stairs and through the portal to his main office. I rolled my eyes, knowing that he was likely going to find some way to screw it up and hoped that Alina would find it endearing. Gale isn't the best at smooth talking anybody and had fumbled quite a few of our conversations but he was also a sweetheart. When I met Gale he was afflicted with an orb of pure magic that needed to feed on arcane energy in order to not kill him. Gale consumed quite a few boots before he got it fixed and was given an ultimatum by the Goddess he previously served. Gale was told to use his orb to kill the brain, thereby levelling an entire section of the city and also killing himself.

When it came time to meet the Absolute and end the cult for good he offered up his services, offered up his life to keep us safe. I refused and made sure that Gale knew that his life meant more to me than him proving himself to Mystra. Gale got the chance to live free, to be a teacher and fall in love with a woman like Alina and he did that by proving he was more than just a wizard who knew too much. If Alina could get past the mildly annoying exterior and ego, she would find a man eager to love again underneath and one that would do anything for the person willing enough to do the same for him.

I thought of another person who defied someone by proving they're better as Astarion and I went looking for Wyll. When I met Wyll Ravenguard, the Blade of Frontiers, he was a man on a mission to kill a devil that turned out to be Karlach. When Wyll refused, he was turned into one himself and through proving that he was better than the devil he had a pact with became more than his birthright. He became the Blade of Avernus and went from hating Karlach to being the main reason she was still alive. Astarion requested that we visit Wyll first and the man was usually down by the docks, keeping an eye on the shadier inhabitants of Baldur's Gate. He was sitting on a crate looking out at the water when we walked down a set of steps and turned when I cleared my throat.

“Hanelly!” Wyll exclaimed and ran over before wrapping me in a hug.

“Good to see you, Wyll,” I said and hugged him back since it had been a minute since I'd seen him.

After the brain was defeated, Karlach finally agreed to revisit Avernus but on one condition, that Wyll went with her. He agreed and together they both battled the remainder of the imps and devil's working for Zariel and found a cure for Karlach's condition. She and Wyll had just gotten back from a forge owned by Zariel herself and according to Karlach's letter had managed to stabilise the infernal engine she had in place of a heart. With all the freedom in the world, Karlach was now working as a barback and a bouncer at a tavern in the Lower City, not far from the docks and Wyll was still trying to figure out where he belonged. His dad offered him a job as the new Duke, a chance to change the city for the better but he hadn’t taken it and was still looking to do something for him.

“How have you been?” I asked and Wyll shrugged, catching sight of Astarion, his eyes widening.

“Wait…is that?”

“We went looking for a ring that could allow this to happen all the time, ran into a spawn and she gave him a potion. He also has something to ask I’m assuming.”

“I do yes,” Astarion said and smiled at me. “Wyll, would you like to join us at the balcony under Sharess’ Caress late this afternoon, around maybe 5:30. I can’t say why in front of her but I can say that it would mean a lot if you could join.”

“Of course, I’ll always take any excuse I can get to hang out with all of you. It’s been too long,” Wyll said and I nodded in agreement.

“It has.”

“Are we near the Hook Minder?” Astarion asked and Wyll nodded, pointing to a rickety looking building that was made partly out of a sunken ship and sitting precariously on a cliff that overlooked the water. “Perfect. I’ll be right back. Catch up.”

I raised a brow when he wandered over, kissed the top of my head and then bolted up the stairs before I could even think to wonder why he needed to visit a pub. Sure it was the pub that Karlach worked at but I was under the assumption that was our next stop and frowned in slight annoyance before taking a seat on a crate, Wyll following suit. Leaving me alone with Wyll was actually a bad thing and not because I didn’t trust him or didn’t like hanging out with him but he had asked me a very loaded question a couple months back and I had yet to give him an answer.

“So…I’m assuming you’re annoyed we’re alone,” Wyll observed and I chuckled.

“Heh..yep.”

“I still wish that you’d give me an answer, both myself and my father believe that you’re perfect for the job, why the hesitation?”

The job in question was training an entirely new group to take over the discarded Steel Watch and Flaming Fist that had both been abandoned when the cult began to take over Baldur’s Gate. The Steel Watch were giant automatons created by a real asshole named Gortash who was not only one of the main three who wanted to control the brain but also the man that sold Karlach to Zariel in the first place. His Steel Watch was corrupt from the start and we managed to destroy them before going after him, rendering his defence force useless and also losing a vital means of protection in the city. Sure keeping the brain from killing everyone placated people for quite a while but with the main threat gone they were starting to go back to their ways and that was bad, especially with little defences.

When Wyll approached me a couple months back with an idea that thanks to my background I would be the ideal Elf to train an entirely new guard that could keep this whole new Baldur’s Gate safe. I had denied the job offer initially, worrying that if I spent my days training a lot of soldiers there wouldn’t be any opportunity to be with Astarion. Having no job may sound like a bad idea but I at least got to spend every moment I could with him which made it worth it and made me so damn grateful that I hadn’t staked him in the heart all those months ago.

“It’s still a no,” I muttered and Wyll sighed. “I can’t leave him behind.”

“So…if this ring doesn’t work out…what are you going to do?”

“It’s going to work out,” I said and Wyll frowned. “Maleera, the spawn that gave him the potion, told me not to lose myself looking for it but we both know that I can’t let him go on without it, he deserves to return to the light. Cazador got what he deserved, the man is dead, but Astarion didn’t. He deserves a chance.”

There was a part of me that assumed Wyll would simply never understand, that it took a certain kind of love to want to throw everything on the line just for them to be happy. Seeing Astarion become his own person after so many years of not having the chance was my favourite part of our journey to stop the brain and the part that made it all worth it. When people you love get the chance to be happy, it makes you happy and I wiped at a tear, not even realising the thought of never getting that chance was making me emotional.

“I get it. I do,” Wyll assured and wrapped me in a side hug just as Astarion returned, Karlach trailing behind him.

I grinned broader than I had the entire day and jumped up, running over to Karlach and wrapping her in the biggest hug that I could possibly manage, grateful that I even could. With her fixed heart she was nearly cool to the touch, still fiery red but luckily not on fire and I had been itching to hug her for months. Karlach laughed and picked me up, spinning the two of us around and causing Astarion to duck to avoid a leg. She eventually dropped me back to the ground and smiled, looking more alive than she had in months and itching to do it again.

“Gods it’s good to see you!” Karlach exclaimed and I nodded in agreement before rummaging through the bag I was carrying for her gift.

“Same here and I have someone that’s been waiting to see you,” I said and pulled out a small stuffed bear that Karlach had kept with her for years and had sadly gotten a bit burnt.

“Oh my Gods! Clive!” she shouted and grabbed the bear, giving it a tight hug before admiring the stitching courtesy of Astarion and the strips of fabric he used to cover up the holes and scorch marks. “You fixed him, he looks great.”

“That was all Astarion, he’s quite the master with a sewing needle,” I said and bumped his shoulder as Karlach grinned and wandered over, wrapping him in a hug as he squeaked in protest.

“Hey now, not too tight,” Astarion said and groaned as Karlach laughed and put him down. “Gods…I’m not invincible you know.”

“Oh…you’re tougher than that,” she shot back and elbowed him in the ribs, Astarion letting out an oof and having to catch himself.

“Nope…I am not,” he choked out and I chuckled, rubbing a hand along his back to make sure he was alright. “Now…Karlach, you remember what I told you on the way here.”

“Of course, Hanelly, we have a whole day planned!” she exclaimed and I raised a brow. “We have some errands to run for a couple hours before meeting these guys at Sharess’ Caress.”

“What?”

Astarion pulled me aside as I frowned at him, now really curious as to what he was planning and what errands he could possibly want Karlach and I to run.

“Hang out with Karlach and I’ll meet you this afternoon,” he said and I eyed him.

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said and grinned as I frowned at him.

“You’re being sneakier than usual.”

“Trust me, if I ruin this, you’re gonna hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” I assured and took a step closer, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Good so go with Karlach,” he said and I frowned before letting out a sigh and giving him a kiss.

“If this is some dumb joke I will punch you,” I shot back and pulled away as he chuckled.

“Trust me. It’s not,” he said and I eyed him before heading over to Karlach and following her up the steps and back into the Lower City, my mind swirling with possibilities and my stomach alight with nerves.

***

The errands that Astarion had us run were slowly starting to reveal what all he had planned and I became even more nervous as Karlach and I stood in the empty room at the Flophouse across from Sharess’ Caress he had rented. The only real errand was a trip to the Facemaker’s boutique, a clothing shop near the entrance to the upper city where Karlach said some sort of order was waiting for me. The order just so happened to be a white dress and Figaro, the shop’s owner who normally hated me, looked very pleased when I entered looking for it. He claimed that the garment was made for me and said that it was made to my exact specifications with some additions suggested by Astarion. How or when he got my ‘exact specifications’ I had no clue but the dress was absolutely gorgeous and I was admiring myself in a mirror, practically slack jawed.

The dress was white first and foremost which was already a good indication as to what was going on later but was also so much more than that on so many levels. The top was fitted in a way that wasn’t too revealing and a thin belt made entirely of silver hugged my waist and kept it in place. The part that really made me get emotional was the detailing, mainly the red detailing in the thin ruby coloured threads that created almost a waterfall of colour, starting from the waist and ending just above the bottom of the skirt. It made the dress feel a bit less formal but added so much to a collection of fabric that was previously so stark and perfect and I definitely wasn’t perfect. It had character and the red was a clear nod to the man that ordered it and I was very pleased that he seemed to be just as good with words as he was with fabric choices.

“Karlach…I need you to answer a question,” I said and she glanced up from staring lovingly at Clive. “Is this a wedding?”

“I can’t answer that,” she said and I frowned, knowing that that confirmed it, it had to be.

My stomach immediately dropped at the thought and everything suddenly felt more real, like all this was happening too fast even though I had been thinking about it for months. Sure I knew that he was it, he was the last time I was ever going to fall in love and when an elf says that it means a lot, we live long lives but I never knew how to say it. Astarion spent so long believing that love only existed in the darkest places, that the only love he was allowed to express was fake, and was a tool used to lure people back to Cazador. When he felt real love for a drow named Sebastian, when he tried to allow himself to embrace it, he was tossed into a cell and forced to spend a year clawing at darkness to make up for it. This was the first time he had allowed himself to feel something real, be allowed to feel it and the thought that Astarion was the one that put all of this together was only making my nerves worse.

“Karlach, you’re not helping,” I chided and she chuckled.

“Come on man, it’s supposed to be a happy day, we’re all together again,” she said and I nodded, knowing she was right.

“I know…It’s just…nerve wracking.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, probably because you normally have more time to prepare.”

“If it is a wedding…what are you going to do? Would you say yes?”

“Of course,” I said and Karlach grinned.

“Well…Then there’s nothing to be nervous about, if you’re already willing to say yes and you don’t even know that’s a pretty good sign you’re ready for this.”

For the vast majority of our time together Karlach was always the muscle, mainly because she could punch anyone to death if given enough time but she’s also pretty damn well spoken. She was also right, I was ready and I let out a sigh before fixing my hair, making sure that my trademark twin braids looked perfect and let out a sigh before nodding that I was ready. It was basically time anyways and I followed Karlach out the door and down the steps, crossing the street and finding the group, including a spectral projection of Lae’zel, spread out on the balcony that overlooked the bay, arguably home to the best view in all of Wyrm’s Crossing.

Astarion was in the middle of them, laughing at something Shadowheart or Gale said as the sun that was just beginning to set caught his eyes in a way that made them shimmer. He turned and they widened when he saw me, grinning and stepping forward to assist me in walking down the handful of steps to the balcony.

“You suck you know,” I said and he frowned at me.

“Uh…Excuse me?”

“You do. You planned all of this, planned what is supposed to be the best day of my life and just assumed that keeping it a surprise was the best idea. How’d you even know I’d say yes?”

“Why did you assume that’s what this is?” he shot back and my face fell. “It could just be a gathering of old friends.”

“Uh…Well…is it?”

“It is,” he said and I was about to smack him but he stopped me. “A group of old friends that gathered for a wedding. So…Hanelly…Do you?”

I stared at Astarion for the longest moment, just to see if he was going to start laughing and say this whole thing was one big joke but he looked serious, looked so serious that it was making me almost emotional.

“Of course, I will always say yes to that,” I assured and he grinned before leading me over to the edge of the balcony.

“So…now you know why it was very important that Shadowheart was available since the main thing you need to get married is a cleric and she’s the best I know,” Astarion said and she eyed him. “Also the only one.”

“I was eager to join once he told me what he was planning,” she said and smiled at the two of us. “I also collected all the needed supplies, some harder to find than others.”

I raised a brow and Shadowheart stepped aside to reveal a small table full of various items but mainly two rings and a branch which may sound odd for a wedding but not one between two elves. A very old, very outdated Wood Elf tradition was to plant a tree whenever a child was born that was said to grow with them, signalling their life and their connection to the forest they called home. I had a tree somewhere in the forests surrounding Venia and always figured that when I ever got married I’d return, grab a branch and use it to bless the ceremony, a symbol of carrying your heritage with you as you go. When I decided never to return home I always assumed I had lost my shot at grabbing it but apparently Astarion had managed to find it.

“You found the tree,” I said, practically speechless and he nodded.

“You’d be shocked how far a locate object spell can get you.”

“Were the other two still there?” I asked, talking about the trees planted for my brother and father, my mother’s having died when she did.

“No, just this one. It was growing well though, and had red flowers on it according to Shadowheart,” he said and I smiled since the trees always tended to reflect what their person was getting up to and the flowers had to be a reference to him.

“I figured they’d be gone but mine is thriving and for good reason,” I said and he nodded in agreement before we got into position across from each other, Shadowheart standing behind us.

“Alrighty, I did have to research elf weddings so if I get anything wrong, I’m sorry,” she began and I chuckled. “Now we gather here on this balcony in the company of not only good friends, but family in order to bless and welcome the union between Astarion Ancunin and Hanelly Calista. As tradition in the laws of Wood Elves, a branch of Hanelly’s root tree has been cut to signal a new chapter, a new branch being added that when planted where this couple chooses to reside will signal a new life being built together. Hanelly…please place a hand on one end.” I did as told before Shadowheart told Astarion to do the same. “May the branches, the roots, the leaves and the flowers built from this one continue to grow and thrive for as long as the two of you do.”

The branch began to glow and I smiled before Shadowheart took it back and pulled out the rings, handing over the respective ones.

“I hope you like them, they were last minute,” Astarion whispered and I rolled my eyes.

“Oh…really…wonder who’s fault that is,” I shot back and he frowned at me.

“Astarion, please place this ring upon her finger and solidify a bond to last the test of time, through good times and bad, hope and heartache, life and death. Do you take Hanelly to be your lawfully wedded, in the eyes of Selune, wife?”

“I do,” he said and slipped the silver ring onto my finger, a small blood red stone shining up at me.

“Hanelly, please place this ring upon his finger and solidify a bond to last the test of time, through good times and bad, hope and heartache, life and death. Do you take Astarion to be your lawfully wedded, in the eyes of Selune, husband?”

“I do,” I said and slipped the simple silver band onto his finger, solidifying the bond forever.

“Well…By the power invested in me by Selune, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

Astarion gently placed a hand on my cheek and leaned forward just as the sun began to set, basking the two of us in a brilliant orange glow as I closed my eyes and closed the gap. The others all began to clap as I stood there for a second, in mild shock that it was now official.

“Well then, I have a wife,” Astarion with a wide grin and I nodded in agreement.

“That you do.”

I kissed him again before we turned to the others who all looked very pleased, even Lae’zel who I was certain never liked me. I smiled and wandered over, not pulling her into a hug since she’d kill me and the astral form was preventing any real contact. Lae’zel left the group shortly after the brain was killed to get revenge on the gythyanki that still sided with their lying queen. It was likely Gale that told her about the event and I was actually quite shocked she was there since Lae’zel was never really a lovey dovey type of person.

“Shocked to see you here,” I muttered and she nodded.

“Gale sent a message about this ceremony and your plans to find the ring, I thought I’d come by and say congrats and good luck.”

“Thank you.”

“Also that it’s stupid,” she added and my smile faded. “The Underdark holds more dangers than what we saw in our small trip to it, dangers that would kill for a ring like that one. Sure I believe you're more than capable but if you die then I will be saying, ‘I told you so’ to your corpse.”

Lae’zel walked over to Wyll as I stood there a second, mind swirling with all the implications of that sentence and the fact that even though she was ultimately messing with me, she was also correct. But I couldn’t worry about the Underdark on a day like this, it was supposed to be happy and I was thrilled.

“So…Did you enjoy the surprise?” Astarion asked after handing me a glass of wine.

“I did, yes.”

“They say the wedding night is always the best part,” he said and smirked.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I shot back and his smirk grew. “So…why here, why sunset?”

“You look the best at sunset and if this is my last one, I want it to be special,” he said and kissed me, deep before taking a sip.

I smiled at the gesture but it was hard to ignore the dread piling up at the bottom of my stomach and the fear that this was going to be his last sunset, that this was all we were ever gonna have in the sun if this failed. Sure it was incredible, I wouldn’t change that for the world and the ring shining in the last few rays was a symbol that he meant the world to me and I to him but it wasn’t enough. I don’t care if I’m being selfish, irrational but I wanted more, I wanted more sunsets, more walks along the water, more warming myself in the early morning rays, more chances to watch his eyes light up when they caught it at just the right angle. Tomorrow evening we were headed down into the Underdark with Maleera, tomorrow everything changed and it was either going to get a lot better or a lot worse.

“It won’t be your last,” I whispered as I pressed myself against him, swaying slightly to the music being played by a bard he hired.

“I hope not,” he muttered as I wrapped my arms tighter around his middle, locking my hands together and not planning on letting go anytime soon.

I had two options in that moment, either sit back and see what happens or fight my absolute hardest to guarantee this wasn’t the last sunset and as the night began to creep along the horizon, once again plunging Astarion back into darkness as he shimmered from the elixir wearing off, I made my choice. That I was either coming back from the Underdark with that ring on his finger or not coming back at all.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 #elf tav #neil newbon #romance #romantic #spawn astarion #tav #bg3fanart #baldurs gate fanfiction

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spacecowboysfrommars · 2 years

Note

cracks knuckles boi you have no IDEA the kind of lunacy you've unleashed by asking for readers' feelings about "These Webs We Weave" within my hearing. Emotionally while reading your fic I was just making pterodactyl noises. I am STILL not okay.

but alright alright so. Theories.

I have an awful suspicion that John is going to get Peter back at some point and I HATE it. I've got my own Peter Tingle about it called foreshadowing and I hate it so much (but also it's really artfully done though. Chekhov's evil man gonna show up at some point to cause more pain). I'm miserable about it.

I kind of wonder if Tony's going to end up captured too. We do be enjoying when Tony has to watch his kid get tortured. Sucks a lot. Angst, mayhem. Horrible. My only evidence for this being a possibility is like, all that scarring on Peter's back makes me think Tony's going to have to, at some point, bear witness to the location where it happened.

SHIELD is being shady as hell and (Chris Evans voice) I Don't Like It.

The very end of the last chapter (ch 5), for example. Fury: "Call me when you change your mind" Tony: "won't be doing that" and it's like... Tony, babe, why are you ASKING the universe to step on you.

I have another theory where Peter slowly, slowly gets more comfortable being apart from Tony, ease up on that codependency, only for New Trauma to get that whole plan shot to hell and send both of them right back to separation anxiety square 1

Peter deserves to grieve more for the teenage experiences he missed out on. I hope he gets to do that. I hope Tony gets to support him through his journey of doing that.

Here's another theory: Part of Peter's healing could end up being him having to hero the fuck up. Like, he clearly feels really incapable and helpless right now, which makes sense given he's been victimized and tortured for 2 years straight. But if it ends up being up to him to save the day, and if, in spite of his fear, he manages it -- would be absolutely soul ascending

Questions I still don't know ANY answers to:

wtf WTF is up with the clone thing they buried???

(which by the way side now, oh my GOd poor Tony. Stabbing me in the heart would've hurt less thank you)

Is Happy going to eventually encounter the person he reminds Peter of right now? because if so I hope Happy gets to 1-hit KO destroy him

Did the public ever make the connection between Spider-Man and Peter?

Are we going to get any paparazzi trope in this fic?

is Peter going to go back to school? (....I do want Peter to get to graduate, actually :( he deserves it)

Is his body permanently scarred now, even with his super healing?

Does the not eating impact his super healing or strength or powers at all?

Feel free to not answer these questions and just go >:) because yeah I realize now that these are just more theories in question form.

HOWEVER, here are two actual questions for you:

What was the first spark that inspired you to write this fic?

Are there scenes that you're looking forward to writing in later chapters? Will we know when we get there?

To understand my pterodactyl psyche whilst reading your fic, just imagine all of this nonsense happening in my brain ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

YES YES YES I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS

I can’t confirm or deny anything but I WILL say that you’re on to something pretty important >:)

I’ll also say that in terms of his scarring, it’s sorta slowly healing, but it’s a pretty horrific injury that’ll take a lot longer than usual, even with his super-healing. And yes, it’s kinda sorta a little bit implied (in later chapters) that being half-starved for two years impacts his strength, but not by much.

and for the two amazing (seriously you are my favourite person to rant with) questions:

1. The first spark of inspiration was actually a re-read of my all-time favourite fic, Come My Darling, Homeward Bound by buckleyirondad. That was the fic that got me back into irondad back in early 2021, after being absent from the fandom for over a year. It got me completely obsessed with the kidnapping trope, specifically long-term captivity and trying to fit back in to a world they were taken from. I’ve wanted to write something similar for a while but didn’t really figure out exactly how I wanted to do it until my most recent re-read. Highly recommend checking out Liberty’s irondad stories (as well as her 911 fics) because she’s an incredible writer and CMDHB profoundly effected me.

2. Absolutely! I literally get giddy looking through my chapter notes sometimes. Once I actually get the chapters finished and uploaded, I’ll probably post again about what scenes I enjoyed the most. With the adoption storyline in play, there’s a lot of domestic stuff and family drama that I’m really looking forward to.

I adore every single thing you post on here.

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #twww #ao3 #irondad fanfiction #fanfiction

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spacesquidlings · 6 months

Text

Painting Night 101

Description: Despite the downward spiral of her mental health, Gavin has been devoted to finding ways to help Rowan heal, and to find things that will bring her joy. Tonight is no different, and his determination knows no bounds as he tries to convince her to attend a beginner's painting class. Whether their paintings are good won't matter, so long as they find a little shred of happiness together.

Pairing: Gavin Bai x OC (Rowan)

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol use, implied depression, slight suggestive content

Notes: Another self indulgent fic!!! Gav really is my ultimate comfort character and imagining spending a night with him is really cathartic. I also really think he'd actually be VERY into arts and crafts and would be very well known by the local arts and crafts community. He just has the vibes, I can't explain it.

***********************************************

“It will be fun, I promise.”

“I don’t know, babey. I want to stay home.”

“Please? For me?”

It was difficult for Rowan to ever say no to Gavin, especially when he was giving such a spectacular pout. She knew he was trying to help her, trying to make things better after she’d had such an extraordinarily horrible slump. Things had been fine until they hadn’t been fine, and although she wouldn’t have blamed him for leaving her alone in the downward spiral she felt herself slipping towards, he hadn’t. He’d gone day-by-day trying to make things a little better for her.

She knew tonight was the same, that he was only trying to get her to go out, to find something to do that would be fun. But she felt so resistant; she just wanted to lie in bed and imagine she was better, happier. Imagine she was the kind of wife he deserved, not the grim raincloud of a wife he’d gotten stuck with.

“I don’t know.” She sighed, feeling as though she were being slowly swallowed by the bed as she sunk deeper, pressing her face against her pillow.

“Please, Rowan?” His fingertips ghosted against the side of her face, around the curve of her ear. She felt as the bed shifted beneath his weight, as he stroked her hair. “I think this will be fun.”

He’d found an evening painting class that he’d signed them both up for. The kind of classes where they went over the most basic of basics when it came to painting, and then let everyone go off on their own. The kind of class where they featured a new array of wines every week, making it half wine-tasting and half creative space.

How he had stumbled on such a class was beyond her. Why he had signed them both up for it was also beyond her. She’d anticipated him signing them up for couples yoga, or maybe a swimming class together. He’d done similar things in the past, but a painting-and-wine-drinking class was entirely new.

Although perhaps not that odd. She felt like he was always picking up a new craft, and painting was just another extension of that, wasn’t it?

“But I’m not very good at drawing or painting,” she whined.

“That’s okay, love.” His voice was soft as featherdown, gentle as a caress. “Neither am I. But it’ll be fun, won’t it? Like when we tried that paint-by-numbers we bought from the craft store.”

She racked her brain trying to come up with a good excuse for why she couldn’t go. “But I won’t know anyone.”

“You’ll know me.” He was persistent, and she could feel herself being worn down like a pebble beneath constant ocean waves. Gavin was far too good at getting his way. “And Laura says the instructor is really nice.”

She furrowed her brow. “Laura from pilates?”

“Laura from the knitting group.”

Rowan sat up, confused. “Since when did you knit?”

He quirked a brow, a smile playing on his lips. “Since last week. There weren’t enough sign-ups for the crochet class so they transferred anyone who signed up to the knitting group.”

She blinked, baffled. “And you trust Laura-from-knitting-group who you’ve only met for one week?”

“Well she was in that beginners pottery class we took together, remember?”

Rowan furrowed her brow, remembering a woman with auburn hair and blue-rimmed glasses. “The one with the freckles?”

“Yeah. She said it’s a fun class, and it’s only for six weeks, so it’s not a huge commitment.”

“How is Laura, by the way? Doesn’t she have a daughter at the preschool just down the street?”

His eyes narrowed, and he pinched her side, eliciting a small squeak as Rowan smacked his hand.

“What was that for?!”

He huffed. “Don’t try to distract me.”

Her shoulders slumped and she looked away, disappointed her plan hadn’t worked in the slightest. “It was worth a try.”

“Rowan, you know I’m trying to help, right?”

She picked at the blankets, unable to meet his gaze. “I know. I just…”

“What is it, love?”

She felt his hands gently pressing against her cheeks, slowly turning her head to face him. There was no way she could avoid his gaze now, not unless she squeezed her eyes shut.

Gavin chuckled, and she felt the pad of his finger brush against her eyelid. “Open your eyes, Rowan. Look at me.”

She ground her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut tighter.

“Rowan.”

His voice had an edge to it now, so masked by the gentleness it still carried she would have missed it had she not known him so well. But she’d known Gavin for so many years now that she always knew when there was a blade concealed in his words.

“Rowan, please.”

Softer now, quieter. Little more than a whisper and yet still she couldn’t open her eyes. She knew she would give in if she did. She knew that meeting his gaze would lead to her resolve crumbling, and she would let him take her away to this painting class she wasn’t really sure she wanted to go to.

“I don’t see how it’s going to help,” she whined instead, refusing still to open her eyes. “It will just make me feel lonely and useless.”

He sighed, followed by the sound of clothing rustling. And then his teeth were sinking into her ear, his hot breath caressing her skin.

Her eyes snapped open as she gasped, his tongue swiping over the aching spot he’d just bitten.

“Gavin! What are you-” But her words were cut off as he drew the curve of her ear into his mouth, tongue running along the edge. Suddenly she couldn’t think, her mind short-circuiting. All she could think of was the heat of his mouth against her ear, of the gentle pressure of his hands still holding her head in place.

“There you are.” His voice was a low murmur, intoxicating as wine. Her head spun as she found herself trapped, his golden eyes holding her fast.

“Please at least try.” He was pleading with her now, although his tone suggested he was doing something very different; trying to convince her to let him slowly peel her clothes away.

“I just…” She didn’t have the right words, and struggled against the fog filling her mind as he nipped at her ear again, as he licked and bit his way down her jaw and back up again.

“Just say yes.”

“Gavin.”

His chuckle was low, warm as a mug of mulled wine clasped between her hands. “At least try. For me?”

She whined, squeezing her eyes shut again. She didn’t know how to explain how much she thought it would not help. She felt like she was drowning, felt like she could sink into the earth and never be found again. And going to a painting class where she would see all these people with friends and bright, brilliant lives, and what even was she? The muddy sludge at the edge of a puddle. The stain of an unwanted shadow marring what could have been a perfect picture.

A part of her screamed from some claustrophobic corner at the very edge of her mind. Screamed that she needed to get up, that this would not pass unless she tried. And Gavin was so gentle and kind, and he was always so patient with her. How cruel was it to throw his attempts to help in his face? To refuse to let him help in the least?

“Do I have to?” She ended up nearly whimpering the words as his teeth sank into the skin above where her pulse was thrumming.

He sighed, drawing away slowly, his expression shockingly serious for having bitten and licked and kissed her skin just seconds prior.

“I want you to feel better,” he murmured, stroking her cheek. “But I can’t help if you won’t let me.”

She couldn’t help huffing, even though it made her feel a little like a petulant child. So much of her wanted to just lie here, where she was safe. Even if it was dark and lonely and didn’t make her feel any better. It was hard to resist the siren song of the safety of home, of the promise that she wouldn’t feel worse seeing all the bright, happy people with their bright, happy lives.

Gavin sighed again, seeming to concede in the face of her stubbornness. “We don’t have to go if you’re really that against it. But it would make me happy if you did at least try the first class.”

Worrying her bottom lip, Rowan turned her head away, glaring at the wall. How could she keep putting up a fight against him now? He was trying to help, and he would be happy if she went. And she wanted him to be happy. She loved when he was happy.

She wrinkled her nose, even as she felt herself accepting her defeat. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Gavin chuckled, leaning forward to press a warm, chaste kiss to her lips.

“You’ll love it.” He beamed, standing and offering her his hand. “I promise you will.”

***

An hour later, Rowan was clutching Gavin’s hand so tightly she feared she was going to crush it.

For his part, Gavin seemed entirely unbothered by the death-grip she had on him, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb as he made his way through the art centre the class was being held in.

It was clear he was very familiar with the building, weaving through the halls with the precision of someone who could navigate it with his eyes closed. They passed by a few people, some middle-aged women and young couples and a handful of middle schoolers with heavy backpacks curving their spines. All of them nodded at Gavin, all of them smiling or stopping for quick pleasantries.

Rowan couldn’t help the wrinkle in her brow as Gavin made small talk with a flaxen-haired woman named Carol. She had what looked like dried clay smeared on her arms and shirt, and she was beaming as she chattered about her latest project.

“You’re such an enigma,” Rowan said once they had turned a corner, far out of Carol’s earshot.

He arched a brow, chuckling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You act so casual about your little classes and clubs and yet you’ve spoken to almost everyone here!” She spread her arms wide, smiling a little despite herself.

His brow furrowed, his mouth quirking to the side. “Is that a bad thing?”

She shook her head furiously, pressing close to his side as they continued to walk. “No, of course not. I adore it.”

He snorted, releasing her hand to wrap his arm around her waist.

“I just think it’s cute, and something about it makes me happy.” She didn’t have the right words to explain it, but there was something that delighted her about Gavin’s fondness for crafts.

It had started with him admitting to having made her bracelet on his own. And then he’d bashfully admitted he enjoyed building legos. And sometimes she would catch him putting together little crafts on his own. Bracelets and necklaces, little clay figures that were supposed to be them. Tissue paper flowers so delicate she couldn’t believe they were handcrafted. Felt needling packs transformed into little foxes and wolves and bunnies and cats.

And then it had turned into him mentioning he was thinking of taking just one little class with some extra time-off he’d started taking after they’d gotten married. Just to pass the time when she was working. One class had turned to many, and then suddenly he was always doing something new, bringing some new craft home, or showing her a new skill he had learned.

It had certainly vexed her at times, because he’d taken to most things like he was born to do them, and she simply had not. He’d been able to master crochet in mere weeks, while she’d still struggled trying to make a single blanket until he’d helped her. And he’d been able to twist and prod pieces of felt and fluff into marvellous little creatures while she had been left with strange lumps that looked vaguely animal shaped if you squinted incredibly hard.

But it had all made him so happy, and that made her happy too.

It was still a bit strange though, dissonant from the persona he usually drew over himself like a cloak when he went out into the world. Yet she loved this side of him, the part of him that he’d kept quiet and guarded for so long she’d used to worry even he would never be able to reach it again. The gentle, silly side of him that always seemed bright and excited whenever he started a new project.

He held her gaze for a few long moments, his brow furrowed, his mouth quirked up in a smirk. He seemed to be searching, his eyes brightening like twin stars as they snagged on whatever he was looking for.

“I love you,” was his only reply as he leaned close to brush a kiss to her brow.

She squeaked, face warming. “What was that for?”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through her. “I can’t just say that I love you?”

“Of course you can.”

“Well maybe I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”

Rowan squeezed her eyes shut, her face burning now, as though her bones were made of kindling and they had been set alight. “Gavin, what if there are people around?”

“Then they’ll know that I love you very much.”

He was beaming the rest of the walk through the art centre, seeming far too pleased with himself. Blessedly, they didn’t run into anyone else until they arrived at the room where the class was taking place, a number of women milling around, chattering amongst themselves.

Rowan had figured they would be able to slip into the room quietly, find some seats in the back perhaps. Somewhere with a window maybe, so she could feel a soft breeze on her face while she tried not to descend into a panic at being in a room full of strangers. A room full of strangers who seemed to know each other so well, who seemed so happy and bright.

But they hadn’t taken more than a few steps when some of the women whipped their heads around, all but squealing as their attention fell on Gavin.

In seconds they were surrounded, and Rowan was pressing up against Gavin’s side, legs weaker than unset jell-o as the women chattered frantically, all vying for their attention.

It seemed nearly every single one of them was acquainted with Gavin. Some of the women were wives of coworkers, some had been in his other art classes, some were just excited to meet the elusive Gavin who they’d heard a number of rumours about.

What was even stranger was they were all also very excited to meet her.

Rowan pressed up so close to Gavin she could imagine herself burying inside of him, where she would be safe and warm and not feeling very overwhelmed.

They chattered at her brightly, asking how she was, introducing themselves.

“We’ve heard so much about you!” One woman gushed. She had green, thick rimmed glasses that she kept having to push up her freckled nose, and she looked like the kind of woman who would delight a group of kindergarteners.

“He just never stops talking about you!” Another woman with braids coiled on top of her head said, her smile so bright Rowan was sure it would outshine the sun. She was tall, dressed in such a beautiful green that Rowan thought she might be a forest faerie.

“And he always tries to make things in your favourite colours,” sang a woman with wavy, waist long hair the colour of fire. She looked like a princess from a fantasy novel, with flowers braided into her hair and butterfly clips holding back her bangs. “Have you noticed? He told us once in the beginners crochet class that you love pinks and reds and purples and those are the only colours he uses!”

Rowan shot a look at Gavin, his cheeks stained crimson as the sky at dusk. When he met her gaze he smiled, squeezing her hand tight as if to say ‘I love you dearly. I want everyone to know.’

And clearly everyone did know.

What felt like hundreds of different conversations surged over her like ocean waves, and her attention was divided between the colourfully clad women and their technicolour words, turning to a cacophony of noise that drowned out the frantic beating of her heart.

They were all very kind and very bright, but it all felt a little too surreal for her; it felt like it couldn’t possibly be real. And it was also a little overwhelming, especially after just peeling away from her cocoon of safety back home.

Before she knew it, a glass of something pink and fizzing had been set in her hand and she and Gavin were seated between a woman with viridescent green hair and another with a striped shirt and paint-splattered overalls.

Her hands were shaking a little at such an exuberant welcome, and she leaned against Gavin’s side as conversations slowly drifted away. Talks about PTA meetings and bake sales and dinner parties and blind dates.

“Are you okay?” She looked up to find him watching her, his eyes soft, a line forming between his brows.

She shrugged. “I’m alright, but that was more than I was expecting.”

He nodded, rubbing circles against her back. “They all mean well, though. And they were excited to see you.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, staring down into the fizzing wine she had yet to sip. “Is this why you wanted me to come? So I could interact with new people?”

“Well yes and no.” He scratched at the back of his neck, although his eyes never moved from her face. “I wanted you to come because I thought it would be something fun we could do together that would get you out of the house.”

He reached up to stroke her cheek. “But I did think meeting some new people would be nice. And they’ve all told me how much they’d like to meet you.”

Rowan was the one who looked away first, heat creeping back into her face. She didn’t know how this all made her feel, not when she felt like a grim raincloud heralding misery compared to all these bright, sunny people. She felt out of place, a lost puzzle piece unable to fit into the place it should have.

She just felt sad, and a little alone despite all the people around her, and it was difficult to claw her way into a better brainspace.

She did love doing things with Gavin. They’d taken cooking classes and dance lessons and scuba diving lessons together; she supposed she could try and treat this the same way. Although there was something different about this, about all these people who knew Gavin and who were strangers to her.

She felt as though she didn’t even belong with him right now, utterly disconnected from everything. She was starting to regret this decision deeply, dreaming of her soft blankets and plushies to pile around herself while watching movies until she was too tired to keep her eyes open.

“Hey, where did you go?” Her attention was drawn back to Gavin as he gave her cheek a light pat. A line formed between his brows, the hand at her face dropping away to twine with her own.

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. He’d wanted her to come so badly, and she felt awful that she was already regretting her decision.

“Hey. Rowan, my love.”

He wasn’t going to leave her be, was he?

“Give it a chance,” he murmured, leaning close, his words twining with her breath. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed. But just give it a chance.”

She let out a slow breath, relieved it did not catch. “I feel like I don’t belong.”

“That isn’t true.” He squeezed her hand tighter. “I stay by your side, you stay by mine, right?”

She nodded.

“Then you do belong.” His voice was soft as silk, as spun sugar clouds on a summer’s dawn. “You belong, Rowan. You belong here, with me.”

She nodded again, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “You know that sounds an awful lot like a Taylor Swift song.”

He pulled away, rolling his eyes. But he couldn’t completely smother the smirk on his lips, nor the colour in his cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please like you weren’t just blasting ‘Speak Now’ on the way over.”

He scoffed, rubbing the side of his neck. “I just know you’re a really big fan-”

“What about Taylor Swift?” The woman to Rowan’s right leaned towards them, whose vibrant green hair reminded her of a magical fairy forest with its bejeweled butterfly clips and sparkling pins in the shapes of flowers and leaves stuck into her bun.

Rowan felt taken aback, struggling to remember her name. There had been so many women who had all introduced themselves at once, and it took her a few moments rooting around in her memory to find her name, Fern.

But her surprise quickly melted away as she realized this was a conversation she truly could engage in. That perhaps she didn’t need to be mired in her own shadows, especially when someone else was engaging with her interests.

Fern scooted her stool closer, hands clasped in her lap as she fixed an excited smile on Rowan and Gavin. “You know I heard a rumour that she’s going to announce some new international dates soon.”

“Really?” Rowan hadn’t heard anything about that; had nearly given up hope she’d get the chance to even try and buy tickets for a show.

“I hope so.” Fern beamed, clearly delighted. “I know a few people who work for the big stadium and apparently there’s been talks about permits and checking space capacities so it sounds like she’s gearing up to tour here.”

“Oh my gosh, I hope so! I’ve wanted to see her for yers.” Rowan couldn’t help gushing, a spark of light blooming deep in her heart. Its warmth seeped out from between her ribs, reaching towards the edges of her nerves, trying to burrow into her marrow.

Fern jabbed a finger at Gavin, his eyes widening, freezing with his glass an inch from his lips. “What?”

“You’d better take her.”

He chuckled, squeezing the hand he had not yet let go of. “That was never a question.”

“Good, because it sounds like a once in a lifetime opportunity. Who knows the next time she’s going to tour.” Then Fern was turning her attention back to Rowan, capturing her focus as she chattered about her favourite albums, favourite outfits. As she asked about Rowan’s favourite albums and outfits and songs and lyrics. As she joked about the memes that had been floating around the web.

But it wasn’t just music that they talked about, because a few others joined in, and suddenly it was about favourite foods, favourite books. About whether anyone was planning on dressing up for the Barbie movie because Laura, a younger woman with blunt bangs in a sunflower dress, was going to, and shouldn’t they all? Wouldn’t it be fun? Did Rowan want to come with them, they were already planning a date that worked for everyone?

She didn’t even remember tasting the wine, but she must have drank it, because her glass was empty when she next looked down. But it wasn’t empty for very long, someone tipping a wine bottle over the edge, frothing golden wine refilling it to the rim.

“Sorry,” she giggled, and Rowan realized it was Fern once again. “We’re out of the other one. But we have more rosés for later!”

Rowan’s mind felt fuzzy, like her veins were filled with bubbling pink champagne. She still felt odd, and a little out of place. These people knew each other so well and she didn’t know them at all. And yet they welcomed her so openly, and it made her feel a little less alone.

Maybe it was just the wine, but she felt some of the melancholy burrowed deep in her bones slowly begin to unravel.

A hand around her waist drew her from a conversation about reruns of 2010s drama that some of the women were watching every Thursday evening. Rowan leaned back, her head falling back against Gavin’s chest.

His lips were curved up in a smile, his eyes warm. “Feeling better?”

“Certainly not feeling worse.” She tried and failed to smother her smile. “But that might be the wine talking.”

He nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling as they narrowed ever-so-slightly. Like he didn’t fully believe her, like he could see through her falsehood to see that some of her misery really was slipping away.

“Don’t drink too much,” he chided, smoothing back her hair. “And don’t forget to have some water, too.”

“I know, I know.”

He pressed a kiss to her brow, sighing. “I’m just trying to take care of my wife.”

“I thought bringing me here to drink wine was taking care of me.”

He snorted, eyes rolling skyward as he took a sip from his own glass. “And paint. Don’t forget about the painting.”

He passed her a glass of water, and she dutifully drank it, if only because she knew Gavin would not stop pestering her until she had.

A few moments later the instructor arrived, clapping her hands like they were a room of kindergarteners before introducing herself.

“It looks like you’ve already gotten into the wine,” she laughed, plucking an empty bottle from the desk at the front. “Hopefully that means we’re all excited for the lesson?”

Gavin gently pried the empty water glass from Rowan’s hand, balancing it on a little stool between their seats. Before Rowan could really respond he replaced the glass with his own hand, squeezing hers gently, a teasing smile on his lips.

“I couldn’t help it,” he murmured, so low no one else could hear.

She squeezed his hand in return, the kernel of warmth in her chest growing just a little bit brighter.

***

There had been many different arts that Rowan had tried her hand at over the years. She’d played music since she was a child, and even now kept up with it well enough to learn a new piece on the piano every few weeks. It always made Gavin smile when she played, and he’d sometimes sit with her on the piano bench and they would play a few songs together, arms and legs and shoulders pressed so close she could feel the thrum of his heartbeat in her bones.

She’d tried writing, too, and it had been such a fun pursuit. Sometimes she would take it more seriously than she’d even taken the research papers she’d done in university, and other times she would write something silly just to make herself smile.

Then she’d tried her hand at dancing. She’d loved it once as a child, although she found she wasn’t particularly good at it. But sometimes it was fun, especially when she had Gavin with her.

There had been the assortment of crafts she had tried. Crochet and knitting, thinking she could style some comfortable cardigans for both her and Gavin. There had been sewing, although she’d never managed to make more than a few skirts with uneven stitching. There had even been that time she’d attempted sculpting, trying to make little figures of characters from her favourite book series.

But out of everything she had tried, alone and alongside Gavin, Rowan had never ventured into the world of painting. She’d done some paint-by-numbers with Gavin once for a date night, but other than that she’d never actually endeavoured to try painting.

Which quickly became very apparent when she’d tried following along with the instructor’s tutorial. Her sketch had been subpar, although not that bad. And it wasn’t like she’d been trying to paint the Mona Lisa, just a simple landscape like the example the instructor had shown them.

And yet the moment she’d touched her paintbrush to the canvas things had utterly fallen apart.

Huffing, Rowan flung her paintbrush into the water glass balanced on her easel. She spied someone in front of her, their painting already nearly complete. It looked so real she felt as though if she reached out she would find herself in the midst of a forest, staring out at the horizon as the sun sank below the mountains in the distance.

Gavin nudged her, offering an encouraging smile. “Don’t give up just yet. This is only the warm-up to learn the techniques.”

“The warm-up?!” She felt tears burning her eyes. “Gavin, this is hopeless.”

He took a sip from his glass, the wine no longer fizzing pink but a frothing gold to match hers. When had he gotten more wine? Since when did he drink more than a glass? “Don’t give up yet, pumpkin. You just need practice.”

She wilted, exhaustion creeping in at the corners of her mind. Her emotions kept fluctuating, switching from delight to despair at a moment's notice. She’d been scared at first of all of the other women in the class, and then she had started talking with many of them before the class began and she had found herself feeling warmer, feeling happier. She’d been almost excited when the class had begun, although that was not something she was going to divulge to Gavin. Especially not after how hard she’d fought against coming here.

“He’s right, you know.”

Rowan startled at the voice behind her. She spun around in her seat to find the instructor, Mallory, peering over her shoulder.

“This class is for intermediate and beginners alike,” Mallory continued, readjusting her glasses as she scanned Rowan’s sorry excuse for a painting. “And art takes practice. But it won’t get better without any practice at all.”

Rowan bit back the long, exhausted sigh she was desperate to heave. Her head felt fuzzy, and she wanted to lie down.

“Your choice of colours is quite nice,” Mallory added. She gestured to the sky that Rowan had finished painting. “Your blending could use some work, but this is very nice. I feel like I really am looking at the sunset.”

Rowan blinked as Mallory rattled off some more suggestions before heading to the next student to observe their painting. There had been something good about her painting?

Gavin’s hand at her thigh startled her from her thoughts as she studied her unfinished painting yet again, trying to find what Mallory had thought worthy of praise.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect.” His smile was soft as he moved his hand to slide it around her waist. “It will be beautiful if it’s something you’ve made.”

Her knee-jerk reaction was to make a sharp retort, that it was like a child’s crayon doodle compared to some of the others she spied around the classroom. But something in Gavin’s gaze made the words dissolve before they could fall from her tongue. He was looking at her so gently, and the warmth from his hand was spreading through her. She didn’t want to be mean when he was trying to be so kind.

“Are you having fun?” He asked, his brows pressing together. “Because that’s what matters right now.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again. Turned back to the messy painting. “I don’t really know. I just feel frustrated.”

Beside her, Fern giggled. “The wine will help with that.”

Gavin arched a brow, but didn’t comment as Rowan took a sip from her glass.

“It’ll help relax you.” Fern clicked her glass against Rowan’s. “I’m not much at painting either, but my friends drag me out to classes like these all the time to help me relax and cheer me up.”

Now that was intriguing. So she wasn’t the only one who felt frustrated, whose steps were dogged by shadows and stormclouds. “Does it help?”

Fern hummed, tapping her cheek, seemingly unaware that there was baby blue paint smeared across her hand. “It doesn’t make it worse. And it gets me out of my own head sometimes.”

She shrugged, returning to her own painting, leaving Rowan to consider her words.

Gavin sighed, lines of worry wrinkling his brow. “You put too much pressure on yourself.”

All she could do was shrug helplessly, struggling to find the proper words to describe her feelings, to explain why she was struggling.

“Do you want to have fun?”

Rowan pondered his question for a long, long moment, idly swirling her paintbrush in a puddle of sunshine yellow. She felt helpless. Even worse, she felt hopeless.

He nudged her, drawing her gaze back to his. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and something in his expression gave her pause. As if to say that he understood, that she didn’t have to try to piece together the proper words to explain the knotted feelings in her chest.

“Why don’t I help?” He stood, lifting his stool until it was so close their thighs were pressed together.

“How?” She faltered, releasing her paintbrush and clasping her hands in her lap.

He chuckled, leaning close, his brow bumping against the side of her head. She felt the featherlight brush of his lips against her cheek, warmth spreading from where his lips touched and down her neck.

“I can’t promise I’ll make the painting any better,” was his response as he reached for her hand. “But I think I can make you a little happier.”

She couldn’t help snorting as he took her hand, guiding it back to the paintbrush. “What are you planning?”

She felt his smile against her cheek, and she giggled as his bangs tickled her forehead. “It’s a surprise.”

Giggles continued bubbling from her lips, unbidden, as he lifted their joined hands and began painting in a garishly bright sun.

“What do you think?” He teased, painting it in rough swirls, flicking dandelion yellow streaks out from around the rough circle that she thought were supposed to be the rays often emanating out from the sun.

She snorted, shaking her head, unable to wrest her hand from his grip. “Gavin, that doesn’t even look like the sun.”

“What? Sure it does!” He dipped the paintbrush into the water glass, then flicked it wildly, slate grey water splattering against her face and her shirt. “It’s just stylized.”

Rowan tried to wiggle her hand free, but it was of no use. Gavin only gripped her hand tighter with both hands now, painting pallid butter yellow swirls overtop the garish yellow he’d first painted the sun in.

“All it needs now is a pair of sunglasses and a smile.” She couldn’t help laughing, the sun resembling something she would have made as a child, or perhaps something in a cartoon.

Gavin didn’t hesitate before guiding their hands up, painting on a smiling face and big black sunglasses.

“There, now it’s perfect.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, although he seemed far from done. He didn’t release her hand, instead dipping the paintbrush back into the water glass.

“It seems far from perfect to me.” She nudged his side, surveying the unfinished work. It was made up of contrasts, of a field of messy trees and wildflowers that looked like too much effort had been put into making them realistic. Their colours lacked vibrancy, instead dull blues and greens and reds that seemed to be smothered beneath a haze. Then there was the sky, unfinished but for the few swaths of blue she’d started painting before Gavin had commandeered her paintbrush and her hand.

And then of course there was the sun, so vibrant it made everything else look dreary in comparison. It smiled so widely, a messy cacophony of bright and pallid yellows and specks of orange, the wet paint glistening beneath the fluorescent lights of the classroom.

It was hard to be mired in the weight of her melancholy when such a goofy sun had been painted so brightly against the washed-out background of her painting. It made her feel like hands made of sunshine were hooked around her, slowly dragging her away from the shadows that had pulled her down; that had turned her bones to lead.

“I feel like it’s still missing something,” Gavin mused, tilting his head so it rested on her shoulder. “What do you think, pumpkin?”

She giggled; it was hard not to. Everything on the canvas was so at odds, and there was a part of her that wanted to repaint it all so it was in vibrant technicolour to match the smiling sun.

“Maybe the flowers need to be changed.” Her voice was softer than she intended, the desolation she had been mired in making her feel weak even as the bright colours Gavin had already started mixing up shone like light at the end of a suffocating, dark tunnel.

“They should be in our favourite colours,” he said, his smile sly as he made her eyes. “What about pink and blue?”

“Can you do purple too?”

He pressed another kiss to her cheek. “Anything for you, my love.”

She couldn’t help giggling more, feeling silly as Gavin held her hand tightly, painting over the flowers she had tried creating earlier. Their shapes grew more misshapen, the still-wet paint underneath the brighter colours smearing as Gavin tried painting over them.

“Hmmm.” He hummed, releasing her hand to cup his chin. “The sky isn’t finished yet.”

She felt an idea alight in her mind like a match being struck as Gavin continued studying the painting. “Shouldn’t we try to handle one thing at a time?”

“Well I think the sky should be finished first and then we can match the colours later on.”

She reached forward, her movements unnoticed as Gavin plucked up a water bottle, taking a sip. He didn’t notice as she dipped her fingers into the powder blue paint that had sat untouched. It had been so pretty she’d wanted to use it, but she hadn’t had the chance yet, and Gavin had interrupted her in the midst of painting the sky to add in his own creative stylings.

“What about-” He didn’t get a chance to finish as she reached up to streak her fingers across his cheek.

“I think we should use this colour.” She beamed, although her smile wobbled as he fixed her with a fiery look that promised she would regret that later.

Quick as lightning he had dipped his own fingers into the paint, the same buttery yellow that he had added to the sun. He swiped it across her chin, chuckling as she gaped.

“Maybe we should put that yellow underneath,” he suggested, snorting as he lifted the hand still clutching the paintbrush. “Or…”

“Gavin? What are you planning?” Her voice cracked, although for once it was not from nerves, or tears, or misuse.

He didn’t respond, instead flicking the tip of the brush across her cheek. “Maybe it looks better on you.”

She bit back a squeal, the paint cold and tacky against her skin.

“Or maybe you’d look better with blue?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond as he quickly swirled the brush against her other cheek, staining the side of her face blue.

Unable to control one hand, all Rowan could do was scoop up more paint in the fingers of her free hand. She didn’t even look, just dunked her fingers in, bright red splattering against the edge of the stool and her pants as it dripped from her hand. She didn’t pause before smacking her hand against Gavin’s face, smearing the red across his chin and cheeks and the tips of a few wayward locks of hair.

“You know red really suits you.” Her hand fell away and she snorted as he gaped, trying and failing to wipe his face with his shoulder.

“Let’s focus on the canvas, shall we?” Called the instructor, followed by a few errant snickers from the other women in the class.

It snapped Rowan back to reality, reminding her that they were, in fact, right in the middle of a painting class and they were still surrounded by a number of other people.

“Oops.” She ducked her head, heat flooding her cheeks. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away there.”

“Hey.” Gavin’s hand fell away from hers, and she felt his fingertips at her cheeks, sliding along her jawline, tipping her head back. “Love, look at me.”

She did, it was hard not to. Even when he wasn’t covered in paint it was hard not to look at him. His bright eyes, his lips always on the verge of curling into a smile, the fall of his bangs coaxing her to reach up and brush them back from his face, the flush of pink that seemed to forever stain his cheeks.

But it was even harder not to look today, especially with the firetruck red she had smeared across his face. It was so much brighter than she had thought it would be, and he looked like he’d messed up an attempt at doing clown face paint.

“We should dress up as clowns for halloween next,” she said, not even thinking. The idea sprung into her mind unbidden, but now that it was there she had no choice but to give it her voice. “We could decorate the house like a circus.”

A line formed between his brows, even as his lips quirked up. “How much have you had to drink?”

“How much have you had?”

She nearly leapt out of her skin when Fern appeared at her side, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Sounds like you haven’t had enough then.”

She snorted, lifting her near-empty glass towards the bottle Fern was holding, letting the woman fill it to the brim. “I feel like you’re trying to encourage me to develop a drinking problem.”

“Not for every day,” Fern said, laughing as she handed the bottle off to someone else. “Just painting class.”

“Well if you’re going to pour me more then Gavin needs some, too,” Rowan said, poking his side as he rolled his eyes. “He has to put up with me all night.”

Gavin scoffed. “I’m never putting up with you.”

“Even better,” Fern said, lifting her glass as someone came around Gavin’s side and refilled his glass. “Then you can have even more fun.”

Gavin sighed, although he didn’t turn down the drink, although he did get up to wipe his face so he didn’t accidentally swallow any paint.

When he returned, Gavin retook his seat, although this time he plucked his own paintbrush from where it had been abandoned by his unfinished painting.

“What are you doing?” Rowan asked, confused as he dabbed his paintbrush into a puddle of soil brown.

His brow arched. “What do you think? I’m going to help you with your painting.”

He was smiling, clearly pleased with himself as he began painting over the drab smattering of foliage she had initially painted in. But Rowan couldn’t find it within herself to make a snide remark or push him away.

No, she felt the exact opposite. It was like she’d sprouted great, feathery wings. Like she was caught in the wind and being thrown up, up and far away from the rain-clouds she had tracked into the class with her. She felt like she’d eaten too many sweets, like she was at the precipice of becoming giddy. Something about Gavin leaning towards her canvas, flecks of red paint still staining the tips of his hair and parts of his face. Of Gavin furrowing his brow as he painted in more vibrancy, more life.

He was always doing that, always filling in the dreary shades of her world with vibrancy, with brilliant colours that tasted like sugar and shone brighter than the finest jewels. He made the world brighter, made everything better.

Her eyes were burning, tears blurring the edges of the classroom until all she could make out was the pleased grin that had plastered itself to his lips and the arch of his brow as he considered the next colour to choose.

But his brow wrinkled, concern dampening his smile as he turned to her. “Pumpkin? What’s wrong?”

She sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

She huffed a laugh, reaching for her glass and downing half of it in an instant, thinking maybe it would give her a moment to reorganize her thoughts. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m a mess.”

He cupped her cheek. “You’re not a mess.” His thumb stroked the edge of her jaw, his frown deepening. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Really, there’s nothing wrong. I was just thinking…” She took another sip, smaller this time. “I was just thinking how much you mean to me. How thankful I am that you’re in my life. How you make everything better.”

His expression softened. “You know I’m glad to hear it wasn’t my painting skills that made you cry. It’s not great, but I didn’t think I was that bad.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “It’s not bad at all.”

“Well that’s good to hear.” He continued to trace the edge of her jaw for a moment with his thumb, eyes searching hers. “You know you make my life better, too.”

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “I’m crying in the middle of a painting class you signed us up for with all your friends.”

“Well not all my friends.” He cracked a grin, eyes glittering with mischief. “But you do. You make me happier. You’re the reason I felt comfortable enough going out of my way to try all these different hobbies, you know.”

She hiccuped, unsure if it was meant to be a sob or a laugh. “Really?”

“Really.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. “You fill my world with colour.”

Now she really did laugh, a small, soft ghost of bubbling laughter. It was in joy, in relief. She loved him so much, and his closeness comforted her.

He brushed another kiss to her cheek before pulling away, setting his paintbrush aside to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“Should we continue?” He asked, smoothing back her hair to cup her face.

She smiled, feeling weightless once more, as though she were soaring through spun sugar clouds. The world was full of blinding colours, everything painted in sugary pinks and bleeding crimsons and crystalline ceruleans and verdant evergreens. “We should.”

***

An hour came and went, Gavin and Rowan finishing up with her canvas and moving on to complete his.

She would be lying if she said that ether painting was objectively good, but she found she had a fondness for them both. They were far from perfect, but she found herself overjoyed by the messy bushes and flowers painted in varying shades of pink and green and ivory and a deep, burning orange that reminded her of wildfires.

They were all instructed to set their canvases to the back, where they would need to dry before being varnished to seal them.

The instructor then went through some more techniques, letting them all know that now they would be working on something a little different. Still a landscape, but they could have more free reign over what it is, rather than the previous exercise when they’d all had to use the same reference for their paintings. But now they also had to add an additional object. A person or an animal or a thing. It had something to do with perspective and making it look like the object belonged in the painting.

To be honest Rowan only heard about half of what the instructor said. The drinks had turned from bubbling gold to a pink so deep it was nearly magenta, but she couldn’t even remember when. Only that suddenly her glass was full of pink wine, and it didn’t fizz as she lifted it to her lips. Someone had also opened a window, and evening air was spilling into the classroom, making her shiver, distracting her further as she pulled her sleeves over her hands.

“Here.” Gavin shrugged out of his sweater, wrapping it around Rowan’s shoulders. “This should keep you warm.”

“What about you?” She was far too cold to decline the sweater, and yet she still felt a surge of shame. What if he got cold too? What if he was uncomfortable?

But Gavin only pressed a kiss to her cheek, warmth seeming to radiate around him like he was his very own star. “I’m more than okay. I was getting a bit too hot with that on, anyways.”

Laughter bubbled in her throat unbidden, and she nearly said aloud that he was always hot.

Or maybe she had said it, because suddenly Gavin’s grin was wide, wider than it had been all night. And he looked ridiculously smug, his cheeks stained the deep red of sweet, cherry wine. His eyes seemed to burn, so bright the fluorescents seemed dull in comparison.

“What?!” Her face was aflame, no doubt a match to his. Perhaps she was burning an even more fiery red, like a wildfire choking out the sky.

He didn’t respond, only giving her a secretive smirk that added a new layer of heat to her already flushed face. He took a long sip from his glass, his eyes like twin stars that she was sure would turn her to cinders. And then he turned back to his painting, chuckling to himself.

“What’s so funny?” She scooted closer, pinching his side. “You can’t keep secrets from me!”

He arched a brow, his grin widening. “Can’t I?”

“No!”

Snorting, he turned to face her, the smell of peaches and strawberries on his breath. Had they opened a new bottle already? She was sure her drink didn’t taste like peaches. Or maybe someone was passing snacks around.

“It’s clear you can’t keep secrets from me,” he teased, drawing her back to the present.

Rowan blinked. “What do you mean?”

His expression was sly, the fire of his eyes seeming to flicker with mischief. “You don’t remember?”

Huffing, Rowan pulled away. He would tease her all night, and then her painting would never be finished. And she wanted it to be finished.

She couldn’t put her finger on why, but something had changed. Maybe it was the wine, or the way Gavin had commandeered her last painting. Or perhaps it had something to do with how the smudged red paint she could still see on his cheeks made her giggle.

All she knew was that now she simply had to finish her second painting. Even if it wasn’t perfect. Even if it was silly. She wanted it to make Gavin smile as much as he’d made her smile.

Unfortunately, despite the wine and the laughter she still felt in her chest, Rowan still wasn’t that skilled of an artist. Perhaps one day she could be, but tonight she was not. There was too much wine in her veins, still a little too much melancholy, and she also just had absolutely no idea how to properly paint anything.

She’d tried recreating the memory of standing in the backyard of Gavin’s late grandparents’ house. The clothesline to the side, the sky aflame, casting the world in an orange haze as the sun began to set. The copse of viridescent trees in the distance, the overgrown lawn drowning in clover and wildflowers and dandelions.

What Rowan had neglected to remember, was that nothing ever looked as good on canvas as it did in her head. The trees were somehow electric green, a mistake she didn’t understand how she’d even made. The clothesline and the sheets they had washed looked misshapen, the wildflowers and clover blobs of too-bright colour that looked stark compared to the rest of the scene. The horizon line was muddy, demarcated by what had ended up being another cartoonish sun. The only thing it was missing was the sunglasses and grin and it could have been the twin to Gavin’s sun from earlier.

The only thing she’d really managed to replicate from her memory was the colour of the sky as the sun had set. But then she’d gotten a little too ambitious and had tried adding that haze she had remembered so well. The orange and gold that had limned everything in the setting sun’s fire, that had hovered in the air, staining everything it touched.

And when she’d tried to replicate that she’d ended up making the painting look like something out of a halloween book for children. The oranges and golds and reds she mixed continued to be too bright or too deep, never that perfect shade that seemed to melt into the very air itself.

She nearly burst into tears when she smudged one of the few wildflowers she was proud of, the gold she’d tried lining the petals dripping over the pretty blue, turning it into a blurry mess.

“Hey.” She started at the sound of Gavin’s voice, having nearly forgotten he was there. Having nearly forgotten everyone was there.

The sliver of contentment Gavin had helped her with earlier was slowly melting and spilling from between her fingers like water. There was only frustration and, beneath even that, embers of anger. Beneath the chilling blanket of melancholy that dulled her senses there were always sparks waiting to ignite, right when the blanket had begun to be drawn away. Anger alighting at how she’d spent so much time in misery, at how shattered her mind was, how useless a friend and partner she was, how wasteful she was, how exhausting she must be to be around.

And today, at how horrible a painter she was, and would likely always be.

Gavin must have sensed that something was amiss because he tried again to gain her attention, this time plucking her paintbrush straight from her hand and dangling it just out of reach. Had she stood she would have reached it easily, but she didn’t move from her spot as she slowly swung her head around to face him.

The anger had only just sparked, her bones not yet kindling for a wildfire that would leave nothing but shame in its ashes. She did not glower at him, although the thought did cross her mind. She was too tired yet, and the wine was still racing through her veins, dulling her senses.

So instead of glaring, or scrunching her face in ire, her eyes only burned. There was nowhere for the embers of anger to go but to strengthen a sudden wash of sadness descending on her.

Gavin was cupping her face in an instant, his voice soft as he coaxed her back from the tears threatening to spill. There was still mischief in his eyes, but for now it was tempered as he comforted her.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay, pumpkin.”

She sniffed, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. Just let me help.”

She nodded, although she did not know how he would be able to help. Could he piece her broken back brain together, could he weave natural talent in painting into her DNA? Could he take her apart and replace the parts of her that were broken like one of his projects?

“Come back to me, love.”

She opened her eyes, his voice like a lifeline that drew her from the spiral of her thoughts.

He smiled as her gaze met his, the gold of his eyes flaring bright once more. “There you are.”

She offered a small smile. It felt pathetic, but it was all she could manage. “Hi.”

His hands fell to her shoulders, and he ran his hands up and down her arms gently, warming her even through the sweater he had given her. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

She shrugged. “I mean what isn’t?”

“Things were okay for a little while there, weren’t they?”

She nodded, dropping her gaze. There was a splotch of bright green on his knee, the colour of leaves in the height of the summer.

“Then what happened?”

She gestured helplessly to her painting. “It’s no good, it’s even worse than the last one.”

She listened as he hummed, turning to take a look at her painting.

There was a pause, and for a moment her heart stopped, thinking he would tell her there was no way to salvage the painting. Perhaps he would admonish her for wasting both their time, and for wasting his money in signing them up for this class.

They were horrible, oily thoughts. Gavin was kind, he was always gentle and loving with her. He would never say something so cruel, would never pierce her heart with barbed words.

And he didn’t. She felt his hands squeeze her arms as he turned back towards her, his expression soft. “It’s my grandparents’ house, isn’t it?”

She nodded, unable to hide her surprise that he’d been able to recognize it. “How could you tell?”

He laughed, eyes crinkling as his chest shook. “Rowan, we spent one of my favourite birthdays there, clearing the house out.”

“I remember.” Although her heart stuttered at how he’d said ‘his favourite.’

“Love, that’s one of my most precious memories. How could I forget it?” He stroked her cheek, his voice warm and soft as her favourite blankets, pulled from the dryer and wrapped around her shoulders.

“But it doesn’t look like it. It looks like a mess.”

He tipped his head to the side, regarding the unfinished painting again. “I don’t think so.”

“It looks like something a child made.”

He snorted. “Then I’ll put it up on the fridge.”

A bubble of laughter escaped from her lips. “Gavin, you can’t put it up on the fridge.”

“Why not? Isn’t that where the best art goes?”

She opened her mouth, closed it again. The mischief had returned to his eyes.

“It’s on a canvas,” she finally managed, her thoughts grinding to a halt like rusty gears. She couldn’t think of a coherent thought, not as he smirked at her like that, like he was plotting a way to make her smile. “You can’t hang a canvas from the fridge.”

“Then I’ll hang it up on the wall.” He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Right in the living room, so I can see it right when I get home.”

“Gavin.”

“Rowan.”

His smirk was widening. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, releasing her as the light in his eyes danced. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I think it’s perfect.”

She flicked her gaze to the painting once more, taking it in. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Another snort. “Less than you.”

She leaned back, surveying the flush of his cheeks beneath the paint staining his face. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

His brow arched. “Your face is red.”

“So is yours!”

“Because you wiped red paint all over it.”

Another giggle passed her lips, then another. She shook herself, trying to dispel the laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I thought I was precious? Beloved? Adored?”

She turned her attention back to him, taking in the way his eyes darkened, the crimson flush that had spread from his ears and cheeks and down his neck. Oh he’d definitely had a lot to drink.

“You are, of course you are.” She tried giving him her own impish grin. “But being beloved and being ridiculous aren’t mutually exclusive.”

He opened his mouth and closed it again like he was a fish gasping for air, his brows shooting up. He seemed at a loss for words, although the upwards curl of his lips promised his mischief was far from over.

Finally he settled on a breathy “finish your painting.”

“You’re sure?” Part of her wondered whether she should abandon the project now, certain she would only make it worse.

“I am.” He lifted her hand, brushing a kiss to her palm. “I want to see what it looks like when it’s complete.”

Still she hesitated; it was all too easy to slip back down into the spiralling darkness that had brought her to tears before, that had made her limbs so leaden she hadn’t wanted to ever move from her bed ever again.

“For me?” Gavin’s bottom lip popped out, his brows drawing together. She never had the strength or willpower to say no when he pouted, and she could not find a reason to say no to him now. How could she? How could she say no when he’d brought out his ultimate weapon?

“Alright.” She conceded. “For you.”

He kissed her hand once more before letting it go. “Thank you, pumpkin.”

Heat crawled across her face that had nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with the soft tenor of his voice, with how his words had reverberated through her from where his lips had brushed against her skin.

She steeled herself, trying to dredge up some of that contentment that she had felt before, trying to channel it into the painting she was trying to create. She still hadn’t added her object, which was the whole point of this exercise, which meant she still had work to do. For Gavin, so he could see the final piece. And maybe a little bit for herself, too, to see what she was capable of creating.

***

Seeming to sense Rowan’s struggle as she continued to waver on the edge of being mostly-alright and being very-not-alright, Gavin scooted his canvas closer to hers, then his stool. It meant they were constantly bumping into each other, and very nearly knocking over paints and water glasses countless times.

But it also meant that they were close enough to whisper to each other so their classmates couldn’t hear them, and it made it so that when Rowan felt down all she had to do was tilt her head to the side and she would be enveloped in his warmth until she felt well enough to continue.

Now that they were pressed close together for the remainder of their class, Gavin took the opportunity to relay to Rowan all the bits of gossip he had picked up from his other classes about the women around them. This shared whispering was normally saved for evening showers when Rowan was massaging shampoo through his hair and was searching for her preferred face wash on the rack of soaps they hung from the shower wall.

Rowan had a sneaking suspicion that his plan was to keep her mind distracted, all her mental bandwidth taken up by choosing paints and transferring said paints into a vaguely human-like shape on the canvas, and listening to him detail the shockingly sordid affairs of their classmates.

If she were being honest, which she was going to be in this moment, the alcohol inhibiting her ability to tell so much as the smallest of white lies, she didn’t mind in the least. She always found herself looking forward to the evenings when she showered with Gavin, if only to listen as he reiterated all of the drama and rumours and gossip he picked up each day from his coworkers. And this was by no means any different.

There was something delightful in how his expression shifted, how his brows lifted and his eyes narrowed, how his mouth quirked to the side, how his hands flicked through the air as he described dramatics fit for a supernatural drama and not for a handful of PTA moms at last year’s bake-sale.

He finished the dredges leftover in his glass, pausing their conversation as he took up his glass and Rowan’s and went in search of the wine bottle. Lilting laughter rang through the room as he said something to the woman currently guarding the bottle. Rowan watched as he laughed, extending the glasses, saying something Rowan couldn’t hear.

The woman pointed to the door and Gavin nodded, seeming pleased with her response. Rowan furrowed her brow, pausing in her attempt to paint in what was meant to be hair as Gavin returned.

“What did she say?” Her voice was much quieter and much louder than she had anticipated all at once. It felt so small in her throat, and yet her ears seemed to ache from how loud it became once the air had stolen it from her lips.

Gavin only smiled in response, setting down their glasses. “I’ll be right back.”

Then he was pressing a kiss to her brow and he was gone.

Only then did Rowan notice a few of the others from the class had gone missing, half finished glasses of wine with lipstick marks left unattended, paint-brushes drowning in murky water, bright colours dripping down canvases, entirely forgotten.

She considered getting up to investigate, but her legs felt like they were made of jelly. It was a welcome difference when she considered how leaden they had felt earlier in the day, although jelly wasn’t particularly known for being stable. And the last thing she wanted was for her legs to give out on her when Gavin was not nearby.

For all she knew she could knock over someone’s masterpiece, or she could topple into someone's palette and end up looking like a preschooler's finger painting project.

So instead she sat still, kicking her legs absently as she sipped her wine. Gavin’s sudden departure had distracted her, and she couldn’t seem to find her earlier focus. She needed him back beside her, she needed his voice to soothe the furious churn of her thoughts.

It felt like an eternity, and yet only a few moments passed before Gavin returned, a cardboard box in his hands.

“What’s that?” She tipped her head back, waiting for another kiss. He usually kissed her as he walked by, and she wanted one now more than ever. She’d missed him, and she wanted his attention now more than ever.

He did not disappoint, stooping down to kiss her cheek. But Rowan wasn’t entirely satiated. As he pulled away she turned her face to the side, staring at him expectantly.

It took Gavin all of five seconds to understand what she was trying to convey, and he chuckled as he leaned down once more to kiss her other cheek. And then he went the extra mile and brushed what could have been a chaste kiss to her lips, had he not gently sunk his teeth into her bottom lip.

She withheld a shriek, if only just, although she couldn’t entirely contain her delighted surprise. Instead, she squeaked, reaching for him even as he pulled away, practically beaming.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she whined, pouting as he returned to his seat, still grinning far too smugly.

“You didn’t give me a chance to.” He leaned forward, pinching her side. “You’re awfully demanding.”

She stuck her bottom lip out further, hoping it would persuade him to cave to her wants. “I wanted your attention.”

He chuckled. “And it’s yours. It’s always yours.”

She wrinkled her nose, flicking her gaze from the box in his hands to his face, then the box and then back to his face again.

Snorting, Gavin settled the box in her lap. “Take a look for yourself.”

Curiosity propelled her forward, taking hold of her arms and her hands as she unfolded the lid of the plain box he’d set in her lap. Delight soon rolled through her as she found cookies and brownies and one cupcake with bright pink frosting nestled within the box.”

She wiggled her shoulders, unable to contain the sudden excitement at such delicious looking treats. “Gavin, where did you get these?”

That self-satisfied grin was still curving across his face like a crescent moon, but in that moment Rowan found it utterly adorable. He was so proud of himself. She had the overwhelming urge to cup his face and squish his cheeks. She wanted to sink her teeth into the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw, the spot just above where his pulse fluttered.

“The PTA for one of the local elementary schools is hosting a bake-sale.”

She frowned. “At ten at night?”

He shrugged. “A lot of PTA members and parents from the school frequent this art centre. They figured they’d make more money from drunk adults with credit cards than fifth graders.”

She kicked her legs again, snorting. “It must be working.”

“It must be. They got me.”

She arched a brow. “Is that what you were talking about?”

His already flushed cheeks seemed to deepen in colour, nearly maroon. “It seems I’m an easy target. They knew I wouldn’t say no if I could buy some treats for my wife.”

Rowan had to cover her face to stifle the snorts of laughter trying to escape. It was surely rude to laugh at Gavin now, but it was hard not to.

Maybe she had drunk too much.

He pinched her side, smirking. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing!”

He pinched her again, clearly not buying her lie in the least. “Try again.”

She smacked his hand away, still giggling. “Okay, okay, you got me.”

“Well?” He tipped his head to the side, watching her expectantly.

Rowan paused, racking her brain for what just made her laugh.

“Rowan?”

She drew her shoulders up, wincing as she said “would you believe me if I said I don’t remember?”

Gavin paused too, staring at her for what felt like an eternity, with what was probably disbelief in his eyes. It was hard to tell as they glowed, light dancing in them like flames leaping and whirling in a never-ending ballet.

Then he was the one laughing, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as if that stifled his laughter in any way.

She gaped at him, frozen in shock as she tried to decide whether to pinch him or ignore him entirely.

Ignoring him didn’t seem to be an option though, not when the sound of his laughter reminded her of music. It was warm, reaching deep into her bones, curling around nerves and senses. She felt like she was being submerged, the sound sweet as sun-warmed honey.

But that meant she couldn’t pinch him either. So instead she sat there, trapped in his thrall until his shoulders stopped shaking and his hand fell away, a whisper of a smile remaining.

“If it helps,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper as if what he was about to say next could not be heard by any other ears. “I don’t remember either.”

She hummed, sitting back. The box of treats still perched on her lap, sprinkles spilling from the side of the cupcake and over the brownie, turning it into a bright, colourful mess. Just like Gavin, just like her.

“Well would you like to share a cookie?” She asked, holding up the box.

Sighing, Gavin gently closed the box. “We can have them when we get home. I think we’re a little too messy to have them now.”

She frowned, but then caught sight of Gavin’s hand covering hers. Greens and blues had muddied together into a brown that streaked across the back of his hand. Splotches of pink marred his wrist like a rash, and daisy yellow was caked around his nails.

Looking at her own hands she saw that they were no different. Bloody reds stained the lines of her palms, robin-egg blue swirled with white on the side of her thumb like eddying waters. Flecks of green along the inside of her forearm reminded her of helicopter seed pods scattered across the sidewalk in the early summer, when the trees stretched their branches wide, when the deep green leaves spread throughout the air, turning the skies into oceans of green.

“Hm.” She let Gavin pry the box from her hands as she flexed her fingers. “I hadn’t realized I’d gotten paint all over myself.”

“Not even when you stuck your hands in the paint and smeared it all over my face?”

She rolled her eyes, taking a long drink from her glass. “Well besides that.”

Gavin snorted. “I can’t believe you nearly forgot that. Not after you made me look like a clown.”

“I never said you were an ugly clown!”

“So you think I’d make a handsome clown?”

She huffed, nearly throwing her paintbrush at him. “You’re always handsome!”

“Alright, alright, I surrender.” Gavin lifted his hands, palms out, as though he really were surrendering. But she knew the crescent moon smile on his lips was one of victory. He’d teased her and he’d won.

“Just go back to your painting,” she grumbled, scowling at her own canvas.

“You mean you don’t want to hear about what happened at the firefighter’s car wash last month?”

Her ears perked up, and she turned back around, not caring that she was smudging black and violet and still-wet ivory. It wasn’t like this was a masterpiece anyways.

His brow arched and he leaned so close their noses bumped together. “Does that mean you do want to hear about what happened?”

“Obviously I want to hear about what happened.”

“Good.” He pressed a finger to her lips, shushing her gently. “But don’t speak a word of this to Veronica. She’ll kill me if she finds out I told anyone else.”

***

Somehow, although the logistics of it all escaped her, they both finished their final paintings.

Rowan snapped a photo of hers before moving it to the back alongside the other paintings to await varnishing. The instructor promised they could bring them home when they returned for their second class.

It wasn’t by any means what would be considered a good painting, but she did want to take a look at it once more with sober eyes. Show it to Gavin to see what she could work on when they returned. The class was meant to be fun, meant to get her outside and around new people so she didn’t sink into the mire of desolation yet again. But maybe she could learn new skills too. Maybe she would become good enough and confident enough to make something special for Gavin that was actually worth hanging on the wall.

Some of the women Rowan had spoken with asked to exchange numbers, talking over each other about book clubs and bake-sales and charity car washes and Thursday brunches when they all told their managers they had doctor’s appointments.

It all became a dull roar in Rowan’s ears, the alcohol muddling her mind, and exhaustion slowing her understanding until trying to decipher even the simplest of words seemed like a mental feat too great for her to conquer that night.

But she swapped phone numbers, promising to consider attending all the fun clubs and groups the women were in. They wanted to get to know her, wanted to know details about Gavin, giggling as they told her how scared they’d been at first when he’d begun taking some of the available classes.

“I’d nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw him in the corner of our pottery class,” someone said, laughing. “But he turned out to be such fun!”

Rowan nodded, sweeping her gaze around the classroom. Where was Gavin anyways? He’d mentioned needing to run to the bathroom before they headed out, but it had been awhile now, hadn’t it?

Perhaps it was all the wine, or perhaps it was because of how late it was, or some combination of both. But Rowan’s mind began to trip over itself, stumbling as it tried to come up with reasons for why he was still gone.

Maybe he’d drank too much, and he’d tripped and passed out in some dark hallway. Or maybe he’d gotten lost, confused from all the alcohol that was muddling his mind. Or maybe someone had taken the opportunity to steal him away, kidnapping her beloved husband while he was inebriated.

Or what if he’d been called into work? Could he even go when he’d drank so much? Or what if he’d been attacked by an evolver, or someone getting revenge for an arrest he’d made in the past?

Her heartbeat began to pick up, and she felt like she couldn’t draw air into her lungs. Where was he? Should she call the police? Eli? Hadn’t he put an airtag in one of Gavin’s jackets as a prank and just never retrieved it?

Before her heart could give out from the sudden self-inflicted strain, hands settled on her hips, pulling her back from the circle of chattering women.

“Hey,” Gavin murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Should we get out of here?”

She spun around, tears in her eyes, relief flooding her like a tsunami drowning an island. He was safe! He was here and he was safe!

He gaped for a moment as she threw herself into his arms, nuzzling her face against his neck.

“You’re back.”

He chuckled, stroking her hair. “I only went to the bathroom.”

“You were gone for so long.”

“It’s only been five minutes.”

She reeled back, glowering at him. “No it hasn’t.”

At least he had the good sense to blush, his already pink cheeks staining crimson now. He scratched at the back of his neck, looking away. “I might have gotten a little lost.”

She frowned. “I thought you knew this place like the back of your hand.”

He shrugged, not making eye contact anymore. “I got a little turned around. It was dark.”

Rowan didn’t hesitate to reach up and pinch his cheek, pouting as he stared at her, aghast.

“Don’t lie to me!” She huffed, pulling at his cheek harder. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

His blush raced down his throat, until he looked like he’d been dyed with rose petals and scarlet paint. “Not that much.

“Your face is all red.”

He smirked, pinching her cheek in return. “So is yours. How much have you had?”

“Answer the question, commander!” She felt rather proud of herself, egging him on using his official work title.

But Gavin was unperturbed, smiling wider. “You first, pumpkin. I could arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

At that she stuck her bottom lip out further, hoping he would cave first. “You would do that to me? Your beloved wife?”

He seemed to hesitate, releasing her cheek before stroking it gently. “You are.”

She beamed. “Then you have to do what I say.”

“And what’s that?”

She opened her mouth, but hesitated. She wasn’t really sure.

“Tell you what,” he said as the silence stretched on. “Let’s get home and then we can watch an episode of whatever you’d like.”

Excitement bubbled in her at that. “Really?”

“On one condition.”

Suspicion quickly drowned out her excitement, and she narrowed her eyes. That decision proved to be quite poor, as the world around her quickly turned blurry and she swayed on her feet, losing her balance although she stood still.

Maybe she had drunk just a little bit too much.

“You need to stop pinching my face.”

She gaped, releasing him immediately. She’d forgotten she’d still been tugging at his cheek. “Oh babey, I’m so sorry.”

He rubbed the place where her hand had been, although there was no ire in his eyes. He looked at her fondly, seeming content although she’d just been manhandling his face. “You don’t need to apologize, love. Although we should head home before we’re locked in here overnight.”

She let him take her hand then, drawing her from the room. And stepping past the threshold and into the chilly, dimly-lit hallway, she felt different. Like something had changed, and she had become lighter, had become better. And she knew it was all thanks to Gavin.

***

Getting home turned out to be tricky. They’d both drank too much to drive back, which meant they had to leave the car overnight.

They could have taken a cab, but Gavin insisted he could fly them home, and it was dark enough and late enough that no one would see them in the skies. But this turned out to be just as tricky, as they both lost sight of where they were once they were airborne, and had to land on the roofs of many houses to reorient themselves until finally they landed in their backyard.

Rowan tried teasing Gavin, telling him that they could have just taken a cab. But he was insistent that his way was still faster, and cheaper. And they hadn’t had to sit on sticky seats and pretend like neither of them were drunk.

Stumbling inside, Rowan pressed her palm to the wall while she struggled to get her shoes off. This was not a task that should be so hard, and yet she found herself struggling until Gavin motioned for her to sit and undid her laces for her.

“Is that better?” He asked, voice little more than a breath, although it was just them in the quiet shadows.

She nodded. “Better.”

He stood to turn the lights on, and as they flared to life Rowan found herself freezing, staring at the bright pink handprint she’d left on the wall.

“Oh no.”

Gavin crouched beside her, arms going to her waist to lift her up before he, too, froze. But he didn’t murmur a quiet curse or even laugh. He just stared at the handprint for a minute, then pressed a kiss to her brow.

“Hold on,” he said, leaving her on the floor in the entryway as he vanished.

“Gavin?” She was so confused she didn’t move, didn’t try to draw herself to her feet to make chase.

So instead she sat on the floor, the cold of the night slowly leeching into her skin. She was so heavy, although the leaden feeling was more from exhaustion than anything else. It was so late now, would they even have time to watch anything? Maybe if they hurried through showering, maybe. But that meant she’d have to stand up, and she wasn’t sure she even wanted to stand up.

Before Rowan could make up her mind about standing or remaining on the floor for eternity, Gavin returned, yellow paint smeared over his palm.

“What are you doing?” The question slipped from her lips before she even had a moment to process what was happening.

Gavin’s only response was to grin, pressing his paint-smeared hand against the wall next to the handprint she’d left behind.

“Gavin?”

He pulled his hand away, leaving a bright yellow handprint against the wall, stark against the dark blue they had chosen for the entryway. “Take a look.”

She giggled, cupping her cheek in her hand as she stared up at his handprint smeared next to hers on the wall. “It’s your hand.”

“Now there will be a little piece of us on the wall forever.” He crouched down, leaning against her. “What do you think?”

She felt a little like her brain was wrapped in a blanket, her thoughts struggling to claw their way out of the daze they were swaddled in. “I think your handprint is pretty.”

He snorted in laughter, bumping his nose against her cheek. “Anything else?”

“Well I think mine is a little pale in comparison.”

It was true. Whatever was on her hand must have been residue from their class. She hadn’t remembered to wash the paint from her hands as they’d left, too focused on Gavin and the box of treats and the fog in her head.

A bottle of pink acrylic paint appeared in his hand, although where he’d pulled it from she had no clue. Maybe he had a super secret second evol, one where he could pluck things from entirely different rooms and have them materialize right in the palm of his hand.

Or maybe it had been in his pocket and she just hadn’t seen him take it out.

“Where’d you get this?” She took the bottle from his hand, rolling it between her hands. It looked familiar, like the cheap paint they’d used when they were trying out a paint-by-numbers ages ago.

He shrugged. “I’ve just had it lying around. We have a whole collection of colours, but I thought you’d like pink best.”

She frowned, handing it back to him. “Why’d you bring it down?”

“I thought you might think your handprint was too pale, so you’d want to do a new one.”

Rowan blinked, part baffled and part utterly enchanted by her husband. He’d predicted what she would think before she’d even thought it, before he’d even put his own handprint against the wall.

His brow arched, and he nudged her gently. “Well? Would you like to make a new one?”

Rowan didn’t have to think as she stuck out her hand, bobbing her head furiously. She knew she wanted it as bright as Gavin’s against the wall, wanted it to match, to be a reminder that they were here for as long as the house stood.

He cradled her hand in his, uncapping the paint in his other hand and carefully squeezing out a quarter’s size of paint into her palm before smearing it all over.

“There, you’re ready to go.” He kissed her cheek again, and she could feel his smile against her skin. It made her warm, made her heart beat and her blood race and her mind muddle in a way no bubbling wine could ever do.

She stood, her legs shaky, pressing her palm over where she’d accidentally smacked it at first, putting her weight against her hand. She waited one second, two, three. Perhaps a whole minute before pulling away, smiling as the bright, bubblegum pink of her palm stared back at her.

“How does it look?” She danced on her toes, some of her exhaustion whisked away with the delight of seeing their two palm prints side-by-side. Just like they always were; side-by-side forever and ever.

“It looks perfect.” He stood, grasping her paint covered hand with his. “Everything is absolutely perfect.”

She leaned against him, the energy rushing through her moments before just as quickly spilling away. She was tired, and she was cold. She wanted him to lift her up in his arms and hold her for the rest of the night. Perhaps the rest of their forever.

“I mean, we are covered in paint. I’m not sure if that’s perfect.” She yawned, her eyes heavy even as she spoke. She could barely keep them open, barely stay upright on her own feet.

She felt as Gavin leaned over, nuzzling against the side of her head. “I have an easy solution for that.”

And then she was weightless, her legs swept out from under her, the solid warmth of Gavin’s chest pressing against her side as he cradled her in his arms.

Her eyes flew open, and she gaped as Gavin chuckled, the sound reverberating through her bones as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“What are you doing?!”

He sighed, carrying her up the stairs towards their room. “I thought you might want to be carried.”

Leaning her head on his shoulder, Rowan smiled, breathing in the smell of his skin and the detergent they used and the faint smell of paint. She felt warm, she felt safe. Contentment was being cradled in his arms, was being held so close she could feel his heart beating in tandem with her own. “I did.”

“I wanted to hold you, too,” he admitted, looking a little sheepish as his cheeks glowed with colour.

She closed her eyes, the gentle sway of his movements lulling her to sleep. She really could sink into oblivion in his arms, just like this. She could slip away into her dreams, so long as she stayed warm and safe in his arms…

“Hey,” he murmured, rousing her before she could completely slip away. “Stay with me. We still have to shower, and I promised you we could watch a show.”

Rowan yawned again, wrapping her arms around his neck in an attempt to pull herself closer. “You did.”

“So you can’t fall asleep yet.”

She whined, pressing her face against his neck. “Will you shower with me?”

He chuckled, the arms around her growing tighter. “For you, love? I’d do anything.”

Rowan sighed, thankful that he was in her life, thankful that she was in his. “I don’t wanna let go.”

“You don’t have to.”

She cracked an eye open as he flicked on the bathroom light, the LEDs so bright they were nearly painful after the shadows of the entryway and the soft lighting in the halls. “I mean I probably will. In the shower. I can’t imagine it’s easy to wash the paint away if I’m holding onto you the entire time.”

“But I’ll make sure I hold you again as soon as we’re done,” he promised, setting her down on the fluffy rug next to the shower. “How does that sound?”

She swayed on her feet, falling against his chest. She really didn’t want to be away from him; she felt so cold without his arms around her. And she was tired and her mind was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Gavin chuckled, steadying her. “Pumpkin? Are you still with me?”

“I’m with you.” She huffed a long, tired sigh. “That does sound nice.”

“Good,” he murmured, squeezing her hands. “Now lift your arms and I can help get you out of your clothes. They’re covered in paint.”

She snorted, lifting her arms as he helped to peel away her dirty clothes. “I suppose that would help the cleaning process.”

“Just a bit.”

Gavin made quick work of their clothes, and then he let her press against his side while he turned the water on, checking it until it was the perfect temperature.

“Boiling,” he announced, helping her to step over the lip of the tub lest she trip like the last time she was drunk. “Just how you like it.”

She giggled, squeezing his hands as he followed behind her. “If I’m not red as a lobster afterwards, then what’s the point?”

“Getting clean, maybe?”

She shook her head. “It’s about the experience, babey.”

He arched a brow as he drew the curtain closed. “And the experience is being boiled like a lobster?”

“Yes! Exactly!”

All Gavin could do was laugh, clutching her against his chest for a long while. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Keep holding me like this?”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “We need to get cleaned up. And then I’ll hold you for as long as you like.”

And Gavin did stay true to his word. He helped her to wash, massaging shampoo into her hair while she ran a washcloth over his shoulders and down his arms, until they were both covered in soaps and suds and had to help each other rinse. They didn’t emerge until the water no longer ran with the rainbow of colours of paint that had been smeared all over them, and their bodies were matching shades of bright red from the heat of the steaming shower.

He wrapped Rowan in a fluffy towel, carrying her into their room to dry her off and help her change.

“You know I can get myself dressed,” she teased, balancing on one foot, gripping his shoulders with both hands.

“I know, but I like to help.” He drew up her pajama bottoms, gooseflesh racing across her arms as he brushed his lips to her stomach before handing her a sleep shirt.

Once they were both washed and dressed, they crawled into bed, Rowan’s laptop balanced on Gavin’s lap as he dutifully scrolled through an unending list of shows and movies to the show she wanted to watch.

“Have we seen this one before?” He asked, leaning forward as Rowan fussed with the pillows, trying to prop them up so they could comfortably lean back against them.

“No, although by this season all of the episodes kind of feel like repeats of earlier seasons.” She smacked the pillow directly behind her before shimmying backwards, allowing herself a satisfied smile. “But it’s still fun! And I still wanna watch it.”

“Then we can watch it,” he assured, wrapping an arm around her waist to draw her in close before hitting play on the episode.

Gavin was generous, and they ended up watching two full episodes, each nearly an hour in length. They chattered as the melodrama unfolded on the screen, about the class, about what was happening in the show, about whether Gavin would read the book series Rowan was trying to get him to read.

By the third episode, Rowan could barely keep her eyes open. But something deep in her bones made her resist wanting to fall asleep. If she fell asleep then the day would be over, and perhaps the scraps of contentment she’d managed to grasp would slip through her fingers. And perhaps she would wake up and no longer be comfortable, no longer be warm and pleased with herself.

“Looks like you’re falling asleep,” Gavin teased, smoothing back her hair. “Maybe it’s time we went to bed, pumpkin.”

She pouted, trying to force her eyes open wider. “No, I don’t want to sleep yet.”

“Rowan, it’s late. It’s been a big day, maybe you should sleep.”

She shook her head. She made a halfhearted attempt to pull away from his arms, but he only drew her close once more and instead she slumped pathetically against his side. “I don’t want to. What if I’m sad again tomorrow?”

He sighed, pressing pause on the show and turning to face her fully. “Rowan, do you feel better?”

She pouted more, her bottom lip trembling. “Maybe a little.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It reminded her of a crescent moon, of the gentle silver light that washed across the world as the moon rose. “Do you feel a little happier?”

“Maybe a bit.”

He nodded, his smile growing. If his smile was the moon, then his eyes were the stars. They were galaxies of stars, lighting up the darkness of the night. She felt as though if she were to make a wish on their light, it would certainly come true.

“Do you think that you should trust me, then? Trust that I’ll make sure things will be better?”

She furrowed her brow, glaring down at a wrinkle in the quilt. “I guess.”

He clicked his tongue. “Rowan.”

She looked up, still pouting. “Okay. I’ll trust you.”

He cupped her cheek, stroking her bottom lip with his thumb. “Then trust that I’ll make sure tomorrow is alright. But you need to sleep, your body needs to rest.”

She wilted, feeling any resolve she had vanishing in the wake of his gentle ministrations. He continued to stroke her bottom lip until her pout was gone, and then he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, smiling against them.

“Please trust me from, love.”

“Okay,” she said, yielding to him. She did trust him, she always trusted him. But letting go of the few good feelings she had in her heart was hard. She never knew what the next day held; if it would be the same, if it would be better, if it would be worse. It made her scared of sleeping, of relinquishing her hold on the frayed strings of contentment she’d managed to weave that evening.

But she had to trust Gavin. He always did his best to help her. And hadn’t that evening been alright? Hadn’t she felt even the tiniest bit better at times?

“Okay,” she said again, new determination blooming in her heart like a flower in the spring. She would trust him, and she would let herself hope, just the tiniest littlest bit, that tomorrow she would be okay. That maybe tomorrow would be better. Because she had Gavin beside her, and she loved him, and he loved her, and everything was better with him.

He smiled, pressing another kiss to her lips. “Okay. Let me just put the computer away.”

He made quick work of folding up the laptop and setting it on the desk in the corner. Then he went around the room, shutting off all the lights until they were cloaked in darkness, the only light in the room the quicksilver moonlight staining the curtains drawn over the window.

She felt the bed shift as Gavin returned, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw as he held out his arms to her, beckoning her close.

“Come here,” he murmured, folding her into his arms before pulling the blankets up around them.

“There.” He brushed his lips against the top of her head. “Are you comfy?”

She nodded, pressing her face against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I am.”

“And you trust me?” There was a note of teasing in his voice now, and it made her smile.

“I do.”

“Good. Then you’ll trust that I’ll keep you safe all night?”

She nodded, burrowing closer. “I do, babey. I promise.”

He chuckled, holding her tighter. She felt as he rested his chin on the top of her head, his breath tangling in her hair as he sighed. “I love you, Rowan. I promise I’ll always try to make you happy and keep you safe.”

“I love you too, Gavin. I want you to be happy and safe too.”

He rubbed small circles against her back, the steady motion slowly quieting her mind, lulling her to sleep.

“I’m safe so long as I’m with you,” he murmured, his voice feather-soft. “And I’m always happy, as long as you are too.”

“But I want you to be happy even when I’m not.”

He shushed her gently, brushing another kiss to her head. “I’m always happy with you, Rowan. But I want you to be happy, too.” He tucked her back beneath his chin, humming. “Now sleep. Let me worry about tomorrow.”

So she closed her eyes, nestling as close as she could against him, and she let the steady beat of his heart and the unwavering warmth of his love soothe the last worries that had swirled through her mind, until she slipped away into a warm, peaceful dream. Of bright blue skies and smudged wildflowers in every colour of the rainbow and electric green forests, and Gavin’s arms wrapped around her, reminding her that she was safe, and loved, and that everything would be okay.

#mlqc gavin #mlqc bai qi #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #bai qi #gavin x mc #gavin x oc #bai qi x mc #star kissed winds

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boldlyvoid · 3 years

Text

ain't it fun?

summary: reader just needs an NA meeting before they have a meltdown, they end up with the best friend they could ever make.

warnings: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Trauma Bonding, narcotics anonymous meetings, Strangers to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, meet-cute,

word count: 3.3K

a/n: this is completely self-indulgent and overly personal but i def recommend writing why spencer would love you as a form of therapy

read on ao3

In the blink of an eye, she was up and racing around her apartment. Her mental health was like a teeter-totter, and right now she was on her way to the top. Mania was creeping in; changing from just anxiety-induced butterflied to the feeling that she could jump off a building and survive.

That was never a good time. All she wanted was to either spend all her money, fuck a stranger or get high as shit. It made her legs jumpy and her ears ring and she couldn’t take it anymore. It was all too much.

She threw on a sweater and jeans, her hair was up in a butterfly clip and she hastily threw on her fanny pack full of everything she needed as well as a big coat, and she then left her apartment. She got to the stairs before realizing she actually needed to lock the door.

Her hands shook and she tried to slide the key into the lock, dropping them as her neighbour rushed out of the room and startled her. “Sorry,” she heard him say.

She picked up her keys and turned to look at him, “can you help me? I can’t seem to stop shaking,” she asked as she held her keys towards him.

“yes, sure,” he rushed the words out as he walked towards her, only looking at the keys, never in her eyes. But that was okay, she was never a big fan of eye contact.

He placed her keys back in her hand and took a step back, “are you alright?” he asked.

“No,” she said honestly. “I’m going to find an NA meeting.”

“Do you have one in the area? I haven’t seen you around before?”

She shook her head, surprised that he was also an addict, he didn’t look like he’s ever even smoked weed.

“No, I moved in only a little while ago on a whim, but I think it’s time I got some support,” she said as they started to walk down the hallway together. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Spencer,” he smiled softly. “I’m going to a meeting right now, actually, if you’d like to come? I won’t exactly be anonymous to you, but it’s a good one to go to if you just need one to fill the void until you find your preferred group.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I need.” She smiled at him this time as he held the door open for her. “So, have you lived around here for long?”

“For about a few years now.”

“The building is good then? I was a little hesitant but I needed to get away,” she said, this time holding the door for them to leave the building and turn down the street towards where she knew the subway was.

The moon should be out, she looked up but only sees buildings. It was the one thing she missed the most about not being in the country; seeing the stars and feeling like there was a reason to it all.

“Are you running from someone?” He asks as they start the walk down to the meeting.

“Myself,” she said softly. “I’m on disability and don’t drive and I lived in the middle of nowhere with my parents, well into my 20’s, and I needed a change so my parents surprised me by saving up money for a few month's rent and told me to follow my heart.”

“And you picked Virginia?”

“I stayed in Virginia, just moved into the city. I watch a lot of murder documentaries in my free time, I thought being near Quantico would introduce me to some interesting people, but I have yet to meet anyone from the FBI at all.”

She laughed to herself at how dumb it was that she wanted to meet a profiler like Holden Ford from Mindhunter, “either they are all very good at keeping their jobs secret or Virginia is a very large and densely populated area with a low percentage of FBI agents.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“How long have you lived here?” he asked, slowing as he walked so he could look at her.

“2 months.”

“It took you two months to meet the FBI agent across the hall from you.”

“You’re kidding?” she said, stopping on the sidewalk abruptly. “I knew that apartment was calling me for a reason.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but, are you really just coincidentally my neighbour or are you secretly spying on me because you have an evil plan to kill me and my co-workers?” he's completely serious, it's almost scary.

“No offence, Spence, but for a supposed FBI agent that’s a dumb question to ask,” she said, pointing finger guns at him, “you don’t think I’ll give up my cover that easily? Do you?”

He points a finger gun back at her, “technically, I’m a doctor.”

The two of them narrow their eyes at each other, slowly walking in a circle, still facing each other with their make-believe guns trying to hold back smirks. She lowered her ‘weapon’ first. “It’s okay, doctor, don’t worry. I’m not a spy just an idiot with an imagination.”

He giggled softly, “I’ve never felt this comfortable with someone this fast.”

“Well, you are with criminals a lot, right? That would be alarming if you bonded with them,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his as they walked. “But I feel the same. I actually haven’t talked to someone in person in forever.”

“No?”

“I do most of my work and socializing online,” She felt embarrassed, but in today’s day and age, it wasn’t that weird. “I’m not very good outside or with people.”

“If it wasn’t for my job, I don’t think I would go outside very often either. My co-workers are my only friends, they’re more like my family actually.”

“That’s so wonderful to hear, found family is very important,” her smile disappeared as she thought about how alone she was. “Um, can I ask what it is you do at the FBI?”

“Behavioural Analysis.”

“Holy shit," she gasps, knowing way too much about that unit thanks to fucking Netflix, "that’s what the BSU became right? Do you work with the really fucked up shit?” she asked softly.

He laughed, “oh yeah, I really do.”

“Do you share a lot at NA?”

“Kinda, I tend to ramble about facts when I’m nervous so sometimes my short talk becomes more like a ted talk and what was supposed to be just me saying I haven’t relapsed on Dilaudid becomes a lesson on how the human brain works,” he explained, rambling just like he said he would.

She nodded along as he spoke, “funny, that was also my drug of choice.”

“Liquid or oral?”

“Oral. I was given it after I had my appendix out when I was 17. They get you started real young now, big pharma has its hand in everyone's pocket,” she presses her lips together awkwardly, “it was rough.”

He hummed in agreement. “I was held captive by an unsub with multiple personalities. One personality drugged me till I died and the other one brought me back.”

“Spencer, Holy fuck?” she stopped and stared at him so incredibly concerned for someone who just met him. She reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder and looked him in the eyes, “I know I barely know you, but if you need someone to talk I’m literally always across the hall.”

“Thank you,” he smiled softly as he looked back into her eyes. “The meeting is right there across the street, do you want a coffee first? The place beside it is amazing.”

She nodded and he took her hand, looking both ways before J-walking across the street with her to buy her a coffee and a snack. Maybe that would help her stop shaking, he looked like he worried about her and she wasn't used to that at all.

He didn’t talk at this meeting, he sat in the chair beside the group leader, she sat down across from him in the circle so she could focus. When the floor was opened up to new members, Y/N stood at the first chance she got.

“Hi I’m Y/N,” she said, to which she was welcomed by the crowd.

“I’m new to the city and looking for a new home group, not sure if I’ll stay here because I know Spencer outside of here but I really just needed to come today.”

She takes a deep breath as she thinks of how to start it, opting to just explain it and let the rant go where it may.

“I’ve never lived alone before and it’s incredibly hard to occupy my time without drugs. I still smoke weed to help me sleep at night but my addiction is with Dilaudid and then Benadryl a little after having surgery in high school. I don’t know if it’s my trauma, my disability or my Autism, maybe it’s my OCD, I really don’t know, but I just feel so useless and alone and boring and lonely, the drugs used to help but they don’t anymore and I really just don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

They all looked like they understood, small smiles grew all around the circle as she took a lookout at the crowd, “Thank you for letting me get that out.”

Everyone clapped as she sat back down and wiped a tear off her cheek.

The meeting ended shortly after that, Spencer walked from his seat in the circle to where she was sitting, reaching a hand out to help her to her feet. “For the record, I think you’re funny, smart, kind and pretty. And you don’t have to be alone anymore if you don’t want to be.”

She slapped her hand into his and stood up with purpose, “Did we just become best friends?”

“I believe we did.”

The walk home was much like the walk there. They traded facts, they flirted, they laughed, she pushed him into a pole at one point, by accident as they laughed. The two of them stopping to sit at a bus bench, laughing so hard she felt like she would pee her pants right then and there.

By the time they were back on their floor, it was well after midnight. “I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to meetings with you.”

“Oh, why?” he looked disappointed.

“Isn’t rule 13 that you’re not supposed to want to sleep with your group members when you’re healing?”

“Wanting to and doing it are two very different things,” he corrected her as he waited at his own door.

She smirked, “you’re right. Still don’t think I can go back with you, however.”

“I’ll probably have a case tomorrow, they normally take me out of town for at least a week, but when I get back, can I see you?” he asked lightly.

“Knock on my door when you get back,” she said before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “See you.”

“Bye.”

They waved from their doors before departing, excited by something that felt better than drugs.

—

120 hours later there was a light knock at her door, she knows exactly how long it’s been because she’s been counting and looking out the door at every noise for the whole time he’s been gone. Waiting for him like a wife whose husband went off to war, not knowing when their next correspondence would be.

“Coming,” she called, stopping to fluff her hair and straighten her glasses before she opened the door.

“Spencer!”

“Hi,” he said softly.

She took a moment to look him over, a little in shock at what she saw. He was in a plain t-shirt and track pants, he had not one, but two black eyes, bandages on his brow bone and scrapes all along his arms.

“Are you okay?”

“You should see the other guy,” he giggled softly, rolling his eyes.

“Come in, let’s sit you down.” She worried, taking him by the elbow and helping him inside.

“I’m fine, really, I’m used to this.”

“Well I’m not,” she reminded him with a nervous pout, “am I allowed to ask about it or is it classified stuff?”

He sat on the couch and patted a seat beside himself so she would join him. He rested his arm against the back of the chair so that she could slide in beside him.

“Did you hear about the child abduction in Tampa?”

“Yeah? The two boys?”

“I was trying to talk the unsub down and he dropped the gun but he grabbed me as I turned him around and punched me in the face and we fell into the ditch and I luckily managed to flip over him and get his hands behind his back and cuffed faster than I ever have before.”

“You’re amazing,” she whispered.

He laughed, “if I really was, I would have waited for backup before talking to the guy.”

“I’ve always wanted to help other people get justice but not being able to go to school makes it hard to get a job doing anything meaningful,” she whispered, ashamed of the fact she wasn’t successful like most people her age.

“Our technical analyst was hired because she was an amazing hacker, they will hire anyone who is valuable.” He shrugs and watches her face light up at the idea.

“You know what, we have meetings all this week unless there’s an emergency, if you want I can show you around the office?” he offered. “It’s not illegal for you to pass by what I’m working on and notice something I missed.”

“Spencer, I don’t even know your last name and you’re inviting me to your government job? When just last week you asked, not so jokingly, if I was a secret agent trying to kill you and that you’ve been kidnapped before?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid, and what can I say?” he said shyly, “I’m trying to find excuses to see you smile all the time.”

She placed her hand on his cheek, the tips of her fingers lightly resting on his purple and yellow bruised eyes. She leaned in slowly and kissed him on the lips, so gently as if she’s afraid he’ll break or turn into a frog… he was too good to be true.

“You can see me whenever you want, Doctor Spencer Reid…”

He kissed her again, letting his hands roam her back and she trailed her free hand down his chest. She pulled back slightly to throw a leg over him carefully and sit in his lap. Holding his face in her hands now, she peppered kisses over his bruised face.

She stopped to look at him, still holding his face in her hands as his hands now rested on her hips. “I really like you, Spencer.”

“Really?”

She looks at him carefully, analyzing his response and seeing the hurt that rested deep inside of him, “I take it you’re like me?”

“What does that mean?”

“You try to not get too involved with people because no one has ever shown you true genuine interest or love, and you never think you’ll find it anyway so you push away all small acts of kindness, thinking it’s friendly because then you can’t get your hope up, just to have that person drop them?” she explained herself in a whisper.

He nodded, “you get it.”

She kissed his lips again, and then over his cheek and up to his ear, “I do.”

He looked extra sad when she pulled away, she just held his face gently as she mirrored his puppy dog eyes. Communicating with their eyes, she knew he was okay and he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so she smiled.

“Want to watch a movie?” She asks softly.

He nods, looking behind her to see she doesn’t have a tv in the living room. “How?”

“In my room, the TV is on my dresser if you don’t mind sitting in my bed?”

He shakes his head in a simple no, picking her up and taking her to her room. He knew where it was purely because her apartment was just his but backwards. She laughs, holding onto him tight as she rests her head on his shoulder.

He sets her down gently, watching her move up to the headboard and wait for him. They got under the blankets and she found the remote in the sheet before she cuddled into him.

“You’re really cuddly,” she complimented him as he wrapped an arm around her and held her close. He kissed the top of her head as a thank you.

“I think I’m going to end up falling in love with you, Spencer Reid,” she whispers the words, afraid of them more than his response.

“I beat you to it,” he whispers right back.

She shoots up, turning to look at him with surprise. “How?”

He looks at her like she grew two heads, “what do you mean how?”

“How did you fall in love with me? You don’t even know me?” She’s so confused, no one has ever loved her before and it’s a lot to take in.

“Y/N…” his face drops, his heart physically breaks in front of her. “I don’t know you, you're right. Not all of you, at least. I’m sure you have your hidden doors and locked cupboards but from the outside, I see you’re so beautiful, you’re radiant… your mind is lovely. You’re so kind, you’re so brave, you’re everything I wish I could be as charismatically as you are.”

She’s just swallowing over and over as she shakes her head and breathes through her nose, processing it. She’s breathing deeply then, staring off and she feels like she’s having a new kind of panic attack. A happier one, somehow?

“I don’t like myself, but if you like me I guess I must be pretty nice,” she smiles, accepting his praise and believing him. “Yeah. Thank you, Spencer.”

He smiles then, it’s cute and press-lipped and she swears he almost has dimples. His eyes are like honey and his lips are like roses. She leans in, kissing him and reaching a hand back to cup the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t know it, but he’s the first person she’s kissed in a few years. They’re soft, peck after peck as they hold each other softly, eyes open as they watch each other experience the happiness of finding someone good, finally.

“I uh, I wanted to tell you I’m almost exactly everything you described yourself as in the meeting,” he whispers against her lips, the air touching her skin gently as she absorbs the words.

“What part? My diagnosis or my self-hatred?” She smiles, okay with either really.

“Almost both, I’m pretty hard to be around.”

She shakes her head, “I invited you in for a movie, not a pity party. You can tell me everything you hate right now and then we should just share the good parts okay? Brag about yourself. Tell me what you’re proud of.”

She was really serious, keeping a stern look on her face as she spoke. He nodded, “I’m anxious all the time, I’m always worried because I’ve never had anyone to worry about me. I don’t know how to be a real person really, all I do is drink coffee and solve crimes and I barely sleep. And the only time I was relaxed and okay is when I was on drugs.”

She nodded, “it fucking sucks, doesn’t it? Like why did we get stuck like this, I don't care about peaking in high school but didn’t we deserve some kind of love and support? I’ve never understood if souls and shit are real, why did mine pick this terrible meat suit and awful traumatic path?”

She’s crying because she’s angry and because she’s never said it to anyone before. He cries because she understands. She truly knows.

“I love you,” he announces. “Just because of that.”

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#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Wound

@kawaiijohn

It didn’t take Clockwork long to find him, but any time was too much time. It shouldn’t have taken so much time. But—

Clockwork strained against the limitations placed on him, against the bonds of linear time, the obligations of his position. But they held fast. He wasn’t fast enough. It was inexcusable.

Still. He found him. Found Daniel.

The boy, the child, was wedged in a tiny corner made by three walls meeting at acute angles in the maze of stairs, walls, and other building fragments not far from the Fenton Portal. It wasn’t exactly a secure place, but considering the child’s state of mind, it must have seemed attractive.

Clockwork stopped some distance away, cautious of coming too close to Daniel and frightening him. Danny stared at him with huge, glowing green eyes.

They would have been more striking, if his whole body wasn’t smeared with ectoplasm of the same shade.

“Daniel,” started Clockwork.

Daniel’s breath, already shallow, hitched, and he curled deeper into the corner. Clockwork frowned, but drifted backward, trying to give Daniel the space he needed.

Clockwork wanted little more than to sweep over and snatch Daniel up, bring him somewhere safe to heal. But considering what had happened to him… Clockwork could see that such a course of action would only lead to disaster and pain.

He settled on the closest thing this place had to a floor and coiled his tail underneath him, prepared to be patient. He had to be patient.

Daniel made a sound that made Clockwork’s core ache. It wasn’t a natural sound for a young ghost, all discordant and broken, keening around the injury in his core. It was a sound of fear. Fear of Clockwork.

Clockwork couldn’t blame him. After all, Daniel didn’t remember him. Couldn’t, with that injury.

The core was a ghost’s brain, and Daniel had taken a significant blow to his. They were lucky that the damage was relatively minor. Temporary amnesia, and, perhaps, a slight headache when trying to recall early human memories while in ghost form, would be the most troubling of the side effects.

As for the main effect, the wound that cut across his chest… It would heal, given proper care, which Daniel would receive if he let Clockwork near him.

Which he might not, considering the amnesia.

Clockwork closed his eyes and focused on projecting calm, safety. Daniel may be injured and, not to put to fine a point on it, terrified, but he was a child ghost. They responded to things like that.

Sure enough, Daniel’s panicked breathing slowed to a more reasonable rate. He no longer looked like he was about to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Clockwork could only hope that was because he was calming down, not because the wound was taking its toll.

“Who are you?” croaked Daniel, finally.

“My name is Clockwork,” he replied, relieved, “I would like to help you, if you will allow me to do so, Daniel.”

He could practically see the gears in Daniel’s head turning, processing, weighing action against action, risk of trust against the still-dripping wound in his chest.

“Daniel… is that…”

“It’s your name,” said Clockwork.

“You know me?”

“I do.”

More processing. Clockwork knew he was fortunate that Daniel got a good look at the ghost who had done this to him, otherwise he would likely be even more wary, more suspicious.

“Okay,” said Daniel, finally.

“Alright,” said Clockwork. “I will need to take you to my lair.” He drifted slightly closer, and Daniel began to shake his head vigorously. Clockwork stopped.

“Not going anywhere,” he said, beginning to pant by the last word.

Clockwork blinked, disappointed, but nodded. “I can see what I can do here,” he offered.

Daniel hesitated, then nodded. Clockwork approached slowly, giving Daniel ample opportunity to change his mind.

Up close, the wound was gruesome. Leaking ectoplasm and bubbling. It seemed that one of Daniel’s lungs had been nicked, and it was a good thing that he didn’t need oxygen in this form. Clockwork carefully peeled first Daniel’s hands and then the fabric of his torn jumpsuit away from the gash. Daniel whined pitifully, but did not stop Clockwork, or lash out, which was almost more than he expected.

A ghost with an exposed core was extremely vulnerable. After filling one’s Obsessions, the instinct to protect one’s core was often cited as the next strongest.

Clockwork clicked his tongue, and with a flick of his fingers summoned a set of first aid supplies. Daniel had tensed again at the motion, but visibly forced himself to relax when he saw what Clockwork had brought.

“You’re doing very well,” soothed Clockwork. “I need to clean your wound and bind it. It may hurt.”

Daniel nodded curtly.

“I do have access to painkillers.”

Daniel shook his head just as curtly. “Just do it,” he said.

Demonstrating pain tolerance that broke Clockwork’s metaphorical heart, Daniel did not scream while Clockwork disinfected (Daniel was still part human, after all) and dressed the wound. He did start keening, deep in his throat, when Clockwork packed the wound with an ectoplasm rich gel designed to help ghosts heal more quickly, and halfway through Clockwork binding the wound, he started to shake, fine tremors running down his limbs.

By the time Clockwork had done what he could in this environment, Daniel was clearly exhausted and visibly fighting sleep. Clockwork waited, patiently. Daniel did not endeavor to drive him off.

After a few minutes, Daniel’s features smoothed into sleep. Clockwork eased the younger ghost into his arms and called up one of his portals, careful not to jostle Daniel further.

Daniel’s recovery would go much more smoothly in the clocktower.

He (Daniel?) woke up all at once with no idea where he was.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. He was in a bed. And there were clocks. And the walls were purple.

That was about where his idea of where he was ran out. So. Not a lot to go on. He tried to sit up, only to have agony rip through what felt like his very soul, and instead rolled over and curled up, trying not to make too much noise, because whatever had hurt him had to be nearby, looking for him, trying to finish what it had started, and he was so helpless, and—

Wait. No. He’d gotten away. Then that other ghost, Clockwork, had helped him, and Danny had…

What? Passed out?

That was embarrassing. Also troubling, because that seemed to imply that Clockwork had brought him here, and Danny wasn’t at all sure of the ghost’s intentions.

He had helped, sure, but how had he known that he (Daniel? The name sounded right, but… not quite) needed help in the first place? It was suspicious.

The fact that he couldn’t remember anything about himself or what he’d been doing before being almost eviscerated made the situation all the more stressful.

He took a deep breath, ignoring how much it hurt. Staying here, tangled in the sheets, would not help him. Slowly, careful of his chest, he extracted himself.

His eyes met Clockwork’s. He froze.

“Hello, Daniel,” said the ghost, shifting smoothly from one age to another. “How do you feel?”

He chewed on his lower lip. “Better?” he answered, uncertainly.

Clockwork smiled gently. “I’m glad. Are you hungry?”

“No,” he said, after a moment’s thought.

Clockwork nodded. “Are you in any pain?”

“No. I’m fine. I think I should go, now.”

Clockwork floated in front of him, blocking his path. “Daniel,” he said, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, “you need to take care of yourself better than that. Give yourself time to heal. Do you even remember anything, yet?”

He forced down his first, knee-jerk response, which was something along the lines of ‘how do you know that’ and instead said, “Yeah, yep, remember everything. It’s all peachy-keen.”

Clockwork fixed him with such a look of disappointment that he could almost physically feel the weight of it. He looked away, trying to suppress the feelings that rose up inside him.

“If you go slowly,” said Clockwork, voice kind and gentle. “I can show you around my lair. I know you will feel restive, trying to stay in bed. There are things here that may interest you.”

“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”

Internally, he resolved to escape as soon as possible.

#danny phantom #phic phight #clockwork #danny fenton #phic phight 2021

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sunaswife · 3 years

Text

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖍𝖎𝖒

Shigaraki X f! Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, brainwashed/ programmed reader, implied kidnapping, Dom/sub, use of the word ‘pet’ and ‘master’, first time sex, uh..does this count as yandere..? Idk lol

🔪: this is like my second time writing smut so I’m sorry if it’s bad 🙇‍♀️ plz don’t spank me. N E Wayz I dedicate this fic to @aoi-turtle 🖤 and Any other shiggy whores out there

Edit: I FORGOT TO TAG @dinablossom and @toworuu IM SO SORRY BSVAKAGSJA

Summary: Imagine being programmed to be the leagues healer but also Shigaraki’s little cum bucket

♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎

“Master what is the meaning of this.” Shigaraki looked at the television screen as he scratched his neck. “I took her quirk and made it a thousand times better.” He said simply. “Tomura shigaraki where should I place her?” Kurogiri asked. “Anywhere. I don’t care. I just don’t understand why you brought a stupid hero here.” He said annoyed.

“Now now—“ “Shut up and put her somewhere out of my sight!” Tomura demanded and Kurogiri sighed and carried your body to the spare room by shigaraki’s private quarters. You looked dead, you were exhausted, traumatized, in shock.

You were frozen. Your eyes stayed open, unblinking as you stared at the ceiling. It looked as if you were dead. But your body is warm and you were breathing, you’re alive and you’ll recover quick. Thanks to the quirk All for One fixed for you.

Dabi smirked at your ruined form. Spinner hid his rosy cheeks, you were a cute one. Toga was excited to have another girl in the league she talked with Twice about all the fun things you two could do together. Whether it be painting your nails, doing your hair, torturing someone, or making them bleed. She was excited.

“What’s so good about her quirk that you needed it.” Shigaraki asked. “It’s come to my attention that the league has been missing an important puzzle piece.” He started off. “Yeah? What’s that?” The light blue haired man asked. He was beyond ticked off to have a hero here. “She’s not a hero. She was training under UA’s school nurse. But she fell into the hero course for recovery and first aid training.” He said and everyone stayed silent and patiently listened to the brain behind the league.

“Her quirk is pyrokinetic regeneration. She manipulates fire with the energy of the person who needs healing and together she heals with so called fire. Her quirk was small, only a few cuts a bruises here and there could she heal. But I added cell regeneration so she can even fix up deep wounds that could need surgery in a matter of days instead of months.”

“Sounds amazing! No she could use her fire against us!” Twice said and Toga nodded. “She won’t. Her fire doesn’t burn unless you’re hurt.” Kurogiri returned. “But she’s still a hero brat so wouldn’t she try to resist?” Dabi asked. “I don’t know but let me try and see!” Toga giggled and pulled out a knife she easily slit her wrist and skipped her way to your new room.

Out of curiosity the other members followed suit. Shigaraki first, he wanted to see if you were truly useful if not then he’d disintegrate you right here and now. “Hi hi new friend! My name is Toga!” The psychotic girl giggle as her blood dripped all over the floor. You looked up slowly from your spot on the bed. “H-hi...T-toga..” your voice was low. “Kurogiri Can you bring her some water?” Toga asked and he left and came back in the blink of an eye.

Your hands were shaking for the cup of water but Toga held it back, away from you. “If you want the water then heal my wrist first.” She said sweetly with a giggle. “Heal your wrist?” You whispered and she nodded. “O-okay..” you stuttered and you slowly removed the blanket from your lap. You stood up with wobbly legs to go to the girl but you fell. The chain on your ankle pulled you back. You winced and looked at her, pleading for her to come to you. She asked if you were okay and when you responded she shoved her bloody arm to your face. “Take a deep breath. This may sting...” you started and a small green flame came upon your hand. You rubbed the flame over both of your hands like you were putting on lotion, finally when the flames covered both hands you pressed hard on her wrist. She winced, “ow ow ow.” She whimpered, you removed your hands and everyone stared at the flame around her whole wrist. “Give it thirty seconds....or not...” you said as you stared wide eyed at her already healed cut. It was barley a touch and it’s gone now. “Wow. No scar!” She giggled and turned to show the guys. “Wow stab me next, please don’t or else I’ll bite ya!” Twice said and you reached for the water. “Interesting.” Shigaraki mumbled with a small squint. Kurogiri looked over and hoped he wouldn’t do anything bad to you.

“Shows over. She needs her rest.” Kurogiri said and everyone left one by one. Toga gave her a hug and wished for you both to be the best of friends and she skipped away. “Tomura Shigaraki. What are you thinking?” Kurogiri asked as Shigaraki began to walk into your room. “Nothing that concerns you.” He spat and slammed the door. Kurogiri sighed but returned to the bar nonetheless.

“Do you know who I am?” Shigaraki asked, “Yes you’re the leader of the league of villains, You’re name is Tomura Shigaraki and your quirk is decay—“ “that’s enough!” He raised his voice and looked at you with wide eyes.

You looked so sad and you glanced down at your cup. “Mr. shigaraki I know I don’t usually talk this much. I’ve always been the quiet type. I think whoever kidnapped me gave me a huge sense of knowledge. I know the league is bad but I don’t care about the heroes anymore and I don’t know why. I know everything about you guys, your true identity, your quirks, your past. And when I see you I—“ you quickly stopped yourself.

Shigaraki raised a brow. “You what?” He asked curiously. “N-nothing. Just forget it.” You answered and he growled. “Answer me now before I kill you.” He said and your legs subconsciously clenched together. You stayed quiet and your chest rose and fell a little more quickly. Why was this feeling in your chest when this killer, this man child looked at you? What exactly did the man he calls master do to you?

Before you knew it he gripped your chin and lifted it harshly so you could look at his wrinkly red eyes. Even though he looks like a bum he smelled nice and clean. A hand was covering his face and you slowly lifted your hand to touch it and his other hand grabbed your wrist. “What the fuck are you doing? Do you have a death wish you fucking idiot?” He growled and you gulped. “C-can i see your face?” You asked and he tilted his head confused.

“No. Answer my question-“ before you both knew it, as if your body had a mind of its own you tackled shigaraki down and you snatched the hand off his face. His hand quickly wrapped around your neck and arm and you pressed your lips against his. He halted his finger from pressing against your neck. He was beyond confused.

“If only tomura finished listening to what i had to say.” All for one chuckled loudly. You both were able to faintly hear the television from down the hall. “He would know that I managed to change y/N’s desires and whole way of thinking. She’s now with the league of Villains and she’s in love with its leader, Tomura Shigaraki. Consider it a present and motivation for the future of the league.” You both heard and you pulled away from him. “I’m sorry. I should have asked.” You said lowly. He stood there stunned and silent.

He slowly sat up and looked at your figure. “So you were brainwashed like my Nomu.” He hummed and took a few steps back. He noticed how you crawled closer to him but the chain was keeping you away.

“Who do you love?”

“You.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Who’s your master?”

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

You said and he smirked. He was gonna have fun with you. “At least master was kind enough to give me a beauty.” He said as he held on to the chains. “Don’t freak out.” He warned and you nodded. He disintegrated the chain around your ankle and he pulled you by the arm. You were wearing an ugly hospital gown and you were barefoot. You couldn’t help but shiver. He went next door to his room and he shoved you in and slammed the door. You nearly tripped over the mess and you turned to look at shiggy. “Why are you just standing there?” He asked, “You haven’t given me orders.” You deadpanned. “You can’t think for yourself?” He questioned. “No i can but I Don’t want to upset you.” You replied.

“Fine then clean this shit up.” He referred to his very very messy room. You nodded and began to lift up a piece of trash but he pulled you away. “Change first.” He said and handed you a black hoodie. “Do you have a bathroom?” You asked. “No change here.” He said and you nodded. You turned so your back was facing him and carefully began to take off the gown, leaving you completely bare and Shigaraki couldn’t help but look.

Your skin was so beautiful and looked so soft. He saw as you carefully put on his hoodie and it completely engulfed you. It reached to your mid thigh. You slowly turned to look at him with rosy cheeks. The hoodie smelled just like him. “Tomura—“ “It’s master to you.” He Interrupted and you nodded, subconsciously squeezing your thighs together once more. “Sorry...m-master.” You said and played with the hem of his hoodie.

“Master..can I have some underwear too...? I feel weird, when I’m bare underneath..” you asked. “No, continue cleaning my room.” He answered coldly and sat on his gaming chair. He turned on his console and began playing whatever game he had.

You sighed and you couldn’t help but admire his gorgeous yet scarred face and his beautiful long fingers. In an instant he can kill you, but if you’re good..then he might even reward you. If you were to die, I’d rather be in the hands of your master than anyone else.

You quickly began you pick up the instant ramen bowls and bags of chips. You separated recycling and trash. You even managed to pick up all his dirty clothes and put it in the hamper in less than an hour. Tomura was stunned, one minute he can barley walk in, the next It’s almost spotless. He saw you from the corner of his eye, you were folding his clothes that practically had the same color scheme.

“Can i go through your drawers to put your clothes away..?” You finally spoke up. “Yeah it’s whatever. I don’t care.” He mumbled and returned to the screen. “Ugh stupid game!” He huffed and began pressing the controller more furiously. You chuckled and thought that it was so cute and adorable when he was frustrated.

You went to his California king sized bed and began to fix the sheets and make his bed. Since it was so huge, you had to climb on to properly fix it. You were completely in your own world when Shigaraki turned and saw your wet cunt on display in all it’s glory. Ever since he saw you he couldn’t help but feel that urge to take you. His resistance was getting to him and now he wanted to give in to his urges even more. He was too distracted that he lost the fucking game and he growled and disintegrated the controller. That was his own form of rage quitting.

You heard his sound of frustration so when you turned you expected him to be in the same chair uttering bullshit, but you were shocked when you felt your hips being pulled back. Your cunt was touching his pants, but you can feel his bulge. “Um..master..I—“

“Shut up.” He said and reached for your neck. He pulled you back to him and wrapped his other arm around your waist, hovering your aching clit. “This is whats gonna happen.” He started off and you nodded. “I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to like it. Okay?”

“I understand.” You said softly, you felt his hands slowly lift up the hoodie just a bit to get a better view of your ass. You couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed. “I know I’m probably not your dream girl but I promise to be a good girl, master..” your voice shook. He tilted his head, were you getting insecure?

“No pet, you’re perfect to me.” He assured and you could hear his belt jingle as he took it off. “You seem pretty wet already, pet. Since how long have you been like this?” He asked as he got out of his jeans. He slowly open your cheeks to reveal your little pussy clenching around nothing, how cute. “Since I saw you..” you mumbled. He smirked and leaned down. He immediately began to eat out your cunt causing you to gasp in shock and grip the sheets. Your chest layed roughly against the bed as your ass stood proud in the air for the leader of the league of villains to enjoy.

“Fuck—“ you moaned and you felt a slap on your ass. You slightly jumped released a small yelp. “Watch your language.” He growled from your pussy. “Yes master.” You whimpered and he slowly began to rub his thumb on your other hole. Your small moans filled the room and he easily slipped his middle finger in you. You squeezed around him so deliciously, he couldn’t help but wished his cock was inside.

This has never happened to him before, this feeling in his chest. Someone that loves him and will obey his every command. You’re so beautiful as well, and your sounds. Your moans and whimpers, in all honesty he jut wanted to get himself off. But after hearing you and seeing you. He wants to make sure you have pleasure as well.

He continued pumping his finger in and out of your slick walls and your voice started getting slightly higher. “Master...I—I’m gonna cum...”you panted and your toes began to curl. “It’s okay, cum for me, pet. You’ve been a good girl.” He said softly and he felt you clench around his finger. When you came he slowly removed his finger and examined it. You must be new to is if you could get off with just one of his long fingers.

You layed on the bed a bit tired, not paying attention to your master who had tasted your cum on his finger. It was delicious and he wanted another taste. When you felt a lick on your cunt again you immediately shivered and clenched your thighs. “Hold still I just wanna taste some cum.” Shigaraki huffed and he pulled your thighs apart. You were pretty sensitive but you obeyed nonetheless.

You moans began to fill the room once more and before you could finish and cum again he pulled away. You automatically whimpered and turned to give your master puppy dog eyes. “I would let you cum again, but my cock is so fucking hard I don’t think I can wait another minute.” he said and began to pull down his boxers.

Before you could get back in position, which freaking hurt, he flipped you over on your back and you made a small oof noise. You looked up to See shigaraki focused on his cock, he was rubbing himself up and down your slit to use your cum as lube. “Alright I’m going in.” He announced and slowly pushed his rather large member inside your tint cunt. You immediately yelped and held on to his biceps. “M-master wait—it hurts..” you pleaded and Tomura finally looked up at your face.

He loves inflicting pain, he loves watching people’s painful expressions when they’re hurt or when they’re gonna die. Chisaki’s face was so amusing. But when he saw yours, his heart shattered and he didn’t want to hurt you at all. You’ve been nothing but good to him, he doesn’t want to hurt his little toy. “I’m sorry.” He apologized, “it’s okay..” you sniffled. After a minute of him being patient you gave him a nod and he continued to slowly bottom out.

You both released a moan when he was all the way in. You both have never felt anything like this before. “Can I start moving?” Shigaraki asked you as he brushed way the hair from your face. You nodded and he pulled almost all the way out and he slammed back in. Your little gasps and moans came back which made shigaraki feel at ease. You can clearly hear your slick with every thrust and it was music to his ears.

“I’ve been neglecting these.” He grunted and lifted his hoodie over your chest. Finally he was able to see your beautiful soft breasts bouncing with each thrust. “Fuck you’re so beautiful.” He moaned and immediately lowered his mouth to one of your nipples. You squealed and your back arched and he pushed you down. “Master...” you moaned softly. His tongue swirled around your hardened bud and your fingers tangled in his light blue hair. Two of his fingers pinched your other nipple and he lightly bit the nipple in his mouth.

“I think I-I’m close—“ you gasped and he removed his mouth. His thrusts decreased in speed but they became harder. He had a stupid smirk on his face and your eyes widened when he wrapped his hand around your throat. “Hold it until I say so.” He demanded and you muttered a weak yes. He felt how your gummy walls squeezed against his large dick, he was getting close too. “Fuck Fuck Fuck.” He groaned with his head tilted back and your mouth watered at the sight. Why is he so fucking handsome?

He could feel himself getting closer to his climax so he rubbed his thumb on you clit while increasing his pace once more, causing you to be even louder than before. Everyone in the bar could hear and a certain fire villian grumbled in annoyance. “Master I can’t hold it anymore!” You screamed. “Then cum my stupid little pet. Cum all over my cock like a good girl.” He grunted and bit his lip at the sight of your sweaty body. Your bouncing breasts, crazy hair, your adorable ahego face, your twitching legs and finally your grip on his biceps. You were so prefect and so good to him and only him.

When you came you felt his cum shoot inside you as well causing you to gasp at the delicious feeling. Tomura rested his head on your shoulder and tried catching his breath. You couldn’t help but smile and blush at the closeness. You slowly wrapped your arms around him and you gave his shoulder a kiss causing him to freeze. “I love you master, thank you for making me feel good.” You said softly. He chuckled and pulled you closer, “I love you too.”

I wanna write a part 2 of Shiggy finding out his little toy is being used by a certain fire boy 👀

#tomura shigaraki #shigaraki smut #league of villains #my hero academia #yandere shigaraki #smut #[🏌️‍♀️🔪.yandere]

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pyrrhiccomedy · 3 years

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the People have requested my book report on The Library at Mt. Char so this is now a Mt Char book club.

if you have not read The Library at Mt Char there is no reason to keep reading. I hope you're having a nice day, stay safe and don't do drugs.

So Mt Char has a couple of problems, but in my opinion only one grave problem.

Not a grave problem:

Erwin doesn't need to be in this book. An astonishing amount of ink is spilled on giving us Erwin's POV and I am at a loss in regards to what that's supposed to bring to the story. I mean, it's kind of neat to see Carolyn's "trick shot" from the POV of one of the people being manipulated, but that perspective could have just been provided by Steve. Everything Erwin does of any plot significance could have been done by Steve, a character who actually matters.

Please note that I don't hate Erwin, he's perfectly fine as characters go, he just contributes nothing, and it is baffling that he and Carolyn get the last scene in the book (instead of just ending on her reunion with Michael, a scene that was emotionally affecting and felt like a natural end point to her story). We are taking no questions, Erwin needed to be cut.

Also not a grave problem in my opinion, but I am sure others feel differently and I understand why they would:

Yo, the scope of what the catalogs cover is mad vague. I mean, I get that that's the point: when you have a character whose magic powers are "anything that has to do with death or murder," that's a broad license, and I'm fine with that. These are supposed to be demi-gods. I don't require a rigorously explicated magic system.

But then like...why can't Jennifer, the healer, also heal minds? That seems weird. Or like, it's implied that she kinda can, maybe, but none of the kids talk about their therapy sessions with Jennifer: they explicitly call out that she heals their bodies. But then she talks about how Margaret and David are sick (meaning mentally) in a way she can "no longer help?" Aren't you supposed to be the God Of Healing? Why can't you help anymore? And were you actually trying to help them before - or anyone else? That's never shown. You could have just said you only healed bodies, not minds, but then it's repeatedly implied that she CAN diagnose mental and emotional problems (and therefore should probably be able to do something about them).

So that's weird.

Or like, why is there Alicia, who "sees the future," and Rachel, who "sees possible futures?" That, uh, just sounds like the author was running out of ideas. Also, if Alicia could see the future, she probably shouldn't have been in that house when the SWAT team hit, yeah?

Stuff like that. The magic the kids can do is very "they have the powers the author needs them to have when the author needs them to have them, and they can't do anything the author would find inconvenient for them to do" but that's not a deal breaker for me because overall the vibe being put off by their various magical specialties works for me. Still, there were ways of getting us where we needed to go without begging quite so many questions.

Also not a grave problem, although more of a problem than the other stuff:

You know that anime trope where a super-genius character is having an entire conversation with another super-genius character through a screen, and it's revealed that the whole conversation was a distraction and pre-recorded so that Character 2 could Complete His Scheme against Character 1? And used his super-genius brain to predict every single thing Character 1 would say? And your suspension of disbelief staggers bloodied into the alleyway and collapses because you're really trying to hang in there, Code Geass, but that's fucking stupid, you're asking for me to believe that this character's intelligence is flat-out supernatural now and you've given me no reason why that should be?

That's how I feel about Carolyn, by the time she takes over the Library. Like, okay. The kids canonically have not even been at the Library long enough for any of them to master their catalogues except for Jennifer. None of them but Jennifer are masters of even their own subject.

Carolyn has been studying in secret from multiple catalogues - which is cool! I like how she slowly reveals over the course of the latter half of the book that she has powers from other people's specialties.

...But like...

She seems close to mastering her own catalogue. She is a competent healer and can raise the dead (Jennifer's catalogue). She can block attempts to read her mind, beats David in a fight, and understands how to kill Father (David's catalogue). She speaks lion and controls the dogs that surround the Library (Michael's catalogue). She could make the mathy "Denial That Rends" thing that kicks off the whole plot, and she can make a new sun and correct orbital rotations around it (Peter's catalogue). She can predict the future with such specificity that she knows how to cause Steve to drop a clip of bullets while he's being attacked by dogs exactly where Erwin will need to pick it up later (Rachel's catalogue, also this one is stupid, she could have just given Erwin an extra clip or something, but whatever).

That's half the catalogues. Carolyn doesn't seem prodigiously more intelligent than the other kids. She's smart, sure, but they're all weird demi-gods with a genius for their specialties. The rest of them haven't even mastered their own catalogue, and I'm supposed to swallow that Carolyn has attained 'competent or better' status in six? When she has to research five of them in secret? Without falling behind in her own studies?

It would be fine if they had all been masters of their own catalogues for years and years; that would mean they would begin to stagnate, while Carolyn kept learning. But that's not the case. By the end I wasn't impressed anymore at Carolyn's resourcefulness, it just felt like she could do anything and everything, shh, don't ask questions, she's the Chosen One so she just can.

The reason this isn't a grave problem to me is because Carolyn's journey isn't about becoming more powerful: it's about her emotional journey, which isn't affected by her being stupidly OP for no reason by the end of the book. She still sucked at the things that mattered, like "feelings" and "relationships" and "not being a shitty person." But I do think it hurt the story. I should be cheering on my protagonist when her wild schemes come together, not rolling my eyes.

Anyway. All that was the aperitif. Let's talk about

THE GRAVE AND GLARING PROBLEM AT THE CENTER OF MT CHAR.

So everything that happens in the book stems from Carolyn's thoroughly justified hatred of Father (and David, but David was made that way by Father). Father treated her, and all of the other kids, with extravagant cruelty. If you haven't read the book in a while, here's a sample of the kinds of things Father did to the kids, or, if David did them, that Father did nothing to prevent:

- Cooked David alive over 2 full days in a giant bronze bull (and made the rest of the kids bring the fuel)

- Put Michael's eyes out with a hot poker every night for 2 weeks (and made the rest of the kids watch)

- Murdered Margaret every few days, often in drawn-out and painful ways

- Made Rachel repeatedly give birth, raise the babies to about 9 months, then murder them with her own hands

- Allowed David to rape all 11 of the other kids (except Jennifer, probably because she was the healer and he wanted to stay on her good side)

- Allowed David to crucify, brutalize and rape Carolyn and Peter

- Gave Carolyn a loving new family for a year when she was nine years old (those two deer), then had David murder them in front of her and blame it on her for not remembering her homework well enough, then served the two deer at a feast to 'celebrate' her returning to the family

- Whippings, skinnings, and bone-breakings as standard disciplinary actions

Whoo-ee! Okay! We are talking about mythological cruelty. I am fine with this! The story takes place on a mythological scale. As outlandish as all of that is, the cruelty feels proportionate in a story about killing and replacing god. Father is cruel, indifferent, controlling, and alien. I have no questions, Carolyn please proceed with your revenge. We seemed on track for a tale in which Carolyn defeats Father, but in doing so she runs the risk of becoming him. Will she step back from the brink and retain her humanity after all of the trauma and brutality she's endured? Let's find out!

And then

and then.

Oh boy.

And then.

...It turns out, Father is a good guy after all.

And let me be clear: THIS IS NOT, IN AND OF ITSELF, A PROBLEM.

By the time you learn that Father is actually benevolent, and loved those kids, and cares about being a responsible steward to the world, and tried to leave the universe a better place than he found it, and genuinely regretted the suffering he inflicted on them when they were growing up, it feels kind of...natural? Like, I was surprised, but also not, because there were 90 pages of book left and Carolyn had already become god. This seemed like a thematically meaningful place to take the rest of the story.

It turns out Father was training Carolyn to replace him the entire time. He had to make her hate David because it was important that she "defeat a monster" on her path to becoming god. (It's not explained why she had to defeat a monster, but sure, okay; it's the kind of mythic feat that fits with the story we're in.)

Why did he choose Carolyn to be his successor? Well, originally he chose David, but David wasn't strong enough: every time Carolyn was the monster in David's story, she defeated him, and went on to rule the universe as an unspeakable tyrant. Since Carolyn always won, Father swapped their roles. He knew he had made the right choice when he put David into the bronze bull, and heard David begging for mercy: because when Carolyn had been the fated monster, she had never begged.

...Okay, so...hang on.

Hang on.

The only rule that we've established on "how to become god" is "you have to defeat a monster," right? I'll even grant you for free that it has to be a monster who is personally meaningful to you, although that part is never stated. Overcoming a great evil which has cast you down and abused you many times before, sure, okay.

...Why the FUCK did all that other awful shit have to happen??

I did not have this question when Father was just evil! That was a good enough explanation! But now that he's not evil, you HAVE TO EXPLAIN why he treated all of the kids so brutally!

Like dude you're GOD. If you need a monster for Carolyn, I'm sure you can make that happen without TORTURING CHILDREN FOR DECADES.

There didn't even need to be any other children! You could have two kids: the languages-kid, who is the chosen one (the chosen one has to be the languages-kid so they can read the Onyx Codex or whatever it was called at the end, the one written by Original God), and the war-and-murder kid, who is the monster. They could have just been forbidden to read the other codices, if it's important to you that your chosen one still prove her resourcefulness or whatever.

Why include all of the other kids??? It wasn't to give your chosen one a sense of family: Carolyn didn't feel close to any of them except for Michael (who I liked, but whose contribution to the plot was negligible).

Or keep the kids! But then why make them, and Carolyn, hate you?? You could just say, "Hey Carolyn, I am raising you to be my successor, you have to figure it out yourself because part of proving your worthiness is this kind of abstract, big-picture thinking, but I love you and whatever you end up deciding to do, just believe in yourself." And meanwhile you're off torturing the fated monster in order to get him piping hot and ready to be served.

Was the idea that Carolyn had to endure so much horror in order to prove she was 'tough enough' to be god?? Because that's not how trauma works! Kids who have been brutally traumatized are usually not made tougher by the experience! A fact that even the book understands, because 10 of the 12 kids are completely destroyed by their upbringing (I'm giving marginal exceptions to Michael and Carolyn herself).

And like

if Father doesn't have a good reason for having treated them so badly, the whole book falls apart!

Because getting revenge for that cruelty is Carolyn's whole motivation!

We are clearly supposed to feel okay about Father going to make a new universe at the end of the book: he's going with his cool tiger friend and that little girl with the connection to the elemental plane of joy who used to be the sun, he's happy to see Carolyn embracing compassion and kindness, which means he cares about compassion and kindness. He invented light and pleasure. Carolyn does nothing to try to stop him from going. He seems like a pretty good candidate for god. And I do feel okay with him leaving! I was convinced! Father is not evil after all!

But then you have! to explain! the abuse!!

It can be a throwaway line!! "Carolyn realized that everything she and her siblings went through had to happen the way it did, because [X]," embedded in the middle of a paragraph! That would have been enough! But I need an explanation!

"They were raised the way Father was raised himself" WHY? He was raised by the Emperor, an on-the-record awful fucking dude! Father proceeded to rule the universe in a far more benevolent way than the Emperor did, why would he feel like he had to raise his kids the way the Emperor raised him?

"Carolyn needed to overcome challenges on her path to godhood" how is TRAUMATIZING HER SO BADLY SHE ALMOST BECOMES INHUMAN - SOMETHING YOU WERE OSTENSIBLY TRYING TO PREVENT, see Steve being preserved as something that could give her hope, etc - A "CHALLENGE??"

Again, none of this is a problem if Father is just evil! YOU CHOSE to make him not evil! And that's fine!! I think it's a good choice for the story actually!! But then you have to, you have to, HAVE TO explain why all of that bad shit happened!

Because all of that bad shit is the reason Carolyn made there be a story.

And it turns out it doesn't make sense.

#the library at mount char

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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

Love, Hate, Love: Part three

Part One // Part Two

Pairing: Spike x fem!vamp!reader

Request: Spike and the reader disliked each other until they recall their shared past. They finally acknowledge it and their feelings begin to spill - but is it too late? This is the final part !!

Originally requested by: @therapieliteratur

Warning: Alcohol consumption. Implied sex. Very dodgy/amateur-ish inserted poetry lol

A/N: I don’t have anything for Valentine’s this year, so this will have to do !! Happy Valentine’s Day loves 💖🖤

The evening swept around him, the wind hissing mocking taunts as he ran from the broken promise of your love.

As William sobbed, he stumbled into the field that harboured that oak tree. Once a solace, now a marker of his loss. A gravestone to your love.

His heart was shattered and he made a decision, one that would mean you would never see him again.

In that moment, you were facing your own battle. You still lived with your parents. They did not permit you to leave that afternoon. You panicked, explaining yourself and the reason you were so desperate to go. Which just made it worse.

“Father, please!” You screamed, tears streaming hot and salted, “Please understand, William is a good man. Of a good family”

“Other arrangements have been made, child” He warned, not explaining what these were. You weren’t expected to know or comprehend.

“I love him!” You shouted. The house stopped still. Nobody moved. You were supposed to be seen, not heard. Respect your mother and father’s will. Your mother cried and begged, trying to still you from leaving.

But you managed it, running all the way to the chapel, pleading solace with the vicar. Only to find that your lovers heart was shattered and broken on the floor.

It sounded like broken glass under your feet as your tear-stained wedding gown clung to you.

You had returned from the school a week ago and fitfully rested since. You had offered your hand to help Spike up. He hadn’t taken it, but he hesitated before he told you to go away. The bite in his voice had gone. Neither of you wished to use such harsh tones anymore.

You were back in your home again. Another monotonous fight finished. They all seemed the same. You sighed, shaking your bra to remove the dust from your cleavage.

It was a few days since you last shared your dreams and suddenly you began to crumble under the weight of your tears. Crying almost as much as you had that night as that memory kept flashing behind your eyes. It still felt so fresh. How he hadn’t been there. How you had been too late.

Your legs gave out from under you. Somehow, you were on your knees. Sobbing on the tile of your kitchen floor.

You didn’t realise, but he was out there. Watching. He had followed you home and seen that you lived in a house. A real one. He had scoffed at this and that you had paid over the odds for necro-tempered glass so that you could sit in some kind of sunlight without burning in your own home. He knew this, because he had found an invoice when he had been rooting in your trash.

He was smoking when he saw the kitchen light turn on. You were visible until you dropped to the floor. Eyes leaking with such emotion.

It physically hurt him to see you that way as he moved closer to the window. Tears started to prickle behind his eyes, a lump forming at the back of his throat. He wished to wrap his arms around you. Be allowed in your house, to offer comfort. For you to want his comfort.

He had always hated to see you cry.

In the following weeks, as Spike healed, your hearts began to break over and over. You avoided facing each other, it was too painful even to be in the same room.

Spike stayed outside your house more frequently and you found yourself napping a lot more than usual, just in case you caught the moment he would be sleeping too.

You longed for him in sleep just as he pined for you in reality. You began to want each other in all manner of consciousness. Defying the pain. The hatred you had once been so convinced of. All you wanted was the other and it infuriated you. Whilst somehow simultaneously being a solace.

You were a comfort blanket that the other held close. Wrapped around your hearts for protection. Soft like Sunday morning sheets dipped in the sun’s rays. The warmth of summer days meeting the whispering of cool winter nights.

The care you had weaved in and out of your hearts left a thread. A thread that entwined with theirs and tugged towards the other. The feeling was the last thing you could cling to.

But the pain, the loss. It was creeping up on you both. It always was. Becoming harder and harder to bear. The dreams and memories becoming more and more tainted. The worse, most painful parts taking up most of the dreams.

Despite all of this, you both settled in to sleep much earlier than you ever had before. You still wanted to touch the other, feel the other’s mind. Emotions through the dream. The truth of your love. The promise that it had been real for both of you. Even if it were for mere seconds.

You looked out of the window again, sighing, staring out into the night. Not realising Spike was staring back. You were too in your own head.

You saw it now, where you hadn’t been able to before. His softer side. The lover’s heart that was still firmly planted on his sleeve. How had you missed the attention he had given to Drusilla? How had you ignored the way he spoke about her. Protected her.

Why do you now envy her? Him? For the love story you were never allowed.

You remembered so much now. You both defied convention. You always had. Now you were starting to notice all of the similarities he had to that young man you agreed to marry. You craved him. His touch. His mind.

Through the next few days, the dreams became more frequent again. More scenes from the past. More feelings. Multiple times in the night. Both of you guiltily looking forward to them. The first part, anyway. It was worth the heartache, the hollow loss at the end. To be able to touch each other again, even briefly. Just like it had been.

You had both began to write again, feverish emotions and memories spinning. You had rediscovered your love for poetry as well as that guilty affection you held for the other.

You arrived in the school library one late afternoon. Spike had seen you crying that first time a while ago now and had been watching your house more often than he would like to admit. Your heart ached with every waking moment and you felt yourself walking through life as some kind of emotion-exhausted zombie might.

“Nice of you to join” Xander murmured with a smile. You had been late. You got caught up by the vampire that often tried to make you pay him to pass by ‘his’ turf in the underground tunnel system.

Oh, right, now the vampire that used to make you pay to pass him in the tunnels.

“Yeah, sorry. What’s the sitch?” You asked, a well-practiced smile now stitched on your face for them. You weren’t really expecting much of an update as you started to shake some dust out of your hair.

“It’s Spike. We can’t just let him walk anymore. I’m goin’ out tonight and putting an end to his reign of stupid”

“N-no” You said, unsure why your mouth had moved of your own accord. You had stopped what you were doing and now just staring vaguely at the middle of the room.

“What?”

“Y/n, you know as well as we do, if not more so, what may happen should we allow Spike to continue his ill-thought out tyranny at will”

“He’s not exactly enemy number one is all I meant” You shrugged slowly, still staring unblinkingly as more memories flashed behind your eyes. He was so human in your mind, you couldn’t let that go. Even despite everything you knew about him. The goodness, no matter how limited it appeared, was starting to shine through.

“How can you even begin to defend-”

“Isn’t there a major mayor-related-massacre threatening at any moment? Shouldn’t we care more about immediate threat than some vampire who would sell his remaining brain cell for some box-bleach?”

“Spike’s dangerous though, Y/n. With the threatening and the, uh, hostage-taking-of-me” Willow said softly. It made you feel so guilty. It tore you in half, her words. You berated yourself. For clinging to that rare happiness you felt in those dreams you shared at the expense of real lives.

Your feelings all ran at each other at once. A fated fight. To the death. Neither side was winning or losing, but the battle waged on fiercely.

“Okay. But let me do it” Your eyes almost pleading with them and after some consideration, they agreed. It was you and him, to the very end.

You waited for him at the bar. Simultaneously wishing him to arrive and hoping that he never did.

He arrived, walking towards you, the dim glow of the bar making his prominent cheekbones cast a shadow against his cheeks. Your eyes were transfixed on him, he moved in slow motion. Adjusting the shoulder of his leather duster as he walked.

As he came towards the bar, your eyes flashed between seeing him in reality stalking up to the bar and William walking, smiling towards you. The pictures cutting and splicing themselves together until it was one man.

Nostalgia sticking to your mind like glue, running into your eyes. Blurring the two. He was the same man. Your mind was becoming more and more sure of this.

Which was why this was going to be so hard.

Neither of you pretended the other wasn’t there today, you gestured for him to sit next to you on the spare seat. He stared for a moment, an eyebrow quirked in confusion before he just shrugged and threw himself down beside you.

“Lookie here, if it isn’t the runaway bride” He said, his voice bit deeper than he had expected. He remembered, then. You hadn’t been sure.

“Will- uh, Spike. I didn’t run” You corrected him, without elaboration.

“Yeah, well, suppose it’s not running if you didn’t bother to turn up in the first place”

“That is way not fair! I was totally-” He raised his eyebrows at your phrasing and tensed his jaw at your lie. You cut yourself off, trying to rephrase.

You explained. Exactly what had happened and how you had stayed there all night and through the next day despite the biting cold and rain. Your wedding gown soaked through, but you wouldn’t move.

You explained that you had hoped he would know you had run into trouble. That you would be there when you could.

And Spike believed you. Even when you were younger, he could always tell when you had been lying. This was probably the most honest you had been with him since you had met again.

Spike’s eyes were threatening to spill over again and he hid it by looking downwards, he was about to say something. Reply to your recount of that day, apologise for leaving so quickly, when you were interrupted.

“He bothering you, Y/n?” The bartender asked, gesturing with his head at Spike. Every time he saw you and Spike together there was a fight and you looked more miserable than usual.

“No, uh, we’re on a date. This is, like, my happy face” You assured him with a blank expression that made him laugh, “I’ll have my usual and whatever William usually drinks.”

The bartender looked at Spike, trying to hide his obvious laughter at his real name. No wonder he had chosen Spike. Spike glared, first at you and then at the bar tender. Who surrendered and moved away to make your drinks.

You did shoot Spike an apologetic look. It had slipped out again.

When you received your round you drank in silence for a while. Your thoughts marinating in your brains. Sitting beside each other, sharing a drink – it was alien. But neither of you could help enjoying it.

He knew now that he still loved you. It hurt and he was confused with himself for it, but he couldn’t deny it. Not any longer. You had been all he ever wanted and even now he just wanted to hold you against him the way he had fantasised about in his human years.

He found himself wanting to understand you. Wanting to be allowed beneath your scarred surface. He wished to comfort you when you cried. He wished to relearn the patterns of your mind. He knew your sweet poetry wasn’t lost, just like it wasn’t in his own mind.

You knew you would have never been able to do it. As soon as he walked in, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The stake in your sleeve was splintering uncomfortably and you let it. Your penance for what you were about to say.

“I came here to kill you” You admitted, “Slayer wants you dead”

“And you and your soul’s okay with that one? Pretty little off switch your morality got, isn’t it?” He laughed humourlessly swigging from his drink, “My life’s not worth anything when there’s nothin’ in it for you and yours”

“You could run” You let the suggestion hang in the air.

“And the Slayer would let that happen? Me toddlin’ off until the next time our paths cross and then it’s dust in the wind. For the both of us” He accused. Telling you what you had always known. Your fates were entwined. You had lived and loved together. Been sired at similar times, managed to grasp onto your unlives despite the constant threat. Your soul ached for him, his missing but still showing even if it was just in your own eyes.

You took it in turns to buy the other their drink of choice. It really was like the date you had never been on. You sat in silence, each considering what had been said. Until it had gotten too much for you.

You couldn’t hide, nor run anymore. The shift was too great. Tectonic.

He caught your eye, as you watched him closely. Were you going to say this?

“I look at you and I see that oak tree, those freckles. That smile you used to give me that was ours. Like a secret that only we knew” You spoke, voice wavering and glass crunching under your hand as you held your cup too tight, “I hear the poetry, feel the breeze on my face. I can even feel the bodice that used to dig into me as we sat on the grass…” Your voice caught as his face started to soften at your confession, “I know this is selfish and… wrong. But y-you’re him. The only love ever allowed in my heart. The only one that ever will be. You’ve not changed in the way you think you have, my love” You finished, your accent switching in and out from the one you used to have and the one you used now.

He was reeling from your words. He had never, in all the time he had known you while you were undead, seen you be so honest. So vulnerable. You spoke from the heart, the way you had always used to.

Her love. Your love. He replayed those words over and over. Unable to hate or cast out any affection anymore. It was you.

You usually hid behind your guilt. Thick insulation, stopping you from moving forwards. Kept you constantly recounting past sins. It held your tongue, bound your actions to those that Angel helped construct. Acting only in a way that would allow for you to atone. No happiness, no light.

But now you were bearing yourself to him. Daring to be vulnerable - to hope that he felt it too. Despite it all. Despite who he had been to you in recent memory. The hatred, the dislike felt more distant a memory than the love your shared now.

“Cognate souls sing in early morning. My heart, begotten” The words spilled from his mouth, tears running down his cheeks now.

“There lies she, a woman. The type one may tie a knot in” You whispered, almost choking on the words and how happy they had made you. How he had asked you to be his. To marry.

You locked eyes. Both still shining. Before he closed his eyes for an extended period of time. Savouring those words. That moment.

You were holding back more tears. These feelings long since hidden, but never lost. Your dead hearts began to flutter.

You leaned in and his lips caught yours. Lips moving slowly to begin with but even the slightest movement of your lips spurred him to kiss deeper. You responded desperately, hands reaching for him.

Needing this. Needing him. You wished to make up for being so late. In this kiss.

You could taste salt and… him. The way he tasted hadn’t changed. His lips were almost warm against yours. His tongue entering your mouth hot and urgent. You kissed as if the threat of being torn from the other was imminent.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping the material of his shirt. Wishing you could take it from him right here. Press your naked skin against his. His hand slid up the curve of your neck. The other grasping at the strands of your hair.

You fumbled, pulling each other desperately closer. Bar stools fallen in your wake. You were lost in the kiss, both of you were. Moving on instinct, lips hungry and desperate to recreate the feelings you had all that time ago.

You somehow had entered his crypt. His bed was covered, completely littered with papers. Scrawled with such feeling. Some aged, that had been guiltily kept and some on fresh lined paper. He shoved them from the bed haphazardly. You missed his slight embarrassment as you attached your lips to his neck instead. Tugging on his waistband, desperate and pleading.

You needed this. You had ached for his touch for too long. This was so much more real than the dream. So badly you wanted him. Quick and now.

Your lips pressed against any skin hungrily and you were working desperately to remove all of his clothes as fast as you could.

But he stilled your hands.

Guiding your head back so you would face him. Your pupils dilated and dazed already by your desire for him. For this act that had been held in reverence. The meeting of your bodies in the way you had been told to save for your true love in your youth.

That time had passed but there was something about it being him. About it being you. You had always wanted to feel his naked flesh against your own.

“Wait, Sweet- let me?” he mumbled against your lips, kissing softly now. Like he used to. You almost wept. His mouth grazed yours, not as cautious as he once was. He had learned since, but the way his lips caressed yours. The feeling, that heart, it was still there. His lips insisted that he was still promised to you.

He wanted nothing more than to take you, rough with desire and throbbing with passion. But there was something he had to do. Something William would never forgive him for if he didn’t take this opportunity. Something he would never forgive himself for.

You nod, you were his. You always had been. You couldn’t turn back now despite him allowing you to think on it for that brief moment.

He took you, laid you back on his bed. His guiding grip strong but surprisingly tender. His hands ran down your body in a silent adoration.

He took his time to remove items of your clothing that were left. The fabric felt binding until his hand rested there. With his touch, a sigh of relief. You both felt yourselves releasing a long-held breath. One you had held inside for centuries.

Your eyes shone. It was emotional for the both of you. To have so much right here in front of them. To have everything you had truly ever dreamed.

In this moment, you felt his love in every stroke. Every murmur, every gentle encouragement. Movement. He enjoyed the way you touched his body with such reverence. Adored every sigh of pleasure.

He was firm in his love, in his touch. Your hands sliding up his back, weaving and clasping at his short, bleached hair. You moved so easily with him. Your bodies in perfect harmony. As if they were truly made for each other.

He kissed every part of you. His lips discovering places he had only ever dared dream about before. Sometimes he pressed his lips a little teasingly but others because he wanted to worship your form. He couldn’t rush this. His lips skimming every curve of your body. William was already writing sonnets in his mind. Pressing them into your skin.

He had wanted to do this since the day he had discovered what love making was. To meet your flesh with his. To consummate his adoration. To prove his devotion to your body, not just the mind he already adored. He had wanted to have you this way. To show you how true this feeling was.

His rhythm peaked and slowed. His touch sensual and yet wholly sensitive to you. Kisses littering your skin. He couldn’t believe you were here. That you were in his bed. He had longed, ached. Imagined exploring the beauty encapsulated in your form. His mind was intoxicated with you. Your touch, even your scent.

His eyes never leaving yours. Your eyes shone, threatening to spill again. You caught his lips when he kissed a trail along your collarbone towards your lips. You whispered such loving assurances against his pale skin. Into his ear as he ran a hand along your thigh. You cradled his body to you, wrapping yourself around him. Ensuring he was ever closer.

You hoped that he knew you were right there with him. That you were his, like you had been all those years ago.

You laced your fingers with his. Locking like your eyes. Every part of you had to be connected. You craved each other and it was only satisfied when you were together completely. In mind and body.

No mere dream.

He woke up the next evening, expecting you to be gone. He screwed his eyes up, not willing himself to look less the desperate pang of disappointment swallow him whole.

But when he dared to open his eyes you were there. On your side facing away from him. Sleeping. You had never slept so well, not since you had got your soul back.

You looked so peaceful when you slept. Much more so than when you were awake. He rolled over to press himself against your body. His hand tracing the curvature of your body. He had been deprived of your touch for so long.

He didn’t want this moment to end. This is what he had been missing all these years. It was you. It had only ever been you.

He cautiously ran a hand along your bare skin and enjoyed as you sighed softly through sleep. Your shoulders were exposed and he pressed his lips to your skin. Slow, gentle kisses. Pressed with such meaning. It was as soft as he remembered, despite the years. The fights.

He closed his eyes at the contact, hearing your contentment. You moved back slowly, needy for his body to further embrace yours.

This was all he had ever dreamed of. All he had written about. This was a century in the making.

Your eyes began to open, in your sleepy state you turned to him. You smiled.

William.

The smile lit up the room, better than the sun he remembered whenever you were around. You leaned in, settling a sleepy kiss against his lips.

Written poetry was scattered around the bed you shared for the day. Surrounding you both. Spike’s passion rekindled as yours was. For love and for poetry.

It was in that state between sleep and wake where reality hadn’t quite caught up. Your guilt hadn’t hit you. Your duty, anxieties. None of it was more important than the scene before you.

Everything just felt right. All you knew was this early evening adoration. You felt comfortable. Safe.

The world had stopped on its axis in this moment. The first shoots of love re-growing from your hearts.

#Spike #Spike btvs #Spike x reader #Spike x you #Spike imagine #btvs #btvs x you #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #buffyverse #Spike fic #female reader #female #vampire reader #vampire

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cardentist · 3 years

Text

I know this is Beyond late to the party, it’s been years since I first started simmering on it, but I was reminded of it a bit ago and I think it’s gonna chew a hole in my brain if I don’t find a way to do something with it

the broadway version of be more chill is an adaptation of an adaptation, the rework of the script and the music and the differences in performance choice gives it a Very different tone despite largely being the same story on paper. and this isn’t necessarily a bad thing ! I’d say it’s mostly a give and take, with some things working better and some things working worse between versions and your mileage with both mostly being down to taste.

I loved the passion that clearly went into it, I was interested in the new way the dynamics played off of each other, and I was drawn into the new additions to the score and how it explored and expanded upon a different side of jeremy. I was waiting for the new version to grow on me, to give me the same inspiration that the new jersey production gave me (or rather, a different flavor that I could treasure just as much), and it just. never happened.

I’ve sat on this for a Very long time, I want to like the broadway version, I was Happy to see it given another chance. but my problem isn’t with the music or even with it being Different, my problem is that I think they fundamentally changed the protagonist Without changing the story around him, which creates problems with how the story comes across and sits with you.

the new jersey version worked, for me, because jeremy was fundamentally a good person before the squip influenced him, and he never really stopped being that person. he’d hurt people and he made mistakes, but when you see him make up with christine and michael by the end you’re left with the impression that they’re already set on the path to a healthy relationship with each other. they have things to work on, conversations that need to be had, but you can Believe in the happy ending that it wants you to buy into.

and part of this is achieved by leaving things up to the imagination, by keeping jeremy Simple but implying more by presenting him as a real person. jeremy doesn’t Want to be popular he wants to be happy, but he trusts the authority figure that tells him that it knows what’s best for him more than he does. it’s this level of innocence that makes him genuinely likeable despite what he ends up doing.

the broadway version sought to explore jeremy in more depth, to explore the feelings of self hatred and isolation, the themes of depression and anxiety, in more explicit terms, they complicated jeremy heere. this isn’t in itself a bad thing, I really like “loser geek whatever” as a song, but it shifted the balance in what made the ending work. a moment that used to be jeremy asserting to the audience that he’s never Wanted to be important, that he never wanted popularity or fame, but that he’s giving in to the lead of something else because he’s been convinced that it’s what’ll make him happy is now a ballad that asserts that it’s what jeremy thinks he Deserves.

don’t get me wrong, this new version of jeremy isn’t an inherently bad person, he isn’t even necessarily a fundamentally Different person. they’re both steeped in self hatred and isolation, broadway jeremy Is new jersey jeremy at his core, but broadway jeremy has pointed that inward turmoil Outward. he thinks of himself as the problem, that there’s something wrong with him and always has been, but at the same time he’s actively trying to convince himself that he wants what the squip is offering him because he’s Owed it.

this isn’t a problem on its own, I really vibe with “loser geek or whatever,” it has some Very poignant lines that gel with what jeremy’s always been even with the shift happening with his mindset here, but it’s unfortunately not a change that exists in a vacuum.

I could pick apart the whole musical and lay out all of the differences, but the change that’s prevented me from being able to enjoy the broadway version is “the pitiful children,” on a musical level but most importantly on a story and characterization level.

jeremy’s change in mindset in the broadway version Very Unfortunately leans into the entitled nerd boy trope, which didn’t necessarily have to detract from it (in my opinion, the charm of be more chill in general is how its characters are all tropes presented as real people, who are likeable because of how Human they are. you slowly grow into them the more you realize this), but the pitiful children just shifts jeremy Too Far into that trope in a way that the story never really recovers from.

the original version was the squip’s villain song where he took jeremy pointing out flaws with his actions (letting people get hurt despite having been able to help them and meddling in jeremy’s life in a way that made his relationships Worse) and convinced him that the problem was other people’s free will. he did this not by appealing to jeremy’s own desires, but by presenting other people the way that the squip had been presenting jeremy to Himself this entire time.

jeremy is a character that hates himself, that was so eager to find a way to “get better” because he sees everything that’s happened to him as being tied to some inherent flaw with who he is. the squip took this and reinforced it, convinced jeremy that he’s completely worthless without him, all while presenting himself as a savior figure to jeremy that was going to “fix” him. the pitiful children is the squip insisting that all people are like that, that all people are fundamentally broken and unhappy but that they can be Saved. jeremy going along with the squip here is presented as being tied to both his own self hatred And his desire to help people. the squip took advantage of his Kindness and that colors our interpretation of him as a person.

the broadway version of this scene is, a shell. it’s a mistake. in some ways it’s built on that same basis, it exists On Top Of what it used to be, but it paints jeremy completely differently. it is, quite literally, jeremy putting christine’s agency under his own desires. Now instead of the squip playing at jeremy’s self hatred, it’s convincing jeremy that christine doesn’t want to date him because there’s something wrong with Her Specifically, and the rest of the school is just kind of tacked onto it. it’s jeremy choosing his own desire to date christine Over her freewill while pushing everyone else’s fate to the side (when he knows that they’re Also going to get zombiefied in the process).

it’s a weaker villain song in general, the storybeat of convincing someone that humanity is fundamentally flawed but can be “fixed” is far more chilling than convincing someone that the girl they like is fundamentally flawed because they won’t date them. but it also just changes jeremy’s relationship to christine in a way that can Never be addressed because Jeremy’s the only character that knows it happened and it’s never a conversation that they have together.

it’s even worse in the live version (as opposed to the cast recording) because jeremy is an Active role in the broadway version when he’d had a passive role in the original. in the new jersey version jenna approaches jeremy, opening up about her own unhappiness after he asks her how she feels, the squip tells him that he can help her and Then jeremy gives her a squip. jeremy Watches her immediately become more lively and happy, with her joining the song and dance to convince him that this is the right thing. in the broadway performance jeremy approaches Her, he offers her a squip of his own accord and he brushes her off after she opens up to him in response. it’s no longer a beat reinforcing that the squip is taking advantage of his kindness, but him Openly Dismissing someone else’s suffering while he’s focused on getting what he wants. he’s dancing and singing along with the squip.

both versions of jeremy were manipulated, both versions of jeremy were stripped of their agency, but only one of them had a true villain arc. but their endings are the same. broadway jeremy isn’t an unsalvageable person, he Can grow and get better and I do think that he’s in the right direction for it. but he and christine are Not ready for a relationship, he’s Not at an ending point for his character growth. he did choose her agency in the end, but the fact that it was ever a question for him makes the saccharine tone of the ending feel Wrong in a way that I’ve never been able to move on from.

broadway jeremy was complicated in a way that made him less likeable as a person but the Ending wasn’t made to accommodate this. the big flashy showdown Worked in the original Because it never convinced us that jeremy wasn’t a kind person. he needed a wake up call and time to heal, broadway jeremy needs therapy. (granted, new jersey jeremy Also needs therapy for the Definite ptsd that he has, but that’s a separate issue).

the broadway version opens a conversation that it wasn’t interested in closing, they left their happy storybook ending for a story that Needed a serious confrontation that challenged their protagonist not just on the fact that they were Wrong but on the fundamental flaws with how they treated and thought of other people. it wasn’t necessarily jeremy’s Fault but he needed more solid character growth than what he was given and it’s a weaker story for it.

I think if the pitiful children had been left largely the same I might’ve been able to grow to like the broadway version and all of its differences, but it’s just the Weaker version as is and it Needed to push the changes harder than it did if it was really committed to this change in direction.

#be more chill #bmc #jeremy heere #jeremy bmc #broadway #meta #long post #king of writing essays that only I care about

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light-yaers · 3 years

Text

No Saints: Chapter Five

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 4.7k

Chapter Five

You know that sleepiness, the kind that seeps into your bones and makes you weigh a thousand pounds, that makes it impossible to get up and to acknowledge what’s going on around you without more than a grunt of affirmation? That’s what you had, as soon as you felt him slide on the floor next to you.

The time? You couldn’t say. All you were experiencing was the best nights’ sleep you’d had in several years on this god forsaken planet, even if you were sleeping on the cold, metal hull of the Razor Crest. You felt the warmth of his skin first, only groaning slightly as he managed to lie down on the floor next to you.

Instinctively, you covered a portion of blanket over him, eyes still half closed and brain almost still in a deep sleep. He accepted it silently, slotting his body next to your own. You heard the unmistakable clink of his helmet upon the floor, and then—he was out.

Both of you were, immediately drifting back to sleep in each other’s embrace, without the tension or the awkwardness or anything that came with you and Mando slowly experiencing intimacy again.

You dreamt of him, or maybe you dream of both of you. It was a blur of Beskar and tight muscles, of his sweat gleamed chest, of his rough and comforting hands upon every part of your body. You were in the shop, or on his ship, or in some unknown location that you barely noticed, all because you were staring at him, and only him. Your dream-self gasped as he raised two hands to his helmet, tugging off the Beskar until you were about to see his face—

And then it switched. There was a crash, a bang, and the heat of a thousand engines firing at once as you were thrown backwards. You couldn’t see Mando, you couldn’t see anything, but you felt the pitter patter of your heart, and you knew—

They’d found you.

When you opened your eyes, your entire body buzzed. You were still on the floor of the Razor Crest, tucked up against Mando as he lay next to you, but stars—you were fucking terrified. You tried to breathe, to release the unneeded anxiety and tension from what your subconscious had just drilled into a perfect dream, but it was almost impossible. You were shivering, your entire body shaking and throbbing in pain, begging for comfort and relief.

“Nightmare?” He croaked next to you. You looked up at his visor, noticing the downward angle of his helmet focused on your face.

“It’s nothing,” You breathed out in response. As much as you wanted to overflow, to tell him everything, it would only serve to make things a hundred times more complicated.

“I get them. Sometimes,” He admitted, revealing yet another vulnerability of his. He was human, you knew that. He had those same fears, those same desires and feelings. It warmed your heart knowing that he was comfortable to open up to you, to lie next to you, to hold you against his bare chest.

You took a moment to indulge, as your eyes scanned the soft skin of his chest in front of you. Untouched, unscathed, his collarbones protruding sharply beneath his neck and stretching out to curve by his shoulders. His pectorals were defined and hard from years of training. You were struck with the want to bite into one without hesitation, but you stopped yourself from the embarrassment.

Tentatively, you coiled your fingers out from under the blanket, settling your hand slowly upon his chest and just holding it there, allowing him to get used to the sensation of your touch upon his bare skin, without the imminent doom of blood loss. He inhaled sharply, which only made him flinch in pain at his stab wound. You retracted your hand immediately, getting flustered at his response, but he grabbed it—

And he placed it back on his chest, holding you for a few seconds before he placed his hand by his side once again.

“You shouldn’t have moved from the bed last night,” You whispered out, hesitantly flittering your fingers over his pectorals. He was breathing harshly, feverishly, showing his strain at trying to stay in control of his desires.

“I don’t care,” He replied, hunger present in his voice. You tried not to squirm, as you felt an unmistakable throb from between your legs. You swiped your hand upwards, smoothing your fingers over his collarbone and the small dip underneath his neck.

He shuddered at your touch, making you blush significantly. Mando had an immediate effect on you with his words, the touch of his fingers on you, but now it was his turn. You’d wanted to do this for some time; feel him, feel him quiver at your touch, feel him melt into your grip as your fingers traced his skin.

When your fingers walked their way up to his neck, his arm shot out to you in an instant. He angled himself into you, face to face, touch to touch, as his fingers dug into your waist ferociously. In that moment, he didn’t seem concerned about his wound or the definite pain he was experiencing—all he felt was you.

“If you like my fingers, just wait until I kiss you on these spots, one day,” You whispered, stretching yourself out as another wave of pleasure flooded through your body. Mando’s hand didn’t wait to explore, as it trickled down your hips, your thigh, finding the nook behind your knee.

You gasped as he raised your leg to drape over his lower half, wrapping around his hips and making sure that you felt him—achingly hard beneath his trousers and the Beskar plates that still lined his legs. As much as you wanted this, wanted to unbutton his waistband and hold him in your hand firmly, you were all too aware of the wound that sat far too close to his groin.

“Mando,” You whispered in slight disappointment. “We can’t—not with your wound,” He didn’t make a sound, opting only to keep trickling his fingers up and down the curve of your thigh, skimming the bottom of your ass temptingly, before repeating the rhythm over and over again.

“I know,” He growled out. “But you should know. As soon as I’m healed, this—,” Stars—he moved his hand at light speed to between your legs, cupping his palm over your pussy entirely. You fucking lost it—you squirmed, you squealed, you held in your breath as every fibre of your being, every limb, every hair, tensed up at his touch. It only served to make your clit throb uncontrollably; it was something that he could definitely feel.

Stars— he wasn’t even doing anything—he’d just placed his hand over you, no movements, no circular motions over the top of your clothes, and this was how you felt? The tension was killing you. You wanted him, you wanted his cock in your hand, your mouth, your achingly desperate pussy; stars, you wanted to feel every inch of him.

“This is the first place I’ll be visiting,” Fuck—stars. You actually let out a whimper, involuntarily allowing him to see you unwind at his very welcome proposition. You could burst just from imagining him down there, between your legs, using his skilful hands for something other than collecting quarries or firing his blaster.

You were utterly broken, not even noticing that you’d been digging your fingernails into the soft skin of Mando’s neck. You removed your hand, noticing the subtle crescent shapes that you’d indented into his skin.

It took all of your strength not to shake, as you pushed yourself further into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and slowly, delicately, frustratingly, fluttering your lips over the marks you’d pressed into him.

The moan Mando let out was not one of pain, but of immense fucking pleasure. His entire body tensed, prompting his grip on your pussy to tighten. You moaned into his ear agonisingly, ignoring the way your thighs had started to tremble at his touch, as you continued to work your lips over his skin. You kissed him gently, until your nail marks were gone, and when they’d disappeared you moved down—

You worked your way over his collarbones, swiping your tongue over them until he was putty in your hands. You kissed his pectorals, nipping at his skin to satisfy your immense want to bite into them like apples. Goosebumps appeared all over his chest, his arms, as his body succumbed to your prolonged affection.

He was fucking radiating heat. You could see the drops of sweat as they appeared on his skin, as his cock continued to throb faster and faster beneath the sanctuary of your upper thigh.

When you finally reached the last of his uncovered chest, before the gauze covered his stomach, he grew wildly impatient. Without warning, his hand started to rub between your legs—and stars—

“Fuck—fuck, Man—Mando—,” You shuddered, letting out pleas and begs without realising what the fuck you were saying, but he didn’t stop. He only kept going, indulging in the glorious way your body flinched and stuttered and burst out his name at moments when you were sure you were about to cum beneath your clothes.

“Tell me,” He said, continuing his fucking hypnotising touch over your pussy, but only now starting to focus more on where your clit was. This man was a wizard—he found it incredibly fast, feeling you in depth and noticing the way the breath caught in your throat at his repetitive rubbing movements when he skimmed past your clit each time, figuring out that that was where he’d fully make you come undone. “Tell me if you want me to stop,”

Stop? Stars—why the fuck would you want him to stop?

“Don’t stop—,” You burst out, and before you had time to react, he’d hoisted himself to peer down at you. His chest fit snuggly between your legs as they wrapped around him securely, his hand still very much content feeling you over your clothes.

You knew what you looked like—red blush covering your cheeks, only indicating the severe pleasure that you were biting down on your tongue to contain. You were still fully dressed, but he didn’t fucking care; he was only looking at your face, ignoring the new stitches on his stomach and working only towards this satisfaction.

Stars, is this what he’d look like fucking you? Stifling moans beneath his helmet as his hand worked tirelessly to pleasure you, to find your clit, to begin circular motions that he evidently had done before. You wanted to ask him how the fuck he’d learned this—how someone as private and merciless as him had gone about satisfying his cravings over the years.

Your hands found his waistband, tugging him forward ferociously, so his cock laid flush against you. Stars—you couldn’t take it anymore. You wanted to scream, scream for him to strip you off and fuck you unapologetically, filling you to bursting and hearing your name flutter from his lips in longing.

“I wish I could kiss you, Mando,” You whispered out quickly, as the pleasure pumped through your blood and made you stupid. Feverish, squirming, wanting to slam your lips against his own while he got close to making you cum. Stars, that’s all you wanted. Even if it meant you closed your eyes, even if it meant he fucked you in the dark; you wanted his lips available to you at all times.

“After last night, I—,” He groaned deliciously. “I wanted the same thing,” God, you loved it when he talked. When he opened up to you like this, without one-word answers, allowing the hunger and want and cravings in his voice to ring true. You wanted Mando to keep fucking talking and never stop. “I wanted to bite that lip on your smart mouth. I wanted to see the blush take over your entire body,”

Stars—you were close. Your squirming increased tenfold, trying desperately to angle your body away from his touches at the overstimulating sensation, after so long untouched, but all that Mando did was go harder and faster. Speeding up his movements, savouring the look on your face as your eyes began to roll back in your head involuntarily.

“K-Keep talking,” You gripped onto his arms for stability, feeling the aggressive contractions of his biceps while he worked to make you fucking crumble. He leaned in closer, tightening his jaw through the obvious pain in his wound, as he gently placed his helmet against your forehead. You looked up into his visor, trying desperately to find his eyes, like you always did.

“Tell me, are you close?” He asked, trickling his deliciously aroused voice into your ears. You bit your lip to stop yourself from squealing, nodding at him innocently as his patterns on your pussy didn’t cease. “Good girl,” Oh stars—fucking bastard. A warmth appeared in your belly, and you knew, it would be mere seconds before you couldn’t hold it any longer.

You let out a pained curse, feeling your heart rate accelerate beneath your ribs. The sensation in your pussy was rising, tensing your entire body as you began to slip over the edge. “Mando—fuck, I’m going— I’m going to—,”

“Cum for me,” Was all he said, speeding up his pace over your clit. You dug your nails into the back of his neck as your entire body screamed out for relief, for this release, to cum from his hands—

That’s when a small figure appeared in your peripheral; green, hairy, with huge eyes. Instead of a scream of pleasure, you screamed in surprise. Mando immediately retracted his grip from you, jumping up from the floor and just standing there—

Glaring at the kid with insatiable anger.

The kid looked to his father innocently, unaware of what the hell was going on. You stayed on the ground, snapping your legs shut immediately and covering yourself with the blanket in a rush. Embarrassment replaced the pleasure over your cheeks, as your entire body lost all sense of arousal in a matter of moments.

Mando stepped forward, picking up the kid with an annoyed huff. “What did I say about letting yourself out of the cubby?” His voice was stern, scolding the kid for effectively leaving his room—for fully cockblocking him. He trudged the kid back to the cubby, placing him inside and raising a finger in front of his face. “Stay. Five minutes, then you can come out,” The kid let out an innocent blub, before Mando closed up the hatch of the cubby.

Silence.

Oh, stars, it was fucking awkward.

You buried your head in the blanket, trying not to squirm from the awkward tension that had travelled throughout the Razor Crest as soon as the kid had showed up. You could sense Mando, standing over you, just looking as you wallowed in this situation. You forced yourself to look up at him, blanket still covering most of you, only revealing your eyes as they flicked around to find his visor—

And then you fucking laughed. You burst out with giggles that you couldn’t control, having to bring a hand over your mouth to stop you from yelling at the comedy of what the hell just fucking happened. Mando’s fingers twitched, but you saw the rise and fall of his shoulders, following your lead.

You were crying real tears by the time you finally calmed down, wiping your hands over his face as you regained some of your composure.

“So, do I get an explanation, now?” You stuttered out, sitting up and resting your head against the wall of the hull. Mando sat on the medical bed, letting out a final puff of breathy laughter.

“Long version, or short version?” He questioned. It only piqued your interest to a hundred.

“Both,” You replied enthusiastically.

Mando exhaled, preparing himself to speak. He told you all about the kid, the bounty on his head, the masses of hunters outside the kid’s door. He’d rescued the child and got attached, too far removed from his duties to ever actually give him up to the client. You listened intently, hearing the way he spoke about the kid and the adventures they’d had on collections since he’d saved him.

It was enough to warm your heart to oblivion. This stoic hunter, this Mandalorian, had taken in a child willingly.

“You saved him,” You let out, after he was finished speaking. Mando looked towards the shut door of the cubby thoughtfully. “You did a good thing, Mando,”

“Would have saved me a lot of grief if I’d just done my job,” He began, but there was no malice in his voice. He knew he’d made the right decision; both for the kid, and for his conscience. “Had to stay away from Nevarro for a while when it was hot,”

You smiled at him, regarding the way he looked so comfortable. You knew opening up wasn’t exactly second nature to Mando, but he’d done it all the same. He’d delivered an explanation, like he’d said he would.

“I’m glad you came back,” You spoke quietly. Mando tilted his helmet towards you, breathing slowly through the modulator. It was crazy how exposed he could make you feel, despite the fact that he’d been up close and personal with your fucking pussy only minutes before. That unwavering stare, the wonder of what lay beneath: that would always be the main thing that got you about the Mandalorian.

He got up slowly, striding over to the cubby and opening it up. He picked up the kid gently, cradling him in his arms and receiving greetings of several adorable gurgles and squeals. His little green hands found Mando’s helmet, patting them gently against the Beskar with excitement.

“Do you... need to get back yet?” He asked tentatively. In reality, you probably did. You had two order collections to fulfil, but fuck it—they could wait. You shook your head with a smile. Mando knelt to the floor, slowly popping the baby on the blanket next to you. “Can you watch him while I clean up?”

You’d never babysat anything before, let alone a little green monster, with ears that could whip at you by mistake with the turn of his head. He looked at you warily, not yet accustomed to who you were. Children weren’t your strong suit, not one bit, but just knowing that Mando had trusted you enough to look after him while he got himself back in one piece made it all seem okay.

You played with him, speaking to him when he made noises in your direction. “What? What’s that on the wall, huh?” You asked, while he pointed to different parts of the hull. He bobbled around slowly, as the tiny pitter patter of his feet rang throughout the calm ship.

Mando was in the fresher, round the corner from where you sat overseeing the kid. You heard the shower start, filling you with a curious anxiety that you couldn’t shake. He obviously had to take the kit off to shower—was Mando... naked in there? Surely not, not with the gauze still wrapped around his chest.

You hazarded a look at the door of the fresher, spotting the remnants of his leg armour on the floor outside, as well as a wrapped up ball of gauze. You sighed, knowing that showering with stitches immediately after having them done was probably not the best idea, but whatever; it was his home. You weren’t responsible for him.

You turned back to the kid, smiling at him and sticking your arms out for him while he teetered over to where you were sat. He crawled up the blanket, staring at you with his huge eyes the entire time, until he’d reached your lap. You picked him up gently, placing him on your knee snuggly.

But you flinched when you heard the scuff. You flicked your gaze to the fresher door once more, only to see Mando’s bare arm retracting back into the shower, after he’d just placed his helmet outside the door.

Stars—he was naked.

But he was also not wearing his helmet. You shot your gaze back to the kid, when he started getting impatient at your lack of attention towards him. You bounced him on your knee anxiously, trying not to get utterly flustered at the image of Mando’s helmet, sat only meters away from you.

The breath hitched in your throat when you heard the shower stop. Without the splashes of falling water, you heard the gentle pats of Mando’s bare feet on the wet floor, the muffled sounds of a towel rubbing over his body or ruffling through his hair—

His hair. You’d imagined his face before; dark eyes, strong features, sprinkles of stubble on his jaw and above his lip, maybe. You couldn’t imagine him as a blonde, it just didn’t fit Mando. You pictured him as a brunette, warm and deep and awash with oranges and reds amongst the darkness of a mahogany brown. And curls—god, you sort of wished he had curls, but under that helmet they were probably all but flattened.

“Have you got the kid?” His voice echoed from the refresher, making you jump with nerves.

“Yes,” You replied simply.

“Put him in the cubby,” Mando responded. You got up immediately, almost tripping as your feet got tangled in the blanket beneath you. You popped the kid back in the cubby, shooting him an apologetic smile, before shutting the hatch on his slowly dropping ears.

“He’s in the cubby,” You replied, trying not to show the utter anxiety in your voice.

“Okay,” Mando breathed out. “Shut your eyes. Keep them closed, until I say,”

Stars, he was about to walk in front of you without his helmet on.

You clamped your eyes shut, almost as a reflex. Your body pulsed with anticipation, knowing that if you were to slip up, even for a second, you’d see him. It didn’t sit well with you—you knew the Mandalorian’s were devout to their home, to their religion. This was a part that you respected wholeheartedly; you wouldn’t betray Mando like that, not ever.

“I’m not looking,” You breathed out, staying in place by the cubby, frozen to your spot. The doors of the refresher opened up, and out walked Mando. He didn’t put on his helmet first, by the absence of scratching Beskar upon the metal of the hull. Maybe he was pulling on his trousers, or finding a clean shirt to slot over his head, without the trouble of it getting stuck over the helmet.

Either way, you waited. You kept your eyes closed, you kept your mouth shut, but your other senses were dialled to a hundred. The smell of soap floated towards you, alongside the mugginess of steam in the air. It made your skin prickle subtly, as the miniscule rise in temperature from his hot shower filled the usually very cold hull.

Or maybe that heat was just you. It was hard to tell.

You inhaled sharply when you sensed him approach you. Bodies were strange like that; sensing another close to you even without having vision. You gasped when his hands wrapped around your waist gently. He wasn’t wearing his Beskar yet, allowing him to fully press his chest against your own, as his hands trailed up your back, drawing patterns on your spine over your clothes.

You clamped your eyes shut even more so, knowing that he hadn’t said the word yet, hadn’t said it was safe to look. Stars—was he face to face with you? Without the addition of Beskar keep you apart?

“Smart mouth,” He whispered, and stars, he sounded different. His voice was silky smooth, cascading over you and making your legs tremble slightly. There was no modulation, no added mechanical drawl. This was his voice—his real voice. And stars, it was beautiful.

You’d bet that his face was, too.

He pulled you into him, and all of sudden, his lips were upon your own. It was slow to begin with, while he found his footing and got used to this kind of intimacy, but stars—you were dying. You fell into him immediately, still too afraid to place your hands anywhere above his collarbones, but you clutched onto him for dear life.

His lips were soft, plush, pushing up against your own both with a hungry ferocity and also a sweetness that you indulged in. He was savouring this moment, relishing in the fact that he’d got what he’d wanted after last night. Facial hair tickled at your skin, and you ticked off a few elements on your imaginary Mando list—facial hair, that’s a truth.

He slowed his kiss, only to nip at your lower lip and no doubt watch the way the blush spread over your face. You heard him as he let out a subtle, breathy chuckle, cementing that you were definitely the colour of a raspberry. Fuck, you’d let him bite your entire body if he wanted to.

Placing a final, agonisingly gentle, peck on your lips in goodbye, he parted from you as quickly as he’d approached. You exhaled painfully, reaching out to try and keep him close, but the sound of Beskar scratching metal was all that hit you. “You can open your eyes,” His modulated drawl spoke, almost sadly.

You opened your eyes slowly, taking in your surroundings once more. Mando stood before you, helmet on and fresh clothes covering his limbs. “You need to put fresh gauze on,” Was all you said, stutteringly so, prompting a huff from beneath his helmet. You were simply trying to draw his attention away from your blisteringly rouge face.

“On it,” He replied, amused. You nodded at him, almost professionally, before you looked away, suddenly all too interested in finding your sewing kit. Stars, you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to tell him that your heart was beating so fast that you were sure you’d go into cardiac arrest. You didn’t know how to tell him that that was the safest you’d ever felt in someone else’s embrace.

You found the sewing kit, haphazardly throwing the needle and thread back inside and closing it up quickly, stuffing it back into the pocket of your jacket before you turned back to him. The bastard was leaned back against the hull wall, arms crossed, just looking at how fucking flustered you were.

“If you get stabbed again,” You started, not knowing how else to convey that you thoroughly enjoyed being in his ship with him—and the kid. “You know who to call,”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Mando began, with an air of confidence that he’d never fucking had before, until he’d kissed you on the mouth. He was revelling in the way he’d made you speechless, made you tremble, made you want more. “Even if I’m not critically injured, I know who to call,”

You nodded once, trying to make yourself seem unbothered, but fuck if it actually worked. Mando was soaking you up completely, and stars, there was nothing you could fucking do about it; except suffer.

“Good,” You let out. “I’ll be going,” You added, striding to the ramp and hitting the button sternly. The ramp began to descend, fucking slowly, so you simply had to stand there and wait while Mando’s stare pierced your back, making your neck hairs stand up.

“See you next week,” Mando spoke, just as the ramp touched the ground. You couldn’t speak—stars, why couldn’t you speak? You nodded to the floor, striding out of the Razor Crest as you tried not to fucking implode at your own feelings, about to bubble over. You needed to scream, you needed to shoot your blaster at the firing range until your trigger finger fell off, just to expel the utter bliss you felt.

You were halfway back to the shop when his voice rang out over the communicator—

“That blush,” He spoke, the hint of amusement still on his lips. You furrowed your brows in anger, hating how easily he reduced you to a fumbling mess. This man—this fucking man.

“Shut up, Mando,” You fired back, beginning to huff and puff as you picked up the pace back to the shop.

“Make me,” He growled in response, before he the comms went dead.

Oh. You would.

#din djarin x reader #x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #star wars #star wars fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #no saints #no saints fic #wattpad #ao3 #fanfiction #reader insert #smut and angst #smut and fluff #hurt and comfort #update

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lawxbread · 4 years

Note

I wasn’t sure where to send the request, but I was wondering is you could do an x reader where the reader was Ace’s girlfriend and after he died and the straw hats were on haitatus she went to train with Laws crew and they fall in love but she’s afraid of getting hurt again by losing someone she loves because important people seem to always die in her life

Hey,hey,hey!(bokuto's voice) Oh my god! I really enjoyed writing this, thanks for sending me this awesome plot!! Lol I tried my best but I think I was too descriptive (I got too excited and this got longer than I planned...) But I hope you like it!

A/N: I rushed at the end because I felt every brain cell of mine dying as i wrote the smut scene lmaooo

Sorrow

Synopsis: You were Ace's girlfriend and since when he died you've been afraid of losing someone again. Your heart is wrapped up. You feel solitary. But... What if the doctor, Captain Of the Heart Pirates, heals your pain by making you realize that you are capable of loving again?

"I can't control myself anymore"

"Make me yours, Law"

Warnings: angst, smut, implied death, unprotected sex, swear-word

Word count: 3K

It's all dark. You feel something touching your skin lightly. That touch... you recognize it, that warm touch you are so used to. Suddenly, your vision comes to be brighter, a few seconds have passed when you feel a breath on your face, then you finally see it, It's the man you loved wildly: Portgas D. Ace. As soon as you see him, he stops touching you, posteriorly Ace looks at you with tears in his eyes and starts running away. You don't understand what the hell is happening so you just try to reach him, "Wait!! Ace!!!" : You try to scream but, for some reason, your voice doesn't come out. When you realize, Ace abruptly fades away and then the surroundings are no longer warm. You start to cry, still trying to scream his name but not a single word comes out of your mouth. A deadly hush. "ACE!!! NO!" you try again, nothing. All your efforts are ineffective. You start blaming yourself, hopeless.

"Y/N- ya!!". You hear someone yells. Attempting to come back to your senses, you slowly open your eyes. You feel your sweat rolling down your face and take a deep breath until you feel steady. Eventually, everything seems regular. You see Trafalgar Law staring at you with an apprehensive look and it doesn't take long for him to ask

" Another nightmare, Y/N- ya?"

"Uh... Apparently yes." You retort, then add "Law... When will this pain go away?"

"It depends on you. Everyone has their traumas, I know it's not easy... But, Y/N, you have to move on." Law replies, using a concerned voice tone.

You start to cry, then you get up from the bed and instantly hug Law. He freezes.

"H-hey...Y/N-ya...uhh. Everything will be alright..." He says embarrassed while patting your back

Law gently moves you away and says "Y-you should grab something to eat, Bepo prepared a breakfast."

"What the hell I just did??!" You think, blushing as you realize the hug you gave Law.

"O-Ok" You declare.

You were Ace's girlfriend. One year has passed since your boyfriend's death. Portgas D. Ace wasn't just some guy you dated, he was, foremost, your best friend and the only person you could count on.

Your parents died when you were just 10 years old and you grew up cleaning houses, selling stuff you found in the junk, and doing any kind of service for other people. All of these just to survive, relying on a very small amount of money. Then, you met Ace, when you both were 18 years old, he helped you by beating some thieves that stole bellies from you, and little by little you fell in love with each other. Two years have passed when you heard that Ace was captured by the Blackbeard Pirates and taken over by the Navy, who would execute him at Marine Ford. You wanted to go save him immediately but when you declared to the WhiteBeard you would save Ace with him, he didn't let you go. Whitebeard ordered some of his sons to stay with you and prevent you from going with the rest of the numerous crew, as Whitebeard knew that Ace wouldn't be happy to see his girlfriend in the middle of a war. You tried to fight back but it was worthless.

You couldn't sleep and eat properly, fretted over Ace's life. Then, you heard the choking news: Ace died in Luffy's arms at Marine ford.

You couldn't believe it, you just couldn't.

You suffered so much, you only wanted to die because you had totally lost the reason for continuing to exist. Until 1 month after Ace's death, a huge yellow submarine appeared in front of you, and Trafalgar Law came out of it saying that Luffy asked him to take you and make you stay with his crew. You didn't have anything to lose so you just accepted the offer. Since then, you've been training with Law while the rest of the straw hats are on hiatus.

It's not that you still can't accept Ace's death, you know presently that this kind of tragedies happens. It's just that... you are afraid that something similar occurs again. You are so attached to the Heart Pirates Crew, they are like a family to you, and Law has been great to you ...so your biggest fear is losing them. This sort of thought results in constant nightmares, leaving you scared when you wake up.

"Good morning, everyone!" You say as you approach the kitchen with Law.

Bepo and Shachi are eating some fried eggs and cake, discussing something about the fish Bepo fished earlier being poisonous.

"Hello, Y/N!! Did you have another frightening nightmare?" Bepo asks.

"Yeah, nothing new..." You retort while taking a piece of bacon.

As you walk towards the dinner table to sit on a seat next to Shachi, you notice Law staring at you non stop, making your heart races. "Uhm, what feeling is this?", you keep thinking about it but don't understand what is going on with you so you just ignore it.

The things between you and Law have been weird in the past 3 months since you joined the crew one year ago. He seems more comprehensive with you than usual, Law used to argue with you every time you did something wrong but now... He's changed, in a certain way.

You seat next to Shachi, in front of Bepo and Law. As soon as you realize, Shachi puts on your plate a piece of the cake he is eating.

" Hey, Y/N-chan, you should try this", Shachi says as he looks at you with a smirk.

"Oh, thanks..." You say in an embarrassed voice tone, trying to be polite.

You look at Law and he is still gazing at you, but now he seems uneasy.

You eat the cake, unintentionally, leaving a crumb on the right corner of your mouth.

"Y/N-ya, there's a crumb right there," Law tells you as he points from his seat at the crumb left on your mouth.

"Here?" You attempt to clean it, but you don't succeed since you can't see it.

Shachi quickly says "Let me clean it for you." He presses his finger against the crumb, taking it off for you. Then he caresses your cheeks "Done, Y/N-chan". He gives you a smirk.

You are uncomfortable, really uncomfortable. "T-thanks..." You stutter.

You look at Law and he looks pissed as hell but you don't understand why, you just suppose he woke up in a bad mood today.

Law gets up from his chair not saying anything, then he utters "Y/N, a word?"

You don't comprehend why he called you and interrupted your meal, but you feel relieved since you don't have to stand Shachi's inconvenience anymore. You obey him, following Law to his office.

Law could wait for you to eat but he was irritated seeing Shachi shamelessly hitting on you, so he called you just to get you out of there, he knew you were uncomfortable. Besides Law was worried about you, he was jealous. Actually, you are a breath-taking girl, really stunning and beautiful so most of the crew's men always hit on you when they get the chance of doing so. It bothers Law a lot but you'd never imagine that.

As soon as you enter the office, you shut the door. You notice that Law isn't looking you in the eye and then he starts seeking some papers that he left in one of the desk drawers. He grabs the papers and says:

"Y/N-ya, I think I don't have to train you anymore, you seem prepared enough to train haki by yourself from now on." Then, still avoiding to look at you, he orders, coldly.

"So, I need some favors, take these papers that have a list of tasks for you to do at the submarine, most of them are related to repair stuff. " Law putts them in your hands.

"What? Why all of this so suddenly?" You ask.

"It's nothing. Just go." Law replies, indifferently.

You left the office questioning yourself if you've done something wrong for Law to act that way. But not a single idea comes to your mind, so you just decide to do what he ordered since he is your captain.

Six days have passed since then, you've been doing repairs and improvements all over the submarine, and when you get the chance, you train haki and fight skills by yourself. Since the day Law acted weird, he's been more absent than before. Plus, he avoids you every time you try to reach him and you don't understand why, but seeing Law ignoring you makes you feel sad for some reason. You start to think that there's a remote chance of ~maybe~ you had catch feelings for Law. But... You don't wanna accept them, thinking about how much you loved Ace and he died abruptly makes you feel hesitant to love someone again. You are already afraid of losing Law, if you fall in love with him, you fear that the pain you'd feel if he dies, would be worse, like how happened between you and Ace.

On your way towards your room, you see Law entering his office so you decide to go talk to him and ask him why he's acting like that.

You knock on the door. "Come on in," Law says.

As soon as Law sees you, he instantly changes his facial expression, he seems more anxious, uneasy.

"Hi, Law. Can I talk to you for a second?" You ask him as you slowly approach his desk.

"Yes. But be brief, I'm busy." He declares with a coldhearted tone of voice, still avoiding your stares.

"So..." You take a deep breath, then let out "Why you've been avoiding me these past days? Have I done something wrong?"

Law quickly replies, "I'm not avoiding you. Are you done?"

"Liar, you can't even look me in the eye!!"

Silence fulfills the room as Law puts his hands on his forehead, letting his head rests on them. You try to understand whatever is going on, a sentiment of heavy tension appears when you look at Law.

Tension. Simply, tension.

Law , still with his head down, finally confesses "Y/N-ya...Yes, I've been avoiding you" He mumbles. "Do you really wanna know the reason?"

"Yes!! I'll try my best to help you with whatever is making you feel low!" You declare.

"I don't think you can help me, but... I can't control myself anymore when I'm by your side.Y/N-ya..." Law admits as he finally stares back at you, and this time, he's looking deeply into your eyes.

You freeze.

"W-what? What do you mean by that?" You certainly think you misunderstood his words.

" I have feelings for you," Law confesses directly, leaving you no more doubts.

You try to keep your composure, but it looks like you are on fire, your whole body is steaming. You don't know what to do so you just stand still, staring at Law with a shocking glance.

"Y/N-ya...You don't have to return my feelings, I won't compel you to do anything about it." Law says, then he gets up from his chair, approaching you, so he adds "Look, it's just that it's hard for me to see you and couldn't be able to announce you're mine. I don't know when it started, maybe 3 months ago so you can just ignore it and I'll move on."

"Law..." you mumble, an immense desire to cry emerges, so when you least expect it, you are covered in tears.

Law looks surely worried about you, he attempts to approach you even more but you are moving away from him.

"Law..." You cover your eyes with your hands as you cry, "I-I think I feel the same but..." You sigh, "I'm afraid... I'm afraid of losing you! I can't go through that again."

You are crying a lot but you stop when Law abruptly hugs you.

"I'm not going anywhere, Y/N-ya." Law whispers.

Important people seem to always die in your life, you lost your parents when you were just 10, and then you lost Ace... This fear that haunts you has total control of your mind, but, somehow, the last few words that Law said to you comforted your troubled soul.

"Y/N-ya, take your time," Law says as he sweetly moves you away, now you both are no longer hugging, but staring deeply at each other. "I'll wait for you to make your decision, please rest...have a good night," Law says then opens the door for you

"Good night, Law..." You leave his office and go straight to your bedroom.

Two months have passed and surprisingly you didn't have any nightmare during its period. You felt so calm when Law hugged you and said he wouldn't go anywhere, since that day you've been wondering if you are capable of giving love a second chance. Besides, Law is still waiting for your decision but you can't just get through your trauma so easily; however, the time you took to think was enough for you to understand that you were worrying too much about an uncertain future. You thought a lot about it and figured it out that you have strong feelings for him, the idea of having him by your side is being more recurrent in your mind than the idea of losing him. You certainly want him, you want him so bad.

Since the day Law confessed to you, he is no longer avoiding you and everything is natural between you two. As he is respecting your time and not bringing the relationship matter back.

You have made your decision. Maybe...It's time for you to move on and tell Law what you want the most: him.

It's 2 am when you decide to go see Law and tell him your decision, you couldn't wait anymore longer. You go straight towards his bedroom to check if Law is still up and notice that the door is half-open so you slowly push it.

"Law...?" You mumble as you enter the bedroom. You don't see him anywhere. A few seconds have passed when suddenly Law appears right behind you.

"Y/N-ya?" Law says, he looks kind of surprised. You turn back to see, then you gradually make steps forwards "I'm sorry I was at the kitch-" You kiss his lips wildly, interrupting Law's words.

Still with his eyes open, Law can't believe what's going on. He stops you from kissing him, "H-hey....Y/N-ya w-what are you doing?" he stutters.

"Oh, I made my decision, Law." You confess "I realized that I want you much more than I fear losing you. It seems confusing but..." You look down, "I don't want to live the rest of my life wondering what my life would have been like with you. I really want to live it." Law smiles.

You add "I don't care about the future anymore, we are in the present and I want you right now!"

"Y/N-ya, I want you so much, and hearing from you that you got over your fear really makes me glad..." Law kisses your forehead.

You look back at him, you both exchanging stares, "I want you, you want me so... please, make me yours, Law"

Law doesn't hesitate a second, he kisses your lips remarkably as he slowly shuts the door. Law puts you against the wall and starts kissing your neck and touching your right breast with his left hand. You let out a groan.

"Y/N-ya, you make me so..." Law whispers while he takes off your shirt then he kisses your neck again, leaving it marks.

"L-law??" you mutter as you are blushing, you just can't believe it, you want him right now.

He presses his body against yours while he also kisses your lips, you feel his hard manhood touching your thigh. Your whole body is on fire, he unhurriedly moves down his right hand until it reaches your cunt, Law dry rubs it using his index finger as you moan. You can't stand it anymore, the heat between your both bodies is driving you insane, plus his warm touches all over your trunk.

"Y/N-ya..." Law takes off his shirt and pants, revealing his ample chest with his tattoos, muscles and his bulky underwear, indicating his cock's hardness. Everything about him turns you on. "Take off your skirt and panties ", Law orders, his eyes: full of desire. You obey him, embarrassingly. Law watches every movement of you taking off your remaining clothes, hardening his cock even more.

Unawares, Law took off his underwear, showing his thick and lengthy dick. Your face turns flushed.

Law holds you by the waist, making you put your legs around his hips, he controls your waist back and forth bringing in your pussy to rub his cock's tip for some seconds. " Y/N-ya... I can't hold it anymore". He stops then lifts you in his arms, leading you to his bed.

He lays you on the bed, lying on all fours on top of you and so he starts to gently caress your face, hair,ear... Unexpectedly, you feel the tip of his manhood lightly touching your entrance, then, Law holds your hands, pushing your arms against the mattress. So he starts penetrating, "Fuck. It's so tight" Law exclaims. The impact sound of skin against skin is gradually increasing, Law is moving faster and faster, you can't help but moan, moan a lot.

"L-Law" you call out his name, "L-Law".

" I love you, Y/N-ya," Law says while he moves into you, you are so close to reaching your climax, and so do him, that in you head only Law and you exist, so your vision starts to blur; you felt like fire was running through your veins instead of blood. "Law, I'm...almost..." you finally achieve your culmination.

"Y/N-ya" Law stutters your name as he releases his cum inside you. Law takes a deep breath then he lays down next to you and you both embrace each other.

Law kisses your forehead, "I'm not going anywhere, Y/N-ya. It's a promise." He whispers.

So you reply to him, "I know." and after a few cuddles you both fall asleep.

#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #law x reader #one piece angst #one piece smut #one piece oneshot #trafalgar law #one piece #one piece imagine

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

Light the Pyres |Rise| - SUNGYOON

Sungyoon + mc finally start getting their shit together I'm gonna scream

Pairing: Sungyoon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, bits of fluff, apocalypse!au

Triggers: cursing, implied death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 4.6k

As the world burns its last goodbyes, you find a jewel amidst the ashes.

Previous: Light >> Rise >> Next: Burn

Golden Child Masterlist

Walking with Sungyoon is slow.

It isn’t like you expected anything more, considering the injured leg and all. Still, as you start off down the highway, you can’t help but feel like he was walking faster yesterday when you two came back to find his family.

Maybe it was adrenaline. Worry. Fear for loved ones can give you a lot of strength.

Or maybe it’s just your imagination.

You try not to show it. You’re the one who offered to let Sungyoon come, after all. He even raised the issue of his leg before agreeing. But impatience rears its ugly little head every time Sungyoon falls behind, forcing you to slow your steps down never-ending streets and highways until he ultimately needs a break and you sit in what miniscule shade you can find.

If it wasn’t so silent, you might be able to stomach the walk better. Maybe if you and Sungyoon were on good enough terms to have a conversation, walking wouldn’t feel so endless and slow. But after you gave each other your names that night in the house, there hasn’t been much conversation other than “break?” and “let’s go.”

Daeyeol was quiet, but in a comfortable way, in a way you’d known for two decades. Sungyoon has a reserved quietude about him. Definitely not comfortable.

Though given the circumstances under which you met, that isn’t surprising.

Which is why you don’t expect Sungyoon to bring up the issue and not you. You always figured at some point you’d explode from keeping quiet too much and say things you couldn’t take back, but one week after you leave, Sungyoon opens his mouth and starts talking instead of eating the granola bar you put in his hand.

“Are you tired of walking with me?”

You blink once. Twice. You still have the presence of mind to be thankful you just took a mouthful of granola bar and have to chew and swallow before you say a thing.

“No,” you reply, lying through bits of granola stuck in your teeth.

Sungyoon raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Really.”

Indignation rises in your chest. “Well, what do you want me to say?” you snap. “Why are you even asking? What does it matter?”

He looks down. Shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, voice smaller and suddenly very tired. “I would’ve gotten tired in your position. I’m sorry.”

That just ups the guilt you feel for having those stupid thoughts. “Why are you sorry?” you say harshly, trying to disguise the emotion threatening to spill out of your mouth. “Last time I checked, doing whatever you did to your leg wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t land properly.”

“I was the one who told you to jump.” You grimace at the memory. “So unless you had practice in jumping off fucking buses before this all happened, I don’t see how that’s supposed to change the fact that you couldn’t control your jump from a bus taller than you.”

“I’m still slowing you down,” Sungyoon argues.

“What is this, a competition of who’s done worse?” You scoff. “In that case, if you didn’t remember, I forced you to choose between leaving your family or me killing them.”

Your words are acerbic. Grating. They burn guilty on your lips and tongue and you’re surprised Sungyoon doesn’t do anything more than swallow and look away, teeth worrying his lips. “They were already dead.”

Bitterness. Resentment. Not a lot, but just enough to tinge his words with a sickly venom that eats into your skin, filling your throat with bile. He doesn’t believe that, not yet, which you can’t even blame because you’re still trying to convince yourself it isn’t his fault that Daeyeol is dead.

Oh, God. Daeyeol.

Two bites of granola bar churn in your stomach. “I killed them anyway,” you manage, trying not to hurl.

“But I got Daeyeol killed.” Sungyoon turns, his eyes burning into yours.

Your fingers crush the remains of the granola bar still in your hand. Bits fall onto the ground, but you’re too busy focusing on a point in the distance to care, avoiding Sungyoon’s gaze for fear that you’ll launch yourself at him, claw his eyes out, throw him against the tree he’s sitting under –

Oh.

You stop throttling the granola bar.

This must be how he feels about you, too.

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe it.” Sungyoon’s voice, oblivious to your whirlwind of thoughts, is soft, bitter, but understanding. “Remember? The only reason I’m still here is because I’m living on his time.”

Bile stings in your throat, but you force yourself to lock eyes with him once more. “Yeah,” you croak. “Yeah. I do kind of believe it. But you also believe I killed your sister and her boyfriend, even if you keep saying they were already dead before I did it.”

His jaw tightens. Gaze shifts. But Sungyoon doesn’t argue.

You sigh. “I know the facts and I know it isn’t your fault, Sungyoon.” His name sounds weird on your tongue, but you push away the strange feeling and continue. “My brain just doesn’t want to believe it. Yet.” You swallow, hard. These next words better convey sincerity. “I don’t mean to act like your life only matters because Daeyeol sacrificed himself for us. It doesn’t. I do want you to stay alive if only for you to keep living. It’s just…” Another sigh. “I’m sorry.”

The truth doesn’t fall too flat, at least.

“Mine doesn’t either.” Sungyoon doesn’t raise his head, but one hand goes up to rub his downcast eyes. You fight the urge to tell him not to, that the dirt from his skin might cause an infection. “I would’ve had to kill them, one way or another. You just did it for me. Inevitable.” He looks up. “I shouldn’t blame you. I’m trying not to. Maybe I shouldn’t even have brought it up, I just didn’t want this to keep… festering.” He winces. “I’m sorry.”

“No more apologies.” You wrap up the remains of your granola bar, too drained to contemplate another bite even though you probably need it. “No more guilt. I think we’ve both done enough shit to each other to cancel most of it out.” And it feels weird. “Also, just because I’m impatient about you walking slowly doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you behind. I asked you to come. I’m not an absolute shithead. When you walk it off, you’ll be fine. Maybe we can find some bikes or something in the next city. I don’t know.”

Sungyoon blinks, then nods. Silence falls, a little less tension-filled than before. Then –

“I used to run track.”

You blink, trying to register his five word statement. It feels so out of place, but then you remember you were talking about going faster. “Were you any good?”

A brief glint of pride flashes in Sungyoon’s eyes. “One of the best.”

“Well, track boy, I guess we’ll have to wait until a horde finds us to verify that statement.” Your lips almost curve, and you feel a small bit of satisfaction as Sungyoon’s mouth twitches similarly. Morbid humor. Maybe that’s something you, him and Daeyeol have in common. “Go to sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

He sleeps, then, more quietly than you’ve ever seen him. And as his breaths begin to even, there’s a hint of the peace you used to feel when it was just you and Daeyeol instead.

It lets you pretend that things aren’t really as bad as they seem.

. . . . .

And things aren’t too bad, at least not for a while. Limping along, you and Sungyoon make it through a second week and then a third without ripping out each other’s throats. There are still infuriating flashes of fury and anger when Sungyoon does or says something that reminds you a little too much of Daeyeol, and sometimes you catch him glancing over with lips pressed together, eyes torn in grief. But it lessens. A little. Two weeks after that initial conversation, you find Sungyoon almost pleasant company. On some days, you even consider taking out the almost.

Until the horde attacks.

You and Sungyoon manage to run fast, to lose most of the zombies in a maze of abandoned buildings in a dusty city. The last few you shoot dead. When that’s over, you both breathe a sigh of relief.

Then Sungyoon faints, of all things, and when you finally drag him into one of the empty houses nearby and get him to come to, he can’t put weight on his leg without collapsing on the floor. The skin is tight, the limb swollen. Running that fast on whatever injury he had made it much worse.

Fuck.

Your hands aren’t those of a doctor, not even those of a biology major. All you can do is manipulate machines, not blood flow or heartbeats. Yours is dangerously high as you step close enough to touch his leg with trembling fingers, feeling the swelling flesh beneath your skin.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Sungyoon says when you remain silent, dropping your hands from his prone body. His voice is weak with pain but strong in anger, though whether it’s anger at you or something else you aren’t sure. “Maybe a bigger fracture.”

“How do you know?”

“Got a few injuries running track.”

You swallow. “How… how long?”

“Probably a few weeks.” He looks down.

Weeks. Several weeks. It took around two months for you and Daeyeol to make it two thirds across the country, and part of the way you were driving. On Sungyoon’s leg, you’ve only gone a third of the remaining third, if you’re being generous. Probably more like a quarter.

Three quarters of a third left. You may not have been in a math class in months, but you can still calculate that you have a quarter of the whole way to go.

A quarter. A whole damn quarter. Two or three weeks would cut that down at least by a third. A half if you moved fast enough. But now you’re stuck here for that amount of time, waiting for Sungyoon’s leg to heal.

He doesn’t say anything when you walk out of the room, doesn’t call you back when you disappear into the hall and close the door and put your head against the wall and scream, silent, as pressure builds behind your eyes to signal tears you won’t let fall.

Sungyoon definitely hears when you kick the wall. He also definitely hears your muffled grunt of pain, judging by the look he gives your foot when you walk back into the room, trying to keep the emotions off your face.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, putting your bag down with as little force as you can in the corner. “Need anything?”

He shakes his head. Swallows around what looks like a dry throat. You raise a disbelieving eyebrow and take a half empty bottle of water out of the bag, tossing it over. He catches it easily. “Don’t lie to me,” you say, successfully keeping a bite out of your tone. “If you’re thirsty, you’re thirsty. No sense in hiding it.”

Behind the bottle, Sungyoon nods. The plastic crinkles slightly in the silence as you turn back to the bag, staring at the dwindling mess left inside. Some more granola bars, two full bottles of water, a few empty bottles, clothes and a couple sheets. Sungyoon’s pack probably doesn’t have much more.

You sigh. One of you is going to have to go out and hunt for supplies and with Sungyoon’s fractured leg, it’s clear which one has to go.

There are zombies lurking everywhere. The bullets in your gun are the only ones you have left. You need ammunition, food, and water, and you have no idea where to find it.

Great.

The sun is still in the sky when you look out the window. There are three, maybe four hours left before sundown, which gives you a little time to at least scope out the neighborhood you’ve ended up in. “I’m going out,” you say, standing up. “If I’m not back in three hours, assume I’m fucked. Stay here.”

“And if you are fucked?”

The way Sungyoon says it simultaneously makes want to smile but also want to punch him in the face. Humor. It always seems to come back when you’re at your lowest points. “Then you’re fucked,” you say as flippantly as possible. “At least you have one water bottle and a granola bar to see you through a day or two.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say you hear Sungyoon snort as you leave the room. Though it was probably just the creaking door.

. . . . .

According to your watch, you come back two hours later with several bottles of water, a scraped leg, and two less bullets in your gun. “No food or ammunition, though there’s a cafeteria where I found some water,” you announce, wincing as you sit on the floor. “And zombies are still everywhere.”

“How do you think they find us?” Sungyoon asks, disconcertedly looking at the blood you’ve started dabbing off your leg. “And how did you get that?”

You pause, a strip of sheet pressed to your skin. “I… don’t know,” you admit. “I feel like they probably can’t see very well given their weird eyes and the fact that they still bump into buildings when trying to get at us. Hearing or smell?” You shrug, pouring a tiny bit of water onto the sheet. “And I got this running away from a group. Lucky they don’t move too fast or I wouldn’t have gotten back.”

“How many bullets left?”

“Ten.”

Sungyoon sucks in a breath.

“Yeah.” You glare at your gun, as though staring will somehow bring the two bullets back. “Might need to find some other sort of weapon.”

And transport. Like a bike or a car that miraculously still has enough fuel for you to hotwire. Though that’s secondary, considering you’re stuck here until further notice.

Silence falls as you finish cleaning your wound, wrapping it behind a strip of sheet with a sigh. “Hungry?”

He doesn’t answer. You frown. “Sungyoon?”

“You could go on. Alone.”

Your lips thin. Plastic crinkles in your grip. Just in time, you drop the water bottle in your hand before it explodes over the ground. “Hungry?” you ask again, voice choking.

Sungyoon doesn’t answer.

“Okay.” It takes all of your effort not to scream or shout or shake as you place a granola bar on the floor within his reach, along with a new bottle of water to replace the empty one sitting by his feet. “I’m going to take a nap. Say something if you need anything.”

He doesn’t say anything as you curl up on the floor, resting your head on your backpack. He doesn’t say anything as you turn around to face the wall.

He doesn’t say anything as you drift into an uneasy sleep.

. . . . .

Sungyoon doesn’t have a gun. Sungyoon doesn’t have a gun or bullets and the only other weapon you have is the blunt knife hidden in your backpack and you are thankful for this, because the next few days are unnerving.

He’s silent. Barely moves, never talks. He only ever eats when you threaten to shove food down his throat and doesn’t even half-smile the way he used to when you crack a sarcastic or morbid joke.

His words don’t leave you, either. You could go on. Alone.

It isn’t as though the thought hasn’t come to mind, you’ll admit, but every time it does, you brush it away. While you might have actually considered it when you first met, Sungyoon has grown on you (even in his silence) that you don’t feel comfortable with the idea of leaving him behind, even if he’s the one who brings it up.

You saw the loneliness and fear in his eyes that day you buried the bodies. You heard the emptiness in his voice when he said he didn’t have anywhere to go. You offered to let him come. You held out that offer even when he reminded you about his leg. Even a few weeks ago, when you were still restraining yourself from ripping out his throat every time he did something that reminded you too much of Daeyeol, you wouldn’t have rescinded your offer and left him alone unless he’d done something absolutely unforgivable. Which he never did.

So you won’t consider it. Even if it means taking longer to get to your mom. Beyond the fact that it just isn’t right, what would she say if she knew you abandoned someone you offered to take along?

But Sungyoon only ever speaks to bring it up, and every time, you pretend he never said anything. If you actually respond, you’re pretty sure it’ll deteriorate into either a yelling match or one of you just leaving the room. And considering Sungyoon can’t move, the one who leaves will be you.

The mental energy required for this conversation is too much for you to deal with right now.

But then you come back from a trip outside, limping on a re-bloodied leg and clutching a sheet to your bleeding arm an hour later than you told Sungyoon you’d be back. It’s dark when you enter the room, but the faint moonlight is just bright enough for you to see that the bed is empty and that the lump of Sungyoon is now on the floor.

The sheet drops from your hand.

“Sungyoon!”

A cracked cough sounds from the ground and you rush forward, ignoring the pain in your own limbs to lift him back up onto the bed. “What happened?” you ask, squinting into the darkness at where you think his leg is. “Did you make your leg worse?”

“You were late,” Sungyoon wheezes.

Frustration rises in your chest when he doesn’t answer the question, but you only nod tersely. “I had to hide for a while,” you say, trying to check his leg in the dark. “I’m sorry. But what were you doing?”

He still doesn’t answer. “Are you bleeding?”

“Sungyoon!” you snap, straightening. Your drop your bleeding arm and put weight on your injured leg, ignoring the resulting pain. “Answer me!”

“Why don’t you just leave?” Sungyoon half yells, burying his face in his hands. “Why are you injuring yourself because of me? I’m a nobody, I got your literal best friend killed, and now I’m preventing you from finding your mom –”

“SHUT UP!”

Sungyoon snaps his mouth shut. Swallowing hard, you do too, waiting for deadened groans to surround the house. Stupid, stupid, why did you yell? Keep your goddamn temper, will you?

One minute. Two. Five.

You finally let yourself breathe. “Are you done?” you snarl in a hushed whisper. “Are you fucking done?”

“Not until you either leave me here or give me a reasonable explanation as to why you still keep me around!”

“Do you think I’m heartless?” Your bag lands on the ground with a thud and you sit heavily beside it, giving in to the stinging of scrapes on your skin. “Do you seriously still think –”

“No, I think you’re stupid,” Sungyoon snaps.

“Stupid for what? Keeping you around when I’m the one who asked if you wanted to come along?” you retort. “It’s called basic human decency, Sungyoon!”

“And leaving me behind would be called the basic right decision for you!”

You scoff. “The right decision? Trading a human life for a week or two of time is the right decision?”

“You want to go and find your mom!” Sungyoon yells. “I’m only keeping you behind! We don’t even know each other – what even makes sense here?”

Everything in you wants to scream again that it’s not right, it’s not fucking right until you get it through Sungyoon’s thick skull, but just enough sense remains in your brain to force you to shut up and think.

Think. Why is he so set on this? And why are you so set on the opposite?

Guilt. He feels guilty that he’s keeping you behind. Which – understandable, if you calm down enough to think about it.

But how would you feel if you left him behind?

Unpleasant emotion rises in your chest. Guilt, horror, even pain at the thought of leaving Sungyoon. It’s alien – you’ve only felt this way about Daeyeol before he died, and certainly not around the few other travelers you met for brief moments on the way home, but somewhere along the way, Sungyoon has become a semblance of a companion.

A lump fills your throat. You think you know how Daeyeol felt, now, every time he heard or saw someone in need.

“You feel guilty,” you say slowly, leaning back against the wall. “Which I get. I think.”

“How –”

“Let me talk,” you interrupt, glaring. He probably can’t see it very clearly in the dark, but at least he shuts up. “You feel guilty for keeping me behind. Which I get, because a month ago I would barely have had second thoughts about moving on without you.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “As you should.”

“Will you quit it?” you snap. “If you feel guilty, think about how I would feel if I left you behind! You think I wouldn’t feel guilty? Instead of wallowing in your fucking guilt, try and think of me!”

And miraculously, Sungyoon falls silent.

“If you were in my position,” you continue, more softly, “what do you think you’d feel? If I asked you to leave me behind? Maybe I wouldn’t grudge you for it, but would you grudge yourself?”

Sungyoon remains quiet.

“It’s humanity,” you say, staring up at the ceiling. Daeyeol, I understand now. “It’s part of being human. I couldn’t leave you behind, not at this point when you can still be helped.” You swallow, tears pricking at your eyes. “I’m not selfish enough to do otherwise.”

And as the silence continues, stretching as light fades in the window, you relax against the wall even with blood still trickling down your skin and onto the forgotten sheet. The last of your frustration sloughs away, the bitterness of blame and guilt gone from your throat.

Because you understand. You understand why Daeyeol tried to save everyone he could. You understand why he would risk his life to save a boy whose name he didn’t even know. You understand the guilt he would’ve felt if he didn’t try, didn’t lift a single finger to help, even if it meant possibly losing his life in the process.

You aren’t at that level. You may never be. You probably never will reach Daeyeol’s heights of selflessness, the quality you always admired him for. But you can understand this much.

It isn’t Sungyoon’s fault. It never was. As much as your brain wanted to believe it, it was no one’s fault – not Daeyeol’s for being selfless, not yours for failing to notice the zombie, not Sungyoon’s for being in trouble and needing help.

Not his fault. Not his fault. Not his fault. With every repetition, the three words grow clearer in your mind, a clear truth rather than a blurry mess you have to force yourself to decipher through gritted teeth every time they play in your head. It isn’t his fault.

It never was.

You blink a few tears away from your eyes, lowering your head to stare at Sungyoon’s dark body on the bed. “Let me see your leg,” you say softly, tongue free of the taste of blame. “You probably hurt it, falling off the bed.”

Sungyoon doesn’t protest, just lets you make your way over to the bed. Pale moonlight guides your hands as they skim over the swollen flesh. “It doesn’t hurt more,” he says, voice small.

“Doesn’t seem that much worse than yesterday,” you agree, pulling back. “You’re lucky. I didn’t run track, but I’m pretty sure falling isn’t supposed to do wonders for a fracture.” You frown. “What were you even doing when I got back, anyway?”

“You were late,” Sungyoon says. “By over an hour. I tried to see if I could find you.”

Something in your heart cracks at the tinge of fear in his words. He hides it well, but you can still detect the terror that frays his voice. It was in yours every time Daeyeol came back so much as a minute later than he told you, and in his every time you returned with a single scrape or cut on your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again, sitting on the floor. Your back presses against the bed. If you looked up, you could probably meet Sungyoon’s eyes, but exhaustion weighs your head and limbs. “I got chased by a few zombies and had to barricade myself in a building before they finally left. When I decided it was safe to go, they apparently hadn’t left, and I fell a few times trying to escape.”

Sungyoon sucks in a breath. “Didn’t you have your gun?”

“Too close quarters.” You shudder at the memory. “I didn’t have enough space to pull it out. Easier to just outrun them.”

Silence falls as you try to shake off the feeling of cold, dead hands trying to grab at your arm. Then Sungyoon sighs. “I’m sorry for pressing you,” he whispers, so soft you almost don’t hear him. “I just don’t like being useless. Or when I’m holding people back.”

You purse your lips. You can commiserate. But how do you make Sungyoon understand that he isn’t useless, even if his leg is costing you time?

“Think about it like this,” you finally say. “If it wasn’t for you, I might’ve gone insane by now. Might not even be alive. I don’t do well when I’m completely alone in my thoughts, especially not when I’m stressed.”

“Extroverted?”

“Not exactly.” You sigh. “Just… I sometimes spiral. And if I don’t have someone nearby me in those moments, I don’t make the best decisions.”

“… We never exactly talked much.”

“Just a presence helps,” you clarify. “Knowing someone’s there is enough. And…” Might as well be out with it. “I was scared of being alone. Terrified. Still am.” You swallow. “Even if it’s silent company, it means a lot to me.”

Sungyoon remains silent for a moment. You almost think you’ve said too much before he speaks. “Me too,” he mumbles. “I was scared, too. Of being alone.”

A pang of guilt resonates in your chest. “I’m sorry –”

“No apologies, right?” Sungyoon breaks in, reminding you of the conversation from just weeks ago. “It’s not your fault. I know that now.”

He does. A sharp certainty edges his words, still inlaid with sadness but free of bitter blame and anger. He has finally reconciled your actions with reality, the same way you’ve reconciled him and Daeyeol, too. And even if you still feel the weight of two murders on your hands, the knowledge that he doesn’t blame you anymore lifts your heart, just slightly.

“I guess I was afraid you would leave on your own terms, once you realized how much I was holding you back,” Sungyoon mumbles. “So I tried to make you go first. I thought if I was the one who made you leave…”

“Well, you can’t get rid of me now.” You lift your head to give him a lopsided smile. “I’m still here, Sungyoon. Doesn’t matter how bad your leg is, I’ll be with you until it heals and then some. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sungyoon breathes. Then – “Thank you for staying. And forgiving me.”

A small, genuine smile replaces the lopsided expression you wore before. “Thank you for forgiving me too.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for enduring forgiveness :))

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llycaons · 2 years

Note

oh but i have to do mdzs / cql for the ask game

YESSS!!!

Favorite character: LAN WANGJI and WEI WUXIAN!!! lwj because he unlocked a new part of my brain and wwx because he's the most character ever. but they tie with jin ling today because I love jin ling he's my boy he's very very young and learning how to live and his flaws are endlessly endearing

Second favorite character: wen ning and wen qing! AND lan qiren because you know what I love that old man. he's made a lot mistakes but I think he does his best and he loves his nephews

Least favorite character: su she. why are you even here su she. ugh. also jin guanshan for being an asshole and treating women like shit and pressuring jyl to marry his son and manipulating jc and oh yeah. murdering thousands of innocent war prisoners for sport. fucker

The character I’m most like: wen ning but not as cool. also jyl.

Favorite pairing: well naturally it's the one I made a whole new tag for do I even need to say it. invented love and trust and intimacy and tenderness and growth and support and have that kickass red/black and white/blue color scheme and complement each other in everything they do and inspire each other to be better people...

Least favorite pairing: any incest or age gap one obviously (including lxc and jc, what are you ON) but also xxc/xy truly does make me ill. I also hate wq/jc but there aren't many (implied canon) pairings that inspire such revulstion in me as xxc and the man who manipulated him into murdering both innocent people and his best friend/beloved and mocked him for his ideals and was implied to be in a relationship w him under false pretenses. god. there are only a handful of good couples in this show anyway that aren't incredibly obscure and with people who actually meet (like uhhh wang/xian good, yang/qing good, song/xiao good, mm and her husband good...sang/cheng is okay I guess but it's not much in canon...lxc and nmj fine...yeah not a lot. oh shit I forgot the straights. jyl and jzx I do like)

Favorite moment: hard to say. not a lot beats the staircase confession scene. I think I've mentioned this, but I definitely saw it as a full romantic confession scene as well. beautiful beautiful coming together of the relationship, and resolution of one of the issues it's had since the beginning (lwj not having wwx's back in a way he really needs him to) the callback to wwx's own words the elevation of concepts and themes from the original work into an adaptation. brilliant. also I have to say the snow scene in 43 (?) was just gorgeous visually and so cathartic emotionally and the domesticity in that scene was so much and you can really tell how wwx is slowly healing from the past and how having lwj's support and love is so good for him and he's grappling with his grief and what's happened to him and what he's done and lost but he's not doing it alone! even if they haven't like said it out loud... scream

Rating out of 10: 9.5/10. I had to split this section up lmao

treat your girls better. plot's kind of a mess. the effects were really quite bad, though they didn't ruin the scene for me. qishan lava pits and the puppets were a bit on the worse side. lwj should have had more and bigger scars on his back and he should have been allowed to get bloody and dirty which is something that'll always bother me. I also wanted more scenes with him! I think the show didn't want to make him do too much outside of his novel self which is a shame because he could have used just a little more personality and color. the pathos of some scenes are overdone - like when the kids reunite after LP massacre. I was upset too but jyl stood there and cried for way too long imo. also I have a bit of an issue with the body diversity for the leads of this show as well (most shows do this, here in the US as well, so I'm not criticizing cql in particular) but the fans heaping praise on the actors for being literally underfed is so disturbing. (I'm looking at you, blog who's liking my shit with a title like "lwj tiny waist appreciation zone" sit down and think maybe)

but as a show I just think it's an absolute triumph. I do think it had respect for the source material (see the callbacks and references a novel fan would get) but wanted to make the story its own. I thought the way the romance was written into the narrative even while being censored was legitimately masterful, the cinematography had some really stunning shots, the character relationships and arcs are deeply satisfying and complex and tragic and hopeful, the music was excellent and integrated well into the story, most of the acting was incredible (special shoutout to zzj, xz, wzc, and wyb for playing jgy, wwx, jc, and lwj SO well my god), there was chemistry between the leads and between pretty much all major characters, the flashback structure is unique and compelling, and despite the overuse of cgi in some establishing shots I thought the sets for unclean realm, cloud recesses, and lotus pier felt both lived in/homey and fantastical. I said some of the emotional scenes are overdone but when they aren't, they're the kind of scenes that you think about for months. the emotional storytelling is incredible and the character work my god the jiang family alone...there's so much there to dig into

thank you penta! in terms of adaptations I just find it so fascinating as well

#asks #sorry this is so long but this just kmakes me brain go brr #sobs and wails and screams. this show

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scandeniall · 4 years

Text

love in argentina

pairing: oikawa x reader

summary/warnings: you went to study abroad in argentina, he went there to play volleyball. you meet and your love story starts in argentina./ um yeah a ton of spoilers including 402. oh and just implied sex for 2 seconds

wc: 3.2k

notes: in honor of both oikawa’s birthday and the manga officially being over. its been a ride and i’m glad hes getting the ending he truly deserves.

You're not sure when it happened. Growing up, you never really thought too much about love. You didn’t live in this fantasy that one day you’d get your happily ever after with your prince. You just lived as usual, focusing on your own dreams and goals. Being present and if love happened then it happened.

Oikawa isn’t quite sure when it happened. Growing up it had been a battle between volleyball and his own insecurities as he was determined to be the best. Sure he dated around, but it never amounted to much. There were so many people in the world to prove wrong and love had been pushed off the agenda.

But somehow it happened. Love had found its way into both of your lives and you found it within one another. It came without warning and despite every logical thought in your brains to run you didn’t. Now as you look at your fiance enter the arena your heart is filled with joy. You got your happily ever after all thanks to your last minute decision to study abroad in Argentina.

----

Another clap of thunder caused another groan to rip through your throat. Looking around your vision was minimal due to the downpour. The occasional shiver ran through your spine whenever the wind would pick up. The covering of the protruding building could only do so much, afterall. You eyed the directions on your phone for the nth time and still came up useless. When you decided to study in Argentina you looked at the frequency of rain, pleased at its limited occurrence. It was just your luck that your first weekend there you’d gotten caught.

A hoard of footsteps pounding against the rain soaked pavement caused you to look up from the device, and before you knew it a group of 5 men stood under the buildings canopy out of breath, soaking wet and laughing. Out of instinct you found yourself moving away from the group of strangers as you listened to them talk and laugh. You heard one of them mention the next nearest building they could run over to get towards their destination.

You eyed the phone again trying to make sense of the tiny map when three of them had run off. Right before the remaining ones could go you found yourself speaking up. Either be lost in San Juan for who knows how long or take your chance asking strangers for help. “Excuse me, could you guys point me in the direction of the university. I’m lost and I really need to get back to campus.”

The words came out rushed and you apologized for disturbing their day when the brunette in the group just laughed. “It's no problem. I’m Tōru. Tōru Oikawa.”

That was how you met. He’d offered to show you the way back, claiming that he knew what it was like to be new and lost in the city. He’d waved his teammate off, before telling you to keep up. In between running from building covering to building you found out he was a player on the club team originally from Japan.

“So you went across the world for volleyball? That's kind of cool.” You huffed out as the two of you ran under another canopy. After each one you'd allow yourselves to stop for a moment to not only catch your breath but to chat. “You went across the world to study.” “Yeah, but I’m only here for a semester. It seems you plan on staying. Not nearly as cool.”

Once the two of you arrived at the campus you offered to let him come in and dry off for a bit. “It's the least I could do.” You acknowledged that he didn’t have to show me all the way here and that surely he had better things to do. After a reluctant agreement the two of you found yourselves just talking. Oikawa had given you several food recommendations even ordering the “best empanadas ever” to your place. You two just seemed to have clicked. There was a sense of familiarity just like talking to an old friend that was instant.

“I have to get going. But it was great to meet you.” As the two of you said goodbye you contemplated for a moment about to offer your own number when he does the same. “In case you get lost again,” he insisted, handing you his phone with a laugh. “My first friend in Argentina,” you joke back. After thanking him again he bids you farewell with a light smile. “I’ll see you around.”

And the two of you saw each other again and again. In between your classes and his practices the two of you found yourselves texting quite often. In between teaching eachother new phrases in Spanish, you shared food recommendations, stories of your own childhoods within your respective countries and went on several adventures.

“You know, I haven't actually been here,” Oikawa hummed out from beside you. You had an assignment that required you to go to the Museo Provincial de Bellas Artes Franklin Rawson, the fine arts museum. It’d been nearly two months since you met Oikawa and when you'd asked him if he knew where it was located. Having no clue, he just decided to tag along with you. “Is that why you got us lost like 5 times on the way here,” you questioned before walking ahead to the next exhibit. “Hey!”

“Apparently there are 945 pieces here,” Oikawa read off as the two weaved throughout the other visitors, who were likely tourists. “Oh really? That's a lot,” you’d said mindlessly searching for a less crowded place to stand. You were vaguely aware of the hand resting on your upper back, his attempt at not allowing you two to become separated while also not pushing too far. You shot him a kind smile as he opened the door to the next exhibit.

Throughout the museum the two of you took pictures with your favorite works, a few selfies here and there that Oikawa forced you to send to him before you’d go home and forget. He’d invited you to his next game, one you gladly accepted. You’d seen him play only twice before and were utterly mesmerized by his poise, control, and how he seemed to command the court. After the two of you left he insisted the two of you go out for a few drinks. It was a Saturday night afterall.

You never quite made it to a bar. The two of you found yourselves just sitting on a bench downtown sipping your local drinks and just talking. “I love coming out at night, it's always so pretty,” you noted before taking another sip of your drink. The athlete only nodded in agreement. You didn’t know it then but that was the first time he’d wanted to kiss you.

From the constant chatter of people walking he’d tuned in soleyl on your voice. The way the mixture of street and shop lights illuminated your face caught him off guard. However he pushed that feeling away just to enjoy the present. Eventually you’d go back home and he’d be wherever. Still playing and still working towards his goals. “Hey, are you ok?”

He was immediately pulled out of his thoughts, sending you a genuine smile. “Yeah, just a bit sore.” He noticed the way you frowned and immediately regretted using that lie. Especially once you questioned him about his knee, a fact he’d let slip randomly one night over a late night text session. “I’m fine, besides the club would pull me so fast if I slipped into those habits again.” He’d also told you about how his friend would always have to drag him out of late night gym sessions. “Iwa gave me the nastiest bruise one time because I was in too late. It was an accident though, he was kinda shocked at just how hard the ball hit me too,” he laughed when he told you the memory. Then proceeded how he got to guilt trip his friend everyday until it healed. You only nodded but not before scolding him that somehow you’d go all the way to California to bring his friend back to kick his ass if needed.

-----

“Told you it would be worth it.” The scold you had ready for Oikawa didn't make its way out as your mouth dropped. The mountains completely took your breath away. When you’d first agreed to let Oikawa take you out to see nature you didn’t anticipate the lowered temperatures nor the annoying hiking trails. When you’d seen the first steep path you looked at him in complete disbelief. “You're not serious right now. I don’t even have on the right shoes Tōru,” you complained eying the worn sneakers with very little traction. “It’ll be fine, I’ll help you. The view is worth it.” With that you reached for his outstretched hand and went with it.

“It's beautiful up here,” you said slowly taking in the view. “El Leoncito. Blanco took me here the first month I got to Argentina. It was a rough week and he said I needed to get away. Camp out for a weekend and regain my focus.” You felt yourself nodding along as he spoke. “I remember how much you complained about your last test grades and figured you could use the break too.”

You’d known Oikawa for four months now. Your first semester in Argentina was coming to an end soon, and suddenly you were glad you didn’t let homesickness take over and decided to stay for the academic year. That gave you another few months with who turned out to be your dearest friend in the country. “Thank you,” you replied softly. While he had been looking at the view you managed to sneak a few looks at his profile. He didn’t know it then but that was the first time you’d wanted to kiss him.

The nights cooled down more than you could have imagined and you found yourself shaking despite the campfire around you. You mentally cursed Oikawa again for not informing you to be better prepared. The sound of a zipper shifted your attention as he emerged from the tent the two of you had set up earlier. “Looking a little cold over there,” he teased sitting next to you. “You suck.”

His laugh filled the air as a sudden warmth came over you. You look over to see he’d placed a pare blanket over you. You were filled with the urge to kiss him for the second time that night. “I’m not such a shitty guy now am I?” You only shook your head in amusement. “Yeah, I guess not.”

The months came and went. The two of you grew closer as the time for you to go home neared. Neither of you remember quite when it happened. It had been spring break for you and you had been hanging around Oikawa’s place for the most part. Even while he wasn’t there, the two of you had become that comfortable in less than a year. One night he came back unusually agitated and touchy, and you found yourself walking on eggshells until he just blurted out his feelings. “I fucking like you. More than a friend and it's annoying because I kept getting distracted tonight because one of the guys pointed out that you’d be going home soon.”

Your eyes widened as you watched him down his first shot of the night. A drink he’d insisted he needed after the night he had. After you hadn’t said anything for a few moments it seemed like his words dawned on him and his eyes widened. Before he could apologize you’d crossed the short space from his couch to the kitchen to press your lips against his.

“It's annoying, but I like you too.”

After that the two of you essentially began dating. You’d never officially declared a title but it was clear as day that you were together. When the year ended you decided to stay in Argentina at least for the summer, moving in with him for the time. In doing so the two of you put off the impending goodbye for at least 3 months.

That summer had flown by before either of you knew it. In between having more time to watch him play and your Argentinian adventures, they were the best months of your night. You’d spend many nights laughing and making out on the side of bar buildings on nights out. When time permitted, taking random day trips outside of San Juan and exploring together. You’d accumulated enough pictures together to fill out an entire photo album in that time alone.

One of your favorite memories came after you’d gotten home from said day trip. During which you guys brought three different jars of dulce de leche from different shops. You two had decided to try your hand at determining which shop had the best by putting them in various deserts.

“Wait we have to try them plain first,” you exclaimed the second the two of you had made it back. Taking the bag you made your way to the kitchen pulling out the jars. “The one I picked is going to be the best,” Oikawa assured, taking a spoon from you. “What if we fed each other and I took pictures to send to Iwa to remind him that he’s single.” You laughed before responding. “Oh please, he’s kinda hot. I doubt he's that lonely.”

“(Y/N) you can’t call him hot. I’m supposed to be the hot one,” he jokingly complained, arms coming to lock around your waist. Leaning your lips towards his, you mumbled with a lazy smile. “You are the hottest. But you’re going down, Grand King.” You pulled away laughing as his distressed look at your use of the dumb nickname. “I should've never told you about that.”

“Too late now,” you hummed opening the jars to set them out. “You wanted to make your best friend jealous right,” you questioned as he made no move toward the treat. You smiled at the sparkle in his eyes. “Hell yes.”

After you two couldn’t come to a consensus about whose pick was the best you two stared at the ingredients you'd also purchased to use the dulce de leche with. “Now what are we going to make,” he mused, tossing his arm around your shoulder. “Lets ask the internet.” You felt his lips press against your cheek before he agreed.

By the end of the night you’d managed to make a successful pastry, some random cake where you had to substitute a few ingredients and hope for the best, and a sorry excuse for ice cream. “I told you this was a bad idea,” you laughed as you tried to keep mixing the failure. “It’s not thickening up at all.” You moved aside as your boyfriend took the bowl from you, muttering about letting the athlete stir before adding on. “Thick like me?”

“It's as flat as you,” you deadpan.

“It’s a liquid!”

-----

“Hey (Y/N). Are we going to make this work. You know when you go back home.” He’d asked you one night as you cuddled on the couch. Your time together was coming to an end and you were leaving in two days. It’d been something neither of you ever mentioned, even during the packing stage. You raised your head from his chest searching his eyes. “Do you want to?”

Another silence fell over you two as you both processed your question. Eventually he gave you a slow nod. “Yeah. I do. Do you?” At your nod Oikawa let out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. “Good. So it's settled yeah,” he questioned. “Yeah it is.” You smiled as you maneuvered your way onto his lap. Settling your knees on each side of him, his hand your cheek pulling your lips towards his. “Good,” he repeated right before his tongue slipped into your mouth as his hands slid lower.

That had been 5 years ago. In that time you'd gone back home to finish your degree and he stayed in Argentina. The following year his time in Brazil coincided with a school break of your own and you were able to meet him there. You’d gotten to meet the iconic Hinata and the two of you teased your boyfriend to death with Grand King.

The distance was never easy. There were times where you both questioned if it were worth it. Stress from both of your lives outside of one another would pile up and you had to learn to work through it. Learn to comfort despite being thousands of miles away. Reassuring you that you were indeed the smartest person he’d ever met. Reassuring him that he didn’t want to quit. He was amazing and he found volleyball fun. You’d even been the one to propose going to Brazil trying to find the fun in the game.

When he told you he was considering the possibility of naturalising you even encouraged it. And then he proposed to you. He had a small break and had flown out to surprise you insisting that it was now or never. He wanted you forever and knew if he didn’t just do it he’d keep thinking about it forever. Of course you’d briefly discussed marriage, stating that you wouldn't mind an engagement, even if it lasted for a few years while you both got your career, living and citizenship situations settled. So when he did it you made the decision to permanently move back to Argentina.

“Are you sure-” he’d asked you shortly after proposing. The high of you saying yes had worn off and now the realization of what this really meant settled. You’d discussed marriage prior to him starting the naturalization process. The two of you had been sitting in your yard hand in hand watching the stars. “Of course. I was looking into moving back anyways. Wanted to surprise you.”

His hand tightened in yours as he eyed your face for any semblance of a joke. “Really?” You only nodded pressing a kiss on his clothed shoulder. “Of course. It's where it all started. Besides, I have no doubt that you’ll make the olympic team. Gotta be there in person for moral support right?”

Suddenly you were tackled back onto the blanket your now fiance was hovering about you. “God, I love you.” Fingers playing with his hair you returned the sentiment. “I love you too.”

Neither of you are sure how it happened. You’d met at 19 and nearly a decade later at 27 you'd both accepted your fairytale ending. You found love in Argentina and your heart swells at the announcement of your Fiance at the Olympics. You can imagine his scowl at the mention of him never making it to high school nationals and find yourself laughing. Eying the ring on your finger you think back to the promise he made you two years ago on the night of the engagement.

“I want to marry you and I want to keep playing. So if you don’t mind, can the wedding be after the olympics.” There's not a single part of you that regretted agreeing to those terms. As you watched him continue to train your pride for him continued to grow. As he entered the arena ready to play against his home country you found yourself yelling.

“Beat them all Oikawa!”

a/n: i hope u enjoyed this. I’ve been in a slump and on vacation past week but i am back (i think) and better than ever. I have a 10k atsumu piece coming within the next few days so i hope u stay tuned for that. Both of that and this are me tapping into my creativity and im very passionate about 10k words esp.

also; if you enjoyed this I think you’d really like my sakusa piece no limit to you. it has a similar feel and to date is my fav thing ive written (and 5k words)

lastly: did yall enjoy my google argentina research LMAO. ngl after um i kinda wanna go there tf

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #oikawa imagine #hq imagines #hq imagine

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