spacesquidlings

[spacesquidlings]

Interlude for Lunch

Being invited to Rafayel's studio that morning had promised a lazy, sleepy day spent with him while he painted, and yet it was quickly turning into something more as she tried taking care of her hungry, tired artist in pain.

Pairing: Rafayel x MC Tags: Fluff, comfort, implied/established relationship, domestic-ness Taglist: @aluneposting

A long, drawn out groan drew her from her reverie.

She had been reading, half-asleep on the couch in Rafayel’s studio. Soft blankets had been strewn across it, pillows fluffed until they were puffy as cotton-candy clouds. Honeyed sunlight had spilled from the windows, washing over the floors and furniture like a gauzy veil.

It had been as alluring as a siren song, and she had nestled into it as Rafayel had painted. He’d called her that morning, asking her to come over, but when she’d arrived he’d only waved a hand, telling her to make herself comfortable as he’d frowned at his painting.

So she had, settling into the couch that had suspiciously been covered in all her favourite blankets. It had been far too easy to doze, even though she’d tried valiantly to remain awake, focusing her attention on the book she’d brought with her. But the blankets had been so soft, and the pillows so fluffy, and the sun so warm.

The snatches of melodies Rafayel had hummed had been the proverbial nail in the coffin, like scraps of a lullaby woven together in the air, soft and serene, lulling her to sleep.

But when he groaned, loud and raspy and full of distress, she snapped awake at once, bleary eyes searching for him in the cavernous room that served as his studio.

She found Rafayel leaning back on a stool, teetering precariously close to the edge, his head thrown back. His bangs spilled back, a mess of lavender and lilac and violet as the light caught in it. He had tossed his paintbrush to the side, trailing a line of azure as it rolled across the floor, one of his hands gripping at his wrist.

“Rafayel?” She struggled to stand, the blankets tangled and knotted around her legs. “Darling? What’s wrong?”

He leaned further back, very nearly toppling backwards as he spied her. “You’re awake.”

“Of course I am.” Finally she managed to free herself from the tangle of blankets, getting to her feet and crossing the room towards him. “I heard you. Are you okay?”

He clicked his tongue as he straightened, still clutching his wrist as he stood. “My wrists have been hurting all morning, and now I can hardly hold a paintbrush.”

“What?” She hurried to him, hands outstretched towards him.

He raised his brows, but made no comment as she took his hands, prying away the one that was clinging to his wrist.

“When did the pain start?” She squeezed his wrists gently, trying to feel for swelling, a bruise, a broken bone, anything. “Did you do anything yesterday? Why did you go to the doctor? Why did you keep painting today?”

He sighed, flipping his hands over and wrapping his fingers around her wrists. “You’re asking the questions too fast for me to answer.”

“Oh.” Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she ducked her head, staring at the dried paint splattered across the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey.”

She looked back up, finding amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Don’t pout,” he chided, shaking his head even as he gave her an impish smile. “I’m already hurt, are you really going to make me feel worse?”

She ground her teeth together, looking away as his smile grew wider. “My mistake, you must not be hurt that badly if you’re making jokes.”

She tried to pull away, but his fingers tightened on her, yanking her back before she’d even taken a full step away.

“Wait.” His eyes widened, his smile melting into a frown. If little pinpricks of silver had appeared at the corners of his eyes she wouldn’t have been surprised.

She conceded, letting him reel her back in. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

He looked down, a line forming between his brows as he dropped her hands, squeezing his wrists again. “I’d been hit with some inspiration, so I spent all of yesterday painting. When I woke up this morning they were hurting, but I thought it would go away once I started painting again.”

She frowned, reaching for his hands again.

“Being awfully touchy today, huh,” he said, the corner of his lip twitching.

She remained silent, glowering at him until he wilted, muttering a half-apology.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked

“Well I was gonna,” he whined. He shifted from foot-to-foot, and the image of a sulking child coming home with scrapes all over him rose in her mind, refusing to make eye contact as he shuffled his feet. “But I forgot.”

“You forgot?” She blinked. “You made it sound like it’s been making it impossible to paint.”

He rolled his eyes with a huff. Definitely a petulant child. “Well it hasn’t made it impossible, but I wanted to get as much done as I could while I was inspired, and whenever you’re around I feel more creative…” He trailed off, glaring at the far wall. “I got distracted, but now it hurts too much to work on any of the finer details.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, warmth like the first blush of light as the sun rose spreading rosy fingers through her chest, reaching through the spaces between her ribs.

‘Whenever you’re around I feel more creative…’

She would save that to tease him with for later.

But right now she was worried about the pain in his wrists, and even more worried that he’d tried to work through it, that he probably would have ignored it entirely until it got so much worse.

“Have you ever had this kind of pain before?”

A shake of his head, as dramatic as a stage-actor embellishing their movements. “No, never!” His words were an exclamation, loud and exasperated. He heaved out a long breath, shoulders rising and falling, head tossed to the side. “This has never happened before.”

“Rafayel…” She trailed off, flipping his hands up then down, palms to the ceiling, to the floor, her fingers carefully probing to see if she could find anything.

“It’s probably nothing,” he groaned, slumping forward now, head very nearly knocking into hers. “But I can’t finish my painting while it hurts!”

He jerked his head back up so quickly he nearly knocked their foreheads together. She barely had a moment to lean back before he was peering up at her, crocodile tears shining in his eyes, his bottom lip quivering like he was about to sob. “What if I run out of inspiration? It took me weeks to find it!”

She sighed, giving his wrists a squeeze. “Before we jump to the worst case scenario, we need to handle this, okay?”

He groaned, tossing against his shoulder, slumping sideways like he might spill onto the floor. “How can we handle it? Are you going to swim into the ocean to find wishing fish to cure me?”

She blinked. “Are those real?”

“You really need to be less trusting.”

She groaned, rolling her own eyes now. “Come on, Rafayel. I’m worried about you, you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Excuse me?” He scoffed, looking offended. “I take care of myself perfectly well. It sounds to me like someone is making things up!”

She frowned, pulling out her phone to check the time. “Did you eat breakfast?”

There was a short intake of breath, like he was about to answer, and then…

Nothing.

She looked back up to see him pouting, looking away as he puffed out his cheeks.

“You didn’t eat breakfast, did you?”

He yanked himself from her grip, crossed his arms, shielding himself from her. He puffed his cheeks out even more, still refusing to answer.

She giggled, unable to resist poking his cheek. “You know it’s the middle of the afternoon, right?”

Still no answer. All she got in response was Rafayel half-turning away from her, wrinkling his nose as he shot her a scathing look from the corner of his eye.

She reached for him again, settling her hands just below his shoulders. “Come with me, love.”

He looked back at her, his expression softening, although his tone was still thick with suspicion. “What are you planning?”

“I’m planning-” she took the opening to take his arm, dragging him towards the couch. “To get you to sit down so we can get you feeling better.”

“Hey. Hey!” Although he protested, he did not stop her from pulling him from his painting, nor did he stop her from nearly shoving him against the cushions of the couch.

“If you wanted me to sit you could have just asked,” he whined, squeezing his wrists again. “I’m delicate, you know. You have to be gentle with me.”

The memory of the last time she’d been unwell surfaced in her mind, Rafayel dragging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and all but chucking her onto the bed and telling her to rest.

“Mmmm,” she hummed instead, unlocking her phone and opening her delivery app. “Okay, baby. First of all, let’s get you something to eat.”

He groaned, eyes rolling so high all she could see were the whites as he threw himself back against the cushions.

Delicate indeed.

“I’m fine,” he groaned, waving his hand in the air. “I’m not hungry, I just want my wrists to stop hurting!”

She clicked her tongue. “You need to eat something, Rafayel. It’ll make you feel a little better.”

He wrinkled his nose, turning his head to the side with a huff.

“Alright.” She widened her eyes theatrically, waving her phone at him. “So if I order you a large garden salad with no toppings, that will be fine?”

“No, I don’t want that.” Suddenly he was up, trying to snatch the phone from her hands as he protested. “If you’re going to order something, order something good.”

“Oh? Like what?” She pulled her phone just out of reach, pressing her palm against his chest to stop him from grabbing it. “What do you think would be good?”

“Well not a salad.” He made another grab for her phone, narrowly missing. “And don’t go ordering that awful sushi like you did last time.”

“What do you mean, awful?” She gaped at him, mildly offended. She’d really liked the sushi she’d ordered last, the crispy bits along the sides adding a nice little crunch and the sauce being perfectly spicy. “I thought it was good!”

“Not only are you guileless, but you have no taste for seafood, either.” He grabbed her wrist, sliding her hand from his chest and lunging forward.

She laughed, rolling to the side and nearly falling from the couch to stop him from snatching her phone. “What is that even supposed to mean?!”

“It means,” he huffed, cheeks puffing out again, pouting at his loss. “That if you want seafood, you should just ask me to make it, and not order from some overpriced restaurant.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she giggled, clutching her phone to her chest as she readjusted, sitting up on the couch once more. “But I don’t want you to cook right now when your wrists hurt.”

“I wouldn’t cook anyways,” he grumbled, leaning back. A light began shining in his eyes, and the corners of his lips turned up in mischief. “Unless you asked very nicely.”

She hummed, choosing not to acknowledge him. Instead, she scrolled through the delivery options on her phone, reading them off to see his reaction.

“Pasta?”

“Are you kidding? It’ll make me too sleepy to keep painting.”

“Soup?”

“That’s hardly filling.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “What about curry? There’s a place that does really nice Thai curry.”

He narrowed his eyes, nose wrinkling. “Fine, if it makes you happy.”

“You have to eat it, too, Rafayel,” she pointed out. “You are going to eat it. Right?”

He groaned, throwing his head back, draping his arm across his face. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you?”

She beamed. “No.”

“Fine.”

She tried passing her phone to him, but he waved her off, turning to the side so he looked every bit the troubled damsel. “Choose whatever.”

“Are you sure?”

He sighed, long and drawn out, like the wind whistling across ocean waves. “Yes, I’m sure. Just make sure it’s a red curry, and make sure it’s not too spicy.”

She had to bite back a smirk as he continued listing off his preferences. He wanted to pay extra for shrimp, he wanted jasmine rice not white rice, he wanted one made with coconut milk if they had it.

“Anything else?” She asked, hovering her finger over the ‘order’ button.

He peaked up from beneath his arm. “Don’t forget to order something for yourself, too. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Hey.” She pouted, wrinkling her nose to mimic him. “You’re the one who didn’t even eat breakfast.”

He shrugged. “I was hard at work chasing my inspiration. What’s your excuse?”

“I did eat breakfast.”

“Good, and now you can eat lunch.” He reached out to tap her phone screen. “Order something for yourself, I’ll pay.”

At that she balked, her stomach roiling; she hated making people spend money on her, hated being an inconvenience, a burden. “That’s okay, Rafayel. You’re the one who’s hurt, I don’t want you to waste your money on…”

The glare he fixed her with was sharp as his daggers, hot as flame. She felt her skin warm, burn beneath the force of it.

“It’s not a waste,” he said, his tone a proclamation, an insistence buoyed by sparks that billowed into fire as they caught on kindling.

“I-” She was a little dazed, speechless in the face of the sting in his tone.

He drew in a deep breath, sighed slowly, his expression slowly softening, the lines around his eyes fading. “If you expect me to eat, then you have to eat, too. You need your energy just as much as I do.”

She hummed, trying to discern whether he was teasing her or being genuine. “Why? Are you planning something?”

His smile turned wry. “Who knows? Maybe I had something planned once I finished this painting.” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “Although that probably won’t happen now, since I’ll never finish the painting.”

“You’ll finish your painting,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, you’re acting like you’re going to lose your hands.”

“And what if I am?” He whined. “You’ll have to hand-feed me my lunch. You’ll have to move in to take care of me.”

“Wow, I’m so honoured you’d want me to live with you just to take care of you,” she said, tone dry.

“Well there might be other reasons, too.” His smile was infuriating, smug and enigmatic at once. “But that would be my excuse.”

“I’m touched.”

He rolled his eyes, making another grab for her phone. “Just hurry up and order, I feel like a fish drying up on the beach.”

She snorted, quickly tapping in what she wanted and hitting ‘order.’

“There,” she said, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “At least I can make sure you’ll eat something.”

He tipped his head to the side, propping it up with his fist. “You know, if you’re that worried about me eating, you should come over more often to remind me. And bring me my favourite snacks.”

“I already stock your favourite snacks at home,” she said, ignoring the way her heart fluttered, fast as the beat of hummingbird wings, at how the light touched his eyes, how his bangs fell over his brow, half-covering one eye. His hair was soft, she knew it was, and her fingers tingled with the sudden need to touch it, to smooth it back.

“Yes, but you don’t bring them over,” he countered, brows rising. “How am I supposed to eat them when they’re at your house?”

“I gave you a key,” she reminded him. She gave him a light kick, earning a feigned huff of pain. “You’re in my house more than I am.”

The corners of his lips turned down, a waning crescent moon lost in the indigo sea of the night. “Well you should come over here more. Maybe it will convince me to keep more food in the house.”

“And if I ask very nicely, will you cook too?” She parroted his words from earlier back at him, even as fluttering wingbeats swooped in her belly and embers caught on the pyres beneath her skin.

“Maybe,” he hedged, his lips quivering, like he was trying to hold back his smile. “If I don’t lose my hands before then.”

“Here,” she leaned forward, holding her hands. “Give me one of your hands.”

“You’re not going to do something weird to it, are you?” He sounded dubious, but he gave her one of his hands, settling it between her two cupped palms. 

It was so much larger than hers, dwarfing both her hands in comparison. She swallowed, butterfly wings forcefully fluttering against the borders of her body, trying to escape.

“Yes, I plan to steal the artistic talent from your hands,” she teased, ignoring the cascade of wings, the rise of heat in her chest. She slid her fingers to his wrist, gently pressing her thumbs into the spaces between the joints at the centre, feeling the flit of his own pulse. “I’m going to be the famous painter now, and you can protect me.”

“Don’t know how much protecting I’ll be able to do with useless hands.” Now he was smiling, his eyes bright, the blue seeming to deepen, a blue like ocean tides. “But I can certainly try my best.”

She started with small circles, pressing them gently into the middle of his wrist, pausing frequently to make sure he was comfortable, that she wasn’t hurting him.

“You know you should probably do wrist and hand exercises,” she mused, sliding her thumbs to the sides of his wrist, repeating the same small circles at the sides. “I think you can find some online if you look. And you should rest more often and do some stretches.”

Rafayel scoffed, although it sounded weak, strained. When she looked up he was steadfastly staring at the ceiling, his lips pulled into a pout.

“I mean it,” she continued, sketching her fingertips over the back of his hand. “If you don’t, you really are going to lose your hands! And then you won’t ever be able to paint again.”

“Oh please.” He pouted harder, lines creasing between his brows. He tilted his head back more, although she could feel his gaze on her, watching her careful ministrations.

“No it’s true.” It was difficult, holding back her smile, and she had to lower her head, letting her bangs act as a veil between her face and his searching eyes. “When pain like this gets too extreme they just chop people’s hands right off.”

She could feel as he shifted, as he leaned towards her, and she could only imagine the narrowing of his eyes, the jut of his lip from his pout.

“No it’s not,” he said, but there was hesitation in his voice.

She only hummed in response, pressing her thumbs over each individual finger bone, delicately adding pressure and sliding up towards his wrist. His skin was soft, and warm, and she could feel the small calluses on his hand from holding his paintbrush, and from what she could only assume was wielding his daggers.

The roughness was strange, at odds with the softness of his skin, and her mind wandered each time her fingers brushed against one, remembering the feel of his palm against her cheek, the back of her neck, against her own palm whenever he took her hand.

It was far too easy to get distracted, for her thoughts to melt away and heat to billow in her chest and belly, from the storm of flitting gossamer wings, from the rush of her beating heart, from the lingering smell of cologne underneath the sting of the smell of paint.

“I guess this is it for me,” he groaned, flopping backwards again. Now she did look up, snorting in laughter as he tossed his free arm over his face again, slumping against the couch like a ragdoll.

Focusing on his dramatics made it easier to ignore the nonsensical thoughts rising like a wave, threatening to crash over her. She could feel her senses drifting away, caught in his undertow and whisked out to sea. There was only Rafayel, and the weight of his hand in hers, and the smell of him, and the song of his voice.

But it was his words, and his melodrama, that fell like an anchor, holding her in place where she would have been lost in the ocean of what was rising in her heart. And she held onto that anchor for dear life, knowing that if she slipped he would tease her relentlessly, an incessant waterfall of jokes and teasing that would leave her flustered and furious.

And then he would do something equally infuriating, like taking her face and kissing her stupid, until he was the only thing occupying her mind.

As if he wasn’t already the only thing occupying her mind.

Warmth was beginning to bloom in her cheeks, unfurling like wildflowers, one petal at a time. But Rafayel didn’t notice, or if he did he didn’t much care, too wrapped up in his whingeing.

“I’ll never be able to lift a paintbrush again,” he groused, back arching as he took a deep breath, then collapsing against the couch all over again. “I’ll have to make you paint everything for me, so my inspiration doesn’t go to waste.”

She arched a brow as she flipped his hand over, pressing her thumbs into the centre of his palm. His fingers curled over slightly, brushing against the backs of her hands, a shiver going through her at the touch.

It was only through sheer willpower was she able to keep her body steady, massaging circles into the very centre of his palm, slowly working towards the sides of his hand and down towards his fingers.

“What do you mean you’ll make me paint everything?” She asked. “I’m not the professional artist.”

“And who’s been adding those doodles in the corners of my sketchbook.”

She kept her focus trained on his hand, the weight of his gaze bearing down on her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“You can’t fool me.” He leaned forward, flicking her forehead with his free hand. “I’m not the one with seaweed for brains. I know it was you.”

She puffed out her cheeks, petulance growing like bubbles in her chest. “And what if it was?”

“It means you’ll be the one painting for me when I lose my hands. And it means you’ll have to spend more time here.”

Her lips lifted of their own accord, the rough peevishness replaced by a rose-stained warmth. It was golden sunshine seeping across the horizon, indigo bleeding into lavender and cerise. An excuse to spend more time with him, close at his side, was welcome as the dawn, as desired as sun-warmed waves foaming around her ankles.

He was always finding reasons to appear at her door unannounced, but she felt forever nervous whenever she considered visiting him. She did not want to distract him from his work, did not want to be a nuisance that took up space when he needed things in exact, particular ways as he created. She did not want to be needy, to be seen as clingy and desperate, her skin prickling at just the thought of him regarding her poorly, of scoffing at her and sending her away because he couldn’t deal with someone clinging to him at all hours of the day.

She was needy though, and she craved his presence, the feelings sticky as honey. It clung to her skin and the back of her throat, clogging her veins and the valves and pumps of her heart. With each breath she could feel it, pooling in her lungs, choking out the air, each intake of oxygen fruitless as she drowned in her own neediness.

She did not know what to say that would have hidden such things from view, so she hummed instead, massaging around his knuckles. If she spoke she would surely reveal herself, and the mess of her heart.

Rafayel clicked his tongue, oblivious to the riot of her mind, the disarray of her heart. “Although we would need to get you some art lessons; your understanding of colour is abysmal.”

She could not look up, her face burning now, as if he’d set her alight with his own flames. “You know they don’t actually chop your hands off,” she said, whisper-soft. She needed to focus, on the moment, on his theatrics, on his hand cradled between two of hers.

She was trying to help him, to take care of him as best she could. Not to melt into a puddle of yearning, her mind utterly bewitched by the touch of his hand.

“But you do have to take care of yourself more,” she said, louder now, more firm. She lowered his hand, beckoning for him to give her the other one. “If you don’t do stretches and exercises regularly there can be a lot of issues in the future. You won’t lose your hands, but it might become too difficult to hold a paintbrush.”

As she repeated the process all over again, starting with his wrist, slowly making her way around it before pressing the pads of her thumbs into the back of his hand, she could feel his body slumping back again. The cushions beneath them shifted, his free hand dangling over the side of the couch. He groaned, eyes squeezing closed as he shook his head. “Do I have to? Surely this is only a one-time thing.”

“Rafayel.” She said his name like a sigh, closing her own eyes. “If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for me. I’m always worried about you.”

When she opened her eyes again his face had become a riot of colours, brilliant vermillion and deep carmine. Splatters of scarlet and crimson, of peach and strawberry, seeped across his face, vanishing beneath his hair. His eyes seemed all the brighter, the blue nearly drowning the red with its intensity. They were bright as gems, a vivid cerulean that she could have drowned in, lured into its depths by his siren song.

It took her breath away, made her own face burn, flames licking up her bones, racing along her veins, singeing her heart. Had she any further words to say, they were gone now, consumed by the heat of the fire in her cheeks, in the flush covering every inch of her body.

But it was Rafayel who spoke next, or tried to, anyways. He looked at the ceiling, at the wall, down at their joined hands. He cleared his throat, ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall at odd angles as he looked up again, anywhere but at her.

“O-oh?” His chest rose, fell, eyes trailing over some detail she wasn’t focused on. All her focus was on him, even the stammer of his voice mesmerizing. She was enthralled, lost to him despite her best efforts.

He covered his cheek, still refusing to meet her gaze. “You-you worry about me all the time?”

She nodded. “I do.”

Like a switch being flipped, his eyes finally cut to hers, the red returning in a blaze of fire. His brows drew low, lines deepening between them. “Well maybe you should come over more often, then, and you wouldn’t have to worry.”

Had she said something wrong? “Rafayel, it’s not that I don’t want to think about you, I just want you to be okay.”

“Then you should come over more,” he said. Although his expression softened, his tone was no less insistent. “I’ll be okay as long as you’re here.”

The breath went out of her then, her heart thrumming so quickly she didn’t feel it at all.

She opened her mouth, not even sure what she would say, only that she had to say something, the taste of her own neediness in the back of her throat.

Only to jump at the ring of the doorbell.

She gasped from the suddenness of it, feeling wild as she jerked her head to the side, towards the door.

Rafayel swore, the hand she’d been holding suddenly gripping her own, like he was the one anchoring himself in a storm. “Hey, baby-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as loud raps cut through the air, severing the last strand of the spell they had woven.

Grumbling, he shoved himself to his feet. “I’ll get it!”

More loud raps, impatient.

“I said I’ll get it!”

She sat, stunned, watching as Rafayel vanished from the room. She was left with nothing but a tingling in her hands, the echo of his warmth beside her, and the smell of the paint drying on the canvas.

She stared down at her hands, where she’d cradled his only moments ago. Severed from her anchor, lost in a storm, the ocean carrying her far away to somewhere unknown. That moment had been like wine, heady and intoxicating, leaving her senseless. If the doorbell had not rang, what would she have said? Would she have told him? Would she have admitted to her need, her yearning for his presence?

She didn’t have a chance to wonder for long, a cold pop-can pressed against her burning cheek.

“Here,” Rafayel said, waiting for her to take it from his hand. “The food’s arrived.”

Quietly she nodded, taking the bag he offered her next.

Silence descended, a heavy mantle that stifled everything but the beat of her heart, so loud it pulsed in her ears, so insistent she could feel it in her fingertips.

It was even, rhythmic, the beat to a song she could not quite place.

He settled beside her, rifling through the takeout bags and divvying up the food.

“I meant it, you know,” he said, a knife slicing through the quiet, shattering the stained glass of the moment. “You should come over more.”

She fiddled with her food, daring a glance at him. “Why is that?”

A shrug. “For my health, and my art. And just because.”

She hummed, poking at her food. Her belly churned, her heart beating all the fiercer at the meaning hidden in his words.

He wanted to see her more, he wanted her near more.

She was so worried that he would see her as needy, as pathetic, and yet was he not admitting the same thing that she kept hidden? The need to be closer, to be near?

Only then did she understand; the song that her heart was a part of. That it was for him. That she wanted it to be for him. And if he wanted her close, and she wanted to be close, then couldn’t she let the song play until its final note?

“Rafayel?” 

He arched a brow at the sound of his name, turning to look at her fully “Yes?”

Her heart was in her throat, each word another note, another part of the melody. She could taste the sweetness of it, like honey, but she did not fear it, did not feel it cloying her senses as she’d once been certain it would. “Then, could I come over again? Tomorrow?”

He blinked, a flicker like silver beneath waves in his eyes. Then he was smiling, wide and infuriatingly smug and utterly wonderful. “You really can’t wait to see me again, can you?”

She really couldn’t, giddiness bubbling golden-bright. “Maybe I just want to make sure you don’t push yourself too hard, and actually eat regularly.”

He snorted. “A likely story.” He paused, his eyes softening. “I’ll make sure things are ready for you, so you can come over whenever you want.”

“Won’t you get tired of me? If I come over all the time?” She scooted closer, a flower basking in the light of the sun.

Light as the breeze, his fingers brushed across her temple, slipping over her hair. “No, I could never be tired of you.”

He lowered his hand, sudden sharpness shooting through her face as he pinched her cheek. “So you’d better come over all the time, and you’d better not make me wait. And if you don’t then I’ll come find you.”

Laughing, she pushed his hand away. “I promise, I’ll come over all the time.”

His gaze burned, bright as flames for the briefest of moments before he leaned back, nodding once. “Good. And if my hands start hurting you can help me again, I already know what I want to paint next.”

“Okay.” She spoke softly, smiling down into her food, joy flickering like colourful tails beneath the waves, like sunlight across water.

Tomorrow spread before her, and all the tomorrows after that, as boundless as the sea. And perhaps she would lose herself, and she would be dragged away by the tide. But he would be with her, his smile, his laughter, his maddening teasing, and even the force of the ocean’s waves could not tear that away.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #lnds rafayel #lads rafayel #qi yu #rafayel love and deepspace #qi yu x mc #rafayel x mc #rafayel lads #message in a bottle

[spacesquidlings]

YOU’RE SO UNDERRATED

Oh my gosh!!!! Thank you so much anon, I'm so happy you've enjoyed the things ive written!!!! I hope I'll write more things that you'll love!!!!!

#brb going to go and SOB #anon can I hug you please and thank you

[spacesquidlings]

Amends

For maybe the first time ever, Rafayel was late. And not just late, but very late. And when the minutes turn to hours and still he doesn't arrive for their date, she begins to panic, beginning a frantic search for her lost artist. Once he's found, she doesn't know what will happen next, but he'll have to do a lot to make up for it.

Pairing: Rafayel x MC Tags: Fluff, established/implied relationship, forgiveness/making it up to her, emotional hurt/comfort Taglist: @aluneposting

For the first time, she was early.

Not to say she was ever late. She would arrive right on time for days she planned to spend with Rafayel, only for him to whine at length about how long he had been waiting for her, time slipping away like water through fingertips as he aged and the world crumbled in his impatience.

Sometimes she would try to arrive early. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen. Yet no matter how early she arrived, Rafayel would always be there, tapping his foot dramatically, lamenting how he was withering away into nothing while he waited for her.

And on the days he was feeling most impatient, she would find him at her door, pouting as he demanded to know why she hadn’t let him in earlier, why she was still getting ready when he wanted to see her now.

A memory of his petulant whine as she wrote down the code for her apartment so he could just let himself in next time he was feeling restless rose to the forefront of her mind. He had been standing outside her building, tapping his foot furiously, arms crossed, his lips pulled into such a magnificent pout that birds could have perched on his bottom lip. She wouldn’t have even noticed he’d been there if her windows hadn’t been opened, if he hadn’t been whining so loudly she’d been able to hear it from inside her apartment.

He’d been early. Hours early. He’d decided that they’d needed to meet earlier in the day, that his artist’s heart had called on him to do something different than what they’d been planning that day.

She hadn’t really understood what he’d been saying, too focused on handing him a slip of paper with the code to her apartment on it so that the next time his heart or his intuition or his whatever decided their plans needed to change and he didn’t want to text her, he could just let himself in.

He had been so delighted he’d quieted instantly, tucking the paper into his pocket and throwing himself onto her couch, waxing on about how lucky she was to have someone like him in her life, and that she must adore him to trust him with her apartment code.

Whether she adored him or not had been something she’d been planning to keep to herself, although the truth that she’d been keeping buried in the soil of her heart was sprouting, emerald green shoots emerging, pale pink buds beginning to unfurl.

It was because of that feeling, the one blooming as languidly as flowers in spring, that she felt a fist squeezing around her heart, that she felt the air rush from her lungs even as they spasmed helplessly. Because if she was early, that meant that Rafayel was late.

She drummed her fingers on the top of the café table she had snagged when she’d arrived. She’d felt so terribly smug when she’d slid into her seat, arriving early enough that Rafayel would have nothing to chastise her for. He would undoubtedly tease her for arriving before him, but his pleased laughter was sunlight to the garden of her heart, coaxing seedlings from the ground. She would happily listen to his teasing, rolling her eyes and feigning annoyance, as he chattered on when he arrived.

But then the minutes had slipped by, water spilling through the cracks between her fingers, and Rafayel had not appeared. There had been no echo of his voice, no tap of his foot.

His presence filled every room he stepped into, and yet the café had remained empty, hollow as marrowless bones, sucked clean. All around her people were talking, laughing, indulging in the company of their friends, their family, their lovers. But it was dull, like she was hearing their voices from beneath the surging waves of the sea.

Her heart slowed, her stomach lurched. Her blood slowed to a sluggish flow, congealing in her veins. Winter spread through her body, latticed frost coating her bones, the spring she had felt flourishing in her marrow barren, decayed.

Panic should have been a wildfire, the furious flight of her heart, jackrabbit beats pounding in her throat, so quick, so wild in its panic that her veins pulsed from her skin. She should have heard nothing but the rush of her burning blood, fiery rapids drowning her beneath their foaming churn.

But Rafayel was fire, warmth. Without the glowing embers of heat that he coaxed to life, she felt herself wilting, withering in the cold left in his wake.

She wanted to shake herself for such dramatics, knowing that Rafayel would never let her live this down if he ever got wind of the frenzy she had worked herself into. But with even the threat of eternal teasing hanging over her head, she couldn’t seem to push away the oily nerves slithering in her belly.

She drummed her fingers on the top of the table, staring at the little clock hung on the wall of the café.

He couldn’t always be early, surely. Rafayel’s moods were as changing as the tides, ebbing and flowing at his whim. He could be a summer storm, waves so powerful they could erode stone in one moment, calm and steady as a beating heart in the next.

The thought did little to calm her as the seconds slipped by. Each breath was a grain of sand slipping through an hourglass, piling at her feet as her anxiety grew. She checked her phone, opening up her texts with Rafayel and scanning them, trying to figure out if something was wrong, if she’d upset him.

It didn’t seem like anything had been out of the ordinary. She’d sent him a picture of a goldfish she’d seen at a pet shop the day before and he’d sent a stream of emojis followed by demands to set it free. He’d texted her just after midnight demanding attention, followed by a number of photos of a shade of green he was trying to perfect. And then she’d woken up to more messages, asking her to help him come up with an excuse to turn down a party invitation.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as her eyes trailed over the string of texts she’d sent him since she’d arrived at the café. Gloating first, at arriving before he did. Five minutes later asking him if he wanted her to order for him, if he was hungry. Ten more minutes later asking if everything was okay.

Then another ten minutes later asking again if he was okay, where was he?

There were more messages after that, her growing unease palpable in her words, the use of the crying emojis that he liked to tease so much, and then no emojis at all as time had ticked on.

He would tease her for the string of texts, but it was too late for her pride now. She’d lost that when she’d given him the code to her apartment and started stocking his favourite foods for when he showed up starving and delirious after painting nonstop for days, anyways. A needy stream of texts was the least of her concerns, weak ammunition for his sharp words when they both knew she had a drawer dedicated to his clothes whenever he came over.

So she didn’t hesitate to send another message, another ‘where are you? I miss you,’ that made her stomach lurch as she tapped send. She shoved her phone into her pocket before she could think on it, heat flaring in her cheeks, her fingers trembling.

It was from worry, from concern. At least she told herself it was, anyways. She couldn’t bear to think about the alternative, about how she was admitting to something still growing, a planted seed that hadn’t yet begun to sprout. Green shoots vibrant in the soil of her heart, yet too small for her to willingly acknowledge.

Yet, anyways.

They would bloom soon, but there was fear lurking in the shadows between her ribs, in the hidden places between the knots of her muscles. A predator surveying its prey. The sharp prick of teeth as that worry bit into her, refused to let go.

That he did not have the same garden buried within him, that he was not tending to seeds and emerald shoots that promised a technicolour explosion when they unfurled.

She shook herself, trying to dislodge the thought, trying to ignore the stutter of her heart as the fear buried its canines into her flesh. What mattered right now was that Rafayel was nowhere to be found, and the minutes were forever ticking by, and there was not a single response to her embarrassingly long thread of unanswered messages.

Grinding her teeth to try and stop the shake in her hands, she pulled up his contact again. She couldn’t let herself think, absolutely not. Because this would be the icing on the cake, the nail in her coffin. Rafayel could be lying half-dead on the side of the road and finding out she had not only texted him more than twice, but that she had called him, would revive him instantly. If only so he could tease her about it until she could hardly speak from how flushed she became, from how the gears in her mind had ground to a halt.

Although the image of him lying near-death in some ditch made her heart clench, an iron fist clutching it, refusing to allow it to beat.

She tapped the call button, lifted her phone to her ear. There was no way he was lying dead somewhere, absolutely no way.

She listened as the phone rang and rang and rang, the high-pitched ring like a siren sounding in her mind. When finally she heard Rafayel’s voice her heart began to soar, and then just as quickly it plummeted as she realized it was the automatic message for his voicemail, a facsimile of his smile in his recorded voice.

Breath shuddering, she did her best to keep her message brief, hoping her panic didn’t stain her words before she hung up.

Her coffee had long since cooled, turned to ice in her mug, but she drank it without thought as she tried to quell her growing alarm.

It was again without thought that her body moved once more, her mind still swimming, trying to figure out where he could be and why he was late. She packed up her things, shrugged on her jacket, clutching her gloves and the handle of her purse in her hands as she hurried to the door.

Only once she had stepped into the embrace of the winter, stray snowflakes dancing on her cheeks as they were ushered through the air by the wind, sunlight refracting through dripping icicles, casting rainbows against the sides of shops and businesses as she passed by, did she realize she was on her way to his studio.

The cold air sharpened her mind, brought her back to herself. It banished the fog of her anxiety, the path clouded by her fear. She would check his studio first, and if he wasn’t there she would check the beach. And if she still could not find him then she would try to contact Thomas, because surely he would know where Rafayel was, and why he never showed up for their date. Without so much as a text.

She was nodding to herself, her little plan easing the tension holding her taut. She could feel the way her muscles began to loosen, unknot themselves.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Just enough to settle her mind, enough to stop the shaking in her hands.

Although the tremors returned when she arrived at his home, her footsteps echoing through the near cavernous rooms as she searched behind couches and under tables. She threw open doors, pulled back the messy sheets of his bed, tossed pillows to the side, unable to quell the trembling in her bones, the aftershocks of a quake that promised more devastation in their wake.

She was being dramatic and she knew it, but chest heaving, the entire house turned upside down, she began to wonder if her dramatics weren’t that dramatic. Not anymore.

It was so bizarre she pinched herself, wondering if this was a dream brought on by stress, or maybe she was in an alcohol-induced haze from drinking too much on an empty stomach.

But no, the upturned house didn’t melt into a darkened void, she did not feel the beginnings of a migraine as she slowly roused. It was entirely real, which meant Rafayel was entirely missing.

Your plan, she reminded herself, tucking her hands into her pockets as she hurried from the house. Don’t forget your plan.

She was going to check the beach next, in all of the spots he liked best for sketching or daydreaming until the sun melted into the horizon. It was his favourite place to be, where she did often find him when he wasn’t at home.

He would be there. He had to be there.

Yet for all her bluster when she arrived on the sandy shore, the grey of the ocean reaching icy tendrils across the sand, there was nothing. No one. The beach was as barren as her withered hope, nothing but the cry of a lone gull and the heavy thrum of her heart echoing in her ears.

The wind was colder here, and it stung her cheeks, flinging sand and salt into her ears even as she blinked furiously, trying to keep them clear. Her hair whipped through the air, the cold, callous hands of winter raking through it, tugging at it like it might tear it free from her scalp.

Hands red from the cold, shaking from nerves, they fumbled as she tried to retrieve her phone from her pocket. It slipped from her fingers, tumbled into the sand, sinking into the soft ground as the wind keened.

She stared at it, a shiver creeping along her spine. The shine of the screen lighting up washed over the ground, warming the colour of the sand until it seemed to glow gold. It was a notification from one of her mobile games no doubt, a reminder to collect her daily stamina or coins.

She didn’t care to pry it from the sand, instead watching as grains slipped over the sides of the case, collected over the screen. Fatigue washed over like the gentle lap of the ocean waves, her mind little more than seafoam as she stared and stared at her phone.

What was going on today? Why was she in such a panic? Why could she not quell the overdramatic whir of her thoughts, like a carnival ride that was out of control.

She needed to pull herself together. She needed to settle her mind.

The rational part of her mind told her, over and over, screamed it at her from the corner it had been tucked into. But she barely heard it over the cry of that lonely gull, over the thud thud thud of her heart.

But she didn’t do anything that could be described as rational, most of her thoughts a senseless cacophony that was all too easy to drown in.

She sank to the ground, blinking back the sting of sand, the bite of the wind, the unrelenting burn of her tears. All of it gathered in her lashes, painted the world in strange colours and shades, dewdrop silver over ashy grey, blurring to form something new with each blink.

Gathering her legs to her chest, she pressed her face into her knees, intent on staying there until she could calm her racing heart, until she could quell the ache of tears behind her eyes. She was being absurd, ridiculous, but she couldn’t seem to stop. All she could feel was panic, seeping through her like poison in her veins. With each beat of her heart it spread further, until all she could feel was the cold, oily fear running through her, dripping from her like blood from a wound.

She couldn’t bring herself to pick at the wound, to untangle the knotted feelings hidden beneath the sinew and bone. But thankfully it was then, as she was considering it, as understanding rose like a shadow stretching long at dusk, a muffled buzz sounded from her side.

It was soft, near silent with the cry of the wind and the hush of the waves against the shore. But it was incessant, insistent, refusing to be ignored. She could feel the vibrations of the buzzing through the sand, rattling their way through her bones.

It demanded her attention, a familiar feeling that plucked at the strings of her heart. Some of the pressure behind her eyes faded, the tightness on her chest loosening its hold as she looked to her side, to where her phone had fallen into the sand.

The screen was bright as starlight, notifications from an unknown number flashing on the screen, one after the other, piling over each other so she could not read their messages before the next one appeared.

Her phone flashed again, persistent in its demand for her attention, her phone buzzing harder as the unknown number attempted to call.

She stared at it, let it go to voicemail before slowly plucking her phone from the ground, brushing away the grains of sand as her heart waited, seemed to stop entirely.

Barely a breath went by before the number tried to call again, her phone shaking so fervently in her hand she nearly dropped it again. The reverberations kickstarted her heart, sending its beats into a wild sprint, an erratic rhythm that no melody could follow.

She clicked ‘answer’ without thinking, bringing the phone up to her ear, her bottom lip wobbling as she asked, voice thick with unshed tears, “hello?”

“Where are you?!”

She blinked at the familiar voice, at the image of cerulean touched by carmine eyes, the petulant pout tugging down lips, the creases between brows. “Rafayel?”

“Who else? I thought you’d be at the café but you’re not here! Did you forget again?!”

She sniffled, almost laughing at the absurdity of such an accusation. “What are you talking about? I waited for over an hour and you never showed up!”

A huff sounded, and she could see the way he was wrinkling his nose, the way he was tensing his shoulders. “Well where are you now?”

“I went looking for you! You weren’t at home, so I went to check the beach!”

He groaned. “Alright, just stay there, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

Now she couldn’t help but scoff, the first flicker of anger alighting on her bones like fire taking to kindling. “I’ve been waiting for you for ages. You didn’t answer my texts or my calls. Why are you calling from a different number?”

“I’ll explain everything soon, just stay there.”

The line clicked off before she could argue any further, the phone screen going dark.

For a moment she heard nothing, thought nothing. Just stared at the blank screen, at the ocean waves, at the flecks of white of the gulls circling overhead.

Then slowly, like the rush of the high tide, her mind began to buzz, emotions swelling like seafoam, washing away her anxiety, her fear.

What was left was a tangle of things, a knot that would take her a long while to pick apart. Relief and joy and an unnamed ache, all threatening to overwhelm her, to crash over her like a summer storm, like angry waves against stone.

Beneath them all, annoyance, anger. A pyre catching flame, growing brighter, demanding her attention, prickling her frozen fingers with its heat.

There was no way she was staying put.

She stood quickly, shoving her phone in her pocket, not bothering to brush away the sand that clung to her body as she left the beach. She was resolved not to wait any longer, certain that if she did she would catch fire and turn to ash before Rafayel could appear.

She turned a corner, clutching the strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles turned white, chest heavy with that knot of happiness and irritation that had taken root when she’d heard his voice.

It was like a bulb, planted deep in the soft soil of her heart, already beginning to grow, viridescent shoots reaching towards the sky. Eventually it would bloom, petals unfurling towards the sun. But for now it was still growing, not yet ready to unveil itself to her.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling that heavy weight, so focused on the strangeness of it, and on finding Rafayel, that she didn’t even see him. Not until she was running straight into his side.

“Shi-” She was reeling, stumbling to the side, looking up as she careened backwards to meet his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his breath clouding from his lips as his chest heaved. His hair, normally so perfectly styled, was in a disarray, like he’d raked his hands through it once after rolling from bed and deemed that good enough.

Distantly, she thought it looked like he’d been running.

The ground rushed up to meet her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, cutting off the image of a disheveled Rafayel as she prepared for impact.

An impact that never came.

Arms had wrapped around her, steadying her, firm and warm and gentle. They drew her forward, setting her back on her feet, pulling her against a familiar chest.

Only then did she open her eyes, when she knew she wouldn’t be pinned in place by Rafayel’s smug smirk. When she knew he wouldn’t see the relief and joy in her eyes at seeing him, at hearing the frantic beat of his heart, of being wrapped in his warmth.

Not that hiding stopped her from hearing his soft laughter, the click of his tongue as his fingers splayed over the swell of her hips. She was so desperate for his touch, but she absolutely could not let him know it, especially not right now.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

His words, lilting with the promise of laughter. She could see his smile without needing to look up, could feel the twinkle in his eyes like she was standing in fizzing starlight.

Something in her snapped, and she took a step back, crossing her arms as though to shield her aching heart. She tilted her head back, glared up at him, the wind brushing against her cheeks reminding her that her tears hadn’t even fully dried yet.

A part of her wondered if she shouldn’t have kept her head lowered, so he wouldn’t see the evidence of her tears, so he wouldn’t see the red, puffy skin around her eyes. But just as quickly as it came, the thought flitted away.

“Last time I ‘stayed put’ you never showed up!”

A muscle flicked in his jaw and he rolled his eyes, groaning in clear exasperation. Which was fine, since she was exasperated too.

She pretended not to notice how he was still breathing hard, how his ears were turning pink, then vermillion the longer she stared. How his manufactured scowl was faltering as his eyes searched her face.

“Where were you?!” She jabbed a finger against his chest and his brows shot up. “I waited for ages. I was worried sick, I’d thought you’d died, or you’d been kidnapped!”

Her hand trembled and she dropped it, shoved it back against her chest. He made a halfhearted attempt to reach for her, his eyes narrowing, his brows drawing low.

“You made me wait for so long!” Her throat was closing up now, all of her twisted feelings rushing out of her, clogging her throat, bubbling into a sob. Her eyes were burning again, and she blinked furiously, cursing herself silently.

“I texted you! I called! Over and over and you never answered!” She threw her hands up, hoping it would distract him from the wobble in her words. God only knew she couldn’t seem to keep it in check. “You left me waiting for so long and you terrified me! What, and then you call me from an unknown number and tell me to ‘stay put?’ Are you serious?”

He scoffed, his cheeks a messy cerise that reminded her of overripe cherries. “Well, this is your fault too!”

“Oh? How exactly?” She was annoyed, hurt. Her heart tangled into itself, twisting into knots of frustration and anger and pain. He was always chastising her for not being early enough, for always being too late. And now he was pushing the blame onto her? When he’d been the one late? When he’d all but abandoned her?

“You should have come looking for me earlier!” He all but cried, throwing his hands up too. His bottom lip was trembling, on the verge of pulling into a pout.

“No, no.” She pointed to his lips, to his pout, to the wrinkle of his nose. “I’m not falling for that! You are the only one to blame. I texted you, I called you, I went looking for you!”

“Why didn’t you check any museums or galleries? Did you even take a look at the news?”

She blinked, her words stolen from her lips, her mind grinding to a halt. His face was flushed, his hair and clothes a disarray, his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed, something she didn’t recognize flickering in their depths.

Whatever he was thinking, whatever he was feeling, as unknowable as the darkest depths of the ocean.

“Are you serious?” Her words came out small, melting in the puff of breath that gathered in the air before her. A contrast so stark from her earlier raised voice it could have been a slap. Tears gathered in her eyes, staining the world in silver, blurring the edges, but she no longer cared if he saw her cry. “Are you actually serious?”

She had spent how long today being utterly terrified for his well being and here he was telling her she hadn’t done enough. Telling her she should have looked for him sooner, should have worked harder to find him.

“I thought we were meeting at the café.” She couldn’t seem to find her strength anymore, wilting beneath his stare. “You’re always early, you’re always telling me I’m late. When you didn’t show I texted you, I called you. I checked your house, I checked the beach. What else was I supposed to do?”

The last of her words came out as little more than a hiss, belied by the crackle of her voice as the sob fought to escape. His expression began to crack beneath their razor sharpness, fractures cutting through his indignation like the shattering of stained glass.

“I went because you wanted to go out.” She swiped the back of her hand over her eyes, taking a step back, refusing to think about the widening of his eyes, the creases in his brow. “You were the one who never showed up, never told me anything.”

There was more she wanted to say, words made of acid that would have surely burned her tongue as she’d given them form. But instead of setting them free, she pressed her lips together, turning away so she did not have to see the hurt on his face, the kicked-puppy pout that usually would have had her falling to her knees as she tried to comfort him.

“I’m suddenly really tired,” she said, staring at the ground, at the stones and remnants of long-dead leaves scattered on the sidewalk. “So I’m going to head home. I’ll talk to you later.”

She took one step, then another, muscles tensing as she forced herself to move, to not look back. If she looked back she would fall apart beneath whatever heartbroken expression he had schooled his face into.

Cold winter air swept into the growing chasm between them, freezing claws scrabbling down her spine, making her shudder. She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to quell the shivers, but just as quickly as the whole of winter had descended on her in his absence, warmth enveloped her again.

Rafayel’s hand snapped out, grabbing her wrist and dragging her back. Like a wound stitched close, the space between them vanished, winter making way for spring.

“Rafayel.” She was knocked breathless by the sudden movement, even as a part of her mind told her she should struggle, should shake off his grip.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was firm, kind, the edges melting into regret. “I’m sorry, I took it too far. I didn’t-”

She blinked, watching quietly as he ducked his head, feeling the unsteady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest with every deep breath. Her eyes still burned, and the tears gathered in her lashes caught the light, turning the edges of the world into a silver blur.

When he looked up again his eyes were wide, earnest. She had gotten used to his moods, to the shifts in his eyes, his mouth, a change in how his voice lilted and his eyes danced. But this wasn’t like all those times before, when he would feign distress and hurt, when he would exaggerate his emotions until she caved.

This was different, more like the quiet moments between breaths, when he bared a hidden part of himself to her. When the air grew heavy and quiet, when his voice turned lullaby soft. She always felt tucked close to him, even if there was space between them, like she had nestled herself in his heart, like he had given it to her to make it her home.

His words would be genuine then, no teasing, no jokes. There would be no razor sharp comments, no snarky retorts. Just him, trusting her as he laid down his armour, his mask, vulnerable only to her.

Sometimes he would be sweet, kind, murmuring gentle words that made her heart sing. And others he would look lost, his voice faraway, as though he’d been caught up in an undertow and dragged out to sea.

It felt like that now, his voice steady, ardent. There was a solemnity in his eyes, no flicker of laughter, no glimmer of playfulness to be found. The blue of his eyes darkened, the red fading like flames being doused, drowned.

He wasn’t messing around with her any longer, no hint of that petulant pout or his puppy-dog eyes to be found. His mouth was set, a line forming between his brows as they drew low.

It anchored her to the spot, the tenor of his voice from the beginning of his apology alone, the shift in his countenance as he grew somber.

Rafayel squeezed the hand he’d pressed to his heart, as though he hoped it would prove his sincerity as she felt its rhythm pulse through her bones.

“I didn’t think about how you felt. I was only thinking about myself.” He didn’t look away now, instead holding her gaze fast, leaning closer. “I wanted you to find me and rescue me, but you were the one who needed rescuing.”

When she did not move from him he grew bolder, fingers lacing with hers, head bowing until his bangs tickled her brow. “I’m always asking you to stay, but I was the one who abandoned you. I made you worry, didn’t I?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak right now, not when anger still churned hot as a firestorm, when the last of sourness of worry finally eased and her belly no longer roiled with it, when he was so close her knees felt like jelly and her skin prickled from his breath.

The desire to forgive him spilled through her like champagne bubbling through cracks in crystal. He was so close, so warm, and he smelled so nice, and she hated being angry with him. She wanted to lean her head on his shoulder and close her eyes and breathe in the smell of his cologne. She wanted to tell him he was forgiven and melt into his embrace.

As much as she whined and railed against his unending demands, his last minute day-plans, his surprise visits to her home, she missed him when he wasn’t there. He had become the sun lighting the world each morning, the susurrus of the wind through the trees, the hush of the ocean as it foamed against the beach. She felt like a flower reaching through frozen ground, small and weak, petals still clinging together, but growing stronger beneath golden sunlight, each moment closer and closer to blooming, to filling the world with her colour.

But whatever scraps of rationality remained held her still, reminded her that she could not just forgive him so easily, especially not when he had not yet finished his apology. Her tears were not yet dry on her cheeks, not yet fully spilled. They were still gathered in her lashes, still burning behind her eyes. A headache was beginning to spread from the pressure of it, pulsing against her skull, in her temples.

No, she could not give in to the ache in her heart, yearning so terribly to throw herself into his arms that it felt like it was pushing against the cage of her ribs, fighting against the prison it was trapped in.

She nodded in response to his question, keeping her mouth firmly closed. If she opened it then her resolve would crumble and forgiveness would fall from her tongue, so she said nothing instead.

The lines in his face deepened, and now his eyes did slide down, focused on his shoes, or the pavement, or perhaps on nothing at all. His shoulders slumped, curving inwards. If he were a painting she would have titled him ‘remorse’ for how heavy it hung on him, pressing down on his body like it could break him against the sidewalk. He seemed to fade, amethyst hair fading to lilac, tinging with grey. His eyes dimmed, waning like the moon before it vanished from the night’s sky.

He looked back up slowly, the movements of his eyes shadowed by his other hand, gently coming to rest on her cheek. “I made you cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Well you did.” She snapped, then quickly bit her tongue, before anything more could escape her lips.

His brows rose, drew together. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair, or kind to you at all. This is all my fault, I should have reached out to you sooner.”

Now she was the one looking away, withering beneath his earnest gaze. “You should have. I was starting to think you’d been kidnapped, or hurt somewhere all alone.”

His touch was gentle, the pad of his thumb wiping away the tears on her cheek, gathered in the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you worry, for today, for everything.”

She said nothing, although she couldn’t help but lean into his touch, just a little.

“If you still want to go home, at least let me walk you back.” He spoke softer now, hesitant, something hidden behind his words.

Please still spend time with me, please don’t leave me yet. Please say you want to stay with me.

She mulled it over for a moment, picking apart his words like a necklace chain knotted together. Her heart pressed against her ribs, uncaring that it would be shred by the breaking of her bones. It only wanted him, to be near him, and the aching that built in the cavity of her chest was far too strong for anything else.

She did want to forgive him, and she didn’t want to go home. She wanted to spend the day with him, something she’d been looking forward to when they’d made plans the day before.

Although he wasn’t off the hook quite yet.

She lifted her eyes, finding hope in his gaze as she met it, held it as steady as she could.

“I think I’m feeling a little better,” she said. His eyes widened, hope sparking warmth in them once more. “So I don’t think I want to go home just yet.”

The corners of his mouth curved upwards, the first hint of sunlight cresting over the horizon. “In that case, we could find another café, or a restaurant if you’d like an early dinner.”

She narrowed her eyes, even as the first strains of a melody began in her heart, elation blooming at seeing his smile, at knowing she would be spending the rest of the day with him. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, Rafayel.”

His brow arched. “Rafayel? Not ‘love?’ Not ‘darling?’ Not ‘baby?’”

She arched her brow, tipping her head back, away from the hand that had been cupping her cheek. “I think you have a lot more apologizing to do before you get those privileges back. Rafayel.”

He sighed, shaking his head. Despite the rejection, his lips were still curving up, his smile turning playful. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Mhmmm.” She tried to pull her other hand back, the one still firmly held to his chest, but he held that hand tightly, smirking. “Rafayel, you can let go now.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” He cocked his head to the side, all mischief now. His fingers tightened around hers as he brought her palm up, as he pressed his lips to her palm. “What if I want to keep holding it?”

She huffed, ignoring the heat in her cheeks as his teeth scraped against her hand, as his tongue flicked over the spots where he’d nipped.

Rafayel, however, did not ignore it, and she knew it as she felt his smile grow wider.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She’d meant to grind out the words, to sound annoyed, but it came out softer, quivering as the warmth from his lips made its way through her veins, coiled low in her belly.

He chuckled, lowering her hand from her lips, although he did not let go. His fingers remained twined with hers, keeping her close. “What do you think? I’m making it up to you.”

“You can’t just-” Her voice cracked, squeaked, and she bit her tongue as his brows rose high, delight dancing like firelight in his eyes. “You can’t just kiss my hand and expect things to be alright!”

She sped through her words, stumbling in her haste to speak as her voice wobbled and cracked, uneven and weak from his lips, from the heat blooming in her core and the feeling of her body slowly turning to jelly.

For his part, Rafayel did not tease, although his expression told her that he had taken everything into account; her rushed words, her crackling voice, her flushed face, all of it noted by his keen eyes.

“That’s only the first part,” he said, sounding on the verge of laughter. “I promise I’ll make things better.” Then his voice softened, a delicate caress to her traitorous heart. “Just let me keep holding your hand.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. She had to look away so he wouldn’t see the colour deepen in her cheeks, not as the heat flared, bonfire bright, beneath her skin. She was certain that if she looked up she would combust, leaving nothing but ash on the sidewalk.

Rafayel seemed to find her answer satisfactory, as he murmured a delighted “let’s go” before tugging her forward.

Her curiosity got the better of her as he continued to beam, and she tapped his side as they walked. “Where are we going?”

“Well we had made plans to go to a café, and there’s a new one not far from here I’ve been meaning to visit.”

She let him drag her along, tucking her hand into his jacket pocket when the wind whistled past them and shivers arced across her like lightning. She was still annoyed, but she wouldn’t deny the joy that spread rosy fingers like the blushing of dawn through her heart, or the warmth that blanketed her as he kept her close. He was here, he was safe, he was smiling.

She would have to blame the wind for her ruddy cheeks, for how difficult it was to catch her breath.

And thankfully, Rafayel did not comment on it, although his eyes did brighten, round shimmering pools of light assessing the colour in her face, the breathless gasps from her lips.

“Not much further,” he said, his lips caught in a pleased smirk.

She rolled her eyes, deciding it best not to comment. Surely whatever she said he would find a way to twist, to use as a weapon to tease her with.

But this too, was enough for him. “What’s wrong? Too cold to speak?” His smirk only widened, a sharp slice across his lips as one brow quirked high. “We’re almost there, but do you need me to warm you? Would it count as part of my penance?”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond before tugging her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist. He ducked his head, lips grazing the shell of her ear, and shivers cascaded down her spine, having nothing to do with the cold wind.

“Although,” he breathed, sending goosebumps across her skin. “I don’t particularly mind. If you need me to do things like this then I think I’ll enjoy this very much.”

“Things like this?” He was being awfully brazen considering the circumstances.

He drew back, beaming, looking far too smug. “Like snuggling.”

She yanked her hand from his pocket, pinching his side. “Watch it!”

He yelped, but only tried to draw her closer, like her presence was a comfort, a balm to the sharp pain she’d inflicted on him.

She struggled against his hold, if only slightly. She was far too besotted to truly fight to escape his arms.

“Don’t be like that,” he whined, lips pulling into a pout. “I’m cold too, you know. Just because you’re mad doesn’t mean we both have to be punished.”

Huffing, she crossed her arms, refusing to tuck herself so closely against him. But she also didn’t untangle herself from him entirely, either. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not that cold.”

“You don’t have to lie.” He laughed, pulling her closer. “You’re shivering, I can feel it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.

He clicked his tongue. Something strange flitted in his eyes, but it was gone in a breath, no more than a shadow flickering over him as they walked. “You can be such a princess about things.”

“Oh? And what about it?”

“Whatever pleases you, your highness.” He bowed his head, smirking. His bangs fell over his eyes so she could not see them, but she could feel the heat of his gaze, the weight of it. “I am but your humble servant.”

She couldn’t help giggling then, covering her mouth as she snorted. “Come on Rafayel, stand up, you’re going to run into someone.”

“Only at your highness’ command.” He tipped his head to the side, and she caught sight of the glitter in his eyes, twin pools shining as brightly as sunlight caught in diamonds.

“Rafayel!” There was no stopping the snorts now as she grabbed his arm with both hands, tugging him to the side before he ran straight into a streetlamp. “You’re going to get hurt!”

His lips lifted higher, creases forming around his eyes. “If that’s what you wish, your highness.”

She had to look away, pressing her lips together in a vain attempt to stifle her laughter. “What I want is for you to stand up so you don’t get hurt!”

“Your highness is most benevolent.” He straightened, mischief alight like flames in his eyes, his smile. He looked so boyish, so delighted, that she wanted to squish the apples of his cheeks beneath her palms.

“Well, we’ll see,” she said, barely able to contain the urge to squeeze his face. She was pretty sure if she gave in then he would win.

Win what she wasn’t sure, but she had a feeling. It was one of her favourite things to do, squeezing his cheeks when she was overwhelmed with joy at seeing his face. If she did it now he would undoubtedly take it as being forgiven entirely, and so she could not.

As she was musing to herself, his arm remained securely around her, slowly bringing her closer and closer until their sides pressed together. She made no comment, allowing them both this, and as he guided her through the doorway of the café, regret twinged in her heart.

She would have been content to walk next to him for hours, and she wished the café had been further away, so she could have remained close to him for a while longer.

Rafayel brought her to a spot in the corner of the cozy space, a small window just above it, honey-warm sunlight pouring over the tabletop. He pulled out one of the wooden chairs for her, gesturing for her to sit.

“For you, my lady.” He was clearly enjoying himself.

She made to pinch him again, but he was quick, anticipating the attack. He snatched her wrist, lifting it up as he grinned wider. “I’m trying to be so good, so why can’t you behave yourself?”

Now she was the one pouting, trying to wiggle her hand from his grasp. “You’re teasing me.”

“Oh? How?” He schooled his expression into one of innocence, his eyes widening until they were saucer-round. All of it was belied by the twitch of his lips, his devious smile too strong to be smothered behind a mask. “I’m just trying to be helpful, your highness. I’m pretty sure princesses don’t pull out their own chairs.”

She tried to pinch him with her free hand, but he caught that one too, his faux innocence falling away. He smiled, all devilish delight, his eyes bright even as they narrowed. He tugged her closer, his breath ghosting over her lips as he lowered his head.

“Nice try,” he sang, bringing her hands to his lips, brushing a kiss against the back of each. “Now why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you a treat, okay?”

He spoke in a sing-song cadence, like he was barely holding back laughter. But there was something underneath his words, and she found herself sitting when he released her, glowering at his grin.

“I won’t keep you waiting long,” he said, squeezing her shoulder before turning to go.

He paused then, turning back around, his expression a fragment more serious.

“One more thing.” He slid his jacket from his arms, draping it over her before she could ask what he was doing.

With a satisfied nod, he gave her one last smile before heading to the counter to make their orders.

She felt impatient, restless, as she watched him from across the café. Part of her worried that she would blink and he would vanish, gone once more. But he remained where she could see him, an anchor keeping her steady in a storm.

“Did something catch your eye?” He asked as he returned to the table, setting a plate in front of her, a slice of cake with a deep red strawberry balanced on top and a chocolate cookie bigger than her hand.

“What’s this?” She asked, ignoring his knowing smirk. “Two whole sweets for me?”

He nodded, reaching out to brush her hair back from her face. “As part of my apology.”

“You’re going to have to do more than that to make up for today,” she said, even as she took the fork he handed her. “But it’s a start.”

He chuckled, nodding his head. “As you wish, your highness.”

“You’ve got to stop with the ‘your highness’ thing,” she said, heat beginning to spread across her face anew. It felt a little silly, something strange and intimate to be called it so loudly in public.

He cocked his head to the side, contemplative as he watched her. “You don’t like it?”

He almost sounded a little sad, and her heart twinged again.

Her heart was a traitorous thing, summoning words that tumbled free from her lips before she could give them thought, trying to wipe away the sadness she had heard.

“No that’s not it,” she said, stumbling over her words. “It just-”

Her breath caught as he gripped the back of her chair with one hand, leaning closer with that infuriating smirk still plastered across his face. “Oh? Then what is it?”

“It… It’s…” She swallowed, trying to look away. But he was everywhere, so close that he became her whole world. Everywhere she looked was Rafayel and his smile and his bright eyes. “It just feels like you’re teasing me with it, you know? Like you’re making fun of me.”

“Would it be so bad if I was?” His voice lowered, a warm tenor that had her toes curling, sending butterfly wings flitting through her stomach. “You’ve been so unforgiving, can’t I tease my princess a little?”

“Rafayel-” She didn’t get a chance to finish her thought before he was pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and hurrying away, calling to her about fetching their drinks while her brain shut down like an aging computer.

She couldn’t seem to get herself to think, her brain still buffering when he returned with the drinks. The click of a mug settled before her drew her from the fog he had cast over her, if only slightly.

“There were a lot of drinks I thought you’d like, but I think you’ll like this one best,” he said, seeming entirely unfazed by his surprise attack.

Wasn’t he supposed to be making things up to her? What did teasing her have anything to do with making up for abandoning her earlier?

She continued to stare, scrabbling to find even a single thought. Her skin where his lips had touched burned, still warm from his touch, and all she could smell was his cologne and the faint touch of his soap. She could feel the tickle of his hair against her face, the curl of his breath against her lips.

It was all far too much for her. She would surely melt into a puddle, her body giving way to the heat he had kindled in her.

For his part, Rafayel seemed entirely unperturbed, although she was much too flustered to notice the crimson that had flared on the tips of his ears and dusted along his cheeks. He gave her an encouraging smile, nodding with his head towards her mug. “Well? Try it, tell me what you think.”

She blinked, mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’ as her hands wrapped around the mug. She brought it to her lips, warm sweetness blooming on her tongue. Sweet, delicious, with a touch of floral notes beneath it.

She took another sip before she set the mug back down, a comforting warmth spreading through her chest, reaching along her arms and into her fingertips.

“It’s very good,” she said, smiling up at him, lost for a moment in the bliss of a warm drink and sweet treats and him across from her.

His own drink remained untouched, although his hands wrapped around it, lithe fingers drumming against the porcelain. “I’m glad you like it. Perhaps this means I’m one step closer to forgiveness.”

She rolled her eyes, taking another sip. It really was good, and although she was not planning to admit it yet, he really was a step closer to being forgiven.

Already was, if she was honest, but she was going to milk this for a while yet.

“Alright, you’ve bought me food, and a warm drink. Now I want to know what happened.”

He opened his mouth, breathing in as if preparing to launch into his tale, but she held her hand up to quiet him before he could.

“And I want the truth, Rafayel.” No melodrama, no embellishing.

“Alright, alright.” He lifted his hands, palms towards her, in surrender. “I won’t paint myself as a hero who boldly rescued a child from a wanderer attack.”

Her heart stopped. “Was there a wanderer?”

Panic must have shown on her face, because he shook his head quickly, his smile only slightly teasing. “No, nothing like that.”

“You’re awful,” she huffed, staring out the window, focusing on the remains of what was surely a very pretty garden in the spring and summer. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Is it my fault you believed me?” He reached out to poke her, earning a scowl that had him laughing. “I did say I won’t paint myself as a hero.”

She didn’t respond, staunchly staring out the window, refusing to meet his gaze.

The sound of his chair squeaking as he sighed, drew her attention, and she peeked from the corner of her eye to see him slouching, the pad of one finger running along the rim of his mug. “I got a call from Thomas earlier today, there was a gallery featuring some of my work, and a number of ‘fans’ were insistent on speaking with me themselves.”

It was the way he rolled his eyes when he said “fans” that told her exactly what kind of event this was, exactly the sort of people in attendance.

It was the type of thing he loathed the most, and no doubt these “fans” were wealthy art collectors who waxed on about his paintings without knowing a thing about them.

She turned back towards him, dropping her veneer of irritation. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come with you.”

He shrugged, looping two fingers around the handle of the mug, twisting it back and forth on the surface of the table. “I thought I would just go and answer a few questions then pretend I got a phone call and leave. I didn’t want to drag you into it today.” He flicked his eyes up, mischievous. “You’re always running late, so I didn’t want to distract you and make you ever more late.”

“I’m not late,” she snapped. “It’s just that you’re always early, and you’re so impatient.”

“Me? Impatient.” He snorted, lifting his mug to his lips, his eyes watching her over the rim. “I’m the epitome of patient. It’s a virtue, you know.”

“Exactly,” she deadpanned. “You’re not exactly a paragon of virtue, Rafayel.”

He groaned, although it was undercut by the twitching of his lips as he set his mug to the side. “I know you’re mad, but don’t you think you can hold off on disparaging my character?”

She pressed her lips together to stifle her smile, nodding at him to continue. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”

“Thank you.” He huffed, taking a quick sip of his drink. “Anyways, as I was saying. I didn’t want to distract you, and I thought I could handle it myself.”

As it happened, it was not something he had been able to handle on his own.

She listened as he explained what had happened, about how he had walked straight into a lion’s den of overzealous critics and collectors alike. How he had been inundated with their questions and demands like they were a flood, a storm that had torn him from his feet, left him dizzy and disoriented.

She broke off pieces of her cookie as he talked, passing him pieces as he told her how there had been no clocks in the gallery, and each time he had reached for his phone someone had very nearly grabbed him to try and redirect his attention.

“The third time it happened it fell right out of my hand.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

Or rather, what was left of it.

The screen was cracked, near shattered, showing bars of colour, like the rainbow glow of oil over water. She could see the back of the phone was in just as poor a condition, pieces of the hardware hanging on for dear life.

“And then someone stepped on it,” he continued as she gaped at the remains of his phone. He rolled his eyes, plucking it from the table and tucking it back into his pocket. “Not that the person who stepped on it offered to buy me a new one, either.”

She handed him the last piece of her cookie, thinking that was the end of things.

“And then there was a robbery.”

She coughed, having only just taken the first bite of her cake. It tasted like ash, clogging in her throat as she gaped, eyes bulging from their sockets.

“Hey, don’t choke to death.” He passed her mug to her, and she drank quickly, dislodging the cake.

“Thank you,” she managed, covering her mouth, embarrassment making her face hot and scratchy.

Rafayel nodded, quiet as he scanned her face. His tone had been light when he’d passed her drink to her, his expression casual. But now that she could breathe she could see the flicker of worry in his eyes, the lines etching around his mouth and into his brow as he confirmed she was alright.

She cleared her throat, pointing at him with her fork. “So there was a robbery?”

He blinked, caught off guard as he stumbled through his words. “Yeah-yeah, right. Alarms started going off, and at first we thought it was a fire.”

Evidently it had not been a fire, as he regaled her with all the details. Of the critics and collectors panicking, a stampede of the exceptionally wealthy clawing at each other to escape. Of Rafayel noticing one of the visitors acting strangely, slipping further into the gallery while everyone else desperately tried to escape.

Contrary to his earlier promise, Rafayel did paint himself as a hero, catching the robbers and incapacitating them until the police arrived. But when she pulled out her own phone to validate his story, she saw several articles already detailing how the renowned artist Rafayel had saved an entire gallery and its patrons from the thieves.

For that she offered him a bite of her cake, and he accepted it with a grin, the tips of his ears darkening to crimson.

By the time he was done his story, her coffee had long-since been finished, nothing but dregs at the bottom of the mug, and there was only one piece of cake remaining on her plate.

“So what you’re saying is…” She trailed off, slicing that final piece of cake in two, spearing a piece and lifting it into the air. “That from now on you’re always going to call me before you go to any event like this, right?”

“Obviously.” He eyed the piece of cake on her fork. “I don’t know what I was thinking, not bringing you with me. I need my bodyguard to keep me safe.”

She extended her arm, offering him the cake. “I think I would much rather you call me to accompany you somewhere like that then be worried you’ve been hurt, or worse.”

Icing smudged at the corner of his lip as he accepted the final bite, a brow quirking while he chewed. He said nothing, but it was enough to make her face flame, and she quickly took the last bite, staring out the window so she didn’t have to meet his gaze.

“Hey.”

Reluctantly, she turned. When she met his eyes her heart stumbled, fell, like she had been pushed from a cliff’s edge. His eyes were earnest, sad, and when he reached out to cover her hand, she twisted her fingers through his, holding tight like they were both caught in a storm.

“I really am sorry.” He squeezed her hand, leaning forward. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. The last thing I want to do is make you cry.” His brow arched then, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. “At least, not for that reason.”

“Rafayel.” A firestorm raged beneath her skin and she yanked her hand away like she’d been scalded. She tucked it against her side as she crossed her arms, slumping in her seat. “You are unbelievable.”

He chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning forward on the table. “I’m glad you think so.”

When she frowned he only laughed harder, head bowed over as his shoulders shook.

She would be lying if she said the urge to laugh along with him didn’t rise in her, bubbling like fizzing wine gone straight to her head. All of her anxieties and fears gone, Rafayel safe in front of her, the taste of sugar on her tongue, the icing smeared on the corner of his lip.

All of it was so mundane, so simple, and yet it felt like something from a dream, like a scene in a fairytale when the hero realized they were falling in love.

The thought made her stomach twist, her heart beating hummingbird quick. She was thankful that he was looking down, that he wouldn’t see the thought flashing across her face before she could school her expression into one of annoyance again.

After a few moments his laughter began to ebb, like the tide being drawn back out to sea. He straightened, revealing flushed cheeks the colour of dawn, eyes bright as stars wrought of sapphire and ruby. His smile still lingered, although it was softer now.

“Sorry,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “Probably not the best time for a joke like that.”

Normally she would have responded with a sharp rejoinder, making her next strike in the unending clash of their words. She teased him and he responded in kind, he made a sharp comment and her response was sharp as steel.

But she was still half-lost to the fairytale feeling from before, his laughter echoing through her. She could feel it in the hollows of her bones, the sound guiding her through the fog in her mind.

She held his gaze, although her mind strayed as it took note of his ruffled hair, too far gone to think of something sharp and clever to say to him. It was still a mess from earlier, when she’d run into him. It stood up at awkward angles, and his bangs had fallen strangely over his brow, and his cowlick seemed more prominent as hair flicked upwards around it.

“Rafayel,” she said, putting her weight on her forearm as she rested it against the table, leaning closer. “Stay still for a second.”

His eyes widened, his face the colour of cerise, of spilled cherry juice staining fingertips. She could feel his breath, soft and warm, curling against her wrist as she carefully shifted his hair, smoothing his bangs over his brow, brushing back the errant strands sticking up strangely.

He didn’t move, tracking her movements with his eyes. His breath seemed to catch, stutter, fanning over her skin as he tried to steady himself.

It all took less than five minutes, his hair returned to its usual state of looking roguishly tousled while being perfectly styled.

She gave one final nod of approval, appraising her work, tucking one final strand of hair behind his ear.

“There we go,” she said, nodding to herself. “All better now.”

Lightning quick, just as she began to pull away, to sit back in her chair, Rafayel reached for her wrist, catching it and drawing it back to the side of his face.

She gasped, lurching forward at the suddenness of it all. “Rafayel? What’s wrong?”

Only then did she meet his eyes, his expression making her breath catch. His eyes, wide and glassy, his breath, coming out in short gasps, his face, a mess of crimson and scarlet and vermillion like he’d been splattered by his own paints.

He brought her hand to his cheek, her skin tingling as his breath ghosted against her palm, the inside of her wrist. Her gaze fell to his lips, so close they could kiss her if he wanted to.

He didn’t answer, sighing instead, sending goosebumps racing along her arm. He leaned his face into her palm, settling against her cupped hand so perfectly it felt like fate, like he had been made to be held in her hands.

Lungs constricting, unable to draw in air, she felt dizzy, the world softening until it was nothing more than static. She watched as his eyes fluttered shut, felt his lashes tickle her palm. Again, he sighed, and it sounded strange, so much yearning and contentment in the quiet hush of his voice that pain radiated through her, like her heart had finally broken free from the cage of her ribs and had let itself be torn to pieces in the process.

When his eyes opened once again they flicked up, searching for her, watching her. There was so much need and desperation in his gaze, like he had longed for her touch, needed it. Like he needed her to breathe.

She wanted to say his name again, wanted to cup his face with both hands and let him rest. She wanted to hold him to her chest and run her fingers through his hair, ruining her hard work, all so the melancholy in his eyes would melt away. She wanted nothing but happiness in his eyes, his heart, wanted to hold him close until whatever ache in him was gone.

He had upset her so terribly, and yet she wanted nothing more than to keep him close, to hold him, to cradle him against her heart so he was safe and content.

Yet no words rose to her tongue, remaining buried deep as she watched him, as he watched her in kind. She wanted to tell him all these things, the seeds that were planted in her heart.

But how could she? What words could she use to explain it all?

Her lips parted, yet nothing but air passed between them, quiet as the murmuration of wind through branches still waiting for their leaves.

His brows hiked higher, creases forming around his eyes as they crinkled. He was smiling, she was sure of it, but it was soft as the light at dawn, as feather down. Soft as blankets wrapped around her shoulders in the cool air of the morning, as the feel of his lips on her cheek when she was only half-awake.

It was blurry and hazed, softened like memories half-remembered and cradled in her heart. She would have liked to see that smile again, to summon it on quiet days and shadowed nights, to make his eyes dance as his lips curved like the first touch of the sun over the horizon.

“Baby?” His voice was sweet as honey, as spun sugar melting on her tongue. It was a sigh like a spring breeze, like the wind dancing across the ocean.

“Hmm?” She smoothed back his bangs again with her free hand as they flopped forward, obscuring his eyes. She wanted to see them, wanted to lose herself in their depths.

He nuzzled her palm again, letting out another sigh before brushing his lips against her skin. His eyes closed halfway, seemed to darken as he kept them fixed on hers.

It wasn’t until his eyes opened wide again, his cheek settling in the curve of her palm, that he spoke, his breath curling against her skin.

“Am I forgiven?”

And with that the spell he had cast was broken, although the buzz of warmth in her heart remained, like sunshine itself had begun to bloom in her.

She dropped the hand that had been fixing his hair, the other still captive in his grip. He was still smiling, though it was sharper now, the beginnings of a smirk peeking through.

It made her want to tell him no, to give him a cool glare that could freeze the ocean over. He looked smug, so satisfied with himself for enchanting her so easily with his lips and his breath and his pretty eyes.

Her heart was a traitor, making it impossible to hold out against him. And the worst was that he knew it, too.

And yet even knowing how her own heart was betraying her, crumbling her resolve, even knowing that Rafayel was trying to toy with her, she could not find it in herself to be cold, to be sharp.

Maybe it was from the dredges of warmth that remained, or perhaps it was because she really had forgiven him, because she couldn’t find it in herself to continue being annoyed. The desire to be petulant, to playact indignation, shrivelled like leaves cut loose from their tree, flung far from the roots.

Although she wanted to tease him a while longer, if only as vengeance for all the times he’d teased her.

She hummed, lifting her free hand once more, stroking his cheek as he watched her. His eyes were bright, confident that he had been well and truly forgiven after a few desserts and playful kisses.

So when she pinched his cheek she watched as shock took over, like a tidal wave washing against the shore. Pink stained his cheeks, then crimson, his face a mess of colour. His lips fell open, in surprise at first, then quickly recovering so he was pouting once more.

“You’re almost forgiven,” she said, giving his cheek one last tug before letting go, smoothing the tips of her fingers over the spot that was the darkest red.

“Almost?” He sounded almost amused, undercutting his sweet pout.

“Almost,” she repeated. His grip loosened on her hand and she was finally able to pull away, settling in her seat once more. “In fact, I might just forgive you by the end of the day.”

He huffed, lowering his head until she could hardly see his eyes from beneath the curtain of his bangs. “After everything I’ve gone through today, you’re still being mean to me?”

“I’m not being mean!” She crossed her arms, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “I just think you’ll have to work a little bit harder for my forgiveness.”

He flopped back, throwing an arm over his face as he sighed, all melodrama and histrionics. “You’re as bad as those art collectors, trying to work me to the bone.”

Now she really had to focus to stop herself from laughing, especially as he peaked from beneath his arm, trying to gauge her reaction. “Nothing will be enough for you, will it?”

“That depends!” She reached for her empty cup, hoping to hide her smile behind the rim as she feigned taking a sip.

“Human greed is boundless,” he whined, managing to fall back even more. His head was practically hanging from the back of the chair, giving the impression of a ragdoll tossed aside. “What will you have me do? Will you make me cry and steal the pearls? Will you make me tear my scales off as penance?”

“Rafayel.” She really couldn’t help laughing at his theatrics, leaning across the table to reach for his hand. “Rafayel, please look at me.”

He straightened, if only slightly, fixing a sulky glare on her from beneath the shadow of his arm.

“Haven’t you had enough of me?” His bottom lip began quivering, the perfect picture of abject misery.

In another life he would have made an amazing actor. She could see him on a stage, wailing in agony as orchestral music swelled.

The image brought a smile to her face and she had to stifle it quickly, lest he use it against her.

His cheeks puffed out as he continued to glower at her, as surely as a toddler’s on the cusp of a tantrum, crocodile tears shining at the corners of his eyes.

He didn’t pull away as she leaned further forward, her stomach practically flush with the tabletop as she finally took one of his hands. “Nothing so severe, baby.”

He perked up, arm sliding away from his face, fingers twining with hers as he sat up straight.

She hadn’t just called him Rafayel, but baby; her love, her darling, her heart.

A step closer to forgiveness.

Still, he kept up his gloomy expression, very little needed to bring the tears back into his eyes. She imagined needing only a small gust of wind ruining his hair, or perhaps a splatter of coffee staining his sleeve, to bring his tears back to the forefront, to make him dissolve into a near tantrum again.

His nose scrunched, eyes narrowed, but his hand remained firmly wrapped in hers. “What were you thinking, then?”

“I want to go to the arcade,” she said, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand in small circles. “I want you to win me some new plushies.”

The corners of his lips twitched, the lines in his face smoothing away. “So you want me to earn your forgiveness by going on a date with you?”

“No.” She answered too quickly, too sharp, and she watched with her heart thudding like a stampede and her stomach tumbling over and over itself, as Rafayel’s lips curved upwards, smug and adorable, infuriating and precious all at the same time.

She cleared her throat, pulling back so at least she was sitting, so at least she looked a little less desperate. “No, I want you to prove yourself! Through battle!”

“Against the claw machines?” He was the one leaning forward now, drawn towards her by their connected hands.

“Yes.” His eyes were bright as starlight across water, his voice lilting like a melody. “And I want you to pay for everything. To make up for the emotional damages from earlier.”

He laughed, warm and bright, sunshine washing over her face, birdsong and flower petals in the wind. He was spring, thawing the last of winter from her heart. “I didn’t realize my absence would cause such distress.”

Now she was glowering, relaxing her grip and trying to free her hand from his.

But Rafayel was fast, and strong, and he held onto her tightly, leaning even further over the table, her hand captive in his. “Don’t be like that. Your face is going to get stuck like that if you keep frowning, you know.”

She did not stop frowning.

He pouted, bringing her hand to his face, rubbing his cheek against her fingertips. “Aw, come on, sweetheart, don’t I get to see your smile?”

She furrowed her brows as deeply as she could, wrinkled her own nose. “Win me some plushies first.”

He brought her fingers to his lips, lips brushing against them as he spoke. “As you wish, your highness.”

Like fire to kindling, she erupted in heat, any strength she’d had in her limbs vanishing. She could not even hold onto her glare, and she felt as her face relaxed, as a nervous giggle escaped her lips.

Brows rising, Rafayel’s eyes tracked the shift in her face. She would have pulled away from him to avoid any teasing, had she the strength to do so anymore, but she was caught as surely as a fish in a net.

He refused to let go as he stood, dragging her to her feet with him. “Shall we? I know some pretty good arcades around here.”

She couldn’t argue with him, letting him tug her like a ragdoll from the café, a pleased smirk plastered to his face.

“You know you probably shouldn’t look so smug,” she said once the cold winter air against her face, snapping her back to her senses. “Considering you’re supposed to be doing this as an apology.”

All he did was shrug, his smile widening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Rafayel, you’re literally smiling right now.”

At that he frowned. “Am I not your baby anymore?”

“You sure are acting like a baby,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes.

“What was that?” He leaned closer, a roguish light entering his eyes.

It was so sudden that she took a step away, her face burning despite the cold air caressing her cheeks. “Oh nothing.”

He hummed, not believing her in the least, but he continued on his way, that self-satisfied smile returning to his lips quickly.

She rolled her eyes again, pinching his side. “But really, you shouldn’t look so happy about having to make up for abandoning me this morning.”

“I didn’t abandon you,” he retorted, his voice rising an octave. “And anyways, can’t I be happy that you still want to spend time with me?”

“It’s not a date.” He hadn’t said it was, but she felt the need to make it clear. If not to him then to her own heart, which hadn’t stopped fluttering as furiously as hummingbird wings. “You’re making it up to me.”

He gave her hand a squeeze as he tilted his head back, regarding her from the corners of his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

At the spread of his smile she cursed, looking away. She really had to stop answering so quickly, so sharply. She was giving herself away.

Thankfully, perhaps because he knew he did have much to make up for, Rafayel let it drop, although he hummed an upbeat melody as they walked, his pleased smile never leaving his face.

A blast of warmth greeted them as they stopped in front of one of her favourite arcades, the door thrown wide from a gaggle of teenagers leaving with their spoils.

Rafayel snagged the door with his free hand, releasing her only to press his hand to the small of her back, ushering her inside ahead of him. “After you, your highness.”

“I’m going to make you buy me a tiara at this rate,” she grumbled, hurrying inside so Rafayel could follow.

He clicked his tongue, taking her hand again and heading down the aisles of games, searching for the claw machines. “If you want a tiara, I’d rather make you one myself. None of the others would be good enough.”

She quirked a brow. “Since when do you know how to make tiaras? Did you learn metalworking in another life?”

His grin was wide, toothy, the points of his incisors looking sharp in the light. “I’m a man of many talents.”

She squeezed his hand, swinging it gently. “Really? What else can you do?”

“Why? Planning to make some demands?” There was laughter in his voice, a musical tone that made it lilt, but there was nothing but soft warmth beneath it. There was no sharpness, no sarcasm. As though if she really did make a request, he would put everything on hold just to make it for her.

She wouldn’t call what she felt in her belly butterflies, not exactly. The wingbeats too quick, soft and ticklish instead of the gauziness of the butterflies. But she felt it all the same, both nerves and excitement stitching themselves into the framework of her body, her DNA. It summoned pinpricks of light, of heat. Seedlings that would bloom into stars in her heart, a garden of light unfurling behind her ribs, in her veins. 

Without realizing it, she clung to him all the tighter, her other hand coming around to hold his hand, so it was sandwiched between both of hers.

“Well I want to know what your other skills are before I put in any requests,” she said, as lightheaded as when she stepped off carnival rides.

“There’s very little I can’t do,” he preened. His eyes closed, his smile smug as a lazy cat’s. “Just ask, and I’ll make it for you.”

“Hmm…” Just ask, and he’d make anything for her?

He arched his brow as she mulled over her options, over what she could ask him to make. He only shot her a curious glance as he bought tokens for the claw machines, shaking the basket of the little gold coins to draw her attention.

“Well?” He asked, swinging their joined hands again.

“Well what?”

Rafayel rolled his eyes, shaking the basket over her head so the rattling of the coins cascaded over her like ocean waves. “Well, do you know what you want me to make? A painting of your favourite landscape? A sculpture in your likeness? Or maybe in mine, so you can see me even when I’m not around?”

That earned him a pinch, and he laughed, knocking the basket against the top of her head. “On second thought, I think a tiara would be the best fit for a princess such as yourself.”

She scoffed, trying to pull away only to be reeled close again as he stopped in front of one of the machines. “If you’re going to make me a tiara then you’d better make yourself a matching one.”

One brow arched high on his forehead, half hidden by his bangs as he lowered his head. He chuckled, soft and breathy, his eyes slowly finding hers as he turned.

She saw the laughter in them, dancing like firelight across a lake. She saw the sharp curve of his smile, the promise of mischief in the creases around his lips, in the corners of his eyes. She heard the barely contained laughter in his voice, the heat of his breath as he lifted her hand to his lips, as he kissed it slowly, smirking all the while.

What she did not notice, too lost in his eyes and his smile and the unfurling of gossamer wings in her belly, was the red creeping across his face. The delicate flush of coral that deepened to messy crimson, cerise like spilled cherries, burning scarlet like a wildfire catching.

Nor did she notice the quiver in his voice, not from suppressed laughter but from his own nerves, from how his own knees felt weak, from how he would have liked nothing more than to fall into her arms and stay there after the day he’d had.

But instead he remained standing tall, and she did not notice the mess of reds and pinks mottling his complexion, her own face flushing the colour of dusk from the leisurely way he kissed her hand.

“What are you doing?” Her own voice squeaked, cracking from the jump in pitch as he kissed her knuckles next.

“Thinking,” he muttered, not looking at all like he was thinking in the least.

“About?” Nervous laughter escaped her lips, her mind a frenzy of flitting wings and flowers blooming with fuzzy warmth, all of it cacophony clouding her thoughts.

“About how you asked me to make matching crowns,” he said, his words curling against the skin of her hand.

“I was only teasing, you know-”

“And it made me wonder,” he cut her off, his grin as bright as the sunrise. “Does that make me your prince?”

“I- No, I-” Too flustered by his smirk and his teasing, all she could do was sputter as a pyre caught flame on her bones. She was hot, burning, her skin deep reds and blushing pinks all while Rafayel continued to smirk, so smug and pleased with himself.

She didn’t even have the forethought to try and wrench her hand free from his grasp, instead scowling at him as her thoughts ground to a halt.

“Oh?” He leaned closer, still holding her captive. “Was I right? Does your highness see me as her prince?”

“I’ll bite you,” she grumbled, sorely tempted as she eyed his arm.

His grin widened, all teeth and devilry. “Well I’m not much of an exhibitionist, but I could be convinced.”

Lungs constricting, breath catching in her throat, she felt dizzy, the world spinning round and round as the flames beneath her skin threatened to consume her whole. She was so dumbfounded by his comment that she didn’t think to notice the burning colour in his own cheeks and ears, the colour reaching beneath the collar of his shirt.

Rafayel himself wondered if he was losing control of his evol, but surely he would be feeling pain were that the case, the flames burning him until nothing remained.

This was a pleasant warmth, that loosened the tension he often carried, that softened his worries until he could not remember what they were. It flooded his mind like the tide washing the shore clean, nothing but her left in its wake.

There was nothing but her. Only her.

He would say anything to make her blush, to make her smile. He would do anything at all if she asked it of him.

All of it was so clearly painted across his face, in the burning maroon and the sweet cherry and the soft rose splattered over his cheeks and ears and neck. Had her mind not been lost, dragged by the undertow of her own feelings, she surely would have noticed, would have understood what he could not say.

But she was flustered, overwhelmingly so, and she feared she would collapse if she held his gaze a moment longer. Her muscles unravelling, her bones turning to jelly, no support left to keep her on her feet.

Despite it all, she found the strength to wriggle from his grasp, using her newfound freedom to wave at the claw machine. “You have to win me something.”

Beside her, Rafayel hummed, shifting to face the claw machine. “Which one do you want?”

She peered into the glass case at the piles of plushies, the small reprieve allowing her heart to slow, her body to cool. There were so many she wanted that she could hardly pick, little plush ducks and fish, foxes and cacti.

“I want all of them,” she announced. “I think receiving all of them would be a good penance.”

“Alright then, all these cuties for my cutie.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile. Rafayel grinned at her, his most charming, confident grin. “And you can just stand here and cheer me on.”

About ten minutes later it was clear Rafayel would need more than a personal cheerleader to manage to win anything today.

She winced, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her smile as another plushie slipped from the prongs of the claw, tumbling over a mountain of plush and rolling until it hit the side of the case.

Rafayel groaned, shaking his head. “This thing must be rigged. Someone needs to tell these plushies that they have to come home with us.”

“Can I try?” She leaned against him, perching her head against his shoulder. He looked on the verge of telling her no, and so she fluttered her lashes, popped out her bottom lip. “Please, Rafayel?”

He relinquished his control with a sigh, shaking his head. “My hands were getting tired, anyways.”

“Hopefully not too tired.” She popped a token into the machine, lights flashing and sound whirring as the claw came to life again. “I’m going to need you to carry all the plushies I’m about to win.”

He rolled his eyes. “This one seems rigged, I don’t know if anyone would be able to get anything from it.”

Twenty minutes later, and she had to hide her smirk behind the plushie she retrieved from the machine, a sunshine-yellow duck with a little beret.

She lifted it to her face, pressing its head over her mouth, hoping her eyes did not betray her laughter as Rafayel glowered at her from around the growing pile of plushies in his arms.

“I thought you wanted me to win you all the plushies,” he said, his voice edging close to a whine. “But all I’m doing is holding them.”

“Well you weren’t having any luck, so I wanted to try.” She managed to get ahold of her smile, if only barely. Enough to lower the plushie, to add it to the pile in his arms.

“I still think the machine is rigged,” he pouted. “I’m usually great at these.”

That might have been a bit of an exaggeration, but Rafayel really was usually pretty good. Of course there was no account for luck, and it seemed he had used up the last of it before today.

“Maybe it is rigged,” she mused, turning her attention to some of the other machines in the arcade. Many of them looked similar, although the plushies trapped within them were different. There was a machine of entirely frog plushies, another with different food themed plushies, one where it seemed like everything was pink, although in all different shapes and sizes.

“Maybe we should try another one,” she continued, heading towards the machine with the pink plushies inside.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” he announced, coming up beside her. “I’ll win every single one in there, just you watch.”

She did let him see her smirk now, shaking her head as she kept the basket of tokens far from his reach. “Actually, I want to keep trying.”

Rafayel huffed, his brows drawing together as his pout deepened, but he didn’t argue.

At least not until she started winning even more plushies, until the stack in his arm threatened to fall.

“Are you going to make me your servant forever?” He groaned, readjusting the plushies.

She hummed as she added another to the teetering pile in his arms, a little pink bunny with floppy ears. “That’s not a bad idea.”

His shoulders slumped, and he balanced his chin on top of her newest plushie. “But-”

“Didn’t you say you’d do anything I asked?” She gave him her brightest smile, clasping her hands together over her heart. “Right? You said you’d do anything for your princess.”

His eyes narrowed, his nose wrinkling as he snorted. “Fine, I guess I can’t argue with royalty.”

She laughed, finding herself growing comfortable with the nickname he has bestowed upon her today. “Exactly. And what I want right now is to try to win a few plushies myself.”

It was another while yet before she felt satisfied, and they wandered around the arcade, trying different claw machines and simple games.

At the end of it all they had to purchase a few bags to store her winnings in, and to make them easier for Rafayel to carry.

As they received the bags to stow everything away, Rafayel very confidently announced to her that he would have no problem at all carrying them. That she should let him carry her purse, too, since he was showing her how loving and sweet he could be.

He even kissed her hands again, and her cheek as he helped to zip her jacket up again against the biting cold just a few steps away. As if she would be able to feel anything beyond the warmth thrumming in her veins after his lips had touched her so generously.

And true to his word he did not complain about the bags, although she could see it in his face as he tried to arrange them so he could still hold her hand, lines forming across his brow, looking as though he greatly wanted to complain.

But he held fast nonetheless, and something about it further eased the tension she had been carrying all day. Rafayel loved nothing so much as the sound of his own voice, and yet he kept things light, if still dramatic, uncomplaining even as he readjusted the bags again and again.

She was mulling over what to do next, whether she should release Rafayel from his penance, when her eyes landed on the sign above one of the downtown bookstores, the door thrown open to let warm air and welcoming golden light spill into the grey of the winter.

“Oh, can we go in?” She asked, forgetting for a moment that he was in her debt. “I want to take a look.”

“Your highness is awfully demanding,” he said, his smile giving away his answer. “But I don’t see why not.”

She beamed, squeezing his hand as she dragged him through the door, into the warmth of the store.

She would have happily let Rafayel wander at his own leisure, or lounge in some of the soft, worn chairs that dotted the front of the store near the windows, but he seemed content to follow along at her heels. He made idle comments on the titles and covers of books, nodding his head towards ones he thought she might be interested in, perching his chin on her shoulder whenever she pulled a book down to read its synopsis.

Rafayel clinging to her shadow also had the added benefit that they were often left alone in the aisles, the bulky bags he carried making it difficult for anyone else to squeeze behind them. It was a welcome reprieve as she wandered through the store, and she was able to take her time, not worrying about someone trying to rush her through browsing the shelves.

When she found a few she wanted to read, he was holding out his hand, bags swinging from his wrists, to hold them for her.

“But your hands are already full,” she said, eying the bags, and his other hand still tangled with hers. “It’s okay, love. I can carry them.”

His lips quirked up, and he reached out to take them from her hands before she could protest. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgiven me already, have you? And just for carrying a few plushies around.”

Laughter bubbled in her chest, although she managed to stop its escape. Instead of laughing, she merely tilted her head back and turned away, hoping she appeared haughty. “Fine. You carrying the books is the least you can do, anyways.”

“Ah, come on princess, you don’t have to be so cold.” She was sure if she looked he would give her his widest puppy dog eyes, but he didn’t sound like he was. He sounded like he was close to laughing, too, like he was barely able to hold back his smile.

She tried tugging her hand from his grasp, but she remained ensnared, caught in his pull. He squeezed her hand once, as if to say he was happy to play the penitent, but he was not about to let her go.

So she dragged him all over the store, handing him books as she did her best to playact an imperious noble. Each time she turned to hand him another book she would sniff, and she would catch Rafayel’s lips stretching wide like the sunshine spilling across the ocean at dawn.

She didn’t know if it meant she was doing a poor job and he thought it funny, or if she was doing an amazing job and he was finding it funny. Either way he was smiling, so she supposed it was a win.

After they had looped all her favourite sections multiple times, and had wandered through the section that curiously had racks of robes and simple outfits and cocktail mixes, she turned to him fully. “I think that’s everything.” She gestured to the stack of books in his arms, undoubtedly heavier than the plushies and yet he had brooked no complaint. “Let me take them now and I’ll go and pay.”

His brows furrowed, his mouth quirking to the side. “Do you think I’m not strong enough to carry a few books? I’ve lifted canvases heavier than these.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “No, Rafayel, that’s not it. But you’ve more than earned my forgiveness, and a little bit of rest. Let me take those and you can sit down while I pay for them.”

But he did not relinquish her books, and instead began dragging her towards the registers. Even as she protested, he ignored her, grinning wide like she wasn’t yanking on his hand, trying to convince him not to waste his money on her.

It was a fruitless endeavour, and five minutes later he was accepting a bag from the cashier, who was giving her a knowing grin, whispering under her breath that Rafayel was a keeper.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she whined once they were back out on the street. Rafayel was beaming, smug, the paper bag carrying the books crinkling as he swung it at his side. “You didn’t have to waste your money.”

“Waste?” One brow arched as he shook his head. “I promise, your royal highness, that nothing is ever a waste when it’s for you.”

Despite the chill, warmth crept into her face, and she was thankful that she could blame the flush of her cheeks on the bite of the wind. 

Rafayel leaned closer, looking like he wanted to cup her cheek. But with his hands full, all he could do was close the distance between them, squeezing her hand, thumb stroking the inside of her wrist, his nose bumping against hers so all she could see was the ocean of his eyes. The melting of blue into red, the lick of ruby flames overtaking the sapphire sky.

“Nothing is too much, or too expensive when it comes to you. I’ll do anything that you want if it makes you smile.”

She wanted to say something clever, something witty, but all that passed between her lips was air. Like she was emptying her lungs as she swam deeper and deeper into the ocean-blue of his eyes, his hand her only tether to land.

“I’ll buy you all the books you want,” he continued, eyes glinting like sunlight dancing over water. Like the flicker of silver fins and rainbow scales beneath the waves. “And plushies, and food, and anything else you could ever want.”

He drew away, straightening just enough that the cold of the wind could whistle between them, just enough so she could see his smile in full. It could have been teasing, jovial, but instead it was soft, tender as a morning kiss. There was something fathomless in his eyes, both lost and found, a longing that echoed in her own heart.

“I’ll make you any painting, cry a million pearls.” His words were feather-light, nearly torn away in the air. “And I’ll make sure it’s all perfect. Only the most perfect things for you.”

She would have liked to tell him that none of that mattered, that the only thing she wanted was him. That she didn’t care for perfection so long as he stayed with her, so long as he held her hand and continued to smile and laugh and continue his shenanigans.

But she didn’t know how to say it, the words lodging in her throat, unable to form on her tongue.

“Rafayel, I-” Her lungs spasmed, her fingers tightening around his hand. He cocked his head to the side, like a bird listening to the symphony of the world around it.

She closed her mouth, swallowed, tried again. “I don’t… I mean I want…”

An unpleasant heat was beginning to flush in her cheeks, different from when he had flustered her before, this one sharp prickles that made her itch. But he didn’t speak, watching her quietly, patiently.

She breathed slowly, licked her lips, tried one final time. “Rafayel. I-”

But what she said wasn’t anything that she had been thinking, or perhaps it was, all of it stitched and embroidered into the fabric of the words she did say.

“I forgive you.”

At first he did nothing, although the slow climb of his brows told her that he had heard her, but that understanding hadn’t quite sunk in.

The moment realization hit him was like light flaring suddenly, like the explosion of fireworks in the sky. His eyes brightened, his mouth opened, a grin so wide she could see the sharp point of one of his incisors.

He laughed, bright as bells, warm as spring, pretty as birdsong. “You mean I have earned my freedom, your highness?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you’re free. You’re forgiven for earlier today.”

He continued to chuckle, swinging their joined hands. “Thank goodness. I was beginning to worry it would take a hundred years for you to forgive me.”

“Well don’t test your luck,” she grumbled. Her face still burned, although the discomfort had eased, and her voice was thick from the words still caught in her throat. She would have liked to cling to an ounce of feigned annoyance, to turn away in a huff so he could not see everything unsaid in her eyes, the colour in her cheeks. But Rafayel’s laughter was infectious, and the delight in it bubbled like champagne in her veins, fizzed in her mind and blurred her senses.

Rafayel seemed utterly unperturbed by her own personal turmoil, swinging their hands higher, his smile fixed to his face.

“What would you like to do now?” He asked, winking. “Should we go to the beach? Or would you like to go somewhere for dinner?”

She eyed the bags in his hands, the slope of his shoulders as he was weighed down by them. She could feel fatigue beginning to creep over her, like the slow stretch of ivy over aging brick. She could only imagine how tired Rafayel was too, his day just as long as hers, along with the addition of carrying everything around for her.

Having dinner sounded nice, but she wanted to relax, she wanted to lean her head on his shoulder and breathe in the smell of his cologne, barely masking the smell of salt and the sting of paint.

“What if we went home and ordered something instead?” She suggested. “It’s been a long day and I’d like to rest. Maybe we could watch a movie too?”

Rafayel hummed, his eyes ever-so-slightly narrowing. “Can’t get enough of me, huh? You were acting so mad, but now you want to stick around.”

As if he hadn’t just suggested spending more time together either.

She rolled her eyes. “I just thought it would be nice. It was a stressful day for the both of us, and I thought doing something lowkey could be fun.”

“I suppose we could do that,” he mused, his smirk a sharp curve of his lips. “It would probably be best to indulge your highness’ whims. I would hate to upset you again.”

“If you don’t want to, you can just say so,” she huffed. “It was just an idea.”

“I never said I didn’t want to.” His smile hiked higher, the corners of his eyes creasing. “But I want to pick out the movie. And where we eat.”

“I think I should be the one to pick out where we eat,” she argued, reaching over with her free hand to pinch him. “Since you scared me.”

“What, so now I’m unforgiven?” He whined, staring at her as though she’d just kicked a puppy. “I had to put up with dumb art collectors and my phone broke!”

“You’re not unforgiven,” she said, heat spreading in her chest, reaching down her arms, making her fingers tingle. “I just think I should get to pick where we eat!”

“Yes, but if I’ve been forgiven then shouldn’t you owe me now?” His brow arched. “Since you’ve made me do such hard labour?”

The heat continued to spread, her fingers itching. “That was part of your apology. And I think that after the day I’ve had I should get to pick out dinner.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “You really are a princess. I did so much to make up for-”

It was on impulse that she moved, yanking her hand free from his and grabbing hold of his jacket. Rafayel paused, brows high, eyes wide as he turned. It gave her the opening she needed to snag his front with her other hand, yanking him close.

“Rafayel.”

He blinked, colour flaring in his cheeks like fireworks exploding in the indigo of night. It made his eyes seem darker, their colour deeper, so deep and fathomless she could have drowned in them.

His lips fell open, a silent question on them as his breath slipped away.

“You scared me today. Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she said, hands firmly twisting into the fabric of his jacket.

A brow arched, the corner of his lip twitching like he might grin. “Or what?”

“Or else.”

She had no real threat for him, and yet it seemed to do the job just fine. He smirked, lowering his head until he was peeking up at her from beneath the fringe of his thick lashes.

“Yes ma’am.” His words were hushed, warm and heavy, settling deep in her belly. “I promise I won’t ever make you wait again. I’ll always be with you.”

Whatever had possessed her to grab him was beginning to loose its hold on her, and she loosened her own grip on him, although still she clung close. “And?”

He huffed a laugh. “And you can pick the movie. But I’m still picking dinner.”

She dropped her hands as she gaped. “You can’t!”

“Oh but I can, love.” He flashed her a teasing smile, tapping her brow before straightening. “I know a place that just opened, and they don’t normally do delivery, but they will for me. You’ll absolutely love it.”

She made to pinch him, but he caught her wrist, smirking. “Doesn’t that get old?”

So instead she pinched him with her free hand, biting back a smile as he yelped. “No.”

“You’re lucky my other hand is full,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Or else you’d be in trouble.”

She giggled, a snorting, bubbling sound that made his smile soften. “I think that’s an empty threat. You wouldn’t retaliate.”

“Oh wouldn’t I?”

“Of course not.”

He shrugged, sighing. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“Well-”

“Anyways,” he cut her off before she could tease him, dragging her down the street. “Come on, I’m starving. Are we going to my place?”

“If you don’t mind,” she said, stumbling after him.

He tossed her a grin over his shoulder. “Of course not. Although if you’re planning on staying over you have to cook breakfast tomorrow.”

His eyes met hers for half a second, less than a breath, before he rolled them, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“What?” She hadn’t even said anything, hadn’t so much as frowned. “What did I do?”

“Nothing yet, but I know what you will say.” He groaned dramatically, tilting his head back.

She actually wouldn’t have minded, although she did not say as much as Rafayel quickly went through the five stages of grief.

“I’ll make something tomorrow morning instead. It might give me some inspiration since all of it was drained after going to that gallery.”

She reached out to cover his hand with hers, fingers interlacing. “Well maybe there’s something I can do to help with that.”

“Suddenly feeling benevolent?” He arched a brow, drawing her closer.

She shrugged. “I know you had a difficult day too, and I’d like to help if I can.”

Surprise melted into warmth like the night beneath the dawn across his face. His cheeks flushed, and she could have sworn she felt the quick pulse of his heart. But his smile was tender, his gaze soft.

“You know, I think I can feel it returning already,” he mused. “You might have to stay over for more than a day.”

She smiled, let herself sink against him as they walked. The frantic fear of the early afternoon was little more than a distant memory, a half-forgotten nightmare nearly swept away. Rafayel was safe, he was smiling, and his hand was twined with hers. That was all she’d wanted, to be close, to stay beside him today. 

And tomorrow too, and the day after, and all the tomorrows after.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he said, squeezing her hand, drawing her attention back to him. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m trying to figure out what kind of food you’ve picked,” she said. “Since you won’t tell me anything about it.”

“Are you worried it won’t be up to your royal standards?” He chuckled, swinging her hand again. It was silly, a little childish, and yet it made her incandescently happy when he did. “Well you don’t have to fear, your highness, it’s something you’ll love.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Just trust me,” he insisted.

“Alright.” Now she swung their joined hands too, tossing them high. He laughed, eyes tracking the movement, his smile making her heart stumble, trip, no better than a toddler learning to walk. “I guess I’ll trust you.”

More laughter, warm as sunshine, sweet as sugar. She could have listened to it forever, an enchanting siren song that she would have happily let lead her to her doom.

“Don’t sound so excited,” he said, although his smile belied the annoyed roll of his eyes.

She giggled. “Sorry, sorry. I do trust you, I’m looking forward to whatever you have planned.”

His answer was simple, and yet it warmed her as surely as a star unfurling behind her ribs. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Where once there had been grey and white, pallid despair and shadowy fear, now everything seemed to be bright as technicolour. Streaks of cerise stained the sky, buttery yellow poured from windows, starlit silver washed across the sidewalk as the streetlights flicked to life. There were emerald greens and cerulean blues and plum purples, all filling her sight. They were embers catching and blooming to life, flowers unfurling at the first whisper of spring.

She leaned closer, pressing her cheek against his arm, listening as he hummed. It was because of him that her world was filled with such colour, each new brushstroke, each new shade, brilliant as the glitter of gemstones, bright as the shine of the sun.

Hope bloomed like spring, like blushing pink across his cheeks. Hope that he would stay with her, their hands always intertwined. Hope that he would find her, even if she was late. That she would find him, even if he was too. Hope that her world would always be bright, and filled with colour.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #lnds rafayel #lads rafayel #qi yu #rafayel love and deepspace #qi yu x mc #rafayel x mc #rafayel lads #message in a bottle

[spacesquidlings]

Hmmm this is a hard one to narrow down there's a lot that are a lot of fun!!!!

friends to lovers • found family • fantasy au • royalty au • fake dating • domestic fluff • childhood friends to lovers • regular fluff • not sure if it's a trope but the man being down bad for his lover • the chosen one • comfort • one fell first one fell harder • sunshine character • grumpy x sunshine I guess in some situations

And I'd like to tag @jihyuncompass @cafedanslanuit @otherlandshark @aluneposting

Fave Fic Tropes! ✨

Here‘s another tag game I came across, and wanted to share it with you! Just highlight the trope you like more! 🤭

coffee shop or flower shop • alternate universe or fix-it • enemies to lovers or childhood friends • angst or fluff • love at first sight or pining • modern au or historical au • soulmate or unrequited • fake dating or secret dating • breakup and makeup or proposals and weddings • get together or established relationship • oblivious pining or domestic fluff • hurt/comfort or crack • meet the parent or meet cute • time travel or parallel universe

Just tagging a few people (no pressure): @adragonprinceswhore @aemondsbabe @targaryenbarbie @barbiedragon @succnfuccubus @connorsui @schniiipsel @kaelabear

#I do love a trope #i literally forgot every trope ive ever known tho trying to do this

[spacesquidlings]

sorry it took me so long to get to this!!!! I've been picking away at a fic in my free time for the last few weeks, so here's a little snippet!!!!

The corners of his mouth curved upwards, the first hint of sunlight cresting over the horizon. “In that case, we could find another café, or a restaurant if you’d like an early dinner.” She narrowed her eyes, even as the first strains of a melody began in her heart, elation blooming at seeing his smile, at knowing she would be spending the rest of the day with him. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, Rafayel.” His brow arched. “Rafayel? Not ‘love?’ Not ‘darling?’ Not ‘baby?’” She arched her brow, tipping her head back, away from the hand that had been cupping her cheek. “I think you have a lot more apologizing to do before you get those privileges back. Rafayel.” He sighed, shaking his head. Despite the rejection, his lips were still curving up, his smile turning playful. “I’ll make it up to you.” “Mhmmm.” She tried to pull her other hand back, the one still firmly held to his chest, but he held that hand tightly, smirking. “Rafayel, you can let go now.” “And what if I don’t want to?” He cocked his head to the side, all mischief now. His fingers tightened around hers as he brought her palm up, as he pressed his lips to her palm. “What if I want to keep holding it?”

Aaaand I'd like to tag @aluneposting , @cafedanslanuit , and @jihyuncompass

WIP

I was simultaneously tagged by @bhaalbaaby and @lynnlovesthestars!

Here is fluff dadstarion fic Tagging @vixstarria @marcynomercy @spacesquidlings @not-so-lost-after-all

Astarion feels someone is staring. “Good morning, princess,” he mutters, looking at the ceiling. A three-year-old girl with long silver hair stands on the ceiling as if she was a bat. her hair is messy, it looks like she’s tried to braid it herself but couldn’t handle a brush. Her black dress makes her look even smaller than she is. Alethaine doesn’t reply and keeps staring at her dad. “How long have you been there?”Astarion elbows up. “Is anything wrong?” Alethaine’s ears twitch and her lower lip quivers. She looks like she is about to cry. “Princess, use your words,” Astarion lies back on the bed and reaches his hands up. Alethaine immediately falls in his arms.  'When will mum return?’ she finally asks. “She's been away for too long!” Astarion places Alethaine beside him and his daughter immediately nestles in the crook of his right hand. She is so small, so delicate - like a kitten or a porcelain doll, Much smaller than human children in their town.

#wip wednesday #it's almost wednesday isnt it??? #love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #again please don't feel any pressure to do this I just thought it was fun!!!!!

[spacesquidlings]

It Is The Time You've Spent On Your Rose

When she wakes before Xavier, she finds herself compelled to free herself from his arms, to show him that she cares, to spend time on him and making his smile bloom

Pairing: Xavier x MC Tags: Fluff, domestic fluff, sleepy morning cuddles, cooking Taglist: @aluneposting

“It’s the time you’ve spent on your rose that makes your rose so important.” Antoine de Saint-Exupery, “The Little Prince”

Sunlight tracked across the floor, illuminating the fallen bodies of all the plushies that had tumbled from the precipice of the bed. Only one lone survivor remained, the purple unicorn they had won together. She had tucked it in her arms, clutching it tightly through the night, even as the others had toppled to the floor.

Just as tightly as she held onto her plushie, Xavier held onto her. His arms looped around her middle, his face buried in the back of her neck. He clung to her as though he was worried she would vanish, that she would be snatched away while he was lost to his dreams.

She didn’t even remember falling asleep, only that she’d been tucked against his chest, reading quietly, her precious unicorn plushie in the crook of her arm. Her eyes had been heavy, and he was always so warm, and his heartbeat had been so soothing. Slow and steady, like the pulse of a soundless lullaby.

She felt that slow thrum against her back, her mind relaxing as it pulsed steadily against her. His breath feathered against the back of her neck, warm and ticklish. When she shifted his arms only tightened, unwilling to let her go.

She brought the plushie up to her face, propping her cheek against its head as she watched the sunlight stretch across the floor. It was still early morning, the light pallid and watery, not yet the rich gold of late morning that painted the world in gold. The air was touched with warmth, another chord in the lullaby still lilting quietly in her ears, a siren song coaxing her back to sleep.

It was far too easy to doze off, snuggled so comfortably in his arms, his body a reassuring weight behind her. She felt as though she could sleep the entire day away if she remained her, caught in his gravity like planets orbiting the sun.

Yet as time ticked by she slowly woke more and more, the allure of sleep lost to her as her shoulder began to ache from lying on her side for so long, as dull pangs of hunger rioted in her belly. Comfortable as she was, and captivating as lying in bed until well past noon was, she knew she had to get up soon.

She squirmed, testing the strength of his hold. Each time she shifted his arms seemed to tighten, remaining locked around her, stronger than iron. How he managed to keep his hold so firm even in sleep baffled her.

As she flopped back against the pillow he murmured something incomprehensible, breath tickling her skin as he nuzzled against her neck, as he curved his body around hers. It made her wonder what he was dreaming about, what scenes were playing out in the galaxies of his mind that made him move closer still, that made him cling to her the way he did.

Although she was resigning herself to her fate of being trapped in bed until Xavier finally awoke, her stomach was not. It grumbled, dissatisfied with her singular attempt at escape, pain ricocheting through her empty belly for good measure.

Groaning under her breath, she steeled herself, twisting around as much as she could. “Xavier?” She searched for his face where it was buried against her. He only grunted in response, head lolling back, giving her just a sliver of space, enough to see the flush of his cheeks as he slept.

She tried again, managing to fully roll onto her other side to face him as she murmured his name. “Xavier? Love?”

And all she got for her efforts was a quiet snort, his head falling forward, nearly colliding with hers.

She held her plushie up to her face, giggling.

This sweet, sleepy man was so at odds with the hunter she knew on missions. In battle he was so serious, focused, his emotions guarded. Sometimes she couldn’t even tell when he was in pain, not until she pressed him and he caved to her badgering.

Even when they were not on missions, when they were enjoying a little peace, visiting the arcade or looking for new restaurants or quietly reading together, he was still stoic, quiet. Often his lips would be quirked into a small smile, like the first silvery crescent after a darkened new moon. His eyes would be warm, like water dappled with summer sunlight. But he would be calm, almost aloof, so much hidden behind that serene smile and his placid expression.

It was in the rarest of moments, the ones that she cherished most, precious memories that found their way into her dreams, he would smile brightly. His cheeks and ears would flush the colour of spring blooms, his lips would curve upwards, soft and sweet as honey-stained tea, as a bouquet of peonies filling the room with the smell of something warm and tender that she dared not yet name.

Those particular moments were few and far between, when she could coax out a smile that put sunlight to shame, that made her heart ache for all the mirth and unguarded joy in his eyes, in the creases of his face. They made her knees weak and her stomach sprout gossamer wings, flying as high as it dared, trying to escape beyond spun-sugar clouds.

There was something about this moment that reminded her of those times. He was not awake, not laughing, not rolling star-touched eyes at her for saying something that made him blush. But as she listened to him sigh, as she watched him settle once more, head sinking into his pillow, she could feel her heart pressing against her ribs, bone cracking and cartilage rending from the pressure as she peered at his sleeping face.

He seemed so young, almost vulnerable, and it made her heart ache all the more that he would let her see him like this. His hair was a mess, a halo of moonlight around his head, soft and fluffy as the plushie now wedged between them.

There were depths in his eyes that she could not reach, her lungs failing her before she could swim that deep. But tangled in the blankets together now, he was not fathomless, he was not so unknowable as the starlight left behind from celestial bodies that had long since burned out. He was just…

He was him. He was Xavier, warm and sweet, his heartbeat keeping time to the song of his blood, his smile like starlight lighting up her life.

She reached for him without thinking, her hands trembling as her fingertips brushed against the feathery edges of his hair. It was soft, as moonlight puddling on water, spilling through the glass of her windows at night.

When he did not stir she grew bolder, tracing her fingers down the side of his jaw, gingerly caressing his cheek, feeling the heat of his breath as she sketched her fingers over his lips. Her mind tripped, thoughts spiralling away as she imagined, like the sun emerging from the horizon in the morning sky, the curve of his smile beneath her fingers, against her skin.

Her cheeks heated and she moved her hand away quickly, brushing against his neck as she tried to banish the treacherous thoughts. They were chased by the echo of his breathy laughter, dredged up from her memories as her face continued to burn, as her stomach twisted and somersaulted with abandon. His laughter in the air, his fingers encircling her wrist, slowly drawing her hand to his lips, pressing kisses into her palm as her pulse thrummed like hummingbird wings.

It was as she lowered her hand in distraction, fingertips barely grazing his throat, that Xavier shifted.

Not so subtle of a movement as shifting, but flinched, breath catching before he settled once more, the momentary lines in his brow melting away.

And she remembered exactly how ticklish he was.

It was easy enough to put her plan into action, now that it was more than wiggling around helplessly in the hopes he would loosen his hold. Now all she did was reach for the sensitive places on his throat, behind his ears, along his shoulders, down his sides. She didn’t even need to add that much pressure, nothing more than a soft graze of the pads of her fingers over his skin, a light touch that could have been nothing more than the wind.

The results were instantaneous. One moment he was nestled comfortably in the blankets, his face serene, relaxed. The next he was shivering, twisting from side-to-side as he tried to escape her hands. He huffed, his brow furrowing, and then his arms were growing slack, just as he was rolling onto his back in an attempt to flee.

Biting the inside of her cheek to hold back her laughter, lest it be the final straw that woke him fully, she bolted from the bed, still clutching her unicorn plushie in her arms as she made her daring escape.

It wasn’t until she had fled from the room, flinging herself down the hall, that she allowed herself to laugh. She shoved her face against the plushie’s side, giggling maniacally, shocked that her plan had worked, and that Xavier somehow hadn’t woken up.

She couldn’t stop smiling, dancing on her toes as she made her way into the kitchen, energy crackling along her nerves like lightning as it cut through a storm-darkened sky.

She had slept much longer than she usually did, her dreams deeper, her sleep more restful with Xavier beside her. And now she was filled with energy, as though a million stars had bloomed in her veins, as though she were made up of galaxies of light.

She would have to put all this liveliness to good use. Maybe they could go out today, try to win more plushies at the arcade. Maybe they could go to the store and find new books now that Xavier was nearly done the ones she had lent him. They could take a walk by the water, or they could try out a new café she’d been hearing about for weeks, or-

Her stomach cramped, cutting off the excited flurry of her thoughts.

Before she got ahead of herself, she needed to eat something. And Xavier would need to eat something too, when he finally did wake up.

“I should probably make some breakfast, huh?” She lifted her plushie up, voicing her thoughts aloud. “What do you think Xavier would want to eat?”

He’d been talking about crêpes lately, and soufflé, although the last few times he’d tried making them he’d ended up setting off the fire alarms in both their apartments.

“Why not…” She trailed off, tapping the unicorn’s horn to trigger the miniature fireworks. “Why not something like soufflé pancakes? That’s a thing, right?”

The plushie watched her quietly, and she imagined it was telling her that she’d come up with a wonderful idea. That Xavier would be so delighted that he’d smile one of those sweet, heart-rending smiles that made her knees weak.

She swiped her phone from where she’d left it the night before, searching up recipes as she snuck back to the bedroom to change. She’d never tried making this before, and she didn’t want to splatter ingredients all over her pajamas.

She didn’t bother tiptoeing as she dressed, knowing how deeply Xavier slept. She was certain he could sleep through an earthquake if he was tired enough. Still, she dressed quickly, snagging what she thought was her sweater and pulling it on before she grabbed her plushie and slipped from the room.

“Alright, it’s time to get to work.” She spoke to the plushie, settling it on the kitchen table to supervise.

Perhaps it was childish, but it made her smile all the same. It was her most precious of all the plush and dolls she had won with Xavier at the arcade, and she’d gotten attached. She’d often set it somewhere to keep watch while she cooked in her own apartment, or she’d settle it next to her while she watched a movie, and she would always tuck it into bed beside her when she slept alone.

Getting started was easy enough, collecting all the ingredients she needed. Xavier may have been more dangerous in the kitchen than he was during missions, but he always kept his fridge and his cupboards stocked. It only took her a few moments to collect everything she needed, the eggs, the sugar, the flour, the milk and butter, the vanilla.

All her ingredients collected and organized beside her plushie, next was the more difficult part of the process. The actual cooking.

She had to separate the egg whites from the yolks, combining the yolks with a number of the ingredients, mixing them together until they were well blended. Then she had to whisk the egg whites until they formed little peaks. Only then could she mix everything together, carefully folding a small portion of the egg whites into the batter before adding in the rest.

She had to be meticulous, the recipe demanding careful precision. It was far more complex than what she usually made herself for breakfast, usually content with fruit or toaster waffles or eggs. And sometimes, when she was feeling particularly extravagant, all three together.

But the intricacies of the recipe were worth it, certainly. She wanted them to be worth it. Even if there were a hundred more steps requiring perfection, they would certainly be worth it.

Xavier had undoubtedly grown used to whatever charred remains that could be scrounged from his attempts at cooking, or greasy takeout on the days he was most exhausted. But making him something warm and fluffy and delicious for when he awoke would surely make him smile, wouldn’t it?

She imagined him in her mind, glowing bright as a star, loosening his hold on his evol while in the midst of his delight. The blue of his eyes would glow, a serene cerulean like the surface of a lake. His lips would quirk up, a soft laugh spilling from him when she showed him what she’d made.

It was nothing more than a daydream, and yet yearning tangled around her ribs, working its way through her heart as ivy found its way through stone and brick. She wanted to see his smile, she wanted to make him happy. She wanted to bask in his warmth as though she were napping beneath a summer sun.

As she began warming up the skillet, watching as the rectangle of butter she’d tossed onto its dark surface began to melt, she wondered if there was anything else she could make. Xavier was prone to sleeping late, sometimes well-past noon, which would give her plenty of time to make something else.

He’d been talking nonstop about a pop-up bakery he’d missed while away for work, specializing in pies and tarts. He’d even shown her a menu in a moment of bright-eyed fervor, telling her about how the bakery had advertised a cranberry cheesecake tart that he’d wanted to try.

“I’ve been dreaming of it for weeks!”

She’d laughed, mussing his hair as he’d laid back, his head falling into her lap. “Do you even like cranberries?”

“Of course I do, I like most foods.”

Could she make one of those tarts, too? She’d never made one before, but surely there was a recipe she could find?

Although she’d definitely have to run out to the store to pick up more ingredients. Xavier kept his apartment well stocked, but she doubted even he had the ingredients to make a cranberry cheesecake on hand.

The sizzle of the butter drew her back to the present, away from the starless depths of her thoughts. She had pancakes to make first, before anything else.

Yet even as she tried to focus on the task at hand, her mind still wandered. She should get some fruit anyways, to go with the pancakes. Something fresh and sweet to balance it out. Strawberries, maybe? Or raspberries? Maybe she could get mangos, if they were in season, peel them and cut them into cute shapes and pile them next to the pancakes.

She flipped one pancake, two, three, nearly an entire plate of fluffy soufflé pancakes still warm, resting on the counter next to the stove as she mulled over what else she could do. What else she could make to coax a smile from Xavier, to give him even a twinkle of happiness when he first awoke.

She hummed, oblivious to everything but the task in front of her and the glimmering ideas blooming in her mind. So when arms slipped around her waist, warm breath ghosting over the shell of her ear, she very nearly screamed. 

Like a window slamming shut, condemning a room to shadows and darkness, she was cut away from her quiet musings. She spun, struggling to process what was going on, the imaginings in her mind overlaid with the very real present.

A huff of laughter, a crinkle of sky blue eyes. “It’s just me, it’s only me, love.”

“Xavier!” His name was a plea, a prayer. And it was a song, a sigh, sunbeams gilding everything they touched in gold.

His answering chuckle was warm, his arms tightening around her as they had before. Sleep still clung to him, in the lines of his face where his cheek had been smushed against the pillow, in the disarray of his hair.

“Good morning.” His words slurred together, a burgeoning yawn he barely managed to cover his mouth. His brow fell against hers, the tickle of his soft bangs making her smile.

“Good morning to you, too.” She reached up to cup his cheek, the weight of his head leaning against her palm as he sighed. “What are you doing up so early? Don’t you usually sleep in much later than this?”

“Usually I do,” he agreed, nuzzling the tip of his nose against hers. “But I was so cold that I woke up.”

“You were cold?” She couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice, not when she knew how warm he could become, when he was content and happy, the light of his evol warming him.

He nodded, his head falling to the side, resting on her shoulder. She thought he would close his eyes, but they remained open, fixed on her, a glimmer of something that seemed an awful lot like mischief sparking in his eyes before vanishing into that cloudless blue. “I was cold, and then I woke up and you were gone.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, my love.”

“That’s okay.” Now his eyes did close, a pleased smile on his lips.

She would have happily stood with him like this until the day ended and night drew them into sleep once more, but a part of her mind screamed at her to remember the pancakes.

She patted his cheek until he lifted his head, his eyes wide and round, his lips pulled into the beginnings of a pout. She wasn’t even sure if he was trying, and yet he made the most devastating puppy dog eyes she had seen. Glassy as a quiet lake of moonlight, fathomless as the space between stars.

But the pancake she’d only just flipped when he’d surprised her would burn soon if she wasn’t paying attention, and she couldn’t afford to turn to jelly now when breakfast was on the line.

“Why don’t you go sit down? You still look a little tired.”

That was an understatement. He yawned again, sleep a mantle that weighed heavy on his shoulders. His head drooped, ashy bangs obscuring the starlight in his eyes.

“But I missed you.” The admission was cotton-ball soft, a swirling mote in a beam of butter-yellow light. It was quiet, gentle as a breeze rustling amongst leaves, and yet it cleaved apart the cage of her ribs, her traitorous heart bleeding as the shards of bone sliced through her.

A dramatic response to four little words, chased by another yawn and accompanied by the smell of pancakes on the cusp of burning. But something in her heart, in the marrow of her bones, was forever reaching towards him. She was a newly bloomed flower and he was the sun, emerging from the horizon to fill her heart and veins with warmth.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, the yawning chasm of the wound that had only seemed to make itself known now that he was a part of her life. She was bleeding and he was the stitches, the balm, the bandages that made her whole again. She needed him or she would surely exsanguinate like a hunted beast.

The strings of her heart and the hollows of her bones sang in resonance with him, with his light. She hadn’t realized she’d felt so restless and alone, like an unfinished chord severed from its song. Yet his quiet presence was the final note, music drawing her in, filling in the blanks she hadn’t known were missing.

Her lost harmonies, his warming melodies, an echo blooming between them both. A reverberation of ‘I know you,’ and ‘I miss you,’ threatening to shatter her and rebuild her like a crescendo.

And softer still, trailing after the pinnacle of the song, a twist of languid notes like fingers twined and palms pressed together, like a lonely, keening cry, ‘I need you.’

It didn’t make any sense to her, the feeling that she knew him, that she missed him. But when he spoke in the downy soft, hushed tones she was growing used to in the quiet of their moments together, her breath held, her heart stopped. His words echoed, and she nearly crumbled beneath them.

It was with a shaky breath that she managed a terse “fine,” before twisting in his arms, focusing her attention on the pancake, quickly lifting it from the pan and settling it on the pile of them on the counter beside her.

Saved, just in time, or it would have been nothing but charcoal.

Behind her now, Xavier nestled closer, his arms tightening around her waist, his chin perching on her shoulder. “Did you miss me?”

‘Yes,’ her bones screamed. ‘I missed you so much,” cried her heart.

There was no sense to it at all, the yearning, the ache in her marrow. Perhaps though, there was no sense to be found in it. She could feel a nameless thing lurking in the burning tributaries of her veins, gaining strength each time it passed through her heart, although she still refused to give it form.

There was never much sense in such things, in the waxing of feelings that grew and grew until they ruled over the tides in her veins, the ebb and flow of every beat of her heart.

“Yes,” she said at last, as she poured batter onto the skillet, watched as it grew fluffy and brown. For now she didn’t have to give it form; she didn’t have to define its shape and its name when it was not much more than a seedling beginning to sprout.

For now she could be content in the warmth of his arms and the weight of his body against her back and the growing pile of pancakes at her side.

“I missed you very much.”

From the corner of her eye she saw as he lifted his head, regarded her with sleepy curiosity. “Why did you get up?”

“I was hungry,” she said, tossing another pancake onto the plate. There wasn’t much batter left, and she would be done soon. “And I wanted to make you something you would enjoy.”

He hummed, resting his cheek on her shoulder. “Pancakes?”

“Soufflé pancakes.”

More humming, the press of his lips to her throat. “That sounds good.”

“Well you were talking about soufflé the other day, and I thought you might want to try this!”

He chuckled, sighing into her skin as he kissed her again. “Thank you, beloved.”

“And…” She hadn’t been sure if she would make anything else for him, but his tender murmurations against her throat made her weak, needy for even the smallest of praise. “I was thinking of making something else later, if you’d like.”

“Oh?” He straightened, rubbing his nose against her jaw. “What is it?”

Like the never-ending pull of gravity that spun the planets of the solar system around the sun, she was caught in his orbit, illuminated by the light that spilled from him. Already she knew she was lost to him, a moon cradled in the hold of its planet, its star.

But even moons had hidden sides to them, and she wanted to surprise him, wanted to delight him. Before she hadn’t been sure, but she was resolved. Even if she failed, she would try to make him more treats, if only to coax the embers of his smile into brilliant flame.

“It’s a secret,” she said, smiling when he groaned. “You’ll just have to wait.”

She could feel his frown, dangerously close to a pout as he pressed his face against her cheek, trying to ply the truth from her. She caved to him so easily, crumbling like an overbaked crust beneath the slightest of touches. He just had to fix those soft blue eyes on her, had to take her hand or nuzzle against her cheek.

How could she ever say no to him? How could a moon deny her star?

“Nope!” Her voice wobbled even as she turned her head away, not wanting to fall for the trap of meeting his eyes. “I’m not telling.”

Xavier made a soft, disgruntled sound in the back of his throat, but he didn’t press her further. Instead, he only held her tighter, resting his forehead on her shoulder again.

For a while there was silence, the quiet sizzle of the batter on the pan and their twining breaths the only sounds in the kitchen. She returned to her humming, idly running her fingers through his hair, leaning into his embrace. They swayed gently to the rhythm of her song, the slow, steady beat of his heart thrumming against her back, keeping tempo.

She was certain he had fallen asleep again, his breaths even, feathering against the side of her neck, his arms ever-so-slightly loosening their grip.

But when she called his name, no louder than the rustle of leaves sprouting in the spring, he roused quickly. His eyes, sapphire blue and bleary as they found hers, seemed to glow.

“Yes, beloved?” The nickname sent ribbons of sunshine twisting through her, illuminating every bone and tributary, warming her all the way to her curled toes. It was something a prince would say to his princess, what a knight would say to his queen.

It had fled from his lips once, and although his ears had tinged pink and he had looked away for the briefest of moments, he had smiled, and it had clung to her ever since.

Clearing her throat, she quickly looked away, focusing all her attention on scraping out the last of the batter, and not on the heat that danced across her nerves, sent tingles flaring in her fingertips and toes. “I wasn’t sure if you’d fallen asleep.”

“I might have for just a minute.” His hand found hers, fingers interlocking. “But can you blame me? I’m so comfortable.”

“Standing up?” She laughed, doing her best to flip the final pancake one-handed.

His soft laughter ruffled her hair, warm as a caress, as sunlight falling against her cheek. “With you, silly. It’s so much more comfortable with you in my arms.”

She was thankful she was facing away from him as her face flamed. She didn’t have to look in a mirror to know her cheeks were stained the colour of overripe tomatoes. Even her ears felt like they’d caught fire, his words a match held to her skin, burning until fiery sunset red was all that remained.

She ducked her head, her unbound hair falling over her face, veiling her flush from Xavier’s keen eyes. She could only hope he hadn’t spotted the heat flaring at the tips of her ears.

She swallowed, her voice a warble when she was able to find her words. “If you’re tired, you should lie down. Breakfast shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“I don’t want to.” He spoke with the susurrus of the wind, hiding beneath it the telltale petulance of a whine, childish in its refusal.

It surprised her, coaxed a smile from her as realization dawned on her. She turned in his arms, the batter used, the tower of pancakes cooling, reminding her of the turret of a princess castle.

She cupped his cheeks, his brows disappearing beneath the fringe of his bangs as she held his face. “Then what do you want to do, my sunshine?”

Now he was the one to blush, a delicate pink unfurling like cherry blossoms in spring. It spread from his cheeks, creeping up to his ears as the colour deepened to the flush of dawn. But unlike her, Xavier didn’t look away. His eyes seemed to darken, a deep cobalt that bordered on midnight, the soft lights of the kitchen catching like starlight.

“I want to stay here,” he murmured, bringing her palm to his lips. “I want to stay with you always.”

Needy hunger yawned wide inside of her, a chasm where her heart should have been safely nestled between her ribs.

He wanted always, and she wanted always. She wanted his always, his forever, his chivalrous promises of staying with her forevermore.

But as much as she yearned, she also wasn’t quite done with breakfast yet. She would happily melt beneath the touch of his lips and the brush of her fingertips, after she’d finished up and cleaned everything.

“I need to finish breakfast,” she said, toes curling when his teeth scraped the skin of her palm. She gave a half-hearted tug, giggling when his eyes met hers, bright with laughter and devilry. “Xavier! I need my hand!”

“And what if I want it?” He kissed her palm again, his brows raised. There was laughter in his voice, finding his own teasing hilarious.

“You have two hands!” She wriggled helplessly, biting back her own laughter as he watched her, amused.

No, not just amused. Delighted.

“And I want this one too!” He chuckled, holding her hand tighter.

“You’re being greedy!”

He nipped her index finger, his smile bordering on joyous. “It’s for a very important mission.”

“Which one?”

“It’s classified.”

As his smile turned smug she was reminded of her secret weapon, Xavier’s ultimate weakness.

With her free hand, she reached out as quickly as she could, still half-caught in his grip. It was easy enough to find the sensitive spots on his sides, under his arms down his throat.

His eyes bulged, his grip loosening as he dissolved into giggles, her name broken up by snorts as he tried to get away. With her newfound freedom she gave chase, backing him up against the wall as he squirmed and laughed. 

He might have been pleading for mercy, but it was hard to tell from how breathless he was becoming. He did manage a breathy “please,” but she wasn’t keen on stopping just yet.

“Ask me nicely.” She was having too much fun and she would undoubtedly pay the price later. But for now her heart was caught in the wind, chasing after his laughter, losing itself in the crimson of his face and the moon of his smile.

“Please, beloved!”

She did pause then, feeling satisfied.

“Alright,” she conceded, smoothing her hair back as he sighed, as though he’d been indulging her.

He took her hands, catching them swiftly and bringing them both to his lips. “What am I going to do with such treacherous hands?”

She hummed, tapping his lip, goosebumps racing across her skin from the tickle of his breath. “You’ll let them go so I can finish breakfast? So I can make you a surprise treat?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he tipped his head to the side, his bangs falling like moonbeams across his brow. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time. Although next time my mission will be to capture them.”

“Is that a threat?”

His smile was far too tender, hiding mischief in its fathomless depths. He kissed her hands once more before releasing them. “I wouldn’t say it’s a threat.” He swept his gaze over the kitchen, the corners of his lips quivering as if he was trying to hold them in check. “More like a guarantee.”

“I’m being threatened! I made you breakfast and you’re threatening me!” Her distress would have been more believable if she hadn’t been grinning so broadly, debating whether she should push her luck and see if he would make good on his “guarantee.”

Seeming to sense her impending shenanigans, Xavier took hold of her hands again, the stained glass of his eyes glittering in the light. He could not contain his laughter, even as she watched him try and fail to press his lips together to staunch the flow like a rift in a dam.

“I’m not threatening you,” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

She squealed, wiggling in his grip. “I’m being attacked! I’ve done nothing wrong and I’m being attacked!”

Another roll of his eyes. “We both know that’s not true.”

“I’m innocent! I’ve never done anything wrong in my life ever!”

There was no need for a verbal response as the corners of Xavier’s eyes narrowed, conveying just how much he believed that. From the slant of his lips and the furrow of his brow there was no doubt he was remembering when she’d pinched his backside the night before.

But in her defense, it had been necessary. He’d wiped the floor with her in kitty cards that past afternoon and she’d needed to take revenge somehow.

Yet rather than bring up the day before, he instead settled his hands on the flare of her hips, her hands free to pinch and squeeze his cheeks in retaliation.

Xavier only grinned wider, submitting to his fate. “Do whatever you want, beloved. I’m all yours.”

She frowned, sliding her hands to his chest, feeling the slow thrum of heart beneath her palm. “You’re being awfully mean to me.”

“Maybe it’s because I missed you.” Soft as feather-down, as blankets fresh from the wash, as the brush of flower petals against her fingertips, Xavier’s words quietly fell from his lips. He lowered his head, peeking up at her from beneath the silver of his lashes and the ashy fringe of his bangs. “And I was upset because I woke up alone.”

Already she could feel herself wavering, succumbing to Xavier’s puppy-dog eyes. He watched her, silent, his words hanging in the air like stars blossoming in the night sky, guiding her through the dark.

How could she even pretend to be upset when he was looking at her like that?

She had to turn away before her knees gave out from the strength of his sweet, apologetic stare. His weakness might have been his ticklish spots, but her weakness was him.

“Love?” Xavier’s hand cupped her cheek, gently turning her face back towards him, giving her no way to escape. “What can I do so you’ll forgive me?”

“Um… Uh…” She trailed off, unable to think of anything but the heat of his hand on her skin, the sincerity in his eyes. He was close, too close, his breath tickling her lips. There was hardly any space left between them, and even the smallest of movements would bring them together.

Her bones were nothing but kindling, catching flame at the first strike of flint, at the cadence of his voice and the warmth of his touch and that look he was giving her that made her feel like she was in freefall.

“Um?” He cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips twitching, a smile rising like the dawn. “What are you thinking?”

“I need fruit,” she blurted, her mind a mess of his lips and his hands and the pancakes rapidly cooling on the counter and the unfinished breakfast.

Xavier blinked, brows rising. “Fruit?”

She nodded, the motion robotic and strange. It felt like she’d never moved her head before, like she’d completely lost control of her body. “Y-yeah, I need fruit. And a couple of other things so I can bake some more.”

He hummed, more surprised than anything. For a moment she wondered if he would agree, or if he would vehemently refuse to go out like he had refused to rest on the couch while she’d cooked. Perhaps he would try to tease her more, until she really did lose every scrap of her mind to his storm, until the threads of her self were held in his hands.

But then he smiled that tooth-achingly sweet smile that made her melt, his eyes bright, his cheeks touched with pink. “Is this for that surprise you mentioned earlier?”

“Maybe.” She ducked her head, staring down at the floor. She pushed her bottom lip into a pout, hoping to ply him into agreeing to fetch groceries for her by sulking. “So will you do it?”

He chuckled, taking her chin between his fingers, his thumb pressing against her lips. “Won’t you look at me? I missed you so much.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she looked up. The first thing she found was his eyes, cerulean as a cloudless summer sky, the kitchen light reflecting in their depths like sunshine, like fractals of rainbows illuminating the world.

“Why don’t you write me a list,” he suggested. “So I know what to pick up.”

His thumb stroked her bottom lip as he spoke, and his words flitted between her ears, wispy and gossamer thin, unable to catch in her mind. It wasn’t until he snorted with quiet laughter and dropped his hand, murmuring “beloved?” did she snap out of it.

“Just a minute.” She hurried from the kitchen before he could enthrall her once more, snatching up her phone and a notepad, jotting down a messy list of everything she needed.

She could hear Xavier humming tunelessly from where she scribbled out her list, a siren song crafted to ensnare her heart and mind. It made her heart flutter, her breath catching like she was on the precipice of a cliff. Her mind slipped, forgetting for a moment what she was listing, caught up in the sound of his voice, in the warmth unfurling in her belly.

She had to give herself a shake, jostling her thoughts back into place. She had a plan, didn’t she? To make something that would make him happy.

Although it was seeming more and more like teasing her was more than enough to keep him happy.

Rolling her eyes at the thought, she tore the list free from her notepad, returning to the kitchen to pass it to Xavier.

“This is everything I need.” She watched as his eyes scanned the list, his expression placid. “I hope it’s okay.”

He hummed, nodding before slowly lowering his hand. “It looks good. I can get all of this for you, but…” He trailed off, lips quirking up.

“But?” Her heart lurched. What was he plotting? “What’s wrong?”

“There is one thing I need first.”

Frowning, she shook her head, not expecting that response. Did he want her to add something to the list?

Before she could ask what he needed, he was closing the distance between them, the calluses on his palms scratching her cheeks as he cupped her face, pressing his lips to hers.

She felt breathless, all the air in her lungs rushing away as the warmth of his lips enveloped her, as his hands held her steady. He groaned against her, the sound reverberating through her, singing in the hollows of her bones.

It would have been so easy to lose herself to him entirely. To forget about breakfast and her plans to bake, to forget about all his teasing, to forget about everything but his heat, his embrace.

And then he was pulling away, and dimly, through the lovesick haze he had left in her mind, she registered that he was smirking at her. But before she could do anything he was bolting from the room, calling that he would be back soon.

She was left standing in the kitchen alone, blinking as she heard the front door open and shut, Xavier’s footsteps disappearing down the hallway.

Part of her wanted to be annoyed, but her heart was a traitor, her lips in league alongside it, conspiring against her as they spread into a smile.

She couldn’t stop the flit of delight taking flight in her heart, nor could she hold back the buoyant joy that made her feel light as air, as spun sugar so sweet her teeth ached.

These little moments of mischief that he was slowly revealing to her, as he unwrapped each layer of his heart the closer they grew, made her happier than she could find the words to describe. To know he trusted her enough to bare a little more of himself to her every day.

To the world, he was a sleepy, stoic deepspace hunter. But to her? To her, he was Xavier, the man who usually let her beat him at kitty cards, the man who helped her collect more plushies than she knew what to do with, the man who clung to her tightly in the mornings and teased her until her face burned.

The warmth of his embrace stayed with her, lingering on her lips, filling her heart, as she started to clean up her mess. Settling the pancakes on the table, moving her plush unicorn to sit beside them, guarding her fluffy creations while she moved on to the dishes.

She was just finishing up the last of the dishes, wiping down the countertop to clear it of flour, when Xavier returned.

The click of the door and his footsteps echoed through the apartment, and she tossed her washcloth to the side, racing to the entrance to find him again.

He beamed when he saw her, his arms laden with shopping bags. “You know I’m very curious about your surprise, some of the things I had to get were very strange.”

“You’ll just have to be patient, because I’m not telling.”

He arched a brow, looking amused. “Oh really?”

“Really.” She snatched the bags from him before he could try and tease her any further. “Now go wash your hands, I’m going to cut up some of the berries for our breakfast.”

He snorted, murmuring a soft “yes ma’am” before heading towards the bathroom.

She made quick work of washing and cutting up the berries, settling little bowls of them on the table for the two of them to have with their breakfast. Then she stashed the rest of the ingredients, humming as an idea came to her, fizzing like bubbles of glittering champagne.

“Xavier?” She called to him as he emerged from the bathroom, hands washed, dressed in his favourite hoodie and worn jeans.

He came towards her, brows drawing together in curiosity. “What is it?”

She bit the inside of her cheek to hide her smirk as she clasped her hands in front of her. “You forgot to get me something.”

“I did?” Now there was worry saturating his words, his expression. “What did I forget?”

Now it was her turn to surprise him, taking his face in her hands and catching his lips in a kiss.

She could feel the widening of his smile, feel the vibrations of his sigh as he melted in her embrace. His hands fell to her waist, holding her close as she tipped her head to the side, trying to deepen the kiss.

His lips were soft, and warm, and they tasted of sugar and berries, like he’d snacked on them as he’d been bringing them home. It suffused her senses, until all she could taste was him, was his lips, his tongue. His hair tickled her brow, her nose, and she couldn’t help but smile against him as his teeth grazed her bottom lip.

She was far from satisfied when she drew away, but she was breathless, dizzy, the world spinning round and round like she was trapped in a carnival ride. Her lungs ached, screamed, even as all she wanted was to fall into his arms once more and give him the last of her breath.

“How could I be so forgetful?” He cupped her chin, stroking her bottom lip as she swayed. It was only when his other arm settled around her, holding her close, did she finally feel steady, leaning against his solid chest, his breath tangling in her hair, his cheeks red and his lips swollen from the embrace.

She licked her lips, caught in the gravity of his gaze. “It was awfully silly of you to forget. It was the most important thing I needed.”

He ran the pad of his thumb over her lip again, his smile soft, adoring. Like she truly was his princess, his queen, like he was a knight charged with caring for her heart. Like she was the most precious of stars in his sky.

Silence draped over them like a veil, a blanket tangling around them, a quiet comfort that swathed them in this little moment. Xavier’s eyes focused on her face, on her lips, his hand cradling her face so gently.

When he spoke, his words the flutter of gauzy wings on a breeze harkening spring, it was like a balm, a soothing melody for her heart. His lips brushed against her ear, his voice a sigh. “I’ll make sure I never forget it again.”

“Good.” She smiled, her ears burning hot as a newborn star, her face a galaxy of heat. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at the softness of his words, at the devotion in his eyes.

She took his hands, squeezing them gently. “I’ve finished breakfast, if you’d like some.”

“I would,” he bumped his nose against hers, dropping a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I’m very excited to try it.”

She tried leading him to the table, where she’d set everything up, but Xavier slipped away, collecting their food and moving to the couch instead.

“Where are you going?” She frowned, staring at the now barren table.

He settled the food on the coffee table in front of the couch, unfolding a blanket. “It’s more comfortable sitting here.”

She frowned. “What if you spill? Or fall asleep again?”

He snorted, his brows arching high. “I’m not going to fall asleep, not when I’ve been looking forward to this since all morning.”

Xavier held out a hand, beckoning her towards him, and what reason did she have to say no? He looked happy, content, spreading blankets and pillows over the couch for them to sit together, to enjoy their food in comfort. And it did mean she could sit snuggled beside him, which was quickly becoming her favourite everything.

“Alright,” she conceded, moving towards him, fingers lacing with his as she let him draw her down into his arms.

Xavier beamed, fussing over the blankets, making sure they were comfortably tucked around the both of them before he retrieved their food.

“See?” He asked, once they were both settled, food balanced in their laps, the television a murmur in the background. “Isn’t this better?”

She couldn’t disagree, nestled beside him, basking in the glow of his smile. “You’re right, this is better.”

He readjusted the blanket wrapped around them, catching it as it slipped from her side. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be, you know.”

“Hm?” She’d started eying his plate, watching it tip precariously in his lap. For someone who was obsessed with food, he seemed awfully focused on everything else.

“Are you listening to me?” She flicked her eyes back towards him, to his teasing smile and the deep blue of his eyes.

“I am,” she said, quickly, too quickly. It was a lie and he knew it, eyes narrowing and brows drawing low.

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

She huffed, pointing to the plate in his lap before he could tease her. “I worked hard on those, you know! Aren’t you going to try it?”

He blinked, his eyes wide.

Without thought, she grabbed his plate, cutting up the pancake before spearing a piece with the fork.

“Try it,” she insisted, lifting it to his lips. “Please? I want to know if you like it.”

Xavier’s eyes widened further, round as saucers, their deep blue stark against the sudden crimson of his cheeks. A beat passed, then another, and she began to worry that maybe he didn’t want the pancakes, maybe there was something wrong with them.

But then his hand came up, fingers curling around her hand, his lips parting as he brought the fork the rest of the way to his mouth.

He chewed slowly, clutching her hand like a lifeline. Then, like the first flicker of starlight as dusk gave way to night, his smile grew, and grew, her bright, guiding star.

“Well?” She didn’t want to push, but she also did, so impatient it hurt, like cracks were forming along her bones, like they were fracturing, splintering beneath the weight of her restlessness.

“It’s delicious.” He brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss to her wrist. “It might be one of the best things I’ve eaten.”

She snorted. “It’s only my first time making it, I’m sure it’s not that good.”

But Xavier shook his head, looking earnest, sincere. “I mean it, I think it’s amazing.”

She hummed, smirking. “Maybe you need another bite? Just to be sure?”

He chuckled, releasing her hand so she could spear another forkful of pancake for him. “I think you might be right. I might need quite a bit, just to be sure.”

“Oh really?” She fed him another bite, flushing with delight, with pride, to see his smile. He’d hardly eaten anything at all, and yet already he seemed so happy, so bright. Had there ever been such a smile before, had there ever been someone who filled every darkened space in her body, the life-giving light of the sun to the devotion of the flowers?

“Maybe I should make something else for you, just to test if my cooking skills are any good.”

He nodded quickly, so fast his hair fluttered around his head, boyish and silly. More pieces of him he had shown to her, more reasons to hold him in her heart. “I think you should. We really need to test your cooking skills. But first…”

“But first what?” She frowned as he trailed off, confused. “Is something the matter?”

“First, I want to finish eating this, with you,” he finished, catching her hand again. “I want to enjoy the morning with you first, beloved.”

Her heart stuttered, an uneven melody that made her tongue stumble, her words awkward and strange as she tried to respond. “O-oh. Oh. Are you sure?”

His brows drew together, disbelief etched in the lines of his face. “What else could I possibly want to do? I always want to spend time with you.”

Always. He wanted her always, and she wanted his.

“Even if it means waiting longer for more food?”

“I think I’ll survive.” He plucked up her fork, snagging a piece of pancake and a berry, dark pink juice spreading across the food as he brought it to her lips. “Now. You need to eat, too.”

His words were soft, but there was something sturdy behind them, something that brooked no arguments. So she took a bite, the mellow flavour of the pancake and the tartness of the berry bursting across her tongue.

And then she took another, and another, until she found an opening to feed Xavier more, berry juice staining his lips. She tried to lean forward to wipe it away, and he laughed, nipping at the pads of her fingers whenever she tried.

“Xavier!” She chastised. “I’m trying to help!”

He only tried to bite her again in response, and she drew back, snorting with laughter when he tried to toss a berry at her, staining both his fingers and her cheek pink.

The morning melted away around them in gold-touched laughter and smears of deep cerise. The food quickly vanished, yet even once there was nothing but crumbs left on their plates and flecks of berries spattered on the tines of their forks, still they remained tangled together, content in the other’s arms.

She sighed, tucking the blankets higher around the both of them. Xavier was beginning to doze once more, a contented smile on his lips, and although she’d wanted to get started on her next baking project, she was loath to rouse him. He’d snuggled close once their plates had been set to the side, his arms looped lazily around her, and she knew if she moved that it would disturb him, upsetting him once more.

So she remained in his arms, running her fingers through his hair as drowsiness crept over her. It was a blanket being tucked around her shoulders, her thoughts turning sluggish, her body growing heavier with each breath. But she couldn’t bear to move, not wanting to leave Xavier alone again.

She was content to stay right where she was, nestled in his embrace. She could always bake later in the day, or tomorrow. But right now all she wanted was to stay in his arms, to listen to the beat of his heart and feel the hush of his breath in her hair. She would slip away into dreams of starlight and soft words and baked goods, and when she awoke it would be to his smile, to his happiness, that shone brighter than all the stars ever could.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #lnds xavier #lads xavier #shen xinghui #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x mc #xavier lads #all the stars are a-bloom

[spacesquidlings]

One-Of-A-Kind

Enamoured by the sight of his bite marks on his wife's neck, Gavin has an idea for something unique to show that she belongs to him, something entirely one of a kind

Pairing: Gavin Bai x MC (Rowan) Tags: 18+ readers only, light sub/dom dynamics, unbearably horny Gavin, light bdsm, collaring, f!receiving blow jobs, possessive Gav, soft dom Gav, vaginal sex, fluff at the end I swear I SWEAR taglist: @aluneposting

The touch of Gavin’s fingers had been soft as he’d brushed their calloused pads across Rowan’s collarbones, a little line forming between his brow as his eyes had fallen to the hickies that dotted her neck.

He hummed, deep in thought as he trailed his finger over a line of them, pausing as his thumb brushed over the deep in the middle of her collarbone.

“Rowan,” he said, his voice measured and slow, soft as spun sugar.

She hummed, already half asleep, the warmth of the bed sheets tucked around her flushed skin making her drowsy. Steam from their bath wafted from the open bathroom door, filling the bedroom with the smell of lavender and rose and eucalyptus and all the sweet smelling things Gavin always let her use in their baths together.

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair back from her cheek. “Pumpkin, are you asleep already?”

She nodded, rolling onto her side so she could bury her face against his chest, his skin still warm from the bath. “You smell really nice, babey.”

He snorted, the hand at her neck sliding up to cup her cheek. “Thank you, although you’re the one who picked out the soaps.”

“Mmm, I have really good taste.”

“The best taste.”

She sighed. “I love you, babey.”

He chuckled. “I have to ask you something important, sweetheart. Do you think you can stay awake for a few more minutes?”

She cracked one eye open, peeking up at him. “I can do my best, babey.”

He traced her collarbone, his brow furrowing. “And know that you can say no if you want to.”

She opened both eyes now, pushing past her fatigue to give him her full attention.

His cheeks were flushed a soft pink, his ears already crimson. “Well I wanted to try something, if you’re comfortable with it.”

***

Months passed after that initial conversation, and it had faded almost entirely from Rowan’s mind, despite how much time Gavin had been spending in the garage since then.

Their garage was big enough for Gavin to set up a dedicated space for some of his craftier hobbies, and he usually kept most of his tools for jewellery making out there.

And yet, despite how many trips he’d made to the craft store, and how much time he’d been spending hunched over his worktable, Rowan had almost completely forgotten why exactly he’d been working so diligently over the last two months.

It was still morning, soft golden light bleeding through the drawn curtains, casting rosy light across the bed as Rowan cracked open her sleep-heavy eyes.

Gavin was already wide awake, propped up on his elbow, a box wrapped in ocean blue wrapping paper lying on the pillow between them.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep. “Babey, why are you up so early?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to get my morning workout in.”

She rolled her eyes, tugging the blanket up over her head. “You left me?”

He chuckled. “I had planned to go out, but you looked so cute I couldn’t stand leaving you.”

She peaked out from beneath the blanket. “Well I’m glad you stayed, I love waking up next to you.”

He sighed, leaning down to kiss her. “I love waking up next to you.”

She smiled blissfully, bubbly delight spilling through her veins like champagne.

“Are you going to open your present?” Gavin asked, his eyes glittering with mischief.

She narrowed her eyes, her focus shifting to the neatly wrapped package. “What is it?”

Gavin hummed, his eyes twinkling, the tips of his ears pink, as he pushed it towards her. “Open it and find out.”

She slipped her hands out from beneath the blankets, dragging the box towards her and back underneath the sheets.

Gavin snorted, trying to pull the blankets back. “What are you doing?”

“Saving it for later,” she mumbled, struggling to keep the blankets up. “I want snuggles right now.”

He grinned as he managed to wrestle the sheets away from her, pulling them back to reveal where she’d hidden the box. “You can have snuggles in a minute.”

Rowan tried pulling the blankets back up over her, but all her attempts were futile against Gavin’s iron grip.

She yawned, plucking the little package from where she’d tried to hide it, playing with the golden ribbons that had been tied around it. “It’s so pretty though, I don’t want to ruin it.”

“I promise that what’s inside is far prettier.” He hummed, leaning down again to trail kisses along her jaw. “Although nowhere near as pretty as you, pumpkin.”

She giggled, his breath tickling her skin, her fingers sinking into his hair as his lips moved to her cheek, to the corner of her own lips.

Gavin bumped his nose against hers, cupping her face with one hand. “Will you open it? It’s one-of-a-kind, just for you.”

She nodded, warmth washing over her as Gavin’s soft, honey-sweet words danced through the air. As he watched her with his starlit eyes, with that sweet little smile curling across his lips.

How could she ever say no to him?

She sat up, tearing the wrapping paper away to reveal a plain brown box. She lifted the lid, revealing two necklaces on delicate silver chains.

The first chain was longer, about as long as the chain Gavin’s tags hung from, with a small silver key attached. It was simple, with no intricate designs or shapes on the handle.

The second chain was shorter, and Rowan figured it was closer in size to a choker, with a delicate pendant that was likely meant to rest at the collarbone. This one was slightly more intricate than the simple key, with an array of curving, interlocking lines, the way they curled over each other reminiscent of the way the wind moves through the trees. Cerulean blue gems had been embedded in the spaces between the lines, like fragments of the sky. 

There were four blue gems in total, glittering as they caught the rosy sunlight that managed to sneak through the curtains, casting rainbows across the messy blankets. But there was a fifth space in the centre, and in the place of a blue gem was a golden one, smaller than the others, seeming to hover between the curved silver lines with nothing fixing it in place. As if the wind alone held it in place.

It was the colour of Gavin’s eyes, the gold of starlight, of summer sunbeams washing over ocean waves, of melted gold, of gingko leaves in the autumn. The colour of joy, of what she imagined love looked like, if it could be made tangible.

She ran her fingers over the little gem, smiling softly, because of how much it reminded her of him. Because of how warm it made her feel, happiness bubbling in her heart, the same gold of this little gem, of his eyes.

On the other side of the necklace was a small lock mechanism, which Rowan quickly realized fit the key from the other chain perfectly.

She flushed instantly, heat racing across her cheeks and down her throat as the realization struck her.

Gavin had asked her, months ago, on a night when he couldn’t stop staring at her throat and the bite marks he’d placed there, about what she’d thought about wearing a collar. For him. Something subtle that only he would really know about. Something that would show that she was his.

Her face had burned then the way it did now, and she felt as though she would catch flame. Her core grew tight, and she felt warmth blooming between her legs as she looked at the collar, at the key, up at Gavin’s twinkling eyes.

She set the collar back into the box, nestled between crumpled pieces of tissue paper. “Gavin, it’s beautiful.”

The little smile that had danced across his face blossomed wider, turning into a dazzling grin that stole her breath away. It was so open, so clearly delighted and pleased with her response, with himself.

Gavin brushed her hair back from her face, his eyes brighter than starlight now. “It’s one-of-a-kind, nothing else like it exists.” His voice grew lower, rougher, and he leaned forward to catch her lips in another kiss. “Just like you.”

Her eyes fell closed without thought, her mind already gone as she felt his fingers thread through her unkempt hair. She tipped her head back, wanting more, wanting him. She felt heat and tension blooming in her core, felt a wetness pooling between her legs already.

He was just so sweet, and it took so little for her to melt in his arms. He was her husband, her Gavin, how could she not?

“So what do you think, pumpkin?” He asked, his eyes meeting hers as he pulled away. His cheeks were flushed the same soft pink that stained the sheets from the morning sunshine, and it made her heart stumble, made her feel like there were butterflies in her stomach, in her chest.

She looked back down at the box in her hand, the wrapping paper crumpled and strewn across the pillow. She looked at the silver key, at the collar and its glittering gems. She could hear his voice echoing in the back of her mind, asking her if it would be okay, if she would be willing to try it with him.

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said, smiling up at him. She played with the chain that held the silver key, holding it up to him. “And we’ll kind of match.”

He chuckled, relief flickering in his eyes as he covered her hand with his, bringing it up to his lips. “I’m glad.”

She snorted as he brushed kisses against the back of her hand. “Babey, what are you doing?”

“Showing you that I love you.”

She giggled, his words tickling her skin as he spoke. “You always do that. You did that last night.”

A crimson flush crept up his neck and jaw, reaching into his hairline and washing over his ears. “Well, I can never stop loving you enough.”

Now it was Rowan’s turn to flush, her face hotter than before. Her voice was little more than a crackling squeak as she spoke. “You’re a dork, Gavin.”

He kissed her hand once more before setting it against the blankets, a blissfully happy look on his face. “I know.”

He reached into the box, lifting both chains, the key and the pendant swinging through the air, casting rainbows across the bed as they caught the light. “Can I-?”

She nodded, butterfly wings fluttering in her chest and her belly. She twisted so her back was towards him, sweeping her hair up from the back of her neck.

She heard the click of the lock as Gavin opened it, felt his lips brush against the spot between her neck and her shoulder. A shiver raced down her spine as he settled the collar against throat, the metal cool against her skin.

She sucked in a breath as she felt the chain tighten around her throat, the click of the lock shutting sweeping across her senses. Gavin kissed the back of her neck again, trailing his lips to the side, pushing her sleeve aside to scatter kisses along her shoulder. As if to say a silent thank you, to show his pleasure without words.

He pulled away, and she felt a finger caress the skin beneath the chain, as though he were already enamoured with it.

“Turn around,” he said, the quietness of his words doing little to disguise the roughness of his voice, how low it had become, sinking into her senses and making her core ache. “I want to see how you look.”

Rowan turned back around, hoping she didn’t look too silly. She was still flushed, her skin burning so hot it was a miracle she hadn’t set the blankets on fire yet.

She found Gavin’s eyes first, dark and hazy with desire. His cheeks were flushed too, and had she pressed her palms to his chest she would have felt the beat of his heart, felt the way it faltered and tripped in its erratic tempo.

He cupped her face with one hand, the other tracing the skin around where the pendant lay above her collarbone. “You’re so beautiful.”

She wanted to look away, to close her eyes and press her face against his shoulder, his chest, anywhere so she could hide how she felt her emotions beginning to overwhelm her. They spilled from her heart, racing through her veins like storming ocean waves, threatening to drag her down as they crashed against her mind again and again and again.

But she could not look away from Gavin, not when he was looking at her the way he was. Like she was the entire universe, like she contained all the stars and the planets.

“And you’re mine,” he murmured, running the pad of his finger over the pendant, keeping his eyes locked onto her, holding her in place. “My wife, my stars, my moon, my everything.”

The warmth that flowed through her now was different, so much different from what she had felt earlier. This was softer, like the sunbeams that slipped through the curtains to warm their room. Like her favourite blanket wrapped around her during a storm. Like a mug of something warm clasped between her hands. Like spiced wine touching her lips, fogging her mind.

‘My everything’

He kissed her, and she felt as if she was surely drunk, her mind so hazy from his words, her body turning to jelly from a simple touch.

The kiss was soft and gentle, at odds with the way his voice had dipped earlier. Even the way he drew her bottom lip between his teeth was tender, little more than a nip. One hand remained at her throat, still seeming enchanted by the collar. The other fell to the small of her back, the pressure from his palm drawing her closer.

She was breathless when he finally pulled away, although if she was being honest she was always breathless around him. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, listening to him hum as he rubbed her back.

“Can I have those snuggles now?” She murmured, her voice muffled against his shirt.

Gavin chuckled, shifting his arms around her so that he was cradling her against his chest. “Of course you can.”

“Can we lay down, too? I’m still sleepy.”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

He swiped the empty box and torn wrapping paper to the side, the silver chain and key that hung from his own neck glinting as it caught the light. He laid back against the pillow, tucking her head beneath his chin as he pulled the blankets up over them.

“How’s that?” He asked, rubbing her back again.

“Very comfy.”

She felt his laughter reverberate through his chest, and she smiled as it danced through the room like the errant sunbeams skittering across the floor now.

They lay there for a long while, a drowsy haze washing over them as the warmth of the blankets and their tangled bodies drew them towards unconsciousness. Rowan’s eyes were so heavy it was impossible for her to fight against her own drowsiness.

When she awoke again Gavin was still curled around her, playing with her hair while she slept cocooned in his embrace.

“Sleep well?” He murmured, his fingertips brushing against her scalp as he ran his fingers through her messy hair.

“Mmhmm,” she cuddled closer, closing her eyes again. “I sleep best with you.”

“Well you can have me all day if you’d like,” he said, smiling.

“You’re off today?” Her voice was still heavy from sleep, and it cracked as her excitement piqued.

“I’m off for the next few days since we finished up that last case.”

She sighed, twisting the material of his sleep shirt between her fingers. “I wish we could cuddle all day, but I do have a few errands to run.”

He brushed her hair back from her cheek, stroking her jaw before his hand sank back into her hair. “What kind of errands?”

“Groceries, we’re both almost out of shampoo, the light in the living room is flickering, and Stella needs to be taken to the groomers.”

“So what you’re saying is that we can spend the day together?” He asked, his hand resting at the nape of her neck.

She quirked a brow in bemusement. “You want to spend the day running errands with me?”

“As long as I’m by your side, I don’t really care what we do.”

She whined, nuzzling her face against his chest. “You’re too sweet, Gavin Bai, and it’s not fair.”

He snorted, his finger brushing over the collar as he trailed his hand down the side of her neck. “I’m not allowed to want to spend time with my wife?”

“You are,” she muttered. “But you’re way too sweet, I don’t know what to do.”

“You could kiss me,” he teased, pinching her waist. “Or you could let me go with you while you run errands.”

“Can I do both?” She asked, squirming as he pinched her waist again.

“Of course you can do both, pumpkin.”

She tipped her head back, scattering kisses along his jaw. “Okay, but I want ten more minutes in bed.”

His hand brushed the collar again, his thumb running over the glittering pendant. “Anything for you, my love.”

Now Rowan snorted, smacking his hand away so he didn’t pinch or poke her side again. “And I want waffles for breakfast. And to go to a few stores I like before coming home.”

He pulled the blankets up around her shoulders, keeping her warm. “As you wish.”

***

Two plates of toasted waffles and eggs followed after Gavin was finally able to convince Rowan to let him carry her from the bed. She whined the entire way to the kitchen, earning Stella’s attention as she followed behind them, her fluffy tail wagging as she listened to Rowan’s complaints.

She demanded the strawberry waffles they had in the freezer, and Gavin had only just placed them in the toaster when she asked if they had any eggs left.

While he wasn’t proficient at making much of anything, he had gotten much better at making simple breakfast foods, like fried or scrambled eggs.

“If we have any left we should use them up, and then we can get a fresh carton,” she said, scooping out Stella’s breakfast and pouring it into her bowl.

So Gavin fried the eggs, adding the last of their cheese to the eggs as they cooked.

Rowan smiled as the food cooked, cupping her chin between her palms as she sat at the table, her eyes drooping closed.

While she had offered to help, Gavin had gently pressed her back into the chair, telling her to just sit, to relax. She was always preparing food for him, a light breakfast to take to work, filling lunches accompanied by little notes telling him that she loved him and was proud of him, warm and hearty dinners that were made up of more than noodles.

He could cook for her. He could make food for her. She deserved to be taken care of.

The collar around her neck sparkled beneath the kitchen lights, the blue gems reminding him of the glittering ocean waves she loved so much, the ones he took her to see as often as he could. The middle gem glittered beneath a stream of sunlight, and his chest grew tight as rainbows fell across the tiled floor.

He’d grown selfish when he’d chosen that final gem. The blue had been for the ocean, for the skies, for the blue flowers that had started blooming in the front yard when she’d first moved in.

But the gold had been for him. He’d done his best to match it to his eyes, the shades nearly identical.

It was meant to show that she was his, and how could the collar show that she was his unless it was connected to him somehow.

The chair scraped against the floor as she stood, the pendant swaying slightly as she moved, and Gavin felt his pants growing tighter around his cock.

Head washed over him, crawling across his face and down his throat and chest, and he was tempted to throw cold water over his head to calm himself down.

The day was going to be busy, he couldn’t detract it right now. He couldn’t let this get the best of him now. If he did then nothing would get done.

The chain around her neck seemed to move like quicksilver, the gems reflecting the light around the kitchen, hanging just above his favourite place to leave hickies along her throat.

He swallowed, focusing on the eggs, on the smell of the oil and the pepper and the rosemary and the basil he’d added. On anything other than the idea of pressing his lips to her skin, of drawing her skin between his teeth, of the cool kiss of the chain against his cheek as he focused his ministrations there, marking her there as surely as the collar marked her as his.

Gavin bit down on his tongue, realizing that he was horrible at trying to redirect his thoughts.

He turned towards the stove, glaring down at the eggs so Rowan wouldn’t see how hard he’d already become in the span of a few moments.

The boxers he wore made everything worse, of course. They were comfy and he liked wearing them after his post-morning run shower, but they were so loose that they did nearly nothing to hide his erection.

 He tensed as Rowan’s arms wrapped around his waist, and he felt his face burning as he scrambled to find something to distract himself.

The eggs were almost done, he should focus on the eggs. Should he add more oil? No, then they would be greasy and he didn’t want them to be greasy. Maybe he should add more cheese, he knew she liked cheese in her eggs.

But there wasn’t any left, he’d used the last of it so they could buy more at the grocery store.

“Babey,” she murmured, and her voice snapped him from his anxious thoughts immediately, sending fire scattering across his nerves.

It would be so easy to turn around now, to throw her over his shoulder and drag her back to their bedroom. Breakfast be damned, errands be damned. He wanted to feel the flutter of her pulse beneath his lips, wanted to cover her body in marks, wanted to feel her walls quivering around him, wanted to hear her cry his name, completely drunk on him and how he made her feel.

Gavin took one slow, shuddering breath, struggling to regain himself.

“I love you,” she breathed, her fingers twisting into his shirt, pulling the hem past the waist of his pajama pants and boxers.

“I love you too,” he said, cursing himself silently for how hoarse his voice sounded.

“I could’ve made breakfast you know,” she muttered, and it almost sounded like she was pouting.

He chuckled, relieved at the direction the conversation was taking his thoughts. “Can’t I take care of you?”

“You do plenty,” she whined, and now he was certain she was pouting.

“Well I want to take care of you a little more,” he said, flicking the stove off and moving the frying pan to a cold burner.

She whined a little more, and he could feel her face pressing against the space between his shoulder blades. “Fine.”

He shuffled to the side, his movement becoming difficult with her clinging to his back.

“Rowan,” he said, stifling a laugh. “I can hardly move.”

“That’s awfully unfortunate.”

He patted her hands, doing his best to reach for the plates he’d set on the counter and dividing up the eggs between them. “Well you’re going to have to let go when I sit down.”

“Can’t I just sit in your lap?”

He sighed, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, both from how cute she was and how relieved he was that the tightness in his pants had nearly vanished.

He was okay, he could get through the day.

He would get through the day

***

Gavin was starting to think that he would not make it through the day.

They had eaten breakfast, and Rowan had won out, situating herself on his lap as they’d eaten, Stella circling the table, looking for spills and scraps.

They’d dropped Stella off at the groomers first before heading to buy replacement light bulbs for the living room. Then they had to drive to the little hair supply store that Rowan loved, to pick up more shampoo.

It was, unfortunately, just outside the store that Gavin’s attention slipped to where the collar still lay against her throat.

She’d told him she was happy to keep wearing it as long as he’d wanted, and Gavin had needed to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling her that he wanted her to wear it forever. Until the end of time and past it.

Her fall jacket had shifted as she’d moved, revealing the collar beneath the golden autumn sun. She’d been reaching for the shop door with one hand, the other firmly clasped in Gavin’s.

Where it belongs.

He couldn’t stop the thought from surfacing in his mind, the possessive way his heart grew tight.

His. She was his.

That was his wife, his partner, his everything.

She looked back at him, smiling, and his breath caught in his throat, the familiar feeling of his cock growing hard making his vision dizzy.

He scratched at the back of his neck, doing his best to smile back at Rowan as she dragged him inside, chattering about how he wasn’t going to be able to argue his way through getting two-in-one shampoo.

But he couldn’t focus on what she was saying. He could hear her, he could register the sing-song sound of her voice curling through the air, but he didn’t hear the words. Didn’t understand what she was saying.

All he could register was the sound of the blood rushing to his head, the way the collar looked as it rested against her throat, the little lock that only he had the key to winking beneath the store’s fluorescent lights.

He tried to focus his attention on how the store smelled, how colourful some of the bottles were, how loud the music blaring through the speakers was.

He was just glad he’d been smart enough to change out his boxers for something that would hold him in place better.

Although nothing was going to be able to hide his dick if he wasn’t able to keep his thoughts very focused and very far from anything to do with Rowan.

Which was so hard when her hand was still in his, when he could smell the light floral perfume she wore, when he kept catching sight of the collar he’d spent months constructing just for her.

He wanted to drag her home and pin her against the bed. He wanted her in nothing but that collar. He wanted to pound her into the mattress until she was a breathless, moaning mess beneath him.

She was his after all, and he could do whatever he wanted with her.

Control yourself.

He was stronger than this, wasn’t he?

Gavin swallowed, struggling to focus on the bottles of hairspray lined up on the shelf in front of him. On controlling his breathing and calming his heartbeat.

We’re in a hair product store, come on man.

Rowan, completely oblivious to the turmoil in his mind and his pants, turned to him, beaming as she cradled the shampoos and conditioners in her arms. “Okay! I’ve got everything we need.”

“That looks like a lot more than you said we needed,” he said, his voice strained as he struggled to keep his tone even.

“Well I thought you could change up your shampoo and conditioner since you’ve been complaining your head feels kind of dry and itchy. And this one smells like roses!”

He snorted, focusing on the fact that she was holding shampoos. That they smelled like flowers. That she liked flowers and flower smells.

But his mind quickly wandered to how her skin would smell when he pressed his face against the space between her breasts. How the room would smell like spring flowers the warmer she got. How the soft flesh between her thighs always smelled so sweet.

He nearly hit himself over the head with one of the hair dryers on display to shove the thoughts from his mind.

He needed to focus on something else, on anything else.

But it felt like the more he tried to distract himself the more the thoughts persisted, growing worse with every passing moment.

First it was wanting to bite and suck at her throat until it was covered in marks. Then he wanted to mark the rest of her, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, her ass.

He wanted her naked, wanted to bury his face between her thighs and raw out every moan and whine until she was a shaking mess. He wanted her only thought to be him, he wanted the only word on her lips to be his name.

He wanted to sink inside of her, wanted to make her cum again and again until her legs shook, until her body shuddered around every movement he made.

The autumn air was blessedly cool when they stepped outside, and Gavin sucked in a deep, shuddering breath as he beelined for the car. He focused on the feel of the wind, the way it rippled and undulated through the air. 

The air smelled different too, crisper now that they were into the fall. It was stained with the smell of warm spices coming from coffee shops and bakeries across the city, with an undercurrent of something earthy, promising rainfall soon to wash across the world.

He felt almost normal again by the time Rowan slid into the passenger seat, tossing the bag of hair products into the backseat.

He did his best to focus on the road as she chattered, asking him what he felt like having for dinner that night, so they could pick up something at the store.

He was almost confident he could make it through their day of errands until she reached out to squeeze his thigh, trying to draw his attention towards her.

“Can we get something to drink?” She asked, pointing to a little coffee shop she loved.

It was little more than a hole in the wall, but she loved going in, if only to clutch her paper coffee cup and wander through the small bookshelves behind the café counter.

Usually Gavin loved taking her into the store, loved holding her hand while she chatted, telling him about different books or trying to take a sip of his own drink.

But today Gavin couldn’t possibly fathom a detour. Especially not now that her hand was on his thigh, much too close for his liking right now.

Stars burst into his vision, and he squeezed the wheel until he was sure it would break, struggling to keep himself from swerving off the road.

“Maybe on the way home,” he offered, his voice a strangled remnant of what it normally was. But he didn’t have the energy to speak properly, not when he was struggling to keep something else in check.

“If we get it now it’ll get cold in the car while we’re in the store,” he continued, holding his breath as she nodded, retracting her hand.

“You’re probably right,” she said, slumping back against her seat. “But you owe me a coffee.”

He smiled, doing his best to keep his eyes locked on the road, to ignore the whiny tone of her voice, the way his cock twitched at the sound of it. “Anything for you.”

Any hope that Gavin could calm himself down enough to get through the rest of their errands fizzled out after they’d barely crossed the threshold of the grocery store.

Rowan had grabbed a cart, a small pink piece of paper with their grocery list scrawled across it in glittery gold clutched in one hand. He’d been trying to focus on the paper, on the first few things written at the top of the list, on the way the ink had smudged on the paper while she’d been writing it.

But then he’d noticed how the ink had smudged on her hand and fingers. And then he noticed the smudge of ink on her neck, just below her jaw, in the perfect place to kiss her. To suck at her skin until it was bruised from his lips.

Although there were other places perfect for that too. All across her chest, on the inside of her thighs, especially all over her neck, just above where the collar lay.

Gavin pinched the inside of his wrist before reaching for the cart and prying it from Rowan’s hands, swiftly moving behind it as he noticed the tightness of his pants around his dick.

“Why don’t you let me take the cart, pumpkin,” he said, his words sounding strained even to his own ears.

She beamed up at him, completely unaware of the turmoil seething in him, of the blood rushing to his cock as she smiled, squeezing his arm.

“Thank you babey,” she said, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek.

It ached, he ached, and it took all of his self-control to keep a firm grip on the cart and not to grab Rowan and drag her home.

“I was thinking we could get some beef for tonight! There was a recipe I wanted to try out.”

Gavin nodded, steering them towards the meat aisle, trying to focus on her words, trying to listen to the words Rowan was saying.

“What do you think?” She asked, holding up two different packages of beef.

Gavin blinked, not realizing that they’d already arrived, that she’d already chosen the beef for tonight, that she was asking for dinner for tomorrow, and for something to freeze.

He shrugged, pointing at the package in her right hand. “That one seems good enough.”

She looked at it, shrugging before she added it to the cart. “There’s not much difference between them anyways. Okay, then I want to get some pork to freeze for next week.”

Gavin tried to focus on his breathing next as he followed Rowan through the store, as he tried to focus not on the collar, or her smile as she talked at him, pointing out different things on their list and things that were not on their list but that she wanted anyways.

He definitely didn’t focus on the fact that she was his, that this beautiful woman trying to decide between strawberry waffles and pumpkin waffles was his. That she’d even told him that she was his. That all the collar did was prove it, prove that Rowan was his. It was a mark that didn’t fade.

Rowan spun around, her hair sweeping to the side, revealing the little lock that rested on the back of her neck, and Gavin’s heart seized, his vision going blurry as the ache in his cock became near painful.

A lock that only he had the key to. A lock that no one could open except for him.

He sucked in a deep breath, counting the seconds up to twelve as he inhaled, holding for twelve, and then exhaling slowly for another twelve seconds.

Rowan seemed to remain completely unaware, plucking things from shelves and setting them in the cart, asking his opinion on desserts and breads and how many eggs should they get, and should they splurge for the organic peppers this time, since they’re local?

When they got to the frozen food aisle he opened one of the freezer doors and stood before it, wishing the cold air could freeze his thoughts until they’d made it through the last of their errands.

“What are you doing?” Rowan asked.

“Trying to pick an ice cream.”

“You’re focusing awfully hard. Don’t you usually like the plain chocolate?”

Gavin frowned at the myriad of different flavours. Cookie dough, moose tracks, tiger trail, cereal flavoured, one named after a late night talk show, Vietnamese coffee.

“I wanted to try something different,” he muttered.

“Well I’ve had the one with the brownie pieces and it’s really good!” She chirped, tapping the unopened door beside him. “And it’s not too extravagant, which might be nice.”

Gavin nodded, wishing he could spend an eternity in the freezer aisle. He closed the door, moving to the side to open the other one, considering the ramifications of just crawling into one of the bottom shelves and telling Rowan to leave him there.

Instead he just grabbed the ice cream she had pointed out, and then an extra bag of hashbrowns further down the aisle, if only for the sweet relief of the frigid air slowing his thoughts and his blood flow.

“Do you want to get buns?” She asked, pointing to the bakery section.

He did, but he didn’t want bakery goods, he wanted to strip her naked and squeeze her ass between his hands.

Control yourself

He was staring at the cream puffs and doughnuts in the bakery display case and having some thoughts that were completely unacceptable for a grocery store bakery when he realized that he wasn’t going to make it through the rest of the day.

He grabbed his phone while Rowan was choosing between a pie and fresh cinnamon buns, his mind focused almost entirely on the last time he’d filled her, until his release had leaked down her legs, shining in the darkness of their room.

His

He shot off a quick text to his brother, promising repayment if he picked Stella up from the groomer and kept her overnight.

He pocketed his phone when he saw his brother was typing more after his initial “yes” and Gavin really didn’t want to know what nonsense he was about to say to try to rile him up.

Looking at his wife as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, as she tried finding the expiration dates on her bakery goods, the collar glittering as she tipped her head to the side, was already winding him up enough.

Gavin was sweating by the time they made it to the checkout, and he bagged everything as the cashier slid the scanned items to the other side of the counter, wanting to get home as quickly as possible.

He threw everything into the cart, and he considered throwing Rowan over his shoulder too and carrying her from the grocery store so they could get out quicker.

But no, he had to be patient, he’d made it through this much, surely he could survive another few minutes.

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” the cashier said to Rowan, hand resting just below her collarbone to indicate the collar around his wife’s neck. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it myself,” Gavin said, grinning as colour bloomed in Rowan’s cheeks, like pink petals unfurling beneath the morning sun. “A one-of-a-kind necklace for my one-of-a-kind wife.”

“Well make sure you keep him,” the cashier said to Rowan, handing her the receipt. “He sounds like a sweetheart.”

Despite his frustrations and the fact that he was still trying very hard to hide his erection, Gavin couldn’t help smirking.

He wasn’t sure if he would call it being sweet, especially not with how his entire body seemed to ache now, desperately needing to bury himself deep inside his wife.

They said their thanks and Gavin took Rowan’s hand as they exited the store, the cool air washing over them as they stepped outside.

He practically threw everything into the trunk of the car, his hands shaking as he slammed it closed, sucking in deep breaths as Rowan took the cart back to the store.

Patience

The car was already started by the time Rowan returned, and Gavin started pulling from the parking lot before she’d even buckled her seatbelt.

“We’ll have to go pick up Stella soon,” she said, checking her phone. “The groomer said we could pick her up after five.”

Gavin shook his head, speeding through a yellow light right as it was turning red. “Shaw said he wanted to take Stella to the dog park, so he’s going to pick her up today.”

Rowan hummed. “Well he’d better take lots of pictures of her then. She’s always so cute when she’s at the park.”

Gavin chuckled, cursing inwardly as someone cut him off, forcing him to slow down. “I’ll let him know.”

The drive home was nothing short of a harrowing experience as Gavin struggled to drive within the boundaries of the law. He was a police officer, he shouldn’t be driving above the speed limit or running reds. But the temptation was there, and if he was going ten or fifteen above the speed limit, who was really to say?

He practically fell from the car once they’d pulled into the driveway, racing to the trunk to get everything inside.

How he managed to carry so many bags and unlock the front door he would never fully understand, but he did it, and he was throwing the groceries into the fridge and freezer and cupboards before Rowan even stepped foot into the house.

She laughed, heading towards the front door after setting the bag with the shampoos on the kitchen table. “I’ve never seen you so efficient at putting everything away.”

Gavin panted, one hand clutching the handle of the fridge as he watched her walk away. “Where are you going?”

“I think there’s one more bag in the car. With the buns and some soups and the dried apricots I wanted to use for breakfast tomorrow.”

Gavin crossed the kitchen in three strides, grabbing her wrist and slamming her against the wall. He couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t wait any longer.

“Leave it,” he said, and his voice came out as more of a growl. “You can get it later.”

Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed as she peered up at him from beneath her bangs. “But it’s just one more bag, babey. And then-”

He took her hands, pressing her knuckles to his lips. “Please? I’ve been so patient all day.”

She blinked, sucking in a breath as he flipped one hand over, trailing kisses up her wrist.

It wasn’t where he wanted his mouth to be, but he could mark her wrists and her arms just as surely as her throat and her thighs.

“I suppose,” she breathed, her voice shaking. “That the last bag can wait.”

It was all the confirmation Gavin needed before he was straightening, grinding his hips against hers as he pressed his face against her neck, sucking and biting at the skin around the collar, not caring anymore as the ache in his body grew, as he grew hard against her.

She was his, Rowan was his and he could kiss and bite her as much as he wanted now. And he would make very sure to draw out every last moan from her lips.

His hands fumbled over her clothes, and he pulled away just enough to yank her shirt from her body, to tug her skirt down her legs.

“You won’t be needing these anymore,” he murmured, unable to stop himself from smiling as she whimpered, her eyes falling closed.

“What is it, princess? Why won’t you look at me?” He asked, running a finger over her still clothed slit, rubbing against her clit.

She whimpered again and he repeated the movement, slower this time, delighted that he wasn’t the one being teased anymore. “Use your words, princess. I don’t know what you want unless you tell me.”

She breathed deeply, her face flushed, her eyes dark with lust as she finally opened them. “It just feels good. It feels really good.”

He arched a brow, a finger hooking into the waistband of her panties. “It feels good…?”

She whined, her fingers scrabbling against the wall as she realized what he was asking for. “It feels good, sir.”

Hearing her say the words sent a surge of fire coursing through him, the ache in his body and the tightness of his pants around his cock unbearable now.

“Good girl,” he breathed, dragging her panties down her legs, watching as her throat bobbed, as she chewed on her bottom lip to stop herself from whining.

He liked to praise her, liked to tell her she was doing well, but he liked the way he could twist it slightly, so she always knew who was in command here.

She was a good girl if she listened to him, and only if she listened to him. She would get praises if she did what he asked.

And if she listened? If she followed his instructions and she moaned and whined just the way he liked, then she was his very, very good girl.

“Let me hear you,” he breathed, kissing the inside of her thigh. “Let me hear every beautiful sound you can make.”

It didn’t take long until she was shuddering beneath his touch. She moaned as he licked along her slit, sucking at her clit until she started squirming, her legs shaking on either side of him.

He pressed his hands against her thighs, spreading them further apart and pressing them against the wall, holding her still while he worked.

“Stay there,” he ordered, letting it dip, letting it turn rough and low as his own need raced through him.

He needed to touch her, to taste her, to feel her writhe and squirm, to bring her to her release. Because he wanted to, because he knew he could, because she was his and only he could make her feel that way, make her feel as needy and desperate for him as he was for her.

He groaned as he spread her folds with his tongue, his cock throbbing as he imagined how it would feel when he ran it over the delicate flesh. When he prodded her clit with his tip, when he teased her entrance until she was begging for him to be inside her.

He wasn’t sure if he could hold off for much longer. Because he wanted to be inside of her, wanted to fuck her until the mattress broke.

He circled her entrance with his tongue, grinning as he felt her squirm, knowing her walls were fluttering as he teased her.

“Gav-Gavin.”

He hummed as she struggled to say his name, her words breathy and stained with a moan as he drew her folds into his mouth, sucking lightly.

She tasted so good he didn’t understand how he could stop. He dragged his teeth across the flesh, alternating between sucking and licking the delicate skin, the smell and taste of her arousal coating his senses. He tilted his head, trailing kisses along the inside of her thigh, murmuring that she was doing amazing, that she tasted so good. That she just had to keep moaning his name, had to keep letting him hear how good he was making her feel.

She had to, he needed to hear it. It only made his pleasure grow, blooming in his chest and his belly, turning his blood to liquid fire as he listened to her cries.

Knowing that he made her feel so good, that only he made her feel so good, made him feel so unimaginably good.

When he sank the first finger inside of her she nearly screamed, his mouth still working on her clit, his tongue still lapping up her arousal, his mind growing hazy. Like she was a fine liquor and he was completely drunk on her.

He moaned, her walls fluttering around his finger as he curled it, finding the sweetest spot inside of her.

The sounds she made were so sweet he almost gave up then, almost tore his clothes off and fucked her against the wall.

But no, he had to be patient. He’d waited all day for this, he could wait a little longer.

He sank a second finger inside of her, a third, grinning as she cried his name, as she squirmed, her fingers burying in his hair as her moans turned to begging.

He took a shuddering breath as she clenched around his fingers, her body beginning to shake, her walls beginning to quiver erratically.

“Do you want me to make you cum?” He asked, breathing the words against her as she whimpered. “You want to cum, my princess.”

She whined, panting as she tried to find her words. “I do, I do. Please make me cum, sir.”

He smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to her clit. “As you wish.”

He moved faster now, drawing out her orgasm with his fingers and his tongue, tasting the sweet headiness of her body as he relished in the way she shuddered around his fingers.

Her body shook, moving uncontrollably now, and she cried as her body grew taut beneath him as she came, clenching around his fingers so tightly he almost couldn’t draw them out.

He continued his ministrations until her body had stopped shuddering, until he was certain that the only thing keeping her standing was his hands on her.

He pulled away, making sure she watched as he licked his fingers clean.

He stood then, grinning as she sucked in a breath, her face a beautiful crimson, the colour reaching down her neck and over her chest.

He hooked a finger beneath her collar, drawing her towards him as he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she opened her mouth for him, letting him in.

He hoped she could taste herself on his tongue, hoped she knew how hard it made him, lapping at her wet folds until she’d found her release from his mouth and his fingers.

He pulled away, and as Rowan stared up at him with wide eyes, her lips swollen from the kiss, he licked his bottom lip, letting her know just how much he liked how she tasted.

He kept his finger hooked in the collar as he dragged her to their bedroom before lifting her into his arms and setting her on the bed.

“Lay down,” he ordered, his hands falling to his waistband.

His clothes had to go now. She was laying on the bed, completely bare, her chest heaving as she watched him with wide, needy eyes.

His eyes raked over her body as he discarded his clothes, letting them fall in a messy heap by his feet. She was so beautiful, every part of her.

And she was completely and entirely his.

There were already marks on her arms, on the inside of her thighs, on her neck, but he knew he could leave more. Knew he could leave plenty more.

“Spread your legs for me,” he said, stroking his cock, catching the precum on the tip and spreading it over the head.

He hummed as he moved towards the bed, positioning himself between her legs as he knelt above her.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” He asked, one hand falling to her hip as he dragged the tip over her folds, letting it rub against her swollen clit until she squirmed.

“So incredibly beautiful, and you’re all mine.”

He reached for one of her hands, pressing it against the sheets as he sank inside of her, pressing his face against her neck until he bottomed out, until she was gasping for breath.

Gavin sighed, kissing her jaw just as he pulled out, until only the tip remained inside of her, and then he slammed his hips against hers, and she cried out, the hand that remained in his squeezing tight, her other hand scraping down his back.

“Don’t move much,” he breathed, nipping at the skin above where her pulse thrummed an erratic, harried beat. “Let me take care of everything, princess.”

She writhed beneath him, and he couldn’t help chuckling, not as he felt her desperate attempts to lift her hips to meet his. But he just felt her firm, pushing her back against the mattress no matter how many times she tried to move.

He tsked, swiping his tongue over a new bite-mark. “Good girls listen and don’t move.”

“I-I am good,” she whined, sounding breathless.

His cock throbbed, and he thrust into her again, harder than before. “Are you?”

“Yes-yes. I’m your good girl, sir,” she cried, her back arching as his movements became more forceful, shoving her back against the bed with every thrust of his cock.

“Then don’t move,” he said, his voice rough as sandpaper, punctuating his words with another hard thrust.

She whimpered in response, her nails digging into his back as he moved faster now.

He slammed his hips into hers, drawing out breathless groans, the sounds spilling from her mouth turning wordless as he moved. He sank his teeth into the skin of her throat, running his tongue over every little indent his teeth made. And when he was sure her neck was properly marked he moved on to her breasts, sucking and biting at where they swelled on her chest before slowly working his way inwards.

His body felt taut, a ball of tension sitting deep within him, growing with every snap of his hips against hers, fire surging through him like a wave as the bed creaked in time to his racing heartbeat.

It didn’t take much time at all until he brought her to release, her body shaking beneath him, the flesh extra sensitive from his earlier work. He swore as she clenched around him, drawing out his own release not long after hers.

His movements turned jerky, the tension in his body snapping as the fiery waves dragged him under. He felt hot, felt his cock throbbing almost painfully as he came, spilling inside of her.

He kept moving, groaning, murmuring her name like it was a prayer as he thrust into her again and again, coating the inside of her legs with his release.

But he could hardly say he was done. Not when the coiled tension had barely loosened in his body. Not when he still felt hard, not when Rowan’s expression wasn’t nearly as blissed out as he wanted it to be.

It didn’t take much until he was hard again, and he could continue, the sound of her voice echoing through the room like thunder in a storm.

His own moans soon joined hers now, feeling more sensitive now than before, and with every clench of her body, with every one of her cries, he felt himself throb, growing swollen from all the need and desire building within him.

If it was a song, it was a lewd song, their voices punctuated by the sound of him thrusting inside of her, of the wet pop of his mouth against her skin as he continued to bite and suck every place he could find. But it was a song he had been craving all day.

The slickness of her folds, the way her body trembled around him, the way she cried his name like it was a prayer to the high heavens, the feeling of her soft breasts against his chest every time she arched her back.

And this new sensation, of the cool silver chain against his cheek and his jaw as his mouth worked at her neck, as he sucked at the skin until it was red, as he left marks from his teeth that would not fade for days.

The coolness was sharp, narrowing his focus to the task at hand. And it was a reminder that she was his, that was inexorably his. He had put that collar around her neck, he was the only one with the key.

She was his.

His

His

The coiled tension and fire in his body snapped as that thought repeated itself in his mind, over and over and over again with every thrust into her.

He gasped as he found his release, bright white stars and shapes exploding in his vision as he came harder than before, moaning until he was sure the walls were shaking as he spilled inside of her. As he filled her until he was sure her body would swell.

Rowan came soon after, her head falling back against the pillows as she cried, shuddering as his hips continued to snap against hers, losing any previous rhythm as he rode out his release, and helped her ride out hers.

He wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly until both their bodies had stilled, and then for a while afterwards.

As all the frustration and desire melted away, a different sort of neediness remained. The type of neediness where he just wanted to hold her close, wanted to feel her skin against his and be reminded that she was his wife, that he loved her and she truly loved him.

He kissed her brow. “You were wonderful, pumpkin.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion seeming to take over. “You’re always wonderful, babey. Always so wonderful.”

He kissed the corner of her lips this time, wincing as he pulled out. “You made me feel so good, princess.”

“Well I always feel good when I’m with you.”

His heart ached, and as he slumped onto his side on the bed he pulled her towards him, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“I love you so much,” he breathed. “More than you will ever know.”

She nuzzled her face against his chest and he felt his heart squeeze more, a gentle warmth washing through him. She was his, he couldn’t believe she was.

His wife, his love, his stars, his moon, his entire universe.

And she was his. She was entirely his.

“We should probably get cleaned up,” he murmured, although he loathed the thought of letting her go. Of standing and untangling himself from her arms.

She hummed, nestling closer. “But you’re so comfy.”

He snorted. “So are you. I could lie with you like this forever.”

“Then let’s lie like this forever,” she murmured, sounding like she was already half asleep.

Again he snorted, peering down at where his release was still smeared between her thighs. “But we should probably clean this up before it gets sticky.”

She whined, shaking her head. “I don’t wanna get up.”

He kissed the top of her head, trying to extricate himself from her embrace. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be close.”

“Will you carry me?” She asked, cracking her eyes open.

“Of course I will,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her sweaty face. “You think I’d let my wife walk on her own after that?”

He shook his head, earning a giggle from her lips as he sat up. “No, I’m carrying her around for the rest of the day.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Of course and tomorrow.”

He stood, meaning to lean down and scoop her into his arms, but he paused, his eyes falling to the collar, seeming to glow against the red marks covering her skin.

“Do you want me to take this off?” He asked, brushing his finger across the pendant.

Although if he were being honest, he didn’t want to take it off. He wanted it to remain there, so even when those red marks did fade there would be something to say that she was his.

But Rowan shook her head, resting a hand over the pendant. “No, I like it. I want to keep it on.”

“You do?” He asked, his voice squeaking a bit, his cheeks and ears growing warm.

“I do,” she said, her gaze soft, her voice as gentle as a spring breeze. “To remind me that I’m yours.”

His heart ached, and he thought he would fall apart before her.

“It’s one-of-a-kind,” she said, smiling. “There’s nothing else in the world like it. Nothing else in the world to say that I’m yours.”

She hummed, lifting her left hand so her wedding band caught the light. “Except this maybe.”

Gavin held up his left hand, his matching wedding band glittering, a twin to hers. “Does that mean that this says I’m yours?”

She giggled, shifting closer. “It does.”

Gavin cupped her face with both hands, pressing his brow against hers. “Well someone like you deserves something special and unique.”

“Someone like me?”

He nodded, bumping his nose against hers. “Someone beautiful, special. Like no one else in the entire world.”

“You make me feel that way,” she breathed, curling into his arms.

He lifted her up, cradling her against his chest. “Well it’s true. I would never lie to you.”

And it was true. The things he made for her, the collar he’d spent months crafting, we’re all unique, incomparable to anything else. Or at least he liked to hope they were incomparable. 

Because there was no one else in the world like her. She was entirely unique, completely unrivalled. And she deserved things that were as special as her.

Or as close to as special as she was, because he had never met anyone else like her in the entire world.

And he couldn’t quite believe that she was truly his.

But she was. She was his, and he would love her until the end of time.

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

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Oh my goodness I’m so in love with your “Don't You Worry Your Pretty Little Mind” fic!! That is some top-tier hurt/comfort! 😍 I love how you wrote the dynamic between Tav and Astarion. Ugh I can only imagine the pain of Astarion having to change out the bandages 😩 I hope they get their vacation too, they deserve it! 🥰 If you ever decided to do a continuation for this story, I’d definitely eat it up haha, but I love it regardless!

Oh my goodness hello!!!! Thank you so much for your kind words they mean so much 🥺 After such an ordeal they really do deserve a vacation, and Astarion will need some thank you snuggles afterwards for trying his best to take care of her. I wasn't planning on doing a continuation, but I really like the idea!!!! Perhaps I will.... have to add it.... to my list of things to write......

#this literally made me smile so much thank you sooooo much for your kindness #a little hurt and comfort is absolutely just the BEST #poor astarion really working over time doing his best to help :(((

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OC Interview Questions - Fruits and Vegetables

🍎 [RED APPLE] Who does your OC value above all else? 🍒 [CHERRY] Who is your OC's perfect companion? 🍓 [STRAWBERRY] How do they feel about 'cute' things? 🍅 [TOMATO] How misunderstood is your OC? In-universe or IRL. 🌶️ [HOT PEPPER] Who would your OC declare their sworn enemy if they could meet them? 🍉 [WATERMELON] What will your OC take to the grave? 🥕 [CARROT] How tough is your OC against certain situations? How weak are they against others? 🍊 [ORANGE] Does your OC have a prophecy surrounding them? If they don't, what would it be? 🥭 [MANGO] What colours best represent them and why? Does this differ from their favourites? 🍑 [PEACH] How do they show their kindness? How kind are they truly? 🍌 [BANANA] Have parts of your OC been lost to time (in-universe)? What do they wish they could lose from themselves? 🧅 [ONION] What is surefire to make your OC cry? Who knows of this information? 🍍 [PINEAPPLE] Pineapple on pizza or not? 🍋 [LEMON] What is their kryptonite/ultimate weakness? 🌽 [CORN] How good are they at hiding and finding their way? 🍈 [MELON] If they had to be put into a box, what box would it be and why? 🍏 [GREEN APPLE] How do they differ from the norm and how are they punished for it? 🍐 [PEAR] What is their current social standing? If they could change it, would they, and to what? 🥒 [CUCUMBER] How innocent are they (unaware to the bad happenings around them)? 🥬 [LEAFY GREEN] How mundane are they? Do they like it that way? 🥦 [BROCCOLI] What do they hate about humanity/their species? 🥑 [AVACADO] What will they never back down about, even if it makes them seem bad? 🥝 [KIWI FRUIT] How does their outside appearance differ from who they are? 🥔 [POTATO] What do they have that others see as a flaw, but they don't care about? 🍆 [EGGPLANT] How are they used by others? How easily are they tricked into this? 🍇 [GRAPES] What's their circle of people/their species like? What dynamic would they be called?

-~-~-

Always leave a link to this post if you use it!

-Mix

#my brain is COOKED and i can think of very little #but i am ALWAYS thinking of my ocs someone ask me about them pleaaaaaase #been dealing with covid and doing extra labour for my family and just back to back headaches I am simply not in fighting form today #but im always happy to talk about my ocs <3

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Starry Eyes Sparking up the Storm

Description: With Gavin working longer hours, coming home exhausted from work, Rowan sees a sudden snowstorm as an opportunity to ease some of his burdens around the house, undertaking the task of clearing the driveway for him. But her plans are lost to the flurry of the storm when he returns home early, insisting on spending the snow day in her arms.

Pairing: Gavin Bai x MC (Rowan)

Tags: Fluff, comfort, snow day

A/N: Not to be silly and self-indulgent but I have scoliosis so shovelling absolutely kills me and the last snowstorm we had I dreamed of Gavin's nice warm hands offering a nice back massage and then this fic was born!!!! Please enjoy <3

taglist: @aluneposting

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The keening of the wind through the barren branches of trees was like the howl of a phantom chasing at Rowan’s heels. The forecast hadn’t called for it to begin snowing until late into the night, yet when had the weather ever bent like saplings to the demands of humans?

Rowan had thought it a brilliant idea to take their dog, a husky-shepherd mix Stella, for her walk early, less than an hour after Gavin had left for work. While it had been cold, and the sidewalks had  been a minefield of ice, the sun had been bright, warm, no sign of the evening snowstorm in sight.

She’d been no more than five minutes into the walk when the clouds had drifted across the clear blue of the sky, darkening the world around her. Shadows had stretched long, the wind had picked up.

And then another ten minutes later the sky had torn apart, and the storm had begun.

Stella, for her part, had been utterly unfazed, prancing through drifts of snow and snapping at flurries of snowflakes as the wind tore through her fur. She’d sniffed at trees, wagging her tail in delight as she threw herself into the snow and rolled around like a child making a snow angel.

Rowan had not been so lucky, shivering as surely as a leaf in the wind, as a lonely flower in a gale. Her hood had kept getting torn away from her head, snowflakes catching in her hair as the unforgiving wind had raked claws through it. Her fingers had throbbed, aching even within the thick layer of her gloves. Her grip on the leash had loosened as they’d marched along the sidewalk, their footsteps covered before they’d even fully lifted their feet.

When they’d finally returned home she’d been relieved, at first, dreaming of a warm drink and wrapping herself in her heated blanket. But it had felt like forging through a raging river as she’d clambered up the driveway, making it impossible not to take note of the swiftly growing drifts of snow.

While Stella had no problem prancing through the snow, the same could not be said for Rowan. Nor could it be said for any of their vehicles.

The garage was small, and already snow was piled high enough that it would not be getting open anytime soon. And with a twist in her stomach at the memory, Rowan remembered that Gavin had taken his motorcycle into work that morning.

There was no way he was getting Sparky up the driveway, not when it was like this.

She’d shuffled inside, knocking the snow from her boots, unclipping Stella from her leash, before trailing to one of the windows at the front of the house, peering out.

There were no signs that the snow would let up anytime soon, but surely it had to, didn’t it? After all, the forecast hadn’t called for this in the least.

So surely it would be alright to leave the driveway untouched for now, wouldn’t it? 

It had been a half hour since she’d come to stand in this spot, watching the churning of the snow as the world was painted in layers of alabaster and ivory. She could hear the quiet whirr of the heat cycling through the house, blasting warm air into the rooms to combat the storm. Even where she stood, nose nearly pressed to the window, her breath steaming over the glass, it was warm. She could feel her fingers again, the burn of the cold stitching itself into her skin long-since melted away.

The storm still had not slowed, and the snow had only continued to pile high. Her stomach twisted, lurched, her heartbeat a thrum of nervous butterfly wingbeats. There was no way Gavin would be able to get Sparky up the driveway through all that; it was an ocean of ivory, a frozen sea of powdered pearl.

The last thing she wanted to do was make him deal with so much right after work, too; Gavin had let slip that things had been very difficult at the STF, and while he hadn’t been able to divulge all the details because of security, she’d been able to piece things together well enough.

He was often tired lately, and even quieter than he normally was. She would ask about his day, or she would make his favourite foods, or she would buy a small Lego set they could build together, and although she’d been able to coax small smiles to his face, it had not been enough to erase the lines of stress etched into his brow and around his lips.

There was still no sign that the storm was going to let up, but Rowan wondered if maybe she could still try to clear the driveway now. Best case scenario, the storm calmed, and it would be entirely clear for when Gavin returned. Worst case scenario the storm did not calm, but it would not be as hard to get Sparky up the drive.

The decision was easy enough to make, resolve strengthening within her heart, calming the flutter of her nerves. She could do this, at least, she could make something a little easier for Gavin.

Rowan made quick work of pulling on her jacket and gloves, wrapping a scarf around her mouth and nose, shoving a knit hat over her tangled hair. She snatched up her boots in one hand, making her way to the door connecting the house to the garage, Stella on her heels.

“No my love,” she cooed, when Stella pressed herself against the garage door, staring up at Rowan with wide, pleading eyes. “You stay here. I’m just going to shovel the driveway.”

Stella was unmoving, giving a quiet huff, as if to say “without me?!”

Rowan sighed, scratching between Stella’s ears. “You’re not going to let me go outside without you, are you?”

In response Stella’s tail swished, as if confirming Rowan’s words.

“Fine.” There was no point in trying to sneak by her; somehow, Stella had picked up Gavin’s stubbornness, and when she wanted something, she usually got it.

“You want to go outside with me? Should we go outside?”

Stella’s tail began to wag faster, almost frantic, as she recognized the phrase. Her front paws tapped excitedly on the floor, click-clacking against the linoleum before she hurried to Rowan’s side

Snorting, Rowan shook her head. Stella had become her little shadow, following her everywhere. She supposed that at the very least she was glad to be accompanied by such a sweet creature while she braved being out in the unforgiving storm.

She pulled her boots on, making a note to wipe up the melted snow that puddled beneath her feet when she finished her task. Finally fully dressed for the elements, and accompanied by her protective dog, Rowan headed into the garage, grabbing the shovel from where it hung on one of the walls, before finally heading back outside.

Her earlier fears were confirmed when she tried opening the outer door, snow piling at her feet as the drift that had formed before the door was disturbed.

She swore, practically crawling over the drift, snow slipping under her sleeves and into her boots, before she finally stood outside. Stella was much quicker, and far less bothered, prancing out into the front yard, snapping at snowflakes and rolling around near the small tree at the corner of their property.

Turning to stare down the driveway, hesitation rolled through her like ocean waves. A river of white stretched before her, piled high as her calves in some places. It would take an hour at the least, likely more than that, to clear the driveway completely.

Rowan pushed the uncertainty from her mind before it could take root. She could not let it grow like a weed, choking out her determination. Memories of Gavin surfaced in her mind, of his loving gaze and his comforting embrace and his sweet smiles.

For him! She would brave this fierce storm for him!

Rowan dragged herself to the very edge of the driveway, Stella barking as a cardinal flew past, a streak of vermillion like a bleeding wound cut through the storm.

At first it was easy enough. Dig the shovel into the snow until it scraped against the asphalt below. Lift it up, toss the scoop of snow towards the lawn where Stella pranced and played. Pushing the shovel from one end of the driveway to the other made it easy to clear large swaths all at once, but it made it more difficult to lift the shovel, and her muscles strained under the weight.

Rowan managed to clear a quarter of the drive before the dull ache began to ripple through her muscles. It spread slowly, starting from her back, unfurling towards her shoulders, her upper arms. It crept like thread weaving between the twisting of her muscles, guided by the pinprick of a needle. It registered in the back of her mind, but it was manageable; it was something she could handle.

Then the press of pain in her lower back began, reaching up her spine like tendrils of thorns digging into the spaces between her bones. It coupled with the ache in her upper back and shoulders, coupling together into something that she could very much not handle, not easily at least.

Rowan had to grit her teeth as her arms began to shake, cursing herself for turning down Gavin’s offers to help her build up her strength. The handful of pilates classes she had taken had helped her back and her flexibility, but they were of no help now, as she fought a fruitless battle against the cascade of snow drowning the drive.

She had to take breaks often, heaving in deep breaths as she stretched awkwardly, trying to alleviate some of the pain. The ache in her shoulders and upper back steadily grew, and it felt like a fire was being kindled beneath the skin of her upper arms each time she lifted the shovel.

And her lower back…

Oh it ached. She reached back to massage it, scrabbling uselessly, unable to fully reach the spot that hurt most, the core of that barbed pain from the heavy layers of her winter jacket. Her gloved fingers passed over the spot, barely doing more than swiping at the coiled pain, offering no more than a momentary respite before it ached all over again.

But she was determined to see this through. Even as her back and arms ached, she wanted to keep going, to make things just a little easier for Gavin when he returned home.

If the storm didn’t completely ruin all her hard work before then.

The thought gave her pause, and Rowan stopped, surveying the drive behind her. Although it was a significant improvement on what it had been before, almost half of the driveway now cleared, already snow was dusting the dark asphalt, like foaming waves washing footprints from the sand.

She cursed, digging the tip of the shovel into the snow, leaning against the handle as she stood on her toes, arching her back to stretch out her spine.

“Stella, is your papa even going to notice I shoveled all this by the time he gets home?”

Stella’s ears twitched, and she swivelled around to stare at Rowan, a splash of dark brown in the sea of white, before she gave a loud bark and returned to digging in the snow.

“Good talk,” she snorted. Once this was done she was going to wrap herself in the softest blankets she had, and she was not going to move for the rest of the day.

Rowan occupied her mind with thoughts of warm blankets and drinks, with catching up on the newest episode of a show that had just released, with falling asleep after eating her fill of something very warm, and waking up to see Gavin’s smiling face.

With the scream of the wind around her, and the scrape of the shovel, and Stella’s intermittent barking, there was not much Rowan could hear. Her mind was devoted to the exhausting task she’d given herself, and even her daydreams of warmth and her husband slipped away like water through a sieve. She could not even grasp at the more fantastical of daydreams she entertained in her quiet moments, thinking about the books she had most recently read, the webcomics of beautiful women in sumptuous gowns forever having tea and enchanting their husbands when they smiled.

Sometimes she liked to imagine herself as one such woman, with beautiful gowns and a veritable palace to call home. Of Gavin as some high-ranking noble, a count or a duke, respected across her made-up, fantasy world. 

She liked to imagine dancing with him at balls like in her favourite period dramas, or going for strolls through gardens drowning in more flowers than she could name.

But the scrape of the shovel and the wail of the wind coupling with the now incessant pain in her back and arms occupied her mind entirely. They left no room for even a wisp of a whimsical daydream to ease the tedium and the pain of her task. Sweat slipped down her back even as she shivered, her hair coming loose from her hat and her hood to snake across her eyes, her ears were ringing, her mind nothing but white noise, like the static of a television.

Not even the muffled roar of an engine could penetrate the bubble around her, nor the crunch of snow beneath boots.

“Rowan? What are you doing?”

The cadence of his familiar, beloved voice was what finally pierced through her mind, like an arrow shot from the heavens.

Rowan spun around, delight making her forget for a moment the pain and the cold and the way her fingers were once again throbbing.

“Gavin!” She stumbled towards him, her legs stiff from how she’d been standing as she hunched over the shovel. She opened her arms wide and he swept her into his arms, lifting her from her feet as he held her tightly.

Stella barked, bounding towards them. She ran around their legs, pawing at Gavin, although he did not let Rowan go for a moment.

“Oh I missed you,” she whined into his hair. Not even this dreadful storm could douse the warmth that bloomed like summer blooms in her heart when she saw him. Nor could it extinguish the heat of his embrace, wrapping around her so protectively, so adoringly.

He settled her back on the ground, amber eyes searching hers. The corners of his lips were quirked up, but the phantom smile didn’t quite meet his eyes, and it was undercut by the lines of his brow.

“I missed you too,” he said, hands skimming over her waist, her hips. “But what are you doing? The weather is awful, you should be inside.”

She gestured behind her, to where she’d abandoned the shovel. “I’m clearing the driveway for you. I wanted it to be clear when you came home tonight.”

At that she frowned, flicking her attention between Gavin and where he’d parked Sparky at the end of the driveway. “But why are you home so soon? It’s not even noon.”

He shrugged, his smile growing wider, sweet and genuine and warm enough to turn the snow to mist and steam. “The storm became so bad that many of the agents were worried about being able to make it home if they stayed at the office.” He found her hands, squeezing them gently. “So I ordered anyone who was doing mostly paperwork to head home for the day until the storm passes.”

“And what about you?”

“Well most of the difficult parts of this latest mission are done, so I just need to complete some reports and paperwork. But I can do that from home.” He gave her hands another squeeze, bringing them to his chest. “I didn’t want to be away from you for a moment longer than I had to.”

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she said. She felt like she was flying, dancing across sugary clouds. What could be better than being home with him, warm and comfy and safe, while the storm raged on outside? “Although you did ruin my surprise.”

He chuckled, peering over her shoulder. “What exactly were you doing, anyways?”

She gestured behind her, to the abandoned shovel and the partially cleared drive. “I was clearing the driveway for you. I thought it would make it easier when you came home, and it would be something you didn’t have to worry about.”

He was always doing physical work around the house as it was. Helping to carry heavy furniture, building shelves, changing light bulbs, mowing the lawn. Not that she didn’t do any of those things when he wasn’t home, but he was always so insistent on doing the tasks she didn’t like, or the tasks that were more strenuous. 

He would even go out of his way to take heavier bags of groceries from her, and he would cut her bagels for her in the morning, and he would help with cutting up and cooking meat when they were making dinner.

She only wanted to do something for him, one less task for him to worry about.

Gavin’s brows drew together and he sighed. “You didn’t have to do that for me, pumpkin. It’s no problem at all, and what if you hurt yourself?”

“I’m not going to hurt myself shovelling, Gavin.”

“Really?” He crossed his arms, arching a brow. “Then how’s your back?”

“It’s…” Wrinkling her nose, she looked away. “It’s fine.”

“And I didn’t just see you trying to stretch it out because it hurt?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He hummed, although the sound was nearly torn away by the wind. Gavin gave a huff, and suddenly the shriek of the wind and the pelt of snow against her face was gone. The air was not warm, not exactly, but the chill of the snow and the wind was gone, like they were standing in the eye of a storm.

“That’s better,” he sighed. He reached for her, settling his hands on her waist. “You don’t need to worry about me, I’m more than capable of handling a little snow.”

“Well so am I.” She pouted, not that he could see it with her scarf wrapped around her face. But hopefully he could hear it in her voice. “You’ve been so busy lately, and you’re always tired. I wanted to help.”

Gavin was silent for a moment, his eyes searching hers. Stella pawed at him again, whimpering as her tail wagged, and he turned to her, scratching between her ears and beneath her chin.

“You’re so stubborn,” he said, his smile indulgent. “You’re just like your mama.”

“You’re the one who’s stubborn,” Rowan groused, crossing her arms. “You do all the physical labour around the house. You won’t even let me shovel the driveway.”

Gavin chuckled, the sound warming the frozen caverns of her bones, thawing the icicles that had formed in her veins. He straightened, turning his attention back to her.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. I would happily do all the physical labour forever if it meant you never had to strain yourself.”

“And I would do the same for you.” She no longer needed to shout to be heard above the storm, and her words came out soft as feather down. “I would do anything to make things easier for you.”

He huffed, smiling. “I know you would.”

“Not that it matters now.” She threw her hands up, feeling defeated. “You came home early, so it’s not much of a surprise.”

“Tell you what.” He squeezed her hip. “It will be faster if we do the rest together, and then we can both relax.”

“Don’t you have paperwork to do, still?”

His answering smile was nothing short of mischievous, his eyes pinpricks of colour in the alabaster and ivory and silver drowning out everything else. “I’m sure it can wait. I have much more important matters to attend to.”

His fingers hooked around her scarf, pulling it down to expose her lower face. She didn’t have time to ask him what he was doing before his lips found hers, tender and warm. His breath fanned over her, his bangs tickling her brow.

He was so warm, so sweet. She wanted to tip her head back, wanted to lose herself in his embrace. Like a figure made of ice, she felt herself melting, puddling in the place where she once stood.

Too soon did he pull away, chuckling when she mindlessly chased after, colder already with that sliver of space between them.

“Let’s get this done,” he said, fixing her scarf so it once more covered her face. “Then we can warm you up properly.”

Rowan’s mind was a haze of warmth and the smell of pine, at least until Gavin released his hold on his power, their little scrap of serenity from the storm washed away in an instant.

The wind and the snow snapped her back to her senses, and she gave a sharp nod before shuffling back to the shovel, already covered by a thin layer of snow.

With Gavin there, the driveway was clear in no time. It didn’t hurt that Gavin was much stronger, working faster than she did.

She was almost jealous, as he straightened, the driveway finally clear, not a hint of exertion in his face while she heaved in deep breaths, her arms like rubber, sweat dripping down her back.

“Thank you for helping,” she croaked as he pried her shovel from her hands, stowing it back in the garage.

“I would do anything for you,” he said, his face bright. “Now, how about we head inside?”

She took his offered hand, letting him draw her back into the house. Stella followed at their heels, not needing to be called to return inside, sensing her duty was done for the day.

They had to work together to towel Stella off, snow clinging to her fur and her paws. She was absolutely thrumming with energy, and by the time the both of them were able to dry her she shot deeper into the house, little more than a streak of brown and the echoes of clicking footsteps against the floor.

“Well at least she had a good time.” Rowan groaned, bending down to unlace her boots, her gloved fingers stumbling over the laces.

“Let me.” Gavin crouched, deft fingers making quick work of the boots.

But he didn’t stop there, not as he carefully tugged the boots from her feet, setting them to the side to dry. Rowan made to take off the rest of her outerwear, but again he stopped her, catching her hands between his.

“You look exhausted,” he murmured, the softness of his words belied by how bright his eyes were and by the way he couldn’t quite keep his smile in check.

She tipped her head back, her words muffled behind the fabric of her scarf. “I am exhausted. That was a lot of hard work.”

He hummed the melody of one of her favourite songs, gently pulling her gloves from her hands one finger at a time. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard.”

“You’re worth it, though.” She couldn’t catch herself fast enough to stop the sigh that fled from her lips as he blew on her fingers, rubbing them to coax warmth back into them.

Gavin’s brow arched, but he remained silent, not letting her hands go until he was satisfied.

“What?” His brow remained high as he untied her scarf, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose as he folded it up. It made her suspicious, wondering what mischief lay hidden behind his eyes.

“Hmm?” He unzipped her jacket, folding it to the side. “I’m only thinking.”

“About?”

As she pressed him for his answer, his smile grew. “I’m thinking that maybe you did all this so I would take care of you.”

Rowan sputtered, even as she let him scoop her up into his arms, carrying her past the entrance so she didn’t step in any puddles of melting snow. “Why would you think that?”

He shrugged, still smiling far too broadly. “Just a hunch.”

“I never asked you to help! Or to help me with my jacket and boots.”

Although she would be lying if she said she didn’t like it when he did. He reminded her of a knight, and he made her feel like she was a princess, like she was loved entirely. He would help her with her boots, he would warm her hands, he would make her teas and coffees, he would always bring her favourite snacks from the store. The list went on for eternity, all the ways he took care of her.

“You’re right, you didn’t…” He turned his head to the side as he trailed off, his breath warming her ear. “But if you didn’t want me to, you could have asked me to stop.”

She drew her lip between her teeth, looking away.

“Rowan?”

When she still didn’t respond he laughed, pressing kisses behind her ear, the scrape of his teeth against her skin making her shiver. “If you want me to stop, you just have to tell me, princess.”

Her stomach somersaulted, as though she stood at the precipice of a cliff, teetering on the edge. Butterflies unfurled gossamer wings in her chest, and she twisted her hands into his shirt without thinking.

She didn’t want him to stop, she wanted him to keep going. She just wanted to stay in his arms, to let him spoil her a little.

The pinch of his teeth over her pulse brought her from her thoughts and she gasped, turning to glare at him sharply. “Gavin!”

“I’m still waiting on my answer,” he teased, looking the picture of devilish delight.

She huffed, pouting beneath the weight of his smirk. “So what if I like it when you take care of me? I didn’t have any ulterior motives, I just wanted to help.”

He hummed, settling her on the couch. “So you don’t want me to stop?”

Rowan narrowed her eyes, glowering at Gavin’s sunny smile. “Why are you teasing me?”

He shrugged, tucking a blanket around her before sitting beside her. “Maybe I just like the colour of your blush.”

She gasped. “You’re awful!”

“But it’s so pretty.” He hummed, stroking her cheek. “It’s my favourite colour.”

She whipped her head around, face burning. “You’re unbelievable!”

“So…” He sounded like he was on the verge of laughter. “That means you do want me to stop?”

Sniffing back fake tears, she peeked over her shoulder at him. “No. Well… It depends.”

“Oh? And what exactly does it depend on?”

Shivers crawled across her arms, gooseflesh racing along her skin. The sound of the heater cycling warm air through the house could be heard, soft rumblings and clunks as air streamed through the vents in the walls. Nonetheless she was cold, a protective blanket torn away when Gavin’s arms were no longer around her.

She did like it when he took care of her, so lovingly doted on her. But he seemed committed to teasing her, and she didn’t know how to respond without him toying with her further.

Unperturbed, Gavin hummed, taking her chin before she could turn around again. “Well? What does it depend on? I’m at your command.”

It did not particularly feel like he was at her command. It felt more like he was playing around, very much like she was not the one in control.

Rowan opted to pout, hoping that would soften his resolve. At least a little. “It depends on what kind of mischief you have up your sleeve.”

“No mischief, pumpkin.” His smile was a little too wide to be believed. “I’m just trying to thank you for helping me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe that’s entirely what it is.”

Gavin brought his face close, their noses bumping together. “I might have my own selfish reasons, too.”

“Like?” She tipped her head back, their lips nearly brushing.

“Like.” He drew out the syllables, smiling against the corner of her lips. “Wanting to be near, wanting to touch you, wanting to warm you up.”

When she shot him a sharp look he laughed, drawing away, palms held out in surrender. “Not like that. I missed you, I only want to hold you.”

“Mmm, I’ve heard that before.”

His eyes glittered, sharpened like the steel blade of a knife. “I mean, if you want-”

She chucked a pillow at his face before he could continue, laughter rioting from his mouth as he tossed it to the side. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

“I don’t think you were.” Rowan huffed, sliding away from him. “I think you were entirely serious.”

A quirk of his brow. “And if I was?”

She rolled her shoulders, a dull ache rippling along her back. Tomorrow she was going to hurt. “If you were being serious I wouldn’t say no, but just not right now.”

His head cocked to the side, strangely reminiscent of Stella when they were talking to her. His eyes were warm, his smile soft. “Of course. I’m happy with whatever you are.”

She ducked her head, smiling. “Thank you, babey.”

“But, if it’s alright.” She looked up at the earnestness in his tone, found him holding out his hands. The tips of his ears stained peony pink, the corners of his lips curved up in a crescent. “Would you be alright still being close?”

As if she could ever say no to him. As if she ever wanted to be far away either.

Rowan scooted closer, leaning into the arms he opened wide for her.

“Is that better?” She looked up at him, smiling as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. She felt so at ease in his arms, wrapped up in his warmth, the smell of his soap filling her nose, the calluses of his hands rough against her skin as he stroked the shell of her ear.

“Much. I don’t know how I made it through the day without you.”

She smiled, closing her eyes. “Good thing you don’t have to worry about it anymore today.”

He hummed, fingers running through her hair. “Thank goodness. I don’t have to worry about anything now that I’m with you.”

Rowan leaned forward, intent on kissing his cheek, but winced instead. Dull pain radiated around her shoulder blades, reaching fingers up her neck. Her muscles locked, and she reached back, trying to press down on the pain, trying to rub it away.

Gavin’s eyes narrowed, a line etching between his brows. His hand moved to cup her cheek, his touch gentle even as his lips pressed into a thin line. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing.” She kept rubbing at the spot, some of the pain easing. “I think I might have used some muscles I didn’t know I had when shovelling, and now my back hurts.”

His expression softened, turned thoughtful. “Hmm.”

“Hmm?” Rowan arched a brow in response.

“I’m just thinking.” Huffing softly, he stroked her cheek, head cocking to the side. “Would you like me to try and help with the pain?”

“What are you thinking?”

A flash of mischief, quickly concealed as he spoke. “Well you have said I’ve become quite skilled with my hands.”

“Gavin-”

He tapped her lips before she could scold him further. “I was thinking I could try massaging your back a little.”

“Oh!” Her voice came out as a squeak, breath rushing over the pad of his finger and he chuckled, giving one last tap before dropping his hand.

Gavin’s massages were very nice, never so hard that they hurt, but it seemed he was singularly adept at untangling the knots and smoothing away any pain in her back and muscles.

Maybe it was because Gavin really was quite skilled with those long, deft fingers. Or maybe it was some sort of placebo, her mind convincing her that she felt better because it was him so lovingly massaging her.

Whatever the case, it was always very nice when he did, and Rowan was not about to turn down such an offer.

“I would like that very much.” She spun around instantly, peeking over her shoulder at him as he laughed. “Please?”

“I thought you’d say that.” He was still laughing, amber eyes rolling skyward. “As you wish.”

She pouted, fluttering her lashes at him. “Gavin.”

“I know, just give me a moment, pumpkin.”

Gavin readjusted behind her, settling his hands on her hips and shifting her to the side. “You know, it would be easier if you sat in my lap.”

She gaped. “So you did have an ulterior motive!”

He looked away from her accusation, cheeks flushing brighter, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. “And if I did? Do you not want a massage anymore?”

“Well I didn’t say that.”

Amusement danced in his eyes, turning them to the gold of champagne as they flicked to her.

He didn’t have to say a word for Rowan to understand the meaning of his raised brows, the amusement flickering in his eyes.

She rolled her eyes, as if that didn’t make him smile more. “If it makes it easier I don’t see why I would say no.”

“And it’s not just because you want to sit in my lap?” His brows nearly vanished beneath his bangs as they rose. His shoulders quivered with quiet laughter, and he smiled so smugly she considered just bearing with the pain and stretching out on the floor until it went away.

“If you’re going to tease me, maybe I’ll just put up with it.” She made to stand, but a hand on her wrist stopped her. Another second and she was being yanked into Gavin’s arms, tumbling into his lap.

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t look particularly remorseful, not with a massive smile on his face. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, humming like he was about to start laughing again. “I’m sorry, princess. Don’t go.”

Rowan’s breath caught, snagging as fabric on thorns. Gavin’s breath was warm as he murmured against her cheek, his lips still smiling wide. He kissed her again, murmuring another apology, followed by a downy-soft “please?”

“Okay.” How was she meant to say no to him? To such a delicate plea? She knew he was still playing, devilry in his voice, in each kiss he laid on her cheek and jaw. Yet knowing that did not make it easier to say no. Did not make her want to say no to him.

“Okay? You won’t go?” He sounded sunshine bright, hugging her all the tighter.

“I’ll stay.” And then, with a little more bite, more for her own sake than his, “But I have conditions.”

“And what would those be?”

She twisted around in his hold, back facing him. “You have to massage my back.”

She could hear the attempt and failure to stifle his snorting laughter, his body shaking beneath her with the effort. “I think I can manage that.”

Rowan straightened her back, wiggling her shoulders. More laughter, but Gavin took the hint to begin. His fingers brushed her hair away from her neck, warm and careful as though he were handling glass.

He trailed his hands over her shoulder at first, down her back, barely adding any pressure. She let her eyes fall closed as he repeated the movement, slowly adding more pressure each time.

“Does this feel okay?” He moved his hands to her neck, thumbs digging into the grooves connecting her neck and shoulders.

She hummed, smiling a little. “That feels very nice.”

His lips brushed against the back of her neck before he continued, warmth radiating from the touch as light radiated around stars, spilling through the universe.

He did that every few moments, whenever he adjusted his hands, finding a new knot in her shoulders or pain flared in her lower back. Lips found her skin as sunshine did in summertime, kisses light as a breeze curling against her as his skilled fingers dug into her skin, easing her pain until it was as distant a memory as the dismal grey of a winter rainstorm to the warmth and colour of blooming spring.

Every now and then he checked in, making sure she was comfortable, making sure it all felt nice. He pressed his fingers down on either side of her spine, gliding his hands down. He dug the heels of his hands into her back, dragging them to the sides. He even found the aching spot in the small of her back, massaging little circles on either side of her spine at first, slowly moving his hands out, until he had worked through the muscles of her lower back.

Rowan sighed, murmuring whenever he did something that felt nice. He would oblige every time she asked him to do something again, the aches in her body fading, his touch a balm that smoothed away every ache and crack in her body that seeped pain.

She swayed, fighting off a yawn. He worked methodically, a soundless rhythm building in his movements, a melody that reverberated through her muscles and sinew, echoing in the hollows of her bones. It was a lullaby for her body, tranquil and soft, steady as calm ocean waves.

As her head began to bob, as her eyes grew heavy, as her yawns became near uncontrollable, Gavin drew his hands away from her back, settling them on her hips.

“Why’d you stop?” She struggled to keep her eyes open, her words sounding strange and slow.

He chuckled, giving her hips a squeeze. “You’re falling asleep.”

“No I’m not!” A yawn belied her words, but still she tried to hold fast to her denial. “I’m not falling asleep! Don’t stop.”

Sighing, Gavin pressed one final kiss to the side of her throat. “If I keep going you’ll fall asleep and then I’ll be all alone.”

She twisted around in his arms, swaying with all the strength of a sapling buffeted by the wind. “I won’t! I promise I won’t.”

“Really?” He brushed her hair back from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. His smile was indulgent, as if he didn’t really believe her, but he was willing to play along for now. “You mean your eyes aren’t heavy?”

The eyes in question, traitorous things, fell closed, seeming to weigh hundreds of pounds each to lift open so she could fix her gaze on him once more. “Not at all.”

He cupped her cheek as her head lolled to the side, snorting. “You’re not making a very good case for yourself.”

“You’re so mean,” she grumbled. She slumped against him in a huff, earning soft laughter as he readjusted to cradle her against his chest.

“Do you want to sleep?” He stroked her hair, pushing it back from her face. “We can take a nap if that’s what you want.”

She groaned, shaking her head. “It’s still early, and it’s been so long since we’ve had a day together.”

“Well then you have to stay awake, pumpkin.” He pinched her cheek, and the sharp pain roused her. At least, it roused her enough that she could glare at him.

“That hurt.” She smacked his hand away, rubbing her cheek. “What’s gotten into you today?”

“I’m sorry, princess.” He was smiling far too widely as he said it, prying her hand away from her cheek to press a kiss to the reddened skin.

“You don’t look very sorry.”

“I’m very sorry.” His smile only widened, utterly unrepentant. “So very sorry.”

“Oh really?”

“Let me make it up to you.”

Gavin was using his most powerful weapon in his arsenal as he spoke, the saddest puppy dog pout she had ever seen. It was impossible to say no to him, even the most iron of resolves crumbling like overbaked pastry beneath the might of such a look.

Rowan’s head drooped and she huffed. “How? What are you thinking?” Something devious, she was sure.

“Something like this-” There wasn’t a moment for her to think before Gavin had cupped the back of her head, secured his remaining arm around her waist, holding her fast as he showered kisses all over her face and neck.

She shrieked, laughing against him. It was so sudden she couldn’t catch her breath, and his breath and lashes and hair all tickled her skin while his lips made her catch fire like dried kindling.

“Gavin! Gavin!” His lips brushed against her collar, and she burst into a new fit of giggles, the spot particularly sensitive and ticklish.

“Does this prove how sorry I am?” He sounded breathless, pausing his assault to speak. “Am I forgiven?”

She snorted, pushed her hair back. Gavin was watching her, a goofy grin on his face, his cheeks flushed. “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

His brows rose, his smile cutting across his face now, wicked. “Do you need another demonstration?”

“Hmm.” She tapped her lips, smiling. “Just one last demonstration, babey. Right here.”

“As you wish, my love.”

Where his kisses had been playful, teasing, now he kissed her with a tenderness that told her how happy he was. She could taste his delight on her tongue, felt the sunshine of his joy filling her. His hands moved to cup her cheeks, to hold her gently as he took his time kissing her.

When Gavin pulled away they were both breathless, warm, melting into each other.

Rowan did her best to smile, nestling her head on his shoulder. “Alright, babey. You’re forgiven.”

He pressed another kiss to the top of her head, smiling into her hair. “Oh thank goodness.”

She would have been happy to stay there, tangled together, growing drowsy in his embrace.

Gavin, however, did not seem content, pinching her side to wake her again.

“Babey.” She pouted, rubbing her side. “Why do you do that?”

“You were falling asleep again.”

“I can’t help it! You’re warm!”

He huffed a laugh, patting her back. “Why don’t I make you some tea. Would you like that? That should help you wake up.”

She peeled away, just enough to meet his eyes. “Will you make the new one I bought? The blended one?”

“I can make whatever you want me to.” He smoothed her bangs, the pads of his fingers brushing against her brow as he fixed it. “Is that the one you want?”

She nodded eagerly. She plucked at the collar of his shirt, trailed her fingers down over the buttons of his uniform shirt. The shirt was starchy, stiff, not the most comfortable thing to be pressed up against. She doubted it was the most comfortable thing to be wearing, either. “Did you want to change?”

His hand covered hers, fingers curling around her wrist. “Are you asking me to?”

She stiffened at the laughter in his voice, looking away. “Your work clothes just aren’t very comfy, I thought you might want to change into something else.”

“Like that new sweater you got me?” He chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips. “Or the blue one you’re so fond of?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Huffed laughter ghosted over her hand as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I do want to change. But I can make you something to drink first.”

“That’s okay, I can make something while you change. You’re the one who’s been working so much lately.”

“And what if I want to make you something?” He rolled his eyes, smirking. “What if I want you to stay right here until I come back?”

“Why? Are you afraid I’ll go try to shovel more snow?”

He snorted, shaking his head. The corners of his lips twitched, like he was using all his strength to fight against his smile. “Maybe. Maybe I’d just like to spoil you a little.”

Rowan had no response for that. Like the unfurling of petals at the first signs of spring, heat bloomed beneath her skin. She was a field of wildflowers, leaves and petals wavering in the wind, reaching towards the sun, the centre of their world.

Gavin took the opportunity to extract her from his lap, settling her on the couch. He didn’t give her a chance to argue, already on his feet. “Your new tea is the one with the picture of a forest on the label, right?”

She nodded, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater, pulling them over her hands in lieu of fiddling with a blanket. Most of their blankets were folded neatly on the little chair next to the couch, out of her reach.

Seeming to sense her thoughts, Gavin reached over to grab one of the blankets, unfolding it and tucking it around her.

“So you don’t get cold while I’m gone,” he said. He smoothed a hand over her hair, pressed a kiss to her brow. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“Too late.”

He nuzzled her cheek, laughing. “I already miss you too.”

Before he could vanish from the room she called to him again, twisting the blanket between her fingers. “Gavin? Are there any snacks left?”

“There should be some of those squares we made left.”

She sat up straighter, craning her neck forward as if that would reveal the hidden snacks to her. “The raspberry ones? Or the nanaimo bars?”

His brow furrowed. “I’m not sure, I saw the ones with the pink icing this morning before I left. And the s’mores ones for sure.”

“Could I have one of each? If that’s okay?” She clasped her hands together, pleading with him as a disciple pleaded with their god. “Please?”

“Anything else, princess?” He smiled, arms crossed. “I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“When you go to change can you get the book I left on the bed?” She tugged the blanket up higher, hiding her face behind it as she flushed. “And can you come back quickly? I miss you.”

Nodding, his smile tender, Gavin said “as you wish,” before vanishing into the kitchen.

Rowan smiled to herself, clutching the blanket closer. It was cold outside, snow still careening from the storm-clouds that had gathered overhead. There was no sign that the storm would let up any time soon, and as she leaned close to the window her breath fogged against the glass, obscuring the ivory waves cascading across the world.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, Gavin’s reflection in the window. She turned to see him waving from the doorway of the kitchen, his smile bright enough to melt the snow and bathe the world in sunshine.

He had her book and her favourite sweater in his arms, and he crossed the room quickly to lay them in her lap.

“So you don’t get bored while you’re waiting.”

“Thank you, babey.” Rowan ran her hands over the fabric of her sweater, the sky-blue yarn soft and faded like it had been left too long in the sun from how often she wore it. Gavin was still in his work uniform, only the top few buttons undone, like he had started to change and thought better of it. Like his mind had been preoccupied, something else at the forefront of his thoughts.

His smile was spun-sugar sweet, and her teeth ached, just getting to revel in his sunshine smile like eating her fill of chocolates and cakes and candies. 

“I know you get cold easily, and I didn’t want you to get bored, or fall asleep before I get back.”

“I wouldn’t fall asleep!” Her rejoinder was automatic, a knee-jerk response to his saccharine teasing. As Gavin raised a brow, his barely contained smile dripping with amused disbelief, Rowan shrank, picking at a thread on her sweater. “I might fall asleep.”

He sighed. “Well at least wait until I come back. We can pick out a movie to fall asleep to together.”

“But you’ll be back soon?” Rowan wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t clingy; it was a rare occasion that Gavin was home early and she was loath to waste even a second of his company. There were moments where she would wish to bury herself in his skin, to stretch across his chest and refuse to let him get up in the morning so he couldn’t leave.

“I promise I’ll be right back.” He smirked then, something like smugness in his eyes. “But if you’re missing me you can always come find me.”

She scoffed, snatching up her book and flipping it open. Her cheeks were warm, her chest aching as her heart pressed against the prison bars of her ribs. “I’m perfectly content right here.”

“Oh? Is that right?” He leaned forward, seeming intent on teasing her. But his brow arched as his eyes flitted to the fogged window, bangs spilling across his brow as he cocked his head to the side. “Oh, what were you looking at earlier?”

“Hmm?” She turned, spotted the foggy part of the window, still opaque. An idea occurred to her then, a spark like flint striking together, catching flame.

Rowan leaned over, breathing on the glass again before beckoning him closer. “Come look!”

He was practically on top of her as he leaned over, his brow furrowing as he stared at the window. “So you fogged up the window?”

“No, just wait!” She quickly sketched her finger across the clouded glass. A heart, and then their initials in the centre.

“See?” She beamed as she looked up at him. “What do you think?”

Simple as it was to coax a blush to Gavin’s ears and cheeks, Rowan never tired of seeing the dusting of pink on the tips of his ears quickly deepening to vermillion, spreading over his cheeks and down his neck. Colour seeped across his face, soft as dawn, darkening to the last heat of dusk. When his eyes met hers they were bright as galaxies, and she could have picked out the individual stars in his gaze, their light making him glow.

“I think it’s very cute, pumpkin.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, his lashes tickling her skin as his eyes closed. “Maybe we should write that somewhere else, somewhere more permanent.”

She giggled, tickling him when he tried to kiss her again. “Like where? A tree in the backyard?”

“Maybe. Or somewhere in the house. We could paint it ourselves somewhere special.” He snorted, batting her hands away as she tried to tickle him again. “Careful or I’ll have to make an arrest.”

“You can’t arrest me!” Her voice rose in mock distress. It was difficult to hold back the bubbles of laughter lodged in her throat, the glee curving across her lips like the rising moon. “I’m your wife! You said you would make me tea!”

She did tickle him again, then. Reached out to his sides, to all the little spots that made him snort and laugh, much as he tried to pretend like he was not so vulnerable.

“Alright! I surrender, I surrender!” His shout dissolved into more laughter, his face red as ripe tomatoes.

“That’s what I thought.” She beamed, smug as she pulled her hands away. Gavin’s chest heaved, his eyes blazing as he stared at her. He looked dishevelled, bested by her attack.

Something about the flush in his cheeks made her stomach twist, her breath catching like a leaf snatched from the wind. His eyes flashed, mischief and bemusement twining together as they sat for a moment, waiting for the other to move.

It was Rowan who surrendered this time, moving to perch in his lap, compelled by the animal part of her brain to squeeze his cheeks between her hands.

“Is this further punishment?” He was smiling as he spoke, his eyes holding fast to hers. He tilted his head back in her grip, his lips grazing the line of her jaw. “What else do you have in store for me?”

“No punishment,” she murmured, adding a quiet “this time” that had him laughing. “You just looked so cute I had to squeeze your face a little.”

His eyes closed, a serene smile on his lips. Sitting there he painted such a pretty picture, like something she would see hung on the walls of a museum. She could imagine the name of such a piece, ‘serenity’ or perhaps ‘a prince in repose.’

She could have stared at him forever, lost in the lines of his face, like purposeful strokes of a brush. In the threads of his hair layered in gold and umber. In the light dappling over his cheeks, illuminating him as though a sun glowed from beneath his skin.

When Rowan didn’t move, Gavin’s brows rose, and he cracked one eye open. “Are you satisfied, princess? Or should I stay still for longer?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, itchy as insect bites. She pulled away, scooting back into her previous spot, yanking the blanket up to her face so he couldn’t see her flush. “Weren’t you going to make me tea and get changed?”

 “As you wish.” Gavin chuckled as he stood, ruffling her hair even as she scowled up at him. “And when I return you can stare at me as much as you want.”

He was gone before she could come up with any kind of reply, the sound of the kettle boiling and glass clinking the only indication he was in the kitchen.

“Unbelievable.” She grumbled under her breath, snatching up her sweater and shrugging into it. “He’s utterly unbelievable. Teasing me like that.”

“I can hear you, you know!”

“Good!”

She continued grumbling, louder this time so he heard every word. Gavin’s laughter echoed through the house, trailing after him even as he climbed the stairs to their room, fading only when she heard the click of the door.

With nothing else to do, Rowan picked up her book again, flipping to where she’d left off. The soft click of nails on the floor told her that Stella was on the move, and only a moment after she’d opened her book she felt Stella shoving her nose against her arm, whimpering.

“Do you want to get up?” She did not have to ask twice, Stella’s tail wagging so quickly it was little more than a brown blur before she leapt up. Air rushed from Rowan’s lungs as the dog stood on her stomach, wincing as she turned around and around, trying to get comfortable. Her tail smacked into Rowan’s face, and she leaned back as best she could until Stella finally settled, curling up into a ball on her lap.

Both Stella and herself now settled, Rowan returned her attention to her book as best she could. But she was only half paying attention, her ears straining for the sound of Gavin’s footsteps, her heart thrumming when she heard the door open and the stairs creaking as he made his way back downstairs.

Soon he would be back, and they would cuddle, and maybe he would rub her back some more, and she would get to spend the rest of the morning in his arms.

What a gift, to be able to be with him, to share a quiet morning together.

When the storm had first begun she’d looked at it with trepidation, with annoyance. The snow had been a hindrance, a hurdle to overcome. But perhaps it had been a blessing, a godsend from the universe. The screaming storm laced with magic, bringing Gavin back to her, giving them another day together.

The sound of humming spilled from the kitchen, the melody of a song Gavin had been practicing on his guitar lately. Maybe she would ask him to play it, maybe she would try to join him on the piano. He always loved that, always beamed brighter than any star when she did. Sat beside her on the piano bench, his hand on her thigh as he listened.

Or maybe they would break out one of the Lego sets they hadn’t built yet, spend the day building it together. They could play a movie in the background, could indulge in the sweets leftover from the holidays, make warm drinks and spike them with the leftover rum in the cupboard.

Or they could bake some more, trying out some of the recipes they hadn’t gotten to yet. Gavin always seemed so excited to make something new with her, although she was beginning to suspect it was only because he liked to eat the leftover batter and dough while they waited for their treats to bake.

Whatever their hearts desired, they could do. Whatever would make them happy, whatever would bring a smile to Gavin’s face, whatever would make his heart glow.

They were caught in the eye of the storm, and in their little pocket of peace they could do whatever they wished, whatever kept their hearts warm and their bodies close.

She smiled, watching as flurries of snow streamed just beyond her reach. Snow days were the best.

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

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heya for everyone interested in a tag list, please let me know the fandoms you would like to be tagged in!!!! I oscillate between writing for a handful of different things (mlqc, tears of themis, bg3, one day I'll write mystic messenger and fire emblem again) and I don't want to clog up anyones notifs for fandoms they're not interested in

#I know there was a little bit of interest so I thought i'd put out a little post here #i don't want to bore anyone with my 8 million gav fics currently sitting in my drafts when they want to read astarion or marius or smthn #also keep an eye out for love and deepspace because they are COMING

[spacesquidlings]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @spacebarbarianweird !!!!!

My brain has been rotted by love and deepspace and so I've started working on my first Xavier fic!!!!

She hummed, oblivious to everything but the task in front of her and the glimmering ideas blooming in her mind. So when arms slipped around her waist, warm breath ghosting over the shell of her ear, she very nearly screamed.  Like a window slamming shut, condemning a room to shadows and darkness, she was cut away from her quiet musings. She spun, struggling to process what was going on, the imaginings in her mind overlaid with the very real present. A huff of laughter, a crinkle of sky blue eyes. “It’s just me, it’s only me, love.” “Xavier!” His name was a plea, a prayer. And it was a song, a sigh, sunbeams gilding everything they touched in gold. His answering chuckle was warm, his arms tightening around her as they had before. Sleep still clung to him, in the lines of his face where his cheek had been smushed against the pillow, in the disarray of his hair. “Good morning.” His words slurred together, a burgeoning yawn he barely managed to cover his mouth. His brow fell against hers, the tickle of his soft bangs making her smile. “Good morning to you, too.” She reached up to cup his cheek, the weight of his head leaning against her palm as he sighed. “What are you doing up so early? Don’t you usually sleep in much later than this?”

(once it's completed I'll be posting it to my fic blog @spacesquidlings <3 )

I'd also like to tag @jihyuncompass , @ikemenlibrary , and @aluneposting <3

#self reblog #love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #wip wednesday

[spacesquidlings]

Don't You Worry Your Pretty Little Mind

Summary: With his lover bedridden after a battle gone awry, Astarion finds himself acting as her nurse, comforting her as best as he can, giving in to many of her whims. And despite all his theatrics, there is no one she wants by her side more than him.

Pairing: Astarion x Tav

Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort, mostly comfort, fluff, some suggestive mentions, mild description of acid-based/burning wound, references to pain (nothing graphic)

Taglist<3: @spacebarbarianweird

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The sharp smell of medicinal herbs burned in her nose, wafting over her as the pillows beneath her head and neck were readjusted once more. Pain followed fast on its heels, a phantom compared to what she’d felt earlier, before she’d blacked out entirely.

“How’s that, darling?” Astarion’s nimble fingers prodded at the pillows, fluffing them as best as he could without disturbing her. He drew her from her memories, from the blinding pain that had sent her into unconsciousness.

She whined, wrinkling her nose as another wave of smell hit her, the ointments smeared across her wounds seeping through the bandages wrapped around them. It burned as she breathed it in, daggers piercing the inside of her nose and scratching at the back of her throat. Pain radiated up her side and she shifted, nearly gagging as the smell grew stronger.

“Hurts,” was all she could manage, her voice cracking from the effort.

He huffed, crossing his arms and stepping back to examine his work. “I think that’s the best you’re going to get, my love. As much as I wish to, I cannot turn the bed into clouds.”

“Thank you for trying,” she murmured, barely stifling a groan as she shifted. 

She kept trying to find a comfortable position and yet she could find none. No matter how she lay she could not take the pressure off of all her wounds, and the pure frustration of it all made her eyes burn, angry tears pooling in the creases of her eyes. It painted the world in quicksilver and moonbeams, and yet she could find no comfort in the facsimile of the calm of the night.

“Don’t cry, please.” Astarion’s voice quivered, his brow drawing together. Somehow his skin grew paler, blanching at the sight of her tears. “Please, darling. You’re scaring me.”

She sniffled, reaching up to wipe her tears away, hissing in pain as her body grew taut, muscles and skin tight from the burns she’d sustained. Her bottom lip quivered, a sob caught in her throat, too weak to even wail.

“Oh my darling,” Astarion cooed, voice soft as feather-down. His hands hovered above her, as if hesitant to touch her. “You’re going to be okay.”

She whimpered. Was she? Was she truly going to be okay? She wanted to reach for him, but useless as she was, she could not even raise her hands to wipe her face, let alone hold him.

She watched as he seemed to come to some sort of resolution, his fingers delicately lowering to brush the tears from her eyes. Her vision cleared for the barest of moments before more tears trekked down her cheeks, the salt stinging where it seeped into her bandages.

“You’re going to get through this.” He brushed back loose strands of hair that had fallen across her cheek, caught in the ointment smeared on her skin. “You’re strong, my love. You were strong enough to survive such powerful magic. You’ll survive this.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. Although she’d survived the initial attack, she didn’t know if she was going to make it through the after-effects.

She hadn’t been thinking when it had all happened, shoving a child out of the way of their assailant, only to be swathed in burning pain. There had been no thoughts of putting up a shield, of casting a spell to push the attacker back. There had only been the thread of panic that had burst in her mind, her body moving before her mind could catch up.

When it had first washed over her she’d thought it fire, but then it had become worse. So terribly worse.

She’d learned, once she’d awoke, covered in the stinking ointment and bandaged, that it had been acid. A horrible homemade concoction that had very nearly killed her from its potency.

But she could not find it in herself to regret it, not really. She had managed to survive, but that child would not have. And her stepping in the way of the attack had been enough of a distraction for Astarion to make a killing blow.

Although she doubted she would make it through the consequences of her actions. Namely the reeking ointment and the near-unbearable pain.

As if reading her thoughts, Astarion clicked his tongue. “Don’t be so dramatic. You can survive anything, darling. Even a little homemade potion.”

She huffed, looking away. It hurt to speak, and yet she couldn’t help herself as she snapped back at him. “It’s a lot more than a homemade potion.”

“Well, it was homemade. He was a master artificer and wizard. I don’t think he bought it from a market.”

Groaning, she squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would staunch the flow of tears. “It hurts so much, Astarion.”

When he responded his voice was quieter, softer. “I know, darling.”

“I feel like I’m being burned alive.”

He didn’t answer this time, not at first. Silence descended, heavy, uncomfortable as her bandages.

It was more unbearable than the lingering sting of the acid, and she opened her eyes, the world limned in silver once more, searching for her beloved in the little room.

His eyes were wide, the crimson of his irises stark against the pallor of his skin. She could see the shimmering silver caught in the alabaster of his lashes, the gold of the firelight catching in his own tears.

“You’re going to be okay.” He spoke fiercely, each word as strong as a blow as he clenched his jaw. She wouldn’t have heard the quiver in his voice if she didn’t know him so well, didn’t know when he was trying to keep something hidden. “You’re going to get through this, and then we’re going on a long vacation.”

Her heart twisted, clenched in the grip of sorrow. “Astarion. My love, I’m so sorry, I-”

He shook his head, his hand delicately cupping her cheek. His own tears streaked down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away. “Don’t apologise. Just get through this, got it?”

“Okay. Okay, I will.” Her heart squeezed all the tighter, aching, struggling to beat. 

She tried to reach up, tried to hold his face, but she’d hardly raised her hand more than an inch before a ripple of pain made her gasp, fingers trembling like the branches of a sapling in a storm.

Astarion chuckled, lowering his head until the tips of her fingers brushed against his cheek. “Is this what you were hoping for, darling?”

“Thank you.” Her bottom lip was quivering again, her heart in her throat. Sadness was a vice that held her tight, nameless, all-consuming, drowning out even the smell of the ointment. She hurt so much, and she had hurt him. In her callousness she had hurt her most beloved and she didn’t know how to fix it, how to make him smile.

With a sigh Astarion lifted his head. His lips twitched, one brow arching. “What’s on your mind?”

“I just… I…” She couldn’t find the words, couldn’t figure out how to say it.

She felt like she was crumpling, formless and weak.

He shushed her gently, brushing the pads of his fingers against her cheeks. “Hush. It’s okay, my love. It’s okay.” Another twitch of his lips. “Wait to thank me until after I’ve changed your bandages.”

Shuddering, she looked away, feeling worse than helpless. “I look horrible, don’t I?”

“No you don’t.” A pause, his eyes searching hers. “It doesn’t look good, but you could never look horrible.”

An entire new wave of misery washed over her, and she wished she could still be unconscious, unaware of this pain and the knowledge that she looked horrible.

“Be honest,” she sniffed. “I look like something from a child’s nightmare.”

“Oh please.” He rolled his eyes. “Now you really are being dramatic.”

She whimpered, scowling as best as she could.

Sighing, Astarion perched on the edge of the bed, toying with the blankets, readjusting them over and over. Even so, his eyes never left hers, earnest and bright. “You’re hurt. You don’t look horrible, you look like someone who’s injured. You look like someone who needs to be taken care of until you’re better.”

Fangs flashing in the light, he gave her a half-moon smile. “And luckily for you, you’ve been blessed with someone as devoted as me, who will be here until you’re all better. Even though you’re being very vain.”

She frowned. “If I could throw a pillow at you, I would.”

“Well thank the gods you don’t have the strength right now.”

He leaned closer, fixing her pillows again. “Beneath all those bandages is the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.” He paused, smirking. “Well, second most beautiful. After me of course.”

“Oh of course.”

“You’re no child’s nightmare, darling.” The corners of his lips hiked higher. “In fact, I’d wager you’re a child’s hero now.”

She snorted. “Oh, I’m so sure.”

He poked her shoulder gently, beaming. “I am. I bet that kid’s already off telling all her friends.”

“She’s probably forgotten by now.”

“Oh no.” he gave a theatrical shake of his head. “No, certainly not. Rumour has probably spread that there’s a new hero on the sword coast.”

The corners of her lips tipped up, tugged by laughter bubbling in her throat. “Oh please.”

“The blade of frontiers had better move over,” he continued, mischief twinkling in his eyes like entire galaxies of stars. “There’s a new hero protecting Faerûn now.”

She giggled, shaking her head as best as she could. “I’m no hero! Besides, what would I even be called?”

Astarion tapped his cheek, eyes skyward as he hummed thoughtfully. “Now that’s a good question.”

“See? You can’t be a hero without a cool name.”

“How about ‘protector of the most beautiful vampire spawn?’ Or ‘the prettiest saviour of children from acid?’” He brushed the back of his index finger over her brow, smirking a little too broadly. His fangs flashed before disappearing again as he spoke, mischief in his words. “Or, and I think this one is the best, ‘the fool of faerûn.’”

She gaped at him, mouth falling open.

“You know, since you ran into an acid attack.” He shrugged. “You got the kid out of the way, but you didn’t get yourself out of the way in time.”

She wrinkled her nose as she answered, equal parts annoyed and amused. “You are so lucky, Astarion.”

“To have you by my side?” He stroked her hair, smirking. He knew perfectly well that was not what she was referring to. “I most certainly am lucky, darling.”

“You’re lucky I can barely raise my arms, or else you’d have a pillow in your face.”

“Yes well, you did kind of deserve that.” He tapped the top of her head, his expression growing more serious. “You had me terrified. I thought I’d lost you.”

His words were sobering, and she no longer felt the glimmer of mirth she had before. She sank into the pillows, dropping her gaze. “Astarion, I-”

“It’s already happened.” He cut her off before she could finish her apology, his brows drawing low as he continued. “I want you to focus on healing, on getting better. That’s the only apology I’m willing to accept.”

She swallowed, finding his gaze. “Okay.”

“And just as I said, once you are better, we’re going on vacation.”

It was so mundane, to talk of going on a vacation. A trip meant for relaxation, for having fun, where the highest stakes were finding delicious new food in an unfamiliar place. The sudden segue felt like something out of a dream, surreal when compared to her most recent memory, the wall of blackness in her mind after the rush of burning pain.

A giggle bubbled from her lips, earning a bemused look from Astarion. “What’s so funny? You think me incapable of a vacation?”

“No, that’s not it at all.” In fact it was all too easy to imagine him lounging around all day, the picture of indolence as he languidly sauntered down unfamiliar streets, as he stretched out on some sumptuous bed in a rented room.

“Well don’t keep me in suspense, darling.” He laid on his side, propping his head up in his hand. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

She giggled again, feeling ridiculous. “It’s nothing, really. It just feels strange to be talking of going on vacation, especially when I’m here covered in this gross ointment.”

He clicked his tongue. “That ‘gross ointment’ is going to help speed along your recovery.” He sniffed, nose wrinkling. “Although it is not exactly a pleasant smell.”

“I want a bath,” she whined. “I want to feel clean and smell pretty.”

“Once you are well enough, my love.” He gave her an indulgent smile. “I will give you the most luxurious bath you can dream of.”

Sighing, she imagined it in her mind. Warm water and flower petals and bath oils perfuming the air, helping her feel alive once again. “Do you think you could do that when we go on vacation, too?”

A chuckle, a darkening of his eyes. “There is plenty I plan to do, once you’re better.”

“Including a bath?” She ignored the somersault of her belly, the heat suddenly blooming at the apex of her thighs. Now really was not the time, not when she could barely stand the blankets that were draped over her.

“Yes,” he drawled. “The most splendid of baths every day for you, my dear.”

She relaxed as best she could against the pillows, daydreaming once more of such a thing. Of feeling the warm heat of the water seeping into her bones, of fingers massaging her scalp, trailing lovingly down her back.

“We can do whatever you wish,” he murmured, his gaze softening. “So long as you get better. You have to promise me you’ll get better.”

“I promise. I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Astarion sighed, toying with her hair. Just the sight of him was stronger than any balm or medicine. The slight curve of his lips as he smiled, relief stitching itself into his expression, more a comfort than any sleeping potion.

He was still speaking, not that she heard even a word of it. Her mind couldn’t keep itself steady, flitting like hummingbird wings as the pain ebbed and flowed through her. Astarion had to pinch her cheek once, twice, before she could focus her thoughts, like trying to coax the ocean through the eye of a needle.

“Have I lost you, darling?” He chuckled, smoothing his hand over the sting where he’d pinched her. “I would have thought you would listen raptly as I spoke.”

She managed a roll of her eyes, knowing he was doing little more than teasing her. Distracting her, perhaps, to take the edge off of the unrelenting burn of her body.

“Forgive me, my love,” she rasped, batting her lashes as swiftly as she could in the moment. “It’s just hard to focus, even on your limitless charm.”

His brows knit together, lips pursing. She caught a flash in his eyes, worry quickly masked before she could begin to pick at it.

“You should rest, darling,” he murmured. “You’ll feel a little better once you wake.”

Astarion made to stand, the bed shifting as his weight vanished, and a ripple of pain went through her side, her chest. Not only her body screaming from the movement, little more than a jostle and yet enough to irritate the weeping wounds beneath her bandages, but her heart screaming too. Pain lancing in her chest, her heartbeat turning to the quiver of a loosed bowstring.

What would she do without him? How could she stand the anger of the poison that had flayed her skin? How could she try to brave the darkness of her unconsciousness? All without him?

A whimper fled from her lips, drawing Astarion’s gaze. The lines in his brow only deepened, and he sank back into the bed. A question hung on his lips, his hands reaching towards her, hovering, hesitancy making his face look wan.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Please.”

The anxiety in his face fell away, like the last of a stone wall crumbling to ruin. Relief, and no small amount of mischief, remained, shining like light through stained glass, refracting rainbows across the ceiling and walls.

“I’m honoured that you want me close, love, but I’m not going far.” There was laughter in his voice, making it lilt like the opening of a song. “I’ll be back in less than a moment.”

With a swiftness that sometimes scared her, Astarion moved across the room, the sound of glass clicking as he sorted through little bottles and vials on their dresser. There were perfumes, lotions, oils, a pretty pink nail polish he’d presented to her only a few days before the attack.

She wanted to ask what he was doing, but in another moment he was back, wiggling a bottle no thicker than her pinky, filled with an oily-looking, iridescent liquid.

“To help you sleep,” he said before she could ask. “It’s supposed to numb some of the pain so you can rest.”

She tried to sit up, only to cry out as a thousand daggers stabbed at her, as her skin drew taut beneath her bandages. She collapsed back, wincing at the red stains blooming on some of her bandages.

“Darling, I fear that is the exact opposite of trying to get better.” Astarion tsked softly, sliding one hand behind her head, flicking the cap of the bottle open with the other.

“I was going to take the medicine.” She had to draw in lungfuls of air to push past the stabbing throb across her body, steadying the sudden surge of nausea in her belly.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. The arch of his brow and the quirk of his mouth made it seem like she’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, and it made her want to pout.

“You’re so impatient,” he chided, bringing the bottle to her lips. “Obviously I was going to help you with it. The more you move the harder it is for you to heal.”

She could say nothing as she drank the potion, fighting not to gag as the oily substance slid down her throat. It tasted bitter, and it coated the inside of her mouth like grease.

Setting the empty bottle to the side, Astarion grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He patted her head, not yet done teasing her. “Imagine how much easier it would have been if you’d just waited for me the first time.”

“Are you saying you’ll take care of me? You’re going to nurse me back to health?”

He chuckled. “Of course, darling. I’m terribly keen to play as your doctor.”

“Oh Astarion, don’t tease me so much,” she whined. “I can hardly think of a clever response right now.”

“I don’t mind.” He tapped the tip of her nose, unscathed from the attack. “That pretty blush of yours is all I need.”

“Astarion.”

He lifted his hands quickly, palms out in surrender. “Alright, alright, that’s enough for now. I’ll leave you to your rest.”

Panic seized her and she gasped. “My love, wait. Wait!”

She reached her arms out as far as she could, making a grabbing motion with her hands. Astarion’s brows rose, the corner of his lips quirking up. “Oh? And what’s this?”

Whining, she stretched her arms out a little further. “I want you.”

“So needy.” His tone was chiding, but his smile only grew. “Do you need me to continue comforting you, darling?”

“Astarion, please.” She couldn’t spar with him now, and so she was at the mercy of his teasing. She pushed out her bottom lip, pouting as best she could, giving him her biggest doe eyes. “I need you.”

“And how do you need me?”

If she could have ground her teeth she would have. But as it stood she could not, so she settled for a wrinkle of her nose, her cheeks burning from the heat he’d coaxed into them. He was smiling far too broadly, his eyes full of mirth.

With a sigh she said, “I need you to stay with me. I need you to hold me, my beloved. Please.”

“Oh my.” She could see the faintest touch of colour in his cheeks, like the first hint of the blushing dawn in the dove-grey of the morning sky. “Well how could I ever say no to such a request?”

Happiness softened the edges of her ire as Astarion tugged at the blankets, carefully slipping into the bed beside her. She sank to the side, his body beckoning her close, wincing only barely as he pressed against her side. He draped an arm loosely over her stomach, no heavier than another blanket, and yet she felt safer because of it, warmer than any blanket could make her feel.

“How is this?” He murmured softly against her ear, his breath tangling in her unbound hair. “Better?”

“This is very nice,” she said, just as quietly. “Thank you, my love.”

“Do you think you can sleep?” His voice wobbled, revealing the fear that had been hiding beneath his joking tone. “It will help with your healing.”

“But I only just got comfy,” she whined, not caring how pitiful she sounded.

A snort, cool fingers brushing back her hair. His breath gathered against her skin as he lowered his head, sighing. “That is so you can sleep, darling.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep.”

“If I’m distracting you, it may be better if I go-”

“No!” It would have been a shriek if she’d been able to shriek right now. As it was it sounded like a garbled rasp, and Astarion had to press his face to her neck to muffle his laughter.

“Don’t go. Please love, I want you to stay.” She didn’t feel right without him close, felt like she was on the verge of dying. She wanted to cling to him, to hold fast, finding comfort in the acid of his comments and the bergamot clinging to his skin.

“I’ll stay.” He laid a gentle kiss to her neck, a stark difference to the teasing laughter from only seconds ago. “See? I have no plan to move.”

“Really?”

“Why would I, when such a beautiful, needy little thing is in my arms.”

She turned her head away so he could not see the crimson staining her cheeks. She had no response, no clever rejoinder. She was terribly needy for his closeness, but he didn’t have to say it like that.

“You really must rest, though,” he continued, pressing another kiss to her throat. “How else will you get better so we can take a vacation?”

“You seem very set on the idea of this vacation,” she mused. Already she could feel the medicine working, the pain beginning to ebb, dulling breath by breath. “What do you even want to do?”

“What don’t I want to do, darling?” He sighed, stroking her hair. “I want to lounge and sleep in late. And perhaps we can visit a spa; we both need it after this.”

“A spa sounds nice.” She imagined it, sleeping the morning away, skilled hands massaging the knots from her back and arms, floral-scented serums and creams and oils pressed to her face, bringing her skin to life.

“And shopping,” he continued, just as lost in his daydreams as she. “So much shopping. We must refresh our wardrobes, darling. It’s all very…” She could picture the wrinkle of his nose without even looking at him. “Last season. We must be ahead of all the rest.”

“I’ll put my trust in you, then,” she murmured. “I’m sure you know what is best.”

She wouldn’t mind some new gowns, if she were honest. She would need something to make her feel pretty again after she was healed.

Astarion hummed, combing fingers through her hair. “Have you fallen asleep already?”

“No,” she answered, not feeling tired in the least. Now that the pain was fading she felt wide awake, energized.

“Well you should,” he admonished. “It will certainly put me at ease knowing you’re resting.”

“But I’m not tired, my love.”

He sighed, undoubtedly rolling his eyes. “What can I do to help?”

She hummed, wracking her mind for something that could help, that would lull her into the gentle darkness of unconsciousness.

Before she had met him, she would sometimes fall asleep to the faint sounds of music beyond her windows, or she would hum her favourite melodies until she could not hum them any longer.

“Could you…” She licked her lips, twisting as far away from his gaze as she could as a new wave of heat washed over her. “Could you sing for me?”

The silence that fell from her question stretched long, and she feared he would laugh, or tell her that no he could not. But then, soft as a caress, Astarion asked “you wish for me to sing?”

She swallowed, her flushing cheeks be damned. She wanted to meet his gaze as she again made her shameless request, a small comfort that had helped her in the years before she’d met him.

“Will you please sing for me?” He was close enough now for her to take his free hand, even as tremors still quivered through hers. “Please, my love? It really would help me sleep.”

For a moment he searched her gaze, his expression serious. Soft light gilded his features, twinning in the strands of his hair, painting the lines of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. His eyes seemed to glow, and she had the strangest feeling that she was being observed by a deity, a powerful, celestial being not of this world.

Her heart ached, and she held his hand tighter, reminding herself that he was not an ethereal being of light and dreams. He was real, he was here with her, he was not going anywhere.

Astarion’s eyes flicked down, to their intertwined hands, seeming to come to some sort of resolution.

“You are so terribly lucky I find you so wonderful,” he sighed, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t sing for just anyone, you know.”

She gingerly brought his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I think I would hate it if you did. I want you to sing for only me.”

His eyes opened, his expression tender despite how he had bemoaned such a task. “Any requests, my dear?”

“A lullaby, please.” She held fast to his hand, clutching it as surely as a child clutched a beloved doll. “Any lullaby, whatever your favourites are.”

He mulled it over, stroking her hair absently. “Alright, I have a few in mind.”

His voice quivered at first, uncertainty staining his voice. The words tremulous, quiet, yet as he continued, seeming to realize this was not an elaborate ruse to tease him, he grew louder, more confident. The faintest touch of colour stained his cheeks, but it could have been the burning red of the sky at sunset for how it ignited warmth in her own heart.

At first she felt nothing, energy still buzzing like static along her nerves and sizzling in her veins. But the wispy tendrils of fatigue slowly crept over her, Astarion’s words coming in and out of focus, blurring together. She was certain he was switching to Elven every now and again, the songs he was singing old, excavated from a corner of his memory draped in cobwebs and dust.

She yawned, her eyelids growing heavy. It became harder to keep them open, and eventually she just gave in, sighing in response to Astarion’s teasing laughter as his fingertips skipped across her brow.

“Are you asleep yet?”

“Not yet,” she grumbled, scrunching her nose.

“I guess I have no choice, but to keep going.”

She hummed in approval, earning another quiet huff of laughter before he continued, beginning a new song she did not recognize.

She wouldn’t have said he was the very best, and although she didn’t recognize every song he chose, she could tell some of it was off-key, the notes too sharp or flat. But she didn’t care, finding comfort in the off-tune lilt of his voice. It was a melody just for her, carrying her like white-capped waves towards sleep.

Her fingers found their way to his shirt, twisting into the cream coloured fabric, snagging on the ties that held it closed. She could not move enough to tuck herself beneath his chin the way she liked best, but she could hold onto him like this at least. She could anchor herself, no longer lost to the pain of her wounds.

Astarion’s voice blurred, words melting into each other until she could not recognize a single one, her mind muddled as a turbid river. All her thoughts turned to nonsense, but for one, shining bright as a star, holding fast in the cloudiness of her mind.

That she would get better. That she had to get better. She couldn’t let him sing her lullabies for nothing. She had to make up for the worry she was causing him.

She might have said the thoughts aloud, she really wasn’t sure. Her body was growing fuzzy, the world around her melting in and out of focus.

What she was sure of was that Astarion paused for the briefest of moments, brought his lips to her brow. He murmured against her skin, that he was holding her to that promise. That he would need her to get better so she could help him come up with a name for her new heroic persona while on their languid holiday.

She wanted to promise that she would, if only because she loved him so much she couldn’t bear upsetting him. But Astarion started singing again, and his voice suddenly sounded very, very far away, like an echo behind glass.

And then she was gone, lost to sleep, one step closer to healing, just as she had promised.

#astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #honey the sweeter the sun

[spacesquidlings]

@spacebarbarianweird

If You Need To, Darling, Lean Your Weight On Me: Soporific

Summary: Finally warm, sleep reaching for her, Aspen finds serenity in the arms of her lover.

Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (OC Aspen)

Warnings: Suggestive comments

A request from the lovely @spacebarbarianweird !!!!! Thank you so much for this request, and I hope you enjoy this final part!!!! <3<3<3

Table of Contents

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Despite the yearning stitching itself into her mind, sleep evaded Aspen.

She would nod off, giving in to her near overwhelming fatigue, only for Astarion to rouse her over and over. He would pinch her side as she slumped in sleep’s embrace, or prick her skin with his fangs, or splash her gently, waiting until she opened her eyes before he continued.

Each time he would murmur praises against her skin, telling her she had to be strong, to wait just a little longer and she could rest.

If she were honest, although the promise of melting into unconsciousness was far more tempting than even siren song, she preferred when she opened her eyes. When she saw his face, his indulging smile, his amused sigh as he reminded her not to fall asleep.

The sparkle of his eyes, the mischief in his smile, the honeyed sound of his quiet laughter. His hands on her cheeks, in her hair, on her back, soothing the aches in her body as sweet words fell from his lips, soothing the aches in her mind. All of it was so much better than anything conjured in her dreams, it made her struggle against her drowsiness all the more.

She wanted to be with him, she wanted to be with him here in this moment, not lost to sleep’s jealous embrace.

Eventually, Astarion lowered his hands, leaving one final kiss on her cheek. “I’m all finished, darling. How do you feel?”

She smiled, blissfully warm, her tired mind empty of everything but the lines of his smile, the creases at the corners of his eyes. “I feel better.”

“Good, I-” Astarion paused mid-sentence, brow furrowing as she picked up one of their soap bottles, blinking slowly as she tried to keep her mind focused so she did not drift off again. “Love, what in the gods’ names are you doing?”

She lifted the bottle, as if that was answer enough. “Well you helped me. I was going to help you bathe, too.”

With one hand Astarion took the bottle from her, and with the other he pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning. “You can be beyond vexing sometimes.”

She pressed her hands to her chest, wondering if she’d upset him, or if he was merely acting theatrical over something minor. “But… You still love me?”

The plink of his hand into the water as he lowered it was strangely loud in the quiet of the room, not even the crackle of the fires illuminating the storm’s shadows heard above that sound.

Perhaps it was because Aspen worried she always said the wrong thing, perhaps it was because she was so utterly exhausted that she could not think right, but either way her eyes began to burn, sudden anxiety a living thing snaking through her veins.

Astarion reached for her, cupped her cheek, water sluicing down his wrist and along her jaw. “I do love you, dearly.”

She lowered her eyes, her anxiety assuaged only for the heat of contrition to burn in her chest. “I love you too.”

He sighed, gently tilting her head up until their eyes met. “I love you terribly, darling, but you can be so frustrating.”

“How was I frustrating?” She pouted, realizing that he had been most certainly teasing.

“I said I was taking care of you, I’m focused on you right now.”

“But I-”

He tapped his fingers against her lips, quieting her. “I don’t want to hear any of that, darling. My only concern right now is you. I am perfectly capable of washing myself later.”

There was no room in his tone for argument, and barely awake as she was, she did not have the energy to push back. So she nodded, breathing a quiet acquiescence.

“Good,” he said, tilting his head to the side, his eyes seeming to brighten as they caught the flicker of the light. “Now that’s been settled, shall we get you dried off before you fall asleep?”

That was a wonderful idea, and he snorted as she told him, standing from the tub first before helping her out.

Soapy water shining with iridescent rainbows from all the scented oils Astarion had added puddled at their feet as he fetched a towel, helping her to dry off. He ignored the water entirely, letting it trail after them as he took her back into the main room, snatching up a folded blanket on a pile of linens and wrapping it around her before she started shivering again.

“Sit,” he guided her to the bed, fussing as she sat, drawing the blanket tighter around her. It was old, and the wool scratched at her skin, and she knew there would be rashes tomorrow from where it had touched her. But it was clean, and it was warm, so she didn’t much mind. Especially not when Astarion was fretting over her, trying to dry her dripping hair, layering more blankets on her and settling pillows around her.

“My love,” she wiggled her hand out from the layers of blankets draped over her, finding his. He stopped, eyes wide as though she were about to tell him something was broken. “You’re dripping water everywhere. Please go dry off before you catch a cold.”

He blinked, looked down, as if only realizing now that he had in fact not dried himself off, leaving a trail of puddled footprints from the bathroom to the bed, droplets scattered over her blankets and pillows.

A sly smile curled across his lips, and he shot her a suggestive glance beneath the fan of his ivory lashes. “Perhaps I thought the view would help warm you up quicker.”

“Or perhaps you forgot, and now you’re making me upset because you’re going to get sick.”

He rolled his eyes, amused. “Darling, vampires don’t get sick.” When she did not answer, merely narrowed her eyes at him, he lifted his hands up, palms toward her in surrender. “But since it will make you happy, I will go and finish washing myself and dry off.”

He started to make his way back to the bathroom but stopped, beaming at her over his shoulder. “I’ll be quick, darling. Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m not going to fall asleep.” An empty rebuttal considering how heavy her eyes were, and how often she’d nearly fallen asleep already, and Astarion knew it. 

His head cocked to the side, his brow arched. “You’re full of lies today, my love.”

“I’m not lying!” She spoke in a huff, crossing her arms and slumping forward. “I won’t fall asleep.”

He only laughed, smug as if he were a victor in a game. “It’s hard to believe you, darling. But I do so find your tired moodiness adorable.”

She gaped, unable to come up with a quick retort before he’d vanished into the bathroom.

What did he mean about moodiness? She was not moody, she was just tired, and he’d been upset with her and then he’d teased her mercilessly.

She ended up too focused on her roiling thoughts to doze off, as she surely would have otherwise with the pillows and blankets heaped around her, and when Astarion again emerged she stumbled to her feet, blankets falling by the wayside.

“I’m not moody!” She chucked a pillow at him, and he caught it deftly, looking dazed. “You were just being mean, calling me a liar!”

Astarion tossed the pillow to the side, smirking as understanding dawned in his eyes. “Darling-”

She didn’t let him finish, launching another pillow at him.

Again he caught it, snorting. “You’re proving my point.”

Aspen huffed, turning away and throwing herself onto the bed, her back to Astarion. “Well I’m moody now because you’ve been so mean to me.”

He sighed, although it sounded more like a thinly veiled laugh than anything. “Alright, darling, I won’t call you a liar anymore.”

She faked a sniff, pulling a blanket over her head. She didn’t say anything more, waiting for him to continue.

A moment ticked past, and then another, and then she felt the bed shift as he perched on the edge, leaning over her. “Darling, you must forgive me. I was just so horribly upset. How could I not be when you were making yourself miserable and ill?”

She scrunched into a ball, pulling the blankets around her tighter so she was fully cocooned. “I already said I was sorry.”

He groaned, the sound followed swiftly by his hands tugging at the blankets. “Why are you hiding from me? If you’re trying to punish me there are ways that are much more fun than hiding your pretty face.”

Before Aspen could even consider responding, Astarion was tearing the blankets away, snatching her up into his lap.

“Hey! Let me go!” She tried to escape his grasp, but the blankets tangled around her, making it hard to move, and making it all too easy for him to hold her still.

When it became clear she would not be escaping any time soon she fixed a scowl on him, popping out her bottom lip even as he laughed.

“I did not mean to offend you, my dear.” He snickered as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “You’re just always so grouchy when you’re tired.”

She squirmed, but it was of no use, trapped as she was in his arms. Silently she cursed herself, wishing she’d put a little more effort into building up her strength; she could cast spells but she could not even wiggle out of Astarion’s grasp when he teased her.

“You know I’m right.” He spoke in a sing-song tone, melodious and pretty were it not for the fact that he was teasing her. “Trying to wake you up is like racing into battle.”

“That is not true.” It might have been true, just a little. But maybe that meant she just needed to be held for a while, until she was ready to wake.

Her voice cracked as she amended her earlier statement, Astarion watching quietly with a quirked brow. “Well-”

“Well?”

“Maybe I am a little.”

He hummed. “I wonder what wonderfully clever person told you that first, hm?”

“All it means is that you should cuddle me more when I wake up,” she grumbled. “That would make things better.”

“I suppose that’s something I could consider.” He tapped her lip, eyes bright with mischief. “But what’s in it for me?”

“Cuddling with me, of course,” she said. It had meant to be lilting, silly, but her words came out far too breathy and nervous, like even she didn’t believe what she was saying.

Yet Astarion’s smile reminded her of the gentle light of moonbeams, and he kissed her as if she were something fragile, precious. “That is quite the offer. I can’t think of a reason to say no.”

His gaze was mischievous once more when he pulled away, and his eyes narrowed, the gears in his mind whirring. “Although, I can think of something to sweeten the deal.”

“Oh?” Curiosity perched like a cat on her shoulder. “And what could that be?”

“Promising not to attack me with any more projectiles,” he said, eyes flicking to the discarded pillows. “It makes it hard to get dressed.”

Only then did she remember that neither of them were dressed, and were in fact separated only by a few blankets. Her face heated, and she looked away, fingers balling in the fabric of the scratchy, woolen blanket still wrapped around her. “Oh.”

“Don’t act coy on me now, darling.” But he didn’t tease her further, settling her on the bed beside him. “That’s something we can think about after you’re feeling better.”

Aspen watched him as he stood, crossing the room to crack open the door, checking something in the hall.

For the briefest of moments she was convinced he meant to just walk out of the room, nothing but a towel slung around his narrow hips. He leaned forward, the rustle of paper sounding as he picked something up that she could not see.

“Looks like the innkeeper kept her word, and sent up some fresh clothes.” He returned to her side, unwrapping the package bundled in brown paper he’d plucked from outside the room. “Thank goodness. I need the mud thoroughly cleaned from my things before I’m wearing that again.”

“These must be for you.” He unfolded a simple green dress and dark leggings from beneath the packaging and passed them to her. “They look warm, so they should help.”

Despite her protestations, Astarion helped her to dress, although she did make flimsy protestations before he brushed them away, insistent. His fingers were quick, skilled, deftly threading the back of the dress so it hugged her torso snuggly, securing the ribbons at her hips into a perfect bow, straightening the collar.

“There,” he said, nodding, satisfied with his work. “Better already.”

She pulled at the sleeves, the material much softer than the woolen blanket, keeping in the warmth that had soaked into her bones from the bath. “Thank you, my love. Did you want me to help you now?”

“No, absolutely not.” He took her shoulders, steering her back towards the bed. “You sit down. You still look pale as death.”

“No I do not!”

“Trust me, darling, as someone who is dead, your complexion is not that much different from mine.”

She muttered under her breath about what a mother hen he’d become and he snorted.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he called, dressing quickly. “Because I’m sure it’s only because you’re tired and not because you’re upset that I am lavishing my attentions on you.”

When he was done he padded over to where their packs had been abandoned, snatching up a book from her bag and handing it to her. “This is the one you’ve been reading most recently, right?”

“It is.” She took the book tentatively, confused. “Why?”

“To keep your mind occupied,” he said with a shrug, fiddling with his sleeves, nose wrinkling. “I’m going to head down to find you some food. I don’t want you to fall asleep while I’m gone.”

“Will you be very long?” The pages fanned out as she flicked through quickly, but her eyes never left Astarion.

Humming, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I won’t be long. Just promise not to fall asleep yet.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Aspen listened to his footsteps as he vanished from the room, wilting a little when she could not hear him any longer. It was hard to keep up her energy, to not give in to the heaviness that made her feel like she’d been cursed to turn slowly to stone.

It felt colder too, everything felt colder. She pulled her sleeves over her fingers, tugged blankets around her shoulders, but the shivers returned, frost spreading through her veins, ice crackling over her bones.

Blowing breath on her fingers, she flipped through the pages of her book, ears straining as she tried to listen to the muffled sounds of the tavern below. Snippets of conversation, echoes of laughter, the clink of plates. She reread the same page over and over, the words blurring together, the page itself turning fuzzy, distracted as she was while trying to listen for Astarion’s voice, searching for him in a crowd she couldn’t see.

Pinching herself was of little use, but still Aspen tried, even as her vision grew bleary, the voices she could pick up seeming to hush. Was it truly growing quieter, or was she falling asleep?

It would be so easy, to just stop fighting her fatigue and let herself slip away, to let her dreams take hold. The pain in her belly was a distant memory, a dull ache in comparison to the weight of her arms, of her head. Surely she could sleep now, and eat later. Surely that would be okay, and Astarion would understand.

Ah, but he’d been insistent, and she didn’t want to upset him. Had she not upset him enough today?

She hadn’t tried to, and yet she had, piercing his heart, provoking his ire.

Aspen didn’t realize that sinking into her mind would make it far too easy for her to begin to doze. As her mind wandered, her eyes fell closed, her body settling in the piles of blankets and pillows she was engulfed in. Yet all she could think of was how she could not fall asleep, not yet, because Astarion had asked her not to until he’d returned.

It was lucky that he returned quickly, her mind already half gone, her worries of upsetting him washing away beneath the ocean of unconsciousness reaching for her.

The click of the door shutting roused her, a savoury aroma filling the room. She lifted her head, trying and failing to open her eyes, not having even realized they’d closed in the first place. “Astarion?”

“Looks like someone didn’t listen,” he chided.

“I didn’t fall asleep!” She forced herself into a sitting position, scrubbing her face until she could keep her eyes open. “See! I’m awake.”

He looked like he didn’t believe her, clicking his tongue as he carried a tray heaped with food towards her. “That’s not what it looked like when I came in.”

She batted her lashes, hoping he would cave to a sweet expression and wouldn’t lecture her again. “Maybe I was dreaming of you.”

His smile was far too knowing, and undoubtedly he did not believe her at all. “Yet if you’d stayed awake you would have seen the real me in only a few minutes.”

“There’s no winning with you,” she grumbled, giving up on her facade. “I didn’t mean to, I did try.”

“I’m sure you did, my darling.” He settled beside her, the tray balanced on his lap. “But now that you’re fully awake, you should eat before you go back to sleep.”

She eyed the tray, curious about what he’d gotten. A bowl of stew with chunks of beef and potatoes and carrots swimming in the thick broth. A hunk of bread leaned against the bowl, the crust soaking up the broth, crumbs scattered over the surface of the stew. A little pie the size of her palm rested on the edge of the tray, beside a pastry she did not recognize, and a small mug of something absolutely steaming.

She lifted the mug first, the smell of cinnamon and cardamom and something sweet wafting over her.

“What is it?” She asked, cupping it in her hands, grateful for the warmth that seeped into her palms.

He shrugged. “I didn’t ask, I just told the innkeeper you needed something warm, and you liked sweet things.” He bared his fangs as he grinned. “Like me.”

She rolled her eyes, setting the mug to the side. “Thank you, love, you really have been so sweet.”

“I’m always sweet,” he drawled. “But only for you.”

“What about those orphans we helped a few weeks ago.”

“I- We-” He could not seem to finish his sentence, mouth opening and closing again. “That was different.”

Reaching for the tray, Aspen couldn’t help but laugh. “If you insist.”

The tray was promptly whisked out of her reach, Astarion shaking his head, a line forming between his brows. “No, no, absolutely not. I don’t trust you not to spill everything everywhere.”

She gaped at him as he lifted the tray higher. “I’m not a baby, I’m not going to spill everything!”

“Aspen.” So rarely did he use her first name that she paused, although she was loath to relax her glower.

“You were very nearly asleep until the moment I walked back in,” he began, lowering the tray until it rested in his lap once more. “And you could barely move your fingers no more than thirty minutes ago.”

Aspen considered pouting, reiterating “I’m not a baby, Astarion.”

“I never said you were, darling.” He lifted a spoonful of stew, brows arched. “But right now I don’t trust you’re strong enough. And I’d rather do it myself.”

She eyed the spoon with trepidation, feeling absurd. Was she not strong enough to take care of herself?

“Darling.” Astarion clicked his tongue, drawing her attention back to him as he spoke. His eyes were wide and pleading, his own expression schooled into a beseeching pout. “We’re supposed to take care of each other, both of us. So let me take care of you.”

A pause, a wrinkle of his nose. “Please.”

All her resistance gave way against him, that tentative ‘please’ a pebble holding together a dam that crumbled without it.

She slouched, giving up. “Alright, since you’re being so insistent.”

Astarion hummed, smug as he brought the spoon to her lips. “I’m so glad you’ve seen reason, my dear. Although, even if you hadn’t I would have convinced you eventually.”

With her mouth full she couldn’t argue with him, and he seemed delighted by her inability to do so. He chattered as she ate, not giving her much of a chance to get a word in edgewise to quarrel as he fed her. About the book he had finished reading, about how they would have to stop at the orphanage again when they headed back towards the city. He even preened, saying how lucky she was to have him, how he adored her so, how he would never help anyone else to eat when they were poorly, on her.

At times though, he would grow soft, his voice gentle as a caress. He would dab a napkin to her cheek or wipe crumbs from her face, his murmurations as delicate as spider’s silk.

“Stay with me, darling,” he would say, trusting her enough to hand her the mug but little else. “You’re doing so well.”

Slowly but surely the final dregs of her embarrassment fell away entirely, and Aspen was content to listen to the ebb and flow of his voice as he talked. She liked the sound of his voice, and whether he was griping about the poor weather and how it would affect his curls or murmuring adulations in her ear, she was happy to listen. Felt herself soothed by the cadence of his voice, the dramatic sighs, the ups and downs as he groused, as he sang his own praises. It did not matter what he said, only that it was he who said it, only that it was his voice that reached her ears.

When she’d eaten the last of the food, flakey bits of the pastry and specks of cherry jam sticking to her lips, Astarion stood to set the tray on the little table in their room before returning. He seemed pleased, leaning forward to wipe the last of the food from her face.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His thumb brushed her lip, and she took the opportunity to nip him lightly in response.

He chuckled, waiting for her to release his finger before speaking. “Still being unruly, I see. And after everything I’ve done to help.”

“I could have done it myself,” she grumbled. Yet there was no ire in her words, no hard edge to fling at him. It was an empty argument,  a weightless defense, and they both knew it. She could have done it, yes, but it was better that Astarion had helped.

If she were being honest, had he not helped she very likely would have passed out after a few bites, spilling stew and pastries all over herself and the blankets.

He hummed, content to quietly brush off the remaining crumbs from her cheek with a touch so delicate it was like she were made of glass. There was a smirk playing on his lips, and he didn’t bother trying to conceal how smug he was. He didn’t have to respond to her protestation, not when he could see through her as clearly as through glass.

After a few moments of silence, Aspen crumbled, tired of her own obstinance. Astarion had settled his hand on her cheek, stroking the corner of her mouth with his thumb, and she leaned into the touch, savouring the feel of his cool skin against hers.

She was warm enough now that she could feel the slight difference, his body cooler than hers, even as he continued to hold her face. She had him to thank for that, his teasing and patience and love making her feel whole and alive again.

“Astarion?” His brows creased as she said his name, concern flashing in the crimson of his eyes. She covered his hand with hers, hoping to convey that nothing was wrong, that he didn’t have to be worried.

“What is it, love?” His free hand reached up to smooth her bangs, wisps flying up at awkward angles. “Planning to bicker some more?”

She shook her head. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

The bob of his throat was the only indication that she’d surprised him. Not even his eyes widened, and he continued to stroke her cheek gently.

“I’m sorry for being so difficult.” She lowered her eyes, picking at the thread of a blanket. “I have a hard time accepting help from anyone or letting someone take care of me. But I’ve been particularly stubborn and frustrating for you.”

“I-” There was a huff of laughter, followed by a sigh. Both Astarion’s hands cupped her cheeks, tilting her head until their eyes met. “Look at me, darling.”

She did, twisting the fabric of her blanket between her fingers, her heart forgetting to beat as she waited for him to speak.

“I love you,” he said, clear as bells, as birdsong at dawn. His smile was no longer so self-satisfied, yet his lips remained quirked up like a crescent moon. “I love all of you, even when you’re being difficult. And to be clear, you have been extremely difficult. And terribly vexing.”

She wilted a little, despite the humour in his tone. “I’m sorry.”

Astarion clicked his tongue, pinching her cheek until she yelped. “My dear, I wasn’t looking for an apology. I…” He trailed off, softening his hold. “I understand that it can be difficult to accept care. I just hope you understand that I will always be here for you. That I will always take care of you.”

“It’s just that…” How did she find the right words? It upset him when she said she felt like a burden, or that she felt like a bother. But how else could she give the feeling form?

Restless as he usually was, in this moment Astarion seemed to have endless patience. “Just what?”

She chewed on the corner of her lip, forcing the words from her mouth. “I suppose it is just that, I feel like you ought to be the one being taken care of. And I want to take care of you, and I want to make sure you’re happy and comfortable and are never burdened.”

A sharp flash in his eyes told her he hadn’t missed that mention of being burdened, but he let it slide with a drawn out sigh. “As benevolent a desire as that is, have you considered what I want?”

“What do you mean?”

He pinched the curve of her ear, slid his hand up into her hair as he mulled over his response. “What I mean, is that I do want to be tended to by you, and spoiled and lavished with your love and care.” He curled his fingers around the soft baby-hairs at the nape of her neck, the cool touch of his hand making her skin tingle.

“And I want to take care of you too,” he continued, his gaze steady as it held hers. She remembered, not so long ago, how difficult it was for him to hold her gaze as he confessed whatever he was hiding in his heart. 

How he had changed, confident in how he felt, in the bond they shared, able to unveil to her what he felt in his heart without fear.

“I want to lavish you with my love, and spoil you in every way I can.” Some of his smugness returned, a glimmer of self-satisfaction as he lifted his head, cocked it to the side. “I am, after all, quite a generous, adoring lover. And I fully intend to show you just how adoring and generous I can be.”

Aspen giggled, loosening her grip on the blanket. She did not want to cling to a piece of fabric so much as she wanted to cling to him. And when her hands settled on his waist he smiled wider, pleased at how she wanted him.

“There is no one like you, Astarion,” she said, warmed by his words, her thoughts fuzzy, their edges soft. Her heart felt like sunshine danced across it, and her skin tingled like she’d been stretched out on a sun-warmed rock.

“I should hope not,” he scoffed. “I’m one-of-a-kind, darling.”

“You are,” she agreed. She slid her hands up his sides, over his chest, settling them above where his heart beat a slow, nearly indiscernible rhythm. It was little more than a flicker, a flutter of a pulse that she sometimes mistook for the thrum of her own heart.

But she felt it now, a steady, languid pulse beneath her palms. As surely as her whole world was contained in his eyes, she could feel his heart, fighting to give him some semblance of life.

“There is no one like you,” she murmured. The only one who needed to hear her words was him, and his ears were keen enough to pick up even her quietest whispers, attuned to the rise and fall of her voice. “There is no one as sweet, or as beautiful. There is no one who is more dear to me, no one I cherish more.”

He hummed, pleased to receive such compliments.

With one hand remaining on his chest, she lifted the other to his curls, feeling their silken strands between her fingertips. “You outshine the stars, my love. Not even the darkest shadows can hide your light. You make everything infinitely better, even this miserable storm.”

His eyes creased, a tender look filling their depths. His smile was soft as spun sugar, and her teeth ached from it.

“You’re quite gifted at poetry,” he drawled, no hint of mischief in his tone. There was only affection, reverence staining the edges of his words, like she had composed some mythic masterpiece, like she was a muse of poetry and song.

“I’m only telling you how I feel,” she said, softer still. She felt suddenly sheepish, worried she had spoken utter nonsense. “It’s all true, Astarion. You’re my whole world.”

He brought her face close, dropped his own until there was not even breath between them, lips brushing together in a kiss as delicate as the patterns of a snowflake.

There was no heat to this kiss, no desperate hunger, no clash of teeth and tongue. There was only a gentle warmth, the emotions in their hearts needing no words to be conveyed. 

She was so thankful for him, was content to spend the rest of her days at his side. She was sorry for how she had fought against him, and she wanted to accept his love and his care.

And he loved her, all of her, even the frustrating parts, the parts that railed impulsively. He wanted her, wanted to be with her, wanted to love her. And he was thankful for her beside him, for her love.

Each a balm to the other’s soul, each bringing the other’s heart a little serenity.

The kiss had not been feverish or intense, yet Aspen felt breathless all the same as it broke, the air from her lungs stolen as her heart ached from the touch of his lips. He did not draw back very far, leaving only enough space for them both to draw breath, for him to speak.

“How sublime,” he breathed, the sharp tips of his fangs nipping her bottom lip. “That your entire world is someone as wondrous as me.”

She felt his smile against her lips and she laughed, shoulders trembling as he brushed a kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, his lashes tickling her skin.

“You’re so very clever with your words, my love,” he praised. “Perhaps you should write a song about how perfect I am, and about how much you love me.”

She giggled as his teeth found their way to the pulse in her neck, teasing rather than sinking into the flesh. “I could surely write many songs about you.”

“You should,” he said, giving one last nip before drawing away, mischief in his eyes. “I want all of Faerûn to know how it pales in comparison to me.”

“Would you truly want that?” Curiosity got the better of her, and she found herself wondering if he really did want that. If he would like a book of songs dedicated all to him, to everything she loved about him. “What if I waxed poetic about your smile lines? Or the creases at the corners of your eyes? Or how your hair reminds me of moonlight?”

He seemed amused by her inquiry, humming. “Well if it were coming from anyone else I would feel insulted, since there are much nicer things to focus on than my hair or my wrinkles.” He sighed. “I’m supposed to be eternally youthful, anyways.”

“So you wouldn’t like that?”

His brow arched. “Patience, darling. I wasn’t done yet, was I?”

She rolled her eyes, and he gave her a playful pinch in response.

“As I was saying,” he continued, rolling his own eyes skyward. “If it were from someone else, I would not be particularly fond of hearing such things. But from you, my love? They would be the sweetest praise.”

Now it was Aspen’s turn to take his face, cupping it in her hands so she could kiss the tip of his nose, his brow, everywhere she could find until he was laughing.

“I love you, Astarion,” she said against his skin. “I love all of you. I think every part of you is perfect.”

“I should hope so,” he said between breaths. “I am perfect.”

She kissed him again, muttering under her breath that she wished he would just take the compliment, which only made him laugh harder.

“Write me those songs, darling,” he teased. “I can think of no greater compliment.”

“Maybe I will,” she huffed. “An entire book of them. So many that you’ll grow tired of them.”

“Oh, my dear, I could never grow tired of you singing my praises. I love the sound of your voice.” He pried her away, a delicate pink staining his cheeks. “But speaking of tired, I do think it’s time you went to sleep.”

Aspen gaped, shocked he would push her away like that. Had she annoyed him?

“Don’t look at me like that, love,” he sighed, but it was obvious he was amused. “You could barely walk a few hours ago, you kept falling asleep in the bathtub, and you nearly fell asleep again in the few minutes I went to get you something to eat. As much as I enjoy your company, I want you to sleep so you can feel better.”

“But-”

She didn’t even have time to pout before he was cutting her off, his smirk infuriating as he tutted. “No, none of that. You’re tired, and you need your rest, and I am more than happy to oblige in helping you.”

He shrugged, although he looked anything but indifferent, eyes narrowing to knife-sharp slits, lips quirking higher. “Perhaps if you’re good, there will be a reward when you wake.”

“What kind of reward?”

Another shrug, a feigned expression of ambivalence. “I guess you’ll have to go to sleep to find out.”

Grumbling under breath, she pulled her legs up to her chest, glowering at him. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” He stood, waving his hands at the bed. “Now come on. Time for sleep.”

Far quicker than her mind could process, the fatigue she’d been fighting against for so long making it feel like she was watching the world through thick mud, Astarion tugged the sheets and blankets free. Pillows fell to the side and he sighed, leaning down to reorganize them, fluffing them so they were puffy and inviting as they were laid out on the bed.

His brow arched high as his gaze swept back to where she was still curled, unmoving. “Lie down, my love.”

It was hard to resist the siren song of a comfortable bed and warm sheets, even harder to resist the warmth in his eyes, the way he was indulging her. She laid back, head sinking against the pillows, already her eyes falling closed, the last of her energy draining away.

She could hear the rustle of the sheets, feel them sliding over her body, warmth gathering beneath her ribs as she felt Astarion fussing around her. Straightening the blankets, checking the pillows, asking her if she was comfortable.

“I’d be more comfortable if I wasn’t alone in the bed,” she murmured. She tried to force her eyes open, but it was hard, and they were so heavy.

She could hear a snort, his hand ghosting over her cheek. “You can relax, my love. I would never dream of leaving you alone.”

In another moment she felt the mattress shift, Astarion’s weight joining hers on the bed. The blankets shifted, all of his hard work tucking them all so perfectly coming undone as he slid behind her. His arms wrapped around her waist, fingers fanning out over her stomach, his breath tickling the back of her neck. She could smell the rosemary and bergamot lingering on his skin, the floral scent of the soaps and oils he had so generously used. Cold as his body was, she felt warmer, safer.

“How’s this?” He murmured, lips brushing a kiss just behind her ear.

She managed to open her eyes as she twisted around to face him, palm pressed to his cheek as she caught his lips in a kiss. “It’s much better.”

Astarion laughed, warm as mulled wine, bright as starlight. “I know you’re always sleeping with that ratty stuffed bear, but he’s at the bottom of your pack so you’ll just have to make do with me.”

“First of all,” she said, fighting to keep her words from slurring together. “He is not ratty. I restuffed him and sewed up his torn arm. He’s good as new.”

Bemusement lined his face as he raised his brows. “I remember having to undo those stitches and resew him properly. And I remember having to replace his eyes when they fell out.”

“But he’s not ratty!”

“I suppose not anymore,” he conceded, looking on the verge of laughter.

“And second,” she continued, deciding to ignore his efforts to tease her further. She loved that bear, so what if it was a little old? “I’m not ‘making do’ with you. I love you.”

She twisted around until she was lying on her side, facing him. She prodded his chest, huffing. “I love you, and I love holding you and being held by you. How could you say such a thing?” As if he was inferior somehow, as if his arms weren’t where she was happiest, as if she didn’t love to wrap her own arms around him, cradle his head against her chest?

Her response was unexpected, and too late did she realize he had merely been teasing her before, as he blinked at her, eyes wide.

“Sorry,” she ducked her head, cheeks burning. She was so tired she’d completely missed the devilry in his words. He’d merely been joking and she had taken it far too seriously.

Astarion clicked his tongue, brushing hair back from her cheek. “There’s nothing to apologize for, my love.”

He spoke softly, the tenor of his voice spreading through her, wrapping around her ribs like ivy, blooming in her heart. The tension in her body eased, and she looked back up to find him watching her with adoration.

“I will have to keep that in mind,” he murmured, drawing her closer against him. “Since you’re so fond of me holding you, I would never wish to deny you such a pleasure.”

The smell of his perfumes was stronger now, as she buried her face against his chest, sinking into his embrace. “Thank you.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, rubbing patterns into her back. “I would give you the entire world if I could, you know.”

“You already are my entire world,” she said, her words muffled against his shirt. “I only want you.”

The reverberations of his laughter rumbled from his chest, spreading through the valleys of her chest, the caverns of her bones, the sea of her veins. It echoed like a song, unfurling as birdsong did in the open skies.

“Perhaps I need to spoil you like this more often,” he mused, his cold fingers rubbing small circles against the back of her neck. “So I can listen to your praises.”

“I compliment you all the time.” She yawned, her mind beginning to wander. He smelled so nice, and cool as his fingertips were, he was comfortable, and he warmed her heart.

“Yes,” he said, his voice hushed, reverent. “You do. Your heart is generous and sweet.”

“I’m not sure I would go that far.”

He huffed, laughter echoing in the sound. “I would. So you’ll just have to trust me, darling.”

She peeked up at him with bleary eyes, smiling. “I do trust you.”

“Good.” He stroked her cheek, his brow creasing. “Then you won’t mind if I do this more often.”

“Sleeping with me?” She frowned. “Astarion, you sleep with me every night.”

“No.” He rolled his eyes, snorting. “I meant taking care of you, darling. Lavishing you with my affections.” His expression softened, eyes finding hers again. “I find I rather like it.”

“Maybe I should let you.” She nestled closer, a sigh on her lips. “I like it, too.”

He hummed, fingers curling in her hair. “Really? After all your quarreling?” He tugged her hair, the corners of his lips curling up. “What changed your mind?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” she grumbled. “Only that I feel like I’m causing trouble, and I feel like I’m making you think you have to take care of me.” His fingers loosened in her hair, slowly combing through the damp strands, and she tipped her head back to look up at him fully. “But it was your sweet words that have convinced me that it’s not as troublesome as I’d thought.”

“It’s not troublesome in the least,” he corrected, giving her an indulgent smile. “And I’m glad I was able to make you see reason. I know that’s not one of your strong suits.”

She gaped, shooting an arm out to pinch him before he could stop her. “I can be reasonable!”

Astarion did not so much as wince, his soft laughter feathering over her brow and her hair, tangling in the strands along with his fingers. “Alright, that’s enough of that. You must sleep now.”

“But I like talking to you.” She was trying to whine, but a yawn was scrabbling its way up her throat, and the words came out garbled and squeaky, earning nothing but more laughter. “Don’t laugh! Don’t laugh at me!”

“My darling,” he cooed, stroking her cheek. “As adorable as that was, and as flattered as I am, I really want you to sleep. I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

She wanted to argue further, but another yawn was twisting her face, and she quickly covered her mouth, although that did little to hide it from Astarion.

“Sleep,” he insisted, leaning forward until his lips brushed her ear. “You can think of all those songs you’re going to write about me in your dreams,” he murmured, tucking the blankets around her shoulders. “How does that sound?”

She hummed. “Sounds nice.”

“Then sleep.” He dropped a final kiss to her cheek, before drawing her against his chest once more. “And you can tell me all about it when you wake.”

“Promise?” The words felt heavy as they passed from her lips, but still she had to say them, had to fight her fatigue for one final moment. She tightened her hands in his shirt.

“You’re being incredibly needy, you know.” His teasing words were belied by the softness in his gaze, the way his eyes creased as he ran the pad of his finger over the curve of her ear. “Yes, my darling, I promise. I will be here when you wake, and I will listen to you tell me all about your dreams.”

Aspen nestled close, tucking her head against his chest, the quiet hush of his breath in her hair as his chest rose and fell lulling her mind. With her eyes closed, wrapped in his arms, it was easy to succumb to unconsciousness, lapping at her feet like sun-warmed waves, frothing around her ankles, beckoning her out to sea.

She was nearly fully asleep when she heard his voice again, a caress to her cheek, a delicate trill of fingertips on her skin. “Aspen?”

“Hmmm?” She had forgotten how to speak, how to bring form to her thoughts. There was nothing she could do but hum, a pleasant buzzing in her throat that she hoped he could hear.

“I’d like if you were needy more often. I want to take care of you, my love.”

She tightened her arms around him, pressing her face closer against his chest in answer.

She could rely on him, she could be vulnerable with him. And she could show him how much she truly did need him, how terrible she always wanted him close.

“I love you. I always need you, I always want you.”

Aspen didn’t know if she’d said the words aloud, or if they’d only been echoes in her mind as she was drawn out to sea, but the huff of laughter in her hair brought her back to shore, if only for a moment. She could just make out the words he murmured against the top of her head, the brush of his lips as he punctuated them with one last kiss.

“I love you, too. I will always be here with you.”

And then she was gone, lost beneath the white-capped waves of her mind, dreams of songs dedicated to fanged smiles and bright crimson eyes creasing when they found hers bubbling around her like seafoam. Dreams of a life spent with hands intertwined settling like an anchor in sand, her heart finding safe harbour with her beloved.

#astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #honey the sweeter the sun #self reblog!!!!!

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@spacebarbarianweird

If You Need To, Darling, Lean Your Weight On Me: Succor

Summary: At Astarion's insistence, they find somewhere to stay to wait out the storm. Cold, tired, and covered in mud and rain, Aspen is still not entirely willing to let herself be tended to, not that he is having any of that.

Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (OC Aspen)

Warnings: Suggestive comments

A request from the wonderful @spacebarbarianweird !!!!! Thank you so much for this request and your patience!!!!! <3

Table of Contents

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Much to Aspen’s surprise, there really was somewhere for them to stay in the middle of nowhere.

Astarion preened smugly as she gawked at the stout inn. A buttery golden glow spilled from the windows and the cracks around the door, plumes of grey smoke spilling from an old brick chimney. The smell of roasting meats and melting butter and herbs and onions and spices she couldn’t name wafted from the inn on the bruising wind, softening its cold sting.

Her stomach cramped, dull pain radiating through her belly. She’d been too cold and miserable to even notice how hungry she was, but as the savoury smells of whatever delicious things were being cooked found her, she felt a wave of pain wash over her. Not just from the cold, or the exhaustion, but from a hunger so deep she felt like someone had torn a hole through her body.

She whined, leaning against Astarion as they stumbled over the muddy ground, towards the start of the little cobbled path that led to the front of the inn.

“What’s wrong?” He arched one ivory brow, infuriatingly beautiful despite the downpour. 

There was mud caked to his boots, his trousers. His cloak was limp, blades of grass and fallen leaves and clumps of mud clinging to the hem. Once a beautiful, deep vermillion, it now looked midnight dark from the renewed storm. And yet despite how bedraggled he ought to look, as she no doubt did, he looked nothing less than enchanting. Ethereal.

He looked like a forest nymph stepping out from a storybook. Like a fairy princeling in a song. His eyes were star-bright, his face stained with a delicate cherry-blossom flush from the cold. The raindrops that fell on him glittered like they were made of quicksilver moonbeams, and his ivory curls, although plastered to his brow, looked like they’d been styled that way by a god.

Even his mud-splattered clothes seemed refined. Although his boots were a mess, the intricate, gold embroidery that was stitched across his shirt and his trousers still shone. They were reminiscent of flashes of sunshine, of the veins of gold that glimmered from between the darkness of the clouds.

His brows rose, the perfect picture of regal bemusement. Had she any skill in drawing she could spend the rest of her years painting portraits of fairies and gods and princes in his likeness.

He chuckled at her poorly veiled wonder, slipping an arm around her waist, tucking her against his side. It was a cumbersome way to walk, and yet she felt grateful, in spite of the ire provoked by how effortlessly beautiful he always was, even after traipsing through the wild in a constant squall. His support was welcome, comforting, kindling a small ember of warmth in the soggy, cold depths of her heart.

“See?” He murmured, his smile devilish. “I’m right here, I’ll always be right here for you.”

“Whatever they’re making in there smells so good,” she whined, her cheek falling on his shoulder. “I’m so hungry my stomach hurts.”

“My poor darling,” he crooned, half dragging her now over the slick cobblestones that snaked up towards the door. “Just a little further now, and I’ll make sure we have the best room they have to offer.”

He was a balm to her aching skin, a lullaby to her tired mind. He was a kernel of warmth flaring bright in a pile of soggy kindling, catching fire against all odds.

When they reached the door he held her closer, ushering her through in front of him. In less than a moment she went from the frigid chill of the storm to a near blistering warmth that tangled around her like a blanket.

It was so sudden she coughed, choking on the heat, on the smell of sizzling foods, of the chatter in the simple room stretching before them. Water pooled at her feet, mud trailing behind her as she stumbled forward on weak legs, doing her best not to look like a lunatic as she breathed deeply, as her skin began to tingle and burn from the sudden warmth cascading over her cold, clammy skin.

She was standing in a tavern, lit by soft candlelight that flickered across the simple wooden tables that were scattered throughout the room. It was mostly empty, with only a handful of tables further to the back occupied by a few couples, a group of adventurers playing a card game, and one tired looking family with a squalling newborn. A woman with wispy brown hair was flitting between the tables, setting down steaming bowls of stew and heaping plates of meats and potatoes and sandwiches.

Another pang of hunger cut through Aspen’s belly, and she would have keeled over had Astarion not wrapped his arm around her waist once more.

“Easy now, darling,” he murmured, brushing his lips over where her ear was hidden beneath her cloak. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Maybe I’m just swooning from your touch,” she muttered, peering up at him from underneath her hood. “You’re holding me so romantically.”

“Darling.” He sounded like he was humouring her, like she was being silly and naive. “When I’m touching you romantically, you’ll know.”

“Maybe I find everything you do romantic.”

He snorted. “I’m flattered, but if you swoon here, then how will you make it to our room?”

She shrugged, tugging her hood back to give him the prettiest smile she could muster, bedraggled and sodden though she was. “Perhaps I just want to be carried. After all there is nowhere I like being more than in your arms.”

Beneath the shadows of his hood she could see how his eyes darkened, how his canines caught the golden light as his lips spread wide in a devious smile. Their sharp tips gleamed wickedly, and it made her mouth go dry as her mind stumbled over all the memories of the times he’d teased her with those teeth, and all the times he’d plunged them into her skin.

But before Astarion could respond, a clear voice rang out, grabbing their attention. The woman set a tray of dirty glasses and plates on an empty table before hurrying towards them, her brow furrowed as she took them in.

“Look at the state of you two!” She cried, planting her hands on her hips as she looked them both up and down. Upon closer look, Aspen noted the soft curve of the woman’s ears, tapering off into delicate points. “You look like you’ve been lost in this storm all night!”

Aspen gave a small nod as Astarion pulled down his hood, rivulets of water slipping down his cheeks in streams of silver, liquid moonlight gilding his features. “We thought it would clear up earlier, but-”

The half-elven woman frowned, shaking her head. “It’s storm season. We’ve had rainstorms last for weeks before.”

Aspen cringed, covering her face. She really should have done more research on weather patterns before they’d begun this little escapade. Then they could have at least packed the appropriate gear.

“Well that sounds…” Astarion trailed off, and Aspen, face still hidden behind her hands, could imagine the little wrinkle to his nose, the creases around his mouth as his lips tilted into a frown. “Deeply annoying.”

“We’re used to it around her. Plus it gives us an excuse to break out all our nicest spices to warm everyone up.”

Astarion’s responding hum sounded amused, and Aspen peaked up to see his lips quirked into a smirk.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any rooms suitable for warming up guests available, would you?” He traced his fingers over her side where his hand still rested as he spoke, leaving the faintest impression of warmth in their wake. His words were smooth and sweet as honey, his lips twisting into a smirk as he tried charming the woman. “We’ve been travelling all night and I fear my lover is in danger of falling ill.”

Too tired to level a glower at him, Aspen merely closed her eyes, annoyance sparking and vanishing just as quickly. He hummed at her lackluster response, having hoped to stoke her ire, to garner a reaction from crooning that they were lovers to this stranger.

He wasn’t wrong, but he seemed particularly fond of ‘lover’ and all its implications, and the heat that scalded her cheeks whenever the word rolled from his lips.

The woman, for her part, only giggled. Aspen opened her eyes to see the woman cross her arms, a small smile on her face as she nodded. “I’m sure we have a room that can accommodate the two of you.”

“We would be most grateful.” Astarion bobbed his head as he spoke, his tone dulcet, warm. Her teeth ached from the sweetness she heard in his words, like they had been dipped in sugar.

Or maybe she was just tired, and her fatigue was making her vulnerable to his saccharine machinations.

Not that she’d ever been particularly resilient to them in the first place.

She trailed along beside Astarion, the arm still securely wrapped around her holding her fast to his side, as the woman gestured for them to follow her. She led them towards the back of the tavern, the delicious smells of melted butter and spices and something delicious and sugary growing stronger. The air seemed heavy with the smells, and Aspen felt like she could taste each dish on her tongue, her mouth watering as her mind conjured images of platters heavy with potatoes and stew and bread and every manner of dessert.

The tavern was much larger than she’d thought at first sigh, and it took a few moments for a simple bar to come into view, stretching across the length of the far wall. Behind it was a set of old double-doors, two windows glowing with firelight on either side. Sounds she hadn’t heard at first seemed to billow out from the windows along with the smell of melting butter and frying onions. The clang of metal against metal, the crackling of wood consumed by fire, the searing of vegetables in a skillet.

It was as painful as gums after a tooth had been torn free. She could not stop poking at it, could not stop focusing her attention on the smells, the sounds, even as pain from her empty stomach cut through her as easily as a knife through warm butter.

Through it all, the woman chattered, oblivious to Aspen’s discomfort, explaining to them that her name was Thistle, that she had inherited the inn from her parents, that she was the current innkeeper and could help them with anything for however long they stayed.

“You’ll have to forgive me for chatting,” she said, gesturing to two seats at the end of the bar. She rounded one side, ducking down behind the counter, her voice muffled as she continued speaking. “It’s the off-season, so we don’t usually get many visitors, aside from some of our regulars. And it’s always so fun to speak with newcomers. To learn about all the people passing through.”

She emerged a moment later, popping up like a children’s toy, startling Aspen so thoroughly that she nearly toppled from her seat. Had Astarion not caught her, looking like he was barely holding back a mocking comment, she would have most likely fallen on her face on the worn wooden floor.

Heedless of Aspen’s near-mishap, Thistle set a massive, cracking tome on the top of the bar, flipping idly through the pages.

“Let me see…” She hummed as she began running her fingers down lines that Aspen could not quite make out. “A room for two. Any particular amenities in mind?”

“A full bathroom,” Astarion said, keeping one hand on Aspen even as she fully settled in her seat. “With hot water, naturally.”

“Naturally,” she drawled, tapping her cheek.

“We’d like a small table to take our meals.” He smirked, leaning forward to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. “My beloved is a bit shy.”

Fatigued as she was, Aspen was never so fatigued she could not spare the energy to pinch him for saying something that silly. In response he merely pried her hand from his side, bringing it to his lips and pressing kisses to her fingertips.

“We would also appreciate some fresh linens, and dry clothes if you have any to spare,” he said, sparing Thistle a glance as he lowered Aspen’s hand. “And we’re not particular about any sort of view.”

“Not much to look at other than trees and rain anyways,” Thistle mused, drumming her fingers over the book. “I think I have the perfect room. Hold tight, and I’ll grab your keys.”

She ducked beneath the bar again, and Aspen had the foresight to clutch Astarion’s arm in anticipation of the jump-scare of the innkeeper bouncing up again with no warning.

He chuckled, trailing a finger over the back of her hand. “It seems like you’ve taken my words to heart.”

She frowned, although she did not loosen her hold. Her mind spun slowly, thoughts moving at a glacial pace as she struggled to figure out what he was talking about. “What?”

Another snort, the brush of his lips to her brow. “That you can rely on me to take care of you.”

“I’m just having a hard time sitting because my side is numb,” she grumbled. Her side wasn’t numb in the least, and even if it was she didn’t think that would lead to her needing to lean so heavily on Astarion.

Not that she was about to divulge those details to him.

He continued to sketch his finger over the back of her hand, his smile sly as he pressed chaste kisses to her cheek and her nose. “If you need support,” he murmured, with all the heat of a heady summer’s day. “You can sit on my lap. I’m sure I can-”

She was rescued from his teasing as Thistle popped up once more, beaming as she dangled an aging brass key before them. “Sorry, that took a minute! We’ve been doing some reorganizing and the room keys have all been moved.”

Astarion took the key before Aspen could even make one finger twitch, Thistle still chattering on, unaware of the mischief that had nearly transpired.

“You’ll be in room 29,” Thistle said. “Ninth room, second floor. There’s a set of stairs that will take you up to the guest rooms. It doesn’t have much of a view, but it’s one of our larger rooms, and it has everything you’re looking for.” She pulled a pen from one of the pockets in her apron, marking something off in the book. “And I’ll make sure to send someone up shortly with some fresh clothes. I think we should have a few things that fit the two of you until we can get your own clothes properly cleaned.”

Aspen started to protest, realizing not only were they being provided clothes, Thistle was also offering a cleaning service for them. She didn’t want to put her out, especially since they had barged in so suddenly, and the cost would certainly be exorbitant.

But Astarion cut her off before the words could even tumble from her mouth, a charming smile on his lips as he spun the key around his finger. “That all sounds wonderful, we’re much obliged.”

Thistle beamed all the brighter, shutting the heavy book with a dull thud. “It’s my pleasure. Now, would the two of you like something to eat?”

Astarion shot a glance at Aspen, his brows drawing together as he took her in. She must have looked utterly dishevelled, because he nodded sharply, covering the hand that was still clutching her arm. “If it’s not too much trouble, just something small and simple for now.”

“I’ll be right back!” And then Thistle was gone, swallowed by the golden light of the kitchens as she vanished behind the doors.

When Astarion turned to Aspen again all his mischief was gone. He looked strangely somber, his brow wrinkling in concern, his lips quirked to the side as he cupped her face, eyes searching hers.

“Darling, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” He pushed back a lock of hair that was stuck to her face, droplets of water sliding down her throat as he tucked it back behind her ear. “You look positively dreadful.”

She tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a hiccup. “Strange. I was thinking how you looked like a prince in a storybook.”

He clicked his tongue, his lips curling up in a half-smile. “You’re sweet, but I’m sure the weather has absolutely ruined my hair.”

“No,” she shook her head, reaching a hand to his curls. They were wet, and yet they seemed to shine like ivory, like fresh snow before the heat of the day turned it all to slush. “You look like you belong in a painting. Something beautiful that people would travel from all over the world to see.”

He chuckled, stroking her cheek. “Thank you, my love, flattery from you is always the sweetest.” His smile fell a moment later, his eyes still searching hers. “But gods, you’re cold. You feel like death.”

“Not dead,” she said, covering his hand with hers. “Can’t you feel my heartbeat?”

A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips for the barest of moments before falling away. “I can, but I would rather you were warm, too. Even your heartbeat is too slow.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that, ducking her head. Surely she would be better once she ate something and changed out of her sodden clothes, wouldn’t she?

“I’m sorry.”

The apology made her head snap up; Astarion so rarely apologized that it took her by surprise to hear him utter one now.

“For what?”

His expression was as melancholy as the sky before the rain had begun, the touch of his fingertips to her skin delicate as a breeze. “I didn’t realize how poorly you were feeling. I-”

It took more effort than it should have, but Aspen managed to unclench her hand from his arm so she could cup his cheek. His eyes widened, and his sentence fell away before he could finish.

“I didn’t tell you,” she said, her words little more than a sigh. “So how could you know? You can’t read my mind.”

He frowned. “Sometimes I wish I could.”

“What? And ruin all my mysterious charm?”

A true smile arced across his lips, and he even went so far as to roll his eyes. “Darling, I’ve met open books more mysterious than you.”

She feigned a gasp. “Isn’t that what attracted you in the first place?”

He snorted. “I was more intrigued by your blatant foolishness. The last thing I would call you, my dear, is mysterious.”

“And what would you call me?” She stroked his cheek, ensnared by his eyes. The heat of the kitchens was beginning to thaw the ice from her veins, and she was starting to feel like she was alive again. Still cold, still wet, but no longer a walking corpse tossed like a leaf through the storm.

He hummed, pushing her hair back, wiping away stray drops of water with his knuckles. “I would call you a fool, I would call you utterly mad.” His eyes softened, the tenderness in his face making her knees weak, and she was very thankful that she was sitting. “And I would call you my lover, my beloved, my partner.”

“I like that a little more than utterly mad,” she said, her own lips twitching into a smile.

“I thought you might.”

Thistle returned, a paper-wrapped parcel of food in her hands. Something for the two of them, she’d promised, to bring up to their room, and if they were still hungry they could always come back down.

Astarion thanked her, and she quickly flitted away as some of the other patrons still in the tavern beckoned her over with requests for another plate of food, ale, some napkins to clean a spill.

“Shall we go?” He murmured, pressing his lips to her ear. “Unless of course, you would like me to carry you. Because I’m more than happy to oblige.”

She really did consider taking him up on that, but she feared they’d already made a big enough scene, bursting into the quiet tavern with the wind and rain lashing at their backs.

She could feel his smile against her even as she told him no, not this time. “That’s okay, darling. There will be plenty of time to hold you in my arms soon enough.”

She did, however, twine her hand with his, wanting just that little bit of touch. Needing that little bit of touch. It was a comfort, his presence beside her, and it gave her the last sliver of energy she needed to shuffle from the tavern, to climb the stairs to the second floor, to make it to the door of their room.

By the time the door had been unlocked, they’d made it into the room, and they’d lit the few candles in the room to banish the shadows, Aspen felt like she would keel over. She was still starving, but her legs were shaking, and she could hardly keep her eyes open.

Astarion quickly stripped away his cloak, balling it up and throwing it into a corner of the room before dumping his pack beside it. But Aspen could not even summon the energy she needed to do that. Instead all she could manage was slumping into the closest seat, her soaking clothes and pack weighing her down as surely as lead.

“None of that,” he chided, frowning as she wilted in the chair. “Come on, get up. You need to get out of those clothes and eat.”

She groaned, throwing her head back. “I’m tired.”

“I know, darling. But you really will get sick if you stay in those clothes much longer.”

She didn’t move, sliding down the chair. Her pack pressed into her spine, dull pain spreading from where the books and supplies she had shoved into the pack japped at her. She winced, but did not move, feeling like she might never be able to move again.

Astarion groaned, throwing his head back. “I have to do everything myself, it seems.”

Before she could process what he could possibly mean he was crouching in front of her, hands hovering over her mud-spattered boots.

“What are you doing?”

He arched a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “What does it look like I’m doing, darling? If you don’t have the strength to move, then I’ll help you.” His smirk widened, bordering on smug, and his voice turned so sugary her teeth ached. “I can take care of my sweet, delicate lover.”

“You’re teasing me,” she whined. “I’m cold and tired, and you’re teasing me!”

“Really darling, you should know me better by now.” He was scolding her, but he said it so softly it could have been lyrics in a lullaby.

“Of course I’m teasing you,” he continued, his elegant fingers deftly untying the laces of her boots and sliding them from her feet. “You can’t undress without my help even when you aren’t cold.”

She considered kicking him for that. “I just get nervous. And distracted.”

He hummed, his smile sharp as he tugged off her socks. “Oh I know you get distracted, darling. And I don’t blame you, not when I’m around. But what’s your excuse this time?”

“It’s not an excuse.” She really would have kicked him had he not grasped her legs, holding them still. “I told you, I’m cold.”

He clicked his tongue, delighting in this sweet little torment as he inched his hands up to the waistband of her trousers. “Do you know what I think?”

She shivered despite her best efforts, face burning as he undid the buttons and began sliding the fabric down. It was soaking wet, and clung to her skin, and for a moment his expression shifted to annoyance as he gave them a tug.

“I think-” He grunted as he finally managed to drag them from her body, letting the trousers fall to the floor in a sopping puddle. “I think you’re just needy.”

“Needy?” Heat crawled over her cheeks, making her skin prinkle.

“Yes, n-” He ground his teeth as he tossed her pack to the side unceremoniously and started on her cloak and her tunic. The cloak came away easily, but her tunic and undershirt were pasted to her skin just as surely as her trousers had been. “Darling, I know it’s easier to wear trousers when we’re travelling, but it’s so much easier to undress you when you wear dresses.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, amused. “I do so love making it easier for you to take my clothes off.”

“Well it is the least you can do,” he said, grinning as he finally removed her tunic, tossing it to the side, the material flopping against her pack. “Especially when I try so hard to make sure you feel the most pleasure.”

Her body continued to warm, the flush in her cheeks staining her arms, her chest. Astarion’s smile grew as he caught sight of it, of the the rose-petal red spreading over her exposed skin.

He brushed his lips to her cheeks, to the column of her throat, in the valley between her breasts. His hands caressed her sides, slipped over the flare of her hips. Fire trailed in the wake of his touch, embers of warmth blooming to life beneath her skin. She felt like she was becoming spring, cold as melting ice beneath the afternoon sun, warmth slowly creeping over her, colour and wildflowers blooming where the pearlescent white of snow had once been.

“As I was saying…” He murmured, his words reverberating through the hollows of her bones. She could feel the flutter of her pulse, pressing against her skin as her blood heated with every touch of his lips, every flick of his tongue.

She hummed, tangling a hand in his hair without thought. His curls were damp, cool, but she could smell the delicate scent of his favoured soaps, his perfumes that he always applied so religiously. “What were you saying?”

With her cold, soaking clothes removed, already she was feeling better. Still though she shivered, gooseflesh racing across her bared skin, but she did not feel as heavy as she had before. And better yet, Astarion was close, his breath ghosting across her, his smile pressed against her skin.

He chuckled, fingers toying with the edges of her undergarments. “I was saying, I think that you’re desperate. For me to touch you, for me to have you.”

“And if I am?” The words came out in a breathless rush, her heartbeat erratic as it stumbled over itself in its haste. “What would you do?”

He looked up then, pupils so dilated they seemed to swallow the dark vermillion of his eyes. His smile was slow, languid. It reminded her of a predator, as his fangs slowly peaked through his widening smile.

“I think the better question would be what wouldn’t I do,” he breathed. His voice was low, heady. It reached deep in her veins, sent sparks of heat arcing in her core. “Because, my love, I would do anything if that were true.”

When she shivered again it had nothing to do with the cold. “Anything?”

He dragged her underclothes down slowly, heat blooming deep in her belly as he held her gaze, smirking so terribly smugly. “Would you like a demonstration?”

She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Perhaps.”

He hummed, lowering his lips to the inside of her thigh, his words ghosting against her skin. “I suppose I could think of something-”

But before he could say anything more he was swearing, pulling away to frown at her.

“What is it?”

“Gods, you’re just so cold,” he muttered, rubbing his hands up and down her legs. “Your skin really does feel like death.”

“I feel a little like it too,” she said. Disappointment coiled with the fatigue in her belly as she teetered on the edge of the fuzzy warmth his touch had filled her with. Her mind was starting to clear, and as it did she began to shiver, began to register the heaviness of her body once more.

Astarion hummed at her response, drumming his fingers on her hip. “I can think of a few ways I could warm you up.”

Although her heart began to race, her mind was clear enough to know how what he was implying would undoubtedly be disastrous. Desire twisted in her belly, but her fatigue was stronger, and she knew she was too weak for much of anything besides sleep.

“I don’t know if that would be such a good idea,” she admitted, begrudgingly. She would have liked to learn what exactly he thought would help warm her. “I’m so tired and stiff, I doubt I’d be able to do much.”

He chuckled. “I can think of something else that’s stiff that wouldn’t mind.”

She gaped, making a half-hearted attempt to smack him. “Astarion!”

“Yes, my darling?” He caught her hand, bringing her palm to his lips.

“You’re such a villain,” she grumbled.

He pouted, kissing her palm again. “But earlier you said I was a prince.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

His eyes narrowed, and in one quick movement he yanked her from her chair, letting her topple into his lap.

“Astarion!”

“Hmmm?” His smirk was nothing short of shit-eating, villainous and self-satisfied and infuriating.

It was adorable too, if she were honest. But she wasn’t telling him that.

“What are you doing?” Venom was gentler than her tone, and yet he laughed, a hand snaking around her to press his palm against the small of her back.

“What does it look like?” His non-answer was infuriating, but the feeling quickly passed as he nuzzled her throat, teeth scraping over the flutter of her pulse.

“It looks like you dragged me, half-naked, into your lap.”

He snorted, taking a shuddering breath as he swiped his tongue over her pulse. “You’re completely naked, my love.”

“That’s worse!” There was no bite to her words now, the hand at her back sliding lower. Astarion had never been one to keep his hands still.

“You’re acting like I’ve never done this before, pet,” he said. His words lilted through the air, mirth making them bright. He was having far too much fun, and here she was cold and tired, completely at his mercy.

She gave a half-hearted pinch to his side. “You’re proving my point, lover.”

“That I’m your perfect storybook prince?”

She rolled her eyes. “What storybooks have you been reading?”

“Awful ones.” The suddenness of the pinch to her ass made her squeak, and she hardly heard his response, spoken low and breathy, like it was a secret he was only sharing with her.

Laughing, he smoothed his hand over the ache in her skin. “But they’re certainly much more fun.”

She could think of no proper response, still smarting from the sharp pinch, her mind trying to catch up.

He nipped at her throat, teeth pressing into her skin just shy of piercing into her veins. She felt dizzy, losing herself in such small touches from him. His body was no warmer than room temperature, and yet it was so much warmer than she was, and she felt like ice melting beneath the golden caress of the sun.

Astarion straightened, lips twisted in a smug smile. “I do so love having fun with you, my dear. And do you know what I think?”

She shuddered at the feeling of his hand tracing over her thigh. She could hardly think herself, so easily brought to incoherence by his lips, his lithe fingers. There was no way she could guess what was happening in his mind. “What are you thinking?”

His smile widened, his teeth bared for her. Sometimes she liked to press her fingers to their sharp points, enamoured by them. “That you love having fun with me.”

“If you’re trying to tease me, you’re not doing a very good job.” She did press her thumb to one of his fangs, and he nipped at her playfully, chuckling.

“Have you considered that I’m not teasing you? I’m just stating facts, love.”

She quirked a brow as she plucked at the ties of his shirt. “That I love having fun with you?”

He caught her hand, bringing it back to his lips. “Why else would you choose a villain for a prince?”

“You are teasing me!”

His teeth scraped over her palm, the reverberations of his laughter seeping into her veins, warm as spring. “Maybe.”

“Yes, you are!” She squirmed, but she was stuck, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

Kisses fell on the heel of her hand, his lips soft and plush, sending fireflies of warmth and light flitting between her ribs, illuminating her veins, her heart, as its pulse quickened for him.

“And if I am?” He breathed, looking up at her from beneath his ivory lashes. “What would you do?”

“I would-” She didn’t know what she would do. What could she even do?

“Well? I’m waiting.”

“I…” She rolled the question around in her mind, coming up with less than nothing.

He lifted his brows. “You…?”

With a huff she leaned away, tipping her head back to peer down at him, feigning imperiousness. Pretending he wouldn’t immediately see through such a facade. “I would be very cross.”

“Oh my.” He couldn’t have sounded less bothered by her answer even if he’d tried.

“And…” She licked her lips. “I wouldn’t play with your hair. Or give you kisses goodnight.”

Her threats came off more childish than anything else, and they seemed to amuse him, his smile stretching wide.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we, pet?” He tipped his head back too, the picture of aristocratic indolence. He really did look the picture of a prince, even if he was a particularly devilish one.

She huffed. “We would not.”

Despite all her posturing, all her feigned ire, she could not hold her facade for long. Astarion laughed, soft and warm, and it was easy to get lost in the sound of it. His voice was a melody, his laughter a song. There was no ballad that could compare, no bard with a voice as sweet. To hear such warmth, such delight, spinning in the air of the room.

The sound put her at ease, and she was so busy melting into the cadence of his voice that she nearly leapt out of her skin when he stood, bringing her with him.

“What are you doing?” It was an effort to stop herself from shrieking, the shock she felt still rattling through her bones.

He tsked, shaking his head. “Behave, darling.”

“Or what?”

His brow arched high, the corners of his lips trembling like he was on the verge of laughter all over again. And when he spoke, his words were all smouldering warmth, stoking embers in her core that flared to life. “Are you sure you want to find out?”

“That’s not an answer, Astarion.”

He brought his lips to her ear, his sultry tone making her shudder. “Keep being disobedient and you’ll find out.”

She was sorely tempted to push him, having an idea of what would be in store for her if she did. But she was tired, too, and she liked when he praised her, when he was gentle and loving.

He carried her into a room half cloaked in shadow. Squinting, she could make out that it was the bathroom, not particularly luxurious, but it suited their needs. A bathtub took up nearly half of the room, a toilet and sink squeezed into the far corner, the candlelight from the main room barely reaching them.

She assumed Astarion would set her down to light the candles, but he did not, only clutching her tighter as he struggled to light the few sconces on the wall.

“My love, you can put me down you know,” she murmured.

As the candles flared to life she could make out the lines of his face, the uncharacteristic solemnity that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

He tried flashing her a grin when he caught her staring, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Perhaps I’d prefer to hold you close.”

“Astarion.” She brushed back his curls, half-dried now that they were safe from the storm. “My love, tell me what’s on your mind.”

As she trailed her hands down to his cheeks he leaned into her touch, eyes half-lidded as he watched her. “The only thing on my mind, darling, is warming you up.”

“Is that not what you were doing before?” She stroked his cheek as he sighed, turning his head to nuzzle her palm. “Teasing me to warm me up.”

She could feel his smile against her skin, could feel the sharp prick of his fangs. “I only did that because I love to tease you, my dear.”

“No other reason?”

He nipped at her hand, all pleased smiles and mischief glinting in his eyes. “It’s one of my favourite pastimes, love. There is nothing I find more enjoyable than teasing you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now that can’t possibly be true.”

“And what else could you possibly be thinking of?” His voice reminded her of a purr, of syrupy sweetness hiding something else underneath. “That would be more pleasurable than this?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, heat rushing through her. His eyes were bright, sharp as starlight on a lake. The words would not come to her lips, her throat clogged so not even air could escape.

“Well?” He prodded, dragging his teeth over her palm again. Never hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make her skin tingle from the pressure. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Aspen drew herself up as best as she could, peeling her hands away and crossing them over her chest. “Maybe I’m teasing you now.”

Clicking his tongue, he finally set her down. “That’s hardly fair. Here I am working so terribly hard and you have the gall to tease me.”

“And what exactly is it that you’re working so hard at?”

He pinched her waist, brow arching high. “You’re being such a brat.”

“Am not!”

He hummed, sliding his arm around her waist before she could move, drawing her close. Firelight flickered over him, limning his face in orange and gold. He looked sharper in the fluttering light, shadows rolling from him like a cloak, his eyes dark as an open wound. There was nothing but devilry in the crescent of his smile, in the creases at the corners of his eyes.

Sometimes she forgot that he was a predator, that he was dangerous. Stories and songs had been written about creatures like him, that lurked in the shadows, that stole away children and women who strayed too far from the light.

But she had leapt headfirst into his shadows, and she had found there was light there too. Softened moonlight, the quicksilver glimmer of stars. Gold and silver twining together, illuminating the tributaries of her veins, setting her heart alight with all the wondrous things she had felt since she had felt the kiss of his steel knife against her throat.

So even when he looked at her as a predator did prey, she could not find it within her to be afraid. There were no tendrils of fear, no blossoming anxieties. All she could think of was his tender smiles in the mornings, the puppy dog eyes he made when he wanted something, the petulant way he whined when things did not go his way, the mischievous little grin he wore whenever he said something that made her laugh.

It made her brave, foolishly so, and as he peered at her with such avarice she reached for him. She cupped his cheek in her palm, hovered her thumb over his lips, felt the warmth of his breath curling against her skin. She smiled, unafraid when she knew the soft, delicate core hidden behind his sharp smile.

“I love you so very much,” she said, practically the sing-song chirp of a songbird at dawn. “But I am not a brat.”

Astarion’s brow quirked, and his sharpness seemed to fade away. The candles fluttered, a phantom wind ghosting through the room, softening his features as the gold of the light washed over him once more. But soft as he looked now, even his eyes reminding her of summer-fresh cherries, his smile still remained.

“It’s a little too late to change your tune now, my dear.” He patted the hand pressed to his cheek as though he were consoling her.

“I’m not changing any tune!” Perhaps if she kept her voice sweet as sugar he would not attempt to retaliate. “I’m just saying that I love you.”

Another hum, his fingers curling loosely around her wrist. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“And you’re saying you’re not a brat.”

“I am.”

For a moment she thought she had succeeded, for a moment she was certain he would move on to whatever else was churning in his mind, whatever reason he’d dragged her into the bathroom.

But Astarion had two hands, and she was only paying attention to one. Another pinch to her side had her squealing, yanking her hand from his face and clutching it to her chest like a wounded animal.

He tsked, leaning close until she could nearly feel his smile against her own lips. “Yet you’ve been fighting me since the moment we got to this room.”

“I wouldn’t say I’ve been fighting you…” She muttered, trailing off. He’d been teasing her mercilessly, and she figured she ought to put up at least a slight resistance.

Another click of his tongue, another pinch that had her backing away quickly. “Stop that!”

“What else am I supposed to do when you won’t do what I want?” He laughed, giving chase.

Too late Aspen realized she had nowhere to go as her back hit the rough wooden panels of the wall. “You don’t have to keep pinching me!”

She was trapped. His hands settled on her hips, fingers pressing into her skin. He sighed, watching her quietly for a moment, firelight flickering across his face. “But I do so love to see your flustered expressions when I do.”

“It’s mean.” Her retort came out smaller than she had intended, sounding childish.

It garnered nothing but soft laughter as Astarion dragged her closer to him, as he pressed his face against her throat, muffling the sounds.

“Maybe if you listened more, I wouldn’t have to be so mean.” He was still laughing, the reverberations of his voice running across her nerves, spiderwebbing across her skin in warm tingles that made her knees weaken.

The touch of his lips to her skin made her feel dizzy, senseless. She’d been trying to escape his teasing, but instead she’d only been ensnared further. She wished he was closer, wished he would discard his own sopping wet clothing, if only to feel the slow tempo of his heart, sluggishly pushing blood through his veins.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, swallowing a whine as he scraped his teeth above her fluttering pulse. “You could just not be mean ever.”

He sighed, nipping her once more before drawing back, meeting her eyes. “You’re not giving me a lot of credit, you know.”

Now it was her turn to quirk a brow. “Pardon?”

“I’m very nice. And sweet, and generous,” he preened, looking equal parts mischievous and earnest. “You’re just not giving me a reason to be nice.”

“Isn’t being your lover reason enough?” She pouted, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes.

His mouth opened, closed again. She was almost certain colour crept into his cheeks as he swallowed, looking entirely, for a moment, at a loss.

“Well yes of course, darling…” he finally said, words popping like joints loose from sockets. Gone was the charming, teasing tone as his rhythm was thrown off, his careful verbal dance reduced to the uncoordinated stumbling of a toddler.

“Of course being your lover is reason enough?” She finished the sentence for him, although that was certainly not how he would have finished it. But she had to take advantage, tongue-tied as he was. It wasn’t very often her silver-tongued lover tripped finding his words. “Reason to be nice? To not tease me so?”

She pressed her hands to his chest, slid them down until they found the clasps of his shirt. She plucked at them, not quite undoing them and freeing him from his clothes. She gave him the prettiest smile she could, leaned forward and pressed her cheek to his shoulder, looking sweet and innocent and docile. Someone he couldn’t not be kind to.

He scowled, sensing her ploy, but it was dull as a wooden sword; no real edge to cut her with. Already the lines of his annoyance were fading, softening like shadows beneath morning light. “You’re distracting me.”

She batted her lashes, peering up at him with wide, doe eyes. “Distracting you from what?”

He groaned, brow twitching, yet the corners of his lips quivered, like he was fighting a losing battle against his smile. “This is one of the reasons I’m not always nice.”

She pouted, tipping her head to the side. “You don’t like this? You don’t want me to be close to you?”

Astarion’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments, and then he snorted, caressing her cheek. “You know, I think you might be the villain, love.”

“Well, I did learn from the best.”

His eyes glittered with starlight, his chest puffing out from the compliment. “I am the best, aren’t I?”

“You are.” She agreed wholeheartedly, and not just because she was trying to tease him. She adored him, cherished every part of him. “You’re the best, most important person in my life.”

Astarion smirked, clearly catching onto her ruse. Yet he did not chide her for it, instead only tapping her nose affectionately. “You really must stop distracting me, my dear. I have a task to accomplish.”

“What sort of task could be more important than me?”

He ran his hands down her sides, cushioning his chin on the top of her head. “Warming you up, darling. You’re still cold as death.”

He was right, and pressing herself against his rain-drenched clothes was not helping that. But joking with him was a welcome distraction, keeping her mind away from the painful numbness that had overtaken her feet and her hands, from the prickling tingles of ice shards melting beneath her skin.

She supposed that would be quite important. She wasn’t exactly keen on staying cold.

“What did you have in mind?” She mumbled, some of her sugary veneer melting away. She’d been able to ignore the chill clinging to her as surely as a second skin, but now it was rushing back. The burn of her hands, the throb of her skin as if it would crawl from her body at any moment.

Astarion’s arms looped around her waist, holding her close. He was only marginally warmer than her, although how she wasn’t entirely sure. But it was a comfort all the same, whatever heat he harboured leaching into her bare skin.

“I was going to draw you a bath,” he murmured, a balm that eased some of her chills, a lullaby for cold nights.

“A bath?” Perhaps the storm and her fatigue had made her simple, slow.

“Yes.” He sounded amused, delight a bright flame to gathered kindling. “We’ve been trekking through the forest all night, and no offense, darling, but you’ve looked better.”

She glared at him, scrunching up her nose until a sharp flick to her side snapped the glower from her face.

“You’re still beautiful,” he continued, smoothing his hand over where he’d flicked her side. “You’re always beautiful to me, my love. But you do look like you’ve rolled in mud.”

He smirked, plucking something from her hair and tickling it against her nose. She snatched it from his hand, glaring at a leaf, floppy and damp from the deluge they had travelled through.

She flicked the leaf to the side, letting it careen to the floor. “Fine. Point taken.”

“And,” Astarion continued, taking her chin and tilting it up, so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “It should chase away the last of that chill.”

Caught in his grasp as surely as a fly in spider’s silk, she could do nothing but nod. His hold was firm, his eyes bright as glee danced in them. She could not wrestle herself free, not that she particularly wanted to. He was the moon, and she was the ocean’s waves, ebbing and flowing at his whim. If he thought this was a good idea, then she was not about to argue.

A pleased smile curved across his lips like sunlight peeking from behind storm-clouds. He pressed a kiss to her brow, sighing. “Good girl. Now stay there.”

In an instant he was gone, returning only to press the paper-wrapped package Thistle had given them earlier into her hand.

It was a sandwich, the bread toasted and warm, crust crumbling in her fingers as she unwrapped it. It was made of nothing more than lettuce and cheese and tomatoes and crispy meat, a yet it smelled heavenly. Her stomach ached just looking at it.

“To give you a little more strength,” was his answer to her unasked question. When she hesitated to take a bite he lifted her hands to her mouth, his tone brooking no argument. “Eat. It will take me a few minutes here to get everything ready anyways.”

She did not have to be told twice, spilling crumbs as she took ravenous bites all while Astarion busied himself with filling the tub. She watched as steam rose from the water, as he moved around the room, sniffing at the little bottles lined up on a ledge behind the tub. He grimaced, vanishing from the bathroom, the sound of bottles clicking and clothes and books being tossed to the sound coming from deeper in the rooms.

Astarion returned as she was licking crumbs and sauce from her fingers, her hunger only marginally sated. Firelight flickered silver over the bottles in his hands, and she looked up to see their own personal stash of favoured soaps and oils in hand. He added a generous amount of oils and perfumes, and quickly the room was enveloped in a floral-scented fog. She could smell rose and lavender and violets, the faintest touch of vanilla and cinnamon.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, a scrap of her energy restored, shivering even as the temperature in the bathroom rose. Astarion had moved away from her, and without him close by she felt all too vulnerable, and the cold that still clung to the air managed to find her, burrowed itself into the hollows of her bones until they were covered in frost.

It was another while before Astarion was satisfied, as he sniffed at the air, dipped his hands into the water, added something new, and repeated the process all over again.

Centuries might have passed before he finally gave a pleased nod. He turned back to her, grinning widely, proud of himself already. He held out his hand, beckoning her over. “Come here, my love.”

The room was small, and she was beside him in a moment, her fingers threading between his. He drew her closer still, until her chest was pressed to his, until her chin was perched on his shoulder.

“Astarion?” He ran his hands down her sides, dancing over the tips of her thighs before sliding up once more. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, to her cheek, to her thrumming pulse. It was sweet and strange all at once, and she giggled as she said his name, again and again, as his kisses quickened, as his hands moved with a new fervor.

The ground fell out from under her suddenly, Astarion scooping her into his arms. A gasp fell from her lips, but the only sign that he noticed at all was the curve of his lips against her throat as he kissed her again.

He lowered her slowly into the tub, warm water swaddling her like a blanket. It burned at first, but it quickly turned to a soothing ache, and then nothing but a balm that eased the pain and cold from her bones.

“What was that for?” She asked, tipping her head back to follow him as he straightened, no longer showering her in affections.

Astarion only shrugged, nimble fingers making quick work of his shirt and his trousers. “I thought it might help to warm you up.”

She arched a brow. “Really? And it has nothing to do with you wanting to do any of that?”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “I was only acting out of the goodness of my heart, my darling. You’re so cold, and  need to do everything I can to warm you up.”

“I hope that’s not the only thing you’re planning to do.” The heat from the water made her feel renewed, alive once more. And she did not want to sit in the tub alone, not when it was certainly large enough for both her and her beloved partner.

“You don’t need to fret, my love,” he crooned, discarding the last of his clothes. “I have plenty of ways I can warm you up.”

The surface of the bath rippled, gleaming pearlescence borne from the perfumes and oils that suffused the water and the air. Astarion settled behind her near soundlessly, and had it not been for the sturdiness of the legs that bracketed her sides and the gentle undulation of the water, she would have thought him a phantom. A silent spectre keeping watch.

His hands paused at her hips while he shifted, slowly inching across her belly until he had his arms wrapped fully around her, his chest flush with her back, sighing as though he was finally content.

“This is quite nice,” he mused, flicking iridescent water idly. “We should get a tub like this. I’ve grown so weary of bathing in little more than buckets.”

“And yet with all this space you’re still clinging to me,” she quipped, scooping water into her palms and watching as it slipped between her fingers. “You have all this space and you’re still stuck to my back.”

He chuckled, bringing his lips to the back of her neck. “You’re just going to have to get used to that, darling. I promised you I’d always be with you, didn’t I?”

She craned her neck around as far as she could go, just barely finding his eyes from the corners of hers. “And that means you’re always going to be practically stuck to me?”

He shrugged, smirking. “It’s hardly my fault you’re so captivating.”

Sighing, Astarion perched his chin on her shoulder, breathing his next words into her ear. “I could live a million lifetimes more, and I would still never have enough of you.”

Aspen shivered, all thoughts fleeing her mind, vanishing like deserters in battle.

Astarion did not give her a chance to concoct a proper response, or any response at all. He tapped his fingers against her skin, his arms loosening their hold. “But if you don’t want me to, I can always leave you to your own devices.”

He began to pull away, chest peeling from her back, leaving nothing but air and water and a sudden bone-deep ache that splintered her heart like cracked glass.

“I wouldn’t want to linger where I’m not wanted.” He didn’t sound particularly morose, although his face was pulled into an expression of mock misery.

Her hand snapped out before he could pull away entirely, her heart in her throat. “Wait, don’t go.”

She twisted further around, clutching at his arms. The thought of him leaving her, even if it was just to step into a different room, filled her with such abject sadness she would surely drown in the ocean of it. She was a pebble, weather-worn and smooth, caught in the force of his riptide. She did not want to be set free, lost to the waters of the sea. She wanted to dissolve entirely, wanted to flow along with his current.

Astarion’s brows shot up, but his eyes remained steady, not surprised in the least. “What’s wrong, my love?”

“I don’t want you to go,” she whined, heedless of the fact that she was almost certainly falling right into his trap.

“Is that so?” A dangerous glint came into his eyes, a sharp slice of his lips ticking up. “Are you sure? You made it seem like you didn’t want me very close at all.”

“I was only teasing.” She was already very nearly in his lap, and she wiggled closer still, much to his delight. She could tell from how his eyes lit up, how his smile grew wider, more smug. “I want you to stay.”

“Oh darling,” he ran the back of his knuckles over her cheek, caressing her gently. “You’re adorable. Even in hysterics you’re adorable.”

She sat up a little straighter, shoulders feeling a little looser. “So you’ll stay?”

He tipped his head to the side, his smirk infuriating. “Well I don’t know about that. You know you’ve hurt my feelings terribly, even if you were just teasing.”

Brows drawing together, Aspen frowned. She curled herself against his chest, looked up at him as sweetly as she could. She willed herself to be sugar, to be flavoured syrup in a sweetened drink. His fangs should ache, he should taste candy on his tongue.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, sliding her hands down his arms, twining her fingers with his. He seemed amused, letting her draw his hands to her chest, to her lips, letting her murmur her apologies against his knuckles. “I’m so so sorry, Astarion.”

His eyes narrowed, his smirk sharp enough to draw blood. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

He tugged one of his hands from her grip, taking hold of her chin. The pad of his thumb ran across her bottom lip as he hummed, a tuneless melody she couldn’t place.

“What can I do so you believe me?” She still held one of his hands, and he seemed content to let her scatter kisses on his palm, his other hand now sliding down the column of her neck.

His thumb paused over her throat, stroking little circles against her windpipe. “Say please.”

“Please, will you believe me?” She arched her neck, just a little, giving him her biggest doe eyes.

He hummed, adding more pressure as he continued to press circles into her throat. His smile said he wasn’t ready to let this go just yet. “And who are you talking to, my dear?”

“Please, Astarion?”

His grip tightened, almost imperceptibly, as he frowned. Evidently, he was displeased.

She chewed on the corner of her lip, remembering something he’d said earlier. “Please, my love?”

The arch of one of his brows and the quiver of the corners of his lips told her she was on the right track.

“Please, my sweet? My beloved, won’t you please believe me?” She would have pressed her cheek to his shoulder, would have kissed him gently, were it not for the hand at her throat. Instead, she settled for kissing his palm again, and he smiled, seeming satisfied.

“Alright, alright.” He drew both hands away, settling them on her shoulders and gently pulling her away. “I’ve had my fun, but I really did have a plan here.”

“Was it to tease me?” She tried pinching his hands, but he batted her away with a snort. “Because if so, mission accomplished.”

He rolled his eyes. “Darling, I never plan to tease you. You make it so easy, I can do it whenever I want.”

“Hey!”

His smile was far too innocent to be believed. “Now let me clean you up before you pass out.”

“I’m not going to pass out.” She felt strangely peevish, bristling at the suggestion she had a poor constitution. “I ate that sandwich and everything.”

His brows drew together, his tone strangely soothing, like he was trying to placate a child on the verge of a tantrum. “Darling, have you taken a look at yourself lately?”

“You know I haven’t.”

His lips twitched. “You’ve looked like you’re going to collapse for ages now. You’re paler than me.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Well I haven’t seen the sun in what feels like years now with this storm.”

Another twitch of his lips that he had to fight to get under control. It was clear he was trying to appear serious, and he was having a very difficult time with it. “Love, I had to carry you to the bathroom. I nearly had to carry you up the stairs.”

“I could have walked by myself,” she grumbled. At his arched brow she raised her shoulders, wrinkling her nose. “You were the one who decided you wanted to carry me.”

The way his brow creased and his eyes narrowed told her how much he believed that.

“Darling.” He sounded hesitant, tired. “My love, I really was worried. I thought you were going to pass out.”

Aspen stilled, whatever fight had been in her fizzling away like cheap sparklers bought at a market stall. Brilliant and bright and gone in an instant, leaving her devoid of even enough energy to lift her arms.

She slumped against him, sighing morosely. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.”

“It’s alright now,” he murmured, water trickling down her face as he stroked her hair. “You haven’t passed out yet, and even if you do, I’m here, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She closed her eyes, the feel of his fingers in her hair as good as a lullaby. “Thank goodness I don’t have to worry about drowning in this bath.”

He snorted, tugging gently at her hair as his fingers were caught in snarls and knots left there by the raging wind. “Thank goodness I’m here to have drawn this bath, so that you can get cleaned up.”

“That too.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, patting her side lightly. “Open your eyes for me, pet. I do want to clean you up before the water goes cold.”

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut tighter.

“As adorable as you are pretending to sleep,” he crooned, a finger dragging over her cheek. “I am not above using less savoury methods of rousing you. Tired or no.”

She cracked an eye open, contemplating whether she wanted to learn exactly what unsavoury methods he had in mind.

But then she flicked her eyes up to find his, and although there was always that spark of mischief in his eyes, as surely as the stars were always glittering beyond the gold sheen of the sun, there was a tender warmth as well. The warmth of a crackling fire stoked in the midst of a winter storm, the warmth of a favoured blanket shared between two bodies, the warmth of a warm drink cradled in her palms.

She did not wish to invoke a response that would take that softness and bring it to a whetstone, filing it away until only diamond-sharpness remained. She craved his gentle moments, his kindhearted touch. Her hunger for his affection was ravenous, an empty pit in her chest that only felt sated when he looked at her like this, when he brushed his fingers over her cheeks, when he so idly toyed with her hair as she drifted off to sleep.

So Aspen sat up as best she could, letting him direct her until he was satisfied with how she sat. He asked her which of their soaps she wanted to use, humming as she picked her favourite botanical scents, running his fingers down her spine and bringing his lips to the nape of her neck to murmur praises when he liked certain smells best.

The heat of the water began to work its way between her frozen, knotted muscles as surely as Astarion’s fingers worked through the knots in her hair. He instructed her to lean back, to let him scoop the scented water into his palms and pour it over her scalp until her hair was soaked through, clinging to her cheeks and the back of her neck as she sat up again. 

She felt loose, felt like she might melt into nothing, as though her bones had simply vanished, and she needed Astarion to ease her back into a sitting position, the warm tenor of his laughter making her dizzy.

“Stay with me, darling,” he murmured, lithe fingers gathering her hair from her cheeks and brushing it back. “I need you to stay awake.”

“I’m awake,” she muttered, although it was only partially true. She felt half unconscious already, gripped by the fatigue she’d been pretending not to feel for most of the night. It was an anchor tied to her feet, dragging her beneath the rolling waves of oblivion, and there was absolutely nothing in the candle-lit bathroom that was helping her to remain awake.

For all his teasing, Astarion’s gentle ministrations were making her sleepy, would have made her sleepy even if they had not traipsed overnight in a violent storm. He had unearthed a comb from one of their packs, and he worked it through the knots in her hair, applying a sweet-smelling conditioner as he went, softly cursing the winds and the gods for letting her hair get mangled so terribly.

Such gentleness felt almost foreign to her; as a child her mother had yanked brushes through her hair when it was knotted before tying it back in braids so tight it brought tears to her eyes. As she grew older she had not shown herself any kindness either, grabbing fistfuls of her hair away from her scalp so it did not hurt quite so terribly as she pulled her brush through her knots.

And when she’d grown old enough to control how long her hair could be, she’d had it cut short, grazing just below her chin, to make it all the easier to manage. She had thought it cute, and it meant she did not have to enact violence against her hair every morning when she prepared to greet the day.

But travelling as she did now, adventuring through parts of the world she had never once thought she would visit, her hair had grown longer, and the wispy strands were prone to tangles and knots that frustrated her to no end.

Yet Astarion’s touch remained gentle, almost reverent, as he worked through the snarls in her hair, combing them away until he could run his fingers through it with ease.

It made her eyes burn, and she quickly blinked away the tears, hoping he did not notice the few that managed to slide down her cheeks, drip into the bath. To be so cherished, to be seen as someone so precious that he would take his time with something so mundane. She did not have the words, did not know anything but the ache in her chest as her heart pressed against the cage of her ribs, yearning for him, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close until she had memorized every flutter of breath, every line and wrinkle, every flex of a muscle.

When he was satisfied with her hair he brought his lips to the spot just behind her ear, his kiss reverent as that of a worshipper, devoted to their god.

“How do you feel?” He murmured the words against her skin, vibrations sending tingles over her shoulders, down her arms. His hands slid down her back, his thumbs pressing down on either side of her spine until he reached her waist and they slipped to the side, resting at the flare of her hips.

Aspen hummed, her mind a cloud of steam that smelled like spring, lost to the feeling of the pads of his fingers running down her back, of his breath curling against her ear.

His chuckle sent a shower of light fizzing in her chest, like embers thrown to the night’s sky, like the golden bubbles of champagne as they danced their secret ballet in crystal glasses.

“Are you at least still awake, darling?” His voice was practically a purr, a soft susurrus to her ear as his hands moved up her back once more. 

His thumbs pressed small circles into either side of her spine at the nape of her neck, his fingers splaying around the sides of her throat. The pads of his fingers pressed into her skin as he applied gentle pressure, delicately massaging as he brushed his lips against her ear.

“Maybe.” Her answer was a sigh as her eyelids drooped. It would be so easy to fall asleep, to lose herself in his arms and the heat leaching into her skin.

“Hmmm.” She smiled as the reverberations of his voice echoed through her, a pleasant buzz resounding in her bones. 

He brought his lips to the nape of her neck, the prick of his teeth making her gasp, eyes fluttering open wider.

He continued to hum, trailing kisses down her spine as he slid his hands over her shoulders, continuing to massage away the ice that had frozen her muscles. “There we go. Can’t have you falling asleep just yet, darling.”

The sound she made was dangerously close to a whimper, but Astarion did nothing but smile against her skin as kissed her lazily. “And why not?”

“I’m not done bathing you, for starters,” he did not pull away to respond, instead murmuring the words into her skin. She did not hear his answer so much as feel it in the movement of his lips, in the dips of his tone as his voice gave form to his words. “And you still have to eat more after this. That sandwich was hardly enough.”

The empty pangs in her belly could be entirely ignored, if she were honest. She would most certainly regret it when she awoke, but right now all she wanted to do was fade away, to let herself be swathed in her dreams.

“That can wait,” she whined, not caring how petulant she sounded. “Astarion, I’m so tired.”

His answer was an acquiescence, yet it was not permission, either. “I know,” he said, acknowledging that she was tired, that she was exhausted. “I know you are, my dear.” But he would not allow her to fall asleep, not until he was done.

After her hair came the rest of her body, and Astarion was as thorough as he had been with her hair.

Her back was first, and he alternated between tracking kisses over her and massaging her favourite soaps into her skin. He would rinse away suds only to cover her in sweetened kisses, sharp teeth pricking her flushed skin to keep her from succumbing to the temptation of oblivion that danced at the corners of her mind.

He dug his fingers into her muscles, dull pain radiating out from knots she hadn’t known she’d had, from ice that had frozen her muscles until they’d turned rigid and brittle. Her body needed warmth and movement to be coaxed back into them, but it still hurt, as though she was being slowly returned to life.

She hissed each time his clever fingers found a new ache, and he worked languorously, adoringly, smoothing his hands over the places that hurt most, gentle kisses decorating her skin as he slid his hands away. She felt like she was stone, and he was a sculptor, fashioning a masterpiece from the unyielding cold of her muscles and bones.

By the time he was satisfied with his work, hands fluttering over her sides as he gently crooned in her ear about how good she was being, finally, she felt like she had been unspooled. Perhaps she had been something whole once, but the delicate framework of her stitching had been undone beneath his hands. She had been pulled apart at the very seams, and now she waited to be knit together again, to be whole once more.

“I feel so sleepy, like I’m going to fall apart.” Her muttered whinging was met with laughter, and Astarion took great pains to gently take her chin, twisting her around to capture her lips.

“Finally, some honesty,” he groaned against her lips, smirking. “I knew you were tired.”

Aspen pried herself away from him, and although she did her best to glower at him, her body fought against her, and she ended up sinking into his arms as he watched her with amusement.

“So what if I’m tired?” She grumbled, focusing intently on the shadows flitting across the ceiling.

“I’m just delighted you’re opening up to me,” he said, voice lilting through a teasing melody. “That you feel comfortable being so honest with me, darling. That’s very important for any relationship.”

She rolled her eyes, halfheartedly splashing him. “I am honest with you.”

A click of his tongue told her how much he bought that story. “And that’s why you kept denying you were cold and tired? For hours? That’s why you kept pretending? Even now?”

“Well I-”

“And what about the time when you pretended you weren’t sick and then collapsed.” He splashed her back, floral water catching in her hair and her lashes. “Or the time when you waited hours to tell me you sprained your ankle.”

“I do tell you…” She trailed off, chewing on the corner of her lip. She felt reticent, certain that responding would only dig her grave further. “Just not always right away.”

“Mmm.” His touch was delicate as he brushed the water from her cheeks. “Well I want you to tell me right away.”

“But I don’t want to be a burden, and I don’t want to annoy you.”

A frown bloomed then, as hurricanes did over the ocean. She felt like a wildflower, wilting beneath the summer-sun strength of his withering glare. Such a look could surely shrivel ancient trees, could turn fields of lush grass and glades of bushes and flowers and shrubs to little more than ash.

“Say you’re a burden one more time,” he breathed, his smirk cold as the barren winter. “I dare you.”

Aspen shuddered, icy wind curling down her spine like ivy. The bath was still so hot her skin was flushed, but she felt a cold deep in her bones all the same.

“You don’t really make it sound enticing,” she managed, her voice a squeak as Astarion’s brows arched high. “I don’t think I want to know what the consequence will be.”

Like brutal summer heat giving way beneath the cool evening breeze, Astarion softened. His smile was no longer knife-sharp, his eyes no longer shards of ruby glass.

“A smart choice,” was his answer, cradling her face in his palms. “I would rather you tell me every thought in your mind, no matter how annoying, than say such a thing again.”

Her mouth twitched. “Are you saying I can be annoying?”

“That is not what I’m saying, you-” He pinched her cheek, rolling his eyes. “You cheeky little thing. You know that is not what I’m saying.”

“Well you’ve teased me so much,” she admitted. “I just wanted to return the favour.”

A groan. “Perhaps not when I’m trying to be terribly sweet and earnest, though?”

“You’re right,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “That was mean of me. I’m sorry, love.”

He hummed, sounding unconvinced. Their noses bumped together as he drew his face closer to hers, whispering furtively as though he were prying into a secret. “Are you sure you’re sorry?”

Aspen giggled despite herself, everything but the deep crimson of Astarion’s eyes and flickers of silver from where his curls fell into the corners of her vision.

“You don’t sound particularly sorry, darling,” he mused, laughter lacing his dulcet tones.

“I am a little,” she giggled again as she spoke, belying her words. Yet Astarion did not seem to mind, as he laughed too, soft and warm as a caress, his breath ghosting against her lips, reminding her of his kisses.

“Alright, I am choosing to believe you this time,” he teased, rolling his eyes as he pulled away. “Although you have given me no reason to trust you today.”

“I did say I was tired, didn’t I?”

He flicked water into her face, snorting as she shrieked. “You’re lucky I find you so exceedingly adorable. Now if you’re quite done, I’d like to finish up here before the water gets cold.”

“As you wish, my love.”

That earned her another splash of water in her face, although she could not figure out why. Perhaps it had something to do with her dry tone, or the smirk on her face.

She wiped away the water, and although it did little to wash away her smirk, it did soften as Astarion once more took up the little bottle of soap. He grumbled under his breath about his little liar, gently taking her arm and beginning the process all over again.

He worked slowly, diligently, digging his thumbs into her frozen skin, her blood warming like water spilling from a hot spring. Yet he did not move quite as languidly, sensing the shift in the water’s temperature already, wanting to finish up before the bath turned chilly.

Not that Aspen noticed it right away, half-asleep as he poured water over her arms, as he skillfully cleaned away the dirt and rainwater clinging to her body. Flickers of heat like stars blooming in the night sky spread through her as he pressed his lips to her skin, leaving chaste kisses that left behind tingles as he drew away.

It was all so gentle and affectionate it felt like a dream. The water began to cool enough that she noticed, but it did little to rouse her. She grew sleepier by the moment, and it would have been so easy to curl up and float away. Her eyelids were leaden, and the velvet darkness beneath them was welcome, swathing her mind in its soothing warmth as Astarion poured all his affection into each touch of his hand and his lips.

#astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #honey the sweeter the sun #self reblog!!!!!!

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@spacebarbarianweird

If You Need To, Darling, Lean Your Weight On Me: Revelations

Summary: Their tadpoles long ago destroyed, Astarion and Aspen spend their days travelling through Faerûn, searching for a way for Astarion to again walk in the light. But there is not much light to be had now, not even as dawn approaches, as they trek through an unending storm. Eager not to cause trouble for her lover, Aspen ignores her waning strength, and when Astarion finally does find out, he's keen to show her just how much trouble he's willing to go to for her.

Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (OC Aspen)

Warnings: Suggestive comments

A request from the wonderful @spacebarbarianweird !!!!! Thank you so much <3

Table of Contents

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The slate grey of storm clouds choked out the burgeoning gold of the rising sun. Mist hung heavy in the air, painting the forest they traveled through in quicksilver, making it all the harder to stumble across the waterlogged earth. Rain clung to everything, soaking their travelling cloaks, freezing on their skin, dripping from limp, olive green leaves.

It had rained all the day before, and the storm had continued into the night. They had only paused a handful of times, curling up beneath cliffs where the rain couldn’t quite reach them or in caves too shallow for any manner of beast to make a home in it.

Now the night was waning, although Aspen couldn’t really tell. She supposed the iron grey of the stormy night was softening to a wispy dove-grey, but shadows still stretched long, cloaking much of the world in darkness.

Even so, it was probably best that they found somewhere to rest. She did not anticipate the heavy clouds drifting away before the moon rose, but knowing the sun lurked beyond the storm set her on edge. Astarion could slip through the world at dawn and dusk, when the sun’s light was softer, kinder, and he had passed through towns and forests before even when the sun was no longer benevolent so long as his cloak was drawn low. Still, she did not want to risk him coming to harm, the sunlight burning him away.

Blinking raindrops that had gathered in her lashes, Aspen looked around, seeing nothing but misty forest and the blurred outlines of trees surrounding them. Perhaps they could find another cave, something big enough for the two of them, but small enough that forest creatures would not bother with it.

A shiver wracked through her, and her whole body spasmed in response. Fingers trembling, teeth clacking together, shoulders twitching. Rain water slipped down her back, cold as ice. She really did not want to spend the day in a cave, or camped out somewhere outside. She wanted to be inside, wanted soft blankets and warm food and a tub she could soak in for hours until the chill of the night went away.

“This is miserable.” Beside her, Astarion voiced her innermost thoughts, his mouth turned down in a frown. “It’s been raining all night, I’m freezing, and I’m covered in mud.”

He gave a dissatisfied grunt as he shook one foot, flecks of mud spraying in an arc. He winced as he settled his foot back down, the squelch of a mud puddle sounding beneath him. “Now that is just repulsive.”

She managed a weak giggle, wrapping her arms around her middle. Her heavy woolen cloak offered no protection against the rain any longer, and again she shivered. It had been thoroughly soaked through, and now it clung to her awkwardly, scratching at her throat and back.

Astarion opened his mouth, clearly on the verge of complaining further. His eyes flicked to hers, a brilliant crimson, stark against the pallid landscape. The rain had leached the world of its colour, even the most vibrant of wildflowers dulled to an echo of their former life. But his eyes remained bright, sharp as the blades sheathed at his hip.

Even exhausted and cold as he was, he was quick, and she must not have been hiding her own fatigue particularly well. Lines creased his brow, pale hands sliding from the folds of his cloak to find hers.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, the lines in his brow deepening. It reminded her of a statue, a sculpture by a renowned artisan, the lines etched into the granite of his face.

But granite was not soft as her Astarion was, too hard and unyielding. He liked to pretend otherwise, but there was a soft, warm-hearted person behind his devilish veneer. He was a villain, to be sure, but there was a gentleness hidden beneath that rough exterior, and she could feel it now as he held her hands so carefully, as he circled his thumbs over the backs of her wrists.

His gaze snapped up to hers, ire making his eyes flare like rubies in sunlight. His brow arched, and she could tell there was very little patience left in his waterlogged heart. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could have stopped for longer. We could have looked for an inn or somewhere to rest.”

She shook her head, trying to will her teeth to stop chattering so she could speak. “We needed to keep moving. We can’t travel much during the day, and we still have far to go.”

He rolled his eyes, groaning in exasperation. “Darling, I love you, but sometimes I fear you are not intellectually gifted.”

“Are you insulting me right now?” She did not want to pull away from his hold, the friction of his hands rubbing hers the first spark of warmth she had felt in hours. But she could not help the frigid tone, annoyed with him for implying she was stupid.

The corners of his lips twitched, and he quickly brought her hands to his lips, blowing warmth onto them. “I would never dream of such a thing, my dear. But I would rather take a few extra days to travel than have you keel over from hypothermia.”

Now she was the one rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to die from hypothermia.”

He clicked his tongue. “Darling, your lips are blue.”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth immediately, nervously biting in the hopes that he was only teasing her. “No they’re not.”

“I am many things, love, but I am not colourblind.”

“I’m okay, really!” She insisted, although her defense was undercut by how she did not yank herself from his grip. How she in fact leaned closer, relishing the warmth of his breath against her skin.

“Liar.” He was smirking, but it didn’t reach his eyes. In contrast, they seemed sharp enough to draw blood. It was all so at odds with his usual laid-back, mischievous air. He sounded far too solemn, and it set her on edge.

“I’m not a liar,” she whined. “I really am fine. I just want us to cover as much ground as we can before the sun comes up.”

He sighed, eyes closing for a moment. She felt her body slumping forward, freed from the iron-strong hold of his gaze. Her fingers were tingling, sharp pin-pricks piercing at her skin now that they were being warmed. It hurt, and tired as she was, she couldn’t stifle the whimper in her throat, needing to move her hands to bring feeling back into them as the discomfort grew.

Astarion’s eyes snapped open at once, his hands tightening on hers. His annoyance was gone, concern etched across his face. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

She winced, wiggling her fingers. “I need to move my hands. They’re hurting.”

Eyes widening, he nodded, releasing them at once. He remained silent as she shook her hands out, clenching them into fists and flexing them out again over and over until the worst of the pain had subsided.

“Does it feel better?” His voice was whisper soft, and with the dull boom of thunder in the distance she might not have known he’d spoken at all were it not for the cloud of breath that hung in the air.

She nodded, tucking her hands against her body. “A little. It’s not great though.”

A twitching of his brow, like the shiver of a tree branch in the wind. “So you admit you’re not fine.”

“Well I never said that.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Darling, it’s implied. If your hands hurt so much from the cold that you cried then you are most certainly not fine.”

“I didn’t cry!” Well she might have cried, just a little. But it hadn’t been intentional, and it had only been one small whimper. Surely she couldn’t be faulted for that.

From the look of incredulity he fixed on her, it was clear that he could fault her for it. And that in fact he would fault her for it, quite gleefully, if only to press his point.

“You did cry a little, my dear.” He pinched her side, smirking as she yelped. “And while normally I adore your cries, considering the circumstances I don’t think they’re from pleasure.”

A gust of wind tore at them, rattling through the trees, tearing at their clothes, their cloaks and hair fluttering in the air. Her teeth chattered, her hands trembling against her sides.

He chuckled, although there was little mirth in the sound. He stepped closer, pressing his brow to hers, his breath curling against her lips. “You’re doing nothing, but proving my point.”

“I’m fine, I’m really fine!” She didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to be a dead weight, didn’t want to hold him down. He needed freedom, he needed someone who was not weak.

“Even your voice is trembling.” He was speaking in a sing-song cadence, reminding her of all the nights where he had teased her, using only his words to make her needy for his touch. “And while I do so love when you shake, you’re not shaking for me.”

“Well…” She slid her hands free from the confines of her cloak, pressing her palms to his chest. “Maybe there’s a way you can warm me up? Then I would be shaking just for you.”

“A tempting offer.”

Aspen did her best to smile, her muscles rigid as death from the unforgiving elements. She wanted to appear coy, and yet she feared the only thing she looked was pained. “Tempting enough to think of a way to warm me?”

She’d been certain he would at the very least respond with a teasing innuendo, perhaps a suggestive touch, even a darkening of his eyes. But Astarion did not respond in any way she had anticipated, no smirk, no titillating little comments. He did not even touch her, instead pulling away until there was a chasm between them, his brow furrowed in dismay.

“As enticing a suggestion that is,” he said, his voice so dry she could have used his words for kindling to actually warm her. “I will have to pass this time. I find our current circumstances are not suited for any manner of lovemaking.” He kept his gaze fixed on hers the entire time he spoke. She felt frozen, her body pulled taut, and she doubted she’d be able to move even if she’d tried.

“Because of the weather?” She tried, wishing he would touch her again.

“No.” His response was sharp, harsh as the icy wind. “I’m simply not in the mood, not when I feel borderline furious.”

That seemed a bit of an over-exaggeration, but Astarion seemed to feel things five times as intensely as she did, and she was not about to stifle his emotions. He was upset, and he was upset at her.

She opened her mouth to say something, to apologize, to ask what she had done to provoke his ire, but he waved a hand in the air, silencing her.

“Don’t.” He sighed, so loud the branches shook. “I don’t want you to apologize.”

Her teeth clicked as she closed her mouth, another shiver going through her.

Astarion looked away, and it made Aspen squirm. She didn’t want him to be upset, she didn’t want to hurt him, she didn’t want to be the cause of his hurt.

For a moment there was silence, but for the sighs and huffs Astarion made as he mulled whatever he was thinking over. Finally, after an eternity, he looked back at her, his brow still furrowed, his mouth a crescent-moon frown.

“I would have liked it if you’d told me you were feeling poorly. We could have looked for somewhere to stay until the storm passed.”

She kicked at a rock, looking away before he could pin her with that ruby-bright stare. “I didn’t want to be a burden. I can handle a little cold.”

A disgruntled noise burbled from the back of his throat, and she snorted, used to his sounds of discontent. “You’re not a burden.”

She huffed now, arms tensing around herself as she glared down at the soggy ground. The unending storm and the exhaustion weighing her down had spread her patience thin, and she could feel the last of it snapping. “Well I don’t want to ever be one. I don’t want to hold us up. I don’t want to be weak.”

The last thing she’d expected in response was laughter, and yet that’s exactly what she heard. Astarion chuckled softly, his hands slipping beneath her cloak to find her hips.

It took her by surprise, and she looked up quickly, only to find that his gaze had softened, lines no longer marring his brow, his lips no longer pinched into a frown.

“What is it?” Suspicion coiled in her belly, an oily snake ready to strike, making her squirm. “Why are you laughing?”

Her bewilderment only made him laugh harder, eyes crinkling. “My darling, you know I find you terribly adorable, right?”

“What did I do?!” Her voice cracked, trembling as she tried to figure out why he was laughing at her.

He shook his head. “Nothing, darling. But you don’t need to worry about being a burden, or about being weak.”

“But I-”

He tapped her lips with his index finger, quieting her. He was no longer laughing, but he was still smirking at her, his mischief returned, and she supposed she could be content with that. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded, wrinkling her nose as a snake of anxiety coiled around her belly. “I do. Why?”

Another tap to her lips, his smile widening. “Don’t look so suspicious, dearest. I’m not planning anything villainous.”

“That expression begs to differ.”

He pulled his lips into a pout, giving her puppy-dog eyes. “What’s wrong with my expression?”

Another shiver wracked through her body, and the desire to curl against him nearly overwhelmed her. But she sensed he was on the verge of teasing her terribly, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to give him the satisfaction of falling for his charms.

“Oh darling, don’t frown.” He sighed, shaking his head as he gently ran the pad of his thumb over her brow, smoothing away the lines of her frown. “There are much prettier expressions you can make for me.”

A flicker of heat bloomed in her cheeks, although it was far from welcome despite the cold. She looked away, huffing, trying to ignore how nice it felt to have his fingers tracing over her face with such gentleness. “What was your point? I trust you, although you are trying my patience.”

He stepped closer, not bothering to cringe at the squelch of mud beneath his boots. “I want you to look at me, darling.”

She did not, instead ducking her head to sulk further. Why shouldn’t she, anyways? He’d gotten mad at her because she’d been cold, and now he was going to tease her.

Much to her chagrin, Astarion did not allow her long to brood. His fingers slid down her jaw, curling beneath her chin. He was gentle at first, trying to turn her face up, but when she resisted he clicked his tongue, gripping her more firmly.

“Don’t be such a brat, darling,” he said, lowering his head, eyes bright as they searched for hers.

“I’m not a brat!” Her head snapped up before she could think anything through.

And once she had thought it through, she realized she’d been had. Astarion was smirking broadly, far too pleased with how easily he’d provoked her.

“Well,” he said, brows arching high. He still had his hand on her chin, and he seemed unwilling to let her go. “Now that I can finally see your face, darling, we can talk.”

She rolled her eyes, but all that did was earn a bubble of laughter as he cupped her cheek with his other hand.

“Do you know how precious you are to me?” He said, laughter in his voice.

“I-” She stammered, struggling to understand what he was talking about. “What?”

He hummed, his smile smug. “Evidently not.”

“What does this have to do with you being mad at me over being cold?” Her words were not as crisp as she’d hoped, more reminiscent of wilting flowers than icicle sharp. She was tired, she wanted to curl up in his arms, she wanted to be warm.

“Because…” He trailed off, eyes bright with devilish delight. He let his words linger in the air, drawing closer to her, softening his hold on her chin.

His expression morphed after a moment, and he looked at her with such gentleness she thought she might collapse and melt into the mud. It was so entirely at odds with his chilly look from earlier, the frosty annoyance when he’d realized the extent of her discomfort.

“Because?” She wished he would close the distance between them. He was not particularly warm, but he was warmer than she was right now, and she wanted his lips on hers, she wanted to be tangled in his arms. She wanted him to get to the point.

“I always knew patience was never one of your virtues, darling,” he mused, brushing away droplets of rain as he stroked her cheeks. “But can you not at least try? For me?”

Whatever he saw in her face must have delighted him greatly, because he laughed again. His hand slid to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he pressed his forehead to hers, holding her there against him.

“Were it not so miserable out here I would prolong this a while longer,” he murmured, his words a breath on her lips. “I do so love to watch you squirm.”

“Maybe I really will get hypothermia and die,” she grumbled. Her heart wasn’t truly in it, but she felt the need to put up a petulant front, so he wouldn’t think this was working on her.

Undeterred by her act, Astarion pressed on, pinching her cheek sharply. “Don’t go talking like that, darling. Who would read to me at night if you went and died? Who would tell me how beautiful I am every day? Who would cry my name as prettily as you?”

At that she really did make an attempt to disentangle herself from his hold, although it was of little use. The cold had made her body stiff, slow, and he was already much faster and stronger than she. His arms tensed, and any attempt she made to escape was met with a snort and a sharp tug as he drew her close again.

He was too close for her to make out his expression, but she could feel his lips pulling into a pout, could feel the creases in his brow. “Don’t be like that, my love. I’m only telling you how dear you are to me.”

“Astarion.”

He sniffed. “I like it more when you call me pretty things. Like your lover, beloved, my sweet, most handsome creature you’ve ever seen, most skilled lover in the world. Really anything.”

She groaned, slumping forward. If he wasn’t going to release her then she was going to collapse into his arms and make him carry her.

“Woah, don’t fall over yet, darling.” His mouth grazed the side of her cheek, the feel of his smile hot against her skin. “You’ll have plenty of time to swoon for me later.”

“I thought you said you weren’t in the mood for anything,” she said, acid in her tone.

With a sigh, Astarion righted her once more, his smooth hands cupping her cheeks again as he drew back, studying her face. “Alright,” he said, finally conceding. “I won’t tease you any longer.”

He sighed again, brushing away raindrops as they spilled onto her face, his expression softening, gazing at her with such tenderness her knees felt weak. He was quiet a moment, only the sound of the rain as it pattered over the ground. When he finally did speak, his voice was feather soft, grazing against her cheeks in a rush of warmth. 

“There is nothing more important to me than what I’m holding now in my hands. I couldn’t care less about how long it takes us to get somewhere.”

He leaned close again, until his eyes were nothing more than a blur of crimson. Yet even though she could not make out his expression any longer, there was no mistaking the earnestness in his words, a part of himself that he only ever revealed to her.

“What I do care about is you.” His voice dropped, low and warm and insistent. “And I care about whether you’re okay. You are so precious to me, and I want to take care of you if there’s something wrong. I want to take care of you even if there’s nothing wrong, just because I want to.”

His grip tightened on her, his words determined. “So be a burden, be slow, be weak. I’ll be here with you, I’ll take care of you, always. Forever.”

Aspen hadn’t expected to cry, and yet her eyes burned nonetheless. So rarely was he so solemn, so sincere. He always showed his love for her ardently, his hand searching for hers as they travelled, his chin resting on her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her waist, little kisses when she was least expecting it, dragging her into his lap any chance he got. He would tuck her against him while she slept, his eyes would brighten whenever she laughed at one of his awful little jokes, he always passed healing potions to her before he tended to himself, much to her own chagrin.

But words such as this made her heart ache, made her feel like she was falling apart as a worn stuffed toy, much loved, came undone. He used his words to tease and trick and enact all manner of his melodramatics. But he was using them now to tell her such sweet things she felt like she was made of spun sugar, light and near-formless and melting with every drop of rain that fell on her.

She shivered again, before she could find the words to respond. The wind was beginning to pick up, and the drizzle of rain was growing stronger once more, returning to the deluge they had endured overnight.

She was cold, she was so terribly cold, and she was growing colder with every passing moment. Her mind slowed, unable to summon the right words. Her body grew heavy, leaden. She felt like she would fall over into the mud and dissolve into nothing.

“Oh my poor pet,” Astarion cooed. He wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs, wrapped his arms around her waist, tucking her as close as he could. “You can’t stop shivering.”

She whined, the last dredges of her ire blown away like pollen in the wind. She couldn’t stop shivering, not when her clothes were soaked through and her hair was practically glued to her skin and the wind was as sharp as knives slicing clean through her bones.

“That’s enough of this,” he said, sounding resolute. “We’re finding somewhere to rest, and to wait out this storm. An inn, a boarding house. Somewhere decidedly not outdoors.”

She couldn’t help the weak way she whined, her head falling against his shoulder. “Where? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

He patted her back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “There’s always an inn somewhere, even in the middle of nowhere.”

“That doesn’t sound real,” she grumbled.

“Come on,” he murmured, peeling away to find her eyes. “Let’s get moving. If we stay here any longer you really will freeze to death.”

His brow creased, and he smoothed back her hair, readjusting her hood to protect her face, not that it was of much use anymore. “And we absolutely cannot have that.”

#astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #honey the sweeter the sun #self reblog!!!!!!

[spacesquidlings]

If You Need To, Darling, Lean Your Weight On Me: Soporific

Summary: Finally warm, sleep reaching for her, Aspen finds serenity in the arms of her lover.

Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (OC Aspen)

Warnings: Suggestive comments

A request from the lovely @spacebarbarianweird !!!!! Thank you so much for this request, and I hope you enjoy this final part!!!! <3<3<3

Table of Contents

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Despite the yearning stitching itself into her mind, sleep evaded Aspen.

She would nod off, giving in to her near overwhelming fatigue, only for Astarion to rouse her over and over. He would pinch her side as she slumped in sleep’s embrace, or prick her skin with his fangs, or splash her gently, waiting until she opened her eyes before he continued.

Each time he would murmur praises against her skin, telling her she had to be strong, to wait just a little longer and she could rest.

If she were honest, although the promise of melting into unconsciousness was far more tempting than even siren song, she preferred when she opened her eyes. When she saw his face, his indulging smile, his amused sigh as he reminded her not to fall asleep.

The sparkle of his eyes, the mischief in his smile, the honeyed sound of his quiet laughter. His hands on her cheeks, in her hair, on her back, soothing the aches in her body as sweet words fell from his lips, soothing the aches in her mind. All of it was so much better than anything conjured in her dreams, it made her struggle against her drowsiness all the more.

She wanted to be with him, she wanted to be with him here in this moment, not lost to sleep’s jealous embrace.

Eventually, Astarion lowered his hands, leaving one final kiss on her cheek. “I’m all finished, darling. How do you feel?”

She smiled, blissfully warm, her tired mind empty of everything but the lines of his smile, the creases at the corners of his eyes. “I feel better.”

“Good, I-” Astarion paused mid-sentence, brow furrowing as she picked up one of their soap bottles, blinking slowly as she tried to keep her mind focused so she did not drift off again. “Love, what in the gods’ names are you doing?”

She lifted the bottle, as if that was answer enough. “Well you helped me. I was going to help you bathe, too.”

With one hand Astarion took the bottle from her, and with the other he pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning. “You can be beyond vexing sometimes.”

She pressed her hands to her chest, wondering if she’d upset him, or if he was merely acting theatrical over something minor. “But… You still love me?”

The plink of his hand into the water as he lowered it was strangely loud in the quiet of the room, not even the crackle of the fires illuminating the storm’s shadows heard above that sound.

Perhaps it was because Aspen worried she always said the wrong thing, perhaps it was because she was so utterly exhausted that she could not think right, but either way her eyes began to burn, sudden anxiety a living thing snaking through her veins.

Astarion reached for her, cupped her cheek, water sluicing down his wrist and along her jaw. “I do love you, dearly.”

She lowered her eyes, her anxiety assuaged only for the heat of contrition to burn in her chest. “I love you too.”

He sighed, gently tilting her head up until their eyes met. “I love you terribly, darling, but you can be so frustrating.”

“How was I frustrating?” She pouted, realizing that he had been most certainly teasing.

“I said I was taking care of you, I’m focused on you right now.”

“But I-”

He tapped his fingers against her lips, quieting her. “I don’t want to hear any of that, darling. My only concern right now is you. I am perfectly capable of washing myself later.”

There was no room in his tone for argument, and barely awake as she was, she did not have the energy to push back. So she nodded, breathing a quiet acquiescence.

“Good,” he said, tilting his head to the side, his eyes seeming to brighten as they caught the flicker of the light. “Now that’s been settled, shall we get you dried off before you fall asleep?”

That was a wonderful idea, and he snorted as she told him, standing from the tub first before helping her out.

Soapy water shining with iridescent rainbows from all the scented oils Astarion had added puddled at their feet as he fetched a towel, helping her to dry off. He ignored the water entirely, letting it trail after them as he took her back into the main room, snatching up a folded blanket on a pile of linens and wrapping it around her before she started shivering again.

“Sit,” he guided her to the bed, fussing as she sat, drawing the blanket tighter around her. It was old, and the wool scratched at her skin, and she knew there would be rashes tomorrow from where it had touched her. But it was clean, and it was warm, so she didn’t much mind. Especially not when Astarion was fretting over her, trying to dry her dripping hair, layering more blankets on her and settling pillows around her.

“My love,” she wiggled her hand out from the layers of blankets draped over her, finding his. He stopped, eyes wide as though she were about to tell him something was broken. “You’re dripping water everywhere. Please go dry off before you catch a cold.”

He blinked, looked down, as if only realizing now that he had in fact not dried himself off, leaving a trail of puddled footprints from the bathroom to the bed, droplets scattered over her blankets and pillows.

A sly smile curled across his lips, and he shot her a suggestive glance beneath the fan of his ivory lashes. “Perhaps I thought the view would help warm you up quicker.”

“Or perhaps you forgot, and now you’re making me upset because you’re going to get sick.”

He rolled his eyes, amused. “Darling, vampires don’t get sick.” When she did not answer, merely narrowed her eyes at him, he lifted his hands up, palms toward her in surrender. “But since it will make you happy, I will go and finish washing myself and dry off.”

He started to make his way back to the bathroom but stopped, beaming at her over his shoulder. “I’ll be quick, darling. Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m not going to fall asleep.” An empty rebuttal considering how heavy her eyes were, and how often she’d nearly fallen asleep already, and Astarion knew it. 

His head cocked to the side, his brow arched. “You’re full of lies today, my love.”

“I’m not lying!” She spoke in a huff, crossing her arms and slumping forward. “I won’t fall asleep.”

He only laughed, smug as if he were a victor in a game. “It’s hard to believe you, darling. But I do so find your tired moodiness adorable.”

She gaped, unable to come up with a quick retort before he’d vanished into the bathroom.

What did he mean about moodiness? She was not moody, she was just tired, and he’d been upset with her and then he’d teased her mercilessly.

She ended up too focused on her roiling thoughts to doze off, as she surely would have otherwise with the pillows and blankets heaped around her, and when Astarion again emerged she stumbled to her feet, blankets falling by the wayside.

“I’m not moody!” She chucked a pillow at him, and he caught it deftly, looking dazed. “You were just being mean, calling me a liar!”

Astarion tossed the pillow to the side, smirking as understanding dawned in his eyes. “Darling-”

She didn’t let him finish, launching another pillow at him.

Again he caught it, snorting. “You’re proving my point.”

Aspen huffed, turning away and throwing herself onto the bed, her back to Astarion. “Well I’m moody now because you’ve been so mean to me.”

He sighed, although it sounded more like a thinly veiled laugh than anything. “Alright, darling, I won’t call you a liar anymore.”

She faked a sniff, pulling a blanket over her head. She didn’t say anything more, waiting for him to continue.

A moment ticked past, and then another, and then she felt the bed shift as he perched on the edge, leaning over her. “Darling, you must forgive me. I was just so horribly upset. How could I not be when you were making yourself miserable and ill?”

She scrunched into a ball, pulling the blankets around her tighter so she was fully cocooned. “I already said I was sorry.”

He groaned, the sound followed swiftly by his hands tugging at the blankets. “Why are you hiding from me? If you’re trying to punish me there are ways that are much more fun than hiding your pretty face.”

Before Aspen could even consider responding, Astarion was tearing the blankets away, snatching her up into his lap.

“Hey! Let me go!” She tried to escape his grasp, but the blankets tangled around her, making it hard to move, and making it all too easy for him to hold her still.

When it became clear she would not be escaping any time soon she fixed a scowl on him, popping out her bottom lip even as he laughed.

“I did not mean to offend you, my dear.” He snickered as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “You’re just always so grouchy when you’re tired.”

She squirmed, but it was of no use, trapped as she was in his arms. Silently she cursed herself, wishing she’d put a little more effort into building up her strength; she could cast spells but she could not even wiggle out of Astarion’s grasp when he teased her.

“You know I’m right.” He spoke in a sing-song tone, melodious and pretty were it not for the fact that he was teasing her. “Trying to wake you up is like racing into battle.”

“That is not true.” It might have been true, just a little. But maybe that meant she just needed to be held for a while, until she was ready to wake.

Her voice cracked as she amended her earlier statement, Astarion watching quietly with a quirked brow. “Well-”

“Well?”

“Maybe I am a little.”

He hummed. “I wonder what wonderfully clever person told you that first, hm?”

“All it means is that you should cuddle me more when I wake up,” she grumbled. “That would make things better.”

“I suppose that’s something I could consider.” He tapped her lip, eyes bright with mischief. “But what’s in it for me?”

“Cuddling with me, of course,” she said. It had meant to be lilting, silly, but her words came out far too breathy and nervous, like even she didn’t believe what she was saying.

Yet Astarion’s smile reminded her of the gentle light of moonbeams, and he kissed her as if she were something fragile, precious. “That is quite the offer. I can’t think of a reason to say no.”

His gaze was mischievous once more when he pulled away, and his eyes narrowed, the gears in his mind whirring. “Although, I can think of something to sweeten the deal.”

“Oh?” Curiosity perched like a cat on her shoulder. “And what could that be?”

“Promising not to attack me with any more projectiles,” he said, eyes flicking to the discarded pillows. “It makes it hard to get dressed.”

Only then did she remember that neither of them were dressed, and were in fact separated only by a few blankets. Her face heated, and she looked away, fingers balling in the fabric of the scratchy, woolen blanket still wrapped around her. “Oh.”

“Don’t act coy on me now, darling.” But he didn’t tease her further, settling her on the bed beside him. “That’s something we can think about after you’re feeling better.”

Aspen watched him as he stood, crossing the room to crack open the door, checking something in the hall.

For the briefest of moments she was convinced he meant to just walk out of the room, nothing but a towel slung around his narrow hips. He leaned forward, the rustle of paper sounding as he picked something up that she could not see.

“Looks like the innkeeper kept her word, and sent up some fresh clothes.” He returned to her side, unwrapping the package bundled in brown paper he’d plucked from outside the room. “Thank goodness. I need the mud thoroughly cleaned from my things before I’m wearing that again.”

“These must be for you.” He unfolded a simple green dress and dark leggings from beneath the packaging and passed them to her. “They look warm, so they should help.”

Despite her protestations, Astarion helped her to dress, although she did make flimsy protestations before he brushed them away, insistent. His fingers were quick, skilled, deftly threading the back of the dress so it hugged her torso snuggly, securing the ribbons at her hips into a perfect bow, straightening the collar.

“There,” he said, nodding, satisfied with his work. “Better already.”

She pulled at the sleeves, the material much softer than the woolen blanket, keeping in the warmth that had soaked into her bones from the bath. “Thank you, my love. Did you want me to help you now?”

“No, absolutely not.” He took her shoulders, steering her back towards the bed. “You sit down. You still look pale as death.”

“No I do not!”

“Trust me, darling, as someone who is dead, your complexion is not that much different from mine.”

She muttered under her breath about what a mother hen he’d become and he snorted.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he called, dressing quickly. “Because I’m sure it’s only because you’re tired and not because you’re upset that I am lavishing my attentions on you.”

When he was done he padded over to where their packs had been abandoned, snatching up a book from her bag and handing it to her. “This is the one you’ve been reading most recently, right?”

“It is.” She took the book tentatively, confused. “Why?”

“To keep your mind occupied,” he said with a shrug, fiddling with his sleeves, nose wrinkling. “I’m going to head down to find you some food. I don’t want you to fall asleep while I’m gone.”

“Will you be very long?” The pages fanned out as she flicked through quickly, but her eyes never left Astarion.

Humming, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I won’t be long. Just promise not to fall asleep yet.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Aspen listened to his footsteps as he vanished from the room, wilting a little when she could not hear him any longer. It was hard to keep up her energy, to not give in to the heaviness that made her feel like she’d been cursed to turn slowly to stone.

It felt colder too, everything felt colder. She pulled her sleeves over her fingers, tugged blankets around her shoulders, but the shivers returned, frost spreading through her veins, ice crackling over her bones.

Blowing breath on her fingers, she flipped through the pages of her book, ears straining as she tried to listen to the muffled sounds of the tavern below. Snippets of conversation, echoes of laughter, the clink of plates. She reread the same page over and over, the words blurring together, the page itself turning fuzzy, distracted as she was while trying to listen for Astarion’s voice, searching for him in a crowd she couldn’t see.

Pinching herself was of little use, but still Aspen tried, even as her vision grew bleary, the voices she could pick up seeming to hush. Was it truly growing quieter, or was she falling asleep?

It would be so easy, to just stop fighting her fatigue and let herself slip away, to let her dreams take hold. The pain in her belly was a distant memory, a dull ache in comparison to the weight of her arms, of her head. Surely she could sleep now, and eat later. Surely that would be okay, and Astarion would understand.

Ah, but he’d been insistent, and she didn’t want to upset him. Had she not upset him enough today?

She hadn’t tried to, and yet she had, piercing his heart, provoking his ire.

Aspen didn’t realize that sinking into her mind would make it far too easy for her to begin to doze. As her mind wandered, her eyes fell closed, her body settling in the piles of blankets and pillows she was engulfed in. Yet all she could think of was how she could not fall asleep, not yet, because Astarion had asked her not to until he’d returned.

It was lucky that he returned quickly, her mind already half gone, her worries of upsetting him washing away beneath the ocean of unconsciousness reaching for her.

The click of the door shutting roused her, a savoury aroma filling the room. She lifted her head, trying and failing to open her eyes, not having even realized they’d closed in the first place. “Astarion?”

“Looks like someone didn’t listen,” he chided.

“I didn’t fall asleep!” She forced herself into a sitting position, scrubbing her face until she could keep her eyes open. “See! I’m awake.”

He looked like he didn’t believe her, clicking his tongue as he carried a tray heaped with food towards her. “That’s not what it looked like when I came in.”

She batted her lashes, hoping he would cave to a sweet expression and wouldn’t lecture her again. “Maybe I was dreaming of you.”

His smile was far too knowing, and undoubtedly he did not believe her at all. “Yet if you’d stayed awake you would have seen the real me in only a few minutes.”

“There’s no winning with you,” she grumbled, giving up on her facade. “I didn’t mean to, I did try.”

“I’m sure you did, my darling.” He settled beside her, the tray balanced on his lap. “But now that you’re fully awake, you should eat before you go back to sleep.”

She eyed the tray, curious about what he’d gotten. A bowl of stew with chunks of beef and potatoes and carrots swimming in the thick broth. A hunk of bread leaned against the bowl, the crust soaking up the broth, crumbs scattered over the surface of the stew. A little pie the size of her palm rested on the edge of the tray, beside a pastry she did not recognize, and a small mug of something absolutely steaming.

She lifted the mug first, the smell of cinnamon and cardamom and something sweet wafting over her.

“What is it?” She asked, cupping it in her hands, grateful for the warmth that seeped into her palms.

He shrugged. “I didn’t ask, I just told the innkeeper you needed something warm, and you liked sweet things.” He bared his fangs as he grinned. “Like me.”

She rolled her eyes, setting the mug to the side. “Thank you, love, you really have been so sweet.”

“I’m always sweet,” he drawled. “But only for you.”

“What about those orphans we helped a few weeks ago.”

“I- We-” He could not seem to finish his sentence, mouth opening and closing again. “That was different.”

Reaching for the tray, Aspen couldn’t help but laugh. “If you insist.”

The tray was promptly whisked out of her reach, Astarion shaking his head, a line forming between his brows. “No, no, absolutely not. I don’t trust you not to spill everything everywhere.”

She gaped at him as he lifted the tray higher. “I’m not a baby, I’m not going to spill everything!”

“Aspen.” So rarely did he use her first name that she paused, although she was loath to relax her glower.

“You were very nearly asleep until the moment I walked back in,” he began, lowering the tray until it rested in his lap once more. “And you could barely move your fingers no more than thirty minutes ago.”

Aspen considered pouting, reiterating “I’m not a baby, Astarion.”

“I never said you were, darling.” He lifted a spoonful of stew, brows arched. “But right now I don’t trust you’re strong enough. And I’d rather do it myself.”

She eyed the spoon with trepidation, feeling absurd. Was she not strong enough to take care of herself?

“Darling.” Astarion clicked his tongue, drawing her attention back to him as he spoke. His eyes were wide and pleading, his own expression schooled into a beseeching pout. “We’re supposed to take care of each other, both of us. So let me take care of you.”

A pause, a wrinkle of his nose. “Please.”

All her resistance gave way against him, that tentative ‘please’ a pebble holding together a dam that crumbled without it.

She slouched, giving up. “Alright, since you’re being so insistent.”

Astarion hummed, smug as he brought the spoon to her lips. “I’m so glad you’ve seen reason, my dear. Although, even if you hadn’t I would have convinced you eventually.”

With her mouth full she couldn’t argue with him, and he seemed delighted by her inability to do so. He chattered as she ate, not giving her much of a chance to get a word in edgewise to quarrel as he fed her. About the book he had finished reading, about how they would have to stop at the orphanage again when they headed back towards the city. He even preened, saying how lucky she was to have him, how he adored her so, how he would never help anyone else to eat when they were poorly, on her.

At times though, he would grow soft, his voice gentle as a caress. He would dab a napkin to her cheek or wipe crumbs from her face, his murmurations as delicate as spider’s silk.

“Stay with me, darling,” he would say, trusting her enough to hand her the mug but little else. “You’re doing so well.”

Slowly but surely the final dregs of her embarrassment fell away entirely, and Aspen was content to listen to the ebb and flow of his voice as he talked. She liked the sound of his voice, and whether he was griping about the poor weather and how it would affect his curls or murmuring adulations in her ear, she was happy to listen. Felt herself soothed by the cadence of his voice, the dramatic sighs, the ups and downs as he groused, as he sang his own praises. It did not matter what he said, only that it was he who said it, only that it was his voice that reached her ears.

When she’d eaten the last of the food, flakey bits of the pastry and specks of cherry jam sticking to her lips, Astarion stood to set the tray on the little table in their room before returning. He seemed pleased, leaning forward to wipe the last of the food from her face.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His thumb brushed her lip, and she took the opportunity to nip him lightly in response.

He chuckled, waiting for her to release his finger before speaking. “Still being unruly, I see. And after everything I’ve done to help.”

“I could have done it myself,” she grumbled. Yet there was no ire in her words, no hard edge to fling at him. It was an empty argument,  a weightless defense, and they both knew it. She could have done it, yes, but it was better that Astarion had helped.

If she were being honest, had he not helped she very likely would have passed out after a few bites, spilling stew and pastries all over herself and the blankets.

He hummed, content to quietly brush off the remaining crumbs from her cheek with a touch so delicate it was like she were made of glass. There was a smirk playing on his lips, and he didn’t bother trying to conceal how smug he was. He didn’t have to respond to her protestation, not when he could see through her as clearly as through glass.

After a few moments of silence, Aspen crumbled, tired of her own obstinance. Astarion had settled his hand on her cheek, stroking the corner of her mouth with his thumb, and she leaned into the touch, savouring the feel of his cool skin against hers.

She was warm enough now that she could feel the slight difference, his body cooler than hers, even as he continued to hold her face. She had him to thank for that, his teasing and patience and love making her feel whole and alive again.

“Astarion?” His brows creased as she said his name, concern flashing in the crimson of his eyes. She covered his hand with hers, hoping to convey that nothing was wrong, that he didn’t have to be worried.

“What is it, love?” His free hand reached up to smooth her bangs, wisps flying up at awkward angles. “Planning to bicker some more?”

She shook her head. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

The bob of his throat was the only indication that she’d surprised him. Not even his eyes widened, and he continued to stroke her cheek gently.

“I’m sorry for being so difficult.” She lowered her eyes, picking at the thread of a blanket. “I have a hard time accepting help from anyone or letting someone take care of me. But I’ve been particularly stubborn and frustrating for you.”

“I-” There was a huff of laughter, followed by a sigh. Both Astarion’s hands cupped her cheeks, tilting her head until their eyes met. “Look at me, darling.”

She did, twisting the fabric of her blanket between her fingers, her heart forgetting to beat as she waited for him to speak.

“I love you,” he said, clear as bells, as birdsong at dawn. His smile was no longer so self-satisfied, yet his lips remained quirked up like a crescent moon. “I love all of you, even when you’re being difficult. And to be clear, you have been extremely difficult. And terribly vexing.”

She wilted a little, despite the humour in his tone. “I’m sorry.”

Astarion clicked his tongue, pinching her cheek until she yelped. “My dear, I wasn’t looking for an apology. I…” He trailed off, softening his hold. “I understand that it can be difficult to accept care. I just hope you understand that I will always be here for you. That I will always take care of you.”

“It’s just that…” How did she find the right words? It upset him when she said she felt like a burden, or that she felt like a bother. But how else could she give the feeling form?

Restless as he usually was, in this moment Astarion seemed to have endless patience. “Just what?”

She chewed on the corner of her lip, forcing the words from her mouth. “I suppose it is just that, I feel like you ought to be the one being taken care of. And I want to take care of you, and I want to make sure you’re happy and comfortable and are never burdened.”

A sharp flash in his eyes told her he hadn’t missed that mention of being burdened, but he let it slide with a drawn out sigh. “As benevolent a desire as that is, have you considered what I want?”

“What do you mean?”

He pinched the curve of her ear, slid his hand up into her hair as he mulled over his response. “What I mean, is that I do want to be tended to by you, and spoiled and lavished with your love and care.” He curled his fingers around the soft baby-hairs at the nape of her neck, the cool touch of his hand making her skin tingle.

“And I want to take care of you too,” he continued, his gaze steady as it held hers. She remembered, not so long ago, how difficult it was for him to hold her gaze as he confessed whatever he was hiding in his heart. 

How he had changed, confident in how he felt, in the bond they shared, able to unveil to her what he felt in his heart without fear.

“I want to lavish you with my love, and spoil you in every way I can.” Some of his smugness returned, a glimmer of self-satisfaction as he lifted his head, cocked it to the side. “I am, after all, quite a generous, adoring lover. And I fully intend to show you just how adoring and generous I can be.”

Aspen giggled, loosening her grip on the blanket. She did not want to cling to a piece of fabric so much as she wanted to cling to him. And when her hands settled on his waist he smiled wider, pleased at how she wanted him.

“There is no one like you, Astarion,” she said, warmed by his words, her thoughts fuzzy, their edges soft. Her heart felt like sunshine danced across it, and her skin tingled like she’d been stretched out on a sun-warmed rock.

“I should hope not,” he scoffed. “I’m one-of-a-kind, darling.”

“You are,” she agreed. She slid her hands up his sides, over his chest, settling them above where his heart beat a slow, nearly indiscernible rhythm. It was little more than a flicker, a flutter of a pulse that she sometimes mistook for the thrum of her own heart.

But she felt it now, a steady, languid pulse beneath her palms. As surely as her whole world was contained in his eyes, she could feel his heart, fighting to give him some semblance of life.

“There is no one like you,” she murmured. The only one who needed to hear her words was him, and his ears were keen enough to pick up even her quietest whispers, attuned to the rise and fall of her voice. “There is no one as sweet, or as beautiful. There is no one who is more dear to me, no one I cherish more.”

He hummed, pleased to receive such compliments.

With one hand remaining on his chest, she lifted the other to his curls, feeling their silken strands between her fingertips. “You outshine the stars, my love. Not even the darkest shadows can hide your light. You make everything infinitely better, even this miserable storm.”

His eyes creased, a tender look filling their depths. His smile was soft as spun sugar, and her teeth ached from it.

“You’re quite gifted at poetry,” he drawled, no hint of mischief in his tone. There was only affection, reverence staining the edges of his words, like she had composed some mythic masterpiece, like she was a muse of poetry and song.

“I’m only telling you how I feel,” she said, softer still. She felt suddenly sheepish, worried she had spoken utter nonsense. “It’s all true, Astarion. You’re my whole world.”

He brought her face close, dropped his own until there was not even breath between them, lips brushing together in a kiss as delicate as the patterns of a snowflake.

There was no heat to this kiss, no desperate hunger, no clash of teeth and tongue. There was only a gentle warmth, the emotions in their hearts needing no words to be conveyed. 

She was so thankful for him, was content to spend the rest of her days at his side. She was sorry for how she had fought against him, and she wanted to accept his love and his care.

And he loved her, all of her, even the frustrating parts, the parts that railed impulsively. He wanted her, wanted to be with her, wanted to love her. And he was thankful for her beside him, for her love.

Each a balm to the other’s soul, each bringing the other’s heart a little serenity.

The kiss had not been feverish or intense, yet Aspen felt breathless all the same as it broke, the air from her lungs stolen as her heart ached from the touch of his lips. He did not draw back very far, leaving only enough space for them both to draw breath, for him to speak.

“How sublime,” he breathed, the sharp tips of his fangs nipping her bottom lip. “That your entire world is someone as wondrous as me.”

She felt his smile against her lips and she laughed, shoulders trembling as he brushed a kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, his lashes tickling her skin.

“You’re so very clever with your words, my love,” he praised. “Perhaps you should write a song about how perfect I am, and about how much you love me.”

She giggled as his teeth found their way to the pulse in her neck, teasing rather than sinking into the flesh. “I could surely write many songs about you.”

“You should,” he said, giving one last nip before drawing away, mischief in his eyes. “I want all of Faerûn to know how it pales in comparison to me.”

“Would you truly want that?” Curiosity got the better of her, and she found herself wondering if he really did want that. If he would like a book of songs dedicated all to him, to everything she loved about him. “What if I waxed poetic about your smile lines? Or the creases at the corners of your eyes? Or how your hair reminds me of moonlight?”

He seemed amused by her inquiry, humming. “Well if it were coming from anyone else I would feel insulted, since there are much nicer things to focus on than my hair or my wrinkles.” He sighed. “I’m supposed to be eternally youthful, anyways.”

“So you wouldn’t like that?”

His brow arched. “Patience, darling. I wasn’t done yet, was I?”

She rolled her eyes, and he gave her a playful pinch in response.

“As I was saying,” he continued, rolling his own eyes skyward. “If it were from someone else, I would not be particularly fond of hearing such things. But from you, my love? They would be the sweetest praise.”

Now it was Aspen’s turn to take his face, cupping it in her hands so she could kiss the tip of his nose, his brow, everywhere she could find until he was laughing.

“I love you, Astarion,” she said against his skin. “I love all of you. I think every part of you is perfect.”

“I should hope so,” he said between breaths. “I am perfect.”

She kissed him again, muttering under her breath that she wished he would just take the compliment, which only made him laugh harder.

“Write me those songs, darling,” he teased. “I can think of no greater compliment.”

“Maybe I will,” she huffed. “An entire book of them. So many that you’ll grow tired of them.”

“Oh, my dear, I could never grow tired of you singing my praises. I love the sound of your voice.” He pried her away, a delicate pink staining his cheeks. “But speaking of tired, I do think it’s time you went to sleep.”

Aspen gaped, shocked he would push her away like that. Had she annoyed him?

“Don’t look at me like that, love,” he sighed, but it was obvious he was amused. “You could barely walk a few hours ago, you kept falling asleep in the bathtub, and you nearly fell asleep again in the few minutes I went to get you something to eat. As much as I enjoy your company, I want you to sleep so you can feel better.”

“But-”

She didn’t even have time to pout before he was cutting her off, his smirk infuriating as he tutted. “No, none of that. You’re tired, and you need your rest, and I am more than happy to oblige in helping you.”

He shrugged, although he looked anything but indifferent, eyes narrowing to knife-sharp slits, lips quirking higher. “Perhaps if you’re good, there will be a reward when you wake.”

“What kind of reward?”

Another shrug, a feigned expression of ambivalence. “I guess you’ll have to go to sleep to find out.”

Grumbling under breath, she pulled her legs up to her chest, glowering at him. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” He stood, waving his hands at the bed. “Now come on. Time for sleep.”

Far quicker than her mind could process, the fatigue she’d been fighting against for so long making it feel like she was watching the world through thick mud, Astarion tugged the sheets and blankets free. Pillows fell to the side and he sighed, leaning down to reorganize them, fluffing them so they were puffy and inviting as they were laid out on the bed.

His brow arched high as his gaze swept back to where she was still curled, unmoving. “Lie down, my love.”

It was hard to resist the siren song of a comfortable bed and warm sheets, even harder to resist the warmth in his eyes, the way he was indulging her. She laid back, head sinking against the pillows, already her eyes falling closed, the last of her energy draining away.

She could hear the rustle of the sheets, feel them sliding over her body, warmth gathering beneath her ribs as she felt Astarion fussing around her. Straightening the blankets, checking the pillows, asking her if she was comfortable.

“I’d be more comfortable if I wasn’t alone in the bed,” she murmured. She tried to force her eyes open, but it was hard, and they were so heavy.

She could hear a snort, his hand ghosting over her cheek. “You can relax, my love. I would never dream of leaving you alone.”

In another moment she felt the mattress shift, Astarion’s weight joining hers on the bed. The blankets shifted, all of his hard work tucking them all so perfectly coming undone as he slid behind her. His arms wrapped around her waist, fingers fanning out over her stomach, his breath tickling the back of her neck. She could smell the rosemary and bergamot lingering on his skin, the floral scent of the soaps and oils he had so generously used. Cold as his body was, she felt warmer, safer.

“How’s this?” He murmured, lips brushing a kiss just behind her ear.

She managed to open her eyes as she twisted around to face him, palm pressed to his cheek as she caught his lips in a kiss. “It’s much better.”

Astarion laughed, warm as mulled wine, bright as starlight. “I know you’re always sleeping with that ratty stuffed bear, but he’s at the bottom of your pack so you’ll just have to make do with me.”

“First of all,” she said, fighting to keep her words from slurring together. “He is not ratty. I restuffed him and sewed up his torn arm. He’s good as new.”

Bemusement lined his face as he raised his brows. “I remember having to undo those stitches and resew him properly. And I remember having to replace his eyes when they fell out.”

“But he’s not ratty!”

“I suppose not anymore,” he conceded, looking on the verge of laughter.

“And second,” she continued, deciding to ignore his efforts to tease her further. She loved that bear, so what if it was a little old? “I’m not ‘making do’ with you. I love you.”

She twisted around until she was lying on her side, facing him. She prodded his chest, huffing. “I love you, and I love holding you and being held by you. How could you say such a thing?” As if he was inferior somehow, as if his arms weren’t where she was happiest, as if she didn’t love to wrap her own arms around him, cradle his head against her chest?

Her response was unexpected, and too late did she realize he had merely been teasing her before, as he blinked at her, eyes wide.

“Sorry,” she ducked her head, cheeks burning. She was so tired she’d completely missed the devilry in his words. He’d merely been joking and she had taken it far too seriously.

Astarion clicked his tongue, brushing hair back from her cheek. “There’s nothing to apologize for, my love.”

He spoke softly, the tenor of his voice spreading through her, wrapping around her ribs like ivy, blooming in her heart. The tension in her body eased, and she looked back up to find him watching her with adoration.

“I will have to keep that in mind,” he murmured, drawing her closer against him. “Since you’re so fond of me holding you, I would never wish to deny you such a pleasure.”

The smell of his perfumes was stronger now, as she buried her face against his chest, sinking into his embrace. “Thank you.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, rubbing patterns into her back. “I would give you the entire world if I could, you know.”

“You already are my entire world,” she said, her words muffled against his shirt. “I only want you.”

The reverberations of his laughter rumbled from his chest, spreading through the valleys of her chest, the caverns of her bones, the sea of her veins. It echoed like a song, unfurling as birdsong did in the open skies.

“Perhaps I need to spoil you like this more often,” he mused, his cold fingers rubbing small circles against the back of her neck. “So I can listen to your praises.”

“I compliment you all the time.” She yawned, her mind beginning to wander. He smelled so nice, and cool as his fingertips were, he was comfortable, and he warmed her heart.

“Yes,” he said, his voice hushed, reverent. “You do. Your heart is generous and sweet.”

“I’m not sure I would go that far.”

He huffed, laughter echoing in the sound. “I would. So you’ll just have to trust me, darling.”

She peeked up at him with bleary eyes, smiling. “I do trust you.”

“Good.” He stroked her cheek, his brow creasing. “Then you won’t mind if I do this more often.”

“Sleeping with me?” She frowned. “Astarion, you sleep with me every night.”

“No.” He rolled his eyes, snorting. “I meant taking care of you, darling. Lavishing you with my affections.” His expression softened, eyes finding hers again. “I find I rather like it.”

“Maybe I should let you.” She nestled closer, a sigh on her lips. “I like it, too.”

He hummed, fingers curling in her hair. “Really? After all your quarreling?” He tugged her hair, the corners of his lips curling up. “What changed your mind?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” she grumbled. “Only that I feel like I’m causing trouble, and I feel like I’m making you think you have to take care of me.” His fingers loosened in her hair, slowly combing through the damp strands, and she tipped her head back to look up at him fully. “But it was your sweet words that have convinced me that it’s not as troublesome as I’d thought.”

“It’s not troublesome in the least,” he corrected, giving her an indulgent smile. “And I’m glad I was able to make you see reason. I know that’s not one of your strong suits.”

She gaped, shooting an arm out to pinch him before he could stop her. “I can be reasonable!”

Astarion did not so much as wince, his soft laughter feathering over her brow and her hair, tangling in the strands along with his fingers. “Alright, that’s enough of that. You must sleep now.”

“But I like talking to you.” She was trying to whine, but a yawn was scrabbling its way up her throat, and the words came out garbled and squeaky, earning nothing but more laughter. “Don’t laugh! Don’t laugh at me!”

“My darling,” he cooed, stroking her cheek. “As adorable as that was, and as flattered as I am, I really want you to sleep. I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

She wanted to argue further, but another yawn was twisting her face, and she quickly covered her mouth, although that did little to hide it from Astarion.

“Sleep,” he insisted, leaning forward until his lips brushed her ear. “You can think of all those songs you’re going to write about me in your dreams,” he murmured, tucking the blankets around her shoulders. “How does that sound?”

She hummed. “Sounds nice.”

“Then sleep.” He dropped a final kiss to her cheek, before drawing her against his chest once more. “And you can tell me all about it when you wake.”

“Promise?” The words felt heavy as they passed from her lips, but still she had to say them, had to fight her fatigue for one final moment. She tightened her hands in his shirt.

“You’re being incredibly needy, you know.” His teasing words were belied by the softness in his gaze, the way his eyes creased as he ran the pad of his finger over the curve of her ear. “Yes, my darling, I promise. I will be here when you wake, and I will listen to you tell me all about your dreams.”

Aspen nestled close, tucking her head against his chest, the quiet hush of his breath in her hair as his chest rose and fell lulling her mind. With her eyes closed, wrapped in his arms, it was easy to succumb to unconsciousness, lapping at her feet like sun-warmed waves, frothing around her ankles, beckoning her out to sea.

She was nearly fully asleep when she heard his voice again, a caress to her cheek, a delicate trill of fingertips on her skin. “Aspen?”

“Hmmm?” She had forgotten how to speak, how to bring form to her thoughts. There was nothing she could do but hum, a pleasant buzzing in her throat that she hoped he could hear.

“I’d like if you were needy more often. I want to take care of you, my love.”

She tightened her arms around him, pressing her face closer against his chest in answer.

She could rely on him, she could be vulnerable with him. And she could show him how much she truly did need him, how terrible she always wanted him close.

“I love you. I always need you, I always want you.”

Aspen didn’t know if she’d said the words aloud, or if they’d only been echoes in her mind as she was drawn out to sea, but the huff of laughter in her hair brought her back to shore, if only for a moment. She could just make out the words he murmured against the top of her head, the brush of his lips as he punctuated them with one last kiss.

“I love you, too. I will always be here with you.”

And then she was gone, lost beneath the white-capped waves of her mind, dreams of songs dedicated to fanged smiles and bright crimson eyes creasing when they found hers bubbling around her like seafoam. Dreams of a life spent with hands intertwined settling like an anchor in sand, her heart finding safe harbour with her beloved.

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