A.N. This fandom is small. That's okay. This book, though not my favorite, is one of my favorites. lmao. I just love couples like Waverly and Marshall, and I wanted more chapters where they were happy and together. So I wrote two of my own. So if there is anyone, absolutely anyone, here reading this:
hey. Thanks.
Disclaimer: I don't own Places No One Knows
Spun from Gold
He took her to his room and had to keep reminding himself that she was real, that she was actually here, that her cold, damp hand in his was real, making his heart hurt, his chest warm.
She'd never been here, not really, and as he led her into his room for the first time, he became hyperaware of his scent, his stench, his essence, and how well it mixed with her, right next to him. Here. Now. Real.
They both looked at his bed like they'd never seen it before, never lied together, touched each other—skin on skin, breath on breath.
"Marshall," Waverly said, though he didn't know why.
"Waverly," he responded, because he loved her.
Waverly looked up at him with eyes made of gold, eyes forged in sorrow, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek, feel her skin on his, remind himself how warm she was, even though she thought she wasn't.
Marshall walked her to the bed, even though he felt awkward, strange, lank limbs and clammy skin, his face too hot, his chest too tight, and then Waverly lowered herself onto his sheets, her arms at her sides—sunk in and closed her eyes, looking like a corpse, breathing in deep and breathing out slow.
"Marshall," she said. Whispered.
"Waverly," he responded, because he couldn't imagine a version of himself who wouldn't say her name, who wouldn't come when she called.
"I love you," she said.
"Waverly," he responded, his voice cracking.
She wouldn't open her eyes, even as he lay down beside her, pressed his body against hers, placed an arm across her stomach, forced the other underneath her, pulled her in, pulled her close, whispered her name against her neck, dropped a kiss, dropped another.
"Marshall," she said, breathless.
"I love you," he responded, voice thick, lips fused to her skin, heart out of his chest and beating in her ear.
Finally—yes—Waverly turned her body, wrapped her arms around him, tilted her chin, smiled at him, looked happy—so happy, fuck—her eyes spun from gold, formed with sunshine, and Marshall felt himself die.
"I think I'm dead," he said.
"I think you gave it your best shot," she responded, burrowing her body into his, filling him with sunshine, filling him with her.