#a well spent insomnia for once

[phagodyke]

I have to be up for work in 3 hours and I'm gonna be real I think ive hit the point where I might not be getting any sleep at all. for fucks sake.

[samsmissingshoee]

ANGEL — SAM WINCHESTER.

SUMMARY — sam starts to grow fond of an angel. they have grown more comfortable around each other, and tensions run high when dean leaves for a bar.

WARNINGS — no plot all porn... 18+, softdom!sam, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, f!receiving, unexperienced!reader, angel!reader, LOTS of praise, biting, creampie, mentions of religion, sam's a sweetheart. he's also a freak.

WC — 4.3k. i got carried away.

A/N — i feel like i'm going to hell just from the warnings alone. i erm. i don't even know. shout out the two people who asked to get tagged in this 🙏 first ever smut fic, if you hate i'll probably delete my account. i am not editing 4.3k words btw. i'm lazy.

angels weren't supposed to enjoy the feeling of a human. that much was well known.

and when you came from heaven to assist castiel in whatever the hell it was that he was doing, that was repeated to you over and over again. these 'humans', they weren't important. your only job was to make sure sam winchester didn't get hurt. that was all this was supposed to be. a casual round of protecting the winchesters.

you didn't understand human norms, and at first, sam didn't like you. you didn't take personally, of course, because, well, sam hated any angel at first. castiel quickly explained to you about the brother's and how you'd be spending more time with them while he awaited directions. honestly, you couldn't care less about either of the brothers, too. they were hunters, and you were an angel. you weren't supposed to mix anyway.

sam winchester was more interesting than his older and shorter brother, though. sam was thoughtful and a lot more curious about you than he let on at first. as you spent more time 'watching' over him, you realized he enjoyed asking you questions about heaven, and the angels, and about castiel. and you tried to answer them to the best of your ability.

sam was more open to learning about you than dean, and he was more considerate when it came to teaching you knew things. slowly, he started defending you against dean's antics, and he learned about how curious you were, too.

he spent many late nights awake with you, struggling with his insomnia. you made it much more enjoyable. on the off chance that he did get some sleep, he'd wake up to you in the bunker, lounging and reading one of his books. as soon as you saw him awake, you'd pounce on him, eager to talk all about it.

sam found you endearing in the same way you found him intriguing. you both taught each other different things. he taught you about different emotions and how to communicate them to him. he showed you his favorite movies. he told you about his time in standford and about how he was studying law. you taught him about the bible, about praying and how you'd always come if he prayed for you. you taught him about heaven and hell, and angels and everything in between.

eventually, you two become friends, as much as younger sam would have hated to admit that. he showed you what friendship was and what it was like to worry about someone more than yourself. he explained to you what love was and about heartbreak. sam watched as you turned from this unemotional, blunt angel into a person, crafted by the things you loved.

you two kissed about six months after hunting with him. you were unexerienced, and painfully so, and your first kiss was nothing but giggles and awkward stares. the second, third, and fourth ones weren't any better. sam was ridiculously dotting and patient, and even though you were an angel and didn't understand what a relationship was, you still tried for him, and he loved you for it.

after a week of sneaky kisses and rushing into each other's rooms once dean fell asleep, you seemed to have gotten the hang of it. you and sam hadn't done anything remotely sexual other than a few hands-under-the-bra's and one /bad/ attempt at a handjob. sam was enthralled in watching you become more confident and learning how to touch him the way that he liked and how to kiss him properly. so he didn't mind taking things slow.

you two agreed to not have sex yet, partially because to you, it was a sin, and partially because you didn't know what you were doing. sam had no issue waiting. that was, until tonight.

you don't even remember how this happened, honestly — the lingering touches became more frequent, more needy, and at some point, sam had slipped you out of your shirt and bra. you'd barely even made it to his room /thank god for dean being out at a bar tonight/, before he was kissing you, his lips hiding something more intense tonight.

you wouldn't have protested anyways, but as soon as your shirt was gone, sam was all over you.

"i know it feels dirty, honey. but it's not. i wouldn't lie to you." sam hums against your throat, kissing the soft skin. when he talks like that, all low and soothing, you might just believe anything he says. he pulls back to look at your concerned expression, and his smile softens.

his movement stills, and you frown, almost wishing sam would convince you to do more. that feeling in your stomach, the one that felt close to nausea, started to feel nice. and you craved more of it. you craved more of sam.

although his desire outweighed his guilt for ruining the purity of an angel like this, sam still sat up for a moment, his hazel eyes practically begging you. he was nothing, if not a gentleman. "do you want this?" sam asks, hushed and spoken like a prayer, and you think you might get sent to hell just from how he's looking at you.

sam's hair is a ruffled mess, and his long sleeve black shirt was rolled up to his elbows. his carhartt jacket had long been discarded by you, tossed somewhere into the dark abyss that was the dingy, horribly lit motel room. he looks beautiful.

"i do, sammy, but—" you breathe out shakily. before you can finish answering, his hands are on your hips, tugging you closer to him. you're both standing up, his large hands moving up your skirt to trail up your sides. sam can feel your back arch against his hands slightly, and it's taking everything in him to not lose his resolve.

san, who previously said he was okay with waiting, felt like a selfish man tonight. he could honestly care less about your innocence right now. what he did care about was you, though. sam knew that if you wanted him to continue, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"but what?" sam mumbled, his fingertips digging against your hips. his erection was pressed dangerously against your thigh. he shifted you until you were pressed against him — he knew what he was doing and the effect it was having on you. you didn't answer and could only grumble a complaint out.

"just needa taste you, honey. we don't have to go all the way if you don't want to." sam's words are a contradiction to how he was staring at you. "although, i have thought about doing more." he hums, and he has a slight shit eating grin on his face. it's sort of surprising that this is your sweet sammy.

you're conflicted— this is wrong. sinful. but there was a bubbling heat in your stomach, and you wanted nothing more than to make sam feel good. maybe a part of being human was indulging in your sins. you pout at him slightly, and sam has to stop himself from moving his hips up against you. he doesn't just want this, he needs this. he needs to corrupt you, to ruin your innocence until all you can think about is him.

"fine. be gentle, though, sam. i mean it." you relent, although you didn't need much convincing. honestly, if he tried to pull off of you, you'd be the one begging him to touch you and not the other way around.

"oh, fuck—" sam groans, and he almost instantly falls to his knees. his hands are tugging off your jeans faster than you can process. "you don't know how long i've wanted this." his tone makes you feel dirty, and you can't help when your brows crumple into a slight glare. you didn't know what he was doing, but you wanted him to hurry it up.

you help him kick your jeans off around your ankles and step out of them. you're left in your cotton panties, and for some reason, it turns sam on more to know you weren't planning for this. honestly, neither was he.

"leave these on." two fingers slip underneath the elastic by your thigh, tugging them and letting them go, the fabric snapping against your skin. the action makes you suck in a breath. sam's lips make their way to your upper thighs, sucking and kissing at the sensitive skin. it's not enough, and he knows that. he's driving you crazy on purpose to see you squirm for him.

"sam—" you chastise, like a scold, your hand running through his hair and tugging on it gently, trying to bring your hips closer to him. sam fucking moans. he moans at getting his hair pulled, and it makes your brows crease in bewilderment. /you would definitely be keeping that in mind./

sam looks up at you with those same puppydog eyes, and you swear you're going to burst into literal flames and have your wings removed instantly. "needa taste my girl's pussy. y'gonna let me?" sam says softly, his voice muffled by your thigh, gently biting on a spot. when you whimper, he pulls back to kiss at the forming bruise, his hands massaging at the fat of your ass.

truth be told, you'd probably let him fold into a pretzel at this point, but you didn't want to stroke his massive ego.

the noise you make is answer enough, and sam deftly pulls your panties to the side. his hand brings yours to hold them. he needs *both* hands for devouring you. sam's two middle fingers move to collect your slick from your folds, and you shiver. his brows raise, and he smiles again. "you're soaked, baby. you really want me that bad?" he asks, and you're nodding quickly.

sam can't hold back when you look this pretty above him. you can feel his breath against you. even just looking at you bare in front of him is enough to make him want to cum in his fucking jeans.

he flattens his tongue against you, and your hips stutter against his mouth. you've never felt anything like this before. you can feel sam's grin against your cunt, his hands cupping into your ass and pulling your hips further into his mouth.

seeing such a large man, especially one like sam, at his knees, lapping at your pussy like a fucking starved man— it makes your head fuzzy.

without warning, his middle finger slips into you. your hands move to his hair to steady yourself, massaging at the brown strands, pushing some from off his sticky forehead. the concentration on his face is almost cute, but it soon becomes too hard to keep your eyes open.

another finger slips past your folds, and you're mouthing his name like a prayer. his fingers are rocking into you at a slow speed, but his mouth— it was fucking dirty, the way he'd suck on your clit, only pulling away to breathe. everytime he pulled away, a string of saliva followed, connected between you two. his chin was slick with your arousal, his chest panting with heavy breaths. and then he was right back to devouring you.

maybe sam winchester was the devil.

your hands tug on his hair slightly, and sam groans against you. the heat in your stomach was building and sam was near drunk on your pussy. when he looked up at you with those hazel eyes, you moaned, your thighs tremoring.

"sam— sam, it feels too good... please—" you breathed out, panting too now, and sam didn't relent, no matter how hard you were tugging at his hair. his hand was holding your hip hard not daring to let you squirm away from him. indents of his fingertips would ruin your pretty skin by the morning. you had to shy away from his intense gaze.

sam pulled away, still fucking his fingers into you. "eyes on me, baby." he mumbled, before sinking flush against your clit again. you listened, although your face was an embarrassing hue of pink. sam was just as loud and needy, if not worse than you. everytime your thighs clenched around him, or you tugged on his hair, profanities and groans slipped from his lips. he needed you.

sam kept his tongue latched onto you, his eyes showing that he was as desperate as you were to make you cum. the noises he was making were filth, soft grunts and groans, all muffled by your puffy pussy. when your eyes flickered down, you noticed that one of his hands were palming himself through his jeans.

with every shake and spasm, it was like sam knew you were close. he was using his hands to rock your hips more onto his tongue, your weight practically suffocating him. sam would gladly die a happy man in between your folds, if it meant getting to look up at your beautiful face contorting in pleasure. his chest swells at the fact that he is the one who gets to touch you like this.

that feeling returned as quickly as it left, and soon you were cumming on his face, your legs shaking as he kept his fingers curled into your folds. that was probably the best thing you'd felt since coming to earth. sam pressed a kiss to your overstimulated clit, before kissing up your stomach, your breasts, collarbone, and finally standing to his full height over you.

"how was that?" sam asks, licking the wetness off his fingers. as much as he wanted to ruin you, he also wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

heavy pants still wracked both of your bodies, your thighs aching and barely able to hold your own weight. he had the audacity to ask that after making you feel things you hadn't felt in your centuries alive? in between deep breaths, you shot him a slight glare.

"what do you think?" you tutted, puffing his lips out in that gorgeous pout that made sam was to kiss you stupid, holding onto his biceps so you didn't lose balance.

sam grins in response, his hands moving to your bare hips, pressing you into him. his cock was fucking painfully hard and he had to refrain from rutting against you. "i need to fuck you, honey." fuck sam and his beautiful eyes, pleading at you. his hand leads your to palm him from over his jeans, and he moans softly, so prettily.

you were conflicted. you knew his cock would feel so much better than his fingers, but this was wrong. "sammy—" you say in the same chastising voice that drives him insane.

"please, let me fuck you. need to feel you around my dick. fuck, doesn't even have to be all the way." sam pleads, and you have a hard time saying no to that. he was practically begging you. you sigh at how weak you were for this man. "please fuck me, sam."

sam eyes widen slightly, and he can't help his grin as he pushes you back against the bed. his eyes stay on you as he pulls his shirt off, discarding it across the motel floor along with all of yours. you can't help but stare at him. all tanned, scarred, and bruised, despite being young. it was so different compared to your imperfect skin, free of any blemishes or let alone scars.

sam's tantalizingly slow as he takes off his belt, followed by his jeans. he's fucking huge. that much you can tell by his bulge alone. your eyes widen slightly when he strips his boxers off.

he wanted to take his time with you, to treat you like the goddamn angel you were, to wrack every noise he can from your lips. but, sam was impatient as hell. and he was really, really hard.

"you're beautiful." sam coos, caging you in between his much larger frame. there is a shine in his gaze, so soft and loving, that it almost makes you feel queasy. he's not doing this because he's bored or because he wants to get off. sam's doing this because you're his world.

"you're alright." you respond, not able to hold back the giggle that escaped your lips afterward, especially when you felt sam's annoyed sigh against the crook of your neck. you can feel his irritated grin. sam fell in love with that devilish laugh of yours, and he found it endearing that even during this, he could make you sound like that.

it was such a sharp contrast from how emotionless and... awkward— you first were when you met the winchester brothers. sam has loved watching you adapt this sassy personality, loved eyeing you while you admire new things, hearing the way your voice heightened whenever you laughed, the way you took over parts of his and dean's own quirks and personalities.

"just alright? you wound me, angel."

this time, you rolled your eyes. you turn your head to the side to press your lips against the mole below his right eye. "you're beautiful too, sammy. you already know that." you huff out, your tone unmistakably soft. sam scoffed, nipping at her neck slightly. it was nice to hear that from you, regardless of what he thought about himself.

unfortunately for you, the compliment rushes to sam's head. he sits up slightly, his cock pressed against your lower stomach, a hand brushing over your cheek, moving your fanned hair out of your face. "are you sure you're okay with this? we can stop— i'll put on a movie, and we can forget—"

you interrupt sam's worries by pressing a kiss to his palm. "yes sam, i'm sure. please." and that small act of intimacy followed by your voice pleading for him was enough reassurance for sam. no need to tell him twice.

sam pumps himself a few times, his eyes not once leaving yours. "scoot your hips up for me, honey." you oblige, and you can feel his cock pressed against your clothed entrance. the sight leaves nothing for the imagination and sam sighs as his fingers pulls your panties down to your ankles.

sam looks like he's in fucking heaven, his lips parted and staring at you bare in front of him. his thumb habitually moves to your clit, rubbing soft circles against it just to watch you squirm under him.

"sam, quit being a damn tease." you frown and wiggle your hips into his more. his gaze is making you shy, something you didn't know was even possible as an angel.

"innocent angel, my ass." sam mumbles under his breath, but he obliges, lining up his cock to you. he collects your slick with his tip, dragging the wetness over your already overstimulated clit. sam rubs it against your folds a few times, before pressing only about halfway in. the moan that leaves your lips is heavenly, so much so that sam's head has to fall to your shoulder and bites it softly so he doesn't cum too fast like a damn high schooler.

"you're so fucking tight, shit—" sam groans and it's so dirty coming from him. he's usually so sweet to you, so hearing this is different. and arousing. but different. you'd expect this talk out of dean, not sam.

sam really wished he would've slept around a little more in college now because it was taking far too much concentration to not finish already.

"need to fuck you, baby. please." sam all but whimpers out. all of your beliefs, your nightly prayers, all of it was gone the second you felt him inside of you. you can only nod in response, your hands tugging at his waist to come closer to you.

sam stills, looking at you for a moment like he can't believe you want this. and slowly, he pushes in all the way, and you both share a pornographic moan.

sam is quiet as he lets you adjust to his size. he wasn't one to toot his own horn, but he was pretty big. and even though your vessel wasn't a virgin, mentally, you still were. sam had a mantra of things going through his head — the main ones being: please don't cum, please don't cum, please don't cum. don't say i love you. don't move too fast yet. let her adjust.

sam leans down to kiss your forehead. "good?" he hums.

you nod again. "hurts a little." and sam is nothing but patient, kissing each of your temples before brushing your hair away.

"i promise you're doing so good. it's gonna hurt for a moment. it'll feel better soon. just relax." sam murmured against your shoulder, his lips sighing down towards your collarbone. "gonna move now, sweet girl." calloused palms are pressing your thighs to your chest. he leans down enough so you can hold on to his shoulders if you need.

with one hand still on the back of your leg, and the other one cupping one of your breasts, he pulls out almost all the way before rocking in slowly. your eyes screwing shut from pleasure is enough to test the waters with a more heavy thrust. "that's it, baby. look at you—" sam groans, his fingertips digging into your skin. his eyes were glued to where his cock was entering you rhythmically, and god, he could get addicted to that sight. sam could fucking see where the tip of his cock was pressing into your belly. his palm moved over it, adding slight pressure to your lower pelvis. the feeling made him groan out your name softly. he was just as loud as you were. "so beautiful."

part of you wanted sam to shut up so you could focus on the feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock, but the other half of you enjoyed the flithy words leaving his flushed lips.

"oh, fuck. sammy, 's too much—" you whimpered out, your hand squeezing his biceps. your legs wrapped around his waist to bring him closer, the balls of your heels digging against his ass. sam think he likes that you're not very vocal. it makes every beg, every moan that much more special to him. he was the only one who got to see his angel falling apart like this.

everything about sam is fucking massive, from his height, to his sheer size difference over you. it shouldn't have been shocking that his dick was huge too, but you felt it now. you felt every single inch, stretching you out, your arousal slipping down his shaft. sam's thrusts grew more feverish, his shaggy brown bangs falling into his face as his head fell forward slightly. "i know you can handle it baby." he grunted in response to your plea, hazel eyes fucked out with lust.

that feeling in your lower belly returned, and now, at least, you know what it meant. it was overwhelming, but not enough for you. your hand reached for sam's hand, guiding it to you clit. sam thought that was the hottest thing he'd ever fucking seen, and shuddered slightly. "you wanna cum around my cock? is that it, sweetheart?" sam asks, a small, contemplating smile on his lips.

you're writhing under his cock, your back arching off the bed, his thumb rubbing soft circles around your nub. you tap his bicep in warning of your approaching orgasm, but he doesn't stop. he doesn't slow down either. in fact, he ruts his hips faster. the feeling of you clenching around his dick is enough to send him over the edge, too. he's biting down hard on his cheek to stop himself from cumming before you. he wants, needs to see you cum first, before he can.

your face contorts into pleasure, and you cum hard, sam still fucking you through your orgasm. he groans and his eyes close when he watches you making a mess all over him. "thaaat's it. that's my girl." he encourages, the feeling of your walls clenching around him tipping him over the edge. "fuck. gonna fill you up." he grunts against your shoulder, his hips stuttering slightly and you moan as you feel his cock twitch inside you, before you feel cum spurt into your cunt.

sam pulls out a moment after, his eyes blown out when he watches his spend leak from your pulsating hole. he uses two fingers to spread it around over your folds. once he's satisfied with his handiwork, he slumps down into the bed next to you.

you're still a panting, sighing mess. you feel your legs twitch occasionally, and you're finally coming to your senses. you were just fucked stupid by your best friend. a human.

"jesus, sam. is this really what humans are doing?" you ask, out of genuine curiosity, and sam pinches your side with a slight laugh. he looks spent, almost as bad as you. his head falls to your shoulder, pressing his lips to the soft skin present.

"the lucky ones, yeah." sam huffs in amusement. "you're okay, right? i didn't hurt you, or pressure you or anything?" his voice is a little persistent, worried, already overthinking like he wasn't just inside of you.

"'course not. that was amazing. i think i'd go to hell if it meant having sex everyday— i see why castiel was encouraging me into trying this." you tilt your head to the side, and sam raises an eyebrow. he didn't even dare ask what odd things castiel told you about. nor did he want to know. he couldn't see castiel doing anyone without scaring them away with his bluntness first.

sam chooses to ignore that, leaning over to pepper kisses onto your cheeks, nose, and forehead. anywhere you'll let him at this point. "you did amazing. absolutely drained me. y'sure you haven't done that before?" he teases, and you roll your eyes at him. your eyes watched him with concern when sam stood.

"alright, crazy girl. let's get you cleaned up."

[undiscovered-horizon]

4 A.M. - Sanji x Reader

SUMMARY: Sanji's doing prep for the next day and you can't sleep which leads to a heartfelt and intimate encounter.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

It's around 4 A.M. when you get up from your hammock-turned-cot and decide to find something to do. Sleep clearly isn't coming. The past two hours of staring at the ceiling and swaying with the boat filled you with annoyance at your sudden case of insomnia.

Walking down the narrow corridor of the lower deck, you can hear the tiniest of creaks as the caravel floats along the waves. The night is so quiet, you can almost hear Luffy's snoring from his room. Usopp is mumbling in his sleep. Something about a pirate crew, carrots and onions. Nami and Zoro seem to be peaceful sleepers although with time you've learned that it's only a game of appearances - the thief and the hunter sleep with one eye open.

With each step, you can hear the repetitive sound more clearly. It's quick, separated by scraping.

The low light of the kitchen makes Sanji look almost inhuman, like the spirit of a chief cook who can't let go of the ship he had spent his entire life on. He's still in the same clothes, although the double-breasted jacket is nowhere in sight. The sleeves of his striped shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms. Where he's standing, the lonely lightbulb illuminates only half of his silhouette. The blond man toes the line of visibility as though he might disappear when you blink.

He looks almost divine.

"Can't sleep?" Sanji asks without looking away from the cutting board.

Only then, when he lets you know he's aware of your presence, do you realize you've been leaning against the doorframe and watching him for a good few minutes. Knowing Sanji, he won't think you odd but you're still a little flustered.

"Yeah. You?" you answer. In a few slow steps you're standing next to him, leaning your lower back against the kitchen counter.

For a moment, Sanji looks away from the cutting board and chopped carrots. His eyes stare into yours for a moment. It's nearly an inborn reflex that a wide smile curves his lips when he sees you.

"Not a fan of sleeping alone," he says and winks at you before going back to cutting vegetables.

The blush on your cheeks darkens a few shades (maybe he won't notice in the kitchen's twilight?). Truthfully, you have entertained that thought more than once and wondered whether similar fantasies kept him awake at night too. But you always dismissed them, thinking it wrong to have such intimate dreams regarding someone who might not even reciprocate your fondness. Sanji is, after all, a ladies' man - flowery words leave his mouth whenever a woman is around, no matter if she's taken or not interested.

Still, you believe there is something more between you and Sanji. Sometimes you think you've deluded yourself into believing this but it's moments like these, like the fond silence you're sharing now, that convince you it's not just your imagination:

Most of the time, the conversation between you and Sanji flows like a swift stream. But now, when the two of you are too tired to sleep, the silence is just as good. Even if you're not exchanging words and ambiguous comments, you feel understood. Like he knows you well enough to be able to guess what's on your mind. And you know what he might say in return, all the advice and wax poetic he revels in telling you. It's perfectly strange to converse with someone without saying a single word.

"Wanna see a trick?" you ask, breaking the silence.

Sanji is putting his chopped vegetables into large bowls. The movement of his hands is both careless and calculated as though he's letting his muscle memory take over the very last step of prepping ingredients for the next day's cooking. He's done this so many times, it's useless to think about the action too much.

"You trying to impress me, princess?" he asks in a low voice with a half-grin plastered on his face. The mischievous glint in his eye never quite seems to go away, especially when you're around.

"Nah," you answer, shaking your head, "just practising to show off in front of Zoro."

Sanji tries to pout but a genuine smile is tugging at the corners of his lips. "Cold."

Still, his eyes are glued to you. Though part of you is convinced it's not because you're about to show him a cheap fair trick. You take one of the teaspoons lying around and lift it in front of your face.

"You better not blink," you warn him.

He gives you a strange look.

"And lose precious few seconds of admiring you? Never."

Like most times, you're not sure how much of his sweet words you can believe.

With a quick move of wrists and fingers, you make the teaspoon disappear. After practising for a few days, the sleight of hand is almost flawless.

Sanji nods with appreciation.

“So you’re a magician, eh?” A low chuckle rumbles in his throat. “This explains how come you’ve bewitched me entirely.”

He leans on his arm against the edge of the counter. His head is slightly tilted as he's looking down at you. The lack of space between your bodies wouldn't raise an eyebrow in any other circumstances but now, when the night is dark and silent, the close proximity makes it hard to breathe. Your chests nervously rise and fall as you're breathing in each other's air.

“Truth be told," you begin in a slightly shaky voice, "I don’t know how to reverse the spell I put on you.”

But it seems as though Sanji has seen through your facade of humour and banter. The playful glint in his eyes mellows, becoming something more heartfelt. Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you must remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m quite content doting on you for the rest of my life."

You clench your jaw and look away for a moment. Flirty banter with Sanji is meant to remain just that - half-hearted comments with no strings attached. The problem is that, against your better judgement, you've been letting his wax poetic weigh down heavy on you, savouring each compliment and ambiguous remark like a soft river wearing down an unmovable boulder over time.

“Sanji," you whisper, "you need to stop saying all those nice things.”

“Why?” His voice is just as breathy and quiet.

“Because I’m starting to believe you.”

Something about his expression changes. You can't quite put a finger on it but Sanji's face looks softer, almost somber. His shoulders become tense as he wipes his hands on the dishrag hanging over his shoulder and tosses it on the countertop.

"Would that be so terrible, love?" Sanji drones his words. Part of you is convinced that he already knows the answer. "To believe that my every thought belongs to you?" His eyelids flutter as his gaze falls to your lips. "That I would tear out my own heart and bring it to you in my teeth if you asked for it?"

The short silence feels unbearable. You can hear your own heart thundering in your chest, beating at your ribcage to finally be freed. To let it make the decision this time.

“Alright, you’ve done it," you whisper more to yourself than to him.

You can hear Sanji sharply inhaling when you grab the collar of his elegant shirt and pull him into a feverish kiss. He tastes like cigarettes and spearmint chewing gum. His shirt is imbued with the smell of cooking oil. All of those strong aromas you've learned to associate with comfort and security.

His lips move against yours with passion and desperation known only to those who made friends with longing. Sanji places his hands around your waist, pulling you even closer to his body. If he could pull you just a little more, merge the two of you into one union, he wouldn't have to go a second without you.

Then, Sanji pulls just an inch away. His hot, heavy breath brushes against your cheeks. Swollen, red lips look even more enticing than they did before.

"Are you really going to woo Zoro with a magic trick?" he asks, somewhat tense.

Your laughter brightens up the dead of night. Sanji feels like his chest is about to burst open with flowers blooming inside his ribcage where his heart should be. And it would have been if he hadn't given it to you the moment you met.

"Just shut up."

Shaking your head, you kiss him again. Still holding you close, Sanji pushes you against the kitchen counter. One of his hands leaves your waist only to rest against the side of your head to deepen the kiss.

It's around 4 A.M. when you wonder whether being in love is like having a song stuck in your head. Or like an echo that forever repeats a single name.

[polarisjisung]

MOTORBIKES & MELATONIN

synopsis: sleep doesn't find you in the comfort of your own home or under the covers tucked safely into your bed— sleep finds you in the warmth of park jisung's arms

wc: 1.1k

pairings: jisung × fem!reader, established relationship

genre: fluff

warnings: insomnia + mentions of using sleeping pills/supplement use of the word drug (literally once), speeding (follow the speed limit 🙏)

notes: emosung brainrot is in full swing (though there's not a lot of emosung mentioned) mostly self indulgent so probably not my best work since I was all up in my head but 🤷‍♀️

you're laying on your bed, aimlessly bouncing the soft tennis ball in your hand against the empty space of the wall just above your headboard. sleep never came easy to you and tonight is no different.

you'd tried it all, counting sheep, drinking warm milk, even meditation but nothing ever worked. instead you spent nights tossing and turning restlessly despite being tucked into the warm covers of your bed, chasing sleep.

just as you reach for the purple bottle that lays next to your bed, ready to pour half the jar of supplements into your hand and gulp them down with a glass of water, you hear it.

your perfect form of melatonin and serotonin mixed in one— your drug, your purpose.

the rumble is distinct. it comes with the soft vibration beneath your feet and the deep reverberation in your ears. the roaring of the v twin engine has you shooting up into a seated position as realisation washes over you

there's a dim red glow cast across your room by the break lights as you grab the loose fit leather jacket that rests over the back of your study chair. the woody oriental cologne still lingers through its material as you place it over your shoulders and run out of the front door.

there he is, helmet gripped loosely in his left hand, his right arm open and ready to welcome you into his embrace.

jisung's black hair flows in the wind, his forehead on show— paired with the soft smile he flashes you, you can't help but think he looks perfect.

"didn't even give me a chance to sneak into your room" he sulks taking you in between his arms, giving you a quick spin as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead

"can't blame a girl for wanting to see her boyfriend" you sigh, taking in his warmth with a smile

"yeah?" he pulls back to get a better view of your face, "miss me that much angel?"

"you know it sung"

his laugh is deep yet gentle, eyes sparkling at the sight of you

"well I'm here now"

jisung takes a quick step around you, his touch feather light as he gathers your open hair into a low ponytail, reaching for the hair tie on his wrist to tie it back

"too tight?" he says, voice full of worry and concern— when you shake your head he smiles, placing his helmet over your head

you wonder how people could ever think jisung was anything but the sweet, kind and warm hearted lover you knew, who wouldn't dare let you move an inch to do something he could do for you, like how he gently takes ahold of you in his arms and places you onto the seat of his bike, eventually taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist

"hold on tight" he whispers in that caring tone of his, that's reserved solely for you, ready to whisk you away for the night and you do just that, gripping his waist securely, but not before lifting his visor and pressing a quick kiss to his temple

jisung drives off, wordlessly but with a smile that speaks volumes

there's a warmth that radiates from jisung's body, the only thing keeping you from freezing as the wind rushes past you, blowing with harsh whistles, tyres screeching against the ground as he takes sharp turns through the streets leading towards the countryside

you'd snuck out before, driven way too far over the speed limit, done countless things that would define your reckless youth and yet nothing had your veins coursing with quite so much adrenaline as this, driving way too far, way too fast, with jisung, the person you loved way too much

like always, you find yourself in jisung's lap, god forbid he let you sit on the grass, wet from the fresh morning dew that rests over it, warm hues of orange and light pinks taking over the sky as you hold one another close, the wind still blowing strong gusts your way, your hair blowing in your face until jisung decides to take it between his fingers and hold it back in his palm

"I like this" you whisper, just loud enough that jisung hears it, his lip rising just enough for his teeth to come on show

"I like you" he responds, watching the warm glow of the sun reaching over the horizon through your eyes

"you do?" you smile, wider than you previously had been, it's a smile that reaches your eyes and jisung's unwavering gaze grows brighter at the realisation

"you're my girl, of course I do"

this time it's his turn to press a quick kiss to your forehead, but jisung's greedy, especially so when it comes to you and he can't help but want more, honey brown eyes resting on your lips

"give me a kiss and I think I'll love you forever" you can't help but giggle at the tickling feeling of jisung's hair against your neck as he pouts up at you

"yeah? didn't know my boyfriend needed kisses to do that" you tease with a roll of your eyes

"didn't know your what?" he asks, and you know exactly what jisung's doing, so you whisper the answer with nothing more than a shy smile straight into his ear

"my boyfriend"

"present" jisungs hand is raised and his voice is confident when he looks at you again, it's like he's begging you to tug at his shirt and crash your lips against his, and who were you to say no to him

"you're so cute" you let out between kisses, the bridge of your nose resting against jisung's, who now wears a look of faux offence

"yeah?" he asks, hoping you'll change your mind, though you don't let up, reaching out to ruffle his black hair "only for you"

somewhere between the late hours of the night and the early hours of dawn, between the quietus of your bedroom and the roar of his engine, between gazing up at the stars and watching the sunrise by the harbour— jisung hears your soft snores replace the quiet whispers of awe you once breathed out.

despite it all, jisung's smile remains all the same, radiant, warm and masked by the matte black helmet resting atop his head

[jessamine-rose]

Aaaahhhh Navina!! Thank you so much for the continuation. I loved everything about it <3

Ngl reading it makes me want to extend Boss’s misery and delay their happy ending HAHAHA. Ironically, a “loveless” marriage is the closest thing to an expression of love from Darling….for now. Perhaps someday, she’ll give Boss some peace of mind but not today ψ(｀∇´)ψ

So I ended up fast forwarding a bit and writing this drabble for Boss x Friend! Darling……ahahaha I hope you all enjoy this scenario >:’3

Note:: All Boss x Friend! Darling stories take place in the AU where Boss wins in One Last Call

-

There is no romantic proposal.

But that is fine for a “marriage of convenience.”Rather than an emotional proposal in a special place, the two of them are just signing legal documents in Darling’s home.

Aside from the marriage contract, there are many things to discuss—ring designs, living arrangements, cover story for their coworkers, whether or not they’ll have a wedding. The whole time, Darling acts serious and meticulous; it’s a side of her that Boss doesn’t see often.

Then again, he expects nothing less from a senior manager of Celestia Inc.

If things went his way, this marriage would be “real.” Alas, Darling still refuses to give her heart to him, hence why Boss is yielding to her terms. It doesn’t mean that he has given up, though.

Now that they’re married, he will have more opportunities to win her over emotionally. And thanks to this agreement, no one else will pursue Darling or judge them for their previously single status.

“And that’s it.” Darling signs the prenup and looks up to face him. “Here’s to our shared future. Let’s hope you don’t do anything to make me regret this decision.”

“I could say the same,” he shoots back. “I can only imagine the many ways you will test my patience moving forward.”

Not that he dislikes it. By now, the both of them know that Darling has him wrapped about her finger. It’s funny, really—in his desire to control her, he is controlled by his desire for her.

“If you are going to blame anyone later on,” he continues, “it should be yourself for forcing my hand to begin with.”

“Now, now.” At that, Darling’s lips curve into a familiar smile. Her next words sound better than any yes or I do. “Don’t be so mean to your wife~”

Now all that’s left to own is her heart.

-

And they lived happily ever after—jk it will still take months/ years for Boss to make Darling say “I love you” to him. At least he gets a partial victory in another universe xD

I still have more ideas for what happens in Boss x Friend! Darling’s relationship before they reach this point, and aahhhh I can’t wait to make Boss even more of an asshole + boyfailure <3

I hope you don't mind that I did a small continuation to fuel the thoughts of making him a boyfailure btw LMAOOOO

It should've been a loveless marriage.

It should have. That should've been what was expected from the two of them.

And yet, as he found himself one night, years past their first day in being 'married', he found himself unable to put focus on such a thing. To remember that, in a way, this isn't what he could bargain for in the long run.

It was a night like no other. A peaceful, idyllic one, if not for her back turned to him. And his turned back to her as well, for the sake of personal space.

Husband and wife, turning themselves against each other. Such a record, he found himself thinking, but he couldn't bring himself to say yet another word.

Boss— no, Alexander— often had troubles in his mind. Even as the Boss of one of the partner companies of Celestia Inc., the one that focuses on MixMatch as a whole and running his own shady business below, he still found himself thinking through the night.

It left him to stay up, unable to get a wink of rest. And he despised the thought.

Normally, he would find himself able to relax and sleep after 4 hours. He was an insomniac, but nothing that couldn't be solved if he idled long enough with nothing in his mind. Although, as he found out, this was not what he had hoped to occur.

Not with her.

After a while of idling and praying to Gods above to help him sleep to no avail, he turned his body to face her back. He could hear her breathing, even when they're not too close to do such a thing, and his hand quietly reached over to grab hers.

He isn't fond of vulnerability. He's never fond of thinking he should be... Open to someone without thinking they'd stab you on the back.

He hates it. Loathes it to the very core of his being. He couldn't fathom of how people can trust those that could bring them harm, that could simply ruin them if they so much as tried to put their trust and get in fights with them.

But as he held her hand, he felt his shoulders relax. He felt his body lose its tension.

... He's such a fool, he thinks. Just how badly must he crave for someone who'd never love him, when he, himself, can never bring the same commitment?

Maybe it was a curse. A poison he willingly drank, foolishly thinking that no one would catch his eye.

He knew his days were numbered, but in such a night like this, he found himself thinking that it wouldn't be so bad.

He's grown softer. Cordial. Over the years he spent with her, his walls weathered down and became nothing but mere wooden remains. He even found himself thinking that he could simply be laid to rest, and he'd be happy, so as long she remains by his side.

But he will never say that to her.

His pride, his ego, his mind will never let him.

He can cry in anguish all he wants, and truly, he could— but he knew that the day they were together, it will always remain this way.

It was unrequited from the beginning. Maybe he's deluded himself so much into thinking he's had a chance, but he isn't stupid.

So, for now, he will cherish the littlest things he gets from her. He'll cherish the only thing she's allowed him to get.

Her heart will be a grandeur treasure he'd take and never return, but he's content in the time they spent together. In a bit of an irony, he found himself thinking that their time was worth more than just an organ.

After all, what use is a heart if it stopped beating?

Will there be use of an organ when the memories will be the thing left beating?

He didn't knew. No one else knew.

And for once, that left him in a stupor.

Perhaps he can think about this some other time.

Not when he has her in his hand, just like tonight.

[soulofapatrick]

Moonlight Confessions - Jeremiah Fisher x Reader

Summary: You can't sleep so slip into bed with Jeremiah like you used to do as kids

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: none, just fluff

Notes: I have a new character obsession but ill still write alll my old characters I promise

Y/N’s POV

The night hangs heavy around me as I lie in bed, surrounded by the hushed symphony of the beach house settling into the quietude of the late hour. Moonlight spills though the half-closed curtains, casting ethereal shadows on the wall. The rhythmic murmur of the waves serves as a lullaby, yet instead of being soothing, it only accentuates the restlessness within. 

I toss and turn, the sheets twisting around me like a futile attempt to escape the grip of insomnia. The wooden floorboards beneath creak softly in response to my every movement, the house itself seemingly alive with memories and secrets. The air is thick with the scent of salt, a subtle reminder of the proximity of the ocean just beyond the windows. 

A gentle sigh escapes me, and I sit up, the moonlit room offering a muted palette of grass and blues. The sea breeze slips through the open window, carrying with it the salty tang of the ocean and a faint hint of sunscreen lingering on my skin from a day spent under the sun. It’s a scent that feels like summer, a tangible reminder of days filled with laughter and quiet moments. The beach house, usually echoing with the laughter of friends that have become family and the clinking of glasses, is now draped in a serene quietness. The only sounds are the distant waves, the occasional creaks of the house, and the soft rustle of leaves outside the window. The night is alive with a different kind of energy, one that invites introspection and quiet contemplation. 

I glance at the clock; its numbers glow faintly, indicating the lateness of the hour. Frustration wells up within me as the thoughts in my head refuse to quiet down. The weight of uncertainty presses on my chest, and the moonlight, once a friend, now feels accusatory, illuminating the shadows of doubt. 

With a resigned sigh, I slip out of bed, the coolness of the wooden floor soothing against my bare feet. The moonlit room is empty, and the stillness is almost palpable I find myself standing by the window gazing out at the silver expanse of the ocean, debating whether to go for a late night swim. The rhythmic lull of the waves seems to beckon, promising a brief escape from the tangled thought that refuse to let go. 

However, a different impulse guides me tonight. There’s a yearning for connection, for a presence that might understand my sleeplessness. My bare feet carry me down the hallway, each step a whisper against the aged floorboards. The soft glow of the moonlight follows me, casting a silvery trail towards Jeremiah’s room. 

I hesitate for a moment, hand resting on the doorknob, wondering if I’m intruding. But the pull is undeniable, and with a gentle push, the door opens. The room is awash in the same moonlight, giving it an almost magical ambiance. My eyes find Jeremiah’s form, asleep and seemingly at peace. He lies sprawled across the bed, one arm flung lazily over his head, the other resting against the pillow. The soft rise and fall on his chest speaks of a deep, undisturbed slumber. Moonbeams play on the edges of his tanned features, casting gentle shadows that dance in tandem with the ebb and flow of the ocean outside. 

In the quiet room, I can hear his rhythmic breathing, a sound that harmonises with the distant waves. The worries etched onto his face during waking hours are softened in the moonlight, leaving behind the serenity of someone unburdened, if only for the night. A smile tugs at my lips as I watch him, realising that the moonlit room holds a different kind of tranquility with him in it. His vulnerability while asleep is endearing, and the knots of restlessness within me begin to loosen. 

With each step, the floor beneath me barely creaking, I move across the room towards him. The moonlight bathes the space in a silvery glow, and as I reach his bedside, I find myself inexplicably drawn to the warmth emanating from his sleeping form. Gently, I lift the duvet, the fabric rustling softly in the quiet room. I slide into the bed beside him, careful not to disturb his peaceful repose. The mattress gives a subtle sigh beneath my weight, and I hold my breath for a moment, hoping to preserve the serenity of the night. 

As I settle beside Jeremiah, the contrast between the coolness of the sheets and the warmth of his presence is palpable. The moonlight paints a soft halo around his features, casting shadows that plat on the contours of his face. His eyelashes rest against him cheeks, and the faint moonlight lines on his skin tell stories only visible when the world is hushed 

I watch him for a moment, laying on my side, facing him, a cascade of mixed emotions washing over me. The quiet intimacy of the moonlit room and the closeness we share creates a bubble, shielding us from the uncertainties of the waking world. 

Unable to resits the urge to touch, I reach out and trace a gentle line along his jaw, my fingertips barely grazing his skin. He stirs, a subtle shift in his breathing, and a small smile plays on his lips as if he sense my presence even in his dreams. 

“Mouse?” He mumbles, my nickname making my cheeks heat up, voice heavy with sleep as his eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dim light. Confusion flickers in his gaze for a moment before recognition settles in, a sleepy smile graces his lips as he meets my eyes, “What’s wrong?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” I admit, my fingers now tracing aimless patterns across his cheek, feeling the smile as well as seeing it deepen as he shifts to pull me closer to him. 

He wraps his arms around me in a warm embrace, the duvet a soft cocoon around us. The scent of his skin and subtle musk of the room creates a comforting atmosphere, and I rest my head against the curve of his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek. Jeremiah, still half-asleep, responds by pulling me even closer until there’s no space between us. The contours of our bodies fit together as if they were pieces of a puzzle meant to be connected. The room is filled with a quiet intimacy, the kind that words struggle to capture. 

His fingers train through my hair, a gentle rhythmic motion that lulls me into a sense of peace, “You can always come to me,” He murmurs, his voice a soft whisper in the silence. 

A contented sigh escapes my lips as his touch soothes the restlessness within me. He cups my jaw with his hand, his thumb rubbing over my cheek soothingly. The moonlight painting a silver glow on his face, highlighting the warmth in his ocean blue eyes as he gazes at me. 

“Better?” He asks, his voice a gentle hum against my ear. 

I can just nod, feeling a weight lifted off my shoulders in the quiet sanctuary of his arms, replaced with something different. Something so familiar yet foreign, like a feeling I’ve pushed down over and over again until it can’t be contained anymore. My thumb brushing over Jeremiah’s bottom lip tentatively, as if testing a theory and it’s no longer a theory when his breath hitches. 

We linger in that suspended moment, our eyes locked in a silent exchange that speaks volumes. The room is charged with an unspoken understanding, the air thick with anticipation. Neither of us is sure who should make the first move, and the vulnerability that hangs between ys is both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. 

My thumb traces a path over Jeremiah’s lips once more, and this time, there’s no mistaking the subtle shift in the atmosphere. It’s a quiet invitation, a whisper in the language of touch that bridges the gap between uncertainty and desire. His eyes, already darkened pools of warmth, flicker with a newfound intensity. His gaze drops to my lips, and in that shared gaze, an unspoken agreement forms. It’s a mutual acknowledgment of something unexplored yet palpable, a connection that has lingered beneath the surface. 

Cautiously, almost tentatively, Jeremiah move his face closer, his breath warming the small space between us. The seconds stretch into an eternity as we hover on the precipice of a moment that could redefine the contours of our relationship.

His lips brush against mine in the softest of touches, a delicate exploration that speaks of uncharted territory. It’s a dance of closeness, of discovering the texture and taste of something that, until now remained in the realm of unspoken possibilities. His lips are warm, molding against mine with a gentle insistence that feels like a secret shared. The touch is soft but laced with a quiet intensity, a magnetic pull that bridges the space between us. There's a tenderness in the way his lips move, as if tracing the contours of a story that has yet to be written. 

The sensation is both electrifying and comforting, a paradox of emotions that bloom in the simple act of this newfound intimacy. His lips are a revelation, unveiling a language that transcends words. Each brush and caress feels like a promise, a silent vow exchanged in the hallowed silence of the moonlit room. 

There’s a faint taste lingering on his lips, a subtle essence that is uniquely Jeremiah. It's a blend of warmth and something indefinable, a taste that imprints itself on my senses like the lingering notes of a melody. It's a flavour that I never knew I craved until this moment, a discovery that adds a new layer to the complexity of our connection.

As we kiss, the world outside the room fades away, leaving only the cadence of our breaths and the quiet symphony of the night. Jeremiah's hand, now placed on my hip, grips me like I’m going to disappear and I’m not much better myself. My hands are tangled in his blond curls and pressed against his chest as he continues to kiss me senseless. 

“Jere,” His name is spoken in less than a breath, as if speaking any louder would break the moment and I just feel his smile against my lips. 

“Yeah?” 

“This isn’t… I like you… I don’t-“ 

He pulls back enough to meet my gaze, an amused look on his face as he watches me fumble over my words, before he whispers out four words I could not be happier to hear: “I like you too.” 

“You do?” 

“Go to sleep Mouse.” 

“Make out with me.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” 

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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[lady-adaneth]

Sleepless Nights ⋆.˚ ⭒₊ .

For those out there struggling to sleep, I present to you...

Synopsis:

An elf from Rivendell, you eagerly joined the fellowship. However, many harrowing months into your journey, you constantly find yourself struggling to sleep.

Maybe a confession and a certain blond elf can help soothe your insomnia...

Legolas x gender-neutral elf!reader

No use of y/n

Prequel to Romantic Inclinations, but can also be read as a one-shot

Want to feel truly immersed? Listen while you read Encampment | Forest Sounds 

Content Warnings:

Spice scale: it’s spicy…but like it could also be spicier

Intimate physical touch + allusions to more

Word Count:

1.5k words

Translation Dictionary:

Meleth Nín = My Love

Mellon Nín = My friend

Aman = Blessed Land

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

On tumultuous nights in which Legolas would undertake watch, the Fellowship and seemingly the entire forest would fall into a deep, weary slumber. Despite dozing constantly during your trek across the foothills, much to Gimli's envy, when day finally welcomed the night your worries continued plaguing your mind. You had laid staring up at the stars, knowing exactly which ones would lead you home to Rivendell. Despite the stick digging into your shoulders, it wasn't the thought of a snug bed and safe fire that tempted you, but rather those that you'd left behind. Before you joined the fellowship, there had been whispers of exodus. In the moment you had been hungry for adventure, ignoring the signs, but what if you'd made a mistake? You couldn't help but picture your kin sailing to the Grey Havens, escaping the torment that kept you from a good night's rest.

"Having trouble?" a kindly voice whispered. You briskly shot up, turning towards the source.

He sat back to a tree, vigilantly carving away at a piece of wood with his dagger. Despite your weapons lying comfortably around you; daggers by your ankle and spear by your side, Legolas's bow and quiver remained strapped to his back.

"Well that can't be comfortable," you teased, imagining the feel of a bow poking into your back. Suddenly you felt better about the stick.

"I could say the same thing about your arrangement," his head pointed towards your spot on the floor, eyes transfixed on his work.

"Hm, touché," you smirked, a pleasant silence falling between you.

The woods were immensely calm; the stridulation of insects a harmonious melody drowned out by a singular frog and its stark croak. The tranquility reflected in your companions, whose soft huffs of air you could hear below the crackling of the firewood. Maybe it was your expansive hearing that kept you from a restful sleep. You suddenly couldn't help but envy your newfound friends. Your thoughts were interrupted by the carving of wood as Legolas began to struggle with a corner, sawing forcefully at the bark.

"And what, exactly, are you making at this ungodly hour?" You stared at him with the corner of your eye, feigning annoyance.

"Wouldn't you like to know," the sawing continued.

"Mhm, what an astute observation" you mocked, standing and taking your place next to him, letting your head rest against the tree's homely bark.

After only a few weeks spent together you and Legolas had become settled in each other's presence. Through all of your teasing, you found it incredibly difficult to find anything about him to dislike. This unnerved you in a way, that is, how effortlessly you felt yourself falling for the princeling.

The silence returned once more, but the sawing had halted. You turned your head, finding Legolas already staring at you. His eyes were fawn-like and the tips of his ears began turning pink. Despite his curious embarrassment at being caught, he didn't shy away.

"What's on your mind?" you can feel your cheeks blossoming as the question leaves your mouth, your effort to prevent the blush only making it worse.

"How about you tell me what's keeping you from a good-night's rest," his eyes shone with genuine concern as he returned to his work. You felt the tension loosening, your playful demeanor returning once more.

"And what do I get for revealing such a thing, Prince?" You crossed your arms as if it could shield your fluttering heart.

"Whatever you want," the string was being pulled tighter once more.

You tried to keep your composure, confused as to how he was flustering you so.

"How about...you tell me what you're carving and why?" His eyes seemed to widen nervously at your proposal, only adding to your curiosity.

"Hmph, deal," he reached out his hand, and you leisurely reached your hand out. His handshake was gentle and his palms sweaty.

"But earnestly, mellon nín, what is plaguing you?" he said softer than before, suddenly aware of the others sleeping around the fire.

A sigh escaped your chest before you even registered it. You never told anyone about your troubles, and yet somehow it felt natural with Legolas. You weren't sure how much to say.

"I just...haven't found my sleep to be restful. Not since we left-," you swallowed hard.

You glanced at him as you attempted to compose yourself, expecting him to encourage you with his words. But he sat silently, knowing present in the depth of his stare.

He silently nodded, urging you to continue speaking.

You continued.

"When we first left, I had no hesitancy. And yet, as we continue, both our struggles here and those at home...trouble me," a breath enters your lungs. "I anticipated that this journey would be difficult, yes, but not impossible. The latter grows more apparent every day," you worried as to his response, and suddenly you found the ground to be rather intriguing. You began sifting the dirt through your fingers, soothing yourself as your cheeks turned red in shame. It was unlike you, let alone any elf, to be so vulnerable with another.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder; urging you to look up. Legolas's face came into view, eyes soft and glowing with firelight.

"I'm glad I am not the only one who feels this uncertainty," he smirked, though his eyes appeared more sorrowful than anything. You breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing all at once.

"We're not meant to lose hope at the prospect of another day not appearing before us-" He halted himself.

"-But, if it's any consolation, I'm glad my last day would be spent amongst all of these wonderful individuals," you chuckled at his words, fighting back a tear. "And if I could visit Aman with anyone...," he paused, seeming to collect his thoughts.

"...I would want it to be with you," his eyes lingered on your face, his demeanor more nervous than you had ever witnessed.

He searched your face for any sign. Disdain, perhaps? Or maybe acceptance.

Your breathing hitched as his eyes dipped down to your lips. Your arms could no longer muffle the sound of your hammering heart.

You were suddenly made aware of the hand on your shoulder, the way Legolas's hair seemed to burn more so than glow, the way his eyes sparkled with moonlight as they looked at you with the reverence of a thousand worshippers.

"Seems we have the same wish," you said quietly. Your words lingered as neither of you moved. Legolas sat motionless, not wanting to back away...or overstep.

You noticed.

Raising your hand to his cheek, you steadily moved your face closer to his. Your lips lingered over his for a second, before you moved back slightly; glimpsing into his eyes, searching for permission, before returning fluidly to his lips.

His lips encompassed your bottom lip gently, before pulling back to look at you. Your heart fluttered as he peered at you with an indescribable sense of wonder; impressing a sense of fey upon him. A smirk appeared on his face as he leaned back into your chest, his lips smashing against yours.

You could feel the string in your heart snap, all semblance of control leaving your body.

His arms wound around the back of your neck, and without a thought you moved your legs around his waist; straddling him as his back was pressed against the tree.

A small grunt escaped his lips as your hips gently made contact with his, the angles of his face sharp beneath your calloused fingertips. He gently pried your hands from his face as his lips trailed down your cheek,

then your jawline-

and then to your barely exposed neck.

You let out an audible gasp as his teeth gently bit into your skin, your hands finding their place in his hair. Legolas began shifting his hips, a pleasurable moan escaping your lips.

"SHHH," the sound emanated from the campfire.

His face leapt away from your neck, searching for the source.

Your hand covered your mouth as you fought back a roaring bout of laughter. Legolas's face was blooming as he held his breath.

Had they heard you? If Gimli had spotted the two of you neither of you would hear the end of it.

You both waited for a moment, searching for any sign of movement amongst your supposedly slumbering friends.

You couldn't believe what just happened. Next time, you resolved to find a more private location.

You let out a sigh, slumping into his chest; arms wounding around his neck as his arms found their way around your waist.

"So...who taught you that," you whispered, giggling to yourself at the thought of his lips on your neck...the claim his teeth had made on your skin.

"A certain, close source, that I shall not divulge," his hot breath lingered on your ear, his voice coarse.

"Hm, so that's how Arwen got those marks,"

"I hope you don't mind, meleth nín,"

"Not in the slightest-" you pulled back slightly, forehead resting against his.

"-I shall wear it like a badge of honor," you kissed him on the forehead.

A certain twinkle shone in Legolas's eyes as he leaned in to kiss the bite mark with enough gentleness to make you cry yet again.

"I think we may awaken the entire forest if we continue," a blush formed on your cheeks.

"Let's get some rest then," he smiled, his cheeks painted crimson at the thought.

You stood slightly, unwinding your legs from his hips. You slid to the floor, resting your head on his now outstretched legs. Without a word, he grabbed the blanket from his side, placing it around your drowsy form.

Legolas began to hum an unfamiliar tune, fingers making lazy strokes across your face. All you could hear was his steady heartbeat and voice, drowning out all else.

Your heart swelled with warmth as you fell asleep in Legolas's arms for the first time.

✩✩✩✩

If you have any criticisms or requests please send them my way! Have a restful day/evening <3

[rosieofcorona]

All We Do Not Say

Hi beloveds! I have crafted a soft little Gale fic for you because it's my firm belief that everyone's favorite wizard deserves all the warmth in the world. 😌 Also on AO3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

There was a time in his life that Gale could sleep anywhere, provided he had a good book and a space to sit down. 

In Waterdeep, he might wake in his armchair or on his balcony with the weight of an ancient tome still resting in his lap, or at his desk, his cheek pressed against parchment. The smell of it, of ink and lignin, would bring him back to his senses before his eyes were fully open, and he’d recall what he’d been studying, and begin reading again. 

At home, in his tower, he could do this night after night and still feel mostly rested come morning. 

But he is far from his tower, and farther each day.

Perhaps it is the orb that keeps him up as of late, with its insatiable, unnatural hunger, or perhaps it is the tadpole that wriggles and pulses impatiently inside his skull. Or it could, he supposes, be the simpler and less curable matter of aging�� an affliction that seems, on occasion, more frightening than either of the others. 

Whatever the cause of his recent insomnia, it pulls Gale into a rather distressing cycle– he cannot sleep, so he cannot focus, so he cannot read, so he cannot sleep. 

Instead, he finds himself offering to keep watch over camp in the evenings, if only for the distraction. The far-off gibbering of a newborn gnoll, the crunch of foliage under goblin feet, an animal scream– each night a fresh and distant horror calls his mind away from greater threats, from illithids and tadpoles and gods.

It’s an odd remedy, he knows. But the alternative is lying awake in his tent, turning death over and over in his mind until the thought is worn smooth as a river stone. 

It works well for a time, keeps his mind on the present and off of some vague, future doom.

That is, at least, until they reach the Underdark. 

Deep beneath Faerûn, there is something profoundly disturbing about the lack of…well, everything. They find no grand cities or quaint little villages, few animals and even fewer people. 

No trees, no light. No sky. 

Most nights spent underground are so quiet that Gale may as well stay in his bedroll, staring up at a canopy of fabric, dark as the velvet earth above them. 

He thinks, It is like being buried alive, without even the stars to bear witness. 

On these nights he can feel the stones in his head turning over.

Even so, come the evening (or what he guesses is evening), Gale volunteers to stand sentinel for the fifth time in a tenday. 

He always asks them after dinner, when his companions are most likely to agree, after his cooking has warmed them and filled their bellies and made them want nothing more than to close their eyes and dream of somewhere, anywhere else. 

Tav is the only one who protests with any frequency, the only one who seems to notice that the circles under his eyes are half a shade darker than they were yesterday, when they were half a shade darker than the day before. 

Even on nights when she convinces someone else to take his place, he will relieve them after Tav has gone to sleep. 

It starts the same way every time. 

Gale walks the perimeter in an infinite loop, looking for life in the darkness, illuminated only by the fire in the center of their camp. It makes him feel like a distant planet, nearly untouched by the sun. How strange to think that he’d once felt like the sun itself. 

He continues in his orbit until the subterranean cold gnaws at his limbs. It bites down hard on his nose and ears and fingers, chases him back to the fire, back to the light. 

Hypnotized by the flames and their radiant warmth, he does not hear the quiet stirring in the tent beyond his own, doesn’t hear the soft approach of nimble feet. 

A voice comes to him out of the darkness.

“I hope you’re not keeping watch again.” 

“Mystra,” Gale gasps, startled, the goddess’s name invoked in equal parts a prayer, a curse.

“Forgive me,” Tav says, through a laugh she cannot help. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” If it were anyone else he might be annoyed, or even a little embarrassed– but the sound of her laughter bubbles like seafoam over sand, rushes over and around him. Coupled with the relief that she is not some dreadful creature of the Underdark, he finds it difficult to feel anything besides affection. 

“It’s quite alright,” he recovers, with a shake of his head. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

“Then I really hope you’re not keeping watch.” 

She is teasing him now, just lightly, a familiar spark of warmth behind her eyes. 

It is the same look she gives him when she brings him a new book, or when he cooks for her, or when he tells her about Waterdeep. It is the same look she gave him earlier in the day, when she had offered to brew him a tea that might help him to sleep.

Gale has trouble remembering the last time another looked at him this way, so interested and inviting and earnest. 

Perhaps, he thinks, another never has. 

“Are you alright?” Tav asks, when he’s been quiet for too long.  

“Of course,” he says with the sincerity of a promise, offered with a smile that he hopes will be convincing. “Just lost in thought.” 

There is a part of him that doesn’t want to leave it there, that wants to share his every thought with her, his every terror, every dream. She must know that there is more to it, must’ve learned by now to recognize when Gale isn’t telling her everything, but he is grateful that she doesn’t press him, never presses him. 

Instead she breaks into a grin and says, “You’re lucky I’m not a bulette.” 

“I’m lucky they’re not so light-footed. What are you doing up, anyway?”

“The cold always wakes me, sooner or later,” Tav sighs. “If I’d known it was so godsdamned frigid down here, I might’ve nicked a fur or two from the Zhent.” 

It’s Gale’s turn to laugh, though she’s only half-joking. 

She’s drawn near to him, to the flames, her palms outstretched, her fingers spread wide as if to grab hold of as much warmth as possible. 

“But it’s alright,” she continues, “So as long as I’m close to the fire.” 

“Any closer and you’ll be in it, I’m afraid. Perhaps I can help.” 

Tav tilts her head and quirks an eyebrow in a curious little expression. “Can you?”

“If you’ll allow me.” 

Gale turns to face her fully, and she mirrors him out of instinct. 

“Hold out your hands to me,” he says. “Palms together, just barely. Like you’re praying.” 

“Like this?” “Like that.” 

The spell is one his mother taught him, among the first he’d ever learned. 

He still remembers that winter in Waterdeep, when the snow fell hard and fast. When the ice in the harbor kept the ships at arm’s length and the frozen streets shone like glass. He was young then, six or seven, but even now he can feel his small hands in Morena’s, warmed by a word and a touch. 

Warm and fed, she used to tell him. That’s how you show someone they’re loved. 

Gale cages Tav’s hands lightly in his own, the way he might hold a butterfly. He pushes all thoughts of winter away and calls to mind the rippling heat of summer, an orchard grown fat with peaches, the silvery shimmer of sweat on skin. 

The rose-petal flush of a cheek cradled in a hand, her cheek, his hand…

“Calor aestas,” he says quietly, when the image comes into clear view. He feels the cold melt from her fingers, hears the comfortable sigh that follows. “Better?”

“Yes,” she murmurs. “Much.” 

She is looking at him now with an intensity he has not seen since the night he first showed her the Weave, all that time ago. The night he saw her thoughts laid bare, had all but felt her lips on his. 

Had she seen them now, the visions he had conjured? Had she felt him pull her close in his own mind?

Tav clears her throat softly and he comes back to himself, his heartbeat thrashing wildly in his chest. He realizes with some urgency that he has not let her go and pulls back suddenly, but not without reluctance. 

“I hope,” he swallows, trying to compose himself. “I hope it helps you sleep.” 

“Do you want me to stay up with you?”

Yes, he thinks selfishly, Yes. Stay up with me, stay close to me, always. 

He shakes his head instead. “You should rest while the spell holds.”

“And how long is that?”

“As long as I’m able to concentrate.” 

He will think of her hands and their pull on a bowstring, their pluck of a lyre, their grip on a sword. How they weave her own magic, how they cradle a book. How they felt clasped in his, soft and cold. 

A focus worth holding, at last. 

“Only if it’s no trouble,” she says. 

“None at all.” 

Gale is grateful that he manages to stop himself, for once, from saying the rest of the thought as it enters his head. I would think of you anyway, magic or no.  

Tav takes his hand in hers again, this time to squeeze it fondly.

For a moment, he feels that if he were to die just now– from the orb, from the tadpole, in the jaws of a hungry bulette– it would all have been worth it, for this. 

“Thank you, Gale.”

Her smile is warmer than any summer he remembers, brighter than any star he can name.

[lewkwoodnco]

You look like shit - Lockwood x Reader

One time you told lockwood he looked like shit and four times he told you you looked like shit

“You look like shit.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re in a hospital bed but I’m the one who looks like shit.”

“Exactly, you look spectacularly terrible. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I tried, but my sorry excuse of a boss got his ass kicked by some Type Two, so here I am.”

“Doesn’t your sorry excuse of a boss write your cheques?”

“Have I mentioned how fond I am of my sorry excuse of a boss?”

a/n: just a little drabble i typed up having been inspired by this post :)

tropes/warnings: mostly fluffy, some mentions of grief, slight description of injury, smidge of flirty-ish banter 🙈🙈

wc: 1.5k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

“You look like shit.”

Lockwood froze with his mug halfway to his mouth. He gaped at her briefly before setting the mug down once the shock passed. She was Lockwood & Co.'s newest employee and it was only recently that the ice had been sufficiently broken for their interactions to evolve into something more than a passing smile or greeting. This, however, was more than he had expected. He was possessed by a sudden overwhelming urge to laugh.

"It's like, 10 in the morning, and you already look exhausted. Do you ever sleep?"

He struggled with his words for a moment. "...yes. Sometimes."

"Not enough, clearly."

He did look especially worse for wear that morning. Only just recovering from a mild flu, his insomnia was at an all-time high and the lack of sun over the past week had his skin looking nearly transparent. He was a frail, washed-out thing flitting restlessly between rooms, bemoaning all the cases he was missing out on while cooped up here.

He smiled for what felt like the first time in days. She coughed, embarrassed, feeling like she had grossly overstepped.

"I mean...you don't look that horrible."

Fortunately, Lucy chose that exact moment to walk in and sufficiently distract Lockwood with the details of their newest case and she took the opportunity to duck out of the room. What the hell had she been thinking?

"H- oh, you look like shit."

She emerged from behind the counter through a cloud of steam, her hair resting on her shoulders like a large, frizzy, brittle rat. While he and George had spent the morning at the Archives, she had spent it at Portland Row preparing Fesenjān for their lunch as part of some stupid bet she had made with George.

"Oh, good, you're back. You took your time."

"George is still there so Lucy's going in to hel-"

She cut him off by shoving a spoon of hot stew into his mouth.

"Taste."

Lockwood spluttered around the spoon, mouth working furiously to cool the scalding food while she watched him intently.

"Well?"

"It's...it's good."

"As good as George's?"

He grimaced. "I don't think I should be taking sides in this." He didn't even want to think about George finding out.

"This isn't taking sides. But also, if anyone asks, you weren't here. So...?" She fixed a desperate look on him. Lockwood sighed.

"It could use a little more salt."

"Angel." She turned around, pulling out the salt while he watched her with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. The crazy hair suited her in some odd way.

“You look like shit.”

He had meant for it to come out as teasing but at the sight of her tearstained face, it sounded terribly mean. He had found her sitting on the front steps late one evening when he was about to turn in, only a thin hoodie insulating her from the harsh cold. Her head whipped around at the sound of his voice, a hand carelessly dragged across her face. He took a seat next to her, dropping his voice.

"Everything alright?"

She swallowed, eyes trained on their shoes. Her voice was hoarse with disuse.

"One of my friends moved away a couple of years back. She's been in an accident."

"How bad of an accident?"

There was a tightness in her chest that made it difficult to go on. "The worst."

In a rare moment of weakness, she crumbled, sagging against Lockwood like she had no spine left to hold herself upright. He wrapped a warm, comforting arm around her, and the simple gesture was enough to break her down. She cried into his shirt, cried for the friend she would never see again, cried for the part of her childhood that had chipped off and floated away into some abyss. Cried while he held her.

"I can't -" she hiccuped, unable to hold back a poorly concealed sob. "I can't even remember the last thing I said to her." It felt like an awful thing to admit, something sinful and evil, something that made it impossible for her to shake the tremble from her hands. His hold on her tightened a fraction, like he was holding her shattered pieces together, and she clung to his shirt with all the despair of a shipwrecked passenger.

Maybe it was selfish, but she didn't want him to leave. And so he stayed.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

They had just returned from a job at some old, abandoned building set to be torn down in a few months. George and Lucy were handling some other case at the other end of the city, so the sounds of them shucking off their coats and gear echoed through the empty house. Between the two of them, she was always more prone to going ham on their cases. Today, it was in the form of her barrelling full tilt through a series of cobwebs to serve as a distraction. The case had ended with Lockwood hurriedly bagging the Source and her pink-faced and speckled with the grey strings.

Back at Portland Row's kitchen, there was still a lingering tinge of warmth to her cheeks. Lockwood paused by the cupboard where she was pulling out some mugs and plates, idly picking off the remaining strands still loosely clinging to her hair and shoulders. As his movements slowed, fading into something more gentle and meticulous, she glanced at him. He looked back. The cobwebs now littered the little space between them, but still he did not move away. The back of her neck prickled under his wretchedly attentive gaze. She did not know how to look away.

"Tea?" she croaked out, throat embarrassingly taut with choked-back emotion.

Whatever spell that had settled over them broke. Lockwood reeled back, almost noisily busying himself with fishing out the biscuit tin, forcing something nonchalant into his voice.

"Sure."

They spent the rest of their night operating with an invisible bubble between them, neither of them daring to get too close to the other lest a brush of the hand shattered the pallid illusion they were play-acting in. The house was far too quiet that night, filled with the unbearably soothing sounds of their cutlery, the rain and their breathing. Lockwood fiddled with his mug. She scratched at a particularly obscene message etched into the thinking cloth. He dragged a shoe along the scuffed kitchen floors. She drummed her fingers restlessly, watching the seconds tick by excruciatingly slow on the clock.

Where the hell were George and Lucy?

“You look like shit.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re in a hospital bed but I’m the one who looks like shit.”

She was in a gleaming, sterile hospital room, painfully twisted into some uncomfortable plastic chair after a night of fitful sleep and checking to make sure Lockwood was still alive. Lockwood had gone out for a solo case and she had been waiting up, expecting him to return any minute when the hospital called. Luckily, it was nothing fatal, but enough to keep him out of commission for a while. Enough to make her worry.

“Exactly, you look spectacularly terrible. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I tried, but my sorry excuse of a boss got his ass kicked by some Type Two, so here I am.”

“Doesn’t your sorry excuse of a boss write your cheques?”

“Have I mentioned how fond I am of my sorry excuse of a boss?”

He quirked a smile at that, then immediately winced. She lightly tilted his bruised face just as he raised a tentative hand to the stitches on his lip, their fingers brushing against each other for a fraction of a second. He looked at her questioningly, unable to see how it was healing himself, and she thought it was extremely unfair to have eyes as disarming as his. She shoved down the stab of sympathy at the unexpectedly vulnerable sight. Hospital gowns really did a number on how strong, or lack thereof, a patient seemed.

“Poor baby. Do you need someone to kiss it better?”

“You could kiss me better.”

“You…are clearly still concussed. Where on earth is your nurse?”

She stood and busied herself by sticking her head out the door and looking for his nurse, which was most definitely not an attempt to hide the flush creeping up her neck. After a few minutes of futile searching, she returned, alarmed at how wan Lockwood was starting to seem.

“I don’t remember getting a concussion,” he murmured, closing his aching eyes.

“Of course you wouldn’t. That’s how concussions work. Idiot.” She tried to keep her tone light, but he cracked an eye open as if he had heard something in her voice. He slipped her fingers through hers casually and she felt the tension in his stiff shoulders ease.

"You should sleep," she tried gently. His thumb slowly traced hers drowsily. Still, he forced his eyes open with considerable effort. Looked at her like she was all he wanted to see for the rest of his life.

"In a minute."

It was the first of the lifetime of minutes ahead of them.

TAGLIST: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @cielooci @midnight--raine @mohinithoughts @neewtmas @snoopyluver20 @ahead-fullofdreams @elenianag080 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits @avdiobliss @dangelnleif @mitskiswift99

[narcjsistx]

hii! I'm new to this platform and I haven't fully understood how it works yet... also, english is not my first language. but here are some headcanons <3

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

— Izana Kurokawa in a relationship HCS ᡣ𐭩

Seeing him, I think he would only accept being with someone he has known since he was little, so maybe someone who was in an orphanage with him. He needs someone who knows what it feels like when he talks about the days spent doing nothing, locked in there before Kakucho arrived

For me he suffers from insomnia... so be prepared for purely nocturnal dates. The situation can vary from motorbike rides with breakfast somewhere as soon as dawn breaks, or simple time spent together on the bed or on the roof of the house, talking about anything

It's not uncommon to see you at Tenjiku meetings, perhaps next to him, on his lap, or sitting between him and Kakucho. He likes to show you off, point out to the rest of the members that you are in a relationship with him. He would have no problem talking to his members while you braiding his hair, in fact, if someone dares to say something, he has no problem to shut him up

Just because of the point made before, I think he's someone who is really protective of your respect and how others talk to you. He is careful about how others talk to you because if they even get something wrong they can find themselves dead. He once caught someone calling you a "bitch" because he saw you with Kakucho, not knowing he was basically your bodyguard. Let's say that Izana didn't take it very well

Jealous until the end, I believe that in comparison with the rest of the characters in the manga, no one reaches his level. The only one he leaves you with without getting paranoid is Kakucho

He's not exactly the best at showing his love. Not for any reason in particular, it's just a block of his. It might be years of a relationship before he says "I love you", but it would show how much he cares about you in a more "factuals" ways

Even if he hides it, for me he is someone who seriously adores the world of fashion. You could spend hours together in your room while you try your entire wardrobe, noting which matches are best with certain shirts or skirts. He loves spending hours like this while advising you what goes well with what what

He would like to show you the place where he has been for so long, that is, the orphanage. He would spend hours in the garden while watching the orphaned children play with each other. Maybe he could even imagine a future where the two of you adopt some

Once he grow up, he would like to move to the Philippines. Having spent so many years in Japan, despite being only part Japanese, he would love to make a life there in the Philippines with you. Seeing you even interested in his culture would only make him fall more in love with you

For him, children are extremely important, and he would have no problem having one even at the age of 18. Growing up with his parents' rejection, he simply wants to love someone like he wasn't loved by his mother, father and Karen. So yes, at a certain age he would open up the topic of "children" with you

[fo1ktale]

Embers of Redemption

You didn’t know why he suddenly hated you. You had wracked you brain, ransacking memories and dissecting past conversations, but you still couldn’t figure it out. What had you done to garner such vehement disdain?

Your gaze remained fixed on him, he who was deliberately avoiding eye contact, looking everywhere but at you. You took a sip of your wine, before returning to absentmindedly swirling the glass. Across the room, Azriel lounged, seemingly unaffected, yet an undeniable air of tension lingered. It was palpable to you and, undoubtedly, the entire Inner Circle sensed it.

As an archivist, you had to work closely with the leaders of the Night Court. Rhys’ father had been your employer for a long time, and that was how you met Rhys. The two of you were of similar age, and he admired your work ethic. Once Rhys had taken over his father’s rule, you joined the Inner Circle and governed beside them.

They were your family. Mor was the sister you never had, Rhys and Cassian were the annoying older brothers you couldn’t get rid of, and Amren was, well, Armen. Azriel however, he was special. You knew from the start that the Illyrian would change your life forever. He had stolen your heart, and you willingly surrendered it. Yet, his unwavering devotion to Mor couldn't escape your notice. You observed the way he looked at her, the care he extended. While to him, you were merely his best friend, to you, he meant everything.

Best friend— that was what you were. Through every trial, he stood by you, and you became his confidante. He shared his struggles, with his own identity, his relationships, and his stresses. You let him ramble on about Mor for decades, concealing the pain in your heart behind a sorrowful smile. You would have endured this indefinitely in a desperate attempt to know everything— anything about him.

One faithful day, he decided to get over Mor. You went with him, as the ever supportive best friend. You two had drunk your hearts out that night, downing shots after shots. You danced and you sang and you laughed like you never did before.

That night, he left with another woman, and your heart panged as you witnessed it.

His arm was casually slung over her shoulder as they walked out of the club. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled.

Sinking to your knees, without caring about what everyone else thought of you, you sobbed.

Getting over Mor didn’t make him realise that you were the one that stuck by him through everything. It had only gave him the freedom to find other females to fuck.

You had told yourself countless times to get over the unrequited love you felt for him. You went on dates and relished in the beauty of solitude, but it never worked. Everything led back to him.

When Rhys was trapped Under the Mountain, the two of you found solace in each other. There were many nights when insomnia got the better of you, and you would crawl into Azriel’s bed, where his mere presence would lull you to sleep. Other nights, nightmares would keep him awake, and you would hold him until he calmed down. Somedays, when the ache in your hearts felt a little to much to handle, you would go on walks in the forest, or even better, he would take you flying. Seeking comfort in each other became routine.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you believed that the bond between you two had evolved into something more than mere friendship. The thought brought joy, a glimmer of hope that you weren't just his best friend anymore.

Rhys’ return derailed every longing wish you nurtured. Azriel started pulling away from you. At first, you had chalked it up to the return of his brother, thinking that he wanted to spend more time with him to make up for fifty years of separation. However, more time passed, you found yourself fading from his life. He trained with Cassian, soared through the skies with Feyre, spent substantial amounts of time with Elain, and even confided in Nesta.

Nesta, who had previously been horrible to everyone, seemed to know more about Azriel’s current life than you did.

It became apparent that you have only been a distraction for him all those years; you meant nothing. Now, he had his new family, leaving you to be alone.

He truly hated you.

Tears welled up in your eyes. Your heart ached. You were lonely. So lonely. And Azriel hated you.

You couldn’t do it anymore. It became difficult to breathe. You needed air. Shooting up from your seat, the chair scratching against the floor as you made if out of the house through your hazy vision.

You stumbled through the city, finding an empty bench near a secluded part of the Sidra.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you hid your face in your hands, letting the tears flow freely. Your cries echoed loudly, but in the midst of the agony in your chest, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Hands touched your shoulders gently and your head snapped up to meet the warm eyes of Cassian. His face was taut with concern and his lips moved, but you could not discern what he was saying. Everything felt muffled. The waves of the Sidra river fell deaf against your ears and your eyes only saw colours blurring together.

Sitting on the empty space beside you, you faintly felt as Cassian pulled you towards him, allowing you to curl up to his side. His hands rubbed your back as you released every bit of sadness and grief that was trapped in you. You didn’t know how long you two stayed there. It could’ve been minutes, or even hours, but Cassian didn’t relent. He stayed by your side until your tears dried up and soft sniffles were the only sound in the air.

“Why are you here?” Your voice rasped.

Cassian looked down at you, replying gently, “Because you’re family. You left in such a hurry, and were all worried for you. I think Az was about to rip his hair out of his scalp.”

You scoffed, “Sure he was.”

“What’s going on with you two?” Cassian’s question only intensified the horrible feeling in your chest. “We’ve all noticed that something was amiss, but we didn’t want to pry.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Cassian shook his head.

“He hates me,” you revealed, forcing your voice to be steady but failing miserably.

Cassian called out your name. “There is no world where Azriel would ever hate you.”

You glared, “We haven’t spent time together in months. He avoids sitting beside me at dinners, or gatherings, and he would much rather stand if the only seat that was free was the one next to me. He leaves the room when I enter. He rejects my every initiative to hang out. He ignores me when I talk to him. He doesn’t talk to me, doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even acknowledge that I exist. I don’t know what world you are living in, Cass, but in my world, he detests every fiber of my being.”

Cassian didn’t say anything, only lying back in quiet rumination.

“He hates me,” you whispered. “and I don’t know what to do because all I can think about is him. He means so much to me, and it hurts that I mean so little to him. I’m barely even a grain of sand in the ocean that is him.”

“I’ll be honest,” Cassian began. “I do not know what’s going on in Azriel’s mind. I won’t lie and say that I haven’t noticed him pushing you away. But there is nothing I can do or say to stop him. He is stubborn, and for some reason, he has his mind set on ignoring your existence.”

Cassian turned to face you, grabbing your hands in his, and implored, “But one thing I know for sure is that Azriel absolutely does not hate you. You are not a grain of sand; you are the whole fucking world to him. I‘m certain of it.”

“I want desperately to believe you,” you shook your head. “But I will not subject myself to pinning over him again.”

“You don’t have to. But please, don’t give up on him. Azriel doesn’t realise it, but he cannot live without you. You need to put some rationality in that stubborn brain of his.”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking me to do,” you cried. “He hates me!”

All Cassian could offer was the solace of his embrace, using his words to provide any semblance of comfort. That night, he escorted you home, staying until he witnessed the dimming lights in your bedroom. A pang in his heart persisted, echoing the soft cries that still reached him as he ascended into the night sky, determined to confront his brother.

~

The door slammed open, revealing the formidable General of the Night Court’s armies in all his imposing might. He stormed across the room, standing before his brother who sat on the bed. Shadows enveloped every corner, but Cassian paid no heed. Snarling, he demanded, “Wake up, Azriel. Snap out of this senseless nightmare you're subjecting her to.”

Azriel didn’t flinch at Cassian’s tone. “Is she okay?”

“Is she okay?” Cassian laughed bitterly, devoid of humor. "You have eyes; see for yourself. Does she look okay? She hasn't been eating well! The dark circles under her eyes are practically permanent black holes now! Her entire demeanor has changed! She used to smile so much, Azriel! She would joke and laugh—fuck, I can't even remember the last time I heard her laugh!”

Cassian's lip curled as he regarded Azriel, shrouded in shadows, his shoulders slumped and hands wringing together. His hair draped over his eyes as his head hung low, gaze fixed on the ground.

Sadness washed over Cassian at the sight of his brother. He hadn't intended to hurt him, but he didn't know how else to make him stop.

“Do you know how hurt she is?” Cassian inquired softly. “I’ve never seen someone cry so much. She's convinced that you hate her.”

“I don’t hate her,” Azriel’s hands curled into fists.

"It certainly seems like you do. Why are you doing this? Why push her away when she means so much to you?”

“Because she deserves better!” Azriel's shout reverberated through the room. The two Illyrian soldiers paused for a moment, startled by the outburst.

More shadows moved, wrapping around Azriel's body, swirling in an attempt to offer comfort to their master.

“That is a stupid fucking reason, Azriel.”

Azriel didn’t say anything.

“Why can’t you just let yourself be happy?”

"I can't find happiness at the expense of hers.”

“Did it ever occur to you that being with you makes her happy? Do you know that she adores you? She looks at you like you hung every fucking star in the sky!” Cassian exclaimed.

Azriel shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “She would be better off without me.”

Cassian growled. “If you truly think that, then you are a coward, Azriel.”

~

Azriel found himself immersed in a sea of despair, where the shadows stretched like ravenous tendrils, hungrily lapping at the edges of his consciousness. The inky abyss enveloped him, its depths swallowing any remnants of light, leaving only the haunting echoes of his own tortured thoughts.

As he lay there, a mere fragment of his former self, the darkness embraced him like a suffocating shroud. The cold, clammy fingers of anguish reached out, coiling around his very soul, pulling him deeper into the abyss of his own despair. It was as if the void had become an extension of his being, an inescapable prison where his torment echoed endlessly.

In the icy blackness, Azriel surrendered, allowing the shadows to consume him with a twisted sense of acceptance. His mind echoed with the haunting refrain of despair, a symphony of hopelessness that drowned out any flicker of light that might have dared to defy the encroaching darkness.

Just take me, he pleaded silently to the void. There is nothing left for me. His voice, though unspoken, resonated within the cavernous expanse of his desolation. He felt the weight of the Stygian black pressing against his chest, stealing the very breath from his lungs as it fed on the remnants of his shattered spirit.

His vision became an endless expanse of nothingness, the boundaries between reality and the consuming shadows blurring into a chaotic dance of despair. Azriel's world was reduced to the spectral play of shadows, each one a manifestation of the pain etched into the fabric of his existence.

In this desolate realm, time lost its meaning, and Azriel became a mere silhouette adrift in the cosmic void. The shadows, now an extension of his suffering, moved with a malevolent purpose, wrapping around him like serpents, their tendrils tightening their grip on his very essence.

The echo of his own silent screams reverberated through the emptiness, a testament to the profound isolation that had become his reality. The blackness had not only consumed his surroundings but had become an integral part of him, a twisted symbiosis that left him drowning in the depths of his own anguish.

A faint glimmer of light appeared on the horizon. She, a beacon of hope and warmth, entered his desolate realm like a sunrise cutting through the long night. As Azriel lay ensnared by the suffocating shadows, he felt a gentle touch, a celestial force tugging at the tendrils of despair that gripped him.

The shadows recoiled, making way for the incandescent glow she emanated. The void, once absolute, now quivered in the face of her radiant light.

Azriel reached out to her, his fingers trembling in the frigid air.

With each step toward her, Azriel felt the weight of the shadows lifting, the oppressive darkness giving way to the delicate radiance she brought with her. The void, once an impenetrable fortress, now cracked and crumbled under the influence of her unwavering light.

She was his anchor, luring him from the abyss with a gentle yet unyielding force.

She was so close now, and Azriel leaped forward to grab her. But it was as if the very act of reaching out only pushed her farther away.

He was determined to bridge the gap that separated them. With every ounce of strength in his being, Azriel lunged forward, reaching for the figure before him. Her form shimmered like a mirage, teasing him with the illusion of proximity. His fingers grazed the wisps of her radiance, but she slipped through his grasp like threads of gossamer carried away by a gentle breeze.

Desperation etched across his face. Each attempt to seize her felt like an agonizing stretch, a test of endurance against the intangible. The void that had once consumed him now echoed with the sound of his yearning, the silence broken only by the echoes of his futile attempts.

She was just out of reach yet tantalizingly close. The intensity of his desire to hold onto the light that had become his salvation. But every leap, every outstretched hand, only propelled her further into the unreachable distance.

As Azriel relentlessly pursued the elusive figure of light, she suddenly appeared behind an unexpected barrier— a towering wall of fire, dancing with flickering flames that cast an ominous glow. A hushed gasp escaped him as the heat washed over him, and he felt the phantom sensation of the fire on his hands.

Frozen in hesitation, Azriel stared at the formidable barrier before him. The flames swirled and crackled, forming an impenetrable obstacle between him and the guiding light he so desperately sought. The radiant figure on the other side seemed to glow even more brilliantly, as if testing his resolve, waiting for him to make a choice.

The fear of the fire, both real and imagined, gripped Azriel. It whispered to him of pain and uncertainty, cautioning against taking the perilous step required to reach the one who held the key to his redemption. The scars of his past, etched deep into his soul, resurfaced as vivid memories, adding weight to the chains that bound him.

Yet, in the flickering shadows, realization slowly dawned upon Azriel. The fire was not a true barrier; it was a manifestation of his own fears, a reflection of the walls he had built within himself. He understood that the flames were not meant to harm him physically but rather represented the emotional hurdles he needed to overcome.

He looked at her, the guiding light, with newfound clarity. She stood patiently, her luminosity undiminished, her eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and encouragement. It was then that Azriel recognized the self-imposed limitations that had kept him in the shadows, a cowering fool unable to face his own fears and emotions.

In that moment of profound realization, Azriel understood that he had been punishing her for his own inadequacies, projecting his fears onto the external world. The flames were a metaphor for his inner turmoil, a manifestation of the barriers he had constructed to shield himself from vulnerability.

With a deep breath, Azriel took a step forward, the fire licking at the edges of his consciousness. The phantom warmth intensified, and his hands trembled as if about to be engulfed by the very flames he feared. Yet, he pressed on, determined to break free from the self-imposed chains.

He took the leap of faith, jumping toward the fire, letting it swallow him whole.

~

A desperate pounding echoed through your door, but it barely registered as you huddled in your sheets, staring at the ceiling above you in silent rumination. The aftermath of tears had left your eyes puffy, and throat scratchy, yet you welcomed the physical pain as a reprieve from the ache in your heart.

The relentless assault on your door continued, accompanied by frantic shouts of your name. The voice pierced through your contemplation, and you shot up, instantly recognizing it.

Azriel.

A stray shadow slithered up your arm, its cool touch and feather-like caresses sending shivers up your spine.

“Hello,” you whispered.

It tightened around your wrist, urging you to respond to the male at your door.

“But he hurts me,” you confessed, your voice cracking.

The shadow reacted wildly, darting around the room like a rabid creature. You chased after it as it slipped under the door, returning to its owner who continued knocking.

Your name came out of Azriel’s mouth like a plea. “Please open the door. We have to talk.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” you seethed. “I don’t have to do anything for you.”

“I know, but I have to try,” there was a rabid sort of desperation that laced his voice. “I have to try before I regret never fighting for you, for us.”

You ripped open your door, relishing in the way the Shadowsinger stumbled and stared at your bloodshot eyes.

“Us?” You spat. “There is no ‘us’, Azriel. You made sure of that when you ignored my presence everyday since Rhys returned.”

His attempt to explain was met with your anger. “You are truly cruel to have done that to me! To have led me on, treating me as if I were a child’s toy, being used for comfort. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? You took advantage of me being vulnerable and used me as a distraction!”

Azriel recoiled. “No, that wasn’t the case at all. But I can’t believe you feel that way.”

“It wasn’t that difficult. Not when you spent every ounce of your energy set on making me feel like nothing to you.” A tear dribbled down your cheek and you hastily wiped it away, unaware that you had any more tears to cry.

“No, no, no, no,” His hand reached out to grab you but you flinched away. Seeing your rejection, he clenched his fist, jaw ticking. His head fell and he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

You stayed silent.

“I’m so so so sorry for being such an idiot. And I have an explanation for it,” he sighed. “It isn’t a good one, but… I just…”

“Tell me,” you dared a look at him. His shoulders were slumped, eyes shining with unshed tears. His fists still clenched by his sides and shadows swirled widely around him. “Tell me what was so important that you treated me that way.”

“I was scared,” he mumbled. “I projected my fears on to you, and convinced myself that it would be better to stay away…”

His eyes shut, as if his next words hurt him.

“You are everything to me. Next to you, I am just a speck of dust. How could I ever compare to you? How could I ever be worthy of you? I knew that, and you would have rejected me for it. So I ran. I ran from the inevitable rejection that you would offer me instead of being truthful. But I am being truthful now. I… I have feelings for you.”

You fixated on him with an incredulous stare, your mouth hanging open, and your eyes widened to the point of bulging. The turbulent events of the night had left you in a state of disarray, questioning the boundaries between reality and illusion. The disbelief lingered, casting a surreal hue over the moment, as if you were trapped in a waking dream, uncertain if the scene playing out before you was tangible or a mere figment of your imagination.

You lifted your finger, reaching out towards the Illyrian male in front of you. Then, you poked him.

Azriel’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you poked his cheek a second time. He called out your name. “What’s going on?”

“Is this real?” You breathed deeply. “You like me?”

“Why?”

“I like you too, dumbass,” you poked him a little harder this time. “You stupid, insufferable, crazy boy! What are you even talking about? What is this nonsense about you being unworthy? Do you really think that way? Is that why you distanced yourself for so long?”

Hazel eyes looked into yours and a smile appeared on Azriel’s face. He didn’t seem to hear the latter part of what you said, only repeating, “You like me too?”

“Why the fuck else would I care so much that you were ignoring me?” you retorted, breaking the tension with a mix of exasperation and affection.

Azriel's smile grew wider, and a genuine happiness radiated from him. The shadows around him seemed to dance with joy, mirroring the newfound light in his eyes. He took a step closer, cautiously, as if afraid you might change your mind.

"I thought I ruined everything," he admitted, vulnerability coloring his voice. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I didn't know how to handle it."

As you locked eyes with him, a subtle transformation swept over your emotions. The initial flame of anger, fueled by the hurt and betrayal, began to wane. In its place, a newfound understanding blossomed, ignited by the sincerity that radiated from Azriel's gaze. His eyes, once a source of frustration, now mirrored a depth of earnestness that stirred something within you.

The recognition of sincerity and the unraveling of the pain created an opening, a crack in the emotional shield you had put up in self-defense. Amidst the crumbling walls, a glimmer of possibility emerged. The realization dawned that, just maybe, there was a chance for understanding and healing.

Azriel reached out, tentatively brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "I messed up, but I want to make it right. I want to be there for you, to be more than just a friend."

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, but this time it was different— it was a comforting shiver, a connection forming between two souls. The shadows around you seemed to intertwine, creating a tapestry of emotions that spoke of forgiveness and acceptance.

"I'm willing to give it a try," you said, your voice softer now. "But no more running, no more hiding. We face whatever comes together."

Azriel nodded, relief washing over him. The two of you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of understanding and the possibility of something new.

As you allowed him into your space, the shadows now embraced you both, merging into a unified dance. The pain of the past began to transform into a shared strength, a foundation upon which a new beginning could be built.

And so, you and Azriel embarked on a journey together, navigating the complexities of your feelings and the challenges ahead. The door, once a barrier between you, now stood open, a symbol of the willingness to face the unknown hand in hand.

[malgomy]

new wave dreams

Malleus smiles. You know this smile. In all your time with him, you’ve become intimately familiar with his different smiles. This smile, you fear, spells your doom.

This smile is smug.

“I recall Grim whining about spilled milk on his fur,” he hums, expression deceivingly serene. “Just before he went to sleep, he was telling me about how you have to clean up yet another mess and how dreadfully clumsy his henchhuman is.”

Oh that snitch.

or;

You're clumsy, Ramshackle has outdated appliances, and Grim is incapable of keeping house secrets.

tags: 2.7k words, cross-posted on ao3 under the same name and the same alias. this is my first work on here cries have mercy on me when it comes to formatting, ok. title is from P.U.N.K. Girl by Heavenly

You have a problem.

An issue, a predicament, a conundrum, even.

See, you’ve developed a bit of a … bad habit. Grim is a very deep sleeper and ever since you’ve been thrown into Twisted Wonderland, you are decidedly not. Whether it be unnerving dreams that wake you up or just plain insomnia, you’ve spent many a night kept awake with only Grim’s incessant snoring to keep you company.

And well… it’s not like your stomach stops working either. So maybe it’s not uncommon for you to sneak down into the kitchen and make yourself something to eat, and maybe it’s not uncommon for you to sneak back into your comfortable bed and eat while under the covers. Maybe. 

You’re so used to the sound of boisterous laughter coming from the kitchen in Ramshackle that the dead of night just makes it… eery. Not to mention, the ghosts who live in the dorm have no sense of when is a good or bad time to play a silly little prank on you. Is it really so bad to want the comfort of a wall against your back and blankets trapping your warmth while you enjoy a home cooked meal? 

It’s just that… your hand might have slipped while crawling into bed and you might have spilled your cereal all over your bed while Grim was still sleeping in it. Oops. 

This is where your predicament lies. Grim is now partially awake, bleary eyed and upset at having been woken up at 2 am. Your sheets, comforter, and pajamas reek of milk. Class is at 9 am sharp, and if you leave things the way they are, you have no doubt that your room will reek of spoiled milk.

Which would be fixable, except for the fact that your biggest issue is that Ramshackle doesn’t have a laundry room.

Or… well… it does. Technically. Except you may have smacked the washing machine a little bit too hard to get it started once, and it hasn’t turned on ever since. You’ve been doing your laundry in Heartslaybul with either Ace or Deuce accompanying you ever since.

But that is definitely not an option right now! Let alone the fact that Riddle would undoubtedly take your head if you snuck around and did laundry in his dorm at 2 am, you know for a fact that Ace would have a field day if he found out why your sheets were soaked with milk at this time of night. No, Heartslaybul is certainly not an option.

Which leaves… no options at all. You suppose you could just use the kitchen sink… or maybe the bathtub? 

“I’m not cleaning this,” Grim grumbles. He’s rubbing his eyes and lets out a big yawn. Despite his insistence, he really is more catlike than anything else you’ve ever seen. When he looks up at you with his big blue eyes, you can’t help but forget how annoying he can be. Aw, now you feel bad. 

“I wasn’t gonna make you, d’worry,” you mumble back. There’s no other option, you suppose. You begin peeling the sheets off the bed. It’s heavy, and it doesn’t help that your movements have a certain grogginess to them. Just your luck, you’re starting to get tired after you already made a mess. “I’m gonna head downstairs to clean this, you go back to sleep.”

Grim doesn’t respond to you, so you assume that he nodded off even without your prompting. When you make it downstairs though, you almost trip over him running right past you.

“We’ve got a visitor!” 

You almost drop your clothes to rush over to the window. From your spot in the lounge, you can’t make out what Grim is seeing. “Huh? Who?” 

“Who else visits ‘n the middle of the night?” 

The clothes are unceremoniously dumped in the sink and you rush to the window. Sure enough, green sparks fly around a familiar silhouette underneath your porch.

Talk about bad timing. “I can’t just leave him out there, can I?” 

Grim just shrugs up at you. Ugh, your bleeding heart. How could you leave a friend out in the cold when he came all the way just to see you? The ghosts would scold you for even entertaining the thought. 

With strengthened resolve, you glance out the window one more time. Sure enough, Malleus is still standing on your porch. He’s staring intently at the doorknob, but as soon as you move the blinds, his eyes meet yours. 

You don’t even give him the opportunity to knock.

“And what are you doing out here, unsupervised in the dead of night?” You say in lieu of a greeting. You grin up at him and open the door wide as an invitation to come in. Malleus slips into the foyer, but not without dramatics of his own.

“Might it be that I’m unwelcome into your humble abode?” He sighs, forlorn and melancholic. You’d almost believe that he was hurt, if not for the fond smile he gives to you and Grim and the airiness of his voice. “I suppose I ought to make myself scarce, and hope the loneliness of my dearest friend’s rejection doesn’t take my weary heart.”

“We can’t have you dying yet, now can we? Your retainers would have my head, I fear.” You flick the lights on, and lead the way further in. “Not to mention your family — I can’t have an army sent after me at my delicate age.”

“Oho! So all you care about is your own life? Careful, should you offend me too much, I may very well send the armed guards after you regardless.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at the dramatics. He’s too attached to you to do anything of the sort. “You’re welcome anytime, just make sure you leave your retainers a note or something.”

“That one guy’s too noisy when he doesn’t know where you are,” Grim grumbles. 

“They should know very well by now to check for me here before breaking out into a frenzy,” Malleus breaks out into a grin, self-satisfied. “I am no babe; they haven’t a reason to fret over me so often.”

Grim lets out a little hmph! at that. “Betcha they're more worried ‘bout what you’re getting up to, going out at night all sneaky-like.”

You all pause for a moment at Grim’s statement. “Y’know Grim, it’s very rare that you say something smart.”

It takes a moment for what you say to process. Grim goes from smiling to attacking your leg in the blink of an eye. 

“Hm, that very well may be it then,” When you glance up at Malleus, all you can describe his expression as is preening. “I trust that your word will be a suitable alibi then, should they assume that I’m up to mischief?”

“Oh I doubt it, with what we’re always up to? They’ll probably assume the worst as soon as you say my name.” A light hum is all that you get in response. Typical, Malleus tends to zone in and out of conversation. You lead him to the lounge with Grim still hanging off your leg, flicking lights on and fixing things up as you go. Everyone’s awake now, so there's no need to go traipsing through the dark. Besides, Malleus’ eyes seem to glow like a cats in the dark, and you don’t feel like going through that heart attack right now.

Malleus sits by the unlit fireplace, picking up a random book from the coffee table. Grim stays behind with him while you take a moment to head into the kitchen, ignoring the pile of sheets you dumped in there in order to grab some fruits. The living arrangements may be poor and decrepit, but never let it be said that you weren’t a good host. When you make it back, the fireplace is lit, and Grim is curled up in front of it. “He asleep?”

Malleus nods. His gaze washes over the fruits before settling on your face. “For me?”

“They’re chilled, but I think I remember you saying you liked ‘em better that way.”

He reaches out for a grape, plucking it from the vine with a delicate hand. He’s just about to pop it into his mouth when he pauses for a moment. “Ah.”

“What?”

“I’m not supposed to eat anything my retainers haven’t cleared first,” he sighs. “Poisoning and the like, you understand.”

You nod in understanding. You’ve never had Malleus decline anything you offered him before, but…

Wait a minute. He’s laughing. 

“That is not true!” You dump the fruits on his lap, leaving him to place them delicately on the table. Malleus hums in amusement as you settle into place by his side. “I can’t tell when you’re joking, it’s not fair.”

“No poison you could get your hands on could harm me,” he says. “Let alone anything you could disguise with the taste of fruit.”

You think he’s joking. Malleus doesn’t force you to respond, content to nurse through the fruit in front of him. He alternates between giving you a handful of berries and popping them into his own mouth.

“Why was Grim awake at this hour? I seem to recall him to be a heavy sleeper, if nothing else,” Malleus murmurs out the question, like it’s not important enough to be articulated properly.

But it is. Because this is embarrassing. There is no way that you are going to reveal to the crown prince of any nation that you spilled cereal all over your bed while Grim was sleeping in it! Not even if you were tortured. 

“Oh! I think he ate the leftover tart from Riddle’s unbirthday party,” you laugh, like a liar. “You know how it is, sugar highs and all that.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,”  you nod. “Must’ve worn off by the time you got here.”

Malleus smiles. You know this smile. In all your time with him, you’ve become intimately familiar with his different smiles. This smile, you fear, spells your doom.

This smile is smug.

“I recall Grim whining about spilled milk on his fur,” he hums, expression deceivingly serene. “Just before he went to sleep, he was telling me about how you have to clean up yet another mess and how dreadfully clumsy his henchhuman is.”

Oh that snitch. 

“It’s not important,” you rush to reassure Malleus. You wave a hand dismissively, hopefully putting an end to the subject matter. “Grim must’ve just been yapping, you know how he is.”

Before you can even process it, Malleus grabs your hand with both of his. Shocked but not uncomfortable, you don’t deign to snatch your hand back. If you didn’t know him any better, you’d say he even looks earnest. “I would be willing to lend you my aid no matter the situation, whether the problem be big or small.”

You can’t stand to look him in the eye like this. “It’s really not that serious.”

“Tell me what is troubling you, I will have it dealt with.”

… ominous. His grip on your hands is loose, his palms warm and dry. If you don’t catch yourself, you might start to lean into him. 

Also… isn’t Malleus… a dorm leader? With access to his dorm’s laundry room? Really, maybe his late night arrival was just the solution to your self inflicted problems. Is it even taking advantage of the situation if he asked you?

With strengthened resolve, you lean in conspiratorially. “Nothing I tell you can leave this room.”

---

As it turns out, Malleus does technically have access to his dorm’s laundry room. Technically.

He just doesn’t know where it is.

“Hornton, aren’t you in your third year?” 

“I’m well aware,” he shoots you a look. Man alive, is he pouting? “I just rarely have a reason to come do laundry myself.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him. Roaming Diasomnia’s halls in the wee hours of the morning with a trash bag over your shoulder filled with milk soaked sheets was never on your bucket list, but at least you have company! Even if the walls are tall and cold, Malleus is like a heater by your side. “We’ll find it together.”

The two of you, notably, do not find it together. 

In your defense, Diasomnia is big. Malleus might know his way around these halls, but you are notorious for your horrible sense of direction. Seriously, you might as well be in a corn maze. 

By the time you’ve scoured what you think is the entirety of the upper levels of Diasomnia, you’re about ready to throw in the towel. Far be it from you to ignore the sweet call of sleep. 

“Malleus, I think we should just leave it,” you murmur. “With the way things are, I’ll be ok sleeping on the ground.”

You would not be fine on the ground, actually. But you are nothing if not a liar and exhausted.

“I suppose we should check the basement before we give up,” he hums.

…

You do not want to check the basement. The apprehension must show on your face, because all Malleus does is laugh. This man laughs at you. 

“Worry not,” he breathes out between chuckles, “I won’t let any harm befall you.”

How comforting.

The door to Diasomnia’s basement is just like the rest of the dorm: cold and tall and imposing. When Malleus reaches out to open it, the door creaks open itself. Creepy.

“Can I let you go down by yourself and I stay up here with the living?” 

Malleus casts you a sidelong glance. “The safest place is by my side.”

You can’t even respond, snarky or otherwise, because he’s not wrong. 

“You go first,” you pat his arm. That way, if anything jumps out at you, he’ll get the brunt of the attack. “I’ll be right behind you.”

When Malleus takes the first step, you think you can hear an ominous thudding. But that’s probably just the paranoia speaking. 

Your descent down the stairs is marked by you cowering behind Malleus and jumping every time you think you feel something ghosting over your shoulders. On the bright side, the basement seems to be well lit with torches. 

When you make it to the bottom, you take a moment to examine your surroundings. It’s an open room, marked with chairs and a stack of baskets lined up against one wall. Along the opposite wall, however, stands the prize that you’ve been searching for all this time. Your long lost lover… 

A row of washing machines.

“Oh finally!” 

You don’t hesitate to run over to the first washing machine you see, tossing the trash bag you’ve been carrying over your shoulder onto the ground as you shed tears of relief. Not literally though, because you can only stand to embarrass yourself so many times in one night. 

Malleus hovers behind you while you punch in the code for the rinse cycle and load the machine. He offers to help, but drops it when you almost bite his hand. No way are you letting him in close proximity to your dirty laundry. Once you’ve finished loading everything up and have slammed the lid to the machine shut, you get up to face him again.

“Well Malleus, I think we did good here today,” you nod, satisfied with the outcome of your journey. “I’m glad we could discover the location of Diasomnia’s laundry room together.”

“Dismissing me already? Humans can be so cruel,” he offers his hand to you, leading you to the seats on the other side of the room. “I believe you still have quite some time left before this load is finished.”

“Don’t remind me,” you whisper. As soon as your back hits the chair, you’re slumped over. It doesn’t help that Malleus is so warm next to you. “I’m exhausted.”

Malleus hums. “Then rest. I’ll wake you when the time comes.”

---

You wake up to your alarm sprawled over Ramshackle’s couch, a gray quilt tucking you so tightly you almost fall off the couch trying to get out of it. 

On the table next to you are your clean folded sheets and a note. 

Thank you for the company last night… I enjoy our time together greatly. I suppose the time to wake you never came. Apologies. 

You don’t think he’s very sorry at all.

[hamiltonaf]

Hi bestie, can i request how lewis would help you when you have insomnia? Mine is really a pain in the ass this week, could use a distraction

Night Owl | Lewis Hamilton

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: None

A/N: Hello loves ! Apologies for the delay in writing requests…I fell really ill over the week and was so out of writing :( but I’m back. Thanks anon for requesting, I hope you enjoy. Requests are still open .xx

Another night that I found it hard to sleep. It was like this for over a week because of stress and anxiety. I don’t even have anything to stress about, it’s just how my mind works when my brains thinks I have so much to do and I won’t complete everything I want to do in time.

It wasn’t that big of a deal to sleep at early hours of the morning all alone because I didn’t have Lewis with me so I’d wake up late. However, now that Lewis is around, I feel the need to sleep and wake up at a normal time so that we could do more things together as a couple since I hardly see him anyway.

Once in a while I’ll experience an adrenaline rush in the middle of the night and I’m so full of energy, I could literally eat a whole meal, probably even host my own fake concert and I still wouldn’t be tired till around 4 or 5am.

I joined Lewis and his family for the start of the summer break before Lewis was off on his boys trip. I was over the moon to see Lewis after a whole 2 weeks. Doesn’t seem that long but felt like a lifetime for me.

We spent the day with the family catching up and playing with Kaiden and Willow. We played countless rounds of Uno and spent most of our time out in the sun. Watching Lewis with kids and spending time with him had me thinking about him leaving on his boys trip soon - anxiety trigger because the thought of us being apart again soon.

I swear I’m not selfish… we video call everyday and I physically see him every weekend or every second weekend, but with our schedules clashing I can’t even spend time with him when I’m free because I’m working. Race weekends also fly by so quickly, before you know it, it’s already Sunday and I’m on a flight back home whilst he takes a flight to another race.

I just would’ve wanted to spend some more time with him during this summer break and it could make up for the lost time.

I didn’t even realise I was daydreaming until Lewis snapped his fingers in front of me. “We’re at the hotel… you’ve been so quiet for the past 15 minutes. Is everything okay ?” He asked softly. “Oh yeah. Uhm everything is fine… don’t worry” I faked a smile and exited the car. He followed behind me back to our room, it was quite evident to Lewis that I wasn’t my usual self. When we reached our room, he grabbed me by my hand and pulled me flush against his chest. “Are you sure you’re okay ? You seem off. Is something bothering you ?” He raised a brow.

“I’m fine really” I gave him a soft smile then pecked his cheek. Just as I was about to leave his grasp, he held me tighter. “Babe I can literally tell when you’re lying. You pull that fake smile on me when something is bother you” he pointed out. I immediately felt embarrassed. “What ? No” I scoffed and giggled. “And you do that as well” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Okay well I’m not in the mood to discuss it right now, maybe later” I trailed as I pecked his lips and walked over to the bathroom. I had a shower and to my surprise, Lewis had fallen off to sleep. I on the other hand was full of energy, but might as well try to sleep.

I got into bed and cuddled up close to him. In hopes I would fall off to sleep, unfortunately I was too restless and ended up turning from side to side. I know he’s a light sleeper and I felt bad at the thought of him waking up because of me. A whole hour of trying to sleep and I gave up. I jumped out of bed and went to our lounge to watch something to pass some time. About half and hour into the movie, I got a shock when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

The movie I was watching had me in a depresso mode where I was bawling my eyes out. “Oh my- love are you okay ?” He asked concerned. “Oh my god. Babe you scared me” I screamed as I placed a hand on my heart. “Didn’t mean to scare you, if anything, you scared me… why did you leave me alone in bed ?” He pouted as he jumped over the couch to sit right next to me. “I can’t sleep” I sighed. “No worries, I can help” he smiled. “Lew it’s not one of those nights where I randomly can’t sleep, I have insomnia. It’s much harder to sleep when you’re an insomniac” I pouted and laid my head on his shoulder. “Well what’s keeping my girl up ? You didn’t tell me earlier, I wanna hear it from you now because I’m concerned” he said as he turned to look at me.

“Okay don’t take this the wrong way. My brain overthinks the smallest of things, when normally I couldn’t care. We’ll blame it on some chemical reaction on my brain, maybe lack of serotonin I think-“ he cut me off. “Babe. You’re rambling. Calm down. Deep breaths and tell me straight up how you’re feeling” he smiled as he cupped my face. “Look, you know how much I love you and it hurts me how little we see each other. My mind for some odd reason isn’t its normal self because all my mind thinks about is how little time we actually spend together …” I said embarrassed. “Look I’m all for you going on your boys trip, but I had to be honest with what’s on my mind” I gave him a soft smile.

“Aww baby you’re so cute. You want me all to yourself ?” He smirked and raised a brow. “Low-key yes, but no” I said as I then slapped my forehead in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry that sounds so dumb” I covered my whole face with my hands. “Darling, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about” he said as he pulled my hands away from my face and caressed my cheek with his thumb. “I’m just glad you’re honest with me. Sorry babe for hurting you, why didn’t you tell me sooner ?” He cooed. “I thought it was stupid and I was just being dumb” I shrugged.

“Never. Your feelings are valid, always. Consider me all yours for the rest of the summer” he smiled as he pulled me in for a short kiss. “Wait, what ? Lew no ! You can’t not go on your boys trip” I argued. “This is not a debate love” he grinned. “But Lew, you can’t not-“ “End of discussion. Let’s go” he cut me off as he stood up and carried me in his arms towards our bedroom.

“Now I definitely won’t sleep, you’re making me feel awful as if I’m holding you back which I’m really not. My mind is just racing at the thought of how quickly time is going and how we’re barely together, this has nothing to do with your mates by the way because I think they’re all amazing. My brain is just not braining these past few days” I pouted as he laid me in bed and jumped in to cuddle me closer to him.

“Babe just don’t worry about it, that’s the least of my concerns right now” he said as he nuzzled his face into my neck. “Lew !” I groaned. “You need to sleep and I’m doing my best to help put an end to your insomnia” he smiled into my neck as he snaked an arm around my waist. He placed soft kisses along my shoulders before turning me around in his grasp. “I really love you” he smiled. “I really love you too Lew Lew” I felt my cheeks flush as he pulled my face closer and connected our lips.

I felt so at ease in his embrace knowing he’s right with me after quite a while of being apart. I guess all I needed was a goodnight kiss.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

Drunk | #LeviMonth2024 Fluff Drabble

✧ word count ➼ < 800 ✧ notes ➼ roommate!levi, levi taking care of you after drinking ✧ comments ➼ levi month entry for august 25! ✧ content/warnings ➼ alcohol obvs, but nothing sexual, just levi taking care of you :) ✧ join my levi month taglist here!

{{ August 24 (Crime + Secret Relationship Part 1) | August 28 (Crime + Secret Relationship Part 2) }} Masterlist

You had the weekend off, so you spent the night out with some friends. Having just been dropped off at home since you were far too inebriated to be able to navigate home from the bar on your own, you stumbled in through the front door after finally getting your keys in order.

Your eyebrows furrowed together as you noticed the lights that were still on despite the fact that it was well into the night. Your blurred gaze eventually fell onto Levi. You blinked at your roommate in surprise, not having expected him to be there.

"...the fuck are you doing here?" you asked, your words slightly slurred.

You were too far gone to be able to tell, but there was a subtle hint of concern that appeared in Levi's eyes the moment you stepped through the door while barely keeping your balance. He had known that you had gone out partying, but the fact that you were coming home this inebriated was something he had not been expecting.

"I live here, dumbass."

His tone was flat, with an emphasis on the insult that betrayed how agitated he truly was inside.

You didn't immediately respond, having forgotten that he had insomnia, despite the fact that you had been living together for a few years already.

"Oh."

Levi let out a barely audible groan as he set his phone down and stood up from the couch, crossing the room in a few strides to meet you where you were at.

"What happened?" he asked, concern evident in his voice despite the stern look on his face. He reached out to gently take your hand, helping you to steady yourself as he led you to the living room.

"Was just out with friends!"

He raised an eyebrow at your nonchalant response. Even for you, this was a bit much.

However, knowing that you could take care of yourself at the end of the day, in addition to the fact that it wasn't actually any of his business, he let the subject drop, focusing instead on guiding you over to the couch.

Once he got you seated safely, he swiftly went to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water for you.

"You didn't drive, did you?"

"Of course I didn't drive, dumbass," you grumbled as you returned his insult. You sipped on the cold water, with the shock of the liquid immediately beginning the process of sobering you up, even if it was just by a slight amount.

He sighed in irritation, giving you a second to get your bearings before tapping on your shoulder to get your attention.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you felt him gently tug on your arm to get you to stand up, wrapping his arm around your waist to help support you.

"I'll be fine," you insisted. "I'm not that drunk."

"Sure you aren't," he grumbled under his breath as he began dragging you towards your bedroom, kicking open the door since his hands were full with keeping you steady.

Ignoring your protests, he ushered you into your room, gently laying you down onto your bed before switching on the lights. Even in his sleep-deprived state, he could tell that you were far too drunk to be on your feet.

The hygiene enthusiast in him was tempted to drag you into the shower so you didn't feel like ass in the morning, knowing that being in alcohol-reeked clothes in addition to being hungover only compounded into one another, but he also didn't trust you in the water in your current state—and he certainly wasn't going to bathe you without your consent.

He knew that it likely would have been fine if he had left you on your own. Yet, he found himself growing increasingly protective over you and your well-being. A part of that came naturally from having lived with you for so long, but he knew that there was likely some other reason underneath the surface that he just didn't feel like diving into yet.

Before he knew it, you had fallen asleep. The edge of his lips slightly turned up at how quickly you had gotten settled in after stumbling in through the door. He threw the blanket over you so that you were at least somewhat covered before dimming the lights and leaving the room, bracing himself for the overwhelming hangover you were almost guaranteed to have the next morning.

#: @shayewrites @littlerequiem @i-lev-you @humanitys-strongest-brat @mostlilo @dustbuniesworld @levisrations @ebechnasheim @moonchild-angel @jayteacups @bipolargatto @samackermaan @deepzombieyouth @levkuna @levisfavoriteteashop @ackermanswifee @ae-chidori @2dsimpomg @anti-cupid

[meguwumibear]

A Night Out Dancing

Tomorrow your party will reach JuLai. Tonight Wolfwood wants to dance.

thank you @/firein-thesky for commissioning this piece for the @ficsforgaza collaboration

The sky above No Man’s Land is inky and starless. The air stale and still. Despite the hour, the world around you is oppressively warm and dry. Nights in the desert are usually bitterly cold. You’re not sure what’s gotten into the weather today.

Vash at least doesn’t seem plagued by strange temperature, but then Vash can sleep through anything, including Meryl’s jerky driving, so the comparison isn’t fair. Meryl’s fast asleep too, tucked neatly into the driver’s seat. You watch her toss and turn for a while, wondering what she dreams of. Someplace nice, hopefully. Somewhere lush and flourishing and green.

Even Roberto seems to have found sleep, albeit at the bottom of a bottle. He’s snoring gently in the passenger seat, mouth wide open, empty liquor bottle still clutched tightly in his hands.

Seems everyone’s immune to the hot desert night but you.

There’s a chance it isn’t the heat keeping you up. It’s possible you’re making excuses, blaming the external world around you for your insomnia so you don’t have to turn inward, so you don’t have to confront your building anxieties about what the future holds for your little traveling party. It’s going to crack and splinter apart, isn’t it? Like that land mass you once read about in a book that spoke of some far away planet called Earth. Pangaea. A supercontinent forced apart by shifting tectonic plates.

Tomorrow, you’ll reach JuLai, and everyone will drift away from you. You’ll spend the rest of your life trying to remember what it felt like to be whole.

Fuck it. If you’re not gonna get some shut eye, you may as well make yourself useful.

Wolfwood is perched on a sand dune, resting against his cross shaped gun, lit cigarette in hand, nearly burnt down to the filter. He takes one final drag of it as he sees you approach, then snubs the thing out in the sand.

“I’ll take over the watch,” you tell him, eyes drawn to the little ‘o’ shape his mouth makes as he lazily releases the final dregs of smoke.

“Not your turn yet, sweetheart,” he replies. “Go back to sleep.”

If only you could.

“Haven’t been able to. Too much shit on my mind. No sense in my staring at the back of my eyelids when I could be doing this instead.”

Wolfwood stares at you through tinted shades he hasn’t bothered to remove despite the darkness of the night. The glasses are a part of his costume, of his carefully crafted mask that even after months of travelling together he’s still hiding behind. He told you he’s an undertaker, but he dresses like a priest. On a runaway Sandsteamer, you learn he is an orphan. You’ve learned nothing since.

“You should take better care of yourself,” he says, as if caring for yourself is easy.

“You’re one to talk,” you reply, eyes giving him a quick once over. It’s been a few days since you’ve spent the night somewhere with a working bathroom. Without a mirror or razor, the stubble on his chin has grown more and more pronounced. The hairs suit him, you think. Your fingers itch to run along his jaw.

“You’re staring,” he observes, mouth crooking into a smug grin because the undertaker or priest or whatever the fuck he is knows how handsome he is.

“Am I?”

Wolfwood stands slowly, brushing beads of sand off him as he does so. You try to keep your eyes on his face, on the slope of his nose, the dimples on his cheeks, but they wander anyway, along his broad shoulders, down his tiny waist. You’ll miss him when this is over, you decide.

“Wanna dance?” he asks suddenly. The question throws you off kilter. How long has it been since you’ve done something so mundane? Will you even remember how? Is it appropriate to dance given what tomorrow may bring?

“What about-”

“Needle-noggin and the lot are out like a light. No one will notice if we steal a few minutes for ourselves.”

He closes the gap between the two of you and links his right hand with yours, fingers interlocking. His hands are large and calloused from lugging around that heavy gun of his. Briefly, you wonder just how strong the guy really is.

 “But there isn’t any music,” you protest weakly. Wolfwood is frustratingly good at sapping away your resolve.

“Don’t need any. We’ll make our own,” he insists, slipping an arm around the small of your back and pressing you close, closer, and closer still.

This close to him, you can see deep into his eyes. There’s fear in them. Sadness too. He’s trying and failing to mask the emotions with a smile, with this dance. It must be so exhausting, you think, always having to pretend.

“One dance,” you surrender, relaxing into his embrace. He smells sharply of tobacco and nicotine, though you note hints of something a bit earthier underneath. Sweat, probably. It’s been a while since any of you have showered. “Then bed. Unlike you and Vash, some of us need our beauty sleep.”

A lopsided grin swims across his handsome face.

 “Aw, think I’m beautiful, sweetheart? That’s nice.”

There’s a biting remark on the tip of your tongue that never fully forms. Yeah, actually, you do think he’s beautiful. You’ve thought so ever since Meryl slammed the news van into him all those months ago. The impact should have killed him—it would’ve killed you—but Wolfwood simply rose up from the sand as if rising from an interrupted slumber. Beautiful, even with rivulets of blood trickling down his face.

“Shut up,” you hiss, cheeks heating as you think a bit too intensely about his sturdy body which is now pressed flush against your own. Has Wolfwood always been this tall? This large? His giant frame engulfs you as the two of you sway together, in tandem with Wolfwood’s quiet humming.

You rest your head against his sternum, listening to the sound of his heart beating quick and urgent like the wings of a bird. His chest vibrates as he hums his tune. You can’t seem to place the song. Likely, he’s making it up as he goes, the tempo slow and somber like a dirge.

“Where’d you learn to dance?” you ask him, conscious of the way your two left feet have nearly tripped him up twice. Lucky for you both he’s not just a hulking lump of muscle. He’s got a great center of balance too.

You chalk your awkwardness up to the loose, shifting sands and not to the odd sensation forming in the pit of your stomach. More unfamiliar than unpleasant. You swallow a few times in an attempt to settle it.

Wolfwood shrugs, spinning the two of you round and round in circles. “It’s not all that different than fighting.”

There’s truth to that, you suppose, remembering the fight on the Sandsteamer. Wolfwood refused to talk about the stranger you all watched disappear into the open maw of the sand ocean, but it was obvious the man once meant something to him.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says. “Just follow my lead.”

So you do. You let him whirl you around the desert dunes for what feels like hours, grinning up at him through thick lashes when you manage to step on his toes. Again. He laughs, a little too loudly, and you have to remind him that if he’s not careful he’ll wake your sleeping companions.

“What are you going to do if everything goes well tomorrow?”

For the first time all night, it’s Wolfwood who stumbles. The misstep is small, slight, if you weren’t so entangled, you may have missed it, but you are entangled so you feel everything. You feel his feet stall as the question leaves your lips. You feel the rise and fall of his belly as he takes a deep steadying breath.   

His hand travels up the length of your spine, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. He thumbs across your vertebrae and you recognize the ministration for what it is: a silent plea for you to let the topic drop and just enjoy this moment the two of you managed to carve out for yourselves amidst all the chaos of the world.

You let your head drop once more, tucking it beneath his collarbone, right above his heart, still rabbiting in his chest. He isn’t humming anymore. There’s nothing to help the two of you keep time as you continue to sway together, now gliding across the sand like worms.

Around you, the clouds begin to clear and bright, twinkling stars start to peek out from behind them. A soft breeze kicks up around you, and the sand particles scatter with it. Wolfwood—Nicholas—keeps you pressed against him as the temperature mercifully begins to drop.

Your mind still wanders from time to time, curious what tomorrow may bring.

Who cares, you decide. It doesn’t matter.

Tonight, you’re content to dance.

[psychopunky]

Rats Nest

Summery: Dudes hair is in danger of becoming matted.

Words: 2,700ish

Tags: fluff, no y/n, kissing 🫣

Notes: I looked at to much P1 art. This is on my AO3 as well.

“Come on, I promise I’ll do my best to make it painless.” trying to convince the man in front of you. Both of you are still in pj’s as the afternoon sun shines outside. Sitting on the bed you looked up at the taller man keeping a smile on your face. His long red hair was past his shoulders. It was a known fact that he hadn’t showered for a while. He had spent a good chunk of this month in bed. It was ok though everyone has bad days. What was important now was getting him to sit down. What wasn’t ok was the giant rats nest in his hair.

He stared at you unmoving for a few moments. Then his eyes went to the hairbrush, bottles and towel next to you on the bed. “If we don’t do it now it will grow into full blown matting.” Begging you pat your thighs, spreading your legs a little to make room for him. He didn’t say anything or move, making you worried. Approaching this situation delicately was hard. Almost wanting to hold him down and forcefully untangle his hair but that wasn’t the right thing to do.

He took a step forward making you hold your breath. Watching as he shuffles the few steps towards you. He kneels down between your legs before sitting with his back to you. He was tense and he sat stiff back straight. Reaching out, placing your hands on his shoulders. He somehow tensed up even more at your touch.

Squeezing his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. Digging your thumbs into his shoulders you rub carefully. “I’m not going to bite.” Trying to joke with him. The words seem to work a little as he snorted his shoulders slumping a little. “I might like it.” He joked back his voice a low mumble. Chuckling at his words you pick up the towel next to you. Lifting his hair up you put the towel on his shoulders.

Once the towel was fixed you dropped his hair. Grabbing a spray bottle next to you. Looking up to catch him looking back over his shoulder at you. “It’s leave in conditioner. It will help make your hair soft and easy to untangle.” He turned his head back to face forward. Grabbing the ends of his hair you start to spray a generous amount. Working your way up to his roots. You place a hand on his head making him tilt his head back. “Wanna take your glasses off before I spray more? You’re going to have to close your eyes anyway so I don’t accidentally get any in your eyes.”

His head was tilted back enough for you to see his face. He didn’t move right away, likely thinking it over. Leaning down slowly you press a kiss to his temple. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just don’t want them to get dirty. I know how important they are.” Looking at the sunglasses that sit on his face. It almost felt like the glasses were a part of him at this point. Sitting up straight you place a hand on his forehead. Trying to block out the spray so it didn’t get on his face.

Spraying his roots you tried to be careful. He moved slowly, reaching up and pulling off his glasses. Humming in delight you kept to your work, maybe overdoing it with the spray but his hair was almost matted. Finishing with the spray you set it aside. Moving your hands to the sides of his head you tilt his head back to look at you again. His green eyes looked exhausted. His sleep had been horrible, plagued by nightmares and insomnia.

Leaning down with a smile before kissing his forehead again. “There’s my pretty boy.” Cooing at him a tiny lopsided grin coming to his lips. The conditioner needs time to work so you took the chance to shower him in affection. Leaning over as much as you could. Kissing the tip of his nose. Moving to kiss his cheek his arm came up. Wrapping under your thigh effectively making your leg rest on his shoulder. His hand grabbed at the meat of your thigh. He turned his face away from the kiss, the smile vanishing. “I’m gross.” He spoke quietly. A man of few words but the message was clear.

He didn’t want your affection thinking he was too gross for you. He did smell and had a layer of grease buildup all over him. “Hey…” Speaking softly, your hands were still on his head. Gently pushing his head to make him look at you again. He gave in easily, turning his head to look up at you. “It happens even if you're gross I still love you. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” His grip on your thigh tightened his fingers digging into your skin. His nails threatened to break skin. His green eyes looked away from you, unable to meet your gaze.

It was a mystery what he thought of things. It was a challenge to get his feelings out. So you just waited for him to decide what he wanted. The conditioner still needs a bit of time so you could wait. Sitting you straight moving your hands off his head. His free hand shot up, grabbing your wrist and keeping one hand in place. Your hand was pressed into the side of his head, your fingertips resting on his cheek. Carefully you rub your thumb over his cheekbone. His eyes flutter closed as he leaned into your touch. His grip on your thigh loosened until his hand just rested on top of it. Red marks from his nails appeared on your skin.

“I’m still gross.” He kept a firm grip on your wrist not letting you pull your hand away. Conditioner was very much getting on your arms and legs now. That doesn’t matter you would clean up later. “Hmm does that mean I can’t give you kisses?” You asked. He brought his eyes back to look up at you. “That means I can't kiss you like ever.” Moving your fingers you give his cheek a pinch. The pale skin turns red when you let go. He grimaces for a moment but doesn’t pull away. Staying silent at your words you take a chance. Leaning down, pressing a quick kiss to the reddening area. He didn’t pull away or protest, just lets out a sigh.

“I’m allowed to kiss?” You tease, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “Fine.” His voice is hardly audible in the quiet room. Snickering at his words you move your free arm. Cradling his head as you press a big exaggerated kiss to his cheek. Even making sure to make cartoonish kissing noises. “Agh…” He groaned, unable to get away from you. When you pulled back you could see the tiny smile on his lips. Sitting up straight you untangle your arm from him. Making him let go of your wrist. Feeling around on the bed you find the hair brush. Putting a hand on his head made him look down. He let out a grumble but stayed still. Letting you silently order him around.

Picking up his long hair you gather it in one hand. Holding onto it with a tight grip about half way down. Trying not to pull his hair as you held it. With your other hand you grip the hair brush. Starting at his split ends you carefully run the brush through the ends. The brush snagged a few small tangles but it wasn’t anything bad. Moving the brush higher to meet your other hand. Catching a big knot in the middle of his hair. Winching when the brush snagged it, thinking you hurt him. When you checked on him he didn’t flinch or pull away. Just sitting silently between your legs. His arm was still wrapped around your thigh. His hand started idlily rubbing your thigh. He was looking blankly at the wall in front of him.

This time with extra care you start at the ends of his hair. Slowly working your way up with each brush. Encountering the big knot again you worked at the edges of it. Stopping momentarily to add some hair oil. Having bought it specifically for this moment. Adding it onto the knot then using your fingers to rub it in. When you pulled your hand away you went to grab the brush but paused. Your hand was oily and the other was holding his hair. Stuck frozen for a moment as you didn’t know what to do. That’s when you saw the towel you had put on his shoulders. Reaching out you wipe your fingers on it.

Feeling your hand he reaches back grabbing your hand. Turning his head he pressed his lips to your palm. Kissing your palm with his rough lips. Feeling his breath tickle your hand along with the scratch of his stubble. His goatee was sticking every which way. Stubble had started to grow for a beard he normally didn’t care for. It had been a tough month more mentally than physically. He let go of your hand pulling his lips away. Taking a moment to rake your fingers over his scalp as you pull your hand back. His greasy hair made your fingers slip through until you hit a knot. He sighs finally slumping against the bed. Relaxing now he presses his cheek against your thigh. The thigh he’s still keeping an arm wrapped around. Resting his head on your thigh you can see his eyes close.

Untangling your fingers you pick up the brush. Holding his hair in your other hand in its makeshift ponytail. Gripping his hair a little tighter you bring the brush up. Working at the ends of the knot again. Afraid to move the brush a centimeter for fear of yanking the knot. As you worked at the knot you could feel his warm breath on your thigh. He drops his arm from around your thigh. Though he still kept your leg resting on his shoulder. His hand moves to your lower leg. His fingers dig into the muscle. It didn’t hurt but he had an iron grip. “Too much?” Asking softly as you pause, not moving the brush. “It’s fine … I don’t feel it.” A mumbled almost sleepy reply came back. Going back to working on the knot this time brushing the underside of his hair. It was much more knotted but you kept up the slow careful pace.

His thumb started to rub against your calf. Pressing hard enough to massage the muscles there. The knot in his hair came undone so you were at least half way done. Letting go of his hair you rest your free hand on his head. “This might hurt a bit.” Warning him before you bring the brush to his scalp. The first few strokes went ok but then you hit another large knot. Accidentally making his head jerk back a bit. Pulling the brush away quickly you panic. “Sorry!” Taking your hand off his head you hold it up in the air. He grumbled digging his fingers hard into your leg for a split second. He lets go, not saying anything. Taking that as a sign to keep going you start working at the larger knot. Most of it was on the underside of his hair near his scalp.

Giving a lot of small apologies as you tried to work it out. To his credit he stayed put not complaining. When it hurt he would squeeze your leg. Using your free hand to pull away the untangled strands. The knot unravels surprisingly fast; perhaps the conditioner was doing its job. Making him sit up straight came with some protest. He almost growled when you made him take his head off your thigh. Guiding his head gently to turn you had him look to the side. The brush glided through his hair with little resistance. Making him look the other way you found a few small knots. He was facing your thigh now. He must have grown impatient from how slow you were going. Lips pressed against your thigh. Looking at him for a moment you almost want to make a joke at how affectionate he’s being. Not wanting to discourage him, you stay silent.

Instead place your free hand on his head. Petting his head softly as you work on the last few knots. The kiss on your thigh is followed by another then another. Going from soft lazy kisses to firm almost needy kisses. Ignoring it until you get the last knot untangled. Taking a moment to brush through all his hair. It was smooth oily and smelt like flowers from all the products you put in it. Pulling your leg back suddenly leaves him with nothing for his next kiss. “Ta-da! All done. See it wasn’t so bad.” Scooting back on the bed you pull your legs up to sit cross legged. A frustrated noise came from the end of the bed. You watch the redhead stand up to his full height. His long hair moving in a much silky manner instead of in clumps. It was damp with product and needed a good wash. That would be another challenge in itself.

He turned around to face you. His glasses were still off so you could see his whole face. He still had the same tired expression as he took the towel off his shoulders. Dropping it to the ground as he crawled into bed. A small game of chase started as you crawled backwards. Him crawling after you on the bed. Moving to the headboard before giving up and laying on the bed. Head resting on the pillows as you watch him crawl towards you. His hand grabbed at your hips as he crawled on top of you. He presses his other hand to the pillow next to your head. Looking down at you his long hair frames his face. Despite him chasing you he hesitated above you. Not moving from his position an inch.

Just looking down at you for a few long moments. His hand on your hip squeezed for a moment. Giving him a big smile you reach both hands up to him. Cupping his face with both hands. His tired eyes softened as he looked at you. “Do I get a kiss for my hard work?” Squishing his cheeks for a moment. He gave you a slight nod before leaning down. Snickering as his long hair touches your face. He slowly brings his face close to yours. Closing your eyes you let him move at his pace. He presses a kiss to your lips. His lips are chapped and rough but the kiss is light almost not there. Lifting your head a little you kiss him back. Pressing your lips firmly into his returning the kiss. He relaxes into the kiss matching your eagerness.

All too soon he pulled away, moving back. He let out a yawn before flopping down. His whole body weight pressing down on you. His head resting on your stomach as his torsos press down on your legs. Trapping you on the bed under him. Laughter bubbles up in your chest spilling out of your mouth. Bringing your hands up to rest on his head. Tangling your fingers in his now smooth hair. You can feel the conditioner and oil coat your fingers. Still now wasn’t the time to think about that. He buried his face into stomach, hiding himself. Racking your nails over his scalp you both lay there. His breath warms your stomach.

“Wanna take a nap?” The weight and warmth of his body felt comfortable. He gave a hum in response wrapping his arms around your hips. Holding onto you tightly his fingers digging into your sides. Running your hands from his scalp through his long hair. Admiring it as it slips through your fingertips. The tension in his body slowly melts away. Time ticks by unnoticed. His breathing slows down. His grip was still tight even as he eased into sleep. Hopefully this time it will be a peaceful rest. All you can do is be there for him when he wakes up.