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dark-moonlust · 7 days ago

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Stubborn As Ever

Commission for Anon on Patreon @ 2025 Kate Hart

This commission is owned by Kate Hart. As the original writer, I strictly forbid any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent.

Pairing: orc oc x female human reader

Summary: you are sick and push yourself too far but your orc boyfriend Matuk isn’t having it. He takes charge, forcing you to rest while reminding you just how much he cares about you.

Warnings: reader who has a cold, mentions but no smut, cuteness and fluff, flirty banter, caring and possessive orc bf.

The soft clack of your keyboard filled the room, the glow of your laptop the only light against the gray hues of the afternoon. Your nose was red, tissues were scattered around the desk, and a half-finished cup of coffee sat forgotten next to you, now cold. You sniffled, wiped your nose on yet another tissue, and ignored the throbbing ache behind your eyes. The project wasn’t going to finish itself. You were determined to finish it tonight and be done with it.

That determination lasted exactly ten seconds before the office door creaked open.

You didn’t even have to look.

The heavy footsteps and low growl alerted you to your boyfriend’s appearance. Standing well over six and a half feet tall, Matuk leaned against the doorframe, his hands folded in front of his chest. A plain gray T-shirt clung to his broad chest and shoulders, the seams strained slightly by his massive frame.

His deep green skin appeared otherworldly under the faint light, his face sharp as he looked at you with a frown. He had a square jaw that balanced the tusks curving slightly from his lower lip. Dark brown eyes settled on you, his hair short and messy, the inky black strands cut just above his pointed ears, though a few stubborn strands always managed to linger on his forehead. Like now. He looked devilishly handsome and you itched to comb those strands.

“Are you kidding me right now?” His deep growling voice cut off your thoughts. “Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”

“Geez… I’m fine, Matuk,” you groaned even if your throat sounded more like sandpaper than anything else.

“Wrong,” he snapped, and the next thing you knew, your laptop was being lifted out of your reach. He shut the screen and stowed it away high up in your bookshelf—far too high for you to reach without a ladder.

“Hey!” You spun around, glaring up at him, but his eyes pinned you in place, and even through your cold fog, you could see and understand his frustration.

“You’re sick, wildflower,” he said low and husky. He called you wildflower because you were delicate yet strong, thriving whatever the case. But if you kept overworking and ignoring your health, you would be making yourself weak.

“I have a deadline.”

“Which is due next week. More than enough time for you to rest and get back to it.”

“Matuk—”

“Don’t.” He cupped your face, an edge of command in his voice. “Don’t argue with me. You’ve been working nonstop for weeks and now you’re paying for it. I won’t stand here and watch you make yourself worse.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re pale, tired. Your voice is hoarse. You’re burning up, but here you are, pushing yourself like nothing matters except that damn screen. Newsflash, I’m not letting you do this to yourself.”

Before you could protest, he slipped one arm under your knees and the other around your waist, lifting you off the chair with ridiculous ease. Your tired body betrayed you and you tucked yourself into his embrace as he walked out of the room, holding you as if you weighed nothing. His scent wrapped around you— woodsy and slightly smoky, and you reached, touching his silky hair.

“I can walk you know…” you muttered even as you rubbed your cheek over his strong chest.

“Not a chance. You lost your privileges when you decided to ignore my advice and work yourself to death.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re mine, and I will take care of you.”

Damn, why did that sound so hot? It was probably the way he spoke, the husky notes of his voice.

Your cheeks burned and this time it was not because of the cold.

A grin on your face, you buried your face in his shoulder to hide it. He rubbed his chin against your head before setting you down on the huge king-sized bed. He adjusted things with his large, calloused hands - plumping up your pillow, straightening a blanket over your legs and tucking it under your feet. Then he added a second blanket, just to make sure you were warm enough.

"Comfortable?"

"Super comfy,” you smiled, wiggling under the soft fluffy blankets. “And one layer away from being a human burrito.”

He snorted, crouching close to you so he was at eye level. "Good. Means I'm doing my job."

“I’m gonna be okay, my love,” you muttered, seeing how concerned he was.

"Hmm… either way you’re staying put, got it? No working, no overthinking, no sneaking around.”

You rolled your eyes, but a little grin tugged at your mouth. "You're incredibly bossy.”

"And you're awfully mouthy for someone who can barely sit up without wobbling," he smirked back, flashing a hint of tusk. “But that is ok. I like you mouthy, wildflower.”

“Wow, are you flirting with me right now?”

He laughed. “Damn right, I am. And I need you back at your peak strength so that I can firmly pin you to this bed for putting me through this worry.”

"You are impossible."

"And you're adorable and irresistible.”

You snorted and looked away. “Oh, please, I look horrible.”

"Wrong," he said in one breath. He tilted your face back to him and kissed your red nose. "You're gorgeous. Even today. Flushed cheeks and nose, messy hair, that little pout you get when you're impatient and stubborn."

“Matuk…” you sneaked your arms out of your blankets to caress his hard face. He leaned into your touch before tucking your cold hands back inside, reaching for your blanket, pulling it higher around your shoulders. “Still the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen."

The sweet moment was over faster than you’d wanted because he rushed to the kitchen and then returned with a tray with a bowl and a steaming cup. You sat up against the headboard and sighed happily. The air smelt of herbs and chicken broth.

"Eat, little wildflower," he said, carefully passing you the bowl. "You have approximately one minute before I do it myself."

"I will eat. I’m not protesting any longer.”

“Fucking finally.”

Chuckling at his words, you cradled the bowl in your hands, the warmth radiating into your chilled fingers. The steam curled warmly against your face as you sipped the rich broth. Each spoonful slid down your throat, soothing the raw ache and spreading warmth through your chest and belly. The subtle spices lingered on your tongue, coaxing a soft sigh from your lips. Ahhh, this was heavenly.

When you handed the empty bowl back to your very satisfied boyfriend, he plucked it from your hands and kissed your forehead. “Good girl.”

Next, he pressed a small packet of medicine into your palm and handed you a glass of water. You obediently downed the medicine, the bitterness lingering for only a moment before Matuk replaced the glass with a steaming mug of tea. The fragrant aroma greeted you as you sipped, letting the herbal brew chase away the last of the medicine’s taste.

Once the mug was empty, you set it aside with a contented hum and sank back into the cocoon of blankets. Your body felt warm and soothed, your head less heavy. The stuffiness in your nose had also eased thanks to the herbal steam. All you needed now was your boyfriend’s body pressed against you.

As if he could read your thoughts, Matuk shifted the blankets, his hulking form easing into the bed beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight as he slid under the covers. You moaned at the heat of him and pressed yourself greedily against him. Your cheek found its place against his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum against your ear.

A calloused hand cradled the back of your head, his palm large enough to cover it completely. He tipped your face up, his fingers threading through your hair before he kissed you, brushing his lips against yours, careful not to hurt you with his tusks. You protested but his tongue coaxed your mouth open and swept past your lips in heated strokes. The press of his mouth deepened, his tongue demanding more before you broke the kiss, your hands pressed against his chest.

“No! I’m sick, I don’t want you to catch my cold!”

He blinked, then burst out laughing. “That’s what this is about? Oh, my considerate wildflower.” His laughter softened into a grin as he leaned in closer and licked the corner of your mouth.

“Matuk—”

“Hush,” he drawled, pressing another hot kiss on your lips. “You’re not gonna stop me, so don’t even try. I’m an orc. A mere human cold can’t take me down. We’re big, strong, and way too stubborn for that.”

“Still,” you said, shifting against him because, damn him, he kept licking and nibbling at your lips. “But— isn’t it better to be careful?”

“No,” he protested with a low growl. “I don’t care if you’re sick, ugly, or bloody mad at me. You’re mine. My mate. My wildflower. And nothing’s keeping me from kissing you when I damn well feel like it.”

You stared up at him, heart pounding as his deep brown eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering. You loved him so much, your protective and possessive orc boyfriend that had changed your life completely. Matuk was unlike any male, caring and domineering, always making you feel like the most important person in the world.

“I love how grumpy and protective you are.”

He gave you a sly grin. “I love you more. And once you recover, I plan on making up for lost time and ravish you properly.”

You grinned. “Sounds delicious.”

"Sleep, my little wildflower," he said, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. "I've got you."

And you did. You melted against his chest, the rise and fall of his steady breath lulling you to sleep. His arms were around you, one gliding up and down your back in abstract patterns. He peppered kisses on your eyes, nose, and lips, silently promising that no harm would ever reach you. He was your protector, your one and only. Always.

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adioringhamzah · 24 days ago

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for that special boyfriend 𓆩♡𓆪

you get inspired by ELF for your boyfriend's christmas present

gf!reader×hamzah / no fc

a.n : written from a request, improved a little by ai bc i never watched elf

christmas was just around the corner, and you were still frantically scrolling through every website you could think of, searching for the perfect gift for your boyfriend.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t tried asking him, but every time, hamzah either brushed it off with some sarcastic comment or managed to steer the conversation in an entirely different direction.

this would be your first christmas together after almost a year of dating, and while the thought of spending it with him made you excited, the stress of picking the right gift was enough to keep you awake at night.

the sound of your doorbell suddenly broke your concentration. without a second thought, you basically ran to the door.

pulling it open, your eyes met his, and you couldn’t help but feel your chest tighten. there he was : hamzah, your beautiful but frustratingly evasive boyfriend.

"oh, hamzah!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him. “i missed you so, so much!”

he didn’t say anything at first. instead, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, lifting you off the ground and carrying you all the way to your bed.

it had only been a few days since you’d last seen him, but it had felt like an eternity : he’d been off filming a camping trip video for his channel with martin.

“missed you too,” he murmured against your hair as he set you down on the bed, his voice soft and warm.

his presence was a comfort in itself, but you couldn’t help but take in the little details you’d missed : his gorgeous curly hair, the faint smell of woodsmoke clinging to his camo hoodie from the camping trip, and the happy glow in his dark eyes.

while he’d been camping, you’d kept busy by staying at mandy's, so she could film a video of her own.

you’d made plans to decorate your christmas tree together and watch a movie, and now that he was here, you could finally do just that.

your boyfriend pulled a DVD from his bag with a mischievous grin. “elf,” he announced, holding it up like it was a rare treasure.

“wait, i've actually always wanted to see that,” you said, delighted by his choice.

he blinked in mock disbelief. “you’ve never seen elf? baby, how have you been celebrating christmas all these years?”

you shrugged, laughing. “not like this, i guess.”

the next couple of hours were nothing short of magical. together, you strung lights and hung ornaments on the tree, you were ecstatic to finally be able to use the christmas jellycat mandy had gifted you.

hamzah insisted on putting the star on top though, claiming it was his “duty as the taller one,” you rolled your eyes but let him have his moment.

with the room bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights and the faint scent of pine in the air, the two of you layed down on your bed to watch the movie.

hamzah’s arm rested around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you couldn’t help but steal glances at him during the movie.

the way his face lit up during the funniest scenes or how his laugh filled the room was just perfect.

then that scene came on. the one where buddy shows off his red festive underwear, his enthusiasm making the moment awkward but also endearing. you burst out laughing, tears in your eyes, and hamzah immediately seized the opportunity to tease you.

“that would totally suit you,” he said with his signature grin.

“excuse me?!” you replied, pretending to be offended, but he didn’t stop.

“i'm just saying, everyone needs a pair of festive underwear for christmas. you’d look so sexy in something like that.”

“absolutely not,” you said, still laughing. “but I bet you’d rock them, though. buddy's look? totally your vibe.”

from there, the jokes spiralled. for the rest of the evening, the two of you couldn’t stop bringing it up.

whenever your other half teased you, you’d dramatically threaten to buy him buddy’s underwear for christmas. in turn, he kept insisting you’d be the one to wear them, claiming it would be the “ultimate holiday outfit.” it quickly became an inside joke you couldn't stop bringing up.

a few days later, the idea came to you. you had been stressing endlessly about what to get hamzah for christmas, but now, you finally had the answer. it was silly but also featured his favourite thing ever: you!

so, on christmas eve, as your boyfriend sat on the couch trying to find the best music from spotify's christmas playlist, you disappeared into you bedroom.

“everything okay?” he called out after a few minutes, desperate to spend time with you.

“don’t come in!” you basically screamed back, trying not to laugh as you put on your special outfit.

after another moment, you stepped into the doorway, arms spread dramatically.

“merry christmas, buddy!” you exclaimed, as loud as you could.

hamzah’s eyes widened as he looked up, and then he completely lost it.

you were standing there in a carbon copy of the movie's outfit. a bright red bra with tulle on its bottom, covering your stomach but not your lacey red thong. you even added a matching santa hat.

“no way,” hamzah managed to say between laughs “no way you actually did this!”. laughing at first, you could now see his eyes getting darker, filling with lust as he looked you up and down.

but you weren't done.

“oh, it gets better,” you said, pulling out a wrapped box from behind your back. “open it.”

he tore the wrapping paper, revealing a matching pair of underwear to your outfit, with your name embroidered in gold on the ass part.

his face turned bright pink, both from laughing and embarrassment.

“this… this is the best gift ever,” he finally choked out, wiping away tears. “i can’t believe you did this. you’re unbelievable.”

you smiled, feeling proud of yourself. “well, you did say everyone needs a pair of festive underwear for christmas.”

he stood up and pulled you into a kiss. “you’re the best, you know that? but I hope you know i'm totally making you wear those again next year, and all years after that actually.”

“only if you wear yours,” you said back, smirking as he started kissing you all over

💋

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 month ago

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An Elven Winter

CW: None! Arranged marriage, very cozy very comfy, winter nights, grossly affectionate moments

Synopsis: You’re late for dinner with your brawny elf husband, again. Is he going to scold you this time, and live up to his name as a heartless elf?

A/N: Your favorite boy Cirdan is back! Here's the OG piece I wrote with him if anybody wants some more comfort and cuteness.

Snowflakes whipped from the left across your face, illuminated by dampened yellow street lanterns with an icy blue tinge to their miniscule edges. The cold stuck to your eyelashes, to the tip of your nose, to the bottoms of your trudging boots.

When was the last time it snowed this hard? Not in years, certainly. Not since you began to share your home with another warm body, waiting to welcome you home away from the chills seeping into the openings of your sleeves. You could see your home only two doors down now, the front bathed by hanging porch lights, a trellis covered with dead vines propped against the dark, unlit corner of the cabin. Everyday he’d water that thing, and everyday it’d continue to shrivel under the coldening wind.

Your face creases with concern for what your spouse's reaction may be once you make it home. He might fawn over every trickle of water that was once snow on your shoulders, fraught by the coldness of your fingertips in his palms. It wasn’t his worry that was exhausting, it was the fear of making him feel anything other than glowing warmth, of adoration for you.

Your feet slid over one another racing to the front doors in a jog. Another wave of guilt washed over you for the tenth time tonight for being, what was it now-- an hour late to dinner? How your lovely, saint of a husband worked endlessly to make your homestead full of comfort and homeliness-- and yet you couldn’t make it in time for a meal he had spent endlessly curating. You would beat yourself over the head if you had a moment to spare.

But there was nothing you could do to turn back the time, to slide any quicker on the glassy, frozen ground. Tripping to race up to the door, you fumbled over stone steps in impatience.

The delicately carved door handle was just as cold as the tip of your nose was, hardly putting up a fight as you pulled it toward you. The door opened with a breeze of thick comfort blowing against exposed skin unveiled on your body. Warmth and the smell of a working oven flooded to the points of your cheeks, the door’s creaky nature betraying you as it let the other resident of the house know of your return home.

This would be the part where you shout “Honey, I’m home!”

But you’re given no time, no time at all. A crackling fire fills your ears, the sudden appearance of a dastardly large silhouette clouding your vision of the kitchen table, plates upon plates decorating a tablecloth you knew so well.

“It’s nine.” His voice relented, the emotion detected and yet hard to describe as you look up to read his face.

His cheeks are tinted a slight red, as if he had been outside in the cold, waiting for you.

“It is; I’m sorry, Cirdan. I really thought I'd get here sooner, we were trying to wait out the snow. And, well.. That didn’t really do much.”

His eyes were full of thought, expression in their hardened lids and watery irises. Being late for things seemed to be your specialty. It broke your heart into desperate pieces when you saw the look on his face-- hardly concerned with the cold food, but locked on to you to see what had gone wrong, if you were hurt, what he could do to fix it all.

“Don’t apologize. I’m just.. So glad you’re home.” He genuinely sounded relieved, a rough stutter you hadn’t heard in a long time, if not ever before.

His body, so untraditional to what elves were expected to be, came forward to hold you just as gracefully as any normal, lean and tall version of the creature would. But he was all brawn-- a hard and heated rock that snug itself tight against you. A thick hand made its way into your hair to press the top of your head to his pointed nose.

His taut inhale was shaky, white strands of hair much longer than your own crowding your view.

“I was nearly about to go out there and find you myself. It’s no place for you to be, out there in the snow. Cold and alone.”

It sounded as if he had scared himself with anxiety-ridden thoughts about where you were in your tardiness.

“I know.” You muffled against his chest, the wool of his sweater smelling like sweet potatoes and rosemary.

If it were anyone else you’d be embarrassed to press your head deeper, to lean into the touch so clearly full of desire. But you knew no other way to make up for all that you had done. Your briefcase bag fell to the floor, crumpled and forgotten.

The affection was so tender you nearly forgot about the sensation of frostbite clawing at your fingernails and the aching in your stomach. It resounded out in the room with an acidic gurgle, forcing your body to go rigid with a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment.

You could feel the soundless laugh Cirdan let out through the shake in his body-- his warm, scarred arms your safe space. Even the apron two sizes too small on him smelled of sweets. It hugged him enough for you to feel the ridges underneath his sweater.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, gently releasing you from his stroking bear hug.

“You have to ask?” You mumbled, still somewhat embarrassed by your show of weakness. You were supposed to be the strong one, carrying out the toughness of reality and endless meetings between the human and elven realm, while your unconventional elf husband finally had a chance in his brutality to rest, to be easy and let his heart and scars heal. But you were only human.

“I kept it warm for you, wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”

Your chest ached at those words.

You were tempted to let out another ‘you don’t have to do that’ or ‘you should’ve just left it in the fridge’, but it would only serve to dishearten him even more.

“Thank you,” Was all you could half-heartedly murmur, looking up to stare at him.

His hair fell sloppy along his face, snowy locks hiding his grey, blinded eye. He had started letting it show in privacy, when scrubbing the stove oven or reading in his colossal wine-red chair, black specs you called his ‘old man glasses’ falling off his nose. You pushed the heavy strands behind his pointed ear, letting your hand slide down the curve of his jaw.

Cirdan merely smiled longingly, crinkling at his eyes and gazing at you as if you were all the stars in the sky held in front of him. He leaned just slightly into your touch, its coldness offering a stark contrast to his warm, honey skin.

“Go, sit by the fire. I’ll bring your dinner.”

You were again ready to protest, but an intensely soft fleece blanket was draped over your head, covering from your forehead to your calves. It was originally made for your husband, twice any human’s size and still long enough to cover his shoulders. Cirdan had turned to the loveseat beside him to grab it, leaving you to buckle under the weight of swarms of fabric as he moved toward the kitchen. Blindly, you made your way to the orange glow in the middle of the room, bright flames caressing freshly chopped oak.

The corners of your home closest to the outside world had a chilled air of ice, but within the middle was where the heat resided, beckoning you to the fireplace onto a small elk hide rug.

Cirdan’s footsteps upon the soft kitchen floor came toward you, steam rising from the plate held in his hands. He seemed so relaxed, shoulders drooped and yet posture enviously perfect, an effect of having an elven spine and ruthless upbringing. His loose sweater was soft on his carved shoulders, reminding you of your shared cozy bed-- of his body radiating glowy warmth against you, rustling sheets tangled as you push deeper against the crook of his neck.

But your stomach was too insatiable for anything other than food right now, even warmth. The herby, peppery scent brought drool to your mouth, looking at the elf with wide eyes in hungry desperation.

“It’s hot, let it cool off for a second.” Cirdan blows on the mouth-watering food as he hands the plate to you with a potholder on its lip, protecting you from the heat. He is quick to grab a pillow and place it in your lap, gently letting the plate rest. “I kind of went overboard; something in me felt like cooking tonight... We can give the leftovers to the neighbors.”

“No!” You shout territorily, covering your plate as if he were ready to steal it from you. “It's mine to eat, I mean.”

You don’t leave room for the conversation to continue, shoveling a forkful of well-seasoned vegetables in your mouth. The moment a green bean touches your tongue you realize your mistake.

“Haw, hawt!”

Your open mouth does a dance as you try to fan the heat, so eager to eat that you forgot to heed his warning.

“I told you!” Cirdan exclaims, a laugh escaping him as he reaches for a glass of water on the table behind him. “I guess my intuition knew you’d try something like that.”

You take the glass with unheeded swiftness, letting lukewarm water settle in your fiery mouth.

A hesitant swallow leaves your tongue numb and your hunger yet to be filled.

You reach for another bite, this time for a heap of buttery mash potatoes, soft and fluffy like the piles of snow outside yet starkly contrasted in their steamy heat.

You know better now, blowing on the fork before taking a hesitant, small bite.

Cirdan merely gives you a watchful, entertained grin. He doesn’t have the pompous smirk of most elves you’ve met with, but instead a full, close-lipped smile that reaches to his sharp eyes, his uncharacteristically full cheeks rising, his face slim and etched like the rest of his kind yet with more ruggedness and expression in it, remnants of a jagged past etched into his skin.

“I’th really good.” You cover your full mouth, singing his praises with potato and sweet, savory bread in between.

“I’m glad you like it,” The comment he passes hardly utters any attention to what you say, instead busy watching you consume like a ravenous animal. Cirdan brushes back hair that falls close to your plate, stroking just gently a thumb over your cheek.

You swallow a few more bites before you feel the ache in your stomach subside. The intense way the elf keeps looking at you is not unforeign, but you still have yet to be comfortable with it.

“Thank you for the food,” You wipe your mouth with your sleeve, hoping you weren’t too many levels of disheveled. “but, I have another favor to ask.”

“Hm?”

You witness in his eyes the willingness, eagerness to see what you desire.

“Let me brush your hair?”

Cirdan’s lips part in an ‘o’, before returning to the usual gentle hardness of his face.

“That’s all? I thought you were ready for dessert.”

The elf lets out a stifled laugh, deep and bouncing off the small cabin walls in pure delight.

You shoot a self-conscious gaze at him, lips half upturned in a hidden smile; you’re not sure whether to laugh or bashfully tell him nevermind.

“You know you don’t have to ask. I was waiting until you were done to clean myself up--” He turns to the side, opening a stool compartment stuffed with a myriad of little things from nail polish to old lighters. His gentle hands searched for a delicate hairbrush, elven in the intricacy of its design and dwarven in its robusticity. The curving vines against the brushes ivory skin along with its weighty hold made it a piece of craftsmanship worthy of generational pass-down.

He takes your plate fit for kings off of your lap, moving it to the floor closest to the fireplace. In this house, everytime you attempt to do something, it seems to be done at-hand immediately before you can think to move.

Cirdan wordlessly hands you the brush, tender fire under his palm gliding over the icicles you called fingers.

You attempt to scoot behind him, blanket nearly falling from your shoulders to do so, but the elf catches you.

“I’m not letting you freeze to death on my behalf first,” He grunts, grabbing your hands in a chokehold. “You're practically frozen my love.”

The tendrils of his fingers wrapping over your own were akin to hot coils, oddly welcoming and conflicting to your body void of warm blood.

“Your behalf? I’m the one who suggested the idea!” You shake your head in mild disbelief. “Besides, being near the fire is warming me up. I’ll be unfrozen soon.”

Your airy voice is sarcastic and not nearly as teeth-chattering as it once had been-- yet still, Cirdan huffed over your fingertips, letting out heavy breaths to warm the parts of you that were yet to be anything but icy.

“You aren’t going to win this fight.” He looked up at you, a serious furrow of his brows, “I won’t lose you to such simplicities of frostbite, you’re too precious.”

Oof. Right in the heart. Everytime you see his resting brooding face like that your chest lurches in worry--- but then he’ll say something so sweet in sincerity that you want to collapse into a puddle.

You open and close your mouth like a gaping fish, unsure what to say to beat, or even match that.

The elf deeply exhales once more against your trembling fingers, letting silence float between you with the sound of crackling flames flickering in between.

With a final heavy breath against your knuckles, he straightens your fingers out, placing them over his heated cheeks. Even with the ridges of bone and scar on his face, he was squishy and pliant like a human. Your thumb brushed against the healed tissue leading from the bridge of his nose to his blinding eye, relishing in the slow blinks he gave. He looked… tired, and yet full of comforting bliss. You break the silence with an anxious swallow.

“I can't believe this.. you should be scolding me, making me eat cold leftovers in a dark room for being late, once again. Instead you're welcoming with open arms and a full stomach? I just don't get you; I don't know if I ever will.”

You smile a little sadly, grateful and mystified.

“Maybe you won't understand it,” Cirdan moves his lips to your palm, nudging it with a kiss. “but it's what I'd want.”

You did understand that. All those nights he laid in the cold snow after throwing himself against battalions as a living shield, coming home to an even colder room, eating alone and wondering if anyone was thinking of him. If he meant anything more than a body to be used. He wouldn't let you feel that way, if he could help it.

You nuzzled so hard against his face it made you both scrunch up your noses.

“Oh I just-- wish I could stick you in my pocket and never let you go-- never let you feel anything but warmth and softness and love again.”

Cirdan grinned, his expression practically basking in the adoration.

“You don’t know how good it feels to hear you say that.”

You kiss him rough, not caring if the temperature difference sparks you both, making your noses tingle with electricity and your lips buzz. With gentle encouragement your hands holding his face might lead elsewhere, but tonight you wanted to show him the chaste devotion, the love he deserved in any way you knew how. Cirdan was fervent with his kiss, though he still seemed concerned with your warmth as his hands searched blindly for the blanket slipping from your back.

You roll your eyes, letting your lips fall away with a warm breath. You're quick to get back to what you want, the task at hand.

“We're getting off track-- will you let me brush your hair now? I promise I won't freeze you with my icicle fingers.”

You drum your fingers against the sides of his cheeks, watching as he reaches for the forgotten brush on the rug, slightly dazed. You leave the tepidness of his face to snatch it with playful ease, ushering him to turn around.

“All right, all right, my love,” He concedes with a sigh. “Whatever you desire.”

You grasp the edges of his messy hair as he faces away from you, pulling out the slipping black elastic band to let the rest of it fall; It’s gently knotted at the tips, but the rest of it still holds a sleek shine created from fine, thick strands and patient washing.

“It’s my turn to take care of you..” You mumble, holding a fistful of silvery white strands with a calm stroke of the brush. The rhythm lulls you into a peacefulness, listening to the flickers of fire in front of you, the gentle snowfall from outside your little world of warmth and coziness. The blanket falls to your elbows-- you don’t go to fix it, so enraptured with the task at hand.

Cirdan begins to hum just the slightest, his eyes shut in a stoney, calm expression that you can see if you tip just slightly sideways. It was a solemnly elven tune, and yet it slowed your heart so simply that you felt a wash of nostalgia and ease run through you.

You would trade anything to keep this December night going, to have the man in front of you, held in your arms forever. Cirdan’s warmth was inseparable from your own, your bodies impossibly close for comfort.

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