#i also have a work meeting in 10 minutes lokajflkdas

[novasintheroom]

♡ Pairing – Nicholas D. Wolfwood x Reader.

♡ Word count – 0.7k.

♡ Warnings – none.

♡ A/N – A prompt inspired by the “Head, shoulders, knees and toes” children’s song. Challenge to make each section 100 words or less.

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Head

There’s an old saying he heard once: “The heart is forever making the head its fool.”

Didn’t make sense at the time. What he wanted didn’t matter in the Eye of Michael, and as long as he got paid for his contracts to buy his next pack of cigs, he couldn’t care less about that blackened thing in his chest.

Then you trip into his life, and suddenly his heart is making a lunge for you, like you’re the first sip of water after years of drought. Then you make him a bigger fool by kissing him, and oh, he’s in trouble.

Shoulders

Splinters of sunlight fall through cracks in the blinds. He traces the rays on your shoulders, waking you with calloused fingertips. Brushes your hair away. He receives your first smile, and it’s already a good day. You light up at his murmur about breakfast and this, here, is what keeps him going. The way you hum when you stretch, then lace your arms around his neck. Even in a dingy inn with sand swept into corners and the din of an outside world waking up, he thinks:

Yeah. This is good. This is it.

Knees

Nicholas loves to make you weak in the knees. Takes every opportunity to get yours trembling – whether that be from his kisses, or from the death-defying stunts he pulls.

Of course, his knees knock when you kiss his chin. They tremble as your nails trail the back of his neck. He tries to stop it by pulling you close, but you’re both a mess of weak limbs and breathy giggles.

It’s disgusting what you do to him. He tells you. And you give him another long, slow kiss. He has to lean against a table to keep from falling over.

Toes

He sways with you in the dark, the sounds of ruckus from the saloon drowned out by the night and the toma snorting nearby. Whining notes of an out-of-tune viola warble through the sheetrock and broken glass of the windows. You step on his toes a lot. He steps on yours as payback. Your whispers together create the best kind of song. He’s not much of a dancer. Hates it, actually. But for you.

For you.

Eyes

His eyes follow yours. You look at a stall. A tomas. Children running across the street. You keep glancing at a storefront window. A swinging sign above the door: BIG HENRY’S CLOTHIER. There’s a pair of boots displayed. You look down at your shoes – ratty, torn. Years old. You limp a lot, do you know that?

You ignore the store and walk ahead. There’s that limp again. He makes an excuse to branch off, says he’ll meet you guys at the saloon in a bit. Gotta get his next pack of smokes.

When you turn a corner, he walks into the clothier. He’s getting those shoes. What’s giving up a few packs of cigarettes for his girl to walk right?

Ears

You kiss his cheek, and his ears go red. Don’t point it out to him; he’ll deny it and sulk. Then he’ll act like he forgot about it and let you do it again, and there they go, bright red and glowing in the sunlight like a beacon walking through town.

It’s a game you play: how flustered can you actually get this man. Turns out – very. And he puts on a nasty expression, tells you to knock it off.

But his hand finds yours, and he lets you play.

Mouth

He still wonders, still hesitates, thinking how his lips are chapped and how he must stink of smoke and damn, he needs to cut the habit if you’re gonna keep getting this close. Then your lips meet his and he forgets the suns on his back, the ache in his shoulders, pulling you closer and showing you what a real kiss is. He can feel your butterfly heartbeat with his own. Your breathless gasp is his reward.

Nose

He loves to nose your cheek. Rub his stubble across your chin until you push him away with a laugh. He’ll bury his nose into the crook of your neck when you’re alone and take in that scent of sand and fruit after your latest bath. You can never truly get rid of the desert in your skin, but he appreciates the strawberries that poke through the dust.