#insomnia writes

[chongoblog]

Writing tip: As you write your stories you might hear the voice of Jeremy CinemaSins saying something like “these two characters are talking in a cave? And yet they can see everything that they need to see for the story just fine?” When you do (and this is so so important), kill that voice with hammers

[softlypossessive]

♡･ﾟ𓏸 Sleeping With Them (Literally) 𓏸･ﾟ♡

♡ Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, gn!reader ♡ Warnings: Fluff, comfort, implied bad dreams, physical affection, mutual pining?? maybe??, Levi being awkward™, clingy behavior, some light tsundere energy, protective vibes, some suggestiveness (Asmo’s default setting), Beel being The Best™ ♡ Notes: This was purely self-indulgent and born from a burst of insomnia and a deep need for sleepy demon boy comfort. No prompt, just vibes. Gender-neutral reader. Each brother reacts in his own sweet, awkward way—and yes, they’re all canonically clingy now. I don’t make the rules.

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

🕯️Lucifer

 You find him still awake in the dead of night, seated at his desk, lit only by the glow of a single lamp

He's reviewing RAD paperwork with the usual stoic focus, barely glancing up when you enter

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice low, a touch concerned despite the neutrality in his tone

You nod, murmuring something vague about a bad dream, and instead of brushing you off, he gestures silently to the small sofa by the window

You sit with your blanket in hand, intending just to be nearby, and he lets you—doesn’t press for details, just returns to his work

Somewhere between the quiet scratch of his pen and the rhythmic turn of pages, your eyes slip shut

When you wake, it's morning. You're not on the sofa. You’re in his bed

The covers are warm, tucked carefully around you, and the scent of his cologne clings faintly to the pillow

His coat hangs neatly over the chair beside you, a fresh cup of tea steaming on the nightstand

He’s nowhere in sight, but you have the distinct feeling he didn’t sleep—just quietly carried you to bed when he saw your head nod

No one says anything about it later, but you catch him watching you a little longer at breakfast that morning

The kind of watchfulness that says: next time, just come straight to me

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

💰 Mammon

He’s already in bed, hair rumpled, one leg kicked out of the blanket like always

You knock quietly and peek in, mumbling that you can’t sleep

His eyes go wide, then he fumbles upright, totally alert

“Wha—? You okay? What happened? You hurt?”

You tell him it’s just a nightmare, nothing big

He softens immediately, scoots over, and pats the mattress beside him like it’s obvious

“C’mon. Ain’t no bad dreams gonna mess with you while I’m here.”

You lie down next to him and he tries so hard to play it cool—arms behind his head, eyes on the ceiling

That lasts five seconds

He shifts closer like he’s not doing it on purpose, like you won't notice him curling toward you

When your hand brushes his by accident, he makes a strangled noise and goes stiff… then grabs it like it’s the most natural thing in the world

“Jus’ so ya don’t get cold,” he mutters, clearly blushing even in the dark

You fall asleep fast, wrapped up in warmth and the quiet muttering of “I gotcha, I’m here” under his breath

When you wake up, he’s out cold, drooling slightly, and clinging to you like a barnacle

You try to move. His grip tightens. You are not escaping

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

🎮 Leviathan

You didn’t even mean to fall asleep

One second you were watching a cozy slice-of-life anime with him, head tipped against the beanbag, and the next, darkness

Levi notices right away

He panics internally. 

Like full-blown “I’m not equipped to deal with this cuteness” meltdown

But you look… comfortable. Peaceful. So he freezes in place

Slowly, carefully, he lowers the volume, gets up, and drapes his hoodie over your shoulders

He debates letting you stay there all night—but what if you get a crick in your neck? What if you wake up cold?

Eventually, he picks you up. Carries you. Cradles you like a rare body pillow

You don’t wake up

He tucks you into his bed, sets a Ruri-chan plush beside you for moral support, and flops onto the floor with a blanket and his headphones

When you wake up, it’s early morning. His lights are dimmed pink, the room is silent, and he’s snoring softly with a controller still in his hands

You stare at him for a long minute, heart aching a little at how sweet he looks like that

You don’t say anything when he wakes up an hour later, scrambling into an apology

You just smile and tell him you slept fine

He’s red for a full day

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

📚 Satan

He’s in his room reading, legs folded under him on the couch, a novel in one hand and a mug of tea in the other

You knock gently, eyes tired, and when he sees your face, he softens

“Bad dreams?” he asks, and there’s no teasing in it—just genuine concern

Without a word, he shifts to make space, patting the cushion beside him

You curl up with your blanket, shoulder brushing his, and he casually pulls another throw over both of you

He doesn’t say much, but his presence is calm, anchoring

Eventually your head tips against his arm and your breathing slows

He waits a few minutes to be sure you’re truly out, then sets his book aside and just… watches you

Not in a creepy way—just quietly fascinated by how peaceful you look, even after the nightmare

When you wake, you’re no longer on the couch—you’re in his bed, under soft sheets

The book he’d been reading is closed beside you, and there’s a little note tucked into the pages with your name on it

You keep it

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

💅 Asmodeus

He’s brushing out his hair at his vanity when you show up at his door, looking rumpled and half-asleep

“Darling, what’s wrong?” he coos, spinning around in a silk robe

When you admit you couldn’t sleep, his whole demeanor changes—still sweet, but softer, more grounded

“Say no more. Come here.”

He leads you straight to his bed, the sheets cool and silky, the scent of his perfume already comforting

You curl up under the covers while he finishes his routine—face mask, lip balm, a quick spritz of sleep spray

Then he slips in beside you, warm and gentle, his arm draped loosely over your waist

He talks to you in low whispers about nothing important—pretty things, soft clothes, silly gossip—until your eyes close

The moment you drift off, he goes quiet, tucking your hair behind your ear and watching your face with a look so tender it almost doesn’t feel like Asmo

The next morning, you wake up to a kiss on the forehead and a softly sung “good morning, sleepyhead”

He never lets you forget how cute you looked curled up against him—but there’s something genuine in his voice when he adds,

“If you ever need me again, you know where I am.”

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

🍔 Beelzebub

It starts with you falling asleep in the kitchen

You’d gone down for a late-night snack, found Beel already there eating cereal straight out of the box

He didn’t say much, just gave you a smile and pushed the box your way

You talked for a while, then leaned against the counter… then slumped onto the bench… and then lights out

Beel doesn’t wake you. Just watches you for a bit to make sure you’re really asleep

Then he scoops you up, careful like you’re made of glass

You wake up halfway through the walk to his room, tucked against his chest

“You looked tired,” he says simply. “You can sleep here tonight.”

His bed smells like vanilla protein powder and fresh laundry. He hands you one of his shirts as a sleep top. It’s comically large

Beel climbs into bed after you and stays on “his side” at first—very polite, very stiff, very big brother energy

But the second you roll toward him, drowsy and half-mumbling his name? He’s there

One arm around your waist, tucking you in close. His chin rests against the top of your head

“I’ll stay up a little longer to make sure the nightmare doesn’t come back,” he whispers

He’s asleep within five minutes

You wake up entirely under him. Full body weight. He's warm. You can't move. He looks peaceful. You stay there

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

💤 Belphegor

You creep into the attic room after a nightmare, not expecting him to be awake

He is

Barely opens one eye, gives you a sleepy “What’s wrong?”

You whisper that you can’t sleep, and he lifts the covers without another word

No teasing, no drama—just the quiet shift of space being made for you

You crawl in beside him, the star-speckled canopy of the ceiling above you

His arms find your waist automatically. He’s already half-asleep again

“You’ll sleep better here,” he mumbles against your shoulder. “I always do”

 Within seconds, he’s out cold

But you’re not. Not yet

You lie there for a bit, warm and stunned, because his breathing is deep and even and his grip is loose but protective

 Eventually, you drift off

When you wake up, Belphie’s draped over you like a sleepy octopus, your legs tangled, his head tucked under your chin

“Don’t move,” he mumbles without opening his eyes

You don’t

You fall asleep again

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #7

"Awww shit..."

Danny screwed up. He knew he screwed up as he stared at the kid that stared up at him. He could already hear Clockworks lecture. Actually, hold it, that might be a time echo, and Clockwork was already lecturing him somewhere in time.

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. His first official job as Clockworks aka the Ancient of Time's apprentice and he screwed up.

"Okay, kid... this is what we will do..." He tried to sound calm. He really did. "You give me that medallion back, and I bring you back to that big car where you were trying to steal the tires from? Okay? Okay."

It would be so easy, Danny could just use his powers and take the Medallion, but the problem was, he couldn't. That was a time Medallion and the freaking kid were.... okay, no, Danny did not want to admit that a goddamn street kid outsmarted him, him the apprentice of Time itself! Let alone that a street kid managed to steal that from him in a moment of inattentiveness.

Plus, Danny needed that thing back, to one return to his time and two return to the Ghost Zone without being depended on a portal.

With a sigh, Danny looked up only to find the kid gone. "Oh, you got to be...!"

...

In the present Red Hood aka Jason stared at the support Bruce brought in. He unconsciously scratched the back of his head as he saw the man, a member of Justice League Dark, that seemed ageless. He felt a weird sense of deja vu, but not? It didn't make a lot of sense. His memories definitely felt weirdly jumbled. He glanced at his siblings, wondering if they felt something similar only to find some of them having... similarly confused expressions.

[melercies]

One Bed Trope [Supports]

Pairing(s): Elliot, Dusekkar, Builderman & Taph

Author's Note: Please let me know if I mischaracterized anyone. I was practically fighting for my life trying to write for these guys. It was fun to write them, but trying to rhyme with Dusekkar made me lose brain cells every second. Survivalists are next. Likes, reposts, and comments are highly appreciated! <3

For some unknown reason, after a brutal round, you find yourself standing in front of your cabin. Gone and demolished for what reason? You don’t know, and frankly, I don’t either, but here we are! Thanks a lot, Spectre. All that was left was the pathetic remains of the foundation, some twisted wood still crackling with dying embers. Just great. You’re utterly exhausted, drained physically and mentally, as you wonder where you’re going to sleep. Out in the cold? Absolutely not, especially not with the repetitive cycle of hell that you have to go through daily. At least at the end of the day, you need to find yourself in comfort. So, with really no other option, you turn and walk yourself over to a fellow neighbor’s cabin. Sure, it was embarrassing, but it’s better than sleeping outside in the cold. 

You couldn’t care less as to who you were knocking, feeling too tired to even think properly. You just needed a place that isn’t destroyed to get some sleep, especially for tomorrow. It takes a moment or two until the door opens, revealing the individual.

Elliot:

You’re barely standing by the time you get to the nearest cabin, the smell of smoke still clung to your clothes, and the ruins of your shelter fresh in your mind. Spectre really did a number this time. You raise your hand and knock, only half expecting whoever was within their cabin to be there.

There’s the sound of muffled clutter before the door swings open.

“Whoa—!” Elliot blurts out. His visor is tilted slightly askew, eyes wide as he takes in your soot-smudged state before his expression softened into that classic worried Elliot look. “Are you okay?! What happened—no, wait, don’t answer that yet—come in, come in.”

You’re too tired to explain much beyond the words: “Spectre. Cabin’s gone. Burned down.”

Elliot ushers you in like a panicked restaurant host. “Okay, yeah. That’s… awful. You should’ve come sooner, I—I can make something warm, I’ve got pizza. Or, uh, water? You’re not hurt, are you?” He’s already moving around the room, grabbing mismatched things, tripping slightly over a pizza box, and muttering, “Smooth, Elliot. Real smooth.”

The moment you step inside, he’s already clearing a spot for you to sit down. “Sorry about the mess! I was reorganizing my stuff—uh, gear. Same thing, sorta.”

His cabin feels…weirdly cozy, even if it’s a little messy. Warm light glows from an old camping lantern, and the entire place smells faintly like garlic bread. Piles of rolled-up maps, energy drinks, empty pizza boxes, and extra red-colored visors clutter the corners. Still, it’s homey. Lived-in. Human, especially in a place like this.

You clock the single bed instantly. Elliot follows your gaze before scratching the back of his neck, trying not to meet your eyes.

“I, uh… I’ve got another blanket? And a couple of pillows. And I can totally take the floor if—”

You cut him off. “No need. We can share.”

That seems to give him a moment to process. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, I mean—I don’t snore or anything. I think. Probably.” 

He approaches the bed as he spends the next few minutes nervously straightening the bed, fluffing the pillow twice before realizing you just want to lie down already. When the lights are finally off, you expect him to roll over and go quiet.

But he doesn’t.

“…Hey,” he whispers after a while. “I know this place sucks. Like, it's basically hell. But you’re not alone, okay? I’ve got you.”

Hearing such words of reassurance and comfort. It’s a practical contradiction in this repeated cycle of survival that’s filled with constant bloodshed, but it’s enough. Everyone needs it as of right now.

A moment of silence passes after his words. Then you hear the unmistakable crinkle of foil nearby.

“…Also. I saved a slice.”

You smile faintly, not even looking, just reaching back until your hand touches warm pizza. And honestly? Maybe this night wasn’t all that bad.

Dusekkar:

The ruins of your cabin smolder in the distance, blackened wood hissing under the slow creep of night. The Spectre’s chaos had left nothing behind. Perfect. Let’s hope the Spectre had a good laugh about it. With exhaustion dragging limbs like weights and frost biting through your clothes, you approach the one cabin with a flickering lantern still glowing in the window. You barely think about whose cabin you’re standing in front of, only that it’s intact and has a door that might lead to warmth.

You knock once. Twice. Then, pause. You’re about to leave, thinking the individual has long gone to slumber or isn’t in the mood to converse with anyone, when it creaks open.

Standing in the doorway is Dusekkar.

His antlers cast jagged shadows behind him, robes rustling. The orange fire inside his dark blue pumpkin head flickers once as the firelight casts strange glyphs across the inside of his pumpkin head, and then he speaks, voice like a lantern’s flame—soft, warm, and ancient:

“A visitor calls on ashen breath,

Cold and burnt from the trial’s death,

Spectre’s rage, your home undone…

Rest you seek, until the next sun?”

Too tired to even make sense of the rhyme, you just nod. “I don't care where I sleep. I just rather…not freeze out here.”

Dusekkar doesn’t move for a second — simply studying you with that eternal, flickering stare. Then he steps aside, gesturing with the tip of his staff. You cross the threshold.

The interior is serene—more of a shrine than a home. Glowing runes shimmer along the walls, and the air carries a subtle scent of smoke and lavender. Deeper inside the cabin, shelves and tables are softly illuminated by flickering blue candles. Nearby, a single bed is tucked carefully beside a stack of scrolls and ancient-looking books that probably seem to have existed long before Telamon.

“There’s only one bed,” you mutter. “Of course there is.”

Dusekkar tilts their head, seemingly hearing what you’ve said. His staff clicks softly against the floor as they move to stir the fire. 

“This realm allows what fate permits. One bed, one soul. The tale now fits.”

He motions you toward it but makes no move to lie down himself. Instead, they settle cross-legged in the corner of the room, staff resting across their lap.

You frown. “Aren’t you going to sleep too?”

“I dream while waking—sleep, I lend. The fire burns for you, my friend.”

He gently taps his staff against the wooden wall — two knocks, pause, then one. A steady rhythm.

“A signal known, a warding spell, To shield your mind where shadows dwell. So sleep, my friend, while fire glows — And when you wake, we’ll strike our foes.”

You don’t understand everything he says. But the warmth from the fire, the eerie calm of the room, and the sense that he truly is watching over you — it’s enough. You feel protected, strangely.

Although there’s also a strange comfort in the way he speaks. 

You lie down, letting the warmth soak into your skin as the fire crackles beside you, eyes growing heavy. Just as sleep begins to take you, you hear his voice again — quieter this time, almost a lullaby:

“The bed is small, but dreams are wide — And in this cabin, you’re safe inside.”

Builderman:

Honestly, you barely remember dragging your feet back toward where your cabin once stood— a hollow, scorched impression in the natural ground now. Smoke clings to the ruins like a bitter memory. There’s nothing left. The Spectre could’ve done it out of their enjoyment or anger. Who knows?

You stand there for a while, just staring at the ash until the cold sets into your bones like ice.

There’s no time to feel sorry for yourself. Tomorrow is just another day, and the next round will come like clockwork. You won’t survive it if you’re not half-frozen and unrested.

You don’t think — you just walk. Not toward anyone in particular. Your mind’s too fogged, your legs too tired.

By the time you approach a door, knocking once, twice, then lean your head against the doorframe, eyes half-closed. You expect silence.

Instead, the door clicks open.

Builderman stands there, gray-skinned and underslept, hoodie slightly ruffled, his Turbo Builders Club hat tilted just a bit from where he’s probably been dragging his hands through his hair in stress. His default expression — somewhere between disappointed and exhausted. Not at you. At the world. This situation. At the weight he’s been carrying for years.

“...Cabin’s gone?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod.

“...You look like hell,” he mutters. “Get in.”

The cabin is exactly what you’d expect — minimalistic, neat, and functional. There are workbenches tucked in the corners, plans scattered across the desk, and blueprints pinned with bent nails to the wall. A half-assembled generator lies in pieces on the floor, half-finished as if he’d given up mid-build. The air smells like solder and printer paper.

And there it is.

In all its glory.

The one bed.

You eye it, then glance back at Builderman. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a backup plan for this, too?”

He exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair before slumping against the wall. “I’ll take the floor. You’ve done enough rounds. I can’t afford to have you limping tomorrow.”

You scoff. “You think I’m gonna let the founder of Roblox sleep on the floor?”

He frowns. “That title doesn’t mean much anymore. Besides, it’s not like I sleep much.”

But later, when the fire burns low and the weight of the day finally pulls you down, you find Builderman sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing his hoodie, staring into the firelight with a thousand-yard stare.

You open one eye. “You’re gonna break your back sitting like that.”

He huffs, lips twitching like he might laugh. “I’ve built buildings and worlds from nothing. I’ll survive a night with poor posture.”

Silence before he speaks again.

“Just take the bed. I’ll be up most of the night anyway.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off with a look — the same one he gives Shedletsky when he’s about to do something stupid.

“Don’t argue. I’ve made worse sacrifices.”

So you shut your mouth, brain too exhausted to even think of sentences to say.

The sheets are surprisingly warm. Not soft, exactly, but warm — and that’s enough to suffice. Builderman returns to the desk by the window, scribbling notes, calculations, or even plans by lantern light. You watch him from under the blanket as your eyelids grow heavier.

But eventually, the cold wears him down. With a muttered “Scoot,” he lies beside you, stiff as a board, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling.

You both lie there in silence for a while — until his voice breaks the quiet, barely above a whisper:

“We’ll rebuild it. Your cabin. I’ll help you design it.”

You don’t respond at first — you’re already fading into sleep — but the corner of your mouth tugs up.

“Thanks… Boss.”

He grunts. “Don’t call me that.”

But the blanket shifts slightly more in your direction anyway. Just enough to share.

Taph:

You’re so tired that you barely feel your feet dragging through the grass. The sky is a heavy black curtain above you, and the burnt-out remains of your cabin still glow behind you like the dying embers of a failed promise.

Thanks, Spectre.

You don’t know whose cabin you’re knocking on. You’re too cold, too exhausted, and clearly, too far past the point of caring. You just need four walls and a roof.

The door opens without a word. No quick movement, no startled reaction.

Taph stands there.

His hood cast his face in deep shadow, the yellow runic lines across his robes faintly glowing under the moonlight. His bandit mask concealed any chance of reading his expression. Not that it mattered. He’d never said a word anyway.

Still, the meaning in his stillness was clear: What happened?

You gestured vaguely behind you. “Spectre. No cabin. No roof. Just…fire.”

He tilted his head slightly, then stepped aside. That’s an invitation enough.

Inside, Taph’s cabin smelled of gunpowder and old books. Dim lanterns flickered overhead, illuminating his intricate setup; trap schematics, disassembled mechanisms, spare wires, and trip lines hung with precision across the workbenches. And off to the side, one surprisingly neat bed, tucked into the corner.

Just one.

Your shoulders sag as Taph watches.

“Only one bed,” you mutter aloud. “Of course.”

Taph looks at you briefly. Then he gestures, a two-finger flick toward the bed.

You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? Are you okay with that?”

He pauses, then nods once. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” you say quietly, a little unsure. 

He slowly shakes his head. 

You sigh, too drained to argue.

The mask reveals nothing, but the gesture itself is calm from Taph. It’s less about ‘you owe me’ and more ‘you’ve been through enough.’ You found yourself smiling a little at the comforting gesture.

You approach and ease down onto the edge of the bed, removing your gear. The bed is simple: wool blanket, faint scent of iron and dust, but undeniably warmer than the outside.

Taph joins you a moment later, setting down a quiet clinking of traps and parts. He lies back against the wall beside you, arms resting on his lower half. Still saying nothing. Just watching the window, the horizon, the stars beyond the fog. His breathing is soft, nearly inaudible.

Even in his presence, there’s something watchful about the air. You’re used to survivors speaking, venting, even shouting during rounds. But Taph is different.

In the quiet, your voice slips out.

“You always wear that hood, even to sleep?”

He doesn’t move.

But eventually… a single nod.

You chuckle faintly. “Figures.”

Stillness.

Then, you feel something — not a hand, not a gesture, but a subtle shift in the mattress. Just enough for your weight to balance more evenly. 

You stare up at the ceiling. The wind howls outside.

“...Do you ever wonder if we’ll make it out of this for good?”

He doesn’t answer with words.

Instead, he reaches out slowly, signing towards you.

“I hope so. Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

You watch his gloved hand linger for a second before resting. No words. Just that.

Hope in a situation like this.

It was enough. For now.

[concentfortea]

[dustmusings]

on your side / wolffe x fem!jedi!reader

for @ireadwithmyears <3

summary: having to distance yourself from wolffe after a slip up is a lot harder than you thought it would be

tags/warnings: 18+ for suggestive stuff, angst! with a happy(ish?) ending, forbidden relationship, love confessions, kinda idiots in love, wolffe is down bad and not sorry about it, reader is lowkey delirious and v emotional bc of lack of sleep, allusions to sex but otherwise sfw

song: on your side — the last dinner party

prompts: #21 "when's the last time you actually slept?", #9 "come lie with me, let me hold you."

a/n: okay it's official, wolffe is my fav clone to write for. um, idk if anyone else has ever been so exhausted but not able to fall asleep to the point where you’re literally distraught? I hope this is not a unique experience otherwise this fic makes no sense lol

event masterlist / star wars masterlist / join my taglist / wc: 3.1k

requests are closed, dialogue prompt is in bold :)

You messed up. Big time.

The memory of your misdeeds still replayed in your mind, days, weeks later. Your mind lingered on how his rough hands felt against your skin, how his breath mingled with yours, bodies melding together. His words haunted you, adulations whispered in a tone you’d never heard, sentiments you wouldn’t soon forget, no matter how you tried to.

Wolffe had invaded your brain even before you'd fallen into bed with him, but now it was inescapable.

You'd known it was a mistake as it was happening, that stepping over the line would do something irreversible, something you couldn't follow up on. The guilt of doing that to Wolffe, of letting him believe it was something that could be, was eating you alive. If you didn't feel so strongly for him then all of this would be so much easier, and could be written off as a simple blunder — but nothing about this was simple.

Wolffe had been shipped into an active warzone only hours later, and though worry pulled at your heart more than ever, you couldn't help but be partly relieved. When he’d returned, you felt even more conflicted.

He had caught your eyes from across the hangar, something distinctly timid and unlike him in the way he looked at you, and you had to tear your gaze away and leave the space. You couldn’t be anywhere near him. It hurt too much. You knew he’d noticed that you were avoiding him, it would be impossible given how close you were before everything had transpired, but he obviously had the restraint not to mention it.

Sleep was eluding you because of it. Pulling away from Wolffe felt like a physical pain, like the connection you had unwittingly created through the force was being sawed at, and you could feel every ridge of the knife as it cut. If anything, it was proof that you had become too close, that your connection ran too deep.

Now, duty demanded you be in the same room as him, and it was every bit as excruciating as you had expected. You were stood beside him in the command centre, and while your eyes were plastered to Plo Koon, all of your attention was taken by Wolffe.

You could feel the heavy weight of his gaze on you as you spoke, almost feel his breath against your cheek, the warmth of his body beside you. His presence was intoxicating, and even when you closed your eyes you weren’t free of it. His unique presence in the force reached out for you, and while you knew he wasn’t doing it intentionally, you wished he would stop. The familiar feeling made it so much harder not to fall into his arms and forget everything that held you back; a warm blanket, a comforting steadiness, deep red in colour, like the very last sight of the sun against the horizon.

You escaped as soon as you could, scampering from the command room at the first opportunity, but it seemed that Wolffe was done with the silent treatment. He grabbed your arm as you made it out into the corridor, dragging you into a quieter corner of the ship, a hall that ran to a dead end. His gaze was serious when you finally met it with your own, and it turned your stomach. You didn’t know if he was angry or hurt, nothing was given away in his demeanour.

Finally he spoke in a low voice, “are you alright?”

You blinked up at him, wondering how he could be so concerned by you at this moment. His hand still gripped your arm gently, his eyes darting between yours, brows furrowed. He took in your features like he’d never seen you before, and the scrutiny made your gaze drop.

“I’m fine” you murmured, trying to keep your voice even.

“You weren’t in your room last night”

Your eyes raised back to him as your heart skipped a beat, “how do you know that?”

“I went to see you” he confessed, never wavering in his serious gaze.

“Wolffe…” you sighed, looking up at him with a pained expression, “you shouldn’t have done that”

He huffed, stepping into your space, “why not?”

You exhaled slowly, “you know why”

Something in him stiffened, and he took his hand away from you, “what were you doing?”

“I just… I couldn’t sleep” you admitted, running a hand over your face.

“Why not?”

You sighed at his persistence, “it doesn’t matter”

“It matters to me” he muttered, his eyes flashing with hurt. He tentatively brought his hand up to your cheek, running his thumb under your eye. You knew you must look exhausted, and closed your eyes to let the feeling calm you. “When's the last time you actually slept?”

“I don’t know” you spoke quietly, almost ashamedly. Your eyes fluttered open to see the stern look he was giving you.

“Sarad’ika” he whispered the name he called you in only the most quiet of moments, drawing closer so his forehead almost touched yours. “If you won’t…” he sighed, “if you won’t let me take care of you then you need to take care of yourself”

Your heart seized up in your chest. “I—” you didn't know what to say, everything was running through your mind but it was all getting caught in your throat.

Your stuttering was interrupted by the sound footsteps reverberating off of the walls of the otherwise empty hall. Wolffe backed away from you, though he still started at you intently, even as someone walked between the two of you. Unlike him, it snapped you out of it.

“I— I uh… I'm going to my quarters now” you mumbled out, tongue tripping over your words.

You turned quickly, stalking down the hall in wide strides and not daring to look back.

It was the middle of the night and still, sleep wouldn’t take you. The frustration was getting on top of you again, and you paced back and forth in the small space of the ship that was yours. Hot tears sprang to your eyes, wetting your cheeks, and your hands gripped at your hair as if it would alleviate the tension in your head. You had been silently crying long enough that your head had begun to ache, and you silently begged to gods you didn’t believe in to let you sleep, to shut your mind of for just a few minutes so you might finally slip into unconsciousness.

It had been coming to this every night, where you felt as if you were being driven insane because sleep eluded you.

With a small sob, you darted for the door. A distraction, that’s what you needed now. You might wander the halls of the ship as you had in previous nights, or hole up in a cupboard somewhere so you could cry until all your tears were spent. You grabbed your robe as you went, clutching the thick material in a tight fist, but as the door zipped open you almost collided with something, someone.

Wolffe stood tall in the doorway, his hand raised as if he were about to knock. He took in your distressed state, eyes widening at the recognition of tears staining your face, and he reached out to you on instinct, taking ahold of your arms.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay” he immediately began to soothe you in a voice that was too soft for him. It only made your breathing more unstable, and you choked on your sobs. Wolffe backed you into the dark room and closed the door behind him, “what’s going on?”

The confusion — the worry — it was so plain in his eyes. It made you feel sick to your stomach. You dropped your robe to the floor.

“I just—“ your words were halted by your own sob, and you hid your face in your palms, “I’m so tired, Wolffe”

His hands wrapped around your wrists, his skin warm against yours, and he peeled your hands away from your face. He snaked his arms around your waist without another word, offering the relief you would never ask for but so desperately needed. You took it unashamedly, burying your face in his chest, letting yourself relish in the comfort of his touch. As your weeping continued, he held you tightly, one hand on the back of your head to stroke your hair as he whispered comforting words.

The exhaustion had clearly got to you. There was simply no other reason for this display of raw emotion.

As your breathing calmed, the storm in your mind subsiding to a grey fog, Wolffe’s grip loosened. He pulled back and took your face in his hand, and you couldn’t help but lean into its warmth just a little.

“Now,” he spoke quietly, “are you going to tell me why you can’t sleep?”

You sighed deeply as you averted your gaze, “do I have to?”

“No” he replied, “but it could help”

Your eyes creeped across his handsome features, taking in every mark, every freckle. You couldn’t burden him with everything that clouded your mind, you wouldn’t place another weight upon his shoulders when the war already saw him stretched so thin.

You shook your head, releasing yourself from his grasp and turning away, “it won’t help, it’ll only make things worse”

“Stop shutting me out” Wolffe’s voice was stern as he spoke up, and you looked up to find his brow furrowed deeply, the hurt evident in his eyes and the downturn of his lips.

“I have to” you said quietly, almost a whisper.

“No you don’t” Wolffe huffed, moving to crowd you against the table behind you, “I don’t understand why you’ve been acting like this, why you won’t look at me all of a sudden. I thought—”

He stopped himself. In all honesty, you hadn’t been thinking an awful lot about what Wolffe may be thinking about what had transpired, and as much as you knew you should bury the whole incident, move on and forget, a part of you needed to know. What he thought, what he was thinking now, what he felt. You shouldn’t ask, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Thought what?”

You could see that he regretted letting the words slip. “I thought things would be…” he trailed off for a moment, searching your eyes with a hint of desperation, “I don’t know, I just thought it’d be different from this, after—“

His teeth ground together. A quiet curse escaped him as he hung his head in defeat. He knew as well as you that this conversation would only breed more unease. You swallowed, taking a moment to centre yourself.

“We can’t be like that” you muttered.

You knew it was cruel, that he didn’t deserve to hear it put so bluntly, nor did he deserve what had already happened. You had been cruel, consistently, in entertaining this idea of the two of you, and even crueller in making him believe it could be. That was why this was necessary. It couldn’t go on.

He was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, it was uncharacteristically timid, his words almost shy.

“Would it be so bad?” he asked.

“Yes! Well, no it— but we can’t, I mean— I don’t know!” you could feel your breath becoming short again, and Wolffe placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Hey, breathe” he spoke softly.

You didn’t deserve him, that was clear to you now. He was too gentle, too good to you when you didn’t deserve it. Your breath steadied under his touch, and you couldn’t face pushing him off this time.

“This is what’s got you worked up?” he asked, and you nodded in reply. His face softened, and he raised a hand to your cheek. “Ner cyare” he whispered, “please don’t trouble yourself over me”

“I can’t help it Wolffe, I—”

I love you

You could so easily say it, and you would mean it, but putting it out into the world would go beyond crossing the line.

“I’m sorry, that I’ve been pulling away, but I can’t— I can’t do this” you insisted, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, unable to name exactly what it was.

“Why not?”

It was a simple question, but the answer was far more complicated. Wolffe gave you nothing but patience as he waited for the reply. His gaze was soft, as soft as it got with him at least, though any amount of tenderness that could be drawn from the man would be considered a feat. It was part of the reason that you struggled to answer him. It was simply too distracting, witnessing the depth of his feelings for you first hand.

When the two of you had slipped up, spent the night with limbs entangled in the cot just a few short steps from you now, it had somehow not occurred to you that Wolffe was in just as deep as you. He had shown his admiration in more ways than one; whispers against your lips and skin, tender touches and a sense of care in every endeavour. In the throws of pleasure it hadn’t registered as anything but that — seeking pleasure.

Now you weren’t sure.

“Because…” you began, barely uttering the word.

There were reasonings you could use, but none would present themselves as you looked into his eyes and were confronted with the depth of your own feelings.

“Because…?” he prompted, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

“Because nothing” you frowned, “because I’m a fool, and because you don’t deserve the only kind of relationship I could give you”

Wolffe matched your frown, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it Wolffe, I’m… I’m a Jedi, right? You know what that means?”

He pressed his lips to a hard line, unimpressed at the reminder “I know what it means”

You exhaled shakily, and a sadness washed over you, “I couldn’t… I could only be yours in private, I wouldn’t be able to touch you in front of others, to hold your hand or even smile at you for too long. I wouldn’t be able to show the galaxy how much I love you, and that hurts me”

A second passed, and you realised what had been said.

It was as if an airlock had been opened, and all the air sucked from the room. The both of you stood perfectly still, staring at each other with widened eyes. You had crossed the line. It was all hypothetical up until now. But now, it was real. Neither of you moved, or breathed, until Wolffe let a quick and heavy exhale slip, as if in disbelief.

“Love?”

You swallowed thickly.

“I—“ you bit the inside of your cheek as your cheeks burned hot, “I didn’t mean to… tell you like this”

“Is it true?” he asked, deadly serious. His eyes searched yours, for what you didn’t know, but you knew the answer was already obvious in the way you dropped your gaze guiltily, as if the very act of falling in love were wrong.

“Yes” the whisper had barely left you when Wolffe surged forwards and met your lips with his.

He was warm, inviting, eager. He kissed you like a man starved, as if he’d been waiting a lifetime for this moment, and you let yourself give in. You kissed him back more insistently, and let his tongue pass the seam of your lips as he begged for entrance. His arms wrapped around you, holding you to him tightly, as if he was scared you might slip from beneath his fingertips. This feeling was becoming too known to you, too comfortable. It felt too right.

He pulled away, placing his forehead on yours with intention, “I love you, ner sarad’ika”

Your breath was knocked from you upon hearing the words, and you couldn’t help the way your mouth stretched into a tentative grin. You advanced forwards and pressed a more chaste kiss to his lips, and felt him smile back against you. Something about it set your heart fluttering more than anything before. Wolffe still held you, a hand flat against your back to keep you close, where the other held your jaw.

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip as he regarded you, speaking softly, “you have such a pretty smile”

A heat crept up your neck even now, after everything that had happened. Though soon, it began to transform in its meaning. Your smile faded, tears collecting in your waterline once more, and the heat burned at your collar uncomfortably. You didn’t cry as you had before, but the tears fell freely all the same.

Wolffe sighed, wiping them away with a disapproving shake of his head, “I said not to trouble yourself over me”

Your lips twisted with doubt, “you deserve so much more than this, Wolffe”

“It’s not about what I deserve” he reasoned, “it’s what I want”

“But I can’t give you anything”

“I don’t need anything”

You deflated with a huff, “it’s a lot more complicated than you’re making it out to be”

“I disagree” he mused, pressing a kiss to each cheek to collect the remnants of your tears, “I love you, and for maker knows why, you love me. I think that is all that’s important”

You pressed your lips together to stop them from shaking as you felt yourself welling up again, but Wolffe was all too quick to swoop in.

“We’ll figure it out” he promised, “together”

Looking up at him through teary eyes, you found your lips twitching upwards, “together”

The word was a comfort. Neither of you would have to navigate the struggle in isolation, you would support each other.

Wolffe nodded against you, and took your hands in his. You only realised now how they were shaking, and he pressed his forehead into yours with more purpose, peering deeply into your eyes as if he were looking upon your very soul.

“Come lie with me, let me hold you”

Your brow pinched, and you nodded your head in reply. He tugged you over to your cot gently and laid you down in the soft sheets, then stripped himself of his armour to lay beside you.

No more words were exchanged that night, for everything had already been said. His body was warm against yours, and though it didn’t magically lull you to sleep immediately, it was an undeniable comfort. Wolffe fell into unconsciousness before you did, his arms still wrapped tightly around you. Watching him rest calmed your mind. It gave you faith that any hardship the two of you faced going forward would be worth it. He was worth it.

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565 @heidnspeak @burningnerdchild @orangez3st @clones-cyare @stellarbit @liopleurodean @asgre

[mischievous-thunder]

*During their first meeting at the bar*

Wade: What are your pronouns, sweetheart?

Logan: I don't have any pronouns. I just have insomnia and back pain.

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Can't sleep, and this post from @v88sy inspired me.

****

Tommy had never been a deep sleeper, and his line of work made it even worse. He was more than used to the klaxon pulling him from sleep, signaling that they had a call. But that didn't prepare him for the pounding on his front door.

BOOM BOOM BOOM

Tommy looked at his phone. 12:46.

Silence. Then more pounding.

"Wake up Tommy, piece of—"

Tommy pulled open the door. "Hey Buck."

"Don't you 'hey Buck' me," came the angry response. " I'm not Buck to you. 'm Ev-n."

Oh. He was drunk.

"Okay, you're right. Hi Evan."

"You ruin-d it, T'mmy." Buck slurred, swaying slightly. "You blew us up and It's not fair."

"I'm so sorry, Evan."

"I went on some dates."

"Oh yeah?"

"Hated 'em."

"You did?"

"They all sucked," Buck mumbled.

Tommy raised his eyebrows.

"Not like that," Buck slurred, waving his hand dismissively. "They were stupid and boring."

"Really? All of them?"

"They weren't you."

"You don't want me, Evan," Tommy said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation.

"Why do you get to decide that?" Buck's voice rose with frustration. "I'm a grown man. Why do you get to tell me what I need and what I feel?"

"Evan, I'm not—" Tommy tried to interject.

"Why don't you want me?" Buck's voice cracked as he started to cry.

"Evan, that's not—" Tommy reached out instinctively but stopped himself.

"I went on a date tonight," Buck announced, his words still slurred but clearer now.

"I kinda figured," Tommy replied softly.

"He was handsome and charming." Tommy flinched at Buck's words. Buck's voice dropped to almost a whisper, "And it was awful. All I did was talk about you the whole time."

"Evan—" Tommy began gently, but Buck cut him off.

"He got frustrated. Said I was wasting his time," Buck's voice was hollow. He paused, swaying slightly. "And I was. There's no one after you, Tommy. So if you won't have me that's fine, but you're still my last. I'm giving up on love."

"You don't mean that," Tommy protested.

"Don't tell me what I mean," Buck's voice rose sharply before breaking into louder sobs. "I love you, and you ruined me for everyone else. You showed me what the world could be, and then you ripped it away." His next words came out in a rush, raw with emotion. "I am so mad at you, Tommy. But I still want you. I wanna be your boyfriend."

"You do?" Tommy's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Have you even been listening, dumbass? I'm yours. I will always be yours whether you want me or not."

"We need to talk," Tommy said carefully.

"Yeah, no shit," Buck retorted, but there was less bite to his words now.

"How about we get you inside and sober you up, and then we'll talk. Really talk."

"You mean it?" Buck asked, vulnerability creeping back into his voice.

"I do."

"Wait," Tommy reached out and wiped a stray tear off Buck's cheek. "You didn't drive here, did you?"

"Of course not. I'm clearly drunk off my ass."

"Fair enough."

"I walked. It was like 3 miles. Helped me get good and mad."

"You walked?" Tommy's voice rose with concern.

"I had to get to you and my fingers couldn't figure out how to order an Uber."

"Oh sweetheart," Tommy said softly.

"You called me sweetheart!" Buck's voice brightened despite his tears.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"You loooove me," Buck sang out, swaying slightly.

"Evan, let's go inside," Tommy said, fighting back a smile.

"Whatever you say, boyfriend," Buck replied with drunk confidence.

Tommy shook his head fondly as he guided Buck inside. They were still broken, and it was going to take a lot of work to repair them, but Tommy knew now that they were both willing to fight for it.

[snowyroads]

he’s a sleepy guy

[silenzahra]

Luigi would immediately rush to Sarasaland the moment he heard about Daisy having period cramps. He'd make sure to bring her favorite sweets, tons of water and a hot pad for her belly, and he'd unhesitatingly invade her kitchen and prepare some hot tea that then he'd bring to her bed so that it could comfort her and keep her warm inside.

And then he'd stay with her for the rest of the day, just quietly reading while she sleeps or binge watching her favorite shows with her for the millionth time. And he'd laugh with her as if it were the first time watching it, only because he loves to see her happy and slowly recovering and feeling better.

[harlotsforcinnamon]

“Why’d you even start building this thing, anyway?” Ronan had his chair leaned back on two legs, feet propped up on Gansey’s desk. He was tossing a rubber ball back and forth between his hands. He liked the hollow sound of it as it struck his palm.

It was late, and the moon cast great tiled swaths of light across the vast warehouse floor. Gansey was crouched somewhere on the east side of town, where all the houses reeked of new money, new wood, and interior designers raised on HGTV. A lamp cast a puddle of yellow light around him, throwing his jagged purple shadow Godzilla-like across the lower valley region.

Gansey looked unfairly good in pj pants and a tee-shirt, his wireframes slipping down his nose. He wore a look of concentration as he applied glue to the thin edge of a piece of cardboard.

“I always liked the little model town in Beetlejuice.”

Ronan caught the ball, temporarily distracted. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Gansey pushed his glasses up and peered over at Ronan. “Why?”

Ronan resumed his throw-and-catch. “I don’t know, it just seems so un-Gansey-like.”

“I always had a crush on Lydia.” Gansey was all soft contours in the dark. “You see, I myself am strange and unusual.”

Ronan snorted, to cover up the sudden tightness in his chest. He tipped the chair back a little farther and drew his arm back, aiming high on the wall.

Gansey sounded dry. “Please don’t, I’d really rather not spend the rest of the night cleaning your brains off the floor.”

Spitefully, Ronan let his chair fall onto all four legs with a bang.

Gansey shot him a Look, but did not comment. Instead he held out an imperious hand. “Leaf me.”

Ronan picked a couple of leaves from the mint plant on Gansey’s desk and made his way over to him, barefoot, stepping from light to light, skirting shadows. He pressed one leaf into his own mouth as he went and offered the other to Gansey.

He’d expected his friend to reach out and take it from him, but Gansey’s hands were once more occupied by glue and cardboard joinery. Without taking his eyes from his work, he tilted his chin, his mouth open just so in invitation.

In the soft lamplight, in the soft moonlight, he looked soft. Touchable. For a moment, Ronan couldn’t breathe.

He held out the mint and Gansey took it into his mouth. His lips brushed Ronan’s fingers, and Ronan felt the sensation ricochet through his entire nervous system, from heels to crown.

He took a swift step back and narrowly avoided flattening a tiny Mcmansion.

Gansey glanced up at him, dark-eyed. “You okay?”

I myself am strange and unusual.

“Yeah,” Ronan said, voice rough. “I’m fine.”

[senoleaf]

here's some Hypno's Lullaby / Pokepasta characters in my style

some of my headcanons below!

Steven: 24 years old; 190 cm / 6'3''

- Haunted by a hallucination of his dead brother that constantly reminds him of his misdeeds

- Fluctuates between a completely corrupted state (shadowed skin + red eyes) due to MissingNo.'s influence and a semi-conscious state (shadowed eyes) in which he sometimes gets lucid enough to question what happened that day

Glitchy RED: 26 years old; 182 cm / 6'0''

- Face always half hidden by shadows

- Despises people abusing glitches or bugs and thus despises Steven

- Always looks serious

Grey: 16 years old; 167 cm / 5'6''

- Constantly nervous

- Somewhat scared of (Glitchy) Red but also looks up to him since he's from "the original game"

Shinto:

- Mischievous

- Despises people cheating through any means, including glitches and bugs

- She found out that Grey is actually a real human's soul forced to possess the player character of their game and thus believes his "cheating" to be his human soul simply not adhering to game rules, allowing him to catch her by accident

- Has taken a liking to Grey and will (unbeknownst to him) protect him from people intending to cause harm

- Still scares him sometimes for fun

(Monochrome) Gold: 19 years old; 170 cm / 5'7'' (when alive)

- Is incapable of actually dying, constantly stuck in a state of pain

- Sometimes the Unown within him will take over his body for whatever reason, otherwise they will function like a hive mind allowing him to see through their eyes and float with their help

(- This was caused by Steven, corrupted by the glitch MissingNo. after Gold had found him in the Bellsprout Tower)

(Insomnia) Silver: 20 years old; 175 cm / 5'9''

- Skin covers his mouth keeping him from speaking

- He can cut/rip it open, but it will grow back in around a minute

(- This was caused by Steven, corrupted by the glitch MissingNo. after Silver confronted him seeing what he had done to Gold)

Mike: 4 years older than Steven, (28 years old); 180 cm / 5'11''

- A remorseful spirit incapable of moving on, bound to Steven after his death

- Contrary to the hallucination Steven is seeing, Mike can only be perceived by Gold

- Furthermore he is convinced that the person who killed him wasn't his brother / that something had forced him to do it

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

omg how did i miss you reblogging the ask gameeeee, 9 and 60 for rosquez pleaseee :33

rosquez: 9 (sleep deprivation)

Marc wakes up in pain.

For one moment, he’s disoriented. Thinking about painkillers, and limp fingers, and very white ceilings. Then a dusty disco collection cramped in a shelf to the corner registers, and the glossy blue bodywork of a bike on a stand.

He remembers—getting overambitious at FP1 in Brno and hitting the asphalt shoulder first. No, he’d thought, everything from collarbone to wrist caught in that white-hot flash of agony, before breathing in.

“Marc,” Valentino says quietly.

Marc rolls off his right shoulder carefully—one measured lungful, and the next, and another one following that. After a couple of blinks, his vision focuses.

Valentino—well. In more detail, Valentino looks like shit.

“Is it early?” He asks.

“Eh, very.”

Valentino waves a hand around, clicks his tongue. His eyes seem huge and gritty in his face, cast deeply by the worn out puffiness that’s settled there, slow each time he moves them around.

07:49 AM, his phone says, once he digs it out from the tangled sheets.

His alarm won’t go off for another thirty minutes, but Marc won’t fall asleep, knows he won’t. The bone aches like it’s being broken again, chainsaw teeth slicing him up. It’s been a while since it last hurt like that. It’s been a while since he last crashed like that.

Marc tries to swing his legs—get up, get his pain meds from his suitcase, get through the day.

But there is Valentino pulling him down again, wraith-like. “Here.”

His water bottle, pressed into his cold hands. Pills, after—Panadol and Brufen, which Marc would know with his eyes closed. “You left it with me last night,” Valentino says, rather sweetly.

Marc didn’t.

But he nods anyway, takes them. Finds out—not for the first time—that he doesn’t mind Valentino’s lies when they are this harmless. And when they mean that he doesn’t have to crawl off the bed.

Valentino flattens his pam high on his chest, fingers just brushing over his scars, tugging hot and tight. Marc’s eyes slip closed, so that he’s almost floating, anchored only by the ugly ache and Valentino’s possessive hand—which hurts, too, in its own particular way.

He’s better at taking pain, usually.

But this season keeps sanding down his edges. Marc is having fun. He is winning. Valentino hasn’t said I’m sorry, but they’re here, no point in pushing that injury yet. There was a point���sometime before hearing Àlex out and signing with Gresini—that he’d been prepared for none of thosw things to ever happen again.

“Do you want an omelet?” Valentino asks.

Marc isn’t hungry, exactly, but NSAIDS on an empty stomach give him reflux. “Have you slept?” He hums.

Valentino shrugs, owl-eyed and reticent. He isn’t very good at not squirming when there’s some blood involved, which is still one of his best traits—and certainly one that bothers Valentino himself the most. “Well,” he huffs, “limited time offer. Take it or leave it.”

“Can you make one with chicken and cheese?”

“Spoiled.” Valentino presses a kiss against his sweat-slick cheek, though, on his way out.

[jay72664]

Insomnia

TW: Suggestive. (Dazai’s in it, of course it’s suggestive.)

Dazai trailed patterns with his finger on the skin of Chuuya’s stomach, unable to fall asleep.

Chuuya turns to face him.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Dazai asks.

The ginger shakes his head in reply. “What’s keeping you up?”

Dazai shrugs. “Hell if I know, you?”

“Don’t know either, just can’t sleep.”

They laid in silence for a bit, before Dazai spoke up again.

“You know what would tire us both out?” He asks suggestively, his hand trailing to Chuuya’s waist band.

Chuuya slaps his hand away. “I’m already tired I just can’t sleep.”

The detective sighs melodramatically. “Chibi is no fun.”

The ginger rolls his eyes at his husband’s antics.

“Can’t I at least get a kiss?” He pleads, pulling Chuuya closer by the waist.

“God, you are so clingy, fine.”

Chuuya presses a kiss to the brunettes lips, and Dazai kisses him back with fervor.

Chuuya attempts to pull away, but Dazai’s hand had moved to the back of his hand to keep him there, and though if he really wanted to, he could out strengthen his lanky husband, he found himself wanting to stay like this, if only for a moment longer.

Dazai did eventually pull away, having to breath, though more so just not wanting to suffocate his husband than caring about his own lungs.

“Satisfied?” The shorter man teases, already knowing the answer.

“No, but it’ll do for now.” He moves to nuzzle his face against the crook of Chuuya’s neck.

The blue eyed man pressed a kiss to the top of his husband’s head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“I love you.” He says quietly, knowing full well they’d both still be awake for a while yet.

Dazai hums. “I love you too.”

[yikes-ajax]

I dont have a clever and witty sarcastic comment tonight, I just think she's cute

[nyrandrea]

Restless

Summary: As your sleepless nights start to catch up with you, you turn to a certain vampire who might just be able to help.

Also available to read here on A03!

Word Count - 2.7k

Enjoy!

xxx

Sleep had always been something of an illusion to you. 

Each night, as the world succumbed to slumber, you lay in your bedroll, with eyes wide open, gazing at the twinkling stars of the endless night sky. It was as if the world had pressed pause, leaving you to confront the shadows of your own thoughts. Your insomnia was a relentless adversary, a cruel warden that held you captive in the prison of wakefulness. 

The nights stretched on endlessly, and as the hours ticked by, your exhaustion grew more profound.  

Your mind raced with thoughts, a relentless carousel of worries, hopes, and regrets. You would toss and turn, your body tangled in the sheets, seeking elusive comfort. Come morning, the birds seemed to mock you, a constant reminder of the passage of time that slipped away while you lay wide awake.

By the time everyone else was up and refreshed from a good night’s sleep, you were still lying flat on your back, your bloodshot eyes stinging as you stared up at the pale morning sky. 

“Darling, it’s time to get up,” Astarion said, standing above you with hands on hips, his expression somewhat bemused. “Honestly, you’re so lazy, just like Gale.” 

He muttered that last part, glaring towards the wizard’s tent as a rumbling snore emanated from it and echoed throughout the camp. The vampire suddenly smirked, and you rolled your head to follow his gaze, only to see Karlach sneaking towards the tent with her hands out, ready to pounce. 

The snoring was cut short with a high-pitched scream, followed by a roar of laughter, and a lot of cursing on Gale’s part. 

“Good, at least that’s one of you up,” Astarion said, turning back towards you. “Now, are you going to follow suit? Or am I going to have to stoop to Karlach’s tactics? Brash as they are.” 

“Hey! My tactics are quite refined, thank you very much,” Karlach rebuked, stabbing a thumb in Gale’s direction, the poor man stumbling to find his cloak. “Got him up, didn’t I?” 

“That you did, darling.” 

“I’m up,” you muttered hoarsely, wincing as you slowly pushed yourself up off the ground, your body feeling about a hundred years old. “I’m up.” 

“Oh dear,” Astarion grimaced. “Looks like someone didn’t get their beauty sleep last night, hm?” 

His tone was light but there was an almost... concerned note to it, as if he was prodding. You felt a pang in your chest; he only spoke the truth; your eyes, once bright and expressive, now bore the heavy bags and dark circles of sleep deprivation. Your skin had dulled and paled considerably over the past few weeks, and your hair was dishevelled and unkempt.  

You almost certainly looked as bad as you felt. 

Part of you wanted to blame the group: Astarion for nearly sucking you dry of your blood, Karlach for being so damn loud all the time, Gale for making demands of you every ten minutes, Lae’zel for very nearly causing fights everywhere she went with her brashness, Shadowheart for her condescending demeanour and Wyll for craving validation from you every time you had a chat with him. The only sane person here seemed to be Halsin, and even he was starting to grate on your nerves for just looking so damn well-rested and perky.

The other part of you wanted to cry, to apologise for being such a failure and run away into the woods to never be seen or heard from again and just succumb to whatever fate the mind-flayer parasite had in store for you. 

Instead, you forced a smile, and lied.  

“Just had a nightmare, is all.” 

“Hm,” Astarion hummed, a simmering concern etched into the lines of his face. In that moment you felt a soft push in your mind, and the tadpole behind your eye squirmed as if responding to something. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken emotions, a palpable tension that seemed to hang between you both.  

It was only when you winced that the vampire averted his gaze, and the unseen force retreated from your mind. 

“Terribly sorry,” Astarion said as you rubbed your head. “It would seem that my worm wanted to talk with yours; perhaps it was... concerned. Ooh, do you think that they’re best friends?” 

“I doubt it,” you muttered, a little annoyed at his giddiness. “Maybe tell yours to mind its own business next time.” 

“Of course, apologies again,” he said with that smooth voice and puppy-dog eyes of his, it was enough to make your irritation melt away. “But should a nightmare ever arise in that darling head of yours again, just know that you can seek me out.” 

You blinked, a little surprised at the open invitation. You couldn’t quite tell if it was genuine; it was always hard to tell with him. The only times you had ever been intimate was whenever he sought you out for a bit of casual fun. He seemed confused as to why you never wanted to initiate, but you tried to explain that while you enjoyed your time together, you never wanted to invade his privacy as you respected that camp time was everyone’s chance for a bit of peace and were entitled to such.  

This only seemed to confuse him further. 

Still, this had to be a big step for him, to ask you to his tent -his sanctuary- and you didn’t want to seem ungrateful. 

“I-I will,” you stutter. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime, my dear,” Astarion smiled. “Now, shall we see what chaos today brings for us? It’s been far too long since we’ve had to kill anyone.” 

You bumped his shoulder playfully. “We killed that group of bandits only yesterday.” 

He returned the gesture with a sly smirk. “Exactly.” 

During the day, you continued your journey with a fragile facade of normalcy, sipping on coffee like it was the elixir of life, desperately trying to stay awake. Your interactions with others were tinged with a weary detachment, as if you were viewing the world through a foggy pane of glass.  

Emotions played hide-and-seek within your very soul. Frustration lurked just beneath the surface, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. An innocent quip or question would trigger an unexpected wellspring of tears, followed by nervous laughter, leaving everyone in the group perplexed. You merely brushed it off as the tadpole messing with your head, but even that raised a few eyebrows as nobody else was acting up—it was a good thing you were persuasive. 

You tried to avoid battles wherever and whenever you could, opting to take the longer roads or attempting to sweet-talk your way out of a sticky situation. However, some fights were unavoidable, and this was when your sleep deprivation was really put on show for everyone to see; your movements were sluggish, enemies were able to get more hits on you and you had to be helped back up to your feet on more than one occasion.  

The others insisted on setting up camp a little earlier than usual so you could rest and, despite your trying to tell them that you were fine and wanted to keep going because these tadpoles weren’t going to remove themselves anytime soon, they wouldn’t take no for an answer.  

So, here you were again, on your back, staring up at the stars. Another night of having an existential crisis while everyone else slumbered on peacefully. Rinse and repeat. 

You had tried everything to conquer your insomnia. Experimented with herbal teas, soothing music, you had even consulted a sleep specialist back in Baldur’s Gate who prescribed a cocktail of medications. But the battle persisted, night after night. 

Sitting up and rubbing your dry, stinging eyes, you decided to try something else. 

As you crept through the camp, you were careful not to wake anyone else up as you approached Astarion’s tent, tentatively peeking in through the flap before reprimanding yourself; even though he had invited you, boundaries were important, you couldn’t just go barging in. So, you gently knocked on one of the wooden beams that supported the tent. 

“Astarion...?” You softly whispered, waiting for a response. 

Only silence followed. 

You knocked again, wincing slightly at the louder noise you made. For a moment you thought about abandoning this whole silly idea and going back to staring into space for the next eight hours, but desperation made you persistent. 

Mercifully, you heard a faint shuffle come from inside the tent. 

“Come in,” Astarion’s husky, muffled voice answered. 

Nervously, you slipped inside, and a wave of warmth immediately washed over your face as you were greeted with the sight of a bare-chested Astarion sitting cross-legged on his bedroll. You were grateful he at least had pants on, otherwise you would have been out of there like a shot. 

A mischievous smile spread across his face as he watched you squirm uncomfortably. “Whatever is the matter, darling?” His lips formed a perfect pout. “Come to ask me for a little cuddle to chase the bad dreams away?” 

Your nostrils flared as you glowered down at him while he smirked smugly back up, because of course he would tease you about something like this. You should have known that he wasn’t going to take you seriously. 

“Forget it,” you said, making a sharp turn to re-open the tent flap. “I-I never should have come here, I’ll just... leave you be.”  

You missed the flash of panic on his face as he quickly got to his knees to reach out and grab your wrist before you could make it out.  

“Wait!” He said, stopping you in your tracks. “I’m sorry, come back in, please?” 

You slowly turned your head. 

“I promise not to tease you.” 

Begrudgingly, you allowed him to take your hand and escort you back inside, guiding you to sit down beside him on the floor. 

“You’re having trouble sleeping again, I presume?” 

Nodding your head, you squeezed the bridge of your nose and sighed, trying to swallow down the overwhelming urge to break down in front of him and cry in pure frustration.  

“I... I’ve been struggling with insomnia for a while now.” 

Astarion scoffed. “Well now, that’s a revelation.” 

You had half a mind to slap him. 

“Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands in a placating manner. “No teasing, of course, but come on darling, it was pretty obvious from the start.” 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your gaze cast downward, wondering why you even came here in the first place if he was just going to insult you. 

“You’re still beautiful,” he said, softly caressing your jaw to angle your face towards him. “Very beautiful indeed.” 

Your heart thumped wildly as the tip of your nose brushed his, and you would have crumpled into his well-tuned act of seduction if it were not for one burning question suddenly on your mind. 

“How do you do it?"

“I- do what?”  

“Elves don’t sleep, right?” You said, blinking curiously. “How do you... not sleep?” 

“We uh... meditate, darling. Wait, how do you not know this?” he asked, pulling back with his eyebrow raised. “You must have seen me doing it at some stage or another.” 

“...I always just thought you pretended to sleep,” you hummed in thought. “Now that I think about it, the way you lay down was always kind of strange looking.” 

He snorted a laugh at your brutal honesty, and feeling a jab of guilt, you tried to back-track on your word vomit. 

“Sorry! Um… no offence?” 

"None taken, darling,” he said, waving a nonchalant hand. “I can see why my eloquent poses would look strange to you, but for elves, meditation is a common practice. Helps us to… calm down; be in the moment, as it were.” 

A comfortable silence fell between you.

“Could you show me?”  

Astarion gave you a questionable look. “You want me to show you how to meditate?” 

You nod vigorously and cross your legs with your arms resting on your knees to show that you’re serious. It takes you a moment to figure out which fingers were supposed to touch together but you get there eventually.  

With a bemused smile, the vampire shrugs. “Alright, I've had stranger requests.” 

You wanted to question that but put a pin in it for another time. 

"Are you ready?" Astarion asked. You nod, your heart fluttering with both anticipation and trust. “Now, clear your head.” 

You give him a dry look. 

He rolls his eyes back. “Yes, admittedly a little hard, what with the little residents living up there but just... trust me, alright? Close your eyes.” 

You complied, and Astarion began to guide you, his words soft and rhythmic, like a gentle lullaby. "Breathe in deeply," he said, his own breath aligning with yours. "Feel the air fill your lungs, expanding your chest, and exhale slowly, try to let go of any tension." 

You followed his instructions, your breath matching his like a perfectly choreographed dance. With each inhale and exhale, you felt a growing sense of calm washing over. 

"Thoughts may arise, like passing clouds," Astarion murmured. "Acknowledge them but let them drift away. Return your focus to your breath.” 

You found yourself navigating the currents of your thoughts with newfound ease, like a sailor guiding a boat through calm waters. The more you let go, the more profound your sense of inner stillness grew. You felt the weight of your worries begin to dissolve. The burdens of your leadership, of the mind-flayer tadpoles and the problems that came with it seemed to retreat into the distance, leaving you with a newfound clarity. 

"Good," Astarion whispered. "Now, focus on your body. Notice any tension, any discomfort. Let it go with each breath. Feel your body becoming lighter, more at ease." 

Minutes passed like hours, and the tent seemed to fill with an ethereal stillness. You and Astarion remained connected through your breath, it was as if time itself had become irrelevant, and you were both suspended in a moment of pure existence. 

You could feel the tension in your shoulders and neck melting away. It was as if the cares of the world were simply slipping through your fingers. 

Slipping... 

Slipping...  

“...Darling? Are you-? Oh.” 

Astarion’s eyes widen, and he winces a little when your head falls into his shoulder. He catches you gently by the arms, so you don’t slip and go face-first into his lap; it was a delicious thought but for another time, when you were conscious and ready.  

But right now, he isn’t quite sure what to do with you. He certainly knows he can’t hold you like this all night; it would be uncomfortable for both of you. His eyebrows crease as he frowns while he tries to slowly lower you to the ground. 

To absolutely no avail; unconsciously you end up pulling him in closer. 

“Oh, for Gods's sake,” the vampire huffs incredulously. “What am I, some sort of glorified teddy bear?” 

Half-asleep and still nestled into Astarion’s chest, you mumble something incoherent in response, your breath warm against his skin. You snuggle even closer, your head burrowing into the crook of his neck. 

For a moment, Astarion felt a flicker of irritation, his desire for a good night's rest warring with his affection for you. He yearned to stretch out, to find the perfect position that would allow him the bliss of undisturbed meditation. But as he looked down at the peaceful expression on your face, all traces of weariness and anxiety erased, he just couldn't bring himself to disturb you. 

Reluctantly, he wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer still. He could feel the gentle rise and fall of your breath, the slow, rhythmic cadence of sleep. The warmth of your body against his own gradually seeped through the cracks in his defences, and his irritation gave way to an overwhelming tenderness. 

In that moment, he realised that the inconvenience of being your living pillow was a small price to pay for the privilege of holding you close, of being the one you sought comfort in. As you drifted further into slumber, Astarion closed his eyes and surrendered to the serenity of the night, the gentle weight of your devotion for each other enveloping you both, anchoring him in the moment and reminding him of the beauty in life's simple, sweet sacrifices. 

xxx 

Yyyyyeah I know this one has the same beats as 'Everything's Fine' but what can I say? I'm a sucker for begrudgingly soft Astarion ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Let me know what y'all think!

Links to my other Astarion works

'Everything's Fine'

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you