#I'm still a little rusty with writing lately but I hope you enjoy! 🥴😭

[deaconsleatherpants]

Can you please do 22.nap 👉🏻👈🏻 ? Any Brugh character 💕

Word Prompts | @cant-eat-chips

of course! I went with Shelton for this but if you'd prefer it with a different character feel free to ask 🥺

22. nap

The house was strangely quiet, considering it was 5 in the afternoon and you could have sworn you'd heard Shelton's voice, loud with anger, what felt like only minutes before. A little concerned, you quietly padded down the stairs to see the living room dim and quiet, the curtains drawn over the windows and all the lights off.

Shelton was here after all, but he wasn't flipping through stacks of ill begotten cash, or scowling daggers at the gang, or raging at a rugby game. Instead he was asleep on the couch, a sofa pillow squashed under his head in what must have been a rather uncomfortable headrest. He looked tired, in more than just the traditional sense - his brow was furrowed with stress, the bags under his closed eyes showing just how little sleep he must have gotten lately.

Part of you thought it'd be a good idea to just go back upstairs and leave him alone to the nap he so clearly needed, but you couldn't have been more than halfway through this thought before you found yourself sitting down beside him, so close that you could have reached out and touched his shoulder.

Stirring at the movement, Shelton warily cracked open one sleepy eye just enough to catch a glimpse of who'd disturbed his fitful slumber; then, seeing it was you, wordlessly shifted to rest his head in your lap instead of the pillow. There was no soft smile, no gentle brush of his hand against yours, but you knew it was a show of love all the same. Letting himself be so vulnerable showed that, clear as day.

Gently, you ran your fingers against the side of his head, smoothing down a bit of hair that was sticking up at an odd angle. To your relief Shelton relaxed even more at your touch, and you could feel the warmth of his breath puffing against your thigh when he sighed softly. Your fingers moved to his face, cupping his cheek in a hand and brushing your touch against the tired lines of his face until they slackened.

He didn't say anything, and neither did you. There wasn't really a need to, after all; there was a sort of unspoken intimacy in the moment, with his head against your thigh and your fingertips carefully brushing against his scalp. And when he fell back asleep in your hands, he looked so carefree, so innocent, that you wished you could take away all his worries when he was awake too. But you couldn't, so you just sat there with him, watching the blooming colors of the setting sun through the thin veil of the curtains, caressing his shoulders until you felt the tight knots of muscle unwind themselves.

Much later, when he finally stretched and pulled himself into a sitting position, he did give you that soft smile after all, and when he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your lips you could almost hear his silent gratitude.