He Makes The Stars Shine Brighter [Sting x Reader] || First Book

28 : Baby, Give Me One More Night

» edited: 05.24.2017

» author's note found at the very end of the chapter.

xx

Soles aching from the effort of a slow walk under the moonlight, a full moon tipped to the right side of the night sky (But did it really matter? The sky was endless, or so they say,) skin warm and glowing from the comforting spill of lukewarm water once you tapped your tired feet onto the tiles of the bathroom, as naked and dry as the patterned squares of porcelain. It takes the slow, plentiful ripples of disturbed water that bounce mutely against the barricade of the tub walls before your shoulder relaxes, breathing once, twice, before turning a few knobs with half-closed eyes.

It's how you slide into the mattress, wearing clothes too frequently-used and simple for something formal; clothes with the scent of their mother store long forgotten and sleeves that fit familiarly through your arms. You try not to think about the wind that whirs its loneliness outside the thin window, or the unnatural clump of wet hair that leaves a damp mark on the pillow when you lift your head a little.

The only light is weak and remains close to the bed like a child that sweats through a night terror, and it drips through the gaps of your fingers but it never touches the corners, that stay far away and meditate in their darkness.

It's how you almost fall asleep, eyelids heavy from every gram of tiredness packed lovingly, furiously by the bones of your limbs from the long hours of grueling work and brief minutes of sips of iced water and seats on lumpy surfaces (You'd almost fallen asleep while bathing, too, but the sound of overflowing water spurs you awake, swishing more water over the edge with a flailing arm- much to your ever flustered regret as you navigate in between puddles that reflect light patronizingly in nothing but a towel wet at the corners.)

Your eyes are forced into begrudging openness when you feel an arm around your waist, secured so tightly it could have been a kidnapper with a hazed mind and a mask over his drunken breath. There's a warm body that settles into the bed with a small grunt, a knock from the headboard and an accompanied profanity; your eyes shut so ridiculously quickly it's as if the weight of the universe and all the undiscovered planets were forced on it like eternal punishment.

"You ate my Nutella, didn't you?" you ask him, tone flat, because either his guilty admittance or his stubborn denial would not shake the foundation of a thinking you're confident in.

Sting sucks in a breath, moves his arm, and you believe it to be subconscious, guilty admittance. "Gotcha."

"Okay, I was hungry," Sting reasons.

You hum, because you're tired, and although it's early enough the moon hasn't shifted once in it's position of reflection you feel exhausted enough to sleep the remainder of the month away, responsibilities forgotten, insignificant as you float through the pleasantries of dreams too wonderful it could only be written in twelve page bedtime stories for buzzing children or remain as they are, dreams conceived by the most ambitious ends of your brain.

"You better cook breakfast tomorrow."

You nuzzle closer to Sting's chest, eyes long closed, as the sleep creeps up on your brain, like an illicit drug traded in plastic packets or maybe the antagonist in a novel, dressed in matted fur and complimented by a crooked castle with an equally crooked bar of lightning joining the tallest tower.

Sting quite likes the way you're cuddled up to him, your breaths approaching something more evened, your lips slightly parted. He decides to turn off the lights, followed by a click he didn't pay much attention to, holding you a little bit tighter. He closes his eyes, too, with a sigh that ends on a note a bit too chipper.

It's how you finally fall asleep, in consensual binds of sheets and a wrap of each other's arms, until the moon finishes it's passing and the morning comes in splendor. One more night passes; Sting forgets the hollow sleep with a bed half-empty and sheets less tangled and you forget the difficult evenings without childish laughter to lift your spirits and your lips.

It's a great way to fall into slumber.

It's the best way to rise in the morn.

xx

[a/n]: most of the original was cut out but i still retained the original title (more or less,) for whatever it's worth eheh

» what's your favorite fairy tail opening them of all?

» my opinion really hasn't changed much, and Egao no Mahou is still a favorite of mine, but Snow Fairy has slowly wriggled it's way into my heart and i think those are the two i like the best. 

though Break Out and Breakthrough are still incredibly catchy openings, i feel they're just songs i sing along to when i think i'm alone, not really what i'd call a favorite

» as always thank you for reading this chapter <3