#cant sleep

dont you think we're too close?──nope! 𓏵 content ⌞ ⌝ fluff!, kissing, airhead, quite literally mindlessly whipped for you, touchy, anyway wtv

the line of friendship between you and meguru is often blurred at times. like now, with him snuggled up beside you on your sofa, face pressed up against your side. whatever show playing in the background was trivial to necessity; pushed aside in the intimacy of the moment. the only thing was the fact that he wasn't aware of it. while your eyes darted around the room, his belonged to the television──as it should've. though the hand tapping absently at your thigh screamed otherwise. he sat up slightly to wrap his arms around your waist loosely. keep it together!! your mouth opened to day something, eyes falling upon his resting face below your arm. so cute.

"meguru?"

he grinned, looking up at you with a spark of anticipation.

you breathed, poking his shoulder. "would you move over..?"

"no."

you raised an eyebrow imperceptibly. next thing you know he was pouting, gripping onto your arm like a vise. "you're warm! why do I have to let go? besides, we hug aalllll the t-" you plucked him square in his head, crossing your arms. his bottom lip trembled, staring up at you with that annoyingly lovable frown. "what was that for?..."

but that grin returned as quick as ever. his palm drifted down to press flat on your inner thigh. a moment passed. he leaned in to plant a kiss at the curve of your neck, before turning his attention back to the screen like nothing happened. you tried the same, ending in a pathetic failure when he shifted to nuzzle into your neck. sensing you were about to say something, he peered at you from below, mumbling. "I'm sleepy."

you shut the show off, the only remaining source of light emitting from the corner of the room; the glow of a clock. it was midnight now.

he stirred awake, one of his legs draping over your own. just sloppy, isn't he? he smiled, nipping at the skin he could reach on your neck playfully. your flinch only ignited amusement within him, trailing pecks up to the corner of your mouth, not hesitating to capture a not so final one on your lips, tongue darting out to taste them.

one hand snuck down to knead a globe of ass, why the other gripped your side meeting the underside of your breasts. he broke away only to dive back in once more, encouraging you to open your mouth for exploration. his tongue swirled with yours, mixing in a way friends usually don't. you let out a small noise in his mouth, arching against him. feeling so, he pulled away to take in your expression, the same teasing grin on his cheeky little face.

"friends can kiss, right?"

he leaned in again. well here's to say you certainly were now.

@puppizai for dividers -- felt like writing at 3 in the morning

I was hoping to make a Tamsy x blind civilian reader request please

Where Teams Eager and Akuta set out for canvas town and when they get there, they go to visit the Spellcaster and finds (y/n) assisting the mayor after Jobs death!

Tamsy takes interst in how (y/n) comforts remin like a loving mother and immediately wants her for himself.

Somehow finding his way into her life.

I will leave this with you. I trust you would make this story amazing💗😩

when love is near, i lose my fear- tamsy caines

⤷synopsis.ᐟ- when the team, eager, and akuta including tamsy travel to canvas town for a routine visit, they expect nothing more than checking in with the spellcaster and confirming the town’s safety. instead, they find you—the quiet civilian who stepped in to help the mayor after job’s death. you move through the office with gentle hands and a calming voice, comforting remin like a protective, loving mother.

tamsy notices you instantly.

he watches the way you kneel to remin’s height, listen to her worries, and soothe her with soft words that even he feels settle in his chest. something warm and unexpected stirs inside him—an instinct, a want. he’s drawn to your kindness, your patience, the strength beneath your softness.

from that moment, tamsy makes it his mission to stay close.

little by little, he slips into your daily life—helping you carry supplies, fixing things before you realize they’re broken, lingering in the doorway just to hear your voice. what begins as curiosity quickly deepens into something he can’t shake.

tamsy doesn’t just want to protect you. he wants you—your warmth, your presence, the quiet gentleness that makes him feel seen in ways he’s never known.

and somehow, without you noticing at first… he becomes part of your world. part of your routine. and eventually, part of your heart.

⤷word-count.ᐟ- 0.3K

the journey to canvas town had been long, dusty, and filled with the kind of chatter that only teams eager and akuta could produce. boots dragged, coats fluttered, and the sound of arguments, laughter, and complaints blended with the rhythmic hum of the wasteland. tamsy walked somewhere near the back of the group, quiet as always, hands shoved into his pockets, his expression unreadable.

they were heading there for one main reason: to speak with the spellcaster, who’d been having trouble since mayor job’s passing. canvas town had changed since then — some said it felt emptier, quieter, fragile.

none of them expected to find you there.

when the teams finally entered the town, the doors of the spellcaster’s shop were already open. colorful powders littered the counters, scrolls hung from the rafters, and behind the clutter stood remin, who looked exhausted yet determined. and beside her… you.

you stood with your hands gently guiding remin’s shoulders, speaking to her in a soft tone that didn’t quite fit the chaos around you. though your eyes didn’t focus on anything directly, your movements were sure, practiced, careful. like you’d lived in a world of touch, sound, and warmth for a long time.

rudo entered first, then enjin, riyo, zanka and more—until tamsy finally stepped in behind them.

he saw you before he saw anyone else. and he paused.

there was something in the way you leaned down, whispering to remin, a gentle firmness in your voice only someone deeply caring could have. your fingers brushed her hair back soothingly, like a patient older sister or a mother comforting a frightened child.

it struck him harder than he expected.

for a man whose voice rarely rose above a murmur and whose emotions stayed tucked somewhere deep, the sight of pure tenderness pulled something in him open.

“hey,” remin said suddenly, turning toward your direction, “they’re here.” you straightened a little. “hi. i can hear a lot of boots — must be a big group.”

tamsy swallowed, then stepped closer.

and you… smiled. not at anything directly, not at any face, but at the sound of new presence. a soft, warm smile that felt unfairly beautiful. “you must be the cleaners,” you said gently. “i help around here now. i’m… well, i’m just someone who tries to keep things running.”

“you’re doing more than that,” remin muttered proudly. you laughed shyly. “i try.”

tamsy watched you. he couldn’t stop. the way you tilted your head slightly to follow voices, the way your hands rested lightly on the counter as though mapping out the world through your fingertips — it all fascinated him.

when you moved to brew tea for the group, he noticed how carefully you counted your steps, how your hands skimmed edges of furniture. yet you poured everything perfectly, like you’d memorized these motions long ago.

he didn’t fully understand it yet, but something in him quietly said:

i want to know her.

as the teams gathered information from remin and the spellcaster, tamsy kept finding his gaze drifting toward you. every time you laughed, a little tightness pinched his chest. every time your hand accidentally brushed someone’s arm and you apologized with this sweet little fluster, he felt heat crawl up his neck.

when you passed him a cup of tea, your fingers brushed his knuckles gently — unintentionally, but it made him freeze.

“thank you,” he said softly. “you’re welcome… tamsy, right? your footsteps are lighter than the others. you move carefully.”

he blinked.

no one ever noticed things like that.

you did.

they stayed in canvas town for the rest of the afternoon, and somehow tamsy kept ending up near you. sometimes you spoke with remin, sometimes with the spellcaster, but somehow tamsy found ways to help — moving a box for you, adjusting hanging scrolls, guiding you around a broken floorboard before you stepped on it.

when the teams finally prepared to leave for the night, you stood near the doorway, hands folded.

“thank you for visiting,” you said kindly. “it’s been a while since we’ve had this many voices in here.”

tamsy stared at you a moment longer than he should. and you tilted your head, sensing him. “will you come again?” you asked quietly. his heart stuttered.

“…i will,” he murmured. “good. i’ll be here.”

tamsy came back the next day. and the day after. and the day after that.

he didn’t tell anyone. he’d slip away during his break, weaving through alleys and empty roads until canvas town came into view. each time he arrived at your door, you immediately recognized his footsteps.

“tamsy?” your voice always lifted a little when you said his name. “you’re early today. come in.”

he liked how your home was arranged — neat paths, soft rugs, gentle scents, everything organized in a way that made your world safer. he learned quickly that you always counted steps to your kitchen, that you folded blankets in specific ways so you could identify them by touch, that you preferred the sound of the window slightly open.

and he helped.

he fixed creaking hinges. he reorganized cabinets so nothing sharp sat near your searching hands. he tightened loose screws, cleaned dust from corners you couldn’t see, repaired your broken lamp.

you noticed the changes.

“you keep fixing things,” you said one day as your fingers brushed a now-stable shelf. “i didn’t hear anything fall today.”

“it was loose,” he said blankly. “thank you,” you said softly. “nobody really helps me like this anymore.” tamsy swallowed, feeling something bloom in his chest he didn’t know how to handle.

“i want to,” he said. “i know.”

one time, it happened one evening while you sat across from him, tea warming your hands.

“tamsy,” you asked, “can i ask something strange?” he blinked. “sure.”

you hesitated. “can i… feel your face? i’ve never known what you look like. i want to at least… imagine you properly.” his heart thudded hard. no one touched his face. no one ever asked. he didn’t let people that close.

but you…

“yeah,” he whispered, almost breathless. “you can.” you stood and reached toward him, and he gently guided your hands until your fingertips brushed his cheeks.

your touch was feather-light.

your palm glided along his jaw, brushing the faint stubble. your fingers traced the slope of his nose, the shape of his eyes, the curve of his cheekbones. when you reached his mouth, your thumb touched cold metal.

“a… piercing?” you traced his silver labret carefully. “this feels so cool…”

he felt heat rush up his neck.

“you’re handsome,” you murmured so sincerely it punched air from his lungs.

but then—

your smile faded.

“i wish i could see you,” you whispered. “really see you. i can only picture shapes and textures. everyone else just… treats me like i’m breakable. but you… you’re the only boy who actually notices me.”

something sharp twisted in him.

he didn’t want pity from you. he didn’t want to be a vague shape or texture. he wanted you to see him. wanted you to know every detail of him, not just through touch but through sight.

he wanted a cure.

wanted to fix what the world had taken from you.

the thought of you touching him again without truly seeing him made his chest tighten painfully. he didn’t know why it hurt — he only knew that every time you smiled in his direction without looking at him, something inside him ached.

“i just wish,” you whispered, fingers still on his cheek, “that i could look at you.” tamsy’s breath trembled. he didn’t know how to give you your vision back.

but he knew what he could give you.

the night of canvas town’s small remembrance festival arrived soon after. fireworks were set to go off in honor of job’s memory. people gathered in the square, and tamsy stayed close to you, guiding you gently through the crowd.

when the sky burst into color — bright reds, deep blues, shimmering golds — you tilted your head up at the sound, eyes unfocused but full of wonder.

he stared at you illuminated by the flashes of light, your expression soft and peaceful, and something inside him snapped quietly into certainty.

“you’re beautiful,” he whispered. you turned your head slowly toward his voice. “you think so?”

“yeah,” he breathed. “i think so every time i see you.” the fireworks boomed overhead, lighting the outline of your face in bursts.

“i wish i could see them,” you whispered. “i wish i could see… everything.” he stepped closer.

“you will someday,” he whispered without thinking. “i’ll make it happen. i don’t care how. i’ll find a way.” your lips parted, stunned. “tamsy…” but the ache, the longing, the fierce protective feeling inside him pushed him forward. his hand cupped your cheek gently.

“i want you to see me,” he murmured. “i want you to know me fully. i want… you.”

and before you could speak— he leaned in and kissed you.

soft.

careful.

like touching something precious he didn’t dare break.

your breath caught, and your hands flew up to his chest, gripping lightly. he felt you melt into the kiss, felt your warmth against him, felt every unspoken word between you.

the sky exploded in color above you. your world was darkness. his world was you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested on yours, breath trembling.

“i’m not letting you go,” he whispered. “not now. not ever.”

you smiled softly, cheeks warming under the glow of fading fireworks.

“tamsy,” you whispered, “you already found your way into my life.” and he held you closer, heart pounding, deciding right then and there:

he would stay.

he would protect you.

he would love you.

and one day— he would make sure you could finally see him.

after that night beneath the fireworks, the night you and tamsy shared your first kiss, something inside him shifted so deeply it felt like the earth rearranged itself. from that moment on, everything he did circled back to you. his thoughts, his routines, even his sense of duty changed without him realizing it at first. all he knew was that waking up without hearing your voice made his chest feel hollow, and going to sleep without imagining your hands touching his face left him restless.

so he started showing up.

secretly at first. the morning after the kiss, he found himself standing outside your home before the sun rose, listening for the faint sound of you moving inside. then he slipped back to the cleaners before anyone questioned him. the next afternoon, he returned again. then the next. soon it became daily—sometimes twice a day. sometimes he even skipped entire missions, ignoring akuta’s shouting and eager’s annoyance. he didn’t care. all he cared about was the way your face lit up the second you sensed him.

you always knew it was him before he spoke. you could recognize the sound of his footsteps now—the soft, careful rhythm he used when approaching you. if you were in the kitchen, you’d perk up instantly. if you were sitting by the window, your head would turn, your lips forming the smallest, warmest smile.

“tamsy… you came again,” you would whisper, like you still couldn’t believe he chose you. and every time, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you from behind or gently brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“couldn’t stay away,” he would murmur in your ear, breathing in the soft scent of flowers you kept around your home.

he meant it. he didn’t even bother pretending anymore.

each day he brought something with him—not because he needed to but because he wanted to. he paid attention to everything: the textures you liked running your fingers across, the colors you commented sounded peaceful, the scents that made you smile. whenever he found something that reminded him of you, he tucked it into his coat pocket and brought it to you like a treasure.

sometimes he placed a small box in your hands and watched carefully as you felt the shape of it. inside would be a polished stone smooth enough to calm your nerves as you traced the surface. other times it would be something delicate, like a ribbon or an ornament he found during travels. once, he even repaired a wind chime just so you could listen to it again—soft notes that warmed your home like gentle rain.

but the thing he worked the hardest on were the letters.

he taught himself braille.

late at night, after the others fell asleep, he sat hunched over sheets of thick paper, pressing dots into the surface one by one. it was slow and frustrating work, but he did it anyway, jaw tight, brows furrowed, murmuring your name under his breath in determination. some dots were slightly crooked where he pressed too hard in impatience, but every letter came from his heart.

and when he placed a letter in your hands, watching you run your fingers over the raised bumps, his chest tightened with nervous anticipation.

you always read them slowly. always stopped at certain lines to take a shaky breath. always smiled softly—or cried softly—depending on what he wrote.

once you found the line: “i think about you even when i don’t want to.” your voice cracked when you read it aloud. he panicked for a moment, but you shook your head and whispered, “no, tamsy… it’s beautiful.”

he wanted to kiss you again right then.

he brought flowers too. always the same kind. he noticed early on that you kept them in several corners of your home. even though you couldn’t see their colors, you loved the way they smelled and the texture of their petals. so every day he brought fresh ones, brushing them against your palms so you could recognize them instantly. you laughed once, saying, “i think you bring more flowers than the town’s gardener.”

he blushed the whole rest of the day.

with time, the closeness between you became natural. sometimes you sat curled up on his lap while he quietly described the room around you, the sunset, the trees swaying outside your window. sometimes he fell asleep on your couch with your head on his chest, your fingers laced with his. he fixed things around your home without you asking—loose floorboards, crooked shelves, door handles that didn’t align just right. he took pride in making your world easier to navigate.

and sometimes, when you reached up to touch his face, he stopped breathing entirely.

your fingertips brushed across his jaw, then moved up to his cheeks. you always paused at his piercing—soft, curious touches against the cool metal. he leaned into you each time, his heart beating wildly, silently begging you to keep going.

yet somewhere deep down, a quiet ache grew.

because every time your hands explored his features, every time your lips brushed against his without your eyes widening in surprise the way sighted people do, tamsy felt a painful twist in his chest.

you couldn’t see him.

you couldn’t see how he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. you couldn’t see the softness in his eyes or the way his expression always melted when he held you. you couldn’t see the way he lingered on every movement you made.

one evening, that ache overwhelmed him.

he had arrived late, breathless, after sprinting away from an assignment just to make it to you before nightfall. you met him at the door, laughing, saying, “tamsy, you’re out of breath.”

you reached for his face without thinking, fingertips brushing his lips, then his cheekbones. he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, but the sadness pooled in his chest.

“tamsy?” you whispered gently. he swallowed hard. “i just… wish you could see me.” your hand stilled. your expression shifted—hurt, confused, soft.

before you could speak, he shook his head. “i know it’s stupid. i just… i want you to know how i look at you. i want you to know how much i—”

you stepped forward, reaching out until your palms found his chest and slid up to his shoulders.

“tamsy,” you said in a trembling voice, “you’re the only boy who actually notices me.”

his breath caught sharply.

you continued, “i don’t care that i can’t see your face. i feel you. i hear you. i know you better than anyone else ever has. and you… you make me feel like i’m not alone.”

his heart felt like it was cracking open.

that night you held each other for a long time, wrapped up together on your couch, your head resting on his shoulder, his arms locked protectively around you as if the world might take you away.

from then on, you and tamsy were no longer “almost something.” you became a couple without ever needing to say it aloud. everyone in canvas town knew. everyone in the cleaners knew. even remin smiled knowingly whenever she saw the two of you together.

weeks turned into months, and tamsy grew even more devoted. he made sure you never walked anywhere alone. he memorized every sound you made. he noticed the slightest change in your tone, the tiniest hint of sadness in your voice, and immediately held you until it faded.

and eventually, love wasn’t enough.

he wanted forever.

one evening, after another long day of visiting you in secret, he walked into your home carrying a small object hidden in his pocket. his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. he tried hiding it behind a gift of flowers, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t nervous.

you sensed it instantly.

“tamsy? you’re… fidgeting.” he chuckled weakly. “am i?” “yes,” you laughed softly. “a lot.” he guided you to your couch, sitting you down and taking both your hands into his. his palms were warm, trembling slightly as he lifted your fingers to his lips.

“there’s something i… want to ask you,” he whispered. you tilted your head, confused. “ask me what?”

he didn’t speak right away. instead, he carefully took your left hand and placed something round and cold onto your finger. you gasped as your fingertips traced the shape — a ring, smooth and delicate, with a tiny raised texture he carved himself so you could feel the design.

you froze. breath catching. heart racing. “tamsy… is this—” he leaned his forehead against yours, his voice cracking openly.

“marry me...” your fingers tightened around his instantly, your mouth falling open in shock. “tamsy… i—are you serious?”

“more serious than anything in my life,” he whispered, voice thick and emotional. “i want to be with you. i want to protect you. i want to make your life easier, brighter, happier. i want to spend every day proving how much i love you. so… please…”

he swallowed hard.

“say yes.” you didn’t hesitate. you threw your arms around him, tears slipping down your cheeks as you pressed your face into his neck. “yes… yes, tamsy, of course i’ll marry you.”

he exhaled shakily, relief flooding his body as he held you tighter than ever before. he buried his face in your shoulder, arms wrapped around you as if he could pour all his love into the embrace.

and when you finally pulled back, touching his cheeks, tracing his lips, your forehead pressed to his—

he kissed you again. slow. tender. full of everything he felt.

your world was dark, but he made it bright.

his world was cold, but you made it warm.

and now, you were his — and he was yours — forever