── .✦ 𝘚𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘺𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥
✦ pairing — Adam x female!angel!reader
✦ requested by @sleeplessdreamer14
✦ word count — 3.4K
✦ warnings — none.
✦ blurb — Sometimes the loudest man in Heaven is at his softest when no one else is watching, especially when his favorite angel falls asleep before making it upstairs.
The celebration had stopped being charming somewhere around the fourth speech.
At first, you had enjoyed it, because it was difficult not to enjoy Heaven when it dressed itself in gold and music, when the halls opened wide beneath high white arches, when choirs filled the air with voices so soft they seemed to belong to the light itself. Sera had asked you to make sure everything went smoothly, which mostly meant smiling politely, guiding guests to the right places, answering the same five questions over and over again, and stopping Adam from turning every conversation into a personal tribute to himself.
He, unfortunately, had loved every second of it.
Adam had spent the entire day in his element, wings spread just enough to be noticeable without technically blocking anyone’s path, helmet tucked beneath one arm whenever he wanted his face seen, grin sharp and bright as he accepted compliments that had not always been directed at him. Every time another angel mentioned the success of the event, Adam found a way to insert himself into the sentence, usually by clapping a hand against his chest and saying something like, “Yeah, you’re welcome,” despite having done absolutely none of the planning.
You had watched him do it for hours, amused despite yourself, because he was insufferable, but he was your insufferable.
That did not make your feet hurt any less.
By the time the final guests began drifting out through the shining doors, your smile had become a little too fixed, your shoulders felt stiff beneath your formal robes, and the muscles between your wings ached from standing straight for far longer than any reasonable person should have to. You still thanked everyone, still made sure the last trays were cleared, still checked with the musicians, still answered one elderly angel who wanted to know whether next year’s celebration would include “less dramatic guitar,” while Adam stood beside you looking far too pleased with himself.
“You hear that?” he said once the last guest finally disappeared down the corridor. “Less dramatic guitar. Which means she noticed the guitar.”
You rubbed one hand carefully over the back of your neck.
“She said less.”
“Yeah, because it blew her mind and she couldn’t handle it.”
“She asked Sera if it was part of the emergency alarm.”
Adam’s grin widened.
“Exactly. Powerful.”
You looked at him for a second, too tired to argue properly, then let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
“Sure.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That little grandma sigh.”
“I did not grandma sigh.”
“You absolutely did, babe. That was ancient. That sigh had wrinkles.”
You rolled your eyes and reached for the stack of folded programs left on the nearest table, intending to carry them back to the storage room, only for your knees to protest the moment you bent down. You made a small sound before you could stop yourself, nothing dramatic, just a quiet, exhausted noise that escaped somewhere between your chest and throat.
Adam turned his head so slowly it was almost theatrical.
You froze.
He stared.
You stared back.
“No,” you said immediately.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was not.”
“You had the face.”
“What face?”
“The face you make when you’re about to be annoying.”
“That’s just my face.”
“I know.”
Adam placed one hand over his chest, offended in a way that might have been convincing if he were not clearly fighting a smile.
“Wow. After everything I did today.”
“You stood around and accepted compliments.”
“I inspired morale.”
“You ate three plates of dessert.”
“I boosted the culinary staff’s confidence.”
“You told two angels your wings looked better than theirs.”
“They needed honesty.”
You shook your head, but the movement made your neck ache, and you must have winced without meaning to, because Adam’s expression shifted. It was quick, almost hidden beneath the usual smugness, but you knew him well enough to catch it. His eyes moved from your face to the way you rolled your shoulder, then to your shoes, then back up again, and for once, he did not immediately make the obvious joke waiting on his tongue.
Instead, he reached over and took the programs out of your hands.
You blinked.
“I can carry those.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you taking them?”
“Because you walk like an eighty-year-old and I’m being charitable.”
There it was.
You gave him a flat look.
“I’m fine.”
“Sure.”
“I am.”
“You made old people noises.”
“I did not.”
“You literally stood up and went ‘unngghh.’”
“That was breathing.”
“That was not breathing. That was your skeleton filing a complaint.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
You did.
Annoyingly, completely, and far too much for someone who looked this proud of himself while carrying a stack of paper.
“I tolerate you,” you corrected, turning toward the exit before he could see the smile you were failing to hide.
Adam fell into step beside you, deliberately slowing his stride to match yours even though his legs were longer and his energy, somehow, remained untouched by the day. He carried the programs under one arm, your bag over his shoulder despite your halfhearted protest, and when you reached the corridor leading out of the hall, he casually offered his free arm as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
You looked at it.
Then at him.
He raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“You’re being suspiciously helpful.”
“I’m always helpful.”
“You once told Lute moral support counted as helping while you watched her move an entire weapons rack alone.”
“And she felt supported.”
You slipped your hand around his arm anyway, too tired to keep pretending you did not want the help. Adam did not comment on the way you leaned into him a little more heavily with every few steps, though his wing shifted behind you, close enough to brush yours whenever you slowed down. The walk home was not far, but after a full day of smiling, standing, organizing, walking, greeting, and listening to Adam describe himself as “the spiritual backbone of the event,” the path seemed longer than usual.
By the time you reached your home, your entire body had begun to feel distant from you.
Adam pushed the door open with his shoulder and guided you inside, still talking as he dropped the programs onto the nearest table.
“I’m just saying, if Sera wanted boring music, she shouldn’t have let me near the instruments.”
“She didn’t let you near them,” you murmured, slipping your vest off near the entrance with a little more effort than dignity. “You stole the guitar from the choir director.”
“Borrowed.”
“You signed it afterward.”
“Improved its value.”
You hummed vaguely in response, because words were starting to feel like work. Your plan had been very reasonable when you formed it in the hallway. You were going to put everything away, shower, make tea, maybe read a few pages in bed while Adam complained about how the celebration would have been better if they had given him “creative control.” It was a good plan. A sensible plan.
Instead, you sat down on the couch.
Just for one minute.
Adam wandered toward the kitchen, still talking.
“You want tea? Actually, no, you want tea, obviously, because you’re secretly ninety. I’m making tea.”
You meant to answer.
You really did.
The couch was soft beneath you, the room warm, the silence after the celebration almost heavy with relief. You picked up the book you had left on the side table that morning, mostly out of habit, opened it somewhere in the middle without absorbing a single word, and let your head rest against the back cushion for what was supposed to be only a few seconds.
In the kitchen, Adam kept moving around, opening cupboards, making far too much noise for someone preparing tea, muttering to himself about how your favorite mug had somehow migrated to the wrong shelf again. He glanced into the living room once, saw you sitting upright with the book in your lap, and smirked.
“You better not fall asleep on the couch after calling me annoying all day.”
No answer.
He poured the hot water.
“Babe?”
Still nothing.
Adam turned, mug in hand, and leaned slightly to see around the doorway.
You were exactly where he had left you, sitting upright, your head tipped awkwardly against the cushion, book open across your lap, one shoe still half under the table because you had apparently given up halfway through moving it. Your hair had slipped loose from the careful style you had worn all day, falling around your face in messy strands, and one wing had drooped against the couch in a way that would definitely make it sore if you stayed there too long.
Adam stopped.
For once, no joke came immediately.
He set the mug down quietly, or at least as quietly as Adam ever did anything, then walked toward you with an expression that softened before he could stop it.
“Babe?”
Nothing.
He crouched in front of you, waving one hand lightly in front of your face.
No reaction.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Oh, you’re gone gone.”
He reached up and poked your cheek with one finger, gentle enough that it barely moved your skin.
You did not even stir.
Adam stared at you for another second, then let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“Damn.”
The word held no bite at all.
You were completely out, exhausted so deeply that not even his voice had reached you. He had seen you tired before, after training, after long meetings, after nights when worry kept you awake, but this was different. This was your body simply taking the decision out of your hands, shutting down the moment it found somewhere safe enough to stop moving.
Safe enough.
Something about that thought settled strangely in his chest.
Adam shifted closer, bracing one hand on the couch as he looked you over. Your neck was bent at an awful angle, the book was slowly sliding toward the floor, and your remaining shoe was still on, the strap digging slightly against your ankle. He clicked his tongue, softer than usual.
“Look at you,” he muttered. “Big responsible angel, can’t even make it to bed.”
You did not answer, which probably saved him from being smacked.
He took the book first, carefully sliding it from your lap and marking the page with a receipt he found on the table because he could not see a bookmark anywhere. Then he moved to your feet, kneeling properly now as he lifted one ankle with surprising care. The shoe came loose after a little fumbling, mostly because Adam had absolutely no patience for delicate buckles and muttered, “Who designed this, an enemy?” under his breath before finally freeing your foot and setting the shoe beside the other.
You shifted slightly then, just enough for him to freeze.
Your lips parted.
“Adam...”
His entire face changed.
It was barely a whisper, half-asleep and soft, but it hit him harder than any dramatic confession could have. He stared up at you from where he knelt beside the couch, one hand still resting lightly near your ankle, and for a moment the loud, careless confidence he wore so easily slipped away.
“Yeah,” he murmured, quieter than he meant to. “I’m here.”
You did not wake.
Your hand twitched, fingers curling slightly as though searching for something, and Adam was suddenly very aware of how small you looked curled against the couch, wings drooping, face relaxed in sleep, completely trusting the room around you.
Completely trusting him.
“Aw, shit,” he whispered.
He was done for.
He stood, grabbed the nearest throw blanket and spread it carefully over your legs, then hesitated. Leaving you on the couch was technically an option. A bad one, because your neck would be ruined by morning, your wings would ache, and you would absolutely insist you were fine while walking around like a wounded dove. He could wake you, but that felt cruel when you had finally fallen asleep after fighting exhaustion all evening.
He looked toward the stairs.
Then back at you.
He sighed.
“Yeah, screw it.”
Adam bent down slowly, sliding one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, pausing when your head tipped forward against his shoulder. You murmured something too soft to understand, your hand instinctively finding the front of his shirt as though your sleeping mind had recognized him before the rest of you could. He froze, holding you halfway off the couch, wings lifting slightly behind him.
“You’re killing me, babe.”
You nuzzled closer.
Adam closed his eyes for half a second, looking personally attacked by how adorable you were.
“Unfair. This is emotional warfare.”
You remained deeply asleep.
He lifted you the rest of the way, careful with your wings, careful with your head, careful in a way he would deny under oath if anyone ever accused him of it. You were lighter than he expected, or maybe he was simply too aware of every place your body rested against his, your cheek tucked near his neck, your breath warm against his skin, your fingers curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt.
He started toward the stairs.
The first challenge was the door between the living room and the hall, which he managed to nudge open with one foot after only two attempts and a whispered curse. The second was your wing, which kept slipping out from beneath the blanket and brushing against his arm. He adjusted it gently, tucking it closer before continuing upward, moving slowly enough that the floorboards barely creaked beneath his feet.
“You couldn’t stay awake five more minutes?” he whispered, glancing down at you as he climbed. “Five. That’s all I’m asking.”
Your brow furrowed slightly.
“M’dam...”
Adam stopped halfway up the stairs.
“What?”
You breathed against his shoulder.
“M’dam...”
His expression softened before he could stop it.
“You ain't even conscious.”
He kept walking, but slower now, because you had curled closer, arms loosely around his neck, and your hair kept tickling his jaw whenever he moved. He tried to blow it away once, failed, and decided to live with it because moving too much might wake you. By the time he reached the bedroom door, he had developed a deep personal hatred for doorknobs, especially ones that required hands he was currently using to carry his half-conscious girlfriend.
He stared at it.
Then looked down at you.
“You see this? This is what I do for you.”
You slept peacefully.
“Unbelievable.”
He shifted your weight carefully, balancing you against his chest while reaching for the handle with two fingers. It took a few seconds and more concentration than any heavenly warrior should need for a door, but eventually it opened. Adam pushed it wider with his shoulder and stepped inside, making his way through the dark room by memory.
He laid you down like you were something fragile.
The mattress dipped beneath you, and you immediately curled toward the warmth he left behind, your fingers tightening briefly in his shirt before slipping free. Adam straightened slowly, watching you settle into the pillows with a sleepy sigh, the blanket half tangled around your legs, one wing folded awkwardly beneath your shoulder.
He frowned.
“Okay, that looks wrong.”
Domestic care, he quickly discovered, was harder than battle.
He knew how to command armies, how to swing a weapon, how to make an entrance, how to fill a room with noise and confidence and absolute certainty. He did not know how to untangle a sleeping angel’s wing from a blanket without waking her, or how many pillows were too many, or whether you would be annoyed if he left your hair like that until morning. He stood beside the bed for a moment with both hands on his hips, assessing the situation like it was a tactical problem.
“Alright,” he muttered. “We got this.”
He did not have this.
First, he tried to pull the blanket free and accidentally tugged it from under your knee, making you mumble something irritated into the pillow. He froze, waited until you settled again, then tried a different angle, moving slowly this time, easing the fabric loose inch by inch until your legs were covered properly. Then he turned his attention to your wing, sliding one hand beneath the feathers with surprising gentleness, lifting it just enough to let it rest naturally against the bed.
You sighed in your sleep.
Adam’s mouth softened.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m amazing.”
He brushed your hair away from your face next, though that became complicated when a strand stuck to your cheek. He removed it with the concentration of someone handling a very delicate explosive, fingertips barely grazing your skin. You shifted again, leaning into the touch, and Adam’s hand stilled.
For all his noise, for all his arrogance, for all the ways he filled every room until there seemed to be no space left for anyone else, there were moments like this where he looked almost surprised by tenderness, as though it kept sneaking up on him when he wasn't paying attention.
You opened your eyes halfway.
“Adam?”
He leaned down immediately.
“Go back to sleep.”
Your gaze was unfocused, heavy with exhaustion, but you still reached for him.
“You coming?”
He laughed softly.
“Damn right.”
That seemed to satisfy you, because your eyes closed again almost instantly.
Adam stayed there for another second, looking at your hand resting open against the blanket, then shook his head with a quiet smile.
“Bossy even unconscious.”
He moved around the room quickly after that, changing out of his formal clothes with far less care than he had used for you, dropping pieces of clothing wherever they landed and promising himself he would deal with them in the morning, which was a lie and he knew it. He pulled on something comfortable, grabbed a glass of water for your bedside table because you always forgot and always complained about being thirsty later, then switched off the lamp, leaving only the faint glow of Heaven’s night beyond the curtains.
When he slid into bed beside you, he tried to do it carefully.
You found him anyway.
The moment the mattress shifted, you rolled toward him as though pulled by instinct, one arm sliding across his waist, your face tucking against his chest before he had even settled properly. Adam froze again, staring down at you in the dim light while you made a small, content sound and immediately fell deeper asleep.
“Oh, so now I’m the pillow.”
You did not deny it.
He adjusted beneath you, pretending to be inconvenienced while very clearly making himself more comfortable for your sake. One arm wrapped around your back, keeping you close, while his wings unfolded slowly and curved around both of you, soft feathers blocking out the cool air. You sighed against him, the last tension leaving your body now that you were warm, safe, and exactly where you had apparently wanted to be all along.
Adam looked down at you for a long moment.
The day had been loud and bright and full of angels wanting his attention, which he had enjoyed, obviously, because attention was a gift and he was generous enough to accept it. But this, the quiet weight of you against him, the way you trusted him in your sleep, the way your breathing slowly matched his without either of you trying, did something to him that applause never managed.
It made him quiet.
You shifted slightly, cheek pressing more firmly against his chest.
“Had fun today?” he whispered.
A tiny nod, barely there.
“Mhm.”
“Worth being sore tomorrow?”
Another sleepy nod.
“Mhm.”
He smiled.
“You’re ridiculous.”
Your fingers curled weakly in his shirt.
“Love you...”
The words were barely audible, softened by sleep, but Adam heard them perfectly.
His smile faded into something gentler.
Then he snorted, because of course he did.
“Cheater.”
You slept on, completely unaware.
He leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he settled back against the pillows and pulled the blanket a little higher over your shoulder.
“I love you too, sleepyhead.”
Outside, Heaven remained bright even in the quiet hours, pale light resting against the curtains, distant music from the celebration still faint somewhere far away. Inside, there was only warmth, the soft rustle of feathers, your body tucked safely against his, and Adam lying perfectly still because you had fallen asleep on him and he would rather fight another war than risk waking you.
ʜᴇʟʟᴀᴠᴇʀsᴇ (you're tagged in everything Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss)
@fruttiextra @boldlyenchantingfox22 @k3nnytheg00z3
ʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ ʜᴏᴛᴇʟ
𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝑯
@thenasoneshots @sugar-and-spite13 @animalssssss-----love @whiteghostlyclouds @sugarrush-blush @jazztato
𝑨𝒅𝒂𝒎
@hellojenpenworld @alathan13 @l0vesick-girl @heavensaysangel @ominisgauntsgf @kittyfoxarts @0det4ri-f4n
