melatonin.
Amanda Lehan-Canto x Reader Summary: After many years of troubled sleeping, you finally find a solution with Amanda’s help. Word count: 2.5k Song: Milk - Sweet Trip
You’ve had trouble sleeping for as long as you could remember. If you were lucky, most nights would move quickly with you staring up at the ceiling. At worst, it was a long dragging limbo. You had tried everything: overpriced sleeping medicine, meditation, even acupuncture. None of it helped and you were feeling the consequences. That was until Amanda started helping.
It started on an extra busy day at Smosh. You had gotten no sleep the previous nights and dragged yourself out of bed on the verge of tears. Being tired with nothing you could do about it made you feel so helpless. You had tried to put your best foot forward when you got to work. Guzzling coffee, pinching yourself, splashing water on your face, it barely did anything but help you survive until lunch time.
You weren’t an important member of crew, so no one noticed when you slunk off to your car. You lowered your sun visor in hopes to give you some shade and tilted your chair back. You draped your jacket over you like a blanket and jammed your eyes shut. Just a moment, just one single moment of sleep and you can make it through the day.
knock-knock
You opened your eyes with great effort to see Amanda bent beside your window. You roll it down and smile self-deprecatingly at her. You didn’t know her well. Your job didn’t require you to be in direct contact with her. But whenever you could chat with her, you really enjoyed her company. Now, though, you couldn't say you were happy to see her.
"Sorry, just trying to get some sleep," you said, hoarsely.
"I’m sorry to bother you. I was grabbing something from my car,” She pointed behind her to show the two of you were parked beside each other, “I just–why don’t you sleep on one of the couch’s inside."
“No,no," you were too proud to let the people you worked with see you nap on the clock.
Smosh had been a very welcoming job for you compared to the other nightmares you worked before it, but you still didn’t feel comfortable enough. Even Amanda seeing you made you deeply embarrassed, and you had always felt a comfort around her.
"You can say you feel sick and go home and rest," she offered.
"This is every day for me, Amanda," you chuckled, "but thank you, really.”
"Every day?" she reached through the window and patted your shoulder gently. Your eyelids grew slightly heavy at her touch, "that’s not good. You know, I have a tea recipe that will knock you out in no time.”
"I’ve tried tea, trust me. What is it, 'Sleepy Time'?"
‘Well this tea is a good three-quarters liquor.’
You snorted.
"Will you try it for me?"
You couldn’t stand to disappoint her, especially when the way to make her happiest was to let her help you.
Amanda pulled her long coat over her shoulders and buttoned it. She tucked her scarf into it and pulled her hair out from within its collar. She was talking about something you found hard to follow. Your head was growing cloudy with sleep. The two of you had fallen into this routine in the past few months. After she had helped you the first time, you had been mortified to stand at her doorstep asking for help again, but she had ushered you inside without a word. Now, the relief you felt far outweighed the shot to your pride that asking for help was.
If all went well, you would end the night passed out on her couch, one arm hanging over it, forgotten in your sleep spell.
It worked like hypnosis. The two of you followed an exact routine, each act was the swing of a pocket watch. Sometimes, by the first swing, sleep had already consumed you. Amanda would turn on one of her favorite movies—some times a pleasant and fantastical film about witches, other times a gripping thriller of a woman getting revenge. She would sit beside you on her decadent corduroy couch and wrap a heavy quilt blanket over your relaxed form. You’d relax on her side and she’d run her hands through your hair. Slowly and quietly, she would speak through the movie, talking about her thoughts on it, or even just about her day. The steady rise and fall of her body against yours was all you needed some nights. Before this, when you were on your own, you had tried all kinds of rain sounds and whale noises, none of which worked. But Amanda’s voice sent calm waves through your mind. You would never forget the time you drooled a bit on her shoulder and horridly awoke to wipe it off. She had laughed so suddenly she threw her head back and pulled you in closer, reassuring you it was fine.
Tonight, by the end of the movie, you weren’t any closer to falling asleep. Watching Double Jeopardy, a movie in which a woman kills her husband twice, you were still wide awake by the end of it. Amanda had told you she expected you would be, she just couldn’t help showing you one of her favorite movies.
“We could just hang out during the day, too, you know?” you joked as your stretched during the credits. If anything, you felt more awake.
“I don’t want you to get sick of me,” Amanda replied while she rubbed circles on your back.
“That’ll never happen, trust me. Plan B?”
If the movie didn’t work, the second pocket watch swing was a walk. You watched Amanda check her reflection in her mirror beside her front door. She turned back to you to check if you were ready to go. You had learned that it was best to wear you pajamas under you coat to achieve maximum sleep efficiency (which is a term Amanda joked you should get trademarked) so that all you had to do was pull off your boots, throw off your coat, and collapse on the couch if sleep came to you.
Once, tiredness had overtaken you so suddenly in the middle of the walk that you asked Amanda to leave you on one of the park benches along your path for a while. She obviously said no, but offered to carry you back to her home. You assumed she was joking and laughed it off. Luckily, the mental image of Amanda carrying you in her arms woke you right up.
You had grown accustomed to the path around Amanda’s house from the walks prior, but still enjoyed the tour she gave you. Because of the late hour, she kept her voice quiet. Her low whisper helped ferry you to sleep, but you also loved the passion in her voice as she talked about her little neighborhood with pride. After ten minutes, Amanda stopped walking to look out at the pond that shouldered the path from below a small hill. Her face turned to surprise, and she waved over to you. When you followed her gaze, you gasped quietly.
“I think we interrupted a duck HOA meeting,” you said, watching the oddly busy pond given how late it was.
“Ah, or a secret duck rendezvous,” Amanda offered.
“Or a duckling soccer game. Look at all the babies!”
Ducks bobbed about the pond, many accompanied by their fuzzy little ducklings trying to keep up behind them. They swirled in slow patterns, ruffling their wings and dipping their heads in the water.
“Maybe if we’re quiet we can see them closer,” you whispered.
“Be careful there’s—”
You made a move off the trail. Amanda tried to pull you back but it was too late, you splashed into a deep mud puddle that was invisible in the darkness. You winced, pulling your shoe out slowly. You turned to check Amanda and was thankful to see she hadn’t been caught in the crossfire before looking down and seeing the damage on your clothes. Both of the legs of your pajama paints were splattered by polka dots of mud. You felt the cold wet seep into your socks and shook your feet in a futile attempts to shake the chill that had soaked into you.
“Let’s go get you cleaned up,” Amanda said while trying and failing to hide a laugh.
“The worst part is,” you groaned as the two of you made your way back to Amanda’s house, the squelching of your shoes obnoxiously loud in the quiet night, “I’m wide awake again.”
“We should add a hot shower to the sleeping regimen,” your voice was muffled as you dried your hair clumsily with a towel.
“I would have ran you a nice bath, but you had some serious scrubbing you needed to do,” Amanda was busying herself in her kitchen pulling two glasses from her cabinet.
You could only imagine the luxurious bath Amanda was sure to arrange. Flower petals and milky bubble bath, it would be heaven. Your eyes drifted shut at the thought. The shower you had was wonderful, too. It felt so strange to be in such an intimate place of another person, using her fragrant body wash and soft washcloths.
You always brought your own pajamas to Amanda’s house. It was usually a pair of pajama pants with some cartoon animal on them you had found on sale and the same t-shirt with the logo of a baseball team on it you had never even seen play (but man, was it soft). After the mud disaster, Amanda had gone into her bedroom and picked out a pajama set she thought would fit you best. The set was so delicate, with little buttons on the shirt and sewn cuffs on the sleeves and pant legs. Amanda had put them in her dryer to warm them up while you showered and she slipped in the bathroom to place them folded by the sink. Putting them on felt like an embrace. You weren’t sure you could sleep in anything less, now.
You sat in one of Amanda’s dining chairs and folded the wet towel behind you. For better or worse, you were still awake. It was time for the third pocket watch swing.
Amanda sat down a glass in front of you.
“Way less alcohol in this one than usual. I’m trying something new.”
“I’m sure my liver is thankful,” you lifted your glass to get a better look.
Your nightcap at Amanda’s house was usually a swig of something strong. It did the job as the final one-two punch to put you asleep. This, though, looked much different. The color was still dark, but more berry-like in hue. There was a squeezed lemon slice and a stout stick of cinnamon floating in it. As you swirled the glass, you saw what looked like spice along the bottom.
“It’s my spin on a Hot Toddy,” Amanda sat in the chair in front of you and took a slow, cautious sip. Her mouth bloomed into a satisfied smile, “Not too bad.”
“You could call it a ‘Hot Mandy’”, you joked and then immediately wanted to fall over and die. Amanda laughed and you hid your blushed face by taking a big drink from your glass.
It was delicious. It had a fruity flavor, but herbs and spices whirled through it. Underneath it all was the fierce burn of whiskey calmed by tongue-coating honey. More than anything, it was warm. Your shoulders sagged and your blinks slowed until your eyes were closed.
Despite the calm sensation it had draped over you, the light bulb of your brain was still on. You felt relaxed, but not ready to sleep. You opened your eyes to see Amanda still sitting in front of you, her head rested on her hand, one leg draped over the other. She was watching you curiously.
“What do you think?”
“Very good, but I think I need one last push,” you yawned, “to really fall asleep. Time for plan—what are we on—D? What more could we possibly do.”
“Funny you say that, I think I have one last idea.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. One that I’ve had since the beginning.”
You watched Amanda rise from her chair. She held out her hand to you and you accepted.
“I think the reason you aren’t sleeping,” Amanda said in a low voice, “is because you’re trying to do it on that couch. Maybe,” she led you by the hand into her bedroom, “you need somewhere nicer.”
“I couldn’t take your bed from you, Amanda,” you turned to her, “I could never do that.”
“Who says I’ll be going anywhere else,” she ran her hand along your shoulder.
“Well,” you smiled, “In that case...”
That night, instead of sleeping on the couch, Amanda joined you under the smooth covers of her bed and wrapped you in her arms. She enveloped you in every way. Her body was so warm and the the gentle air of her breaths on the shell of your ear were soft as moonlight. It worked instantly. Your brain had been pushing sleep away and Amanda let it in for you. She was a guide, deciding what was best for your mind.
As the night went on and you two entered into the pillowy rhythm of sleep and shifted around, you found you slept just as well with her in your arms as you had with her around you. Holding someone so precious to you, not only because of the help she so happily gave, but for how much tenderness you truly did hold for her.
I tried to write something 2k words or less, which is agony for someone like me: a chronic rambler.
dividers: X X
