#so incredibly self indulgent

[sabellart]

it had to be done.

[stratossphere]

love in closeness | v.v

ville can be clingy when he wants to be.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, a lot of mentions of sex/suggestive content, everyone is drinking

word count: 6.6k

tags: @asskickedbygirl @lieutenant-cinnamon-roll @kissofdawn666 @brandons-wife @valos-venus-doom

— —

"I'm bringing an amp to your house. For you to keep there." That sentence, which your boyfriend had uttered to you the morning before he was due to arrive at your apartment for the next two weeks, was playing in your head as you got a text alerting you that he and Bam were close by. That, in turn, meant that Ville was undoubtedly due to show up with a bunch of junk in tow, all of which he would end up leaving when he eventually had to fly back home. If he wasn't who he was…

Despite the promise of your apartment ending up trashed by the same time tomorrow, you were almost bouncing on your feet as you eagerly awaited Bam and Ville's arrival. They were both coming from Helsinki together, so it was essentially a homecoming for the both of them.

However, you immediately started to regret being excited when you suddenly heard the lock slide out of place on your front door.

"This place is a fucking dump! Next time I'm staying in a goddamn hotel!" Bam was inside the second the door was open, and you frowned when Ville didn't appear behind him. Of course he was already complaining with his first breath of air in your apartment, and you threw a hand in the air.

"What's your problem? And where's Ville?" You sighed, already seeing how this day was going to go based on Bam's clear hyperactive bad mood. He cast a venomous look out towards the hall.

"Your fucking elevator is broken. Again. And he's bringing the amp and shit up." He explained like it was obvious. You rolled your eyes, because of course he was complaining about having to walk up two flights of stairs, before sliding out of your seat.

"You just left him to grab everything by himself, asshole?" Bam really was something special. He held up his singular backpack like that was any sort of explanation for his shortcomings, and you just sighed again before stepping around him and out into the hall.

You almost laughed when you realized you could hear the very audible sound of your boyfriend grumbling to himself in the stairwell, and you started your way down to help him with quick feet.

"You better be coming down to grab your shit, you prissy little bitch." Clearly he thought you were Bam, because there was no way in hell he would've ever found the audacity to say something like that to you.

"What, not enough muscle to carry it yourself, pussy?" You teased, still unable to see him as you talked over the sound of muffled thudding that told you Bam had truly abandoned all of his stuff in Ville's care to dash up the stairs just to unlock your door with Ville's key. Ville chuckled at your words, the thudding coming to a stop.

"Sorry, love. Thought you were that little fuckhead that told me he had to take a piss so that he didn't have to carry anything." Ville's tone as he apologized was much softer at hearing your voice, and just as you turned the corner and almost ran directly into him, your response fell dead on your lips as you caught a full look at him.

Ville Valo, infamous for his long, dark brown locks, had cut his hair. Right up to his ears. After having long hair throughout the extent of almost your entire relationship. Your jaw dropped, and he gave you a look like he had no idea why you seemed so shocked.

"Thought I would've gotten a little bit more of an enthusiastic welcome." He grumbled in the face of your silence, unable to do anything but stand there considering he had a backpack and a guitar case on his back, his suitcase with the amp balanced on top in one hand, and Bam's suitcase in the other hand. "What the hell are you staring at?"

"You cut your hair!" You finally found it in you to gasp, hand coming up to brush your fingers through the freshly-chopped strands where they went short at the nape of his neck where they used to extend past his shoulders. Obviously he still looked deliciously fucking handsome (even more so since not seeing him for the past three weeks), but you were in true shock.

"Yes. Thought if I told you about it on the phone you'd tell me not to." He said, as if his plan was the clearest thing in the world. "Now take some of this shit before I break my goddamn back."

Your jaw did not move from its dropped position even as the two of you made it up to the apartment where your front door was open, and you went right back into being in awe when you were able to drop all of the stuff in your hands and fully stare at a now-short-haired Ville.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me." That went for Bam too, considering he had obviously known about it and had yet said nothing to warn you.

"It's just a haircut." Ville said irritably as he finally emptied all of the stuff out of his hands as well, immediately going for you despite his tone and enveloping you in a hug so tight that it pulled just a bit of a whine out of you. You leaned back to give him a kiss, inhaling his scent for the first time in weeks as you smiled against his lips.

"Yeah, he got that done in the airport while we were waiting for our plane. The barber looked like someone you would see in a Russian torture film." Bam snickered, revealing Ville's clear lack of care over what the result of his new look was going to be. As he broke your kiss, Ville rolled his eyes.

"Does it look like it was done by a Russian torture actor?" He asked dryly, running his fingers through said hair and scratching at his scalp slightly just as your fingers came up to do the same.

"No. It looks really fucking good." You reassured as you eyed him pointedly, only getting about two seconds of being able to feel his new haircut before he was pulling your hand away from his head.

"Yeah. You look like Antonio Banderas." Bam added after you, already starting to rifle through the bag of food that had been sticking out of his backpack as he spoke. Ville smirked at that, and you gave Bam an unimpressed look at his stroking of Ville's ego.

"Where did you get that?" You narrowed your eyes at the amp that was now sitting in the middle of the floor with animosity, knowing that there was a good chance it was only going to be used when you least wanted it to.

"The airport." Ville looked more than proud of himself as he revealed his answer. Sometimes, when actually in the airport, you wondered if anyone actually fell for the marketing schemes of overpriced garbage that no one would ever want to buy in an airport...and then you remembered that Ville fell for all of it. "You can get anything your heart desires in those places. I thought you would've known that."

"Yeah, but I'm not just throwing out cash for a bunch of junk I see in store windows." That was a little bit of a pointed statement on your part, but you couldn't help yourself. You were fine with Ville being a self-proclaimed 'collector', as long as it wasn't your house he was collecting in. "Speaking of, what other junk did you get at the airport?"

"About...fifteen different sandwiches." Ville said, motioning to where Bam was still digging through his stuff. When you looked to both of the newcomers for an explanation, you just got defensive looks in response.

"You never have any food! I was hungry!" Bam explained, jabbing an insulting finger in the general direction of your fridge. You scoffed.

"You bought a bunch of sandwiches for the vegetarian? Seriously?" Your fridge was, in fact, empty, but you had planned on taking everyone out to bring back food, so you weren't all that worried about it. However, apparently Bam was a couple steps ahead of you.

"I’m gonna go get takeout while you...have fun with that." Bam motioned to the amp, which Ville had abandoned you in favor of dropping right down on the floor in front of and beginning to fuck with it after he had plugged it in with his guitar case next to him. You shot him a death stare.

"Great. I assume you'll immediately want my car, then." Lending out your car when Bam and Ville had no doubt been served full of liquor on their flight didn't exactly appeal to you, but it was your only chance to have some alone time with Ville, so you were making do. Bam grinned, already grabbing your keys off the counter.

"I’ll be gone for like, ten minutes tops so don't start going at it right in the middle of the floor." He warned, motioning to exactly where Ville was currently sitting. You snickered while Ville just flipped him off, and then Bam was heading towards the door to be the nice one (for once) and retrieve dinner. He said nothing else as he carted off and out the door, slamming it way too hard on the way out before his footsteps faded down the hall. You then turned to your preoccupied boyfriend.

"Wanna start going at it right in the middle of the floor?" You joked as you made your way closer to him, still half-staring at how short his hair was against the back of his neck where he was turned away from you.

"Hold on. In the middle of something." He muttered, and you could see that he was making sure he had all the plugs for the amp. You sighed, rubbing a hand down his shoulder from behind him.

"Will that explode and be gone in the time it takes to make out with me?" You asked dryly, teasing his obsession with instruments as he finally turned to look at you with an unimpressed face.

"I suppose not." And then, thankfully, he was getting back up, making sure to rise to his full height directly in your face just to be a little shit. "Just can't keep away from me, eh?"

"Not when you've been gone for three weeks." You shot right over his teasing, throwing your arms back around his waist and tilting your chin up to him with a pout that told him exactly what you wanted. He hummed at your words, reaching up a hand to cup your cheek before he was giving you another kiss, this one longer and less appropriate than the one he had given you in front of an audience. Once again, you couldn't help but smile against his lips, so elated to have him back that it was preventing you from fully kissing him the right way. "Mm! I'm just so glad you're home."

"Me fucking too." He sighed as he broke away. It sent a burst of warmth through you that he agreed so smoothly with your calling your place his home, and you couldn't help but hold his face in your hands and just beam at him like an idiot.

"I can't believe you cut your hair." Okay. Maybe you sounded a little bit like a broken record. But to give yourself some credit, he'd just gone and done it without telling you, and it had been getting long. When you saw him start to look exasperated again, you saved yourself. "What am I supposed to pull on now?"

"For fuck's sake, woman. I'm not bald." You clearly didn't save yourself enough, however, because his groan was more than dramatic as he lolled his head in your hands. "I even asked the man to wash my hair, just for you."

"Thank you." You cooed, pushing your fingers through his hair again just to feel the completely clean strands. When his eyes closed slightly at the feeling, you leaned up to press a couple kisses to his cheek. "I love you and I missed you, grouch."

"God, I've never been so glad to see your face. Bam was driving me up a fucking wall this trip." Ville groaned, hugging you again and staying there as he dipped his head to rest on your shoulder. You snickered, because who knew what kind of shit they'd been getting into while they'd been together.

"What, did he try sneaking into your bed or something?" As much of a jab at him as that was, it could've very well been the correct answer. Bam had a habit of getting 'lonely' when he was drunk. It was usually how your bed ended up with three people in it instead of two like it was supposed to.

Ville just shushed you in response, which about gave you your answer, before breaking away and leaning back slightly to inspect you.

“Almost forgot what you looked like.” He joked, reaching out a hand to pull the collar of your shirt down to expose your cleavage with a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes, brushing his hand away and then doing a little shirt pulling of your own (which was lifting the hem of his so that you could look at his tattoo). And he just stood there and let you, too.

After not seeing your favorite of his tattoos for so long, you were having a hard time pulling your eyes back to his face.

"I don't know how the hell you got this done so young." As you spoke, you absentmindedly brushed a finger to drag across the design on his lower stomach. He then quickly pulled your hand away, giving you a warning look.

"Because I hoped that women would do things like that." He concluded, grabbing your other hand when you tried to do it again and then effectively holding you hostage in his strong grip. "I didn't ever picture I'd end up with a woman with your skill in invading my space, though."

"Aw, that's so sweet." You said sourly, shooting him a look as you wriggled out of his grasp and sighed while looking at all of the bags they had carted up into your not-very-big apartment. "You know, you don't have to move your entire apartment along with you every time you come."

"What fun would that be? I like having everything." Ville said as he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your hips and setting his chin on your shoulder. "You know what else I like having?"

"What?" Judging by the tone of his voice and his word choice, you had a pretty good idea of where he was going with this conversation, and you could feel yourself starting to smile.

"My cock inside of you." He finished off with exactly what you expected him to say, fingers of his right hand skating your inner thighs as he basically draped himself against your back. You sighed in contempt, because you knew there was no way you had enough time to even get started.

"Don't tease me. Bam always comes back right when you're putting it in." You complained, holding his hand away so that he couldn't get you any more riled up than he already had. He chuckled lowly.

"I don't care. I'll wait until he’s back and still put it in." What a well-behaved, wholesome thing for him to say.

This was going to be an interesting first night together.

—

Using the word 'together' for you and Ville's first night back together had been a hyperbole. Sure, you were in fact together, but so were the two of you and Bam. Which meant that you'd all been sitting around your living room drinking yourselves to shit while you all talked about stupid garbage for the past almost six hours.

"So, you would never let me use your bed for a hookup? Dude. That's so fucked." On the topic of how far the ‘bro code’ extended, Bam was dissing you for saying that you would never let him anywhere near your bed with anything less than all of his clothes on. "You have no idea what bro code even means."

"I don't want to go back to my bed the next night and roll into a giant crusty spot!" Plus, who the hell just voluntarily let people fuck in their bed? Ville slurred out a chuckle from where he was laying with his head on your thigh where your legs were crossed on the floor, opening his eyes that had closed while you absentmindedly played with strands of his hair.

"You're fine with crusty spots when they're mine." He pointed out unhelpfully, pulling raucous laughter out of Bam and himself while you just tried to hold a glare while also starting to laugh.

"Obviously you don't count, stupid." Plus, it wasn't like you had a choice considering Ville had some of the worst blowing-a-load aim you had ever seen.

"You should be more of a bro, Y/n. You two have used my bed to fuck before." Bam complained, jabbing a finger at you as he reminded you of a few of the times you and Ville had given him a little payback for copious amounts of immature behavior. You snickered as he shot you a dirty look, even though it had been a while since that had even happened.

"Yeah, but we didn't ask you. We just did it. You would've said no." Like a sensible fucking person. "Tell you what. If you can go an entire week without ever pulling stupid pranks on us, then you and Jenn can fuck yourselves silly in my bed. I'll even let you use my camcorder to film it."

"You'll have to buy new tape. That one's already really full." Ville really needed to work on his ability to keep things to himself once tequila entered the equation. Bam's face immediately screwed up.

"You two make sextapes?" He sounded appalled by the idea, and you silently wondered if he ever really paid any attention when you and Ville were around each other. Sometimes you passed the tapes you already had back and forth after you'd been away from each other or before you left each other right in front of him, for fuck's sake.

"Oh yeah. Long ones." Once again, Ville just kept talking. You paused your hand in his hair, moving your hand instead to cover his mouth so that he'd stop spilling your sexual escapades to the person who would take it as far as he possibly could just for the fun of it.

"We're adults, Bam. And we live in different places." You reminded him dryly. Sextapes guaranteed that Ville was looking at naked videos of you instead of shitty porn magazines that had been under his bed for the last ten years, so you counted it as a win.

"Dude, did you not see what happened to Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson?" Bam was clearly drunk enough to where he cared about your well-being, because he sounded completely serious. "You guys are like, the fucking same."

"Except ours are better. And there's a lot of them." Ville pulled your hand away from his mouth long enough to get that out, laughing like an idiot as Bam made a disgusted sound. You tried to cover his mouth again, also laughing, but failed as he held your fingers away in a tight grip. "Let's put one on and find out."

"Ville. Shut up." You groaned, wrestling with his hands as he continued to snicker at his grossing out everyone else in the room. "If anyone gets to watch our sextape, it'll be fair and square when it gets stolen and leaked to the public."

"You know, you two don't have to tell me everything. You can keep some things to yourself." Bam grumbled, getting up to get himself another drink after downing what was left in his glass. You scoffed as he walked past you.

"That wasn't even oversharing! Oversharing would've been telling you what's on the tapes." That time you really did hold your hand over Ville's mouth, because you knew he would definitely spill everything if you gave him the chance.

As Bam fucked around in the kitchen, Ville finally got your hand off of his mouth, an irritated look starting to form on his face as he shoved your hand away forcibly before turning on his side so that his face was pressed into both your leg and your side where you were still leaned over.

"Fucking hell." He muttered against your shirt, stretching out his arm to wrap around your hips as he rolled his body to do so. You laughed, because tequila always made him cuddly, before running your fingers through his hair again.

"What's wrong?" You asked softly, watching his legs splay out even further on the floor in front of you as he got comfortable on the hardwood. He hummed, rubbing your back absentmindedly with his fingers just brushing against the waistband of your jeans.

"I just fuckin' missed you so much." As well as turning into the king of oversharing when he drank tequila, he also got really love-drunk (no pun intended). Meaning you were about to be consistently told how much he liked you over and over again for the next couple hours or so. "You smell so good."

"Maybe you shouldn't have another drink." There was a slight chance it would get aggressive enough to where he'd cry, and you were pretty sure he didn't want that in front of Bam. He scoffed like that was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard, not moving his head from where it was buried but still raising a hand in the air and waving it.

"Another, bartender!" He called loudly enough to where it penetrated the air despite his face in your shirt, making you roll your eyes and in turn drawing Bam's attention towards the two of you.

"Hell no. Get your own." He said stubbornly as he finished loading up his 'mixed' drink with almost all tequila, leaving the bottle open right where it was on the counter as he came back towards you. He then snickered as he looked at Ville's position in your lap. "Ville, dude, you are so fucking pussy-whipped."

You watched as he dropped back down onto the couch and promptly spilled a little bit of his drink, earning himself a death stare from you. Ultimately, he was the one who had to sleep on it, but he could never have just a little consideration for your stuff. Ville finally sat up then, a grin on his face despite the insult.

"I'm the only one in this room getting pussy good enough to be whipped by." He announced loudly as he messily used your shoulder as leverage to pull himself up to standing, sounding more than proud of himself as he spoke. You shot him a dirty look as he gazed down at you without a single care in the world.

"Hey. I'm right here." You complained, elbowing his leg before standing up after him because you really didn't trust him to make smart decisions on his own in the kitchen. It was a compliment, sure, but not one appropriate for your present company.

"Dude. I literally have a girlfriend." Bam added, throwing a hand in the air like he felt left out for not being 'pussy-whipped'. Ville made a skeptical face.

"Yeah, but all you guys do is fight and hold out on each other. Can't really count that as good pussy. Or dick, for that matter." Ville essentially telling Bam that he was giving his girlfriend shitty dick made you laugh, and Bam just gave you both a betrayed look as he essentially pouted where he was sitting.

"Yep. I win." Ville concluded, holding a hand up for a high-five as you joined him in the kitchen. You refrained from doing so, ignoring his scoff of protest as you stepped around him to get the mixer juice you were using out of the fridge.

"Drink at least a little juice with that." You warned as you watched Ville sloppily fill his cup back up with tequila, one of your arms circling around his waist as you leaned into his side. He let out a disgruntled huff but took the orange juice from you, adding about a splash to his tequila to satisfy your request.

"American juice is fucking disgusting. Yankees ruin everything." Ville grumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before pulling out of your grasp despite the fact that he had just called you a Yankee.

"Hey. Don't be like that." Just because he couldn't get his 'natural alpine blueberry juice' or whatever in America didn't mean he had to go dissing everything he laid his eyes on in your house. "You're such a grouch."

"No I'm not. I love you." Suddenly Ville was pouting, and then he dipped down to press kisses to your cheek, abandoning his glass on the counter in favor of inhaling you in your personal space. You laughed and let him do so, arms around his waist as he held your face in both hands and kissed you over and over again.

"Ah! Stop! Your breath is horrible." You complained after his kisses transformed into being basically open-mouthed, trying to hold his head away while you continued to laugh at the same time. He broke away with an outraged look on his face.

"Did you just say my breath stinks?" He was about as self aware as a bird in a room made of glass. Tequila, a ton of Japanese takeout, an entire bag of chips, and cigarettes didn't exactly create a melting pot of smells that rivaled roses. You snickered and nodded, leaning up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek instead.

"I still love you though." You reassured, getting out of his grasp so that you could actually make the drink that you'd come into the kitchen for in the first place. He just scoffed before smacking your ass what felt like as hard as he could, squeezing, and then leaving the kitchen.

What a sweetheart.

When you came back to the living room area conversation, which you had been mostly ignoring due to the fact that Ville had no doubt indulged in hearing about Bam’s relationship, they were talking. And, low and behold:

"—obviously there's criteria. You can't just say you're good because she gives it whenever you cry for it." Ville was saying from where he had gone right back to laying on the floor as if he was waiting for you to come back so that you could sit where you had been before.

"I don't cry for it! If anyone cries for it, it's probably you, stupid." Bam defended himself hotly, jabbing a finger at Ville and leaning back further into his seat on the couch. You snorted at that, and Ville just shook his head with a huge grin on his face.

"If you cry for your mama, she'll give you her tit." He said in a very philosophical tone, looking up to you as you made it to where you were going to sit down next to him with nothing but a pleased look on his face. You wrinkled your nose, because that was a terrible analogy, and Bam just groaned.

"Dude. That is so gross." He complained, shaking his head and running a hand over his face before then throwing it in the air. "What's your criteria, then?"

"First off, your lovely significant other should actually want to spend time with you." Ville said pointedly, motioning around the room to the lack of Bam’s girlfriend that was present with all of you. She refused to come anywhere with Bam more often than not (mostly because they had a habit of getting in huge arguments when they traveled together), so Bam was always the solo flier.

"We spend time together. When none of you fuckers are around." Bam defended himself, staring at both you and Ville with nothing but animosity in his eyes as Ville situated his head in your lap where you were sitting criss-cross as he rolled his eyes.

"Doing what? Fighting about your bitchy attitudes?" He muttered, furthering everyone but Bam's point. You laughed at that, and Bam just pouted more as he took a long sip of his drink.

"Hm. Fighting about bitchy attitudes. Reminds me of someone." He was death staring your side of the living room, and you knew he was referring to a fight you'd had at his house the month before when the two of you had been visiting. You gave him a mockingly sour look in return.

"Ha ha, dickhead." Clearly you'd gotten over that by now, considering Ville had manually moved your palm to rest against the side of his face so that you could brush your thumb back and forth across his cheek. "That was one time. You and Jenn fight like that all the time."

"Whatever you s—"

"Second, we have to have all overheard something shockingly vile of the sexual nature out of the both of you." Ville talked right over Bam's being a douche, holding up a second finger as he spoke. "And I've heard nothing but you specifically."

"And that doesn't count." You added, because you'd heard more than enough of what Bam and Jenn got up to once they were anywhere near each other; privacy available or not. If Ville had ever been as loud as Bam when you were as close to people as Jenn and Bam sometimes were, you would've kicked his ass.

"Ugh. That's not fair. What are you like, standing outside the door listening in?" Bam whined, throwing a hand in the air as he spoke. That wasn't a very based accusation, considering the amount of times Bam had hid outside your door and decided to burst in at unsavory moments just to prank you and Ville.

"You never know. I could start." Ville teased, wiggling his eyebrows at your pouting friend before he lifted his head just enough to where he could take a long sip of his tequila with minimal spilling. It being ‘minimal’ because a small stream started to roll sideways down his cheek, and you only caught it just in time before it ran right onto your crotch. "Alright, I'll give you an easier one. Has she ever asked you for a third?"

Bam hesitated a little bit at that, which would've about given Ville his answer had he been sober enough to pay attention to body language cues. You pursed your lips to hide a smile, because you were well aware of the fact that Bam had asked Jenn for a third, instead answering for him to save his ass from what would've been a whole show of tequila-induced, cackling-filled ridiculing from Ville had he found out the truth.

"She told me once that she had a huge crush on Ryan at the start of their relationship." That was true, and also common knowledge amongst everyone in the room besides Ville, so it was safe. Bam visibly relaxed as Ville started hyperventilating-laughing.

"Perfect! Maybe he's her type." He was clearly trying to start shit, because poking at Bam and Jenn's relationship in any way that Bam didn't start himself was basically a guarantee for a fight. Thankfully, Bam seemed drunk enough beyond caring. Ville was already talking again anyway, and he was looking right up at you. "When did she tell you that? When you were doing lady things together?”

Sometimes, you were deeply reminded of why men were so clearly the inferior species. You frowned.

“What does ‘lady things’ even mean?” You asked dryly, not sure if you even wanted to hear the answer to that. Bam was snickering, and Ville just looked glad that you’d asked.

"I don't know. Whatever women do. Get nails done, drink martinis, have pillow fights..." He trailed off with a simple shrug of a single shoulder, sounding pretty confident with his answer. That pulled a full laugh out of Bam, and you rolled your eyes.

"I don't do any of that." Well, sometimes you did have pillow fights, but that was only when Ville decided it would be funny to absolutely obliterate your head with a pillow out of nowhere. When Ville held up your hand where you had long, dark red nails as evidence for his first answer, you shook your head. "I did those myself. You were there."

"No. What girls do is order gross, fruity mixed drinks and then talk about sex with their friends for like, two hours straight." Bam filled Ville in as soon as he stopped laughing. Ville’s eyes lit up at that information.

"Oh! Why don't we ever do that?" He sounded more than excited by the idea, and you snickered because you knew that if he had been sober, he would’ve never participated in anything close to that.

“We are not doing that. Reign it in.” You sighed, trying not to laugh so that you sounded serious enough to keep him from opening the floodgates of information that should’ve definitely stayed between the two of you.

"Tequila makes you way too comfortable, man." Bam agreed, giving Ville an unnerved look at his suggestion. Ville scoffed in response, waving him off irritatedly as he turned on his side so that his face was half in your crotch and half on your leg.

"You're all fucking downers. No one knows how to have fun in America."

—

It only took about another hour of Ville getting progressively more and more loose-lipped before you decided that it was going to have to be bedtime, which ended up being almost impossible to maneuver with Ville protesting and Bam requesting help getting set up for bed. When you finally got Bam set up on the couch with what felt like a million blankets, you returned to your room hoping that Ville had just passed out, only to find that that was absolutely not the case.

"You took for-fucking-ever." He whined sleepily from where he'd thankfully crawled into bed, rolling over to where you could see that he was sans-shirt and beckoning you lazily. "It's cold."

"I wish I could film you when you're like this and then show it to you in the morning." You teased as you turned off the light, heading towards the bed and shedding your pants on the way.

"I'm fine." Ville scoffed, voice a little quieter now that the room was dark. You could still see him due to the streetlights and neon signs that shined directly into your bedroom window considering people had no idea what a nighttime brightness level should be, and he was watching you intently as you crawled into bed after him.

"Fine as hell." You confirmed with a cheesy grin on your face, barely even touching down onto the mattress before he was rolling into your side of the bed and leeching himself onto you as you pushed your arm to rest underneath his head. You pressed a kiss to his cheek once you were comfortable next to him. "Do you want anything before I go to sleep?"

"I want you." He mumbled, his lips falling against your cheek as he dropped his face to rest against yours. You could feel his soft breath on your skin, and you continued to smile as both of his arms wrapped tightly around you. "Hold me."

Maybe you were a little biased when you said that tequila-drunk was your favorite version of drunk Ville.

"I am. I'm right here." You reached your hand to card gently through his hair, the feeling of his much shorter strands still a little foreign to you despite having had your hand on his head basically all night.

"Tighter." Despite that he wanted to deny that he was anything but fine, if sober Ville could hear how high of a whine he was currently speaking to me in, he would've been beyond annoyed. You breathed out a silent laugh but threw your free arm around his side, your nails scratching gently against his back as you got comfortable.

He seemed satisfied with your level of closeness then, and you felt him deep-exhale against your face before he completely stopped moving and settled in your arms with his eyes finally closed.

For about 30 seconds.

Just as you were beginning to feel alcohol-induced unconsciousness creeping up on you, Ville suddenly reanimated, pulling out of your grasp slightly and turning before he sat up on one elbow.

"I have something for you." He announced, talking completely over your exasperated sigh at how hard it was to put him to bed when he had even an ounce of energy still in his system at the end of the night.

"Honey, just stay in bed. You can give it to me tomorrow." You reasoned tiredly, reaching a hand up to gently cup his face before you let it fall softly to his chest. He shook his head.

"No. I have it." And then, in confusion, you watched as he pulled both hands away from you and before beginning to focus on his fingers. "Give me your hand."

You weren't sure if you liked the idea of giving him your hand, but you did so, setting your hand palm-up in his lap. You then realized that he was taking one of his rings off, and you became even more confused.

And then he was taking your hand gently by the wrist, holding it up so that he could see clearly, and slipping his pinky ring that matched a set of ten onto your left hand ring finger. Funnily enough, it fit perfectly, and he looked extremely proud of the fact. You stared at your hand for a second.

"Are you..." You weren't sure, but there was a very good chance that a love-drunk, tired Ville would propose to you off of enough tequila. He shook his head gently.

"Not a proposal. I just want you to have it because I love you." For how drunk he was, his voice came out completely calm and collected, his hand still holding your wrist as his thumb brushed across your palm.

"Oh my god, you are such a fucking sweetheart. I love you too." You were grinning like an idiot again despite your attempts to remain as calm as he was, and you immediately reached up to hold the back of his head at the same time he dipped down so that you could kiss him. As soon as your lips were on his he was leeching right back into your touch, and he kissed back lazily as he shrouded himself in your arms. When you broke away for air, you pressed an extra kiss to his temple. "I'm glad you came home, love."

"I never want to be away from you again." Ville mumbled almost inaudibly as he buried his face in your shoulder, basically bear-hugging you as you rubbed his back gently. "Hold me forever."

Like you said; such a sweetheart. You did exactly that, holding him and dragging your nails softly up and down his back until you heard him starting to snore against your neck as his grip around you gently started to loosen. You were finally able to fall asleep once he was no longer basically squeezing you to death as you inhaled the gentle hint of his cologne that still stuck to him with the absence of his shirt.

God, life could not get any fucking better when it was like this.

[star-the-gremlin]

I'm cringe but I'm free!

[gert-the-disaster]

clone wars bird au that popped into me head during math class 😀👍

obi wan, satine, and a random clone

grievous and a battle droid

anakin and ahsoka

cool bonus characters under cut that im also proud of!

nala se and omega

barriss offee (i have no idea why i made her a cockatiel)

and finally, my wife governor pryce!

[soonyoungs]

[7:37 pm] - gyu

“so pretty,” it’s barely above a whisper, you hardly even catch it. you stop your movements to turn your head from your vanity mirror humming in question. mingyu’s ears flush a deep burgundy before he turns his head the to side and scratches his neck, embarrassed that he was caught. “i said,” he begins, speaking louder than intended, he clears his throat before continuing this time softer “you’re so pretty”. 

this time it’s your turn to feel the heat rise to your cheeks. “oh,” you turn your eyes down, looking at your lap “thanks gyu” you chuckle awkwardly.

your relationship with mingyu isn’t a new one, in fact you’ve been together for years and known each other even longer. you just can’t seem to get over the shyness that creeps up whenever he compliments you. was it the way his eyes grow large when you catch him staring? or the way he moves to brush his hair behind his ear, regardless of its length, when he’s gathering the courage to say what he’s thinking? how about the way he grabs your hands and fidgets with your fingers, looking down at them, to distract himself? could it possibly be the way he beams at your reaction to him, as if he’s said the worlds most absurd thing? you honestly couldn’t tell, but whatever it was it had your heart melting every time.

mingyu walks up behind you placing a hand on your head, pulling you from your thoughts. sliding his fingers through your hair he begins petting you, soft smile on his face. “can i watch you,” he asks timidly. you nod your head, expecting him to go back to his spot at the end of your shared bed but instead he stays put, watching you intently from behind. 

 mingyu continues playing with your hair as you finish the routine he interrupted, briefly asking questions about things you were putting on your face and the process you had.

once all was said and done your finishing spray was nice and dry and you’re ready to face the day. you do a quick once over in the mirror before turning to look up at mingyu “what do you think? does it look okay,” you ask, expecting a simple answer. mingyu’s eyes widen and he quickly brings his hand up to his neck, rubbing furiously. he nods before whispering a soft “pretty”.  you smile and thank him before standing, reaching out to grab the belongings you planned to bring out with you before heading to the front door. mingyu takes your hand, intertwining your fingers as you walk out of your home and into the outside world, mumbling a bashful “with or without make up, you’re beautiful.”

[its-kinda-snowy]

Gotta be a part of your soul and of your heart all the time Nothing in the world that I do Means a thing, without you I'm just half alive in my struggle to survive without you

[ethosiab]

Girl tango my love...

[melljam]

for the gitae fans <3

[the-maw-consumes]

nebulas

[emkini]

I think about Zuko and Ursa a normal amount

[proselfshipsafespace]

Paranoid selfshippers, your f/o(s) wanted me to tell you that it'll all be okay, that you're perfectly safe and they'll protect you from whatever you think might get you or whatever is troubling your mind.

I promise you, you're f/o(s) want to keep you safe and protected and want to make sure you feel comfortable and calm.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

ISAT & Dungeon Meshi swap!

[green-crocs12]

for context, obito lives after kannabi bridge mission au and kakashis left the team to join anbu (it’s been around 2 years since they’ve properly talked to the guy)

little bonus scene + the sketch :)

[hansama]

Day 7 - I love you

i cried multiple times while drawing this q///q) even now my eyes are still teary asdlkjfhskdh////// god... I love them sm.... thank you @htsan/@sansxyouweek for hosting this wonderful event!!! my heart screamed and break danced so much during it!!

thank you for everyone who enjoyed my drawings during this week!! Q///Q) ♥

[tunastime]

do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside. 

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table. 

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands. 

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet. 

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on  his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand. 

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times. 

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright. 

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns. 

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again. 

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up. 

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides. 

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him. 

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky. 

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face. 

“Doc?” he asks. 

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter. 

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room. 

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces. 

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

[goldensunset]

“He was lonely…”

“He was trying to destroy everything around him! That is not the same as a lonely child! We can’t allow that!”

“The power of the mask made him do it. It was too much for him to handle.”