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goosita · 2 months

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young!politician!snow isn’t bothered by a little blood

cw: period smut

it becomes fairly normal fairly quickly for you to stay at coriolanus’ penthouse on the weekends, once you get closer. he likes waking up to you in his bed, especially on days that he can sleep in and keep you tucked right up against his body.

on this particular morning, he’s awoken by you crawling back under the covers and curling up into a ball, your back facing him. his eyes flutter open and he frowns a little; he doesn’t like that you’re turned away.

“darling?” he murmurs, voice raspy and low with sleep still. “is something wrong?”

you sigh and look at him over your shoulder, your entire lower body aching. you started your period this morning and the cramps were hitting you full-force at the moment. but you aren’t sure if you want to tell him that. his big blue eyes are sparkling with genuine concern, though, brows knitting together above them.

“i um…started my period. and i have pretty bad cramps right now,” you admit, averting your eyes. however, instead of being put off, coriolanus softly coos and reaches for you.

“oh, my poor girl,” he says softly, shifting closer to you to pull your back into his chest gently. his nose nuzzles against the spot behind your ear. “is there anything i can do for you?”

you hesitate and shake your head, not wanting to burden him but also not sure what all could be done. it was just a thing to deal with. coriolanus slides an arm around you, resting his hand below your belly button. the heat from his palm is immediately soothing and he can feel the way you relax slightly at the touch. he kisses the side of your neck and gently rubs your lower belly.

“you know,” he starts, smiling softly when you sigh in relief at the way his hand gently moves in a circle over the ache in your tummy. “i heard that orgasms might help with cramps.”

you pause and hesitate. he’s not serious…is he?

“coryo…”

“let me help you, sweet girl,” he purrs, fingertips just barely brushing the edge of your sleep shorts.

“but the blood—“

“i don’t mind it.”

his fingers dip just below the elastic now, still rubbing soothing circles into your skin. you can’t deny how nice his touch feels.

“it’ll stain…” you say, though you’re giving in and he knows it too. coriolanus pulls away for just a moment, quickly darting into the bathroom and returning with a towel. of course, it’s dark red. just like most of his linens are.

he taps your side softly and you raise your hips as he crawls back onto the bed, sliding the towel beneath you. his strong, lean body hovers over you and he smiles softly, dipping his head to catch your lips with his own. his mouth against yours is heaven, his kisses always more than enough to get you worked up and desperate for him.

coriolanus trails his hands down your sides until he finds your shorts again, hooking his fingers into them and pulling them off along with your panties in one swift movement. he doesn’t even seem to notice the pad in your underwear either, just tosses them aside for the moment. instinctively, your legs move to close quickly but his hand stops them. he presses one of your thighs open and breaks away from your kiss to brush his lips down your throat.

“gonna make you feel so much better, my darling,” he whispers, his fingers dipping between your legs. the blood doesn’t seem to phase him at all as he easily finds your clit, circling around it with the pad of his middle finger. you gasp softly, hips lifting into his touch.

“so sensitive,” he tuts, nipping at your skin. he toys with you for a moment longer before directly touching your clit. you can feel more than see his smirk when you moan sharply, your breath hitching. he circles it slowly, lifting his head to watch your face. his eyes stay on yours, his plush lip pulled between his teeth while he makes you tremble.

eventually, his fingers slip further down until he’s pressing two of them into you slowly. the blood only adds to the slickness, making it easy to take his fingers inside of you without much resistance. coryo’s eyelashes flutter and he lets out a soft moan at the feeling of you and it makes your tummy flip.

“so fucking slick,” he murmurs. he’s gentle, though, as he curls his fingers inside of you. normally, coriolanus is quite rough and fast. but right now, he’s taking his time. he seems to know exactly how sensitive you are right now.

you sigh his name softly, the heat pooling in you more and more with each stroke. his thumb finds your clit again and slides up and down in time with his fingers.

“hm?” he hums, kissing your cheek softly. “how’s it feel, my love? talk to me.”

“feels so— oh…it feels so good, coryo. please don’t stop,” you whine quietly, your hands finding purchase along his smooth back.

“my sweet, pretty girl,” he coos, nuzzling your nose with his. “i’m not gonna stop, i promise. gonna make you feel so much better,” he soothes. his free hand comes back to your belly, such a gentle caress to the sore muscles there. it adds to the pleasure tenfold.

his fingers remain slow and gently, but they curl inside of you perfectly and have you keening and arching your back. you’re so close already and your own fingers dig into the muscles below his shoulder blades.

“i’m gonna—“

“yes. that’s it, my love. cum for me, please? such a good girl, hm?”

his voice, still gravelly from only waking up 20 or so minutes ago, is the last straw before you snap. you gasp and shudder beneath him, the flood of your orgasm immediately relaxing the cramping in your lower abdomen as if a string there suddenly untangled and went lax. you squeeze down on his fingers and soak them, hearing him moan in response.

you had been so caught up in the pleasure and relief of coriolanus fucking you on his fingers that you hadn’t noticed the way he’d been grinding against the bed as well. as you came down from your high, you felt him rutting against the plushness of his pillowy mattress, watching as he pulled his hand from between your legs and stared at the mixture if slickness and blood coating them.

his eyes slowly lifted from his fingers to your own gaze, and he held your stare as he brought them to his mouth and dragged his tongue along them. time seemed to stop for a moment as you stared in awe, his hips jerking hard against the bed.

“oh fuck,” he growled, the taste of you sending him over the edge, completely untouched. it made a new kind of heat flare inside of you— one that you didn’t know existed. his body trembled for a moment as he spilled inside of his boxers, his eyes closing and his mouth parting into the prettiest “o” shape. coriolanus had just made himself cum from getting you off and tasting your blood.

“coryo,” you said softly, dragging your nails lightly down his back. his eyes fluttered open and he looked at you, a feral sort of lust simmering in them. he said nothing as he surged up, capturing your lips with his and pinning you down with his body. he wasn’t done with you yet.

and he wouldn’t be done with you for several more hours. it’s a good thing his housekeepers do laundry on sundays.

#we are SO fucking back baby #also yes this is incredibly self indulgent bc im also cramping hard rn and what about it #politician!coryo x secretary!reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #coryo x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #tom blyth smut

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orykorioart · 3 months

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Finally putting the twins in áo dài for Tết since its Lunar New Year!

#taz #the adventure zone #taz balance #lup taz #lup taaco #taako taaco #taaco twins #illustration #lunar new year #<if folks want to check out my other incredible self-indulgent LNY piece

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lazycranberrydoodles · 5 months

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diversity win! your doomed greek tragedy ship is genderfluid!

#their fem forms are. incredibly self indulgent #hello beef and leaf i get off work at 5 ………#sqx. transgender georg. born a boy raised a girl ascended as a guy worshipped as a woman #my headcanon is that he xuan is identically genderfucked 1) it increases the er #um. the parallels. 2) its funny #not calling these their male and female forms cause i a #m a butch lesbian and that would be hypocritical #actually. you know what. the ones on the left are he/him and the ones on the right are she/her. hope this helps #sqx: COME ONNN MINGXIONG hx: fuck off i dont want to have a ‘girls night’ (spent an hour picking out their outfit and is applying makeup)#thats a faux bob. btw. sqx is very good at them by now #FUCK I FORGOT HE XUANS LIPSTICK. ... if the stars align ill fix it #tgcf #my art #art #tian guan ci fu #hob #heaven official’s blessing #beefleaf #🥩🍃#shi qingxuan #he xuan #ming yi

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lovingache · 18 days

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“𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲”

𝐭. 𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 summary: “𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲” | or the first time kageyama calls you “baby” is entirely by accident. warnings: aged up!haikyu!! (karasuno is a university) | no y/n, gn!reader, fluff, just some general cuteness tbh— I love kageyama, he deserves happiness word count: 1.2k a/n: yes, this is based on “first time” by hozier, i heard it and immediately thought of tobio because this is exactly how that man would react to being called a sweet pet name.

The first time that you called Tobio “baby,” he locked up as if you had insulted him. His hand, which you were used to seeing hitting effortless jump serves, setting quicks to Hinata, and generally being the dependable watchtower of Karasuno’s volleyball team, froze on your waist as if he had forgotten how to move his body.

His severe and intense gaze locked on yours as if he were attempting to solve a puzzle—as if he couldn’t believe that you had called him something so sweet and intimate. He gave you a curt nod as he dropped you off at your place, his hand lingering on your waist as he bid you goodnight and your name coming out softer than he intended.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but that night, he felt something stir deep inside his chest, unlike anything he’d ever felt. It wasn’t the same adrenaline he got from playing against hard teams, nor was it the same joy he felt when Karasuno proved victorious over other teams after hard-fought matches.

No, this, you, was different— something simultaneously died and was reborn inside of him when you called him “baby” that night, unlocking an emotion he never entirely understood when he heard others talk about it, but, in your presence, he understood it as if it were a practiced play.

You never pushed him to say it back, satisfied with relishing each time he said your name softly between sweet kisses or tender hugs. You weren’t here to change him. After all, you fell in love with Tobio because of how he is, not out of an aspiration to change him into anyone else. He just didn’t like to use pet names with you, you assumed, and didn’t push him for anything he wasn’t happy to give you.

So it’s safe to say that you didn’t see today coming. At first, you weren’t even really sure what he’d said. Tobio has a habit of mumbling, especially when coming down from the high of a hard match, so you could only make out bits and pieces of his greeting. You were too busy savouring how he held you as you jumped into his arms, congratulating him for a great match and winning against Karasuno’s opponent.

He gave you a tender smile, a rare sight for other people but a mainstay in your relationship, before giving you a soft kiss as he set you down gently. He had murmured your name, that’s for sure, but you couldn’t quite make it all out until you saw the look on the team’s face. Hinata’s and Tanaka’s faces, in particular, urged you to ask him as you gave Tobio a quizzical look.

“Sorry, what did you say, honey? I didn’t quite catch it,” You say, cocking your head softly to the side as his brows knit together, and a blush paints his cheeks at the name you called him.

“I.. didn’t say anything, I just said thank you—” he starts to say, his hand still resting easily on your waist, before he’s interrupted by Tanaka and Hinata running over to hug him, cooing about their friend’s heart finally growing three sizes.

“Wrong!” Tanaka yells as he hugs Tobio, circling his neck with one arm and patting his head with his other hand. “You totally just said ‘baby’! Who knew you had that sweetness inside you, Kageyama!” He teases as Hinata joins in.

“Yeah! You even said it all nice and stuff!” he adds, laughing with his senior as they mimic Tobio’s voice and cadence. “You were all like, ‘Hi, baby! Thanks so much, baby. I’m so happy you were here to watch! Mwah, mwah!!’” Both burst into laughter as they watched Tobio’s glare, waving off his muttered threat of a gruelling time next practice for them as they strode away.

The rest of the team lays off teasing him as they start walking to the locker room, but only after his seniors get their digs in. Azumane and Sugawara give him broad smiles with their thumbs up as they pass the two of you, and Tobio’s blush deepens.

“S-Sorry about them,” he says sheepishly, touching the back of his neck. "I guess it slipped out, and I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.” He apologizes genuinely as he looks into your eyes, hoping that his team didn’t scare you off.

You chuckle, circling your arms around his neck as you bring him down for a long kiss. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” you say, relishing the way he softens under the name, his features relaxing as he smiles against you. “You can pay me back by saying it to me so that I actually hear you this time,” you whisper, teasing him but also wanting to hear it clearly so you can store it in your memory.

He leans in close, the two of you the final people on the court as his team filters out completely, and he presses a tender kiss against your forehead. He chuckles softly at your request, an attempt to wave you off, but the glint in his eye tells you that he’s about to indulge you anyway, “Alright, alright.”

He gives you a slow, deep kiss, savouring the heat of your lips against his— a sensation he swears he will never get used to. It always sends that electric jolt throughout his body better than any perfect set or victory. He pulls back, soothing your hair and smiling, “Thank you for coming today, baby. I think I play better when I know you’re watching me.”

He presses a chaste kiss against your lips, “You’re like.. a guardian angel, baby. Did you know that? Maybe I should start calling you angel instead, hm?” He says against you, and his sudden shift in demeanour causes you to shiver.

You nod, running your hand through the hair on the nape of his neck. “I think that’d be great, baby,” You whisper, a blush painting your cheeks as the thought of him calling you “angel” crosses your mind.

“Is that so? Alright, ang—”

He’s cut short by Daichi’s voice ringing clearly in the empty gym as he opens the metal gym door, searching for Tobio. “Kageyama! Meeting!” He yells out from across the gym.

Tobio sighs, pulling away from you only slightly as he nods to his captain. “Okay, I’ll be there in a minute!”

“Now, Kageyama, we already waited five minutes for you. Let’s go!” Daichi calls, the heavy slam of the doors signalling his impatience.

Tobio leans in close, “Another time, baby.” He kisses your forehead as he starts to walk towards their locker room.

The door swings open again. “Kageyama, c’mon! Or do you want me to call you baby, too?” Daichi teases as he waits for Tobio at the door, watching him run up to his captain, apologizing half-heartedly for his tardiness.

You laugh as he teases him, knowing that Tobio’s doing his best not to glare at Daichi. You laugh even harder when you hear their bickering.

“None of you are allowed to call me baby! That’s special, and I’m not about to let you dumbasses ruin that name for me!”

“Alright, we’ll call you King again, how’s that sound?”

You shake your head as you gather your things, knowing that this teasing from the team is far from over as you make your way to wait outside their locker room— giddy at the idea of hearing him call you baby again.

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hellfire--cult · 6 months

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toot toot

Eddie has a very important question for you - just eddie being a loving boyfriend with something i know we all struggle with as we enter a relationship (fem!reader) - self indulgent

a/n: idk man. i had this talk with @ghost-proofbaby and I was like, 'yeah, i should write this' and she agreed.

Wc: 1k

“Why don’t you fart in front of me?”

You almost spat the water you were drinking all over the book you were reading as you laid on his bed with your back propped up on the headboard.

“Eds, what?”

“You never fart in front of me.” He was dead serious, looking at you while his arms rested on his guitar, sitting at the end of the bed, his legs crossed. You were blinking at him as if he had just sprouted a leaf over his head.

“What are you going on about?”

“We’ve been dating for a whole year, and I have yet to hear a fart from you!” Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment and you shook your head, looking back at your book.

“And you never will.” He rolled his eyes at you and scooted a little closer with a little jump that made the bed move underneath you, making you jump and glare back up at him.

“I fart all the time with you, with sound, with no sound… I mean, we trust each other, and darling, I do know you hold them in.” Your mouth opened with an o shape, not believing the words coming out of your boyfriend’s lips.

The worst part, he was right.

You complained many times because of tummy aches, and you knew it was retained gas you weren’t letting out. You were just embarrassed about it. He didn’t care whenever he did it, and you didn’t either. You even laugh at some of his farts because they sound straight out of a cartoon, and sometimes, you die a little bit because they are deadly.

“I don’t feel comfortable doing it!” You retorted back, and he sighed in frustration, shaking his head again, putting the guitar to the side of his bed.

“I promise you, it’s normal, it’s natural, and the stigma of all the women being proper ladies is such bullshit.” You knew it was that as well. You were also afraid of it being too loud, or smelly, and just utterly repulsive to him to the point he would not be attracted to you in some way.

“I know it’s natural… But I still won’t ever fart in front of you.” He groaned loudly at your words.

“You’re impossible princess.”

“But you love me.” You grinned at him with a sway of your body and he smiled back at you and crawled towards you to plant a smooch right on your lips.

“That I do.”

But it wasn’t even a week later that you were both lying on bed again, and you both were laughing as Eddie told you a story about Steve completely fucking up his date with Heidi.

“He literally tumbled back when he saw a roach sneaking in front of him and he made her fall onto the fountain at the park! That’s why his face is fucking red!” Eddie was cracking up by now and your eyes were filled with tears as you laughed with him.

“Oh shit, she slapped him!?”

“Of course she did! It was a fucking roach! Not a goddamn monster or some shit!” You cracked up at that, and it was a bad idea, because your stomach had been contracting in pain and twisting for the past hour because you were holding your gas in.

You had tacos for dinner, and that was a very poor decision knowing that you were spending the night at Eddie’s, and knowing how the night might end. Everytime you held your gas in, sex was almost painful sometimes.

And now, with the laughter, with your belly going up and down against your stomach, it happened. And your laughter and his immediately seized, leaving the room completely quiet for a few seconds.

It was small, very thin, but it could be heard. Your face immediately heated up in embarrassment, and you turned to the other side, not being able to face him. Was he going to think you were disgusting? Not lady-like? Was it a boner killer? Why isn’t he saying anything–

“Oh, FUCK YES! I’VE BEEN SAVING THIS FOR THE OCCASION!” You felt him sit up on the bed and your eyebrows frowned, making you turn to look at him rummaging in his drawer from the night table. A small confetti popper in one hand and its string on the other. He pulled and the confetti exploded with a pop, startling you.

“What the hell Eddie–”

“Congrats on your first fart in front of me!” Your eyes were wide at his antic, but he had a wide smile on his face and you couldn’t believe your boyfriend got happy from you letting out an accidental fart from laughing so hard.

“It was an accident Eds!” You whined as you sat up next to him and you had a terrified look on your face and he shook his head, holding onto your face with both of his hands.

“It’s the first step! Next one is an intentional one, so come on darling, I know you’re holding it in~” He cooed and you pushed him away, shaking your head in utter embarrassment.

“You’re so weird Eddie… you don’t… find it disgusting?”

“Fuck no! Makes me happy you trust me enough to do it in front of me! Accidental or not!” He was smiling at you, and your heart fluttered as you stared at your loving boyfriend. You leaned towards him and pecked his lips softly, only to then shake your head.

“You’re insufferable.”

“But you love me.” He smiled at you and you couldn’t help but nod and lean in to kiss him again.

After that, you never do it intentionally, but now, if one escapes you by accident you are able to laugh it out with him.

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a/n: purely self indulgent plus WE CANT DENY EDDIE WOULDNT CELEBRATE OUR FIRST FART WITH HIM. ALSO, FARTING IS NATURAL.

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sunbit · 1 year

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little red riding hood and the big bad wolf

#neverafter #dimension 20 #ylfa snorgelsson #art #cw implied violence #theres one old collegehumor joke slipped in here because i am self indulgent #this season has been incredible all my love to everyone involved <3

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tunastime · 1 month

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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 :-)

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