nuki.

an assortment of dating simulators pfp: sadlad03

[nukiiszn]

diff kind of struggle when u rly couldn't be more disinterested in a media but u wanna get into it and write ab it so bad bcs there's sm writing potential but ure just so drawn away from it GRRAH

[nukiiszn]

the blooming panic boys as fathers —

i will never escape the brain rot

xyx;

he's a relaxed, casual, playful dad, maybe to a fault. it takes him a while to really comprehend the fact he's a father of a life, one he brought into this world with someone else, a life he can now see grow old beyond his own. it takes him a while to comprehend he's not just babysitting or something. so he's wild and fun with them, careless, even. he throws them up in the air, catching them every time, flying them around in the air, balancing them on his shoulders, smiling wide as they giggle. letting them ride around town with him on his bike, letting them wear his comically large helmet. but sometimes it kicks in, when he sits with you in peaceful silence only broken by the distant giggles of your children playing, his heart swells and his lips curl with an all consuming, content of a foreign yet familiar life he could get used to.

"papa, papa, can we ride your bike again tomorrow?"

"haha, at this rate you'll be able to drive me around yourself, hm? alright, but don't tell your mom/dad."

quest;

he fell in love with his child the moment he laid eyes on them, held their impossibly small body in his impossibly larger arms. he dotes on them, cherishes them, loves them every opportunity he gets. he takes them to school, he helps them with their homework, he cooks them their favorite food, he learns about their hobbies. he dresses up in a frilly pink gown far too tight for him in messy makeup for his daughters, he lets his sons climb up on his back and he crawls around the house making engine sounds just to hear their laughs. he can be a bit too coddling, too overprotective sometimes, but he only ever means well, he only ever wants to see them happy, give them the teenage years he robbed himself of. it can all feel quite new and daunting to him, a life he thought he'd never find, but it all comes like second nature to him, and he plans for it to stay till he grows old with you.

"daddy, can you come play princess with me?"

"gosh, what'll i do with you? alright, baby girl, but go easy on the makeup? i have work tomorrow.."

nightowl;

he's a bit freaked out by everything when it all happens. months pass like minutes and in the blink of an eye he's at your bedside in the hospital with a child in his arms. he jumps into the role as best as he can, but ashamed as he is to admit it, you took the reigns a bit for the first month or two— because he can hardly take care of himself let alone a child. but with time he settles into fatherhood, trying to find his own pace with it all. with gradually decreasing hesitance he finds himself doing everything with ease; bottle feeding the baby when you're too tired, changing the diapers, patting their back when they've had a little too much to eat, rocking them and singing quiet lullabies when they're crying. they're small, mundane, expected things, but he finds joy in every single movement, finding a perfect place in your life and his child's.

"papa, papa, look! i used the makeup at your desk, i look just like you!"

"oh! yes, you do, little guy! but here, maybe this color of lipstick would suit you better.."

nakedtoaster;

he's so incredibly worried, so unnecessarily stressed. he doesn't know the first thing about fatherhood, he hardly knew how to hold a bloody baby when his was placed into his arms. he tries his best, embarrassingly, sheepishly so, looking up guides and articles on how to do every little thing so he doesn't mess it up. he only makes it through every day because of your reassurances, that he doesn't have to be perfect, that he doesn't have to know everything. but you're so good at it, such a natural, he only wants to be the best for you and your children. he tries to do the small things, letting the kids braid his hair and stuff it with flowers and ribbons, even if they pull too much sometimes. letting the kids paint his nails, messy designs that match his braided hair. he shares his hobbies with them, playing video games with the kids, raising little nerds of his own. the big things feel so big sometimes, but he's doing so well, he just needs reassurance, and a push.

"dad, what's call of duty? can we play that one tonight?"

"fuck, um.. honey, don't touch that one! that's for when you're older, let's stick to braiding my hair again for tonight, okay?"

[nukiiszn]

where the baldur's gate companions like to kiss you —

baldur's gate version! because i am approaching 300 hours on silly dnd game lord

ASTARION ;

neck. quite obvious for a vampire, what else did you expect? he holds himself back from bites, which takes away half the fun, but the mere temptation and the joy of teasing you with his fangs as they trace across your veins makes up for it. he loves making you squirm, watching your breath hitch and chest tense as his breaths dance across your skin. sometimes he's even content with burying his head in the nook of it inhaling your sweet scent, even more tantalizing than the blood. you indulge him in the latter every now and then, and he wouldn't say no to both. he whispers to you sometimes about how he wishes you were truly his, binded in blood and soul as vampire and spawn, but they still remain as silent whispers in the night.

HALSIN ;

chest. he's fond of intimacy, fond of wrapping you in his firm arms, against a tree or pushed down on the mattress, holding you in place as his lips traverse the broad of your chest. he feels your racing heartbeat against his lips, his cheeks, in his ears as he caresses your untouched skin. he finds it entrancing, how you shiver as his breath hits your flesh, how you arch as his lips wander every mole, scar, blemish, how you let him worship you and how easily he feels himself do it. even during moments like in his bear form, he nuzzles up and curls against the soft, welcoming warmth of your chest and fingers sunken into his fur. a few others join in on the cuddle pile from time to time, but you're his favorite to curl up with.

KARLACH ;

lips. surprisingly, they're not nearly as heated as the rest of her body, an awfully convenient feature for her and any of the lucky few she desires, quelling her urges usually left to fester. though she's quick to touch and kiss all over when her engine lets her, the soft and playful intimacy of kisses, shy or deep, slow or rough, it sends tingles sharper than any flame, especially when she's allowed to have her hands on you. they're often on your hips, or your back, maybe your cheeks as she showers your lips with her own. though no stranger to rough play, she strikes a good balance, gentle when you need her, rough when she needs you.

LAE'ZEL ;

body. she's not picky. all of you belongs to her, anyway, why should she choose when she can mark every unexplored and untouched corner of your figure? she prefers your body over your face and lips, for reasons you can guess, though it's not like she strays from the latter. as long as she's who sees you bare and spread upon a mattress in the darkness of midnight, her lustful caresses of hands and lips over your form, making you arch and leaving you breathless in its path, she doesn't care. you're hers. she's keen to remind you whenever she can. the githyanki warrior cannot lose her prize, after all.

sorry if any were a bit inaccurate! mostly hcs haha, i haven't finished everyone's routes

[nukiiszn]

death finds me with my arms open —

in which grimreaper!zhongli finds ajax on his last day of life

cw: suicide

"a grim reaper?"

the grim reaper was never called to a place without a corpse.

he was at the rooftop of a tall apartment complex, a ginger haired boy sat on the edge next to him.

"why are you here?" the reaper turns to the boy.

"to watch the stars. care to join me?" the boy cocks his head with a grin in return.

the immortal didnt have much reason to refuse. he was called here for a reason, and his best lead was this human.

"i suppose." he took a seat across from the blue eyed male, giving him a curious eye. "what is your name?"

the boy hummed, as if thinking over the question; over something so simple? "i go by many. which one would you like to know?"

the reaper made a face, thinking over the odd response. "your name. whichever belongs to who i am talking to."

the stranger snickered, amused. " ..childe." he paused. "do you have a name?"

"i have.. many as well." the reaper found a curious smile crawling on his face. multiple names for an immortal were not an oddity, but for a mortal human.. "which one would you like to know?"

ajax grins. "whichever one is yours."

"morax." he responds with a bemused expression. "my name."

"you are a reaper, are you not?" childe observes the long tail curled behind him, the tall striking horns, and the amber hued slits in his eyes. grim reapers were of fiction, supposedly, yet one stood right before him.

"yes." morax confirmed. "i'm not sure why im here, however."

"have you ever been called for deaths that will happen? like, in advance? or to prevent them, even." the ginger's eyes glimmer with something morax can't quite figure out.

"i can't say i have, for the former." morax pauses. "our job is to collect the remains of the dead and let them pass on in peace, for the latter. we have no role in interrupting their demise, it would upset the flow of nature."

childe hums, eyes downcast to the bustling city. "ah, yes, i suppose you would be a guardian angel, in that case. it would be quite nice if mine showed up."

morax watches for a second or two. "are you up here to kill yourself?"

the ginger snickers once more. "i wouldnt put it so bluntly. id call it a graceful plummet to my inevitable end, but yes, if you must know. i am."

the reaper's eyebrows crease and he huffs begrudgingly. these sorts of humans were the kind he disliked.

childe quirks an eyebrow. "what, not a fan?"

"hardly. i have no interest to tolerate mortal tomfoolery and their nonsensical gambles."

"gee, strong opinions on something you have no place in. you can't interfere with the flow of nature, remember?" the human repeats, almost mockingly.

morax grumbles in response, his tail flattening on the concrete ground behind him. "you seem to have recognized me immediately. a grim reaper, that is."

"oh, i had my phases. i know my fair share of mythology. grim reapers were an especially keen interest of mine."

"why so?" morax replies keenly.

"their physical depictions, they were gorgeous on paper, and even more so in person." childe offers a smirk. "though quite indignant, unfortunately."

the reaper raises a brow. "grim reapers have hardly much to be jolly about, i assure you."

the conversation falls silent for a while, childe's eyes returning to the stars.

"have you ever been in love, morax?"

morax pauses, stills, then his eyes flicker down, an answer in itself almost.

"yes." morax replies, grimly. "i miss her everyday."

"was the pain great?" childe inquires. "when you lost her."

"greater than the wrath of a thousand vengeful gods." he breathes. "light left my world along with her."

"would you have traded your life for hers?" childe inquires.

"in a heartbeat."

"so you would kill yourself for her?"

morax stills. "what?"

"you would end your life for her heart to beat once more." he reiterates. "so you would kill yourself for her?"

morax hesitates. "yes. i.. suppose i would."

"so you would understand, empathize even, as to why im here."

his amber eyes flicker over. "why are you here?"

"i lost someone. just like you. i lost everything when i lost them. now i will finally lose this body too." childe smiles, regretfully.

morax juts out his jaw. "they would not come back, however, unlike your hypothetical for me. do not be foolish."

"true." the mortal replies. "yet there is no purpose for me here anymore. no reason to live."

"i lived." morax replies. "i lived to tell my tale to you. can you not, for someone else?"

"but you cannot die. you do not have the luxury." childe shuts his eyes tight.

morax wavers.

"you will live even as your world reduces to nothing but misery and gore, and you will do nothing but wish wistfully for the luxury of nothingness."

"but you are death itself, and you persist." childe's eyes meet his, pleadingly.

"do not take this luxury away from me. let it embrace me, if not you."

the reaper softens. a breath, then two, then he speaks.

"zhongli."

childe tilts his head inquisitively.

"my name."

the ginger smiles, soft and real and genuine, one of but a hurting boy.

"ajax."

the reaper understands.

"it was nice to meet you, ajax."

"you as well, zhongli."

zhongli's throat wells. "go."

and he does. he flies. he flies gracefully, a plummet towards his death, as inevitable as he wished it to be.

zhongli's heart lurches as ajax's body does, his throat tightens as he hears the air push around the freefall, his chest hitched with sharp pain as he hears the gruesome splat of flesh on concrete floor.

death falls silent, in ironic condolence, as it descends to the end of the line where lost souls meet their ever after.

he reaches out with a palm, and the remains of young life weave between his fingers before settling into the arch of his palm.

he rises, and holds the soul close to his heart.

tomorrow is another day. with another life lost to life itself. this time, this one, he would carry with utmost sorrow, to peace forevermore.

[nukiiszn]

Do you have any headcannons for hybrid Kaeya? Maybe he cuddles his S/O in his tail/train.

an ask omg!! thank you so much ive always wanted to get one of these HAHA sorry for the really late response as well..

i had a lot of mixed thoughts on hybrid kaeya when i was doing my hybrid!dckz post, i didn't know exactly how to write him like a peacock, alternatives were panther!kaeya and jackal!kaeya, very catboy but i settled on a bird somehow.

to respond to the actual ask, i think kaeya is less so affectionate but more so protective. he likes knowing you're his, and he's yours, but he's not so overbearing or greedy with you. he's felt what it's like to be tied down or restrained, and he loathes the feeling, i feel like he'd be very firm on freedom, your own and his as a partner.

tying that to hybrid!kaeya, as i mentioned, he'd like keeping a part of him with you, as a mark of what is his. a carefully picked feather behind your ear, being his favorite. id imagine he does quite like having you curl up next to him in a little ball, an arm around you his feathers resting on top of you like a blanket. (im unsure of the anatomical flexibility of peacock feathers, but i imagine him to have individual control of each long feather, like limbs) he likes seeing you curled up under his blanket of color, another form of his 'protectiveness'.

he isn't the kind to cuddle with you (unless you were having a bad day of course) but he doesn't mind you snuggling up to him, if that makes any sense? he finds it endearing. he also likes using his feathers for other forms of everyday affection; tucking back your hair, caressing your face, pulling you closer, and especially tickling you with his feathers, another way to tease you.

if you have a specific hybrid for kaeya in mind for me to hc, id be down to explore that too!! my asks are always open <3

[nukiiszn]

hybrid!dckz + as your boyfriends —

(this is most certainly NOT an excuse to write eagle!diluc i swear)

DILUC — eagle

he doesn't like to show off or spread his wings very much out in public. they draw too much attention, and even more questions. he often mentions how surprising it is to him the insuppresable urge of some people to want to touch them. much to his dismay, they're sensitive, you know.

however, one thing he absolutely adores to do as he embraces you is to curl his wings around you, like a warm, feathered blanket. to him, it is a way to protect you, and you find it quite romantic, which is an added bonus.

he lets you pet them on occasion, and even lets you brush them when he's too exhausted to do it himself, and you may take a bit too much fun in hearing his grunts and sharp breaths when you're just a little too rough with him.

CHILDE — fox

he's charming, annoyingly so. his ears twitch and his tail wags excitedly when he gets compliments on the street or pats on his head. he takes it in stride, and he isn't afraid to chat back with an endearingly shit eating grin and a prideful gleam of his eyes.

he can't sit still without your hands on him, or his hands on you, or your hands tangled with each other. he's rough with his affection, hardly knowing his own strength. faded bruises from tackles and pounces are common on your skin and childe only grins sheepishly when you mention it, kissing the bruises as if they were booboos.

he's a simple man, tamed by your arms around his scarred body. he holds himself close to you at all times, and you'd think it was him wanting to mark you with his scent, if he weren't so adamant he just liked your warmth. he'd sleep through hell or high waters, so long as he was where he belonged, purring in content.

KAEYA — peacock

unlike his oh so boring brother, kaeya wears his feathers with self called grace and beauty. he bathes in the awe struck stares and enchanted mutters, though he finds them, their sheer color, a bit out of character, something so eye-catching and standoffish upon someone so secretive and covert.

still, he hides them almost all the time, save for when they need to be groomed, which he takes great care in doing. it's not out of embarrassment or unconfidence that he keeps them hidden, it is rather that they're a bit too much attention, and a bit too much to carry around for a man as swift and silent as he.

he adores sharing his feathers, though, as he does by plucking one off and tucking it behind your ear, and he muses at how it compliments your hair, your eyes, the blush of your cheeks when he does it. it's a form of his rare and strange ways of showing affection, sharing his most bare form with you, keeping a bit of him with you always. it's cute, he's cute, there's no complaints.

ZHONGLI — dragon

he almost always keeps his tail and horns tucked away. it's cumbersome being likened to rex lapis already, he'd rather not fuel the fire by flaunting his dragon parts for the liyue streets to see. he's wanted to leave that life behind, after all.

he's trusted you, however, almost like a dragon would its mate, and you often see him out in his full glory when he's alone with you, and most especially in bed with you.

he's a primal man, and he's possessive to a fault more often than he'd like to admit. he takes silent pride in letting his tail curl around the length of your leg or the small of your back, letting the fur of its end caress your back or tickle your neck. he flushes when you point it out and draws his tail back for your comfort, but he can't stop himself from letting it creep back and nestle between your bodies as he sleeps.

[nukiiszn]

where the blooming panic boys like to kiss you —

because it's been like four months and i still can't get over any of them

— inspired by the lovely @cloudshuffle

xyx;

neck. often it's small nuzzles, sometimes it's gentle kisses, and in those rare occurrences where he's extra playful, it can even be taunting licks, but he's almost obsessed with cupping your neck with one palm and giving it the softest, teasing touches with his lips. it might appear more intimate than simply kissing your lips to some, but he's not quite at the level of bravery to just kiss you so easily, so your neck is just soft and intimate enough for him to kiss instead, and how you shrink and blush under him is a good bonus too.

quest;

lips. he's never been shy about showing his affections for you. he has never wanted, nor loved and cherished something as much as he has you, he sees no viable reason not to cup the back of your head as he kisses you, your strands of hair slipping through his fingers as they tense and relax against your scalp. the way he holds you is intense, almost predatory, as if he's claiming your entire body along with your lips, and he'll make sure everyone knows. while it can be overbearing, it's a surefire way to show he loves you, and loves you dearly, perhaps a little too much.

nightowl;

collarbone. he's always been a bit antsy, and you know as well as he does that he certainly doesn't have the best ways of dealing with his tendencies. so you let him curl up on your lap, encased in your arms, his head resting against your chest and his hands playing with your fingers, and he seizes the opportunity to kiss the ball of your collarbone and work his way up, then down again. it's a gentle mix of loving and possessive, sweet and passionate. and it gets you riled up quickly, which is never something to complain about.

nakedtoaster;

hands. he's never been one for affection, hardly knowing the first thing about physical touch. you've been patient with that fact, and he's ever so thankful. and as he musters up the courage to go further one day, one day soon, he takes your hand that was in the midst of braiding his hair, he takes it in his own and caresses it gently, bringing it up to his lips and leaving soft pecks from your wrist to the tip of your index. it's the farthest he can go without becoming a bumbling stammering mess, but it's adorably endearing all the same, and he turns into a red blushing disaster anyway when you let him know.

[nukiiszn]

i hated his kind. they killed my son. call it prejudice, but i'd rather kill myself than work with one.

unfortunately, i got the absolute displeasure of being introduced to one that was specially customized, just for me.

and along with displeasure, he brought me fear and denial.

the very idea of tolerating him alongside my already rotting dead end job was loathful. but it felt like a shot through my heart too, every bullet that went through him.

he was supposed to be dead. i was supposed to leave him behind within that first bloody robot corpse. but he came back, every single goddamn time.

unlike my son ever could.

he came back right when i felt i could move past the strange unforeseen sorrow watching him clatter to the ground with a dull thump.

his eyes that were already without life drained, puddles of blue drenching his coat. and the sight burned into my brain like a tattoo, over and over again.

you know, i was probably supposed to feel happy when he came back. but i wanted to see him die again. by my own hands. maybe he'd finally die then. maybe my mind would finally burn alive too.

he comes back like nothing ever happened. and it was i who carried the burden, the terror, the fear, the failure of not having saved him every fucking time.

he smiled at me. he was programmed to. and i knew he would never become the human boy i ached for him to be. the son i never had.

"shall we continue with the mission, lieutenant?"

[nukiiszn]

I can deny myself countless things to heighten his pleasure And I can risk for him what would be dearest to me without him But me, myself, I do not sacrifice for him But rather remain an egoist and- enjoy him

Dys wasn't a 'love' kind of boy.

Or, at least, the socially prevalent type of love.

The kind of love he grew up with, the love that came to others so naturally.

Platonic love, the comfort and vulnerability of being true and being harmonious with each other that Rex and Nomi shared, the feeling of being halves of a whole yet still whole as individuals.

Romantic love, the reddish tint that rushes through Cal's cheeks, and the darting of his eyes when Tammy tucks her hair behind her ear, the embarrassing stutter and stumble of words when Tammy smiles at him or taps his shoulder.

Familial love, the sparkle of admiration in Anemone's eyes when Kom comes back from an expedition with Security Chief Rhett with a curious scar on his arm. Though he feels as though must have felt something along the lines once in his earlier life before Vertumna.

And... whatever Marz was so keen and persistent on doing with Tangent when she ran her eyes and a single manicured palm over Tangent's body with hooded eyes, a look that Tangent reciprocated in her own way. Dys assumed that as another form of love.

These feelings were so persistent and so common, like natural behavior in humankind, this feeling of love. Yet Dys could never comprehend it nor how it comes so easily.

Dys understood trust. He understood loyalty, obsession, vulnerability, compassion, the need to feel, the need to commune, the need to sacrifice, to be cherished, among others.

Rather, what he couldn't decipher was how one feels all those things, does all those things, for just one equally small being besides themselves. How all these convoluted and needlessly cumbersome emotions manifest into a simple four-letter word. How that word is uttered so easily, thrown around like it's as light as a feather. How people let it take them over, brings them into such euphoric states, almost to a fault.

It was not as though Dys wanted to berate the people who felt this, that he wanted to rid the world of such an emotion. He had no business with how they went about their lives, he did not find the need to involve himself, either.

He was perfectly content, even, being someone different, some kind of 'outcast', as he was labelled. He relished in his own uniqueness, he did not feel any desire to conform even if that brought along with it an encompassing loneliness.

He wanted, but did not crave to be understood, to be heard and to be validated. He wanted love, but did not crave it, nor for him to be loved. He did not crave such fragile and often futile things. If he deserves such things, if he was destined for it, he would not need to search for it. He would want it and it would come to him.

Yet it was cumbersome. Unnecessarily frustrating, difficult. An arduous and vulnerable task to reach an uncertain happiness, a happiness that was more likely temporary than not.

His beliefs were not proven wrong when Sol came to him one night under the night sky, as though he had wished for him upon a star.

Dys didn't feel Sol's presence until he heard the soft rustling of the grass and skin brush along his fingertips. He turned curiously to the right, startled when Sol was spread out on the grass much like he was.

Sol didn't say anything, he knew he didn't need to with Dys. Dys found companionship in the simple act of presence, comfortable silence, sharing something without the need for words.

Dys turned back to the night sky, his thoughts wandering with every new star his eyes observed.

Sol was part of a small, exclusive few that Dys found he could get along with. He wasn't unreasonably headstrong like Anemone nor as meekly pleasant as Tammy. He wasn't as aloof and opinionated as Tangent or as prissy and narcissistic as Marz, and he wasn't as innocently boyish as Cal.

There was something about Sol that made him revolve less around himself like the rest of the kids at Vertumna. He seemed to revolve more around others, around those he cherished, what was around him. He was different, his uniqueness shone much like Dys' own, whether Sol was aware of that or not. What Dys felt for Sol was care, teetering on admiration, the only being he saw worthy of irrevocable love.

The tips of Sol's fingers brushed against Dys' own, and he felt himself tense against the grass. The touch was slight and fleeting, but electrifying, like a kid disobeying and defecting out of spite for the first time. An odd thrill, like the very sensation was wrong to think about, like it was wrong to desire for it to linger.

Dys understood, suddenly, what love was. Not to the world, not to the forming society of Vertumna. What the four letter word stood for to him.

To love is not to desire, but to have, the power of simply having, the power to let go, the power to rather hold on. The power to own, to own forever, to know you will own until you choose otherwise.

Some people might consider that ugly, to use words such as to own and to have when describing such a thing as love. Yet Dys found content in it, he found a meaning that spoke to him more than anything else, more than stories of butterflies and true love's kisses and happily ever afters.

In its essence, he found love transactional. The whirlwind of feelings and complications that came along were secondary to the simple action of giving love, and feeling the same in return.

To have someone who loves you as you love them back, to have them in the palm of your hand, to have their love, to own it. To use that love, their everlasting love for you, for better or for worse, for joy or sorrow, to experience it, to let it fill the gaps that are a cruel constant, though sometimes unnoticed.

Dys believed himself to have love most would call devotion, a love to give that was whole and true and irreplaceable. He believed Sol to deserve such love, a love he did not trust anyone else to give, anyone else to show to the lengths Sol merited, the lengths Dys would go, the lengths he would cross beyond.

To have Sol next to him in this very moment, a moment so still and small in the passage of time, was comforting. To know in this moment, Sol felt a love unique for him, and Dys returned one equally so. To know in this moment, they were inexplicably tied, by body and love, and perhaps soul, reality beyond what destiny could promise.

It was all Dys would want in this moment. All he would need for years until their bodies and bones wither back into nature's hold. In these few moments, moments so inconsequential, Dys was where he belonged. And that home would forever be, until he willed for it to go.

[nukiiszn]

Calderon was never a man known to fool around.

Since his upbringing in Goldis and the very beginning of his hatred for the system of his planet, Calderon took his convictions to heart and he stood by them relentlessly.

It's an admirable quality in a soldier; it was the very foundation of Calderon's pride. He would not involve himself in something if he wasn't certain of it, if he wasn't sure he'd see it to the end.

The only mistake he has ever made, the only living example that tears and claws at his values and foundations, is Damon.

Cold, calculating, irresistible Damon.

Calderon was never one for romance. But if he were to think of his type, he'd imagine an headstrong woman with her own set of convictions, goals, who isn't afraid to rival his own thoughts, who fights for what she sees as just.

He would not have even thought of dreaming of his type coming in the form of a ruthless mercenary from Cursa with a kink for pressing his buttons.

It wasn't love at first sight with Damon, God forbid. Yet, in some twisted, unfathomable way, Damon checked all his boxes.

He's headstrong, with strong convictions, who matches Calderon's every move with his own counter. And fuck, as soon as he opened that mouth of his, Calderon couldn't stop thinking about him.

Every snarky remark, every teasing nickname, every cheshire grin, it stuck to him and never let go. And Calderon would rather die than admit how he'd spent multiple sleepless nights overwhelmed by thoughts of the mercenary.

And lack of sleep makes you irrational, Calderon tells himself. You don't think straight when you're tired, he likes to think. That must be why he did what he did that night.

That must be why he stormed into the cockpit where he knew Damon lingered at the late hours of night. That must be why he pressed Damon up against a wall and smashed his own lips against the assassin's. That must be why Damon didn't hesitate to kiss back.

They were both sleepy. Both irrational.

Except Damon was at his most rational past midnight.

Damon kissed him back knowing damn well what he was doing.

Damon wrapped his arms around Calderon's neck and tugged at his hair knowing damn well what he was doing.

Damon thrashed and lapped at the captain's lips with a fiery passion only rivaled by Calderon knowing damn well what he was doing.

Damon kept Calderon up for days that turned to weeks knowing damn well what he was doing.

You couldn't make out with Damon and call it mutual. Damon loved it when people kissed him, because it meant they were the vulnerable one in the situation. And Damon loved using people's vulnerability against them, to push and pull and play them like a fiddle.

And Damon leaped at the opportunity to finally, truly get under the commander's skin.

There was no pleasure that matched what he felt when Calderon burned up under the slightest of prods, the slightest of touches.

Damon's teasing nicknames, Damon's veiny palm on his thigh, Damon's breaths over his face, Damon's eyes burning through his, Damon's knowing cheshire grins, Damon, Damon, Damon.

Everything Damon did that was met with a disdainful look or a dismissive glance before was replaced with the most utterly satisfying stammer, or a blush on a lucky day.

The assassin was reeling with amusement at the embarrassment of the captain, and before he knew it, he couldn't get enough. Damon got ahead of himself.

Looks and touches during missions turned to pecks and kisses behind turned heads which turned to passionate make-outs late at night.

Damon couldn't stop pushing Calderon bit by bit, seeing how flustered, how embarrassed he could get Calderon using his words, his mouth, his tongue, his touch.

For a captain, Calderon could never tower over Damon at night like he always did by day. He could never put on that stoic, stick-up-his-ass demeanor and walk all over his second in command.

At night, tucked away in the hidden crevices of the ship, in the darkened spaces and rooms no one walked into, Damon saw Calderon in completely different lights, took in sights of the captain he couldn't begin to dream of.

Calderon never went down without a fight, and that riled Damon on even further.

Every week turned to almost every day, and amidst the swirling sensations of passion and desire, another emotion weaved between them, a feeling that was beginning to swallow them from the bottom up, a feeling neither of the men wanted, or were ready to label.

Until Calderon was just sleep deprived enough to think irrationally again.

"Damon."

"Oh, here earlier than I was expecting, commander. Something tells me you're enjoying these little late night escapades more than you'll admi-"

"Be serious for one fucking second, dammit."

"Who says I wasn't being serious? I see something's on your mind, babe. I know you just as well on the outside as I do the inside now."

Calderon clenches his jaw. Damon grins at the reaction.

"Have you ever felt serious about this? About us? What we're doing?"

Damon falls silent this time. Calderon doesn't enjoy the lack of response.

"How serious can we get with this? Do you really think that this- that we- could be more?"

"I know you feel the same way I do, Damon. About us."

"You don't know shit, Cal. You never have."

"Shut up for once." Calderon throws him against the wall.

Damon's surprisingly shocked, and unsurprisingly a little turned on.

"You're the one who's been chasing after me every damn night. You're the one who took it this far. Don't you dare back out of this now, Reznor."

"Wasn't planning on it."

Damon runs his hand through the captain's hair with his typical stoic expression, and Calderon softens slightly.

"We won't last, Cal. I'm not about being serious. Don't even bother."

"Who the fuck says we won't last?"

"Cal, for fucks sake. You're not fucking thinking straight."

"I can't fucking go another sleepless night thinking about this, Damon."

Damon softens, which is not something he does.

"You serious?"

"More than anything."

The lack of hesitation, the conviction in Calderon's voice, it wells a large heap of emotion within Damon, none of which he's going to let out of his mouth.

He just stares at Calderon incomprehensibly, his hands loosely playing with the blond hair strands.

"It's not like you to be so emotional, Calderon."

"It's not like you to be so hesitant, Damon."

The assassin heaved a tired but uncharacteristically sincere sigh. Damon pulled the older man against his lips, giving the captain a strangely chaste, affectionate kiss, yet Calderon returned it as naturally as he did every other one.

"Fine. You got me. You got your way like you always do. Happy?"

Calderon smiles, and Damon smiles back.

"Yeah."