MOVED.

[prayerlearned]

MOVED TO MULTI.

[prayerlearned]

MOVED TO MULTI.

[prayerlearned]

MOVED TO MULTI.

[prayerlearned]

MOVED TO MULTI.

[prayerlearned]

Your muse and Matteo go to the opera together. 😶

[vallorouslly]

A long time ago, he used to dislike this long of eye contact, but with Matteo, it's different. He can't tell why, perhaps it was the premise of how they met making a difference, or the man's demeanor putting him so at ease. His aura, if he even believed in such a concept but maybe he didn't have to. Some people just gave off that calm, soothing energy without even trying.

And then Matteo speaks in his native tongue and all thought vanishes from Logan's mind, as always. So entranced with the beauty of the sound, the melody of language so easily ensnares him. Soldato, he knows that word, at least, and he knows a man such as the one holding him would've only used it in a poetic context. And with such words followed up by a quietly passionate kiss, he returns said passion with ease and a peace he hasn't felt with anyone in years. A hand floats to hold the historian's jaw and cradle it through the kiss, nearly reluctant to let it end, but he doesn't want to overshadow any emotion Matteo feels in the moment.

So he listens, even when he wishes he could understand what Matteo says with such quiet conviction, a hint of desperation seeming to come off in his body language. If he can't understand words, Logan goes off of what his body says instead. And so suddenly, three words ring out to him in perfect clarity, and the world stops. His lips part minutely, the swell of butterflies and emotions inside him overwhelming in the immediate moment, and he can't speak as Matteo holds him closer, hiding his face from him. Another Italian utterance and Logan has to wonder if it's something along the lines of don't leave me.

Fear of rejection is a cruel creature.

"Matti." A whisper of his own, words unable to properly present themselves as he wraps the man tighter up in his arms, one across his shoulders and another toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I love you too." A murmur into his hair, kisses placed amid the chocolate strands. "So entirely." How can he say when they're apart, he physically aches for him? "And now you're mine for this little eternity." More kisses softly placed on Matteo's temple, what he can reach, anyways.

[prayerlearned]

It was the first time he'd ever let those three simple words trickle between his lips He couldn't even say that he'd felt that strongly about Camilla, he'd cared for her, deeply, but had he loved her? Truly? Would they have felt the same without their endless hazed stupors? Always searching for that next high? Were they ever truly themselves? Yet now, he was just -- - Matteo, no illicit substance taking him away, no drunken vigour tainting his every thought, his every word. He wasn't chasing the need to feel nothing, he was chasing that feeling that washed through him whenever he stared into Logan's eyes, whenever he had him in his grasp.

With his face buried into the blonde's chest, he clung onto him for dear life, terrified to let go. Then he heard it, the words he wanted to hear, making his heart stutter beneath his shirt. He felt tears threaten his brilliant blue eyes, closing them as he seemed to only hold onto him even tighter. "Non ti merito, mio ​​piccolo guerriero..." He murmured into the other man's shirt, slowly lifting his bearded chin to meet eyes with that beautiful mismatched gaze.

"For our eternity." Those smooth thick accented tones slid between his lips, strong hands lightly squeezing at Logan's waist. "You are... such perfection, amore mio." It was what he truly believed. He could look into the other man's eyes and he found himself at home. Yes, he knew there was still much they had to learn about each other, but there was nothing in the world that Matteo felt could make him feel any different about him.

Could Logan say the same? Could he learn of the things Matteo had done, the man he used to be down to a T, and still love him? The Italian didn't know, but he hoped he would. But tonight, he just wanted to enjoy this moment, to be with him, relish in him. "The things you make feel... I cannot put them into words." He glanced over his work, a hand released from Logan's side to close the book on his desk. "Come to bed, dolcezza mia? Let me show you what you mean to me."

[weardes]

💚

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

Leo doesn’t react to the Italian beyond registering the distress in it. The words themselves mean nothing to him, but the tone does. The grief does. He stays kneeling in front of him, one hand steady on his shoulder, the other resting lightly against his forearm to anchor him without trapping him.

“Hey,” Leo says calmly, firm enough to cut through the spiral. “Look at me. Not the floor. Not whatever you’re seeing in your head. Me.” He shifts just close enough that their knees nearly touch. “Slow breath in through your nose. Four seconds. Hold it. Then out through your mouth.” He breathes with him, exaggerated enough to follow. “You’re here. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe right now.”

He keeps his voice level, controlled, the same tone he uses with frightened children before surgery. “Your body thinks you’re back there,” he explains quietly. “It’s wrong. This is just adrenaline crashing. It will pass.” His thumb presses lightly into his shoulder, grounding. “You don’t have to fight the memory this second. Just focus on the air.”

[prayerlearned]

The hand on his shoulder helps, it aids in dragging him back to the present, following the steady voice that lures him. Yet he can't help but practically pant out each breath, beautiful blue eyes forcing themselves to look to the doctor, clinging onto his words as he translates them inside his head amidst all of the mess, confusion and noise. "Inspira ed espira..." Again, he's not even fully aware that he's still speaking Italian, more focused on clambering his way back from the terrors that had made him.

Slowly, he steadies his breathing, nodding in acknowledgement. "Forgive me, medico, I..." He tries to get the words out, this time managing to translate them before they topple over the edge of his tongue. Though it seems he's struggling, sometimes it's easy to forget that he always has to translate what he's thinking and in times of stress, that's easier said than done.

Finally, he gives in, laying back as heavy breaths take him and he stares up at the ceiling, a tear trickling down the side of his head. "I tried to help... always, I try." It was all he could do, even if he failed, he still had to try. Was that meant to be a comfort? To himself, to others? He wasn't sure, but he still had to try. "My injuries are of no importance, they are..." He shook his head, deciding not to continue. "I must leave..."

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

Robby doesn’t argue with him right away. He sees the fight in Matteo’s eyes, the stubborn refusal stitched tight over fear. He keeps one hand steady at his shoulder, the other checking his pulse again, calm and methodical.

“You’re not staying awake to protect anyone right now,” Robby says evenly. Not dismissive. Just factual. “You took a hit. Your body’s crashing. That’s biology, not weakness.” His tone stays grounded, the kind of steady that doesn’t rise to meet panic. “If you had a concussion, I’d be worried about you drifting. But you don’t. You’re just exhausted.”

Matteo’s Italian washes over him, and Robby gives a faint, tired huff. “I don’t speak Italian,” he admits quietly. “But I can hear the guilt in it.” His thumb presses lightly into Matteo’s shoulder again, anchoring him. “Whatever you think you’re responsible for, we’ll unpack that when you’ve slept.”

He leans in slightly so Matteo doesn’t have to strain to hear him. “You’re in a hospital. With doctors. Nobody here is your enemy.” A beat. “You can close your eyes. I’m not going anywhere.”

[prayerlearned]

He can feel it creeping up on him, his body yearning to rest, the flood of tiredness threatening to consume him and swallow him whole. He looks to the doctor, desperate, pleading, he doesn't want to close his eyes, doesn't want to drift off, but he can't fight it, he can barely get the words out. "More will come... disguised as domestics, do not be fooled... look deeper, medico, do not doubt..." He grasped at Robby's hand, breaths quickening as he felt the heaviness of his eyelids fighting him. "Do not fear what you do not understand... stay strong, you must n..." Finally, it claimed him, darkness, his body giving out as his grip released and he slipped off to a deep sleep.

It was as he'd said. Not long after, more patients were wheeled in, one with injuries that screamed of a vicious fight, bruised, battered, unconscious. But within, Matteo was right. Her insides were exactly the same, as though someone had crawled inside her body and battered it from the inside out, yet it didn't made sense.

The bruises on the outside didn't match the injuries within, and close behind another is brought in as well. Though this one is conscious, restrained, screaming shouting, bloodied, babbling in Latin. Just another drug induced psychotic episode? Then again, how many of those came in screaming in fluent Latin?

[vallorouslly]

It was equally fascinating and heartbreaking to experience for his own eyes what he in turn gives to others. How he can compare it with his own refusal to admit his past with those he loves. The fear he can catch glimpses of in Matteo's eyes is so real that he feels it in his own heart, the truth of it there. The desperation of acceptance amid something laying in wait. To feel the way Matteo holds tighter to him and hasn't he done the exact same thing with his family members, hell, even with the man in his arms?

It strikes him right where it hurts like fucking hell.

"Shhh." The gentlest of things to ever escape Logan's lips when Matteo admits he wants to tell him something. And Logan's answer that he doesn't have to, to still that heart beating in his chest, to make it all right and make it all quiet down. The cacophony of pain, of fear, he knows all too well. And now he can see it, so plainly, for the first time. He is ever aware of Matteo's hands on him, where they have gone still, and he allows the moment to ground him, the sensation of those hands, so soft and quiet, the confidence within them.

"Si, baby, of course we can." Logan murmurs as he too adjusts while Matteo does, helping to allow them more space to touch, to feel one another and revel in it. The blonde hums to Matteo's moan, a gentle smile on his lips, drowning in those eyes. "I'm right here, here with you. Being with you makes me so happy, I simply can't articulate it." He knows he's babbling, leaning forward for a kiss upon the other's temple, his forehead, down to a cheek, wondering if a full kiss is too much for the moment. And he doesn't ever want to be too much. So he holds the other securely in his arms, tight and loving.

[prayerlearned]

Just gazing up longingly into those mismatched eyes, it takes everything within the Italian not to divulge every corner of his own soul to him there and then. He wants to, to let him in, wholly and completely, yet the thought terrifies him. For now, Logan has that beautiful ignorance that the brunette sometimes wishes he could reclaim for himself, to close his eyes at night and not wonder what horrors creep in the shadows.

Not figuratively -- - but literally.

But he knows that without them, without that terrible knowledge, he wouldn't be the man he was now and he wouldn't have the blonde on his lap, held tight and protectively in his arms. "Oh, il mio bellissimo piccolo soldato." Matteo whispers, sitting up a little as he leans up, grasping the other man's lips with his own.

He wants to taste him, savour him, gripping him tight with his fingers. As he pulls back long enough to give him himself a breath, there's a somber softness in his loving gaze. "Scapperesti da me se dicessi questo?" He utters aloud, though he supposes it's more to himself given that he knows Logan doesn't understand, asking if he'll run away from him if he dares murmur his next few words. "I love you, mio caro." They come out breathless, his heart battering against the inside of his chest. "So completely..." With that, he can't bear the thought of rejection, suddenly burying his face into the veteran's chest. "L'ho detto… ora scapperai?" Again, it's more to himself, asking if Logan will run away from him now that Matteo has beared his soul, what he feels for him, what is embedded into his core. The rest can wait, right now, he just needs him to know, he needs him to understand.

[vallorouslly]

That shift in grip is enough to gain Logan's attentions from looking at the books, faded ink and history waiting to be decoded. Body moves into the embrace, the smallest increment pulled nearer and he recognizes what it could possibly mean. When he glances down, Logan is startled speechless by the look on Matteo's face. So pure, so wanting, so...true and undying.

Oh hasn't he yearned to look at someone like that. And here Matteo is, stealing the very words from his mouth, the essence from his heart. Yet there is pain behind that look, that much he knows from experience. Maybe not precisely the same pain, but something similar.

The words spoken on that voice lend credence to his hunch, Logan's arms wrap around Matti just a little tighter, beckoning him nearer. "You could keep me, darling, nothing would take me from you. I promise." The devil missed me once, he thinks but doesn't speak. Instead, he kisses the other's temple before leaning back again. "I savor every second with you. My heart will know yours even after it stops beating." But he tilts Matteo's head back a little, so they can gaze deeply into one another's eyes. "Where did you go just now?" A whisper, knowing and kind, unjudgmental. "That look...it took my breath away."

[prayerlearned]

There was a moment when Matteo considered it. Sat there with Logan on his lap, held firm within his grasp, close, safe, he could bare his soul to him, his past, his present. But would the blonde pull away? Would he look at the other man differently if he knew just why he was studying these books? Why he flew across the world, why he could read and speak Latin, a language dead to the modern world.

He wanted to let him in, wanted to tell him, yet -- - the thought terrified him. Enough so that his grip tightened even more out of instinct, pleading in his eyes as he looked up to him. "Oh, mio ​​bel guerriero..." The Italian began as his hands slid up his waist, pausing just above Logan's hips. "How I wish I could tell you, how I want to." His voice had lowered into something close to a whisper, breathy, desperate, yearning.

"For now... let us just enjoy this moment, si?" He asked, sitting himself up a little as he tugged the man's body tighter against his, drawing out a throaty moan from deep within his chest. "I have you here now, dolcezza, and that is all I want to think about." It was what he wanted, but was it the right thing to do? To keep him in the dark? Matteo couldn't hide it forever. He'd have to make a choice. Tell him, or leave him. Really, neither one was ideal, and while walking away seemed like the kindest thing he could do, it was also the hardest. Was it selfish of him to not want to let him go?

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

Robby doesn’t argue with him right away. He sees the fight in Matteo’s eyes, the stubborn refusal stitched tight over fear. He keeps one hand steady at his shoulder, the other checking his pulse again, calm and methodical.

“You’re not staying awake to protect anyone right now,” Robby says evenly. Not dismissive. Just factual. “You took a hit. Your body’s crashing. That’s biology, not weakness.” His tone stays grounded, the kind of steady that doesn’t rise to meet panic. “If you had a concussion, I’d be worried about you drifting. But you don’t. You’re just exhausted.”

Matteo’s Italian washes over him, and Robby gives a faint, tired huff. “I don’t speak Italian,” he admits quietly. “But I can hear the guilt in it.” His thumb presses lightly into Matteo’s shoulder again, anchoring him. “Whatever you think you’re responsible for, we’ll unpack that when you’ve slept.”

He leans in slightly so Matteo doesn’t have to strain to hear him. “You’re in a hospital. With doctors. Nobody here is your enemy.” A beat. “You can close your eyes. I’m not going anywhere.”

[prayerlearned]

He wants to close his eyes and drift away for a while, find somewhere peaceful in his mind, somewhere he can relax, somewhere he can feel safe. But where is that, these days? His home in Vatican City? It's certainly not where he grew up, and could he ever truly lower his guard? He knew what was out there, what lingered in the shadows, what hid behind people's eyes, what could claim them, toy with them, puppeteer them.

Usually, it's easier to deal with. There's a certain distance he must hold between himself and that knowledge, but right now, he's just so tired, amidst everything has happened in the passing day, fresh off a battle that felt as though it had thrown him right back to the start.

"Va bene..." Matteo finally concedes with a tired nod and a slow blink that's a struggle to pry open his eyes again. "But if anything happens, if something... odd, people begin to act strange, out of character..." He looks up to the doctor, those deep sea blue eyes wide, yet so tired, pleading with him. "You must wake me, dottore... promise me..." He's fighting it to the bitter end, feeling the heaviness in his eyes. "Promise me you will wake me."

[prayerlearned]

ONE-LINER STARTER CALL

Multi’s please specify who it’s for. Will be from my main verse but if you’d like it from Matteo’s gang days when he was younger, let me know.

[weardes]

[prayerlearned]

@littlehoundthings sent: “ I want to memorize every inch of you with my lips. ”

sensual sentence starters

"Are you asking for my permission, il mio piccolo cucciolo?" Matteo teased a little as quickened breaths caught in the back of his throat, deep sea blue eyes assessing the werewolf in front of him, hands following suit, tracing up his waist with the tips of his fingers.

He leaned in, burying his face in the side of Ashe's neck, taking him in, revelling in the closeness as he pulled him close. "Voglio che tu assorba ogni parte di me, lupo..." Thick Italian words breathed against the mage's skin, pulling back just enough to meet him eye to eye, nose pressed against his. "Is it wrong that I want that also?"

[prayerlearned]

@alwaysxinxtrouble sent: you're doing great, just keep breathing through it. (leo)

ᝰ🚬 𝚉𝙰𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙿 .ᐟ RANDOM AFTERCARE PROMPTS.

It had hit him before he had even realised. It was too much. He'd walked in on a scene that had been all too alike the worst night of his life, the night he'd lost his first love, the girlfriend he'd turned to the darkness itself to try and get back -- - and for what? Just to damn her and himself.

Nobody understood. To others, it seemed like a party gone wrong, he was just a kind onlooker who had stepped in to help, an unwitting casualty just trying to help. Maybe that part was true, but it was it was so much more. Those were no party goers, they had been possessed.

It didn't even catch up to him until he was at the hospital, suddenly collapsing to his knees as he seemed to fight for each breath. "Signore perdonami..." He whispered through raspy breaths, tears streaming down his eyes cheeks as he tried to control his breathing, focusing on the doctor's voice. "Che Dio ci protegga… che Dio protegga voi."

[prayerlearned]

@alwaysxinxtrouble sent: "it's okay if you feel sleepy." (robby)

ᝰ🚬 𝚉𝙰𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙿 .ᐟ RANDOM AFTERCARE PROMPTS.

He was tired. After being thrown around an attic like a ragdoll, his body ached, muscles throbbing that he didn't even know he had, pains in places that he couldn't even describe. Yet a part of him feared closing his eyes. Anyone around him could be next, his next enemy, just watching, waiting for his guard to slip.

"No..." Matteo uttered through tired eyes, trying his best to widen them as though that would help keep him awake. "I must... stay awake." His thick Italian accent clung to his words, almost struggling to get them out in English. "Lei non ne ha idea, dottore… e per questo dovrebbe esserle grato."