Prokopenko (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dreamedboy) wrote2021-11-30 12:58 am
dreamedboy) wrote2021-11-30 12:58 am
Entry tags:
Open RP Post
⛈️ Hit me up on plurk or via PM if you have any questions/want to run an idea by me first/what-have-you.
⛈️ General squick/trigger list.
⛈️ m/m for anything shippy.
⛈️ General headcanon for Proko. If you've got different headcanon/ideas for a psl, hit me with 'em; I'm flexible.
⛈️ Proko's kink list.
⛈️ This is open to everyone who wants to thread with me!
something to live for;
That's a hard thing to come to terms with. It's easier to parse through the fact that he was fucking selfish, that there were four boys that cared about him, that needed him. He'd dreamt Swan a car to make up for bleeding in the backseat, but Proko was... he didn't know what to say or how to say it.
The first night out of the hospital, it's all of them together, and they nearly smother Kavinsky for staying so close. But he has the good sense not to comment on it; if anything he's almost greedy for the attention, for the affection. Even if it's obvious how much his pack of boys care about him, right now he needs it more than ever. But tonight he'd staying at Proko's, just the two of them- like everything's back to normal.
It isn't.
But he climbs up onto the bed with him, curling up against his side, and trusting that the other boy wont push him away. He could always trust Prokopenko, always by his side. Before he'd dreamt him, and after.
He isn't dead. But this still almost feels almost like a dream, like waking from a nightmare. Where the world feels sharp and his edges feel too soft. Going from bleeding out on the floor with a broken heart to here, pressed up against Proko, and just the stitches in his arm. The other boy had visited him in the hospital, even when Kavinsky had been a wreck -- hardly fit for his own skin, let alone for company.
He was sure that if Proko could have fought his way into keeping watch by his side, he would have.]
I-- I'm sorry, man. I wasn't thinking. I... thank you.
[He knows that he should have said it sooner, but somehow it's here where he manages to find the words, or at least to try and stumble through them. Curled up against him and in his bed, tears in his eyes, fingertips shyly smoothing down his side.]
I didn't mean to hurt you.
[It's vague on whether he means nearly killing Proko because he was his dream, or the suffering because Proko cared about him. Probably both, honestly. The words all feel shallow, like they're not enough. And without an audience, Kavinsky sort of wants to just press himself into the other boy's chest and shake through the feelings he can't name, but he's trying to not be selfish for at least a minute or two.]
no subject
He'd already cried multiple times over the last few days, mostly when no one else had been around to see, and today his eyes were red from it. No matter how angry he got with Kavinsky sometimes he wouldn't dream of pushing him away. Neither of them were perfect but K was his best friend.
Rolling towards Kavinsky, Prokopenko wrapped his arms around him, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of his head. It was more tender than he usually let himself be but he knew he was safe with K. Safe to be vulnerable.]
You scared the hell out of me.
[Kavinsky didn't have to thank him but it was something of a relief to know that he wasn't upset with Proko for saving his life. And maybe it meant there wouldn't be another attempt. Some things were out of Proko's hands and he hated it. He hated that he couldn't be everything Kavinsky needed to keep him happy and alive. Sometimes, he felt like he wasn't good enough. Other times, he knew better than that. Today was the former.]
I'm nothing without you.
[He said it first in Ukrainian and then again in English. He might have been more comfortable with English but he'd been learning Ukrainian for years because it made his grandmother happy and he was, not so secretly, her favorite grandson.
Maybe it was a little selfish of him- or maybe it wasn't. He owed his continued existence to Kavinsky and he was, quite literally, nothing without him. He wondered if there was an afterlife, sometimes. He wondered if the previous him was jealous.
He couldn't even joke that he'd kill Kavinsky himself if he tried to commit suicide again because he'd never lay hands on him like that. He couldn't bring himself to do it. They were both rough but he loved K with all of his heart. It was stupid and cheesy, but-]
I wouldn't want to exist in a world without you.
[Which was fitting, because he wouldn't exist in a world without him. He knew that K hadn't meant to hurt him, but he still had, and- Proko couldn't hold it against him. He knew that Kavinsky must've been hurting a lot to do something so desperate.]
no subject
I promise I wont do that to you again.
[He hadn't known what it would do to Prokopenko. He's still trying to parse through it, because he'd never considered what being a dream thing might mean for the other boy. He'd just been greedy and desperate- the idea of being without him a hole he hadn't known how to face. And now their lives were tied together, Proko's life measured in how long Kavinsky could keep himself alive, and that felt terrifying. He'd always assumed his dreams would continue on without him.
Normally, he would have argued if Proko said he was nothing without Kavinsky. But right now he can't bring himself to, and so he just tangles their legs together and holds on to the other boy. His fingers brushing up against his ribs, and then curling in his hair.]
It was stupid. I just-- I felt so alone that I forgot I wasn't.
[He laughs a little as he presses his face into Proko's chest. It's fucking embarrassing to admit to. But he'd been distraught and miserable and he hadn't been thinking, just feeling. Like he was alone in the world, like there wasn't a single person that understood him, that would care if he was gone.
All over a boy that wouldn't have noticed. That pushed him away and used him, like he wasn't good enough.]
I... I couldn't exist in a world without you, either. But you know that, don't you?
[He says it softly, vulnerable as he looks into the other boy's eyes, brushing fingertips through his hair with something far more tender than he'd usually allow himself. Emotion that he doesn't have words for smoldering in his dark eyes. They rarely talk about this; the dreaming, the fact that Kavinsky had brought him back to life. That he'd needed him too much to let him die.
Forever his favorite forgery.
He couldn't imagine a world without Proko in it. He couldn't imagine looking his grandmother in the face and telling her he'd let the other boy die. He'd felt so many complicated things for Prokopenko when he was alive. Now they were more complicated, if anything. Forever unsure what the other boy wanted and what Kavinsky had dreamed into him. But that was his own fault, really.
So they lingered in this grey space, touching without talking about it, pretending it didn't mean anything. And then there had been Ronan, and that had made it easier. Except that now there wasn't. And Kavinsky was so torn open it was hard to remember why loving him had ever felt wrong.]
no subject
[He was going to make sure Kavinsky kept his promise, somehow. One way or another. There was something romantic though, about the fact that if Kavinsky died so did Prokopenko. They couldn't exist without each other and it wasn't just silly nonsense. It was real.]
It wasn't stupid. You were hurting. I- I should've been there for you.
[He should have been able to do something for him, to know that he was hurting before the disaster had happened. Kavinsky'd gotten in over his head before but never like this. One could argue that he was maybe always in over his head, but- he wasn't a sinking ship. He was- Prokopenko's everything.
He met Kavinsky's eyes, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He knew he was important to K, knew he cared about him, but- Proko desperately wanted to be enough for him, to appeal to him the same way Lynch had. Or did. But he could never bring himself to ask why he wasn't good enough. He didn't want to hear the answer, he didn't want to hear what was wrong with him. Maybe there was nothing wrong with him and it was Kavinsky who was flawed but that felt like blasphemy. Kavinsky was a king and Proko was content being his right-hand-man, his dog- most of the time. Sometimes he wanted more. Often, really.]
I know.
[His voice was quiet and he sighed softly before leaning his head against Kavinsky's. Closing his eyes, he asked, before he could second guess himself-]
What does Lynch have that I don't?
[Maybe he shouldn't have asked, maybe he should have kept it to himself, maybe it was too soon, but-]
no subject
Fuck Lynch. He's not better than you.
[But K knows that's not a real answer. He's asking why Kavinsky pursued Ronan in the first place. Why he wasn't content with the boy that was loyal beyond anything, the one that was there for him, that cared. And maybe on another night he would have shrugged it off, or said something cruel that he would have regretted and Proko would probably have forgiven him for.
But he can't do it, not tonight. Not after two weeks in the hospital with Prokopenko there during visiting hours every damn day. Not when he'd literally saved his life, gave him something to live for.]
I was in love with you when- when I dreamt you.
[He says it softly, like that's the answer, like he might just leave it there. But after a moment he sighs, pressing his forehead to the other boy's shoulder. As much as he hates talking about it, hates admitting to his own shame, he doesn't want to leave the other boy with half-answers. He doesn't want him to assume it's because he's not right, or not real, or not good enough.]
What if I dreamt you to love me?
[He looks guilty as he murmurs the words into his shirt. He pulls back and meets his eyes, softly brushing hair back from his face with something like longing in how his fingertips touch against his skin. There's something different in how Kavinsky looks at him, all the feelings he's been hiding, but also uncertainty.
He doesn't want to take something Prokopenko wouldn't have given him, and he'd never had the spine to ask. Would he even know? Would K just ruin the other boy with his own fears? He watches him like he thinks this might be the one thing that Proko could hate him for.]
Not on purpose, but I wanted you to want me.
no subject
He'd never thought about K changing him to make him love him, either. Out of all the fears he had, that hadn't been one of them. Maybe thinking about it now should have upset him or something like that but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything except- relief, maybe. It seemed like a silly thing to worry about to him when he'd been sure he loved Kavinsky both before and after being dreamed back to life. Would he know if that had been changed? It was all a bunch of what ifs and he couldn't be angry with K for that.
They were both bad at this, weren't they?]
I think I've always loved you.
[He admitted in a murmur. There was nothing frightening about saying it, not when he knew now that K loved him.]
You should've said something sooner.
[His tone wasn't accusing or upset, just- sad. All the times he'd worried he wasn't good enough because he wasn't human anymore or maybe because he was too loyal, too obedient, too- or maybe not obedient enough, sometimes. He wasn't afraid to put Kavinsky in his place when things got rough; he knew that no matter how much they fought they'd still be friends the next day. He wasn't worried about losing his friendship but he worried about everything else.
And he guessed saying something sooner went both ways and he was just as guilty for not speaking up, but. He'd just assumed Kavinsky would let him know if he wanted him.
His arms tightened around the other boy a little more.]
I don't care if you did, though. Dreamt me to love you, I mean. Because I do, and you're- beautiful and- [His cheeks tinged pink.] -amazing and-
[But he didn't say anything else, biting his lip and trying not to look as flustered as he felt.]
no subject
He wasn't a dreamthing, he was just- Proko.
Maybe it was a little bit selfish, but-- he couldn't help thinking that they'd both struggled enough over the last two weeks. He wasn't going to invite problems that don't seem to exist. So he just smiles, for what feels like the first time since Ronan left him alone in the dream field. He snuggles into the warmth of his body, the warmth of the fact that the other boy loves him.]
Yeah, I should have. But I still mean it. I still- I love you.
[Kavinsky shifts so that he's on his side, facing him, so that he can trail his fingers down the side of his face, cupping his jaw so he can brush his thumb against his lips. And his heartbeat skips, and he's glad that they're curled together in Proko's bed right now, because he feels unsteady. He doesn't know if it's just finally having it out in the open between them, or just the way that he's gone from the low of crawling home after the hospital to this. He bites his lip just to keep himself focused, shakes his head because he feels- overwhelmed, almost. Like he wants to fold into his arms and stay there.]
Kiss me?
[It's not the first time they've kissed, but- it would be the first time with the truth between them. It's the first time that Kavinsky has asked, trembling and undone. Selfishly he just wants to be loved, he wants to show Proko how much he loves him. He wants to kiss the way that he's always felt into his mouth, against his skin.
He wants to hold onto him, and keep him safe; even if he'd failed the first time.]
no subject
He was far more interested in the way K said I love you, the way that it made him feel warm and wanted and like there were butterflies in his stomach and like, just for a moment, he was weightless. He'd always had a feeling Kavinsky was the one, long before finding out about what he could do, back when they'd just met. There was a reason he had a K tattooed on his right thumb. It was small and subtle and simple but every time he looked at it, he was reminded of his connection to the other boy.
Goosebumps tingled across his skin when K touched his face, and subtly he tipped his head into it, eyes half closing for a moment. He couldn't help but smile, sliding one hand up to cup the back of Kavinsky's head gently, and then kissed him just as gently. Most of the time, he didn't think of K as fragile, knew he could take care of himself, but- he also knew better than most who the boy was under the bravado and drugs and sly words. Right now, K was fragile- that wasn't shocking after what'd happened. Proko would help hold all of his broken pieces together with tenderness and affection.]
Do you want to-
[He paused for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to ask his question. In the end, he switched tacts, went for something bolder and therefore a little more frightening-]
Does this mean we're- dating?