#also I like to think that she has a few less scars because of it being modern au and no shadowfell

[cheshiresense]

I’m loving all the parts of your Ichigo & Starrk time travel AU! This is a bit random and would take place some time down the road but I had a thought that Starrk probably still has the scars from when Shunsui almost killed him rigjt? So I was wondering if some combination of TBTP!Shunsui recognizing the kind of blades that would’ve left those scars (his zanpakutou is pretty unique after all) and maybe Katen Kyokotsu sensing her own “mark” on Starrk would result in Shunsui guessing a few things if he sees those scars. Or maybe it’s at a point in the timeline where Starrk and Ichigo have already revealed the time travel thing to a few people but not many details and Shunsui ends up putting more pieces together on his own.

Ooh yesss I do love a good scar reveal. For a scene like this, I'd prob go with the second scenario. I imagine Starrk's a pretty private person and also not one to be stripping down in front of just anyone lmao so there has to be a good enough reason. (I actually have a different ready-made one that would fit a time travel reveal scene that I've already hinted at previously but I think I'll write that another time, so we're going to use this one instead.)

This would take place maybe a year or two down the road, and because Shinigami elites are generally not idiots (most of the time), especially the ones Starrk and Ichigo have grown close to, I imagine Shunsui, Ukitake, Shinji, and Kaien (and prob Lisa) have pooled their observations and guessed that Starrk and Ichigo are from the future and have Experienced Some Shit, possibly under Aizen, possibly under some other major big bad that was bad enough to necessitate time travel. And time travel's hardly something just anybody can throw around so most likely there's some divine intervention involved. And once they've come to these conclusions, they decide enough is enough, leaving the fate of Soul Society and possibly the universe on two people who look like they're running themselves ragged trying to save them all is ridiculous. If nothing else, they're friends and family, and it's not right to just leave that burden to them.

I'm also going to throw Kisuke into this group because 1) Kisuke's observant as fuck and Ichigo's actually really bad at staying away from this one mad scientist who created him and weaponized him and pointed him at the enemy but also followed right after him because to Kisuke, Ichigo is everything from moral compass to magnum opus to greatest sin to the person he owes everything to, and he'd more or less handed over his entire soul into Ichigo's possession very early on. So even a hundred years in the past was never going to prevent Kisuke from gravitating to Ichigo who doesn't flinch from him or his reputation and looks at him like he's more than just a Rukon street rat turned assassin turned Shinigami in a captain trenchcoat who has no idea how to be a captain on a good day. (And everybody knows that once Ichigo is attached to you, it's all over, you're never going to be rid of him again, and more than anything, Kisuke has always just wanted someone to want him to stay.)

And 2), there's no better place for secret meetings than the Study Chamber under the Soukyoku Hill, Aizen doesn't know about it, and the Quincy might but with the place buried under enough seals to avoid all detection and probably withstand a siege, even they can't get in to spy. I want to say Kisuke and Yoruichi are a package deal so she should be around, but I also headcanon that they sort of drifted apart for a while after Yoruichi forced Kisuke out of the Second and onto the captaincy doorstep (which made the fact that she threw her whole life and career away when Kisuke was accused of treason that much more meaningful tbh). So for now she's not around, but she does still hang out with Kuukaku, and while it is very helpful that all these people are regular guests at the Shiba compound so nobody is going to get suspicious if this particular group is absent together from time to time because people would just assume they're holed up at the Shibas' for another party or something, Yoruichi is going to notice sooner or later that they're very much not at the compound when they're missing, so she goes looking for whatever fuckery Kisuke has gotten up to this time, and that'll be her way into this time travel adventure, so to speak.

But all of this is actually just to say, healing hot springs for the win, you gotta be naked in a Japanese onsen lmao and guess who's about to have a midnight rendezvous 😉 let's all thank Urahara Kisuke for reinventing such a convenient trope.

-0-

It's nearing two in the morning, and after the staggering revelations earlier, everyone is asleep.

It wasn't as if they hadn't already expected the time travel, but to have it confirmed, and to know now that the reason for it had been the near-total annihilation of all three realms at the hands of a race nursing a thousand-year-old grudge, one thought to be largely extinct but has actually been hiding in their walls - almost literally - and biding their time until their king's awakening--well, let's just say Shunsui isn't going to be able to walk down a street without wondering how many hidden eyes are watching him from the shadows until the Wandenreich has at least been dug out of the woodwork for all to see.

(It's also perhaps a little more… off-putting for him than the others, though perhaps that's his pride speaking. Shadows are supposed to be his domain, and yet he's never sensed anything amiss in all the long years he's lived in the Seireitei.)

There had at least not been too much of a fuss about bringing them into the loop. Shunsui had admittedly thought they would have to at least argue back and forth about it a few more times, if only because no matter how much Ichigo likes to deny it, the family resemblance is uncanny, whether in appearance or personality, and a Shiba is nothing if not stubborn once they've set their mind on something. Ichigo is exactly the type to refuse outside aid in the name of better protecting the people he cares about, has yet to understand that ignorance does not always mean safe, or outgrow that inexplicably instinctual mindset of his where he seems to believe that he must take on all burdens by himself instead of allowing others to help shoulder those burdens with him.

But then they'd confronted the boy, and while Ichigo had scowled up a storm and tried to bluster his way out of it at first - kid really is a terrible liar - he'd also capitulated far sooner than any of them had expected. In the end, he'd crossed his arms and scowled some more before deciding with the finality of someone who wouldn't budge any further, "Fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

He'd smirked at them then, still displeased considering the topic of conversation, but vaguely triumphant nonetheless as he'd eyed Urahara and Hirako and Kaien in particular. "It's why you cornered me when you know Starrk-san's out on a mission and isn't due back 'til late, right? Cuz you think you might be able to wear me down by nagging me to death, or worse comes to worst, you can figure it out by watching my reactions. But you won't get anything out of Starrk-san if he doesn't want to say, and he's hard to read even when he's actively emoting."

He'd snorted then, mockery softened by a reluctant sort of mirth. "Joke's on you, he's the reasonable one."

Which, to be fair, had been Shunsui's opinion. Starrk really is frustratingly, delightfully difficult to read, and this is coming from Shunsui, who's always found most people easy enough to figure out at a glance. Case in point, most of the things they'd pieced together for themselves had been clues Ichigo had inadvertently given away, not Starrk. And even then, if Starrk doesn't want them to know, no matter how many well-reasoned conjectures they lay at his feet, he probably wouldn't say a word.

But by that same token, it must mean that the hints he'd started dropping over the past few months could only be his way of encouraging them to ask without directly giving the game away, without giving them any hard evidence or firsthand testimony that would condemn himself or Ichigo, just in case the people they've chosen to trust fail their expectations and choose to hand them over to the government instead of trusting them in return.

To Shunsui, that had basically been an open invitation to sit down for a chat, and Ukitake had agreed with him, but they'd been outvoted - sometimes, he thinks with some amusement that the younger members of their little group don't seem to have eyes for anyone except Ichigo - so he'd let it go since he'd thought there wouldn't be any major issues with trying it this way first either. After all, he doubts Starrk would've shown his hand without Ichigo's agreement. It's just that they'd probably have to jump through a few more hoops if they went to Ichigo, what with the kid's knee-jerk reflex for keeping them at a distance no matter the cost to himself. And he'd been correct, more or less. It's just that they'd had fewer hoops to jump through than Shunsui had anticipated, but he's hardly about to complain.

"My plan was to force Aizen to out himself somehow and then take him down in front of everyone," Ichigo had continued, oblivious to the dawning look of horror on his cousin's face at the sheer lack of regard Ichigo clearly had for his own wellbeing, or possibly for the excessive margin of error implied in every sentence. "And then, you know, hopefully do the same for the Quincy, although I guess they'd be harder to draw out, so maybe we would've had to go to them? But anyway, Starrk-san's the one who's been saying practically from the beginning that we need more people."

He'd made a face then, reminiscent of children everywhere who'd been lectured by a parent for doing something potentially reckless and stupid, but there'd been a grumpy sort of acceptance there too that had lent maturity to his features.

"'Wars can't be won alone,'" Ichigo had audibly quoted with a rueful sort of twist to his mouth, as much to himself as to them. "'And this is their home. If they want to fight for it, let them fight. They're strong enough to make a difference. Besides, there's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you.'" He'd huffed and scrubbed a hand over his face, and then he'd just looked tired. "Well, he's not wrong."

He'd looked at them all again, gaze firm. "So if you really wanna do this, fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

They'd waited. It wasn't as if anyone had actually wanted to exclude the man anyway, couldn't even if they did since he and Ichigo were clearly a package deal. And Shunsui's of the opinion that anybody who can consistently convince Ichigo to stop and look around and realize he isn't as alone as he often seems to believe is someone Shunsui definitely wants onside.

Ichigo had told them that Starrk had been expecting a confrontation sooner or later, and there were only so many places for it to happen if they didn't want anyone else finding out, so if Starrk got back and found their shared apartment empty, he would know to check here.

Sure enough, an hour after, a reiatsu signature - usually so carefully tucked away but one that Shunsui had pressed into his own memory from the very first time he'd had the chance to really feel it - had flared politely right outside the door before wisping away to nothing again, and a moment after Urahara had flashed away to let him in, Starrk had ghosted in, still in his Shihakushou with the wooden case containing his Zanpakutou slung over one shoulder and an exhausted air about him, but the silver-blue gaze he'd swept over them had momentarily felt like the fangs of a beast locked around their throats.

He'd looked to Ichigo, who'd grimaced but nodded, some wordless conversation passing between them, and only then had all those predatory edges been folded away again, leaving only the quiet unassuming man people still barely looked twice at despite the fact that he'd graduated with honours just as impressive as Ichigo's had been, and had even been promoted to lieutenant on Unohana's personal recommendation straight out of the Academy. But most Shinigami saw Fourth Division and looked no further, blind to the power concealed behind Starrk's reserved apathy.

(In contrast, restlessness had stirred beneath Shunsui's skin at the sight. He'd wanted to feel that reiatsu again, to taste the corrosive bite of it against the endless abyss of his own, to revel in the reminder that neither of them could overwhelm the other. He'd wanted to see more of the wolf lurking behind Starrk's eyes too, wanted this man to know he had no need to hide any part of it, not from Shunsui, not when he had the same kind of monster residing in his own soul. But that was all still too much, too soon, and so he'd locked it all behind his teeth once more, waiting for the day he wouldn't have to anymore.)

Starrk had sighed and run a gloved hand over his mouth before wandering over to join them. "Alright, let's talk. What do you want to know?"

That had been five hours ago. The conversation had lasted until midnight before they'd all decided to retire for the night and continue in the morning.

(Ichigo had looked positively agonized at the prospect. Starrk hadn't looked much of anything, mainly because he'd been half-asleep - or doing an excellent job at pretending to be - for a good hour and a half by that point.)

They'd opted to stay in the Study Chamber. Urahara had had more than enough futons to go around, thick enough that they wouldn't feel the ground underneath, and there were bathroom facilities and even a kitchenette included in a sectioned off corner. He and Yoruichi had certainly outdone themselves.

Urahara in particular. He'd invited them to use his hot spring too if they wished - a derivative of Kirinji Tenjirou's very own hot springs, less effective and fast-acting than the originals, only able to speed up recovery, but also far less dangerous - perfect for soaking in after a tough spar or a hard day or anything that results in moderately serious injuries. A veritable work of art.

Still, Shunsui had been more preoccupied with the way Starrk's eyes had lingered on the hot spring even as they'd all headed off to eat something and wash up before going to bed. In that split-second moment, the normally inscrutable man had looked adorably like a cat with a patch of sunlight. It shouldn't have been so attractive, but Shunsui had found himself unspeakably charmed all the same.

Ten minutes after everyone else's reiryoku had levelled out with deep slumber, and Shunsui had likewise tamped down on his own and smoothed it out to mimic sleep, he'd heard the faint rustle of Starrk's futon being pulled back, and then the whisper of footsteps padding their way towards the hot spring.

A better man than Shunsui would probably not have followed. But if that had ever been an option, he'd thrown it out the window from the first time he'd almost drowned in the shattered devastation of Starrk's soul and still decided to go after him.

He'd known since they'd met that there was some kind of connection between himself and Starrk.

He'd known for nearly as long that something about himself made Starrk uncomfortable, at best, and hurt him on a soul-deep level at worst.

He'd known with every interaction they'd had after that - every moment Shunsui could spare to track him down without making it seem too obvious that he was doing it on purpose - that Starrk wanted him to stay away just as much as he wanted him to stay, and Shunsui had taken shameless advantage because he himself had also been unable to do anything less, because he'd looked at this man and the desolate void inside him and couldn't bear to leave him alone.

(Because every moment with Starrk had filled something in Shunsui's own heart that he hadn't even known had been missing until Starrk had slotted into his life so neatly, so easily, that it had felt like he was always meant to be there.)

And he'd known for months, ever since time travel had become the most likely explanation for Starrk and Ichigo's origins, that there was no way Starrk hadn't known him in another life, and known him well, because that was the only thing that explained it all with perfect, horrifying sense.

A better man than Shunsui would not have followed, would've given him space. But a better man wouldn't have reduced someone's heart to a grief-stricken ruin either, cut so deep that it had carved that anguish straight into their very soul, so Shunsui figures that since a future version of himself has already sunk about as low as he possibly can, he might as well keep going and see if there's anything at all that he can do to fix what another him - still him, in the end, with a mere hundred years and change between them - has so clearly, carelessly, cruelly broken.

One of the things that had been revealed earlier had been Ichigo's background, because they'd all noticed the flashes of Quincy and Hollow in his reiatsu. Kaien had broken three sake cups and almost Urahara's face, and even by the end, he'd still looked murderous enough that Shunsui had almost pitied Shiba Isshin's foreseeable future. But Ichigo's ancestry had led to Starrk's, whose reiatsu may be as inherently dangerous as Shunsui's but has never read as anything less than perfectly Shinigami. They'd all been curious for a while, because Starrk was the kind of old and powerful that very few people could get to, and none that could and still remain unknown for so long, but there'd also been no Coyote Starrk in the Gotei 13 until this version who'd time-travelled had arrived in the Seireitei.

Starrk hadn't beaten around the bush. He'd pulled open the front of his Shihakushou and bared the web of scars below his collarbones, slightly branched out but thick and concentrated over his sternum in a distinctly circular mass.

"I'm not a Shinigami," He'd said calmly, plainly.

"You kind of are," Ichigo had mused, even as he'd glowered death eyes at them all when Starrk wasn't looking.

Starrk had shaken his head. "There's no name for what I am. I just evolved enough to fix my own soul."

He'd placed a hand over the scarring, and his gaze became distant enough that Shunsui's hands had twitched with the urge to reach out, even while the others had gaped, visibly shocked because it's one thing to have a soul like Ichigo's, one ultimately man-made, cobbled together from hope and desperation and a scientist's gamble; it's another entirely to realize that Shinigami have perhaps been looking at Hollows the wrong way for as long as any of them have existed.

(Because all Hollows are ultimately the product of the Shinigami's failure to save them in time, though most don't view it that way anymore, if they ever have. Because the possibility of a Hollow saving themselves has never even been a thought exercise in anyone's mind.)

Shunsui hadn't cared. No, that wasn't entirely correct. He'd been just as stunned as the others at this revelation that overturned millennia's worth of ironclad beliefs. But he'd been far, far more perturbed by what he could see of a second scar on Starrk's chest that bisected the circular one, faded just enough to indicate that it wasn't a very recent injury, but still deep and ragged and vivid enough to show how lethal it had been, how fatal, and-

And Shunsui had seen enough- dealt enough damage with his Zanpakutou to know the kind of wounds his blades left in their wake. And as if that wasn't enough, Katen had murmured in his mind, terrible and possessive and ruthlessly final, "Yes, his is a life we claimed for ourselves."

Shunsui had been almost relieved when Starrk had blinked back into the present and pulled his Shihakushou back on properly before continuing in a sedate tone, "We concluded that this is the final step for a Hollow, that they're allowed a chance to become whole again. It's just that even the strongest Hollows usually only survive for a few hundred years before something kills them, or they just don't have the power levels to climb that high, especially in the time they have."

He'd smiled then, but there'd been no humour in his expression, only infinite emptiness. "I survived, and I'm strong. So I guess this was my prize."

Nobody had really known what to say about all that, though Urahara had done an admirable job of recovering, and then an even more admirable job of pretending he didn't immediately want to whip out one piece of equipment or another and start scanning Starrk for data. They'd moved the conversation back to more information on the Quincy instead, although there would definitely be more questions in the future. But it'd been a lot to take in, and everybody had needed time to digest.

Now, hours later, Shunsui waits a bit before getting up as well and quietly making his way to the hot spring. He isn't surprised when he finds Starrk already rising from the water and reaching for a towel, evidently prepared to leave.

"Don't go," Shunsui says before he can think better of it, and he doesn't mean it as a demand or order, but he doesn't take it back either when Starrk goes still, water sluicing off of him - all tanned wet skin and strong shoulders and lean muscle for miles and now is really not the time - half turned away, and it's only because of that that even with the steam, Shunsui notices the conspicuous scar left by a stab wound in Starrk's back, just left of the spine.

This time, he doesn't need Katen to say anything at all.

Perhaps he'd dropped his conscience in a ditch on his way here, because he repeats, can't stop himself from repeating, "Don't go. I don't mean to chase you away. It's more than big enough for the both of us, isn't it?"

He pauses, reaches for a hat he'd left behind on his futon, and settles for shrugging out of his clothes instead. "…I'll stay on this side."

He slides into the water and forces himself to wait. When Starrk slowly sinks back into the hot spring, Shunsui very carefully doesn't react to that either.

The silence that settles over them is less tense than one might expect. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Starrk slumps against the edge of the hot spring, eyelids drooping. He has his hair tied back in a bun to keep it out of the water, and it's rare enough that Shunsui can't help taking a few extra looks.

Then again, that's nothing new. Starrk has always drawn his eye. Ukitake likes laughing at him for it.

"Does it bother you?" Starrk speaks up abruptly, unexpected enough that Shunsui almost startles. "That I'm a Hollow."

Shunsui wants to say that this man is so far from everything he'd ever thought even the most advanced Hollows could be that a part of him simply can't reconcile the disconnect. The rest of him…

"You're the same person now as you were before you told us what you are," He points out. "I don't think anything else matters."

Blue-grey eyes slit open, not quite looking in Shunsui's direction, not quite not, expression utterly indecipherable.

"…Did my future self think differently?" Shunsui ventures, but that can't be right. He can't imagine any version of himself who would think that way, especially one who'd lived even longer than he has. Still, his mind flashes back to the scars on Starrk's body, hidden beneath the water now but seared into Shunsui's memory like a brand, and he can't help coming up with increasingly depressing scenarios.

But Starrk blinks, and his focus finally hones in on Shunsui, genuinely surprised, and Shunsui releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"No," Starrk says after a beat of studying him with that too-perceptive gaze. "You've apparently always been more open-minded than most." He cocks his head. "But you were staring, so I thought…"

I always stare at you, haven't you noticed? Shunsui wants to blurt out, but he swallows it down with only a little effort. Too much, too soon.

After tonight's revelations, after all the speculations he's pieced together bit by bit over the past few months about their past-future relationship, maybe it will always be too soon. But Shunsui's never been in the habit of admitting defeat without even trying, and this time is no different.

"Something is bothering you though," Starrk tacks on, still watching Shunsui through narrowed eyes, and Shunsui wonders if the man realizes how much he looks like he's stalking prey in moments like this.

It should be unsettling, being on the receiving end of such a gaze, and it is, a little, but Shunsui's grown used to it too, grown to appreciate it even, to the feeling of being seen, of being known, and still being wanted.

(Because that's the one thing that's never been in question. Because however much Starrk sometimes reacts like Shunsui's very existence pains him, or how much he sometimes makes Shunsui feel completely bare, every sin and secret laid out for judgement, he's also never looked at Shunsui with anything less than the sort of quiet devotion the tide holds for the moon, or the stars for the sky, or dawn for the horizon, steadfast and eternal. Is it any wonder Shunsui can't stay away?)

"Is it this then?" Starrk asks next, and the water sloshes a little as he straightens up, revealing his scarred chest to tap a finger against the near-horizontal scar cleaved across it, right through where his Hollow hole had presumably still been at the time of the injury. Seeing it in its full gruesome glory now, Shunsui can tell that this wound had to have nearly cut the other man in two.

He feels a little at a loss for words, then sighs and fesses up. "Maa, I suppose I'm just a bit curious." He tries to keep his tone light, but there's really no two ways to say it. "…I did that, didn't I?"

Starrk levels an arch look at him. "Well, you didn't." He slouches back into the water, and somehow, he actually looks a bit amused. "I'm long over it, Taichou-san. We'd just met, and we were enemies at the time. You did what you had to do. We both did. It was war. If it makes you feel better, I gave as good as I got."

Shunsui snorts. That does actually make him feel a bit better. At the very least, this is preferable to the progressively dramatic betrayal scenes he'd been thinking of. He doesn't like the idea of his future self almost killing Starrk, but at least it hadn't happened after they'd become friends.

It does mean he has to reshuffle a few things on his mental timeline though, and across the hot spring, Starrk glances at him again and seems to understand.

"I guess we didn't get around to talking much about Aizen," He muses, then reveals, "We mentioned that before the Quincy became a problem, it was Aizen you all fought. Aizen set up his base of operations in Hueco Mundo, sought out Hollows from all over, and created an army of artificial Arrancar out of them to serve him, using that Hougyoku Ichigo was talking about earlier. I was part of that army."

Shunsui blinks at that revelation, and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask what Aizen - in his quest for world domination - could've possibly offered a man who didn't even like fighting to secure his allegiance. Then again, Shunsui's willing to bet at least a little hypnosis had been involved to ease the way. Aizen doesn't seem the type to bank on genuine fealty without including insurance.

The question stalls in his throat though as Starrk lifts a hand out of the water--his left, the one with the vivid burn scar stretched over the back of it. That isn't something often seen either. Starrk almost always has gloves on. He stares at it for a moment before letting it fall back beneath the water.

"The ten most powerful Arrancar in his army were called the Espada," Starrk explains. "I was the Primera. The first."

"The strongest," Shunsui nods. That sounds right, especially if Starrk had been sent to fight Shunsui.

Starrk shrugs noncommittally and says nothing else, leaving Shunsui to mull over the new information for a minute.

"Ichigo-kun warned us earlier," Shunsui eventually says. "About being Hollowfied by Aizen's Hougyoku. That turning into Visored stunted any chance of growth, and that you weren't even halfway through the Blood War before Lisa-chan and the others' power levels had degraded to barely that of a seated officer's."

Hirako had been grim-faced at the news. Lisa had looked ready to march out and rip Aizen's head off right then and there. Honestly, Shunsui had shared the sentiment.

"Then wouldn't it have been the same for Aizen's Arrancar?" Shunsui continues, watching a puzzled frown furrow at Starrk's brow. "They were granted power by the Hougyoku. Shouldn't it have stunted them too?"

Starrk nods, still frowning. "Yeah, it did. Grimmjow was furious when he found out." He blinks, and then realization strikes. "Oh, you mean me."

Shunsui hums a confirmation. Why in the world would he mean anyone else?

Starrk shakes his head. "I was the exception. Aizen found me last, out of most of the Arrancar. Definitely last out of the Espada. But even then, I was already more powerful than all the others, so he gave me the Primera seat." A corner of his mouth quirks with a cynical sort of mirth. "I didn't want more power, and he certainly wasn't about to give me more. I suppose it was fortunate. I don't think even Aizen knew back then that the Hougyoku would cause stagnation."

Powerful enough to have risen to Arrancar on his own, Shunsui muses, and he has to marvel at that, has to admire it. That kind of strength - mental even more than physical in some ways - isn't something just anyone can possess. Evidently. The only natural Arrancar in the known worlds. The only one to repair his own soul. What an extraordinary accomplishment. Except-

"I'm sorry it took so long," Shunsui says softly, because he knows Starrk is around the same age as himself, and if he was still an Arrancar by Aizen's war, then he could only have spent all the centuries before in Hueco Mundo. Even if he'd had companions there, Starrk would've outlived them all. "It must've been lonely."

I'm sorry nobody could help, because no Shinigami would've known to help. Perhaps most wouldn't have been willing to even if they'd known. I'm sorry I couldn't help.

For a long moment, Starrk is still enough to resemble a statue. Then a scoff of something that could've been laughter if it didn't ache so much claws its way out of his throat. He doesn't lift his gaze from where it's fallen blankly on the shifting surface of the hot spring. "No need to be sorry. I'm used to it."

Used to it. Used to being alone. Used to being left behind.

Shunsui doesn't think he's only talking about those long years in Hueco Mundo anymore, not when he's avoiding eye-contact again, not when Shunsui can suddenly feel the bleak despair radiating from his soul again.

"There's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you."

Not for the first time, Shunsui feels an acute desire to have a nice long talk with his future self and ask exactly how much of the agony rippling through Starrk's reiatsu can be placed directly at his feet.

(It isn't as if Shunsui can't understand. Even disregarding all other circumstances, the fact that they'd been at war would've meant that there could be no guarantees.

But still.

Still.

Couldn't he have tried a little harder? Didn't he know better than anyone the pain of being the only one left behind, the way it lingers like a slow unending bleed you're forced to carry until the day death finally deigns to take you too?

Shunsui at least has Ukitake, has Yama-jii, has Retsu-senpai and Sasakibe-san too, has Lisa-chan and Hirako and Kaien-kun, even has Nanao-chan to watch over in his brother and sister-in-law's stead. And in the future, maybe he'd lost them all, but it also sounds like he'd still had one to staunch the bleed, still had Starrk, right to the very end.

Then, who did Starrk have after Shunsui had died?

Isn't the answer obvious? Isn't Starrk still bleeding right now?)

A heavy sigh jolts Shunsui out of his thoughts, and his hands sting from where his nails have dug into his palms, fortunately out of sight. On the other side, Starrk clambers to his feet, water sloughing off his frame as he turns to get out of the hot spring.

The steam obscures his face this time, but even if he could see it, Shunsui thinks it would be one of those times again where he wouldn't be able to read him at all.

"Don't think so hard, Taichou-san," Starrk says, voice as calm as a blanket of snow over a cemetery. "It's not your job to save me."

I can't be saved anymore. I don’t want to be saved.

Shunsui's out of the water and next to Starrk before either of them can blink.

Too much, too soon, a part of him warns, but this time, he throws caution to the wind, reaches out, and closes a hand around Starrk’s wrist.

Starrk freezes, the pulse under Shunsui’s fingers jumps, and for a moment, time seems to stop.

They must look ridiculous, dripping wet and naked, and yet Shunsui barely notices, and Starrk has probably noticed everything but.

"It's not my job, that's true," Shunsui says without letting go, staring at what he could see of the other's face. "And I don't know if what I'm doing is meant to save you. But if you think I'll just let you go to your grave after all this is over, Ichigo-kun is apparently not the one we should've been worrying most about after all."

They had made a mistake, Shunsui realizes. He had made a mistake. Because looking at Starrk and Ichigo--at Starrk who was so steady and composed all the time, and then at Ichigo who was so much more transparent in his misery, in his fury, in his determination to achieve his end goals no matter the cost to himself, that it was almost instinct for everyone to focus their concerns on him. Because for all that Ichigo was reluctant to involve them, and reticent on the best of the days, he was at least also loud about it, and therefore was that much easier to help--to know they need to help.

Compared to him, Starrk has always shown himself to be the rock in a storm that even Ichigo clearly clings to. He has never been anything less than an ocean of serenity, but perhaps they should've remembered that no ocean is calm beneath the surface.

…No, it's Shunsui who should've remembered. He has literal unparalleled insight into Starrk's soul, feels the ache of it regularly, even if not all the time, except he'd just… not forgotten, that's impossible, but he'd been trying to fix it in his own way, with tea and conversation and countless attempts at coaxing out even just one more smile, except he can never tell when he might be going too far, pushing too fast, wanting too much, always feeling a bit like he's standing helpless in front of a skittish cornered animal too hurt to accept any kind of affection, and so perhaps as a result, Shunsui's ended up failing to show Starrk just how far he's willing to go instead.

Case in point, he's still holding onto Starrk, touching him, skin warm against Shunsui's own. Shunsui would've thought he'd be shaken off by now, possibly tossed into a wall out of reflex if nothing else, but Starrk hasn't even attempted to pull away. His pulse is calming again, but Shunsui can feel the tension in his arm, and he's staring down at their limbs with a lost expression.

Shunsui tightens his grip and runs his thumb along the inside of the other's wrist. He feels more than sees the shiver that runs through Starrk's body, for all that Starrk still hasn't moved. But the lost expression on his face also retreats. It leaves exhaustion-bruised eyes and enough sorrow thrumming through his reiatsu to smother the breath from Shunsui's lungs in its wake, but at the very least, he also finally looks up to meet Shunsui's gaze.

"…I don't know what you want from me, Shunsui," Starrk says wearily.

It's the first time he's ever used Shunsui's name. Shunsui only wishes he wouldn't sound so unbearably sad when saying it, but he'd take what he could get.

"That's easy," Shunsui replies, catching that pale mercurial gaze and holding it. "I want the same thing you've asked of Ichigo-kun. I want you to live."

A long silence follows before a rough sound spills from Starrk's throat like shattered glass.

"'Easy'," Starrk echoes, shoulders shaking, with laughter, with tears. But his eyes are dry, and he's the farthest thing from amused, and his soul feels like it might swallow itself whole just to cease its own existence. So this time, Shunsui lets instinct guide his hands and doesn't let himself second-guess it--in one swift motion, he tugs the other man into his arms and wraps him in a hug like he's wanted to ever since Starrk's soul had grasped for his own like he was drowning and Shunsui was the only one who could pull him to shore. Who could convince him to come ashore.

Starrk collapses against him, shuddering like he might fall apart with even just one more word, one more breath, one more touch, but Shunsui only draws him closer, holds him harder, and refuses to let him go.

[demytrixi]

Trying to get back into nightly doodles that may evolve into drawings... heres an Aylin based on her work uniform in My Thesis is a Demigod? (by @griffinisgae)

[k3n-dyll]

☆F.U.C.K

Warnings...18+, wlw, not proofread, also, written at 2am, established friends with benefits, self-indulgent smut, dom!Abby, shower sex, strap on (r!receiving), strap referred to as a dick/cock Word Count:2.08k || MDNI Banner Creds. || Donations 4 Palestine

Notes ☆ The next fic I have based on a song will not be as fun! Just a heads up. Also, two works back to back within a few hours? We're so back

FWB!Abby who isn't known to be very open about her sexuality. Sure, there are rumors, and there are people she's told that she's lesbian, but that list is pretty limited to close friends. It's not that she's trying to hide it, anyone with working eyes who takes more than a second or two to look at her can tell, she just doesn't feel like it's anyone's business but her own.

And yours of course.

Abby's never been particularly sappy or romantic. Still, despite how intense her day-to-day is - fighting Scars, killing infected, being on high alert at every turn because there's no way of knowing what will be the next thing to try and kill her first - she's a bit of a thrill seeker in her own way. The idea of doing something seemingly forbidden, the rush of nearly getting caught doing something less than savory, has never failed to be a turn-on for her and it's something that, over time, you've become acutely aware of. She's gotten into the habit of dragging you into bathrooms, and storage closets, sometimes even taking it upon herself to get handsy underneath tables when in the presence of others just to see that nervous look you get.

It should be no shock to you that she'd do something like this and yet, you're still baffled.

The showers were peaceful today, it was late and most people were either asleep or just waking up for their own shifts. After a long patrol, all you wanted to do was turn on the hot water and let it soak over your aching muscles, washing the blood, dirt, and sweat that had accumulated on your skin down the drain. You weren't expecting to feel a large pair of hands gripping at your waist in the shower, and if you hadn't known better, you might have started swinging.

"Abby, what the hell?" You flinch a little under her grasp, and while you try to sound angry, the amused chuckle that forms with your words is hard to stifle.

"Nice to see you too" Abby mutters, already beginning an assault on your neck with her lips, trailing wet kisses down your skin as she speaks.

"I thought you said you were tired" You try and turn to face her but you're only met with a tightened grip on your body, forcing you to face the glass shower wall.

"I lied."

Before you can think up something snarky to say, Abby presses her front up against you further and you stiffen completely, the sensation of something that definitely isn't normally there now flush against your ass.

"What is that?" You question, turning your head in attempt to get a look at whatever it is she's got rubbing against you, but again she forces your eyes forward, grabbing your chin to make you face the wall again.

"I want you to guess." She purrs, nipping at your earlobe, unable to stop herself from letting out a low chuckle. "C'mon, baby, I know you remember. That shop we passed by the other day? You were all curious about it, but we never got the chance to really look around."

In order to somewhat jog your memory, one of her hands releases its grip on you, wrapping around what she has and pressing it between your soaked thighs, shallowly thrusting it between them. Your breath hitches at the feeling and the memory comes flooding back into your mind. It was a few days back - Manny had pointed out an old sex shop and being the man he is he just couldn't shut up about it. Mostly he'd bragged about how, as much as he'd like to experiment, his own hands and body got the job done just fine.

In the moment it was funny, and a little stupid. The three of you managed to catch a quick glimpse of the interior, seeing some of the different toys that hadn't been looted or destroyed and joking about all of the time people in the Old World must have had to be so experimental with their sex lives. Unbeknownst to you, one toy in particular had caught Abby's eye. She didn't point it out to you or Manny, but right before you all had to leave, the rest of your patrol group having already started packing up to head back to base, she'd hidden it so that she could go back for it later. And she did.

"Figured it out, pretty girl?"

Abby's voice snaps you out of your head and you nod, coaxing another low chuckle out of her.

"You wanna see it?"

The moment her hold on you loosens you turn around, eyes panning down her toned, naked frame to the black harness that was fixed around her hips and landing on the toy that had just been sliding up against your cunt. Your eyes widen at the sight of the thick, purple silicone toy dangling from her body, and as much as you'd like to deny the immediate heat that rises in your belly at the sight of it, you can't.

"I don't think that's gonna fit. And...and what if we get caught, Abs you can't just hide that thing"

You say it without much thought, your words forcing a genuine laugh out of your 'friend'. She shakes her head and playfully rolls her eyes.

"You worry too much, baby. I locked the door. If someone comes knocking, I can just get out and tuck it in my bag before we open the door" She reassures as she gently guides you by your waist to the fogged-up wall, pressing you against it. "And trust me, once I get you nice and warmed up, it'll fit"

Abby sinks to her knees in front of you without another word, settling herself between your legs and dragging her tongue along your slit. The doubt that was once present in the front of your mind quickly starts to fade as she laps at your dripping heat, your hands weaving into her wet hair and holding on to keep her in place. You feel the tip of two of her thick fingers dip into your pussy, coating the digits with your arousal before slipping them into you completely.

She never failed to have this effect on you, and if it weren't so sexy, it'd be frustrating. Your mind is so quick to go blank under her touch, hips unconsciously grinding against her tongue as she swirls it along your puffy clit. Abby's unusually slow about it at first, curling and scissoring her fingers in and out of you, making sure to prepare you as best she can, but by the time she slips in a third finger her impatience and excitement makes itself known. You're practically teetering at the edge of an orgasm when she pulls away from you entirely, a whine escaping you as you're denied a release.

"Abby..."

"Shh, baby I know" Abby murmurs, standing back up, smiling softly as she watches your brows fix together. "I want you to cum on my cock, not my fingers. You can do that for me, can't you?"

Something about the way she refers to it as her own, as if she'd grown it herself sends a shock of electricity through you, and you answer her with an eager nod.

"Atta girl, now be good for me and turn around" She instructs, pushing you flush against the glass when you obey her command.

Abby knows how badly you must be aching at this point, her own precum leaking down her thighs as her eyes rove over your back. Even so, she takes her time, fucking your thighs, calloused palms spreading your ass a bit to get a better view. She groans at the sight of your essence combining with the water, making the dildo glisten in the fluorescent lights.

"God, you're so fucking wet" She whispers. "So ready to get split on my fuckin' dick, aren't you?"

The desperate little whines and the way you wiggle your ass back onto her is all the confirmation she needs to slowly push in, though, to neither of your surprise with how soaked you are, it proves to be rather easy. The difference is almost funny to her. You looked so nervous when you'd seen it initially, and now you were sucking her in like you were used to it.

"There ya go, slipped in so fast baby, fuck"

The way Abby moans when the toy is all the way inside of you, the way she struggles to keep at a slow pace to make sure you're well adjusted to the girth - you'd think she could feel it. It's an adjustment for both of you, the task of keeping it from fully slipping out of you when she pulls back proving to be a tad more annoying than she thought it would be, but she figures it out. And, God, if it isn't fucking worth it when she does.

Each thrust is like a shock to your system, Abby's pace only increasing as she loses herself in the moment. She could probably - and likely will end up - cumming from this alone. It was already a bit of a fantasy in her mind, having often wondered what it would be like to fuck you like this, but she didn't think she actually could. Her vivid blues are transfixed on the way your ass jiggles with each hard thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin only made more intense by the water flowing along your bare bodies.

"A-Abby I- oh my god, please!" Words barely come out of you, and when they do, they're choppy breathless rambles with no real substance. Normally you were so careful about volume, but there are always times when she'd fucked you so stupid that you stopped caring. This, for example, being one of those times.

"So fuckin' pretty...you look so fuckin' pretty trying to take it for me" Her grip on your hips is bound to leave bruising, but all you can think about is how grateful you are for that fact. If not for her hands, you'd be on the ground by now, legs shaking and unable to hold your weight any longer.

Abby knows your tells well enough to see when you're about to explode - the incoherent sobs, twitching legs, your hands desperately trying to grab onto everything - anything that could possibly help ground you even a little bit. It only eggs her on, her arm snaking around your body to rub feverishly at your aching clit, almost impatient in her need to watch you come apart for her.

"Fuck, don't stop Abby, please, 'm so close...so fuckin' close" You manage to blurt out, damn near crying at the intensity, eyes rolled into the back of your head, head lulled forward against the wall. It's taking everything in you not to fall apart this instant but you want to drag it out for just a little longer.

"Almost there, honey, I got you... C-c'mon, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking cock"

The white-hot intensity of your orgasm sends you reeling, a string of curses and choked cries spilling from your lips, arousal further wetting your inner thighs as it spurts out of you. Abby can't help but moan loudly at the sight, continuing to pump in and out of you to let the base of the toy bump against her clit more, her own climax following soon after yours.

Somehow, Abby manages to stay upright despite her legs feeling like putty, knowing full well that if she falls you'll go down with her. Her strong arms wrap around you tightly as she pulls out of you, her sweaty forehead resting against your back as you both work to catch your breath.

"Fuck..that was..." She trails off, the actual strain of her actions hitting her body, making it difficult for her to get a word out between breaths. You giggle at the sound of her struggle, though you aren't doing any better.

"So fucking good.." Is all you breathe out, your mind still too fuzzy to think of something better to say.

Abby just nods, lacking the energy to say something snarky in response, the only sound remaining being the now cold water from the showerhead pitter-pattering against the ground, though eventually, she does force herself to speak up once more.

"Once I....catch my fuckin' breath...we're so doing that again"

Reblogs are appreciated ☆ tags: @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery,

[tibby-art]

i am straight up on my hands and knees BEGGING for more hitman au

crazy that you mention that actually because i did write another snippet a little while ago.. here’s a doodle i did to accompany it + the writing under the cut

=+=

Grian gazed out the window of the bus, soaking in the quiet evening of the city. It had been some time since he was out in public like this, since he had felt like a normal citizen going about her daily buisness. It was nice to be outside the NHO headquarters for once, free to do what she pleased. Well, sort of.

Grian wasn’t exactly free. He was allowed some free time out when there was no training, lab visits, or missions. However, she was only allowed outside the NHO with a bodyguard. Someone who could both protect him from the overstimulation of the outside world, as well as protect others from her… if he were to ever lose control of his powers, or something.

Yes, riding the bus with a former-criminal-turned-professional-hitman certainly made the whole experience feel less normal for Grian.

“It’s nice to take public transportation once in a while,” Scar mused, stretching his arms over his head. “Us vexes don’t get to do that much anymore, when we can just fly around wherever we need to go.”

“That must be so much better, though,” Grian pointed out. “You can fly wherever you want, and you don’t even have to pay the bus fare.”

“Let me tell you, Grian, flying can be so tiring,” Scar huffed. “Sometimes I’m so tired by the time we show up to a hit, we need to take a breather on the roof for a few minutes. The NHO should just let us have a car for the long missions, for goodness’ sake!”

Grian did a quick check of his surroundings. The bus was pretty empty this time of day, but she got no sense that any of the passengers were paying attention to Scar so casually talking about being a hitman. A brief tap into watcher vision didn’t show any movement from the passengers behind her, either.

“Cub’s in much better shape than me,” Scar rambled on. “Did you know that man was a professional basketball player once? Or was it golf…? Actually, I think it was both.”

The NHO didn’t deem it too urgent to send both their prized hitmen on Grian-watching duty, so Cub had stayed behind at the headquarters. Last time Grian had seen Cub, he was showing off a ring of keys to Scar, saying how he was going to get a lot of ‘research’ done that night.

“What are those keys for?” Grian asked.

“Don’t know yet,” Cub shrugged. “That’s part of the fun”.

“So… those aren’t your keys?”

Cub and Scar just grinned at her.

“….This is our stop,” Grian said.

The pair exited the bus. The Hermit City library stood before them.

“Library, huh?” Scar asked. “Do you have some overdue books from before you became a watcher or something?”

“Not so loud,” Grian scolded, glancing around a mostly empty city street. “But, no. Speaking of… that, I wanted to see if there were any books I could find on the subject.”

Scar raised an eyebrow. “Do you think a public library would have better information than what we have at the NHO?”

Grian shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

The library was pretty empty at this time of day. In fact, they probably closed in an hour or so. Grian had deliberately chosen a time of day where less people would be around, so that the trip was less overwhelming on his new senses. Scar had complained that he wasn’t a morning person, so they settled on the evening instead. Grian secretly was also glad she could sleep in a little.

“Geez, when’s the last time I’ve been in one of these?” Scar muttered, glancing at the countless shelves of books as they walked past.

“What, are you allergic to reading?” Grian teased.

“Well, I am dyslexic, so… sort of?”

Grian realized that for a trip to the library to do some research, she probably should have gotten Cub to come. The man literally has two science degrees, after all.

The two made their way to the front desk, where the librarian on duty appeared to be preoccupied… knitting a hand puppet of some kind?

“Well howdy there!” The librarian looked up from his work cheerfully. He had long, brown hair that was dyed neon green at the tips, matching perfectly with her pointed green glasses. “What can I help y’all with?”

“Uh, yes, um.” Grian tapped his fingers on the desk. “We were wondering if you had any books on Watchers, and where they might be?”

“Watchers, huh…” The librarian furrowed their brow. “Now that’s an obscure topic.” He swiveled his chair towards his computer to investigate further. Grian began to grow anxious with how obvious he felt they were being.

“I know, right?” Scar sighed, leaning on the desk casually. “It’s for some lame group project that’s like, a fourth of our final grade in the class.”

“Yikes! That sounds rough,” The librarian remarked as she typed on the computer. Grian tapped into his sixth sense and didn’t pick up on any feelings of suspicion from the librarian. Maybe bringing Scar was a good idea.

“Okay, well, most of these books that are coming up seem to be more on the… fantasy side,” The librarian explained after a moment of scrolling. “I know those guys are mythological beings, but you said you’re doing a research project, so I’m guessing you want something more factual…”

“Yeah, anything with information about where they came from, what they do, stuff like that.” Grian nodded. “Y’know, like if they were real.”

“Oh! Here’s something promising.” The librarian turned the monitor so that Grian and Scar could see. “This book right here seems to be a study of the tales of Watchers throughout history. Although… it looks like our only copy is checked out at the moment.”

“Really?” Grian asked. “By who?”

The librarian blinked. “Hm… y’know, I’m actually not sure if I’m supposed to like, give that information to people? Like, legally?”

“There’s another person in our group project, so we just want to know if they beat us to checking out this book,” Scar lied. “Communication in group projects, am I right?”

“Pff, yeah, that makes sense,” The librarian turned the computer back to face him. “It looks like this book is currently being borrowed by a Martyn. With a y! How fancy.”

“Ah, Martyn with a y, of course!” Scar exclaimed. “Well, now we know that Martyn has the book, right Grian?”

“Yup,” Grian agreed, mind racing.

“Hey, actually…” The librarian scrolled down on the computer some more. “You guys sure got the right person for this project. It looks like this Martyn fella has been checking this book out for a few months now?”

Grian’s eyes widened.

“Ohh, that Martyn,” Scar laughed. “Always getting the head start on things! Uh, did we need anything else, Grian?”

“Um…” Grian needed to think fast. Whoever this Martyn person was, he’s been checking the same book on Watchers out for months. Surely he has to know something about them. Grian had to speak to him. But how on earth were they going to find this person?

Grian focused on the back of the librarian’s computer monitor. For a brief moment, in her mind’s eye, he could see the content of computer screen, from the librarian’s eyes. There on the screen was a full name: Martyn Littlewood.

“Nope, that’s all,” Grian replied, blinking rapidly as he returned to his own vision.

“Great. Well, you two have a good one!” The librarian said cheerfully, and returned to their knitting.

Grian and Scar briskly made their way outside.

“Wow. So who’s this Martyn guy? I didn’t think anyone else cared about Watchers that much,” Scar began, turning to Grian. “Oh uh, Grian, you’ve got something there…” Scar pointed to his own nose, looking worried all of a sudden.

“Huh?” Grian wiped his nose on his sleeve instinctively, expecting snot. However, when he glanced at his arm he saw red.

“Ah.” At least her sweater was already red.

“What did you do in there?” Scar asked, his green eyes intense with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“I was able to get a better look at that computer, and see the guy’s last name,” Grian explained. “Martyn Littlewood. Whoever he is, he might have a ton of information about Watchers. I’ve got to find him and have a word with him.”

“Grian, you’re amazing!” Scar exclaimed, impressed. “Well, finding someone in this city should be easy enough for a Watcher.”

“Shush,” Grian glanced around the empty bus stop. “Or we could try, y’know, looking the name up online first…” Grian quickly pulled out her phone. “Ah. Found him.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“Oh my god, Scar.”

“What?”

“Scar.” Grian held the phone out. “Martyn Littlewood is…”

“A youtuber?” Scar’s jaw dropped as he scrolled through the list of videos. “And he makes videos talking about-“

“Watchers.”

Scar stared at Grian, dumbfounded.

“Scar, I think we just found the world’s biggest, and perhaps only, Watcher fanatic,” Grian stated in disbelief. “And he lives right here in Hermit City.”

[midnight-in-town]

Was Donovan trying to read the mind of his family members ?

Like some fans, I believe Donovan's scars on both sides of his forehead (which he didn't have as a kid, as we know thanks to Henderson's flashback) are proof that he had some sort of neurosurgery.

Some fans say it was to suppress unecessary emotions : he indeed only ever reacts neutrally, positively or negatively, using a few basic emotions like judgement, acknowledgement and disappointment (both in ch106 and ch38).

However, I'm also of the opinion that Donovan has a big link to the organization that experimented on Anya and maybe that neurosurgery was meant to give him "mind-reading" powers, similar to Anya's.

After all, he did say two things of the utmost importance to his characterization :

So basically “you can’t trust anyone but yourself”.

As such, thematically it makes sense that he's Twilight's entire mission, but also, as a man with so much distrust, he would definitely be interested in a project that would allow a peak into other people's thoughts.

Demetrius is also a good hint as to what could be up with Donovan :

The son Donovan used to be so invested in seems very similar to his father (my God, his eyes), but when Anya tried to hear his thoughts ?

What she rather got was that "pondering [about not understanding people] is a waste of time" for him. So maybe, when they used to spend time together, Donovan showed a lot of distrust towards his own son and taught him to trust no one, so much that Demetrius started to believe all people are an enigma to him.

And that makes sense : children learn from their parents' example, in most cases (take Anya with Twilight and Yor). So if your father is a man who hardcore believes everyone else lies, how would his son understand all the moratively complex dynamics that exist between many people ? Avoiding to think altogether would be less of a headache, for sure.

Lastly, Donovan's reaction about the family dinner is another good hint he maybe has mind reading powers : Melinda tried once to chat but quickly gave up, while Damian spent the entire meal mustering the courage to speak up, so what could decidedly be interesting since nothing was said ?

However if things were thought during dinner... well, it sure would give a different reading to this scene.

Bonus #1 : since Twilight's entire life is based on a lie (his name, his work, his family, maybe even his father, who knows), it makes absolute sense that the entire plot is about deciphering what Donovan and his plans are about.

The fact he keeps on getting emotionally trapped by four year old Anya, who can read his mind, makes it instantly ten times more intense if Donovan now also has mind reading powers.

Bonus #2 : the only other important character in the narrative, besides Anya, who is aware that mind reading is real is Damian.

He doesn't believe in it yet, but once he does, it's likely that his friendship with Anya will eventually make Damian realize a lot about what his father has been up to (in the meantime, Yor please, give Miranda the desire to fight for her sons' safety).

TL;DR maybe Donovan has (recent ?) mind reading powers (I'd even add Sigmund Authen's past as an esteemed neurology professor is related to the whole shenanigan).

The family dinner was just a way to make extra sure that no one in his family is plotting against him, hence the bodyguards at home, because how more dysfunctional can it get ?

[starry-bi-sky]

finally giving fem danyal her own au and fulfilling my 'danny is an animal whisperer' agenda at the same time: mother of monsters danyal 2.0

i say "2.0" because TECHNICALLY 'mother of monsters danyal' is an au I made back in June for Dark fem!Danyal (who I promptly named Layal). However, I haven't posted much for her yet, and I like the "mother of monsters" premise too much to leave it only to Layal. Plus Danyal in that au was going to become the mother of monsters anyway, just with significantly less world domination and mass extinction.

'Animal whisperer' Danny has been something I've been thinking about since my latest DP 'wolfpack au' post and it's! So fun to think about, and who no better to assign the idea to than Danyal Al Ghul? Who comes from a family infamously known for their love of animals and nature?

Fem Danyal is just purely self-indulgent. *gestures wildly at her* i just lomvb,,, her,,,, I've only really mentioned her in context of the 'Things in Threes' au/my first Danyal al Ghul au with the facial scar, but she's!!! I love her. She deserves her own au <33

So kill three birds with one stone! Make a post about it.

Anyways, Danny has a large lair. Similar to cult leader danyal, her lair is a giant mountain region resembling nanda parbat with a big temple/palace-like area built into the mountain. It's large, it's overflowing with natural flora, with its own mini-floating islands hovering over some areas, and it's also completely empty.

Danny takes one look at her lair upon first meeting, -- noting that it looked relatively smaller from the outside -- and promptly, with the elegance of an Al Ghul, goes "What the hell??" Because yes, while she does enjoy her own solitude and privacy, this is a bit ridiculous.

For heaven's sake, there's even a massive lake in there! What's she going to do with all this space? Can she make it any smaller? Why is it so big in the first place? This looks borderline like one of the mega-islands!

She finds out later that apparently, the amount of ectoplasm a ghost has can have an effect on the size of their lair. And since she has such a large core, her lair reflects that. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff, it's bigger on the inside so it doesn't take up "too much space" on the outside. Don't worry about it too much.

Danyal isn't totally opposed to having such a large lair, she's just... a bit baffled by it. It feels like so much wasted space is all. All this flora and no fauna to enjoy it with. It's practically eerie.

She decorates her temple-palace area, transforming rooms to match her needs as she sees fit. In the center of the inner gardens is a massive tree that she likes to climb, with twisting, winding branches. Sam and Tucker have honorary rooms, even if they can't safely leave the specter speeder for long periods of time, even with proper safety equipment. So does Jazz. Ali (Dani) has one too, but he can actually use that one, and Danny brought him to her lair so he could decorate it himself.

She has a personal garden, but for the most part she lets the flora exist as it is. Too much space to cultivate it en masse anyways.

Skip to a few weeks later, on her next visit to Clockwork. She developed a habit of going to see him semi-regularly just because. She enjoys his wisdom, and he has a lot of stories to tell, and when he's not being the cryptic and esoteric timekeeper, he's a bit goofy.

(pushing my dadwork agenda here,,, i think Danny deserves to go 'hey, Lord Clockwork, do you want me to buy you something' while she's at walmart, only to receive a singular glowing sticky note that says 'cucumber gatorade'.)

(She insists on referring to him with his proper titles even for the most mundane of things because it's proper, but Clockwork sees a future where she eventually calls him "Cee" and by all things in existence is he determined to get there. Anyways,,,)

On her next visit to Clockwork, just as she is about to leave, Clockwork stops her and goes; "Ah, I have something for you. Hold out your hands."

Danny does as such, and Clockwork doesn't give out things often, so her curiosity has spiked to the highest levels. He turns away from her for a moment, using his staff to summon whatever it is he needs, and when he turns around.

He drops a fish into her hands. Granted, a fish in a small glass tank. But a fish nonetheless. A small one, roughly about the size of her finger, with a blue-black, eel-shaped body and four sets of glowing eyes. She can see thin, almost translucent, but spiny fins down its back and the start of bioluminescent markings. It's swimming around in circles in its small container.

"Lord Clockwork." Danyal says all too calmly.

"Yes, Danyal?"

"What is this?"

"That is an adolescent leviathan, Danyal." She’s transfixed onto the tank, but she doesn’t need to see Clockwork’s face to hear the smile he’s stifling.

The myriad of emotions that runs through her all at once threatens to overwhelm her, and she can’t tell if the feelings are negative or positive. So she carefully closes her eyes to breathe in through her nose.

“Clockwork.”

“Ah, I see you’ve dropped formalities.”

She ignores that.

“Why have you given me an adolescent leviathan?”

She's expecting the trickster to look amused when she opens her eyes. Instead, he just looks endeared. "I know you're fond of animals," he says, "and you always look amazed when you come across an animal of the realms. So I thought you might enjoy taking care of the young beast, it's mother is dead so it has no one to care for it."

Oh.

"But, if you don't like it," Clockwork's hands reach out for the tank, "I can simply take it back--"

Danyal shifts the tank out from his reach and hugs it possessively. "I never said that. How do I care for it?"

And so clockwork gives her a list, and when Danyal returns to her lair, she sets up a large tank in her room for the leviathan to swim in -- it's much too small for the lake right now, she thinks. She'll feel better if it's somewhere she can find it. She names him Suhā.

Suhā grows quickly, and by the end of the mortal month she transforms one of the rooms into a large pond for him to swim around in. He's a very loyal beast, recognizing her as it's mother of some kind. Danyal takes great care ensuring that her beastie gets quality care, and Suhā swims to the surface to see her when he senses her in the room.

It spirals from there. Somehow, Pandora catches wind that Clockwork gave her a leviathan, and so the next time Danyal visits the Greater Athens, she gives her a baby chimera. It's eyes are still sealed shut, Danyal can't bring herself to say no. She names the little beastie Firas.

Frostbite hears about it too, and not to be outdone, gives her an animal she's never even heard of. Infinite-realms born, apparently. A fox-like creature with two small horns like an impala, four eyes, and tall legs. The name isn't something she's quite sure how to write down, and she's positive that her friends won't be able to comprehend it. She names her Eira.

Getting the three of them used to each other was... interesting. Suhā tried to eat Firas when Danyal first introduced the two, and they've hated each other ever since. Firas and Eira are seemingly getting along. Her island already feels full enough with the three of them on it.

Of course, that's not the end of it. With her luck, she begins stumbling across other monsters. Realms-borne or otherwise. An injured hydra in the Grecian islands that, through lots of trial and error, Danyal is able to rehabilitate and heal. It routinely comes to visit her afterwards.

A griffin with a broken wing that she moves permanently to the island that likes to keep to itself, but tends to come down when she's near. It gets along best with Firas.

A panther-like monster from the Shades Woods that had six legs and three tails, with ends that reminded her of a venus flytrap. It stuck around the heavy foliage and she can only make out where it was when she saw its golden eyes reflect.

She befriends a young indrik with its leg injured, and much like the hydra it follows her back to her island, and stays there in the mountains. It comes out when she's alone, much like her other beasts.

She receives two more leviathan -- one from clockwork, and one she finds herself while exploring the deeper and darker recesses of the Ghost Zone. It was huddled against the carcass of its mother, and she managed to befriend and get close enough to it to bring it back to her island. Suhā is fully grown by then, with a head bigger than Danyal herself and he still likes to stick her head out of the water for nuzzles when she's near.

He's not very happy with his new siblings, but he's not trying to eat them when she's not looking. So she calls it a win in her book.

And it's not just large beasts either; smaller animals begin popping up when she's not looking. Bird-like creatures and small mammals, and she swears she saw a doe (or something resembling a doe) grazing in the forest while she was walking by.

She takes back with her a lone snake egg once, and it grows so big it wraps around her island and sleeps with its massive head on the mountain beside the temple, like some smaller breed of Jörmungandr.

And on and on it goes. Some of the beasts she comes across never step foot onto her island, some of them follow her back, while others she has to carry back. Not all of the ones that follow her stay, and Danny rehabilitates the injured and releases them when they're fully healed.

It's hectic, and busy, and frankly she loves it. Some of her rehabilitated beasts return to visit her, or to have their children somewhere on the island, or whatever it is they need to do.

She becomes a bit infamous for it. She goes to visit Dorathea once, and as she's walking through the streets she can hear some of the denizens whispering while she walks past.

"Is that her?"

"Her highness' friend? Yes--"

"--that's the one--"

"--Mother of monsters--"

Danny's not sure how to feel about that.

Although, she can't say she's opposed.

Danyal Al Ghul, Mother of monsters, raiser of beasts. It has a nice ring to it.

[peggyao3]

Night Crawler - Pt. 1

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader / can be read as OC

SUMMARY: Feyd-Rautha welcomes a nocturnal visitor in his chambers, who is plagued by the symptoms of her artificially induced condition.

WORD COUNT: 3,558

TAGS: 18+, smut, lactation kink 🍼‼️, pseudo pregnancy, breastfeeding (no baby involved only a big sexy egg man), she/her reader, AFAB reader, ambiguous relationship status, non-consenting drug use, dark undertones, implied violence, stockholm syndrome-ish, dubious consent, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Part 1 ↓, Part 2, Part 3

The nights on Giedi Prime are inky black, not midnight blue like on her home world. Inky black are also the sharp-edged pillars that frame the hallway. Jagged polymer giants that intersect the row of windows like alien artifacts. The view outside is not much better. Where one might expect palace gardens are only industrial plants that stretch past the horizon. They are the only source of light.

This corridor is solely occupied by the na-Baron. She has been here many times. But never alone. The corridor where she resides is not far away, yet the path seems to stretch on forever, the Harkonnen palace a hostile monster that pierces her marrow and bone with every barefooted step on cold, black tiles.

She hates this so much. Tonight will be her personal disgrace. That she goes to him willingly, and in the middle of the night no less, is a first.

Though willingly is a farfetched word. No servant has reacted to her request for some pain relief remedy, mumbled then shouted into the transmitter panel in the wall of her chamber. It could be because she had uttered a wrong word in the afternoon or he didn’t like the way she held her fork and knife at dinner. It is hard to tell with Feyd-Rautha.

What is also not under her influence is the chemical cocktail in her veins that tricks her body into believing something has taken root in her womb. The symptoms are manifold, but what torments her most is how her breasts have grown bigger and heavier with milk that no one drinks.

At first glance one might think the fine lines that frame her enlarged breasts are stretch marks, but many of them are scars, placed by an enraptured Feyd-Rautha who loves to lap up the crimson beads, from base to peak. Sometimes his mouth and teeth ghost over her pert nipples.

The na-Baron seems to find sick enjoyment in her condition, fantasizing about the idea without the commitment. It is still better than being forced to carry the his real spawn.

The corridor ends in a dead end and she raises her hand, knocks on the door with cold knuckles. “My Lord?” Her warm breath is a ghost swallowed by the hallway.

There is no sound to be heard, nothing moves aside from the rise and fall of her ribcage. She swallows her pride and knocks again.

A mechanism whirrs and the door slides open. Out comes Feyd with a knife. That much was to be expected, but she still gasps when the icy edge of the blade finds her throat. The na-Baron’s frown dissolves into surprise when he recognizes her. Her throat is one of the few he wouldn’t slit right away for disturbing him.

“Feyd-!” She gasps and flinches away from the blade. Its tip tickles her jaws.

He was asleep, she realizes and is somehow surprised. The slight touch of puffiness around sharp eyes gives him away. She has never seen him sleep and she believes no one has, except for his own mother perhaps, who is now dead by matricide. This pinch of vulnerability on Feyd-Rautha’s face makes her heart stutter, as she hadn’t expected to wrest a triumph from this wretched night.

“What do you want, night crawler?" He sheathes the knife and drags the tip of a finger down her throat instead, to her collarbones, making a shiver roll down her spine. She prefers the knife.

“I am hurting, my Lord.” She stares straight ahead at Feyd's throat while gesturing at her breasts, avoiding his face. Tonight she can't stand to see the sickly joy that lights up his eyes whenever she's in pain. “They are… Too full, or so it feels.” Her bosom sits heavily in the snug night gown, warm and aching.

“Oh. Do they hurt badly?” Feyd wants to hear a yes. Fatigue and ire about being woken are gone now and he stares at her cleavage. The scars he made stare back at him.

“Would I come to you if they weren’t?” She spits. Feyd-Rautha smiles eerily and in the black of the night, his maws look like they possess no teeth.

“Come inside then.” He steps aside, clearing the passage into his chambers. The hairs in the nape of her neck prickle.

“Actually… “ She takes a step back. Even the alien pillars at her back emit more warmth than Feyd's den. “I only need you to call a servant for me. My panel seems to be broken. I’m sorry to have woken you, but I can get no rest like this. And I would…” She cringes. “I would like to be well-rested for whatever my Lord has in store for me tomorrow.” There is always something.

“Is that so?” Something about his voice reminds her of stepping on wet gravel. “You already woke me. No need to wake a servant now.” A hint of a smile creeps over his visage, a threat in one eye, glee in the other as he holds out his hand.

She chooses not to take it, so she can retain some dignity while entering his bed chambers. The door whirrs shut at her back and she knows she won’t be able to exit until he places his hand on a hidden panel. Slowly she walks into the center of the bleak room, walls made of polished stone, steps in the back leading down to a basin that is sunken into the floor. A double bed is at the right hand side and the ruffled sheets are the only sign that something lives in this room.

Feyd-Rautha moves like a beast of the night. She feels his breath on her neck before she hears his footsteps. Wiry arms circle her from behind and pull her against his chest. He is the warmest thing in the room, but as long as she isn’t freezing to death she prefers not to throw herself into an embrace that can warm her one second and scorch her the next. He kisses her neck and softly slides the straps of her nightgown down her shoulders.

Assuming Feyd’s intentions are as they most often are, she shuffles away and pulls the straps back up, trying to sound stern. “F-Feyd-Rautha, I don't know what you think you can do about my predicament, but I-” 

“Sit on the bed with me.” His voice cuts the air like a Fremen crysknife. He is going to cut her breasts open to drain the milk, she thinks when she sits on Feyd's bed. The sheets are still warm.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him approaching and notices the wrinkles in his sleep shirt. Such everyday imperfections look bizarre on a man so atrocious. His bare feet pat on the tiles now and fabric rustles when he climbs on the bed. He sits and leans against the sleek headboard, a single pillow in his back and waits.

“Come.” Reluctantly she turns, gathers her nightgown skirt and scoots closer towards him. Too slow for his liking. His pale fingers brush against her throat. “Why aren’t you wearing your collar?”

“I don’t wear it to sleep!” She spits. “You’d know that if you ever-” Slept with me. Cold sweat breaks out under her armpits.

Feyd’s head tilts to the side, disgusting curiosity in his eyes. He pulls her in his lap, thighs on either side of his hips and then pulls down her night gown with one harsh tug so her right breast pops free. Even the soft scrape of fabric over her nipple makes her whimper and she hisses at him to be gentle.

Seated in his lap, her chest is roughly at Feyd’s face level. At first, she thinks he is only going to ogle the plump shape of her, taking sick pleasure in her visible pain as a reimbursement for disturbing him at night. But then his mouth starts ghosting over her and a trail of nips and feathery kisses leads him to the apex of her breast. One hand curls under the taut flesh and lifts it carefully.

Oh. Now she understands.

How grotesque. How humiliating. She should have expected nothing less.

With horror she watches his plush lips close around the nub. Dark eyes lift to scrutinize her face and when she utters no complaints (although God knows they’re clawing at her throat, they just can’t make it past the lump inside), Feyd closes his eyes.

Her face is scrunched, nails digging into Feyd's shoulders when he creates suction, hesitant at first but greedier as soon as the first drop of white milk decorates his black tongue. She cringes, thighs flexing around his which encourages him to cling to her hip with his free hand.

The sensation repels her at first, alien and encroaching, as if a parasite was latched onto her teat. She has never nursed anyone before. It takes her fear-conditioned mind several moments to realize no harm comes from Feyd’s mouth this time. He only suckles on her breast and his cock twitches against her core, which she ignores. In the chamber’s nocturnal silence, she hears him quietly gulp and with each moment, the torturous pressure in her breast abates. A tear almost slips down her cheek, that’s how thankful she is, even if Feyd-Rautha only helps her for his own pleasure.

Minutes pass and she almost grows used to the sensation, the pressure of his tongue against the underside of her nipple and the occasional scrape of teeth. The tender flesh however is starting to ache, not used to such a long assault of his mouth.

“That's e-enough, it h-hurts now.” 

Feyd growls and his hairless brows twitch over closed eyes. He squeezes her breast, mouth latched over her nipple. Greedily, he suckles, ignoring her wincing. Shivering, she realizes that trying to take away his toy from him will always spark ire, so she gently scrapes her nails over his scalp instead until his ravenous mouth relaxes and strangely, she relaxes too.

“You can have the other one instead, okay?”

That works. His mouth slides over to her left breast, tongue swirling around the nipple before his lips close around it. He suckles more gently now and the relief makes her moan this time, spine arching against his face as milk flows into his mouth.

“Thank you, this is… So good. “

Feyd's hand still cups her right breast, as if scared she or anyone would steal it from him if left unattended. A bead of milk still clings to the nipple. With a spark of hope she wonders if Feyd-Rautha would ever be willing to share her breasts with an heir. 

No, she sees him throttling his own spawn, just so he can have everything for himself.

In the dead of night, a sly little smile tugs on her mouth and she encouragingly wraps her arms around Feyd's neck, hugging him close. Willingly, he sinks into her chest, drinking with abandon. “Keep drinking,” she hums.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the na-Baron, the gladiator, is temporarily docile at her bosom.

The silent victory makes heat grow in her belly as pressure is released from her breasts. She shuffles against his lap and the hardness that rests against his belly. Feyd's hand squeezes her hip, nudging her closer. While he drinks, the other pale hand lightly fondles her right breast, catching the drop of milk with an unusually gentle index finger.

Her spine arches and her hips curl against his pelvis, head and hair falling backwards. The cool of the chamber is now pleasant on her heated skin.

“Feyd, please…” A quiet sigh, nearly swallowed by the midnight hour. Her core curiously grinds against his length.

He seems to know better what she pleads for than she does. The hand on her hip sifts through the layers of silky gown to get to where he needs, finding her flesh unobscured by undergarments. Slick essence coats her gown where she had sat and Feyd’s hand stutters when his knuckles brush through the wetness on the silk.

Instantly, her cunt bucks against his fingers and Feyd's eyes snap wide open. His digits glide through her folds, stunned to find them so wet and hot. Her entrance weeps and yields so easily when he prods lightly with two fingers. 

“Don't say anything, just-” She shakes her head, realizing Feyd hasn’t said anything at all since he discovered the milk from her breasts for himself. Fascinated, he gazes up at her from coal-black eyes, pouty lips puckered around her nipple still when two calloused fingers sink into her cunt. Languidly, he thrusts, finding her walls willing and soft to the touch. She meets each thrust, sighing as she brings her hips up and down.

Looking down at Feyd’s pale skull latched to her breast, she also looks at the scars that paint them. They taunt her now.

‘Does he make you wet now?’ They seem to ask. ‘Has he finally cut you into submission, into the shape he wants?’ 

She doesn't feel overly submissive right now, however. The pace of her hips quickens, as does that of his fingers. Her nails dig into his scalp when a third finger eases into her cunt without her request. The stretch makes her moan and her hips needily rut against Feyd’s hand.

Even if she is not truly in power, she can at least pretend she is.

“Take yourself out of your pants!” 

Determinedly, she sits up straight and leans back, breasts feeling almost light now, compared to before. Her nipple slips out of Feyd’s mouth and he gives it a parting gift, sharp teeth nipping at the tender bud. Probably the punishment for her bold tone. Still, she grows nearly euphoric when he does as she says, sliding his trousers down to his mid thighs, so his daunting cock comes to rest against his navel. It doesn’t daunt her today.

She shuffles and pulls the silky layers of her nightgown away, so her pelvis can rest on the smooth, milky expanse of Feyd’s hairless thighs. His balls rest hotly against her weeping cunt until she raises her hips and kneels, grabbing Feyd’s cock to line him up with her entrance. The size of him makes the angle awkward and she has to lean forward to try and shuffle the thick head between her folds, one hand wrapped around the shaft.

“You can ask for help, you know.” Feyd chuckles, fingers gliding over her thighs under the gown. She hisses and resists the urge to tell him to shut his mouth, lest he ruins the night. It had been so nice without the talk of his foul tongue. Finally, she has him angled like she needs him and her entrance yields for his head.

Feyd knows she struggles to take him, despite the preparation. Her soft cunt stretches around his obscene length and she tries to be strong, play it tough, so her whines can’t give away the challenge it still is for her to be a fitting sheathe for his cock. Amused, he watches her toil away in his lap, slowly sinking down, then hissing and jerking back up. He gives her the time she needs, curiously watching her face shift into triumph when their pelvises come flush.

Up and down she goes, sighing and moaning and her grimace slowly relaxes as she grows accustomed to his cock. Feyd-Rautha sinks into his pillow, sliding down the headboard as his figure becomes more and more horizontal. Her breasts are out of reach now, but he still marvels at the marks and puffiness left by his mouth. His jaws flex. He already misses the taste of her milk. Tomorrow he will instruct the authorized doctors to tweak the formula of her injections, so she will produce more.

Unbeknownst of his thoughts but well aware of his wolfish gaze on her tits, she rides him as she pleases, hands pushing up his sleepshirt so she can grope his pale torso, leaving angry red marks on his belly and on the small dent between his pectorals.

Her shoulders roll forward and her thighs hurt a little from lifting herself so repeatedly, but she tirelessly grinds against his pelvis, chasing the pleasure sparked by power that kindles in her belly before it’ll inevitably go out by something he says or does. If he had pubic hair, perhaps it would be easier to get some friction against her clit. She is missing that extra stimulation to quite push herself over the edge.

Feyd’s hands on her hips have been docile, but the moment she falters, he strikes. Her weak knees buckle when his thumb finds her clit and her wrists are gathered in his other hand.

“I… No!” She stubbornly pleads, the figment of control wrenched out of her grasp. Not even by his hands that overtake her body, but by the mean midnight-smile that decorates his face.

“That’s alright,” he coos sweetly. No one likes gravel mixed with honey.

Hot tears gather in her eyes when she fights weakly against his grasp but still moans from the pressure of his cock. She wants to tell him that nothing is alright. It’s not alright that she can’t even fuck herself to completion without his help. It’s not alright that her legs give out because of the medication he’s put her on to induce false pregnancy. It’s not alright that her tits hurt and she gets sick in the mornings and It’s definitely not alright that he’s taking her little victory away from her.

She is close to tears but doesn’t start crying. Feyd’s hips dictate the rhythm, driving up into her cunt so she no longer rides him, she only helplessly sits as he fucks her. And to her dismay, it feels better. He just does it better.

The pressure of his thumb on her clit is just right, as are the short, hard thrusts against her cervix.

This whole night still counts as a victory, she reminds herself as her head falls back and a climax rolls through her body, walls fluttering around her tormentor’s cock while he pours sweet, gravelly honey in her ears. It’s the softest he’s ever been with her. 

Feyd prolongs her climax, drawing tight little circles on her clit so her walls keep milking him until he has spilled his seed harmlessly against the entrance to her womb. A throaty groan rumbles in his chest and then the chamber falls silent. 

His cock twitches and relaxes against her walls while his thumb still lazily plays with her clit. Uneasily, she shifts in his lap and her squirming draws wet noises from their conjoined pelvises.

“Stop smiling,” she demands.

“I can't.” If only his smile was prettier. Feyd releases her wrists and his thumb abandons her overstimulated clit and ghosts over her abdomen, the bunched gown, her plump breasts. A flutter of warmth follows his trace as he presses into the dip between her clavicles and then brushes over her throat, perhaps still mourning the absence of her collar. 

“I… I need to go to the bathroom.”

Abruptly, Feyd sits up and swings his legs over the edge, catching her before she can fall backwards off his lap. He turns his head and nips at the hand that had instinctively latched onto his shoulder. “Don't be long.”

She denies him the satisfaction of seeing her sway and buckle when she slips off his cock. It smacks against his abdomen and black seed sullies his pale stomach and shirt. Feyd doesn't mind, but if she insists on getting cleaned up, she shall.

For a moment she fears he will follow her, just to make sure she doesn't flush herself down the drain to escape him, but he remains docilely on the bed. 

She just barely makes it to the bathroom before the thick rivulet of cum that rolls down her leg reaches the ankle and stains the floor. Awkwardly, she cleans herself with cold water from the sink and paper towels, then hovers over the toilet and waits until most of Feyd's release has exited her body. Some of it still stubbornly clings to her womb, she's certain. 

For a moment, she regards her reflection in the mirror, little more than a shadow in the dark of night, but even now she sees the shape of her hard nipples under the silk. She feels obliged to clean the cum stain on the floor, even though that's a task for the maids.

Once she comes back out, she almost expects a knife against her throat - foreplay for what Feyd-Rautha might consider the real fun, but the na-Baron's breath chimes calmly and steadily  from the  bed. Could it be? 

Almost as silent as a beast of the night, she slinks to the door, knowing it probably won't budge for her but it's worth a try.

“Where are you going, night crawler? Come here.” 

He lifts the covers and wordlessly she resigns and climbs underneath, like a bird into an alligator’s open maws, hoping she will be useful long enough and her wings not broken when the maws snap shut.

Feyd-Rautha sleeps on her bosom that night and she cries for a good minute while caressing his scalp. Why does every triumph, no matter if big or small, always come at the cost of feeling dirty?

[If you enjoyed this fanfiction, a comment would mean the world to me! <33]

[scoops-aboy86]

By The Heart (Secret Admirer pt 2)

Steddie Week 2024, July 2: Hands / touch starved / Invisible Touch by Genesis

wc: 2136 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

After the world fell apart a second time in November of ‘84, Steve had finished out the rest of his senior year in a daze. Partly because Billy Hargrove had broken a fucking plate over his head, giving him a small scar by his hairline that the doctor said would fade and recurring headaches that the doctor said might stick around anywhere from a few months to forever. 

It’s been more than a few months and the headaches are only slightly less frequent and a tiny bit less severe. 

He graduated, barely. His dad keeps dropping pointed comments about how his parents let him stay in their house rent-free after high school, how he’d saved up while attending a nearby college by not having to worry about the cost of a dorm or basic meals, and that it is his gratitude towards them that has moved him to offer the same to Steve. Usually said comments come after Steve tries to sidestep some sort of menial task, and it always feels like a threat.Steve just grits his teeth and takes it—refills his dad’s drink when the bottle is already literally right by the man’s hand, washes the family car after dinner when both his parents know that Steve has a shift at Scoops first thing in the morning, whatever. He can’t afford to get kicked out right now. 

His job at Scoops Ahoy is shit, all bright fluorescent lights and kids screaming and everything getting sticky for a measly minimum wage, but that probably reflects the quality of the job application he’d submitted. 

He has no friends, no prospects, no one in his corner except a bunch of incoming freshmen and the only one who really seems to want him around is off at some sort of smart people camp that he’d never even heard of… Go figure. 

But he has Secret Admirer. 

Okay, what Steve has is a pen pal who has a PO box and prefers to remain anonymous, possibly because Steve is an embarrassing person to have a crush on these days. And it’s really stupid that he thinks of them as first name Secret, last name Admirer, but it’s not like he hasn’t tried to come up with better names! Unfortunately, there are so many things Secret Admirer has called him (sweetheart, darling, dearest, honey, baby) that he can’t really think of anything original with those constantly rotating in his head… He can’t use them, though. It’d be weird. 

The first letter had been shoved into his locker in the last few weeks of school, looking like someone either wrote it with their non-dominant hand or had also suffered a blow to the head recently, and he hadn’t known what to make of it at first. In fact, he’d considered the possibility that Tommy or Billy were playing some sort of prank on him… but he didn’t think either of them could write “To Steve, the heart of my heart” without bursting into homophobic flames, and if it was Carol she would’ve done her girliest handwriting with hearts dotting the eyes. And his Secret Admirer had mentioned things no one else in his life seemed to care about. 

Like, 

I hope you’re feeling better. Sometimes I notice you squinting or grimacing in the classes we have in common… Are you still getting headaches? Do you get enough rest? You probably already know this, but mental and physical rest are super important for getting your handsome self all recovered, big boy. 

And,

I had a concussion once, not a bad one but it really left an impression. Felt like I was trying to think through a head full of soup for weeks. It sucks that teachers didn’t seem to cut you much slack because, just saying, I noticed they used to do that a lot more when you were still on the basketball and swim teams. Jock privilege placed above consideration of an actual, serious injury? I’m sorry, but that’s the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril, sweetheart, and you deserve better. 

So, yeah. Clearly his Secret Admirer is a nerd who doesn’t necessarily have the best opinion of jocks… but still took the time to notice all those things and write kindly about them. It felt nice, knowing that at least one person out there noticed, maybe even cared. 

And when that letter turned out not to be a one-off, a few more letters in his locker and then one in his mailbox, postmarked and everything, after graduation? Steve was hooked, enough to start writing self-consciously back. 

Which has brought him to the point of wanting so badly to meet this person that he’s stooped to begging, and it’s not even getting him anywhere. 

It’s occurred to him that it could be a guy, of course it has. Steve might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knows it happens. He’d had a friend in middle school, Todd Fischer, nice guy, totally normal kid—got caught kissing some boy in the next grade up behind the gym and turned out to be the worst sprinter of the two. The Fischers had moved out of Hawkins a few weeks later and Steve hadn’t heard anything from or about Todd since. They’d been halfway through reading Romeo & Juliet in English at the time, and Steve remembers thinking when they got to the end of the play that at least things hadn’t gone that badly for Todd and whoever the other kid was. He’s old enough now to know that it could have; between Todd being such a nice kid, Barb dying in his own backyard, and the threat of government agents coming out of the woodwork if he ever breathes a word about certain secrets, the thought leaves a bad taste in Steve’s mouth. 

Anyway, if it is a guy, that would explain why Secret Admirer keeps dancing around his pleas to meet. And the initially disguised handwriting—which had been dropped by the second mailed letter, along with a brief, sheepish apology. 

But it could also be a girl who’s really shy or something. Steve doesn’t want to assume and then look like a total idiot further down the road. Whoever it is, all Steve knows is that he doesn’t want to lose them. He has to play this smart, play it cool… because he knows himself, and already knows that they have him by the heart based on words alone. 

The latest letter is in his hands, crinkled a little at the edges, and Steve can’t help himself from rereading the fifth paragraph yet again. 

… those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off…

He’s not scared off. Doesn’t need to know exactly who put pen to paper to imagine hands and lips running up his legs, either, an invisible touch that sends shivers along his spine. 

Okay, maybe it’s been a while. Between striking out from behind the Scoops counter and not really trying all that hard anyway, the only action Steve’s seen is from his own hand… and this letter. He has thoughts, alright, but has a much better idea of how to translate them into action than words. And this is his problem with the whole pen pal only thing, his natural charm (if he has any left) is absolutely useless in this medium. 

The other problem is that he really, really wants to jerk off about this, except he’s got almost no details to fuel the fantasy. He knows that Secret Admirer had a concussion once, but not what color or length or texture or style their hair is; knows they’re on the fringes of popularity and not really into sports, but nothing about their height or build or how they might move against him. Hell, he doesn’t even know if they’re a girl or a guy, isn’t sure if he should try to imagine boobies and painted nails or stubbled cheeks and big hands. 

Secret Admirer has mentioned being a smoker though, of both tobacco and grass, and Steve is not exactly proud of how strongly this makes him want a cigarette just because it’s all he has to go on. He has work in under an hour and Robin hates the smell of cigarettes, will be extra vicious for their entire shift if he comes in reeking of smoke. 

He’ll have to figure out something else…

Dear Secret Admirer, Thanks for writing again, I was really glad to get your letter. I don’t sleep with them under my pillow because sometimes my pillow ends up on the floor and I don’t want to drool all over them. I keep them in a box in the back of my closet, because sometimes my parents have the cleaning lady do my bedroom without telling me and I don’t want her going through my stuff or putting it in weird places that I can never find again.  Sorry for laughing at you You must not have seen me last week when I threw a banana peel at my coworker for It’s not being humble if I don’t deserve Yeah, fuck high school.  Sorry for not rewriting this, I’m running out of paper and my dad’ll kill me if I break into his office to get more I definitely thought about what you said in your last letter. I thought about it a lot. It’s hard to figure out how to explain what though, because I wanted to picture you like you were probably picturing me when you were writing it. You obviously know what I look like, but I don’t know who you are so I had to get creative. (Which isn’t my strong suit. So if this is stupid maybe we could just never mention it again?) Since I don’t know what you look like and it’d be weird to try and picture you anyway, and then what if I’m not even close and that makes it seem like I don’t like you for who you are? I’m not sure if that makes sense. But anyway, since I don’t know what you look like I pictured you dressed like a ninja.  Hear me out, okay? You’re such a mystery. Ninjas are mysterious, and dressed all black to blend in with the shadows. You can’t see their hair or face and they wear gloves because you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. I guess what I’m saying is I imagined you sneaking into my room at night when the lights are off. Totally silent but with this powerful presence, you know? I think if I were in the same room as you it’d feel like that moment right before the whistle goes off at a swim meet, because that’s just like, holy shit it’s about to happen and your muscles are all tense but ready but you’re waiting, coiled like a snake. So I’m coiled like a snake and you’re still a ninja and I’m not very good at this. I’ve done it over the phone a few times but that’s different. I don’t know where I’m going with this just sitting writing this alone in my room with Genesis playing in the background so I’m going to stop. Just trust me, it was hot. If you ever want to exchange numbers I’d be happy to tell you all about it sometime.  It feels weird to end like that, so I’ll also tell you that I tried reading that Hobbit book you suggested and you were right, it’s a lot easier than the Rings book that the kids I babysit tried to bully me into reading. Bibo is freaking out about all these dwarves in his house and I can relate, it sounds like when those kids all show up and try to rope me into driving them around town. At least they haven’t tried to make me steal anything or try to take on a damn dragon yet. Hopefully this book won’t give them any ideas.  — Steve PS If that was so dumb you changed your mind about still writing to me, please let me down easy. Seriously it would be no hard feelings. At least I still have a great ass and great hair, so I’ve got that going for me.

Tag list (open): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @thetinymm

@practicallybegging @fuzzyduxk @greatwerewolfbeliever

[swirly-strawz]

some doodles of Samadhi Fire MK

If you’re interested in my ramblings about this ⬇️

I wanted to explore the angst that this AU would have and I’ve thought about a bunch of things

1. Guilt

Oh boy, where do I even start? Everyone’s a mess in this, with MK being the biggest mess. I’ll ramble about the ones I thought about.

For MK, he feels guilty about losing control since the others are in a close radius. He screamed his problems out on Wukong, lashing out and crying. What’s worse is that his mentor even walked through the flames for him, getting some burns in the process. The hug was short but it’s what he really needed at the moment.

Wukong feels guilty, his student was screaming about how he felt abandoned because of HIM. Wukong swore to protect MK and yet there he was, crying, raging, burning, etc. He apologizes for leaving him alone, for not being there for him as he walks through the red and purple flames, towards MK. His heart broke as MK shoved him away, looking at him with eyes filled with defeat and sorrow before flying away.

Mei hates herself for not being the one to step in and help her best friend. It took her a few minutes in this disaster to do something, to be there for MK like she always have. But before she could act on it, Wukong swoops in and goes into the fire. Mei wishes that she was hugging MK at the moment when the flames disappeared, not for long though. She runs after MK, reaching out before he leaves a red trail behind as he flies into the sky.

Tang was the one who finished the ritual, who inflicted such unimaginable levels of trauma upon his son. Why did he do it? Why did he listen to the shadow monkey? How could he? He felt so sick, the Samadhi Fire is not something that can be tamed. It can burn anything and anyone, even immortal beings. Pathetic. Useless. Horrible. Responsible. He doesn’t know why no one blames him for what happened, sure they didn’t know MK is the fourth ring, but he’s still the one who caused this to happen! How can he trust himself anymore when he bears the hands that afflicted pain upon his son?

2. Pressure

MK would feel more pressure on his shoulders, now that he has this burden to carry. He learned enough so that the Samadhi Fire is more docile and less chaotic. But that isn’t enough! After the event that occurred in the ritual area, he’s still processing this life. His mind is scarred. He’s so frustrated, he could hear LBD laughing and taunting him at the back of his mind. Why is this so hard?! He’s the Monkie Kid! The world is in danger! He can’t rest right now! If he doesn’t control the fire, the world will burn because of him! Everyone will die!

3. Aftermath

I think after S3 in this AU, MK wouldn’t be as cheery and energetic as his canon self. He would act more as if he just got punched in the gut. Like how Mei acted more rash, impulsive, and impatient, MK would be more on edge, tired, short-tempered, not to the point of being an asshole though. I think he also would be more stressed because of the trauma he faced from the Samadhi Fire. Even when he fully wields it, he’s afraid of accidentally losing control again. MK is more prone into acting feral and pissed off as S4 proceeds. He would lose his shit faster when Azure reveals his true plan.

[cripplecharacters]

Alright, I'm just gonna bite the bullet. Worst that can happen is I make a fool of myself. I've been working on superhero stories, versions of the same universe since I was in 8th grade and what I want more than anything is to modernize superheroes, create a world where they act for all people's social good and take representation to the highest level I can think of. From your position of expertise, what can I do with the creation of disabled characters that would buck the trend, do some good, and show a good side. The non-prosthetic and non-corrected for disability rep in the genre is basically nil, I have no ideas and nothing to draw on. I guess I just wanna know what disabled audiences might like to see for once in their lives.

Hello!

Disabled superheroes are awesome. There's really few of them but the ones that we do have are often really important to us - you can look at the reactions to Sun-Spider being first introduced to the Spiderverse, back then I couldn't open my fridge without seeing that one panel where she explicitly says she has Ehlers-Danlos.

Here are a few suggestions of what I'd like to see in the superhero genre:

Superheroes with facial differences. Comics love to use us for their ugly disfigured evil villains but not much else unfortunately. I'd kill for a superman type hero who saves people with a smile and a facial difference on his face. Especially for superhero stories that are geared towards kids and teens, we just desperately need something to help with shifting the public perception of people with facial differences from "evil and ugly" to "people that can be awesome". A hero with burn scars, with Treacher Collins syndrome, Bell's palsy, neurofibromatosis... anything.

Superheroes who use disability aids (and still need them when doing their job!). Sun-Spider is an awesome example, she swings from her crutches and has a spider wheelchair. That's cool as hell. But even a less in-your-face aid would be great. A superhero flying above the city with her ankle-foot orthoses visible would go really hard. Also, superheroes who are concerned on how much these things cost and try their best to make sure they're still functional while they save the city.

Heroes with different causes of their disabilities! The vast majority of morally good disabled characters were involved in An Accident or some sort of Attack that disabled them. That's not bad or wrong at all, but I think in media is kind of oversaturated with this specific portrayal when a lot of people have progressive or congenital conditions. We need more stories that show those who were born disabled as heroes equal to those who were born abled and spent most of their lives abled. Superheroes with cerebral palsy, chromosomal disorders, congenital rubella, achondroplasia, all the disabilities that tend to get ignored despite so many people having them. Same for really common chronic illnesses, diabetes or COPD are criminally underrepresented.

Disabled superheroes that aren't saints because of their disability. This is the whole "disabled person can do no wrong" trope that appears sometimes. I'm mentioning it since superheroes are more "perfect" than most characters in other genres, so try to not make it so the disabled ones can do no wrong. Disabled people can still make mistakes that are their fault, make poor decisions, or just simply be angry sometimes.

When there's no active superhero action going on, show the normal human parts of the disabled experience. Depending on the demographic you're writing for it would be different things, but there are some fairly universal concepts like inaccessibility, microaggressions, or just boring things like the prosthetic leg no longer fitting well after the character gained some weight. If your characters are from the US, don't be afraid to mention that their insulin costs are barely affordable with their superhero pay. Show how the common everyday kind of ableism affect them when they're in civilian mode. This will make it much more authentic to disabled readers.

These are my suggestions, and I hope they are helpful. My last advice is to have multiple disabled characters, and in different roles. Maybe a character with late ALS can no longer do superhero fighting, but he can still be a wonderful parent. Maybe the character with Usher syndrome is more interested in the hero than being a hero themselves (disabled heroes in relationships!). Maybe the character with phocomelia can't be a hero yet because she's six, but she can train hard to be one when she's older. Keep it varied, have them come from different life situations and have different goals just like abled characters do.

I hope this helps!

mod Sasza

[bitethedevil]

Am i delulu or does raphael admire tav/durge? I know its him performing, but as gale says "inviting to dine with devil is devils equivilant of serenade and roses" and first scene where we meet him he does eye tav/durge througly from bottom to top. Also he says "im fan of your work" to durge. So idk?? It lowey feels like raphael is fond of us in game but i need proof/ professional analysis. [Ahem you are the professional mouse afterall heehee~]

He Loves Us, He Loves Us Not: What is Raphael’s Relationship with Tav/Durge?

*Puts on my little mouse glasses* I’m glad you asked. I’m summing up a few points that I have also written about in another analysis called ‘Raphael and weaponized mortality’, so if that sounds interesting, you can find it in my reading list.

Everything about Raphael screams wolf in sheep’s clothing (or a cambion in man’s clothing if you will). Here are a few points illustrating this:

Cambions naturally have a really predatory kind of stench to them because they are entirely carnivorous. Yet, he is described as a perfumed trickster who smells of cherries and sulphur, most likely because he is trying to cover up that smell.

Poetry, an art that is very dependent on nasty mortal concepts such as ‘feelings’, is something we know he uses a lot. He’s not really good at it and he even says it’s not his ‘main interest’ to Karlach in the second act. His theatrical nature and use of poetry humanizes him, and I think he is well-aware of this.

When you call him out as a devil in front of Mol, he says something about how she wouldn’t believe them anyway, ‘not with his angelic complexion’. We also know that Gortash’s parents sold him to a ‘warlock’ and that’s how he ended up with Raphael. I’ve seen multiple places that that warlock is supposed to be Raphael himself.

Now this all makes me believe that he usually does not reveal his true nature to his clients unless: 1) they’ve already signed, or 2) they are so utterly fucked that they have already reached the point of no return with him and are forced to take his deal no matter what.

Yet, he reveals his true nature to us from the get-go. Yes, one could argue that the tadpole-gang does fulfill option 2) according to him and that’s why he does it, but I think it could also be something else. I think he knows from early on that we are his best bet, so he chooses to lay out all his cards on the table and tries to build as much trust as he can from the beginning.

This is also the function of helping us with Astarion’s scars. Dealing with a devil when you’ve never dealt with one before? Scary. Dealing with a devil when he has proven once before to keep his word? Much less scary. He’s ‘grooming’ us for trusting him to keep his word with THE deal (and he gets to fuck over Daddy Meph by potentially robbing him of a lot of souls. Win-win.)

I think Gale is right on the money when he says that it’s ‘a devil’s equivalent to serenades and roses’. Raphael is like a bird or something. He’s showing off, charming us, but also reminding us that he is big and scary. Although despite the fact that he is big and scary ‘he simply wants to help us’.

He’s done his research and already knows everything about us, so he knows exactly how to play us. This is demonstrated in the comment to Durge in the beginning and the thing he says in Last Light if you tell him he knows nothing about you: “Don’t I indeed?.

I really think that we turn into an obsession for him at some point and that the lines between the obsession about the Crown and his obsession about us blurs. This seems definitely to be the case in his journals. I mean the poor guy has nightmares about us…

I also am so sure that he is not even trying to trick us into anything with the Orphic Hammer. He truly does believe that the Emperor is a threat to us. See this:

I DO think he admires us or at the very least is heavily rooting for us. I don’t remember the exact quotes, but Korrilla tells us in Sharess’s that her and Raphael made a bet about if we would make it to the Gate, and Raphael won that bet because we had. He really believes in our merry little band of idiots.

His reaction if we betray him is also very telling I feel like. Notice how his eyes widen for a moment before they narrow and say the ‘You’ line. He seems surprised. In that whole sequence he is obviously pissed, but most of all I also just get the feeling of a man that has been humiliated and who is angry that he had put so much time, work, and trust into us.

He says that ‘he is fond of us, in his way’ and that I completely believe. It might not be out of love or affection or anything like that, but he is as fond of us as a cambion can be of someone. We’ve grown on him, and he sees potential and use in us. We fascinate him and I’d even go as far to say that he respects us. I feel like even if you give him the Crown of Karsus and he gets to rule the Hells, he will not forget the people who brought him there. He would not flaunt the fact that he had mortals help him get the Crown, but I think that when he goes on his spree to fuck up the realms outside the Hells, Tav and gang would at the very least be spared or even given privileges in that new world order. Is that a bit fucked up? Yeah…But we have to remember what he is: a devil.

(Thank you so much for the ask <3 That became a long answer. I love to yap lol)

[the-ace-with-spades]

I need a fic where Ghost and Soap are on the run but like, framed and on the run.

They're on an assignment, just the two of them, to co-lead a team for the prevention of assassination for some big-name politician (dunno, I like to think this would happen either in usa or in the uk...) and it's all done and they're about to pack their shit and go back to base when Soap gets an encrypted call from Price to tell him that a video of Ghost killing the same big-name politician is on the telly

It's not Ghost, obviously, but it's someone of Ghost's posture, in Ghost's gear and Ghost's mask.

Also obviously, Soap doesn't believe it.

They get surrounded pretty fast by the local SWAT-like team and Soap makes Ghost use him as a hostage so they can escape with a minimal amount of maiming -- Soap is pretty sure Ghost could escape on his own, but it'd be a bloody mess that would follow him after he was proven to be framed.

Of course, Ghost tries to get Soap to leave once they're out of the danger zone. He does not.

Cue Ghost and Soap on the run while Price, Gaz and Lasewell try to find out who is framing him.

Simon's existence was erased so much that there are no pictures of him anywhere so instead, his APB has a sketch and a description. Problem is, the scars on his face were included, and way too characteristic to miss them (whether it's the glasgow smile or other scars, dunno, but you get my point). At first, it's really hard to move around because scars/mask + Simon being like 6'4 and built like a tank scream 'notice me'. Simon grows out a beard - it's red-ish blond colour so he ends up dying his hair red too. He absolutely doesn't care but Soap mourns because he's barely started being able to see Simon's face and hair and now it's all changed up.

Soap doesn't have an APB at first, but after a couple of days he is named as complicit (because he's seen helping Ghost run) and his photo is out. He has to shave the mohawk because it's too eye-catching (he's fucking bald and he hates it). He has to rein in his accent because he is described as glasgowian scottish. He can't call his maw so he sends her a random postcard he picked up a few towns ago and sends a short and cryptic message, hoping she believes he's not a terrorist.

Soap also finds out Ghost knows way too many shady people and knows way too easily where to look for even more shady people if he needs something the former people don't have. They steal shit out of necessity, often clothes and food, but sometimes they pickpocket cards and wallets. Some days they sleep in the car, some days they stop at questionable motels or hostels, and some days they don't sleep at all. They have burner phones but don't contact Price at all.

There would be a mandatory 'taking care of each others' wounds' scene (no bandages, please, you rarely use bandages in healthcare nowadays) after a dangerous run-in, a mandatory 'pretend to be a couple to lose the trail' and after that, an awkward 'there was only one bed' scene where things happen for the first time and they have a sloppy handjob or two.

They're probably trying to escape the country but can't do it via air because of the APBs and have to make their way to some shady port and even shadier ferry or cargo ship that won't run their fake passports in the system if they pay well enough.

Ghost is surprising Soap once again with an off-shore bank account and a knowledge of whichever country they're in's language. They move somewhere less crowded but not small enough that two Brits would be weird. Some people refer to Ghost as Soap's husband.

Weeks or months go by.

"What if they can't prove I didn't do it?"

"You faked your death once, love, I think you can do it twice."

[vodika-vibes]

Me again 😈 this is the last one (for now)

How about Howzer x reader with "sh, sh, I'm going to patch you up."?? I love Howzer so much and virtually no one writes for him </3

Playing Doctor

Summary: In an ideal world, being trapped in a cramped place with Howzer would be a dream come true. After all, you’ve been crushing on him for ages now. You just wish the situation was a little less sucky.

Pairing: Captain Howzer x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1200

Warnings: Reader is injured, pining, Howzer is jealous but pretends that he isn't

A/N: Sorry that this took so long! I couldn't get Howzer to agree with me. Until I put on a Disney playlist on Spotify and the words just started flowing. (Also, I have been in a not-great mental place since the 6th, but I think I'm better-ish now). I hope you like it!

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You’ve known Howzer for years now. 

You first met him at the beginning of the Clone Wars, all of those years ago. And, looking back now, you can admit that your first impression of him wasn’t the greatest. 

He was arrogant. Cocky, even. And in his opinion, you were a meddling busybody who needed to spend a day or two sitting in a jail cell.

You weren’t, and aren’t, a soldier. You were the former base commander’s receptionist, and when he left for greener pastures, you were left behind with a handful of soldiers and support staff who weren’t important enough to anyone to manage to pull a reassignment.

In truth, you kept the base running through duct tape and a prayer. And then Howzer came along and took it from you. 

It wasn’t until he realized that none of the NatBorn soldiers, or support staff, would listen to him, that they all deferred to you, that Howzer realized that he stepped on a few toes. 

And he didn’t apologize until your Squad of Misfits pulled him and his men out of an ambush that should have killed them, but only left him badly injured and with a scar on his face.

The rest, as they say, is history.

By the time the Jedi Purge happened, you and Howzer were friends. Friends enough that, when he called you to ask for help, you dropped everything and hurried to his side. 

That had been a year ago, and while you won’t ever say that you regret it, you do wish that you had been more clever about your career prospects.

Or, at least, more clever.

Surely, if you had gone to medical school like your mother wanted you wouldn’t be in this situation.

Right?

You release a pained whimper as Howzer presses his hands, firmly, over the wound in your side. You try to pull away from his painful touch, but the way he has you positioned against the wall of the cave you’re taking shelter in means that you can’t move.

“Howzer—”

“I know it hurts, ad’ika.” His voice is low, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a grim look on his face before. Well, not directed towards you, at least, “but I need to stop the bleeding.”

Hesitantly, because he’s been funny about you touching him lately, you wrap your hands around his wrists, “‘m sorry. I messed up.”

“It’s not your fault. Who knew that the Stormtroopers had people who could use fucking javelins. Where are we, the Middle Ages?” He sounds stressed and angry.

“Many Indigenous people use weapons like that,” You reply, “Like the Ewoks and the Tusken Raiders of Tatooine.”

Howzer releases a huffed laugh, “Why do you know that?”

“I saw a documentary about it before,” You admit.

“Yeah? When was this?” He applies more pressure and you whimper as the sudden pain knocks the air out of your lungs, and you see a muscle work in his jaw.

“When I was a kid,” You manage to say, “There used to be a show. Tula the Tooka. Tula would teach kids about different races and show how we’re all the same.”

“Fighting bigotry one little kid at a time?”

“Something like that.” You wince, “She also covered some basic language skills, like how to say hello, or I’m lost, in whatever language.”

“Sounds educational,” Howzer shifts his hand and glances at your side, and then he takes your hand and presses it over the wound, “Apply pressure while I pull out my kit.”

“You could always just leave me here,” You offer.

“Don’t be fucking stupid, I’m not leaving you behind.” Howzer replies as he starts digging through the bag he’s been carrying, “You can’t actually think that I would do that.”

“I don’t.” You admit, “Make your life easier if you were less loyal, though.” You pause, “Idiot.” The word is affectionate, and the corner of Howzer’s lips curl up into a small smile.

“Wonder what having an easy life would be like,” He jokes, before he turns back to you, “Alright, move your hand.” You do as he asks, though you don’t realize why he’s saying that until the sharp scent of alcohol reaches your nose.

You yelp and jerk back when an alcohol-soaked cloth presses against your side. Though, you don’t get far.

“Shh, shh,” he effortlessly tugs you closer, so he can keep the cloth pressed against your side, “I’m going to patch you up.”

“You couldn’t have given me some warning?” You choke out.

“Sorry, ad’ika. But you’re kind of a baby when it comes to pain.”

You stare up at him through tear-filled eyes, “And you thought this would help? You’re a jerk. Rex would never—” You yelp again when his touch gets rough enough that it hurts.

The painful pressure vanishes almost immediately, “Sorry, I’m sorry! I forget that you’re so much more fragile than me.” Howzer blurts as he uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe a tear from your cheek, “Please don’t cry.”

“I-it’s okay, you didn’t mean it.”

Howzer sighs, “It’s not okay, but thank you.” He pulls some bandages from his bag, “I bet Rex would never forget that.” There’s something odd in his voice, and you realize, with a start, that he’s jealous. 

“Howzer?”

“Hm?”

“Are you jealous of Rex?”

He fumbles with the wrapper of the bandage, and his dark eyes flicker up to meet your gaze, before dropping back to your side, “Course not.”

You stare at the top of his head for a moment, and then you sigh and reach up to run your fingers through his hair, “You know you’re my favorite, right?”

“Are you allowed to have favorites?” Howzer asks as he applies the bandage and tapes it to your skin.

“I think you’ll find that I don’t care about what’s allowed,” You counter, “You’re my favorite, and I’m glad that I ended up stranded here with you over anyone else.”

He finally meets your gaze, “You hate being stranded anywhere.” Howzer corrects with a wry smile.

“See, no one else knows me like you do.”

“Well, I have known you for years now,”

Your hand falls from his hair to rest against his cheek, just over his scar. There are so many things you want to tell him. So many thoughts you want to share. 

Things that he deserves to know.

But the words seem to stick in your throat.

After all, there’s no way he feels the same way for you as you do for him.

So, instead, you offer a tiny smile, “I’m guessing you have a plan.”

Howzer turns his head and presses a light kiss to the palm of your hand, “Always do.” He pulls away from you, “Are you okay waiting here for me?”

“Just don’t forget about me.”

“Never.” He stands and peels off his jacket, “Here, use this as a pillow and get some rest. I’ll be back when I’m done.”

You take his jacket and fold it so you can lay down, “Be careful,” Howzer tosses you a wink, and then he’s gone. 

And, now alone, you release a quiet sigh. “I love you, Howzer.”

@imabeautifulbutterfly

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[cod-dump]

The Guy to Know

pricenik

(also on ao3, word count 15509)

_____

John didn't always thinks things through, he was quick to let his impulses win. His captain said he was a handful, though John found joy in that, making the old man run in circles. He was a pain the ass but he was, undoubtfully, good at what he does. He had a bite to him that helped him survive. That's why he was on Captain MacMillan's team, why he was SAS.

Yes, he would consider himself hotheaded, running in head first without much forethought. It was something his captain would get onto him for, something his teammates rolled their eyes at because ‘That’s just like you’. 

He meets someone promising glory at the end of what should be a brief trip out of country? He can't refuse, but maybe he should've thought about it a little longer, he didn't know this woman. But, he was impulsive. That was John Price's specialty.

“I don’t like going in bare, Kate.” 

He knew Kate for a few months now. She was CIA, young and ambitious. Was sniffing around Liverpool for a week before she sat next to him during a football game. She knew him and John wasn’t fond of her knowing so much about him when he didn’t know an equal amount about her. 

He didn’t trust her but then she brought up his captain by name and he relaxed. Now he was starting to think he jumped into this strange friendship too quickly. He wasn’t sure how she convinced him to fly into Russia, no weapons, fake passports and ID’s, disguised as a couple on vacation. He knew Mac would probably be disappointed he got himself into this situation so quickly after he went on leave. 

“It’s a hassle to smuggle gear in, so we’re picking some up there.” 

“Picking some up? Going shopping?” 

Kate ignored his sarcastic tone, “I know a guy.” 

He scoffed, wondering how well she actually knew him. 

She rented a car and drove them from the airport and out of the city. He could die out here, like an idiot. Mac wouldn’t even know, he’ll come back from leave wondering where his idiot sergeant ran off to. 

They got to a small, small town and stopped by an auto shop. It was busy, full of men yelling in Russian. Quite a few of them had visible tattoos, a lot of them were smoking, and all of them eyed them like meat when they walked in. Kate wasn’t fazed, asking for a man named Nikolai. Those were the magic words because once that name was spoken, the door to the office in the back opened. 

John Price was a bold man. He argues with superiors like it was his job, his opinion was always known. Yet he clammed up the moment he saw the mountain of a man that was Nikolai. Kate told him she knew a guy but this wasn’t who he was expecting. 

Big, recently shaved head and face. He had a fresh, red scar on his shoulder that peaked from his collar. He was cautious yet walked like he couldn’t care less about where he was or who he was with. Kate whispered something to him, something in Russian that John couldn’t translate. He figured it was a passcode or something because the man visibly relaxed even more, grinning. 

“This your guy?” 

John swallowed, Kate eying him when he shifted on his feet. 

“Nikolai. This is the sergeant I was telling you about. John Price.” 

Nikolai stared at him, stared like he was reading his very soul. John felt like a child who knew they were seconds away from being scolded. But Nikolai didn’t scold or say anything that he was expecting. ‘I’m not impressed’ , ‘This is what I have to work with?’, ‘Don’t get in my way’ -- Nothing of the sort. He just nodded, as if satisfied, before he whistled a particular tune. 

Suddenly they were surrounded and John was ready to go on the defensive. But Kate grabbed his arm. 

“Don’t.” 

Two men approached Nikolai, carrying a trunk. They sat it at his feet and Nikolai took out a key that had been hidden in his shirt, hanging from what John had previously presumed to be a simple gold chain. Inside the trunk was weapons, ammo, a bag, and a couple body armor vests. 

“Bag has the intel you need to get in.” 

John blinked, keeping close to Kate as she moved to fetch the items from the trunk. 

“How much is she paying you?” 

Nikolai eyed him and Kate sighed, throwing a vest into his arms as an attempt to change the subject. But Nikolai was interested, smirking as he turned his body to face John. 

“Honestly? She’s not paying the full amount I would be asking. But! I like her.” 

John stares at Kate who honestly looks offended, “I will leave you here in the streets if you say anything.” 

Kate glares and John shuts up, Nikolai laughing gleefully. John shivering at the sound. Deep into enemy territory, dragged into a job by a woman he honestly didn’t know that well convinced him to help her with, and they’re being helped by a guy who’s doing it because he likes Kate. He was smelling disaster ahead of them. He didn’t trust this man, didn’t know what he had in on this and didn’t know much about him other than ‘Chimera’. 

A callsign? Organization? He saw nothing in the auto shop that could give him any clues and Kate wasn’t giving him much to go on besides ‘trust me’. 

“Pick up your gun, Price. We have a job to do.” 

John grabbed the weapon from the trunk, making eye contact with Nikolai. John turned away to focus on Kate and this job he got roped into, choosing to ignore the intense staring that Nikolai was directing solely on him. He was getting out of this country as soon as possible if Kate doesn’t get him killed. 

She had gotten them this far, so he had to trust that she would get them to the end. 

Kate didn’t just get gear from Nikolai, she had a vehicle that had more supplies waiting behind the auto shop. She had originally told him she had this planned for a while and that she just needed some muscle to help make things happen and he was honestly impressed. 

“We’re heading into enemy territory, now, John.” 

“Oh, we’re not in it now?” 

Kate glared at him while John smirked. She was fighting a smile, he could tell. If she gets them killed at least he managed to annoy her.

___

He honestly hadn’t expected that the Russian arms dealer would come in at the last possible moment to practically save the day. They were under heavy fire and John had lost his helmet ages ago. He was sure this was it, his last moments, until an armored van busted through a brick wall. 

The majority of their ops were crushed and the rest was quickly taken care of. And Nikolai, that bastard, opened a door with a grin and a cigarette between his lips. John was honestly frozen in place as Kate quickly ran over and jumped into the van, making sure to secure her intel before she yelled at John to get his ass in the van. 

He had to run and dive in the door that Nikolai had wide open as more ops showed up to the scene. He was clinging to the seat as he laid on the man’s lap, the van’s driver taking off the moment Nikolai grabbed his vest to secure him. John’s heart was pounding as he heard gun fire, Kate laying in the backseat as bullets nail the sides of the van. 

The driver sped along the tiny dirt road, Nikolai’s men shooting out the windows at their pursuers. John managed to get crawled into the seat between Nikolai and the driver, sitting up with a huff. Nikolai was grinning as he grabbed a gun from the glovebox, turning to John as he tried to steel himself. 

“We have ten minutes to get them off our tail so we can disappear smoothly, which is greatly preferred. Think you can manage that, sergeant?” 

John scoffed, grabbing the gun, “I’ll do it in five.” 

With that, he grabbed Nikolai’s cigarette and put it between his teeth, climbing into the backseat with Kate. She had a rifle loaded, ready to stick out the window. 

“Hey, need you to get that drive out of here or all of this was for nothing.” 

“I’m not helpless, John.” 

He uses that opportunity to trade guns, giving her the handheld as he took the rifle, “Didn’t say you were.” 

John climbs into the very back with Nikolai’s men. He was always a good shot and he was hoping that wouldn’t fail him now. 

The language barrier wasn’t enough to keep John from being able to communicate to one of the men of his plan. Maybe he had a vague understanding of English, enough to know to aim for the tires as soon as John swung one of the back doors open. 

“John!” 

Kate didn’t like the plan of him making the inside of the van open and vulnerable.  

“Whatever you’re doing make it quick!” 

John shot at the tires as Kate yelled at him, growling when it wasn’t slowing down their pursuers. He ducked when one of Nikolai’s men grabbed him and shoved him to the floor, roughly shoving a metal crate in front of them for cover. Then, John noticed something in the corner of the van, stuck in a vest. 

Jackpot.

“Grenade going out!” 

Pin out and a well place throw, the grenade launched onto the road and under the front vehicle -- 

BOOM! 

John watched the front vehicle launch into the air, flipping and crashing into the vehicle immediately behind it. He watched as the vehicles ram into one another while others swerved, running off the road and some ramming into trees. John laughed as did the men around him. Two grabbed the back doors and shut them, John slumping against the back set where Kate laid. 

“What’s the time?” 

Kate snorted, “4:55, bastard.” 

He heard Nikolai laugh out and John took that as his success.  

___

The safe house was deep in an old town, half of the buildings were run down and there were very few residents. John wondered if they were even civilians and not more of Nikolai's people. He seemed to have them everywhere. He had resources, a lot of them. John wondered where he had managed to get it all.

”Nikolai isn’t actually your name, is it?”

The man hummed, in disagreement or agreement? John wasn’t exactly sure. John took it as agreement.

”What is your real name?”

”Fae can’t just give their real name out like that, sergeant.”

John blinks and Nikolai snickers to himself. Oh, the man has jokes.

”If you must have a surname, Nikolai Chimera would do just fine.”

”Yea, I’m not doing that.”

Nikolai seemed to have a permanent, smug look on his face. One of near constant amusement.

“I have to know-” 

Nikolai was quick to interrupt with a smirk, “Have to? You seem to be alive and well without knowing.” 

John glared with no heat, “As I was saying...” 

He paused for a moment, waiting for another interruption but Nikolai said nothing, smiling as he sat there silently. John huffed, looking away to hide the smile attempting to take hold. 

“How’d you meet Kate?” 

“Ah, Kate? How did you meet her?” 

“She crawled into the seat behind me while I was watching a home game. Football, but she wasn’t there for sports. Knew my captain by name and reputation, wanted to see if I was willing to work with her when he wasn’t.” 

Nikolai hummed, “Similar story. She found me... enjoying a sport of my own. Brought up a sensitive name and with the promise of helping me and my ambitions. She’s kept her word so far so I’ll keep mine.” 

John wasn’t satisfied, Nikolai’s answer being far too vague. Maybe John was too open, too easy to read. Kate read him far too easily despite their brief relationship, Nikolai was either as sharp as her or John needed to learn to shut his trap. Mac always kept saying he liked to talk a bit too much, liked to be noisy. 

“Kate only knows my business because she dug deep. Want it from me then you’ll have to do the same or buy me dinner.” 

John felt his ears go hot, that had to be a joke. Nikolai has been full of them with a healthy dose of sarcasm. But he didn’t hear any sarcasm and it made him restless, the need to move making him stand quickly. He cleared his throat and stepped away, keeping his back to Nikolai. The Russian snickered, so it was a joke. He got the reaction he wanted and John bit his tongue to keep himself from saying anything that would reveal his embarrassment. 

He could hear Nikolai standing, moving past him to grab something. He didn't have to brush shoulders but chose to. John had to restrain a shudder as goosebumps lit up his shoulder and arm.

"One of mine is bringing food. Fresh and hot."

"Food?" John wanted to kick himself for the crack in his voice, clearing his throat as soon as he heard it.

“Да, Kate picked.” 

John nodded, unable to look at Nikolai as the man moved around the room calmly. He was unbothered, even seemed quite pleased with himself. 

"John-"

As soon as John heard Kate's voice he quickly left the room. He heard nothing from Nikolai about his obvious retreat. Kate was sitting in a plush chair that didn't fit the surrounding room. Sitting cross legged with a pad of paper on her lap, she was deciphering something, maybe a code from a contact, he didn't bother asking or taking a closer look as he sat on the couch adjacent from her.

"You came in here quickly..."

"You need- You called so-"

Kate eyed him before she bit her lip to stop a laugh. His face felt like it was on fire and Kate was very happy about it.

"Thought I was picking something up about you."

Price glared, "I'm tired, I'm hungry, this place is cold, and I'll have to have a good long chat with Mac when this shit is over."

Kate hummed, still smirking. He turned from her, not finding her teasing easily digestible with Nikolai's comment from a mere few minutes ago. 

"I'll come back to that on a later date."

John grunts and decides to look back at her, "What's that?"

"Crossword."

John blinked and leaned over before he groaned. He flopped over the length of the sofa, exhausted. Kate snorted as she took her time reading over her puzzle while relaxed, unlike him.

"MacMillan has high praise for you, didn't expect you to be... this when I met you at that game in Liverpool."

"First off; you stalked and cornered me while I was enjoying an excellent hot dog with some chips. Secondly; Wait until I get my harmonica then you'll see exactly who that Scottish cunt has been dealing with."

Kate let's out a laugh, "God, I thought that was a joke."

"I love a good tune and this fucking place hasn't had shit."

"Wow-"

John was almost completely fused with the sofa, allowing himself to close his eyes. He could hear Kate giggling and he found himself finally relaxing. He was still on foreign turf, starving, a slight chill that was becoming irritating, and he was desperate for at least ten minutes of shut eye.

John opens his eyes when he hears what is now the very familiar sound of Nikolai's boots, walking into the room. John turned his head when he noticed the man standing behind the back of the couch, he didn't want to risk making eye contact. Kate saw this and grinned. He was giving her fuel and he had only himself to blame.

"Food has arrived."

John focuses on Kate, trying to keep his sanity in check, "What you order?"

"Pizza."

"Kate..."

"With olives."

"Kate-"

Nikolai chuckles, "There's more than one kind."

"Thank you."

John sat up, he could feel that Nik was standing behind him and it just sent a chill down his spine. Kate unfolded her legs, setting her pad of paper on the arm before she stood.

"I'm eating a whole pie. The rest of you have to share."

John snorts, "You can keep it. It's already been tainted."

"I'm putting olives in your birthday cake."

John gags, "And that's why you're not invited."

Kate walks past, grinning. There was a moment of silence before Nikolai spoke, "You don't like olives?"

It was a simple comment, John looking over his shoulder at the man, "I don't hate them but I could live happily without them."

Nikolai stared at him and John had to fight to not look away. Finally, he steps away back into the other room.

"Noted."

John blinked before the smell of pizza coaxed him into standing and joining the others.

___

John slept easier than expected. He got out with bruises and a sore ankle and honestly that's the best he's ever left with. Kate had her intel and now they were prepping to head back to the UK, there Kate would get a ride back home to the States and John would have a little meeting with Captain MacMillan. He wasn't looking forward to it.

"Maybe if I walk in speaking Russian, he'll be so shocked that he'll be nice."

Kate rolls his eyes, "With what we gained he'll have no choice but to be nice. Intel on the Russian Ultranationalists, plus a new friend... if you choose not to leave that in Russia."

John bristled, Kate watching him. 

"The fuck are you on?"

Kate sighs, "Are you that dense?"

John glares and Kate scoffs, looking away. John wasn't sure what she was on, not fully. He had a feeling he knew but he wasn't willing to speak it into existence. So far the obvious wasn't stated and John could live his life without it. Though Kate didn't seem willing to leave it be.

"I know enough on Nikolai to know he won't be offended. He's a pretty open-minded man."

John stands and Kate tenses for a second. He says nothing, again not wanting it to be said but it was heading there. Kate remained where she sat, keeping her composure. He felt his heart pound, head swimming as he stared at her. This topic was never a easy one to have, especially not with someone he had know for only little over a month. Was it bait? Was she trying to get him to admit something that he won't be able to take back?

”He won’t take offense if he were to learn you had a cr-“

"We're not close enough to have any discussions like that. Clear?"

Kate looks him up and down, a quick thought cross her mind before she nods, "Crystal."

___

"You're goin' off on your own now, huh?"

John was around the same height as the captain, but the man had bulk over him. He was intimidating, especially when annoyed or, god forbid, angry. John took a lot from him, mimicking a lot of things that made Captain MacMillan the cunt he was.

"With the example you set?"

The man lets out a short laugh, not showing much amusement in his expression. John flicks his eyes away, trying to look anywhere but his captain. The man just stared, like he was trying to set him on fire.

"I was working with the CIA, like I told you. It wasn't like I was fucking around for my own amusement."

"Hm... CIA? Don't remember ever giving you clearance..."

"She approached me."

Mac huffs, "Did she?"

This wasn't getting him anywhere so John tried to shift the subject, "I have a contact."

It worked because Mac leaned over his desk, "A contact?"

"Russian arms dealer. His name's Nikolai, runs an outfit called Chimera."

The face Mac made showed that John had an in back to his good side.

"Chimera? They've been opposing the ultranationalists. Intercepting convoys and taking that cargo for themselves. They sell it to clients, too," John hums, trying to keep his composure, "You have contact with that Nikolai?"

John nodded and Mac laughed, "God, I was gone for a month-"

”I can get shit done without your constant hovering, old man.”

Mac snorts, “Got a way to contact him?”

John spoke without thinking, “Yes.”

”Oh? Well, I’d like to have a word with him, seeing as he likes to fuck with the people who make my job literal hell.”

John nods and Mac goes to speak but John interrupts with raising his hand, standing as he does.

”… Jonathan, do you actually-?”

”Yes.”

Mac just watched in confusion as John backed out of the room. Maybe he watched out of amusement, wanting to see how deep of a hole John could dig himself. John didn't look back, trying not to run down the hall. Sikes passed him, stopping when he didn't say a word to him.

"Where are you running off to?"

John doesn't reply and disappears around the corner. He hopes that Mac won't say anything, save him the embarrassment, but he wasn't that nice. John would prefer to be off base by then. Maybe running off again wasn't the smartest thing but while Mac tended to be an ass, he had a soft spot for him, and John planned to take full advantage of that.

If the old man wants to meet Nikolai, then John is going to get him that meeting. He just... needs to make a phone call and apologize to Kate. They didn't leave on a good note and John hasn't stopped thinking about it. She didn't come off as that kind of person, someone who would hold personal information like that over her teammates, but she's CIA and frankly, John isn't sure about her.

Still, he gets to a payphone and dials the number Kate left him with despite the sourness in the air.

"Yes, I would like to speak to an Agent Kate Laswell... Sergeant John Price, SAS."

Those few minutes when he was on hold was excruciatingly long. He counted two and a half but it felt like thirty. The line clicked and he heard Kate take a breath before speaking.

"John?"

"Hey, Kate! Uh... how are you?"

He wanted to bash his head against the wall but he strained himself, didn't need to add another quirk to the growing list.

"I'm well... How'd things go with the cap? Is he mad? I have that intel already submitted, I can have someone give him a call and send him a record to get him off your ass if needed."

She sounded genuine in her offer and it made John feel more like shit.

"You could just send a record in the mail... Hey, okay, I was an ass last time we spoke and I feel like shit for it. Can I buy you a drink as an apology?"

Kate was quiet for a few seconds and John held his breath the entire time, "Yea... a drink would be nice. Not as a date, though... right?"

"What? Of course not! You're too mean."

She laughs and John's heart didn't ache so much with guilt.

___

"Okay okay- Wait, you don't get Nikolai's contact info. For whatever weird reason you have, and then you tell your captain you do... then you run off after he says he wants to meet him?"

John sighs, taking a swig of his beer. Meeting in a pub felt appropriate. They were in Manchester since John didn't want to go back to Liverpool to have a drink with a foreign woman in his home town. He didn't want to hear anything from his family about anything he had going on in his life, work related or not... not that they would know it was work related.

"I am... an impulsive individual."

"Wow, big words there."

John glares and Laswell sips her whisky with a smirk. He did like her, she wasn't afraid to say her mind but also not too much. People were either too nice or too blunt, not enough had the right amount of either.

"Look, maybe I was nervous about being able to contact Mr. Chimera whenever."

"Well, Mr. Chimera doesn't just give out info like that, John. He trusted you to have it."

John nods, staring at the chips he ordered, now a bit cold and hard. He still grabs one and takes a bite, glaring at the tray. He felt like a fool, letting old wounds hurt the way they did.

"I really am sorry for how I acted."

"I was pushing it. You were right, we don't know each other well enough to have personal conversations like that."

"I didn't exactly have a emotionally safe upbringing. That has never been a safe topic, Kate."

"I understand that. I really do."

They drank in silence, John munching on his cold chips. Kate finished her glass, sighing for a moment at the last drop. The silence was a bit awkward but therapeutic in a way, there was an understanding there that was a bit overwhelming but it was needed. John did want to get to know Kate, trust her enough to have a conversation like that. A conversation he's never dared to have with anyone.

"So... you want Nikolai's contact info."

"For my capt'n, really."

"Sure... Look, as far as he knows, you rejected his info. It will stir things up if an unknown individual, or someone claiming to be someone he worked with, contacting him about wanting to meet up."

"Who will trust that?"

"Exactly. So, you're going to have to go to Russia with me and you're going to serenade that man into getting him to help you out."

John snorts, "What, want me to bring a guitar?"

"Learn some Russian, too, it'll convince him to be nice after that rejection."

John snorts, face warm but he couldn't tell if it was from the beer or the implications of their conversation. It easily could sound like they were having a very different conversation. It also made John tense, someone could overhear and make that mistake. He wasn't willing to get into another fight over that.

"Let's get some air."

"Alright, I'll call a taxi to meet us. Does your captain even know where you went?"

"No."

"You really need to tell that man where you're going."

"He'll live. It's not like he's my father."

"No, he's only the man who got you a job, put a roof over your head and food on your table."

"Fine, I'll send him a postcard when we get to St. Petersburg."

Kate snorts before she stands to go make a call. John finishes he beer before he gets up, anxiety tightening his chest, not giving him a moment's rest from the guilt he had before.

___

"They moved shop."

"Of course, they play a dangerous game. Can't stay idle."

John still felt exposed even though they weren't here to steal intel. He was nervous and the chill in the air wasn't helping him keep his composure. They had gotten a hotel room, Kate leaving to drop a letter off. She was informed the first time where Chimera would be, this time they had to wait for Chimera to find them.

He was sitting on one of the beds, tapping his foot. He nabbed a postcard from the hotel's gift shop, deciding to writing a smart remark on it for Mac. He snickered to himself, he could only imagine the look on the man's face when he received this in the mail. Well, there was a chance it'll get to him before John came back. He hoped that was the case.

Kate reentered the room, huffing as she closed the door.

"Winter's coming, you can feel it."

"Lovely."

Kate takes off her jacket and throws it on a chair by the kitchenette before she flops onto the other bed.

"So, thought about what you're going to say to him?" John tenses and Kate rolls her eyes, "No plan? Again?"

"I'm thinking."

"Barely."

John glares and Kate gives him a quick, over exaggerated smile before she buries her face in a pillow. He huffs before laying the postcard on the night stand, laying back onto the bed to stare at the ceiling. What should he say to Nikolai? He didn't think about the benefit of having a man like him as a friend? That his captain wanted his contact? That John lied about already having Nikolai as a contact?

That he panicked when Nikolai offered to keep in touch and backed out without thinking? He was embarrassed, which was a feeling he was becoming rather accustomed to by this point. He was going to feel it even more when - if he got to meet Nikolai again. Looking him in the eye to apologize? He could imagine a thousand ways it could blowup in his face. He could even risk Kate's relationship with the man.

He had to think of a damn good apology or he'll make a fool out of both of them.

"Get some shut eye, John, I can hear you thinking from here. Nikolai's men check drop off points every few hours, we have time for a nap."

John nods even though he knows Kate wasn't looking. He kicks off his shoes and climbs further onto the bed, a nap didn't sound too bad. Maybe his head will be clearer afterwards, allowing him to think of what he was going to say if Nikolai allows them to meet. John somehow allows himself to drift off, hoping for a little rest.

There was a knock that caused John to wake, jumping up to an alert position. Kate was up just as fast, both of them sharing a look before Kate got off her bed and eased over to the door. She peered out of the peephole and after she knocks on the door in a pattern, another pattern is returned. Only when she relaxes does John, getting off his bed to out his shoes back on.

Kate opened the door and a man that John didn't recognize walked in, he was definitely Chimera.

"Agent, good to see you. Sergeant."

He spoke English well enough that John was sure he would've remembered interacting with him before. The man looked at John and back to Kate.

"He's surprised, I will not lie."

"Is he willing to meet?"

"He is. Neutral ground, I will take you."

John licked his lips, "Where is this neutral ground?"

The man looked at him and gave a small smile, "You'll see."

___

John felt underdressed, that wasn't an understatement. Kate felt it, too, judging by the way she adjusted her top. The restaurant was fancy, the atmosphere stirred some memories as they walked through. Their guide, Kamarov, didn't bother to warn them about the dress code. He himself wore a black dress shirt and pants, sleeves rolled up to show he tattooed forearms. John wondered if them not being told was on purpose, either by Nikolai's orders or Kamarov's own amusement.

They climbed some stairs to the second story, overseeing the main dining room. A host stopped them, Kamarov muttering a few words and then they were allowed into what was a private dining area. John saw Nikolai's men around the area, some people that didn't look like his people, maybe clientele or his own contacts. Nikolai, himself, was in a booth. John felt his mouth go dry with how the man was dressed and he was dressed very nicely.

He didn't look like a lowlife thug now, more like a proper business man. A man who's business was weapons. 

He noticed them and smiled, waving his hand to the booth in front of him.

"Kate, please sit. And you-" John stiffened, Nikolai's voice lowering, "-you can sit next to me."

Kate fought to keep her face neutral, sliding into the booth in front Nikolai. John stood there for a second, Nikolai sliding over to allow him space, arm stretched over the seat's back. Kate was biting her cheek, staring at him. Any plan John had put together on the drive over practically fizzled into nothing as he sat beside Nikolai, trying to make himself as small as possible. He could feel the man's body heat and it lit goosebumps up his side. If he made it out of this alive Kate was never going to let this go.

"So, sergeant, I was informed we're here because of you. That you wanted to meet."

The deep rumble of Nikolai's voice was hitting every nerve John had, he couldn't think with this close proximity.

"Yes, he wanted to talk."

Nikolai looked to Kate fondly, "Go order yourself something nice to eat. Or drink! Bar over there has practically anything you can think of. All of it on the house."

John looked at Kate pleadingly but she showed no mercy. John watched her leave eagerly, all but skipping to the bar. He couldn't blame her, free food and liquor? He, too, would be off to take advantage of that if he didn't feel magnetized where he sat. He blamed it on Nikolai's... everything.

"Ah, now. You wanted to talk, да?"

John nodded and Nikolai chuckled, "I don't bite. Ha, I almost don't recognize you. The man who stole my cigarette and threw a grenade onto a busy road to save our tail. Busted into a private government facility and stole valuable data."

He took his time taking out a cigarette as he spoke, John watching out of the corner of his eye. He brought it to his lips and John looked away. He looked around, at the decor, the chandelier of crystal that hung over the main dining room. The food and drinks here were undeniable expensive.

"When you asked me to buy you dinner, you could've picked a cheaper place. My pockets aren't exactly deep."

Nikolai laughed John flushing. He leaned over, smoke on his breath and his cologne, mixing into a scent that John couldn't stop breathing in.

"You're right, when you're buying you're picking. Tonight is my treat."

John wanted to die. The silence was sickening and John knew he had to fess up why he was there.

"I may have rejected your offer too quickly..."

Nikolai looks at him, expression unreadable.

"You wanted my contact?"

"Yes."

"Yet you said no."

He panicked, that was the truth. And he couldn't even think of the man's possible reaction to telling him that. He needed to find a way to regain control, he was making a fool of himself at the moment. John looked to the cigarette trapped between the man's lips and, without further thinking, he plucked it away and placed it between his own.

Nikolai's eyes widened and John felt control weigh in his favor.

"I changed my mind. Think I have use for you."

Nikolai stared at him hard as John took a long drag, he could practically see the gears turning. For once, the man was speechless. And the best part? The man turned away to clear his throat, hiding his face long enough for John to no longer feel out of his element. It wasn't the setting, it was Nikolai. The man made him feel out of the loop, and now he finally felt like he had something over him.

Nikolai finally turns back to him, snickering, "Oh, I can tell that we're going to be good friends."

"If you stay useful, we can be the best of friends."

Nikolai grinned wider and John knew he had it. Victory. Kate won't believe him.

"You said food and drinks were on the house? Well, excuse me while I go eat myself into a coma."

John took the cigarette from his lips and handed it back to Nikolai, the man numbly taking it while watching him as if he was almost hypnotized. John quickly left the booth before he ruined anything and calmly made his way to Kate. She, surprisingly, hadn't been watching them the entire time. Instead she was nursing what had to be a glass a wine worth more than John's flat with a bowl of pasta.

"John, I'm taking a box home."

"Do they even have boxes here?"

"I'll take a pot then."

John snorts and sits next to her.

___

"You're taking him to meet your captain now, right? Already? Wow, that's a big step."

John turned to Kate who immediately busted into laughter, clearly she thought she was hilarious. John glares, pointing his fork at her to show that he was serious.

"I need to rope him in while he's still impressed by me. Plus, I need to cool Mac's engine before he bursts into flames."

"Right, because you lied about-"

"I have it," John hissed, "And now I'm going to use it."

Kate hummed, sipping her fancy wine. She was on her second bowl of pasta and John was thinking of getting another order of lamb. The food, admittedly, was delicious and the portions weren't outrageous, but they certainly weren't enough for the two of them.

"Ya know he's been staring at you, right?"

John didn't need to look to believe her, he could feel Nikolai's gaze upon his back. He had half expected the man to eventually join them but he had remained in his booth, now with his man Kamarov sitting across from them. He was trying to talk business but he wasn't looking like he was, he was watching so intently. John almost wanted to turn around and look right at him, wondering if Nikolai would try to look like he wasn't staring.

Kate turned in her seat, appearing as though she was going to look behind her. And just like that Nikolai looked away. He was staring but he didn't want to be caught. Man had to know he wasn't being subtle.

"John, I think he likes you."

"He does, he told me himself."

She grins, "Really? Then why are you over here and not talking him up?"

John swallowed hard, the way she said that made him pause.

"Can't show too much interest..."

"John..."

"He's intimidating, okay?"

She snorts and John knows she had enough wine for the evening. She leans over and rests her head on his shoulder, making him decide they should wrap this up.

"It's for work, Kate. Get you a takeaway box, we need to call it a night."

Kate whines but makes no further protest, finishing her latest and last glass of wine. John stands and walks over to Nikolai, the man almost sitting up straighter as he approached. John looked to Kamarov who blinked, quietly looking to Nikolai before he dismissed himself and left the booth. John sat across from Nikolai once the man was, the two staring at each other for a moment before speaking.

"Think I need to leave this get together. Got a postcard that needs sent to the UK."

Nikolai leans forward, "Leaving so soon? And we didn't get to have much quality time."

John represses a shudder as Nikolai folds his arms over the table. He felt like Nikolai was trying to regain lead of the situation, and John felt he had to fight to keep it. He leans back against the seat, keeping eye contact with Nikolai as he did.

"Quality time? Have to earn that."

Nikolai grins, he liked John talking back, "By being useful? I can be very useful."

I want to launch into the fucking sun.

"I can give you a tip on how to do that; Meet with my captain. Make friends with him and we can have some more quality time."

Nikolai looked him up and down, he looked mad with glee.

"I'll give you my number. I'll be wherever you want me to be."

"Good, already being useful."

Nikolai offered a card and John took it. He debated on nagging for a cigarette but he didn't want to push his luck. So he left with the card, going to collect Laswell and her box of pasta before they left the private dining area.

"Ya know, John. I don't know how you still feel about me but... that looked like flirting to me."

John felt his face get hot, "You're drunk."

Kate smiled, it was gentle, "Sure."

___

Kate was supposed to head out on another flight but she chose to stick around for a week. Why? She wouldn't directly tell him, just danced around the question with partial truths. John knew she stayed to hear whatever drama was going to happen with Mac. They had purposely delayed returning to the UK, giving enough time for John's express shipped postcard to land on Mac's desk.

She acted like she had nowhere else better to be, which left John wondering if whatever mess he had gotten himself into was really that entertaining.

"I would ask how you know where I live but I'd waste my breath."

"You're always wasting your breath."

They had bonded, he will say that. He liked Kate. She was funny, smart, and seemed to know how he thought like it was her own mind. Maybe he was just being dumb and too easy to read, maybe they were a lot alike. Either way, John was starting to consider an actual friend, someone he could trust. Well, he was hoping he could trust her. It never hurt to have genuine friends in this line of work.

They had went to John's flat after they landed, John planning on giving Mac a call to give the run down of everything (and to hear feedback about the postcard), and Kate decided to join him. She met Mac once, briefly, in an attempt to scope him out, which led to her going to John. Which led to the whole situation with Nikolai. To put it simply; Everything was her fault.

"Wow, that's a lot of records. And tapes."

"I like music."

"Maybe try to like organizing, too?"

"It's organized! I know where everything is and where it goes, unlike your untrained eye."

He had a system, Mac knew it and so did the rest of his team. It was messy in appearance but it worked. When John was able to get less heat from messes he took it. Maybe with age he'll go back to keeping things clean.

John had settled on his couch. It was old, pre-owned when he got it, but it has given him the best damn naps. He flopped down on the pillow he had left there from his last nap and sighed loudly. Kate snorted before she sat on the end that he wasn't occupying, relaxing against the couch and maybe, too, experiencing the magic the old thing possessed deep within its seams.

"When are you-"

"Sh sh- No work talk. Not yet," his voice was muffled by the pillow which made Kate laugh. She agreed silently, allowing him to lay there for several minutes before he decided to move.

Time to call Mac.

"I bet he's left voicemails. He always does."

"Ah, dads. They have such delightful things to say."

John mocked her under his breath, gaining a heatless glare. He climbed off the couch with great effort before he went to his landline. He had three messages, surprisingly. Two from Mac, and one from Sikes. Mac gave him the same talk about him running off, about him playing dangerous games. God, he really did sound like his father. Well, not his actual father, Mac was more caring.

Sikes just left a message about the postcard being a work of art. That's what John was looking forward to. After thoroughly enjoying Sikes' voicemail, John dialed Mac. He called his office phone specifically, for the added flair of his audacity.

"Sergeant Jonathan Price-"

"I come bearing gifts!"

"Like the postcard?"

"Better, even though that was fantastic work on my part."

Mac chuckles, if John didn't have stubborn residency in his soft spot then he would've been dead by now. Mac shifted on the other side, John hearing someone knock and Mac telling them to give him a minute. He better deliver his gift quick.

"Mr. Chimera is willing to meet."

"Mr. Chimera? Nikolai?"

"The very same."

Mac laughs, "You left to get his contact! And you succeeded!"

"I-"

"Don't lie. I know you, lad, better than anyone."

John looks to Kate who was still on his couch, relaxed and combating jetlag, "Keep telling yourself that. Wanna meet him or not?"

"If you can get that myth into the SAS's backyard then you're getting a raise."

"Promise? I have a witness of it!"

"Don't push it."

"Fine fine- When and where? Up to you, old man."

Kate looked over, thoroughly amused. John grinned at her and she snickered.

"Meeting the parents," She said, just loud enough for him to hear. John made a famously rude gesture towards her, earning another laugh.

John felt proud. His second contact, Kate being his first. He could foresee some chaos, enjoyable chaos and grand victories. Hopefully Mac could see it, too.

___

He was watching the clock obsessively, he knew this. Nikolai had sent him a email stating when he would be arriving and at what airport. John had sent a reply confirming he got the email and that was that. Silence.

He didn't like the silence.

"A watched pot won't boil, John."

John waved Kate off at her comment, he had at least an hour before he had to leave. He wanted to meet Nikolai there. Mac had tried to get him to use their airfield but Nikolai refused. John wondered why, wondered if Nikolai had doubts of meeting an SAS captain. He was pushing off the meeting by purposely using a civilian airline.

"He could've been here by now," John muttered under his breath, "I have to drive fucking thirty minutes to the airport and then twenty to the base."

Kate snorts, "That's my Sunday drive."

John glares at her and she just smiles. The last two hours she was waiting with him, wondering. And now all the sudden she's grinning like she knows something. John glared at her for this, hoping she would reveal what she knew to him without him having to ask or beg.

For once, that worked. Or Kate wanted to talk about it judging by how she eagerly pulled the chair out from the front of his desk and sat, leaning over the desk.

"He wants some extra time with you."

John blinked, staring at her before he blurted out "No he doesn't."

She laughs, "Yes he does! Why else would he pick an airport that you have to go out of your way to go to? Why else would he only tell you and not any one else on your team?"

John stared at her before he dropped his head to the desk. He can't keep doing this, racing after his own heart. He heard Kate laugh as he laid there, felt her pat the back of his head. She found his inability to be on the same page as his emotions hilarious. 

"That bastard."

"Guess he's getting his quality time."

John sat up, "Bastard."

She snorts, "You have to keep playing his game to win, John. Can't just play for a moment then revert back to this."

She motions to him, John huffing. She was right, he had to keep playing Nikolai's game and not back out. John stares at Kate and she stops giggling, blinking when his own grin forms.

"Hey, Kate-"

"Nope! Not getting in the middle of whatever this is."

"You have been involved day one. You can't back out."

Kate groans but John could tell she was amused by it all. She was going to help him win this game, make Nikolai squirm and play harder.

"Fine! But I'm taking a personal car."

"... whose car?"

"... Know where your captain keeps his keys?"

Oh this was becoming more fun by the second. Clearly she wanted to see how far he was willing to go for this and John aimed to impress.

"Wait out front."

"Oh you're insane."

Kate turned to leave, and before she reached the door John had an wonderful idea. He dug in a door in his desk, finding exactly what he wanted within seconds.

"Wait! One more thing."

Kate turned and rolled her eyes at the sight, "John no-"

John held out the disposable camera urgently, "This is serious. I need you to take a picture of his face when he realizes that I'm not there."

"John-"

"I'm winning this game, Kate."

Kate grinned and took the camera, "Fine."

Oh he couldn't wait to get the film processed. But that would have to wait, he had car keys to steal and had to prepare to mediate a meeting between an SAS officer and an arms dealer. He was sure the captain would play nice. But Nikolai? He wasn't completely confident on that.

___

Mac was sitting across from him, staring at him with a cross of amusement, exhaustion, and a hint of nervousness. He was bouncing his knee, had been moments after they had settled in their seats. Sikes was just amused, humming as he wrote something down on his notepad. John had been checking the clock regularly, Kate should be back with Nikolai by now. He was sure she would've called if something came up, Mac's car had a phone.

"John."

John looked to Mac who was still staring at him. Has he blinked? John can't remember seeing him blink.

"Yes, sir?"

"Why's my car not in the lot?"

John blinked innocently, looking out the window behind him to the car lot, "What you mean? Didn't you park in the garage today?"

"John."

"Heard it was gonna rain."

"Jonathan-"

"Know you're touchy about that car and the rain."

Sikes was watching them with great joy and amusement. John knows their bickering was the highlight of his job.

Mac's face dropped with shock and anger as his precious car pulled into a spot, his spot, and Kate got out. No Nikolai, which made John anxious. He couldn't even focus on Mac getting pissed over the car, just that he didn't see Nikolai.

Did Nikolai not appreciate him not showing up to get him? Did something came up? No, Kate would've told him if as soon as there was an issue. Where was Nikolai, then?

"Sergeant, your friend's here."

John whips his head around, from window to Sikes' smirking face. The door opened and Nikolai walked in with Sergeant Banks, dressed much more casual than when he last saw him. He looked like a civilian, not an arms dealer, and John could tell Mac was thinking just that. But he couldn't get past the relief he felt when he saw Nikolai. He came, he didn't back out.

"Ah, Sergeant Price!" Nikolai greeted eagerly with a grin, that grin crushing any doubts John had remaining.

John stands as does Mac. He was trying to take in everything that was Nikolai. First impressions were big for him and Nikolai wasn't checking any boxes off just yet. But he will, John knew he would.

"Nikolai, have a good flight?"

John was aiming for generally politeness but Nikolai wasn't willing to behave, "Of course. Shame you weren't the one to get me. I was looking forward to some quality time."

The rumble in his voice made John shudder and Mac and Sikes whipped their heads around to stare at him. Oh, he definitely didn't like him not picking him up. Nikolai smiled, pleased with the reactions he had gotten, only then did he finally turn towards Mac and Sikes.

"Captain MacMillan, and Lieutenant White, is it? A pleasure."

Mac took Nikolai's hand in a firm handshake, staring into almost into his skull as he did, gripping his hand tight. Sikes was less aggressive, didn't feel the need to put Nikolai in his place with a handshake.

"Mr. Chimera, is it?"

Nikolai grins, eyes flickering to John before he nods, "Indeed. I hadn't considered working with SAS, but the sergeant left an impression."

Mac turns to John, "Did he now?"

John swallows, he couldn't read Mac's expression.

That's new.

"Well, we'll talk about the sergeant later. Business, that's what you want, да?"

Mac nodded, "Yea... let's see if you deliver."

Oh Kate was going to get an earful later as he surely was from Mac. If he survives until then. Mac and Nikolai appeared to be sizing each other up, not letting up on their need to be on top. Sikes noticed and John wondered if he would be able to keep Mac playing nice this time.

I should keep notes on what to yell at her later...

___

"All of this is your fault. All of it."

Kate stared at him, "And what exactly is my fault?"

She wanted him to say it, to admit it. But those words won't come out and John was left frustrated. He knows what he was feeling, clearly she knew, too. So why couldn't he say it? Years of conditioning from his father? Seeing the judgement he passed to those who he deemed worth less than dirt, undeserving of basic human kindness. Those years of fear of it being directed at him.

The man wasn't here, he didn't have control anymore. But his claws were still there, and John couldn't admit what he wanted to say. Thankfully, Kate was understanding. She was patient, more than what he deserved. Was it obvious what he was struggling with? How many others knew?

No one, just her. Someone would've said something by now, right? Mac would've, and Sikes... right?

He didn't have the energy for this. There wasn't any rulebook to follow, he didn't know anyone going through this or had been through it. He felt alone... no, there was Kate, he wasn't alone.

"I've been taught that feelings like this are wrong."

Kate nodded, John sitting next to her on the couch. They had commandeered a lounge for themselves when Mac and Nikolai came to an agreement, John and Sikes being asked to leave so they could talk one-on-one. John needed a moment to step away anyway, to complain to Kate, to vent. She was so patient, understanding. Why? She picked something up not long after they met.

"I know. I was, too."

John looked to her and when she met his eye everything finally clicked.

"Oh."

She smiled, gentle teasing because she knew he didn't need any harshness at the moment, "There you go, using your brain."

"I... when did you-?"

"When did I-?"

"When did you know. How did you know?"

Kate shrugs, "Think around high school. There was this girl that sat next to me in math and... she was all I ever cared about in that class. Loved talking to her, we would help each other when we were stuck."

Kate talked with an endearing smile, enjoying every memory she spoke of. It made John's heart beat faster, thinking to Nikolai as she talked. Then, she stopped smiling, a frown replacing it.

"She... didn't feel the same. I worked up the courage to tell her, thought she was safe."

She said nothing more and John leaned over, shoulder pressing against hers. She leaned against him, dwelling in that memory. Finally she shook her head and looked to him.

"I've moved on, found a place for me. It can be hard but it's freeing being honest with yourself. And it feels so good to have people around you who understand."

Maybe she was eager in the beginning, when she had noticed that about John. Wanted a friend in their field of work, someone with the same kind of stress surrounding them. Someone who understood more than work. She moved too quickly, but John was willing now. He saw her perspective now and felt so thankful she was there, someone who knew these things.

"Typically people don't judge too hard when you know how to use a gun," Kate mused and John grinned when he heard it.

"When you have a body count they tend to play nicer."

She grins back, nodding. John could feel it, this was a defining moment. Kate Laswell, a friend for life. For however long that was, John knew they would be friends. Trouble, they were trouble, and he was glad to have met her. It was her fault but he was thankful for it.

___

Kate and John sat quietly next to each other as Mac discussed the routes the ultranationalists were taking. Nikolai was sitting across from John, watching Mac from over his shoulder. John was trying to stay focused but he kept looking to Nikolai, finding himself observing the man. He had soft features, scars cutting through his hair that was slowly growing back. His eyes were dark, a deep brown that held a warmth that you had to search for or otherwise they appeared cold like black ink.

He was fit, pushing his limits. John noticed he didn't eat a lot but smoked whenever and drank more than having decent meals. John wondered what he would look like healthy, not living on cigarettes and meals from the corner store. If he allowed himself to not push himself, allowed himself to cut back and enjoy life. John had witnessed how Nikolai was always looking over his shoulder, he fidgeted quiet a bit like he was never at ease. Why did he come alone if he was uncomfortable?

Nikolai's eyes flickered to him and John forced himself to focus on Mac. He caught a small smile on Nikolai's face from the corner of his eye, it wasn't smug but soft. John focused on Mac, looked at him and his presentation only, but his mind wandered to Nikolai.

___

"This can end so badly," John muttered. His heart was beating so fast that he thought it was just pop. He was wondering how he let her talk him into this.

"You trust me, don't you?"

He was hesitant to agree but he was nodding before he even realized. 

"Mr. Chimera will be heading back to Russia tomorrow. Unless you want to wait out the season or go and endure it, now is your chance."

Tell him. Tell him everything.

Nikolai was heading back, he's done with working with Mac. He got two convoys of barely legal guns and dropped them in Mac's personal hanger. Now he was heading home, and John didn’t know when he'd be able to see him again. So Kate convinced him to talk to him about his feelings. John was thinking about swallowing them whole at the moment.

"Kate..."

"It'll be fine!"

He wasn't sure. John can't remember ever being this nervous over something before. Not when he was on a mission, bullets flying and hope scarce to find. No, this was the moment he felt so anxious that he thought he was going to be sick. They were currently waiting outside, waiting for Mac and Nikolai to walk out and leave for the airport. Kate planned to for to grab Mac's attention so John could talk to Nikolai.

He wasn't sure he could do it, if he could follow through. He couldn't imagine how Nikolai would react, how he would deal with rejection. He's flirted with girls before with little care with they reciprocated. But John cares so much right now, he wanted Nikolai to accept his affections. But Nikolai didn't come off as that type. John didn't want to ruin whatever strange friendship they had with his stupid human emotions.

And what about Mac? He would surely learn about it all if Nikolai reacted poorly. Would he, too, react poorly? Not care for John's interest in men? The thought itself made John's knees weak. He couldn't do this.

"Kate, I can't-"

She noticed the look on his face, he was feeling light-headed.

"Shit- Sit down, you look pale."

John pressed his back against the brick wall they hid behind and slid down to the ground. Kate got on the ground with him, worried. Was he panicking? Was this a panic attack? It's been so long since he had one he couldn't even recognize it. He was so terrified of rejection to the point he was struggling to breathe.

"John- Breathe with me."

"He'd hate me."

"No he wouldn't."

"How do you know? You know him as well as I do."

Kate said nothing else, just squeezed John's hand. It took him several minutes to breathe. Just resting against the wall with his eyes closed, trying to think of anything other than Nikolai.

In the end, John couldn't face Nikolai. He watched from the bushes as him and Mac left for the airport. Kate had a look on her face, guilt. Maybe she wanted John to have a different ending than her. He didn't blame her for pushing him, who could have predicted this?

"I need a drink."

"That doesn't sound bad... if you're paying."

Kate snickers, "Sure. I'll help your poor ass out."

It was easier to just not think about Nikolai, it didn't hurt as much that way.

___

"She's amazing, John. You'd murder for her cooking."

Annie, Annie, Annie - That's the name Kate couldn't stop saying. She called often, for business and personal reasons. Currently she called to talk about the receptionist who she was practically stalking at work. She's denied her crush, John tried to play nice but she was making teasing her way too easy.

"Kate, ya know I'm working, right?"

"Oh, I can call later."

"You sound like you're going to explode if you don't talk now," John muttered, eying Sikes from the corner of his eye as he wrote on the docs before him. The man already smacked him over distracting himself with a paperclip, he may kill him for a phone call if he noticed. Sikes left the room and John sighed, relaxing as he spoke more clearly, "We're on for capture or kill."

"Bringing friends in?"

"Can't say too much... just that I might have to see..."

He hadn't spoken to Nikolai for almost a year. He felt guilt for it because that's the opposite of what he wanted. John wanted to talk to him, wished he could've said something before he left for the airport, but he was a coward. That damn fear spiked up in his chest at the thought of it, so he tried to stop it all together. He tried not to bring up the man, even as Mac worked with Chimera more and more. He was shocked the old man didn't say much considering John introduced them.

Maybe he knew more than what John was giving him credit for, making a conscious decision to leave Nikolai's name out of the conversation. Despite the desire to talk about him, oh did John want to talk. Only Kate knew everything, John wanted to reach out to Mac, to trust him. But that fear was still there, the fear of harsh rejection. He felt weak in the knees every time he thought about opening up to Mac, so he didn't bother.

"I'll call later. I'll have a list."

John snorts, "You do that."

He ended the call and sighed, Sikes reentering the room. He quickly noticed John's lack of work and walked over to him.

"Didn't smack you too hard, huh?"

John grunts, "Been over this shit three separate times, LT."

"There's too many ways this can go wrong, John. We need to be ready. Though Chimera will be with us, so hopefully everything will go in our favor."

Sikes sat across from him with a groan. He was getting old, had more wrinkles around his eyes and grey in his hair than what John remembered.

"Capt'n's got this, LT."

"I hope he does."

Uncertainty, Sikes wasn't known for that.

John stretched in his seat, hanging his arm over the back of his chair, "Where's my harmonica? I think you need a tune."

Sikes glares at him and John grins, "You're lucky the cap doesn't let me throw that thing into the ocean."

"My dear Bess? How could you?"

Sikes laughs and John feels victorious. There was a moment of peaceful silence before Sikes sighs, not directly looking at John.

"Mac's gettin' old... so am I. Not sure how much of this game we got left in us."

John fidgets, "Not that old."

"Feel older than we look, John."

John didn't say anything as he watched Sikes. He didn't like this, the way the man sat there with almost an empty look in his eye. John felt... afraid. Sikes had been there since the beginning, right alongside Mac. The thought of him just retiring or worse made John's heart ache. But retirement was better than the alternatives, there wasn't many better ones than that.

"Don't have Mac's crown in mind?" John attempted to joke despite his tone not caring his words as such.

"No, I think after this I'll go home. My last hurrah."

"Well, I'll bake you a cake."

Sikes smiles slightly, "Wouldn't mind that... not one bit."

"You're basic, right? Chocolate?"

"Tuxedo."

"Oh. Not basic. Not sure if I want to break my back for you."

"Not even for my retirement party?"

"You're not retiring. Cap will drag you back kicking and screaming."

Sikes laughs, "That's how he got me in this mess to begin with!"

John smiles, Sikes wasn't actually going to leave... right? He couldn't just leave, what would Bravo Team be without him? Without their lieutenant or captain? It wasn't happening.

"You make a face when you're thinking, ya know that? That's how I know you're never using your head when it matters."

John glares and Sikes shrugs. They say nothing for a moment, nothing on pending departure or the mission ahead. It didn't feel real.

___

He knew Chimera would be joining them, he just didn't expect them to join this soon. John felt as though he had no time to prepare, stopping in his tracks as he heard voices speaking a foreign language in the hanger. He was a coward, John was in touch with himself enough to know that. He saw Chimera's logo and almost launched himself into another panic attack, diving into a supply closet in the hanger to give himself a moment to breathe.

His heart was racing as he heard Russian outside in the hanger. It was childish, hiding like this. But he's always been a child, running from his emotions rather than facing them. He would've left the closet and ran at the first opportunity if Mac didn't sniff him out. He opened the closet and stared at John with a blank expression, maybe some disapprovement in his eyes.

"John..."

"I-"

"No more excuses, I'm tired of you acting like this," Mac growled as he grabbed John's collar and practically threw him out of the closet.

John stopped himself before he hit a truck, turning to yell at Mac but the man grabbed him and started dragging him through the hanger. John wanted to disappear when several of Nikolai's men turned their heads to stare as Captain MacMillan dragged his very own Sergeant Price by the collar like he was a kitten needing to be held by the scruff. It was humiliating.

Mac pushed him into the office in the back of the hanger, not so gently closing the door behind him as he stepped inside. John tried to get a word out but Mac silenced him with a glare. John chose to sit in the nearest chair as a response, which proved to be the smart move. Mac groaned, pinching his nose before he sits on the desk, staring down at John with an exasperated expression.

"Lad, what are you doing?"

"I was just checking-"

"Not about the closet. Well, not just the closet. Jonathan, you haven't been yourself for months. Skittish, quiet. Who is this?"

Mac motioned to all of John and John huffed, "That's a first. Thought you said I could do to learn how to be quiet."

Mac stares, unamused, "This is about Nikolai."

John chokes, "Nik- No! Of course it's not! He's been great! Look at all we've managed to accomplish-"

"When's the last time you talked to him?"

John avoided looking at Mac, "Been a minute..."

"He told me he hasn't gotten a word out of you for four months. John, he's been trying to talk to you for four months."

Shame and guilt squeezed his heart, John now being able to look in Mac's direction even if he wanted to. He tried to keep Nikolai out of his mind and now he couldn't stop thinking about him. Thinking about how the man felt with he didn't answer his calls, when he went out of his way to avoid running into him. He was childish and cowardly, a pathetic combination.

"Lad, you like him."

"He's pretty cool, I mean- He's self made-"

Mac grunts, "Jonathan. You like him. I know you do."

John felt his heart drop, gripping the edge of the chair to the point his fingers ached. He couldn't look up at Mac, panic setting in as his mind started racing. Of course he knew, why wouldn't he? It was like Mac sensed his panic and got down in front of him, grabbing his knee to get his attention.

"John, there's nothing wrong with how you feel about him. I know you grew up being taught otherwise."

Mac has always been there, a driving force that kept John where he wanted to be. His father had tried everything he could to get him discharged, force him to come back. Mac got in the way, got him into the SAS and far away from his father and family's reach. John wasn't sure why he thought he could put Mac in the same light as them. He wasn't like them, didn't think like them.

John swallowed, "You know?"

"Yea, I do, lad. Knew plenty men like yourself. It doesn't affect your ability to shoot, to hold a gun, or how to run your mouth."

John laughed and Mac firmly patted his thigh before standing, John able to look at him now.

"Ya know, avoiding people isn't a good way to make friends, or for romance."

"Is this your approval?"

Mac laughs, "Approval? Tolerance. You can do better."

John grins, "Thought you liked him."

"I do. On a professional basis. I'd skin him alive and make a lamp."

Mac turns from him as John laughs, opening the office door. Chimera had returned to its normal chatter, uncaring for whatever occurred with Mac and John.

"He's flying in tonight. Has a bird, did you know that?"

"He flies?"

"Behave. I'll rough him up if he's nasty."

"Mac-"

The man doesn't stick around for John to get another word out, walking away from the office with determination. John watched a few Russians visibly step away from him as he marched past, unable to not think about Mac giving Nikolai a piece of his mind.

Nikolai... I need to make things right.

Mac was right, you can't make friends through avoidance. And friendship is where everything starts.

___

An unfamiliar bird over base is a good way to make everyone uneasy. It was a beautiful thing, Russian make, and definitely stolen. Nikolai owned it, and landed it with grace and experience. Watching him get out of the helo, more scruff than when John last saw him, made John almost lose his confidence.

He wasn't going to run away again.

John walked up, heart racing but he wasn't backing down. Nikolai looked genuinely surprised to see him, doing a double take to make sure he actually saw him approaching. He looked John up and down, blinking in surprise. He wasn't as welcoming, as relaxed. If John didn't know any better, he would think the man was nervous.

"Didn't know you knew how to fly," John said in an attempt to break the silence. Nikolai didn't immediately respond, probably wondering where John got the audacity. Well, he's always had it, as Sikes has said before.

"Of course I know how to fly. But you wouldn't know that, now would you?"

John steels himself, "Yea, I wouldn't. That's my mistake."

Nikolai stared at him in uneasy silence. John noticed some of his men approach rather cautious, one he recognized to be Kamarov. He looked between them, lingering on Nikolai like he was waiting for some kind of command of how to proceed. Nikolai just stared at John, face neutral like he was trying to get a rad on him.

Finally, he turned from John to face Kamarov, speaking to him in Russian. Kamarov nodded, John wondering what was said as the man walked away. After a second he realized that Nikolai was giving him a small moment to say something, anything that would make him think that repairing whatever they had was worthwhile.

John hadn't expected to get this far, maybe he did have a chance.

"I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner. My treat."

Nikolai softened, "Dinner?"

"Nothing fancy. Wouldn't get your expectations up... if you want to, that is."

Nikolai huffed, "Depends. Where would you be taking me?"

John stared, Nikolai waiting. He shuffled away, looking at his feet.

"I didn't think that far ahead."

Nikolai laughs, John feeling warmth spread throughout his chest.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"Buy me dinner."

John couldn't stop the grin, Nikolai smiling at him. He stepped away nodding, Nikolai chuckling when he bumps into the helo. Feeling his face heat up, John turned and quickly walked away, hearing Nikolai's laugh follow him.

___

"It's just a dinner. Just a dinner."

"John, you successfully asked that man out after avoiding him for months. The fact he's giving you this means it's not just dinner."

Oh, leave it to Kate to get his heart racing after he just managed to calm down.

"God... I'm fucked."

"If you're lucky."

"Kate," John hissed, hearing the woman laugh in response. At least someone was enjoying this, he was just anxious all around.

It was instinctual to call her, even hours before he was initially supposed to go out and meet Nikolai. He needed to tell someone who already knew the majority of the story. It was amazing knowing Mac supported him but the man was too eager to threaten to jump Nikolai if things didn't go well. At least Kate wasn't out right threatening him.

"A small, locally owned diner. You've been there plenty of times, the food is good and the atmosphere is great. You got this."

"Oh, you're being nice. I'm doomed."

He had get off soon to get ready, he had been watching the clock for the past ten minutes. He was supposed to pick up Nikolai, show him around town. God this felt like a date. A real date. He didn't want to fuck this up, not again. Nikolai didn't deserve that kind of disrespect. John certainly wouldn't survive it.

"I got expectations to meet."

"I'm sure they're low enough for you to manage."

John groaned, "Kate please. Am I supposed to get him in my car? It's shit, you know that!"

"Use Mac's."

"You already got him in it! He knows it's not mine!"

Kate was giggling, "Take Sikes' then."

John blinks as he thinks about it, staring at the clock before he goes to stand, "Kate I gotta go. I'll call you afterwards if I'm still alive."

"Good luck. Hope you're real lucky."

John groaned before hanging up, hearing the tail end of Kate cackling before he put the phone down. He had ten minutes before he had to get Nikolai, ten minutes to either force himself to drive his car to borrow someone else's. Nikolai had money, he felt nothing but shame and nervousness thinking about driving his old, beat up car that has seen a better decade.

He could get Sikes' car, well, SUV. It was nice, nice enough to meet Nikolai's level. Sikes wouldn't be happy but John would happily give him a reminder what he was leaving he when thought about retirement. John grabbed his nicer jacket before he left his quarters, trying to calmly walk down the hall. He went straight to Sikes' office, pleasantly surprised to find it empty and his car keys left unguarded.

Without a second thought, John grabs them before writing a quick and cheeky note for Sikes to find. He wrote a rather confident message, hoping to make Sikes want to desensitize every damn inch of his SUV. A lasting memory, no matter where he goes he will have that SUV. John felt rather hilarious for it.

He walked down the hall, rhythmed breathing to help calm himself. 

Grab the SUV, drive around to the hanger, pick up Nikolai, then drive out to get food. Simple.

Simple, it was simple. But that didn't mean it was easy.

John managed to get to the hanger but he didn't see Nikolai anywhere, not near his bird or with his men. John did arrive earlier than agreed upon, maybe caught Nikolai unexpected.

Or he's not coming. Wanted to give me a taste of my own medicine.

Once that thought entered his mind it would not leave. Mac always did he could get in his own head like no one else, his own worst enemy. Nikolai wouldn’t do that, would he? He seemed genuine when accepting John's invitation to dinner. Was it an act? Has he been played?

John's heart almost escaped through his throat as Kamarov knocks on the window, grinning when he noticed he caught him off guard. John groans and rolls down the window, Kamarov leaning against the SUV's door.

"He's getting pretty. Will be out in a moment."

John made a face, he wasn't sure which one but it made Kamarov laugh. The man walked away and said something to the other Chimera men, most of them joining him in laughter. John sighed as he leaned back against the seat, debating on whether or not he should get out and greet Nikolai when he finally leaves the hanger.

What did he tell his guys this was?

John felt his face flush, did Nikolai refer to this as a date? 

John looked out of the corner of his eye and saw Nikolai.

Pretty indeed.

He moved quickly, uncoordinated, opening the door and trying to get out smoothly but his foot was caught in something, probably the door itself. John had ten seconds of what was the slowest fall of his life before he smacked against the ground, hard. And a chorus of Russian laughter howled in response. There wasn't a moment in existence where John wanted to spontaneously combust more than then.

He laid there, that probably is what made them laugh harder. Then silence as someone grabs his arm to help him up.

"Sergeant! Are you alright?"

Nikolai. Of course he did that where Nikolai could see him. John couldn't face the man as he hauled him off the ground all too easily. He finally had no choice to look at him when the man grabs his face and turns it, keeping an arm around him to keep him upright. Maybe it was the close proximity of Nikolai's face that made John to try to free himself. It would show that Nikolai didn’t have a grasp easily escaped.

"Be still. You're bleeding. Let me clean it up-" his tone had a very light bit of laughter in it, Nikolai showing more concern than amusement.

John kept trying to look away as Nikolai wrestled him to sit back in the car. This was already off to a bad start.

"I'm fine! Had worse."

"Your nose is-"

"Fine! I- Dinner."

Nikolai finally releases him, "It can wait a moment. Please let me clean your face."

John couldn't keep saying no, sighing as Nikolai turned and walked back to the hanger. Not a single one of his men laughed, choosing to go back to their previous work. He felt like he missed something while he was kissing the ground, they weren't daring to look in his direction now.

Nikolai returned with a first aid kit, John groaning. The place he wanted to take him didn't close until late so that wasn't a worry. But John found it impossible to be still and let Nikolai clean his face. The man was so gentle, holding his face with great care. John couldn’t look at him even though his face was so close to his, he just looked away before finally closing his eyes.

"Not so bad, looks like the ground didn't want to damage your beautiful face."

John's face lit on fire, the sergeant jerking his head free from Nikolai's face. He cleared his throat, Nikolai backing up with a small smile. John motioned to the other side of the SUV, staring mostly at the ground as he did.

"Dinner."

Nikolai laughs, "I apologize, I was too forward."

John's face was red, he knew it was. Nikolai showed him mercy by packing the first aid kit back up and tossing it to one of his men before he went around to the passenger side. John forced himself to get back in the driver's seat, face still hot as he thought about Nikolai's words and tenderness.

Oh he wasn't going to survive tonight.

___

“Congratulations, sergeant, you found the one place in this country that has decent food.” 

It was an obvious prod, Nikolai trying to get a reaction. John glared at him and the man grinned, he was waiting for a more verbal response. But John wasn’t going to give it to him, instead he’d prod the man as well. 

“You finally get your quality time and this is what you choose to do with it?” 

Nikolai licked his lips, “Oh, I’d have better things in mind. For proper quality time, mind you. This is-” 

He silently searched for the word, John watching him. He could practically hear it already, it was right there. Nikolai didn’t say it, just sighed. 

“This is quality time. Base level.” 

John snorts, “I can upgrade the level of quality time?” 

“If you play nice... starting by answering my calls.” 

John looked back to his food, shame pricking at his skin. Nikolai didn’t say anything else, poking at his slice of pie. It was an awkward silence, John deserved that.  

He thought back to his relationship with Kate in the beginning. But he got past that moment of sourness. Could he move on with Nikolai? He gave him this chance, this moment to apologize. He deserved an apology, this man that John didn’t know all about but couldn’t stop thinking about for a second. 

“Well, I am a coward. Good at taking people for granted, hurting people who don’t deserve it.” 

“A coward? Not you,” Nikolai disagreed, “I fondly think back to when you first impressed me.” 

A stolen cigarette, that’s what came to John’s mind upon Nikolai’s mention of that car chase.

"Cowards avoid things. Avoid talking to people they actually want to talk to," John muttered, he wasn't as hungry as he was moments ago.

Nikolai reached across the table and grabbed John's free hand, the man jerking up to look at him. There was understanding in Nikolai's eyes, it was like he understood what John was feeling on a deeper level than previously. There wasn't any words in that short moment, just a comfort and relief washing over him. He squeezed Nikolai's hands before letting go, the man sitting back on the other side of the table.

"It's not safe to be open in such a way, sergeant. I grew up in the system, never had a stable home life. I've seen people get killed over petty disagreements, let alone something they cannot help."

This was the first time John heard of this, out of everything he learned from Kate or hearing from Nikolai himself, this was something personal. He was letting him in, letting him get close, even after those months of silence. John knew he could never betray that trust, he'll never let his own fear get the better of him.

"I grew up rich."

Nikolai smiled, "Oh?"

"That first dinner you treated me and Kate to? That place was like going back home," John didn't want to share too much, while Nikolai opened up to him he didn't give too much information. John would do the same, match him.

"Had the finest silk sheets growing up, silver utensils all my life. Never been happier to get away from it."

Nikolai's smile was softer now, "I found people like me, even in our not so welcoming world. I didn't know stepping away from them in the end would be the best decision for me."

Cryptic messages, Nikolai was certainly sharing more than what he was used to. John didn't push for more, finally taking a bite of food (now colder than what he would've liked) and a drink of his watered down fizzy drink. They finished their plates in silence and John went to pay, but Nikolai wasn't going to let that happen in peace.

"Nikolai, put that wallet away."

"From riches to rags, I insist to cover this."

Oh that made John's eye twitch. He turned to the man who barely containing a gleeful grin, he was purposely prodding at him.

"I'm paying, Nik, and you're just going to have to let it happen. My treat, 'member?"

Nikolai grinned and finally allowed him to get out of the booth to pay. The waiter had been watching them this entire time, trying to act like he hadn't. John visited the diner enough to recognize a few of the staff, he didn't recognize this guy. At least the regular staff know not to stare at him.

When John returned to Nikolai so they could leave, the man was still grinning at him. John knew he was waiting for him to say something about it, so now John wasn't going to.

"Alright, let's get out of here."

"Hm? You are done with me already?"

"'Course not, got other things in mind."

Nikolai followed him outside, John was planning to just get in the car and leave, but Nikolai had other things planned.

"Where are you going?"

"A walks sounds lovely, no?"

John huffs out a short laugh as Nikolai walks out of the car park and into town. He had no choice but to follow him, he couldn't allow the man to get lost. There was a whole militia waiting for him to come back in one piece so John better deliver. He jogged to catch up to Nikolai, the man not slowing for a second as he ventured away from the diner.

"It feels lovely tonight."

"It's cold."

Nikolai looks at him, "Would you like to visit my home town?"

John hums, "Little earlier for that, isn't it? How long have we known each other?"

"That didn't stop you."

John glares and Nikolai laughs, sidestepping to avoid a swipe from him. Nikolai stepped back over after John stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"What was that you called me earlier?"

"I've called you many things in my head."

"Out loud. Nik, was it? Rather informal."

John flushes, "I-"

"I like it."

John chews on his lip, walking next to Nikolai in silence. Nikolai chose to be quiet, enjoying the walk, cool breeze, staring up at the sky with a light-hearted smile. You would never know this was an arms dealer, a man who profits off war. He didn't come off as that kind of person, scars and questionable background be damned.

He wanted to say something, as he stared at Nikolai, say anything to add to the moment. But John was afraid he wouldn't be able to do that, so he remained quiet. Staring, and he knew that Nikolai noticed. He was still smiling, he felt warm to stand next to even in the chilly evening.

"Maybe we should move on with your activity list, so you can return that borrowed vehicle."

Nikolai looked to John, smug, and John was horrified. Nikolai laughed as John stuttered, trying to get out a response in his defense.

"I know what your car looks like, sergeant. Maybe pick me up in it sometime."

Nikolai headed back to the car park and John watched him, dumbfounded.

"How do you know what my car looks like!?"

Nikolai didn't reply, just skipped ahead to the SUV.

___

"It was Kate, wasn't it?"

They took a longer route back to base, enjoying the ride with music playing softly from the radio. John couldn't get past the car comment.

"What fun would it be telling you? I need to keep my air of mystery."

John glared, "You're mysterious enough."

Nikolai's laugh would never get old. John could see him smile all night, hear him laugh all night. He wouldn't dare say this out loud, that would be too much.

They pulled back into base, security stopping them.

"Out late, sergeant. Hot date?"

A joke, but John had a hard time taking it as such. It stayed with him as he drove them to the hanger occupied by Chimera, and it apparently stayed with Nikolai, as well. They stopped in front of the hanger, Nikolai's men no where in sight. 

"Well, that's the night."

"That's all?" Nikolai sounded amused yet disappointed. 

"Well, work night and all..."

It was awkward, how was he supposed to end this? Nikolai was watching him expectantly, what was he waiting for? John was out of his element. The diner, walking through town, the park, the night drive-

How does he say good night to Nikolai?

"I may be... rusty."

"Rusty? In what, sergeant?"

John didn't get to speak as Nikolai reaches over and takes his chin in his hand, forcing him to look at him. Everything slowed in that moment, John's heart pounding and his mind screaming. Nikolai pulled him close and he followed without resistance. He couldn't remember the last time he ever kissed someone, let alone someone he was so drawn to. It was sweet but awkward.

When Nikolai parted away, John was staring at him with wide eyes, unable to say a word. He stared long enough to make Nikolai nervous, maybe even make him doubt himself and lose confidence. John didn't let him stew too long, grabbing Nikolai's shirt and forcing him close again, this time kissing with effort. Nikolai melted almost immediately, a hand cupping his jaw as he leaned completely into John.

When they parted again, John was grinning stupidly as was Nikolai. It was a wonderful feeling, like he could finally breathe.

"That's how you end a date, sergeant," Nikolai muttered and John laughed, "I would show you another way but... I want to know you."

"I want to know you, too."

It was all too soft and sweet for men like them. But it was something John needed terribly, he wasn't even aware of how much he needed it until that moment. Nikolai ended the night with another kiss, soft on his cheek before he got out of the SUV and headed into the hanger. John watched him until he was out sight, only then driving back to the car park to return the SUV.

___

"You look... happy," Banks muttered, watching him with great suspicion.

John wasn't surprised, he felt better than he had in years. True, genuine happiness, of course it was noticed.

"I had a good night."

"Right... in LT's car?"

John bites back a laugh as Sikes, who had previously gave him a wide berth the entire morning, whipped his head around to glare at them. Banks snorted and ducked his head, suppressing his laughter into his arm. Mac walked in then, with Nikolai, and Banks was putting all his training towards not cackling at Sikes' expression.

"Gentlemen, business," Mac grunted.

Nikolai chose to sit next to John and John felt giddy. Mac looked between them like he knew something, and he wasn't pleased about what he knew. But he didn't say anything on it, choosing to move on to the task at hand.

John tried to focus, but it was hard when Nikolai insisted on holding his hand under the table.

___

"You kissed him? Kissed him!?"

Apparently being polite and not waking Kate up in the night to tell her was the wrong move. He chose to go with her annoyance.

"Yea, we're having a spring wedding. When's yours?"

Kate was hysterical, in laughter and other reasons. John listened, laughing, as he stared at the postcard that was left on his desk. It was written in Russian, a heart at the end, and John knew his next personal mission. Learn Russian, and hopefully write out everything he felt that he's never been able to say out loud in English.

[igotanidea]

Truth: Dick Grayson x spy!reader

Summary/request: Dick Grayson X Spy Girlfriend. Dick reveals his secret identity to her first and she decides to confess too.

***

„Where are you?”

„Dick”

 “Where the hell are you?!”

„Grayson!”

 “I swear I’ll kil you”

“Answer me damn it.”

“Dick…”

“Come on, please….”

“I’m worried.”

“Just come home….”

Well shit.

Y/N was blowing up his phone for the last couple hours and he was feeling more and more guilty by every passing second. Of course, he didn’t blame her for being distressed with his absence. After all in was something around 2 a.m., and to tell the whole truth he was actually a bit cocky because of that little care display even if she did threaten him at the beginning.

However, there were a few problems with that state of fact.

First. Why was she up at this time. Was it possible that she had trouble sleeping or had a nightmare and needed him to hold her and touch her and reassure her? Just a thought of that was breaking his heart.

Second, he had been currently in the middle of patrolling west side of Gotham, catching the trail of another villain he was tracing for the last couple of weeks, and no matter how much he wanted to, couldn’t just ditch it, even though his heart was telling him to run to her.

And third.

She had no idea.

Yeah, he didn’t tell her he was Nightwing. Honestly, he was avoiding that subject like a plague, and every time she came as close as mentioning the name of a Bludhaven/ Gotham blue vigilante he was shutting her up with kisses.

And with her big brain, Y/N figured out his Pavlovian reaction in no time and started using it for her advantage whenever she was feeling needy for something more than just sweet words. God, she had him wrapped around her little finger. Honestly, Dick couldn’t imagine being without her.

And keeping his secret identity a - well- a secret, was both an argument for making sure she won’t leave him and a constant stressor she will leave him when if she finds out.

Damn it. He was torn.

It’s been a year of them being together. Maybe it was time to let the cat out of the bag?

Even though Dick was lost inside his head the fact that his target was now on the run did not pass him. He just jumped off the roof, immediately getting to action, getting done with the thug in less then five minutes.

As he was waiting for the police to arrive, walking in circles he made a decision.  

Since she didn’t tell him her secret first, he was going to be the one to take the action.

***

 Little did he know that Y/N was texting him not only because she was worried, but also because she was currently stuck in her spy costume in the middle of the bedroom, unable to pull the stupid zipper up or down. Obviously she couldn’t let him see that, and by those texts was just trying to test the waters, and hopefully, buy herself some time.

Of course she was concerned every time he has been sneaking out on patrol dressed in blue, thinking she was asleep. But she also knew Nightwing skills and abilities (back when they were still friends and not a couple Nightwing was her mission. Once he found out the identity of the vigilante she refused to reveal it to her contemporary boss, hence the scar on her lower abdomen***).

Funny thing that Dick though her gullible and naive enough to not notice him leaving the apartment every night. But on the other hand it was good, cause if he were to find out she knew, he would also realize she was not just the calm, caring girlfriend, but also a killer agent

But seriously, as long as she was in that suit of hers there was still a risk of being exposed.

„Shit!” she pulled at the material, but stupid Kevlar refused to cooperate, clinging to her body like a second skin. „I swear every time they upgrade this freaking outfit it gets worse!” she muttered to herself, pulling the zipper, almost falling to the ground at the unsuccessful attempt to free herself. Seriously! Why couldn’t her designers get inspired by Flash ring or something simple that would just go poof and you’ll be dressed. Or create something like doctor Strange’s cape. Or- scratch the magic and metahumans- Iron Man’s suit. For crying out loud it was XXI century,you could’t  just expect people to find a phone booth every time you need to get to action!

She was cursing under her nose, laying on her back on the bed, lights on, struggling against the costume when the unmistakable sound of opening the window reached her ears making her freeze at the spot.

Holy shit!

Holy fucking shit!

Dick was back!? Why the hell?! It was barely 2.30! He never finished before 4 a.m! 3 if it was an extremely quiet night!

Shit! Oh shit!

„Ok, Y/N. Focus. Think like an agent. Cold blood. Even breath. Clear mind. What can you do?” she though to herself. Obviously, there was not a single chance she could loose the suit so she did the only thing that came to her brain.

***

Dick almost got a heart attack upon noticing the light on in the bedroom. Unfortunately that room was situated on the east side of the building and Dick was coming back using the west window. Yeah, the architect probably didn’t think about the vigilantes wrapping up their patrols while making blueprint, what an oversight!

He made a mental note to himself to pay a visit to the poor man or woman who committed such a rookie mistake, but for now he had bigger problems. If the lamp was turned on, that probably meant she was awake. And if she was awake, she probably hear that stupid screetching window (another thing to discuss with the architect and constructors). And that could mean one of two things:

She would come to the main room, thinking it might be him, and see him in Nightwing suit, or

She would come to the main room, thinking it’s a thug, carrying her baseball bat for protection and see him in his Nightwing suit.

Same impasse.

So he did the only thing that came to his brain.

***

„Why are you in your underwear?!”

„Why are you in towel!?”

Let’s go back in time a few minutes.

While she rushed to the bathroom, grabbing one of her cutting gadgets hidden on the top shelf, ripping the suit, spraying herself with water and wrapping up in the towel, Dick took off his costume, settling on going almost full commando rather than risking exposure. Two people, two very bad and completely irrational decisions.  

„I was taking  a shower!”

„at 2.30?!”

„what the hell were you doing?! there’s blood on your chest!”

„Made you look.” Dick grinned, unable to stop the teasing and smirking.

„Are you freaking serious?!”

„Don;t change the subject!”

„I’m not changing anything!”

„Great, then I’m just gonna take a quick shower myself and we can go back to sleep.” he shrugged casually trying to walk past her acting like nothing weird was happening, his initial idea of talking to her about his vigilante life suddenly evaporating.

She froze. And then her blood boiled and hands started shaking. There was no way she was going to let him in, with the scraps of the elastic material splattered all over the bathroom floor. He would recognize the type of it immediately, seeing as it was commonly used among both vigilantes and spies.

„You can’t go in there.” she blocked his way, crossing arms over her chest.

„Oh?” he raised an eyebrow and smirked. „And why is that?”

„cause I disinfected the shower and you need to wait for the chemicals to volatilize.”

„What-?” he stuttered, both shocked and unconvinced.

„Yes. Absolutely.” It was hard to say whether she was trying to convince Dick or rather herself. „It’s detrimental for your health. You have to wait. Can’t risk you going down because of descaler or something like that.”

„What kind of cleaners are you using, exactly?” he faltered again, getting a bit worried about her.

Fingerprints remover, bleach, some explosive chemicals, caustic agents....

„Only the best!” she grinned nervously, grabbing his arms and guiding him away from the bathroom, forcing to sit on the bed. „Can’t save on hygiene, right?”

„I guess--” he started, but knowing she’s getting some of her position back, she did not let him finish.

„Sh. Not a word. You are hurt. How about I patch you up, huh?”

„Oh-okay....” Dick muttered, only after a second realizing that the first aid kit was in the living room. In that one drawer where he stuck his suit while panicking about getting exposed. „Uh- um- Y/N, baby... you know, on second thought it’s not that bad..... I mean - I mean look- it already curdled and it is just a scratch -- no need to make a fuss about it, um-”

„Don’t be silly, Dick. Just let me help you, okay?” she took a few steps forward, ready to get the kit, when he jumped out of bed, grabbed her hand and kissed her. (did I mention Pavlovian reaction)

Obviously, at first she melted into him, instantly pulling herself closer, kissing him back with utmost love. In her defence, she was already agitated and scared of her spy life getting revealed and the adrenaline running in her veins did the job. As well as for Dick when his hands moved to her waist, rubbing her sides and hips, getting lost in her.

It lasted for a while before she pulled back gasping softly. That kind of kiss was way to familiar. Under normal circumstances their making out sessions was either sweet and gentle or passionate and urgent. No in-between.

But this? This was the same kind of first base as every time she mentioned Nightwing. So given that and the fact he didn’t want her to go to the living room he must have been hiding somewhere there.

Poor Dick.

So desperate, not knowing she knew he was Nightwing and trying to cover it up. And she was going to keep him in that unawareness just a little bit longer. Just to tease. And maybe also  to dispel any suspicions he might have already had about her.

„Oh, Dick, baby, I want to patch you up. Don’t be a stubborn ass. I am your girlfriend. It’s my duty to help you out.” she wriggled out of his embrace, taking another step towards the living room.

„And as your boyfriend I am telling you I can handle myself and I;d hate you to worry.” he took a step towards the bathroom as some sort of counter-threat.

„I’m gonna worry either way until you let me heal you...” she moved another inch, standing on the threshold between two rooms.

„You can heal me in some other way, baby...” he repeated the motion, almost reaching for the bathroom dorknob.

„Dick...” she almost hissed at him, her throat clenching. God damn it!

„Y/N...” he gasped, his eyes scanning her every movement.

Such a war of nerves they were waging against one another, believing they were so smart, playing the other and having the other where they wanted to do. But it was not a chess game and there was no predicting how the other would act while- well- endangered. So, at the moment, Y/N and Dick were just standing in front of each other, mindful of every move, the tension between them palpable and unbearable. Tensed muscles were ready to react, every instinct on high alert, senses sharpened, breath fastened.

In some other circumstanced they would probably end up having the most passionate night of love, but not this time.

She took another step back and before he could react rushed to the living room, trying to reach that stupid drawer where he hid the evidence of his nightlife.

„DAMMIT Y/N!”he made after her a second later, grabbing her from the back, almost peeling the towel off in the process.

„Let me go!” she started kicking and squirming trying to break free as he lifted her off the ground. „I’m gonna neutralize you! I’ll go full black widow on you!”

„Black widow, huh? Is there something you want to tell me, baby?”

„Put me down Grayson!” she struggled even more, cursing herself for not being able to really act on her words. Not with him. Not with her boyfriend.

„Y/N!”

„Put me down!!”

„Y/N!!”

„What?!”

„I need to tell you something!”

„THEN JUST FREAKING SAY IT!”

„NOT BEFORE YOU CALM DOWN!”

„STOP YELLING AT ME!” she shouted

„YOU STARTED IT!”

„I’M A WOMAN! I GET TO START FIGHTS OUT OF NOTHING! AND YOU’RE THE MAN SUPPOSED TO TAKE MY SHIT-! Whoops--” her eyes grew wide at the realization she might have gone to far. Seemingly he though the same cause his grip on her loosened and he put her on the ground. „I’m sorry, Dick - I- I didn’t mean that-” she whispered „please, don;t be mad at me- I love you....”

And that was it. She said those three magic words he knew was true and it was just impossible to lie to her anymore.

„I love you too. And I’m Nightwing.” he sighed, closing his eyes, ready for shocked expression, wide eyes, open mouth and confused stuttering. And he was going to take the repercussions of not telling her earlier. Her anger, her disappointment, the feeling of being deceived.

But nothing like this happened and after a moment of prolonging silence he dared to open one eye, taking on such a funny look that she couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle.

„Hey!” he clearly took offence „why are you laughing at me?! Wait--’  finally it hit him „why are you laughing? Why are you not mad?”

„Do you want me to be mad?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, truly waiting for his response

„God, no! Last time you were, you didn’t let me-- not the point.” Dick shook his head „Did you hear what I just said?”

„You’re Nightwing.”

„I’m Nigh---. Wait - why are you so calm about it? I kept it a secret from you for so long and--”

„Dick.”

„I lied to you to put it bluntly. I’ve been out fighting crime, acting like a hero, who I am, handsome and brave and skillful but still putting my life in danger and ---”

„Dick!”

„Did you know I got the title of the hottest vigilante in --”

„DICK!!”

„But I still think that--”

„Stop talking! I knew!!”

„you what?”

„I knew you were Nightwing! I figured it out a while ago, but tried to play fair and give you a chance to come clean with me.”

„YOU KNEW!?”

„Yeah.... I’m not stupid, okay? And-- and I;m not mad or offended or anything like that. I get that it’s a part of who you are so no worries about me asking you to stop or whatever else.”

„You are surprisingly understanding” he muttered „Babe?”

„Hmmmm?”  

„why are you so cool about it?”

„Ok...um--” she brushed her hair out of her forehead nervously „please don’t freak out, ok?” she looked into his eyes for a second before staring at the floor „I-um-... I’m a spy...”

 „Like James Bond?” he grinned „I was always a fan of the classic but if you prefer Daniel--”

„DICK!!”

„What?” he scoffed „you’re a spy, I know. I-- well, I might have known for a while now.”

„You did?” she frowned. „damn, it’s not like it kills my confidence in my skills....” she rolled her eyes.

„Well it does add to my confidence in mine” he laughed wholeheartedly and regardless of her irritation she did crack a smile.

„I hate you and your stupid sense of humor.”

„so why are you laughing with me baby?”

„I’m laughing at how annoying you are”

„Come on, I’m forgiving you for keeping things from me...” he grabbed her waist pulling her into his chest and hugging closely. „Can I see that sexy spandex suit of yours now?” he whispered into her ear.

„Hmmm. I might be in need of a new one, cause I kind of the destroyed it--”

„Don’t worry baby, I can work with the lack of it too....”

Oh, boy....

No sleep for the wicked that night.  

[aerynwrites]

Comfort

Cullen Rutherford x Female!Inquisitor

A/N: Okay, second foray into DAI fic and I think I like this better! I've switched to just using a named inquisitor, the one I created for my game, instead of doing it "x reader". I hope you all enjoy! I also know that the backstory I gave the inquisitor in this story isn't cannon of the inquisitor, but hey - fanfic right? Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: angst, the inquisitor is very overwhelmed and has a lot of self loathing in this, BUT! lots of comfort, lots of fluff, Cullen being amazing and supportive, fluff!!

Her room feels too big.

The room at Skyhold feels too big. But so did her small cabin at Haven. Even the cell she was kept in before she woke up felt like a luxury. Everything is just too…big. 

Too much.

It's been months since the Conclave. Months since she was blown to smithereens but somehow wasn’t. Months since the anchor latched onto her and the name Herald has been whispered everywhere she goes. 

It’s only been a couple weeks since they named her inquisitor. And suddenly, only then did it seem to finally hit her. 

This is real. 

The inquisition, the breach, the fade bleeding into the physical world, Corypheus…everything. 

And as she stands in front of the mirror in her too big room in this too real world…She counts. She counts the white and pink scars that litter her skin as she lifts her tunic ever so slowly. Eyes cataloging each one and how she got them. Some she can’t even remember. She counts the pulses of energy flickering from the anchor embedded in her hand. She counts her fingers too. 

At least she still has all of those. At least that’s the same. 

Then she counts the knocks that sound at her door. She counts the number of times she ignores them before it opens without invitation. It is a surprisingly respectful five times - but she would expect nothing less from the man that walks into her room. 

Cullen is deathly silent when he doesn’t have his armor on. So much so Celaena would have mistaken him for elven if she’d never met him before. But she has met him, she met him all those months ago when she was nothing but a mystery and a threat. She met him and he didn’t treat her like an immediate threat. Soon he treated her like a friend. Then a confidant. Then a lover…

Which is why it seems to be the final straw when that one word leaves his lips..

“Inquisitor-”

“Don’t-” she just manages to choke the word out before tears follow it. 

Cullen is at her side with just a few steps, strong arms wrap around her waist and she leans into him fully, chasing the familiar warmth of him around her as she falls apart in this unfamiliar place. 

The fabric of his shirt is soft beneath her fingers as she clutches onto it as if it’s the only thing that will keep her tethered to this world. And in a way maybe it is. Maybe here, now, away from her responsibilities, away from the expectations and the possible end of the world…maybe Cullen is the only thing she needs.

“Celaena, what’s wrong?” Cullen’s voice barely seems to reach her through the tears, but she can feel them reverberate in his chest. 

“My love, please…talk to me.”

Celaena wants to talk to Cullen, she needs to. Yet, when she opens her mouth she can’t bring herself to say anything. How can she? How selfish would she sound? Complaining to Cullen of all people about duties being thrust upon them, about leading when she doesn’t want to lead. 

How could she do that to him when all he’s ever done is give - give, and learn and grow and become a better person for all the things he’s done. 

Cullen must sense her hesitation - because of course he does - and gently leads them to sit on the edge of her too big bed. Celaena moves with him, only because he holds her so tightly and she can’t bear the thought of being alone again. Not now. 

“I can’t - I can’t-” she chokes on yet another sob. “I can’t do this, Cullen.”

There. She said it. Her weakness out in the open, her selfishness-

“It’s alright,” Cullen says after a moment, voice soft as he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. “Tell me.”

It’s silent after that, the only sounds being her occasional sniffles and cries until soon it’s just their breathing. Only then does she find the courage to speak again. 

“I lived in a little village,” she begins, voice wet. “Less than one hundred people. Mostly farmers, some shepherds…” she trails off. “But that’s all there was. I saw the same people every day, ate the same meal almost every day, I…I was a healer, Cullen. And even then the worst thing I ever saw was the occasional broken bone or bump on the head…”

“Yes, I remember, you told me about your family and the quaint life you had-”

Celaena pushes away from him then, tears bubbling up once more, “But that’s just the point!” she cries. “That was my life. On the farm with my small little family, in my small little village, with my untrained magic and my biggest worry being what bone the local kids broke, I-” she gasps as she struggles to take in air. 

“I can’t. Do. This.” 

Then, and only then does Cullen reach for her again, his hands cradling her face in a firm but not uncaring grip. He doesn’t speak again, not right away. Instead, he pauses, amber eyes searching her face, brows furrowed with a grief that she’s only ever seen when he laid bare to her his struggles with Lyrium. 

Calloused thumbs wipe at the tears on her cheeks, before one moves up to card through the hair that has fallen from her usual braided style.

“It’s too much,” she sobs again, softly this time. “I don’t…I don’t think I can do this anymore, Cullen. I’m not…I’m not meant for this.”

Celaena takes the momentary silence that follows to breathe, tongue darting out to lick dry lips. She can taste the salt of her own tears, and it almost makes more pour over. 

How pathetic.

“No,” Cullen’s voice is firm as he leans forward, nose brushing her cheeks. “You are not pathetic. How could you even say that?”

She didn’t know she said that out loud. Celaena opens her mouth to speak but Cullen beats her to it. 

“Would someone who couldn’t do this have stood up to Cassandra the moment they woke up in a cell?” he begins. “Would they have willingly offered their help to fight something none of us know anything about?”

“Cullen…” she sighs.

“No!” he says again, voice full of passion, the voice he uses with his troops coming through. “Look at me, please?” 

Celaena wants to refuse, but she can’t refuse him, not when he asks her so gently, his breath fanning over her ear before he places a ghost of a kiss on her cheek as she moves to obey. 

She expects to see pity. Pity or disgust or something that will make her realize she is exactly who she thinks she is. A fraud. 

Yet, the only thing she sees when she looks at the man she loves, is admiration. His eyes shine with it, glinting in the low light as he gazes reverently upon her. He wipes away her tears again, and this time, she realizes they’ve stopped. 

“Would someone pathetic,” he practically spits the word, “have faced Corypheus, alone, with no help and the very slim chance of making it out alive, to save hundreds of people?”

Celaena shakes her head, “That’s not-”

Cullen pulls her closer again, nose brushing her own. “You did those things. You saved us. Saved -” he clears his throat. “You saved me. You can do this.”

His lips meet hers before she can blink, arms enfolding her in an embrace he can only hope is comforting. It is. Celaena melts into his embrace, molding against him like fresh clay. 

His hands card through her hair as they kiss, savoring one another in this moment until it too ends. She pulls away first - but not far - pressing her face into the crook of his neck, as he does the same. The familiar scratch of his beard is a comfort against her skin, his hands a soothing balm as they run up and down her back. 

“You can do this,” he whispers against her again, pulling away only to rest his cheek against the top of her head. “But that doesn’t mean it will be easy. It won’t.”

His words make your lips tremble again, but he speaks before the tears start once more. 

“But you won’t be alone. Not as long as I draw breath, will you have to bear this burden alone.”

Celaena can only nod, fingers clutching the fabric of his tunic in her fists as she tries to hold him closer. 

“Will you stay?” she asks, voice almost imperceptible.

But Cullen hears, he always does. 

“Of course.”

It takes only a moment for Cullen to help her into bed, the covers warm as he pulls them over them both before tucking her against his chest. She curls against him as if he can shield her from the world, and maybe…maybe just for tonight he can try. 

“Do you promise?” her voice meets his ears. 

“My love?”

“Do you promise to be here? Through all of this? I…I can’t do it alone.”

Cullen smiles, kissing the crown of her head. 

“Always. We do this together.”

And for the first time tonight, Celaena feels just a little bit of hope.