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renskaji · 2 months ago

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a quiet place to land

ren kaji x hiragi!sister reader, wc: 3k, req? yes! find it here.

You know it’s a bad day when Ren Kaji shows up at your front door.

It’s not like you don’t like him. You’ve known him since middle school, back when his hair was still dark and your friends warned you to stay away from that Kaji boy because his temper was unleashed and uncontrolled. You ignored them, stopped hanging around those who refused to see how hard Kaji tried to keep himself sane, and watched the changes happen in him from start to finish.

It’s bad, because Ren Kaji is standing in front of you, and your brother won’t be home for hours.

“Toma isn’t here,” You say upon opening the door. He’s standing on your front stoop, hair a little disheveled and something that looks suspiciously like a fresh set of bruises littering the skin of his cheeks and jaw. Sure enough, one glance at his hands clenched in fists at his sides, you see the skin torn from a fight.

It doesn’t scare you. You’ve been watching your brother get in fights since elementary school. What you are wary of is the fact that something went down, something bad enough to bring Kaji to your door, and Toma isn’t there to help fix it.

“I’m not here for your brother.” Kaji’s voice is harsh, but that’s his normal. You twist your lips to the side, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you study him carefully. His headphones are resting around his neck and he has a lollipop sticking from his mouth, which is nothing of note. You’re more concerned about the way he’s clenching his jaw and how his gaze seems hidden, ducked to the side and refusing to meet your evaluative stare. It’s almost protected. Like he’s worried about you seeing what he’s feeling, despite the fact that he showed up at your house.

And he’s not there for Toma.

You sigh, pushing open your front door wider and leaving him to enter on his own. He’s been over enough times to know the rules of the house, to know how to navigate himself to the living room. You’re suddenly way too conscious of the fact that you’re only wearing a random hoodie you quote unquote borrowed from Toma and athletic shorts you’ve had for far too long.

Not that it should matter. Because under no circumstances can you entertain the idea of anything with Kaji. Nope. Absolutely not.

And it’s not like this is the first time he’s ever come over without intending to see your brother, either. There have been a handful of occasions, like the one you’re currently in, where something happened, where life got too loud, and Ren Kaji found himself on your doorstep wanting to see you.

It’s really no wonder you fell in love with him along the way, honestly.

“Sit,” You throw the order over your shoulder carelessly as you retreat further into the house than the living room, gesturing vaguely towards the couch as you go. Kaji follows your command without fuss, which is just another sign on the long list of red flags he’s already flown that something is wrong. Usually, he’ll grumble out a ‘don’t tell me what to do’ before complying regardless. But now he’s silent, and you’re struggling to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

The first aid kit is well stocked and kept within arms reach in your household. It takes less than a minute to collect it, but by the time you return to the living room, Kaji’s already retreated into the sanctuary of his headphones blaring rock music to drown out whatever was bothering him.

You don’t think anything of it. You’ve known Kaji for years, and you’ve come to understand how to exist in the same space as him without overstepping. Which is why you know enough to grab your own headphones on your way back into the living room, and you busy yourself with connecting them while you settle atop the coffee table directly in front of Kaji’s position on the couch. It’s cramped, but you make it work with your knees slotted between his casually spread legs and a blush burning the tips of your ears.

As soon as your own music starts playing, you set your phone to the side and look to your patient for the time being. He’s staring at you, but you know he’s not really seeing, so you nudge his foot with yours and stick out your hand, palm up and fingers splayed. With the music playing in both your ears, words are useless.

Kaji knows to set his own hand in yours, because he’s been through the routine too many times, too. You’ve lost count of how many nights you patched up Toma and his gang, Kaji included. You’re pretty sure even Sako still knows the drill, and he hasn’t shown his face to you since junior high graduation.

The alcohol wipe stings, but Kaji is already tensing his jaw so tight that he doesn’t show a visible wince. Regardless, you know it doesn’t feel good, so you make quick work of cleaning the torn skin on his knuckles. He watches you work carefully, obediently switching hands without you even needing to tell him to.

The scratches on his face aren’t anything serious, either, so you finish disinfecting in a matter of moments and apply necessary bandages to smooth skin. He’s still watching you carefully, but you know he’s finally seeing, and the recognition that he’s coming back to himself makes you let loose the tension you had been unknowingly holding in your shoulders.

Your mind inevitably drifts while doting on him, and you find yourself studying his face too closely for just simply looking for injuries. Especially when you’re looking at his lips more than his bruises.

He’s still wearing his headphones when you finish packing up the first aid kit, so you know he needs more time until you can bother him about what happened. He’s not running off, which is an improvement from middle school, when he would tug his hoodie over the top of his head to block out the world. Now, he’s drowning out sound while scrolling through his phone on your couch.

The thought makes your cheek twitch with a smile. You know better than to comment on his growth.

Instead, you stand from your seat on the coffee table and return the first aid kit to its rightful home. When you make your way back to the living room, you choose a spot on the couch with a comfortable distance between yourself and Kaji. In place of badgering him, you pull out your own phone and begin to scroll.

There’s no message from Toma about a big fight happening in town, which makes your face twist in silent confusion. Your brother has always been good about warning you about Bofurin’s actions in a bid to keep you away from the trouble. The lack of a text makes you glance at Kaji, trying to piece together how he could’ve gotten so injured without a noteworthy Furin fight having gone down.

But the blond seated beside you offers no answers without you having to dig for them, so you fire off a message to Toma and shut down your phone, tucking it between your leg and the couch cushion. You twist in your seat until you’re leaning back against the arm rest, feet pulled up on the couch to give you something to wrap your arms around and rest your chin on.

You study Kaji’s profile for as long as it takes for him to notice you’re waiting for him. Or maybe, for as long as it takes for him to work up the resolve to take off his headphones. He sets them on the coffee table, and you know that means he’s ready to talk.

“Thanks,” He mumbles out to break the silence. You’ve never known Kaji to be an overly talkative person, so you take the opportunity he’s given you with both hands and ask the question that’s been bugging at you since he arrived.

“So, who’d you fight this time?” You keep your voice light, non-accusatory. You’ve never loved all the fighting, but you know they’re doing it for a good cause. And you also know Kaji is too good of a guy to get in fights for no reason.

“Dunno their names.”

Kaji shrugs, attention fixed on his abandoned headphones on the coffee table. Now you’re confused, because there’s something far worse than a regular fight wrong with him. He can handle scraps with random troublemakers on his own, without needing to see you. Something about this fight in particular is bothering him.

“Kaji,” You try again, a bit more forcefully. He finally looks at you, but he’s just as quick to glance away. You frown, and shift further down the couch until you’re directly next to him, your sock clad feet only a few inches away from his leg. Part of you thinks you see the tips of his ears start to turn bright red, but part of you knows that would be ridiculous. “What happened?”

There’s a telltale crack as Kaji’s jaw clenches over the lollipop he’s been savoring since before he arrived. His face is stony, completely giving away the fact that whatever did go down before he arrived at your door was bad.

“I really don’t know their names. But they were wearing the uniforms from your school.” He explains, though it sounds like it’s taking a lot for him to get the words out. Like each one has the same feeling as poking at an unhealed bruise. Your face twists in confusion, but you stay quiet, hoping that encourages him to keep talking. “They had some stupid shit to say.”

“About you?”

“About you.”

“Oh,” You’re not sure where to take the conversation from there. Toma has always told you that you’re too headstrong for your own good, which you never thought was a bad thing. You’re not oblivious to the fact that some of your classmates don’t like you, but you never thought that they would talk so poorly about you that Kaji would fight them.

It makes a heavy weight settle in your chest, and you look away from Kaji with a frown anchoring the corners of your lips downwards. You wonder what they said, if the boys he’s talking about actually knew you.

There’s a few unsavory thoughts running through your mind, but you’re abruptly dragged back to reality when Kaji nudges your shin. You know you’re still frowning when you glance at him, but it all melts away to surprise when you see what he’s offering you.

It’s one of his lollipops. The peach kind, too, and distantly you think that he said one time that those were his favorite. It makes your throat tighten and your sinuses clog with emotion you really hadn’t expected to feel when you opened the door twenty minutes earlier.

“Thanks,” You sigh as you take the candy. The shake to your voice is hard to ignore, but Kaji is good enough to not comment on it. You’d almost think he doesn’t notice the way your eyes are a bit shinier than usual, but the candy he’s offering is proof otherwise. “You didn’t have to do it, though.”

“Huh?” He’s turned fully towards you, now, and it’s hard not to burn up under the total weight of his attention. Most days, you’d love to revel in his focus, but now it feels too hot, too close to something you’ve never been brave enough to address.

“You didn’t have to fight those boys just ‘cause I’m Toma’s sister,” You clarify, voice quiet and close to shattering. It’s the only reason you can think of that explains why Kaji would bother dealing with some random assholes. You busy yourself by popping the gifted lollipop in your mouth, savoring the taste of peach on your tongue, folding the wrapper into a neat triangle, then half it again.

Under different circumstances, it would be almost amusing to watch him process what you’re saying. It’s almost like his brain stutters, then stalls, before needing to reboot and start over. You watch as flashes of confusion shine in his eyes, then disbelief, before finally settling on annoyance.

“You stupid or something?” He asks, and you snap out of your self-pitying to glare at him, mouth already open to retort with your own insult by the time he barrels on. “I didn’t do it ‘cause of your brother. I did it because I like you, a lot, and those assholes don’t get to talk about you like that.”

You’re still a little pissed off at the stupid comment, so it takes you longer than it typically would to realize he just confessed to having feelings for you.

In the stretch of silence you foolishly let build after his admission, Kaji groans and reaches for his headphones to hide from the world again. His blush is crawling up his neck, and all you can think about is how adorable you find it as you hand shoots out to grab his sleeve.

His focus snapes to you the moment your touch finds his sleeve. He’s frozen, half leaning forward to grab his headphones off the coffee table. You’re convinced that one wrong move will send him flying out the front door and avoiding you forever.

“You’re really shit at this kind of stuff.” You find yourself saying before you can think about it. It falls under the category of a wrong move that will send him flying out the front door, but you’re holding the sleeve of his sweatshirt so tightly he can’t go anywhere without dragging you with him.

“Just forget it.” He grumbles, a glare he doesn’t mean fixed on something over your shoulder. You can’t help the way your grin finally breaks free, but he misses it by avoiding your gaze.

“Now you’re the one being stupid.” You tease. “The guy I like just beat up bullies I didn't know I had and confessed his feelings for me. I’m not just going to forget it.”

You’re leaning closer towards him now, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want him to kiss you. The lollipop is plucked from your mouth, held by the stick in your hand that isn’t currently bunched in the fabric of his sweatshirt. You think you’re inching closer towards your goal when you spot his gaze tracking the way your tongue darts out to wet your peach flavored lips.

“Your brother—” He starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“Now it’s finally about Toma.” You tease with a playful roll of your eyes. “My brother loves you. And he trusts you, too. He’s not going to be bothered by us.”

Kaji’s ears burn impossibly brighter at the mention of an us, which makes you grin and lean even further into his space. This is so not the direction you thought your afternoon would go, but you’ll take it.

He’s quiet for a moment longer, so you decide to give him another nudge, another tease that will hopefully push him over the edge towards action.

“If you really want, we can call Toma and ask—”

You’re interrupted by his hand suddenly cradling your jaw, angling your face just right in the seconds before his lips crash against yours. It’s a little sloppy, a little inexperienced, but it makes your head feel dizzy all the same. You press towards him the moment you get your bearings, desperate to show him how much you care for him.

It’s nearly embarrassing how breathless you are after the kiss ends. But Kaji’s panting too, so you know you’ll be alright. Your smile is a little dazed, but there’s no way for you to miss the determined look in his eyes.

“I owe your brother so much, but it’s never about him for me. It’s always you.” There’s a weight to his confession that you’re not quite sure how to unpack. Kaji has idolized Toma for years. But to think that as deep as that devotion goes, Kaji’s commitment to you goes deeper—

You’re not sure what else to do but kiss him again.

It’s shorter than the first kiss, but no less meaningful. You see the way he’s blushing under your touch, your attention, and you wonder how you went so long without drawing that reaction from him. He’s too adorable, and it makes you decide that you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him blushing, always. You’re smiling, and it’ll take a lot to keep you from doing so.

“We still have to tell my brother, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.”

+ bonus

“Have you heard from Kaji lately? Word is he got into a brawl in town and no one’s seen him since.”

Toma Hiragi groans at his vice captain, reaching into his jacket for both his phone and stomach medicine. It’s one thing for Kaji to get into a fight while on patrol, but it’s another to disappear after.

He pops a gaskun-10 pill into his mouth while opening his phone. There’s no texts from his underclassman, but he has one from you, his younger sister.

Kaji showed up at the house. I patched him up but he seems off. I’ll talk to him and figure it out. Oh, and get me that bread Ume was talking about before you come home.

Toma huffs at your text before turning off his phone and shoving it back in his pocket. He doesn’t actually remember what bread Umemiya recommended to you, so he’ll have to ask and endure a ten minute lecture on bean sprouts.

But you’re cleaning up Kaji for him, so it’s the least he can do.

“Kaji’s fine.” Toma explains to the small crowd of Bofurin that had gathered while waiting to hear about their teammate’s whereabouts. “He’s with my sister. She’s taking care of him.”

And maybe you’ll put him out of his misery and finally admit you’re in love with each other.

#word count was at 1.6k and then I blinked. now we're here.#not even the least bit sorry for it tho #renskaji writes #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #wbk #ren kaji #ren kaji x you #ren kaji x reader #kaji ren #kaji ren x reader #kaji ren x you #wind breaker kaji #kaji wind breaker #wbk kaji #kaji wbk

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seeingivy · 6 months ago

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sukuna and “ we have to stop meeting like this” plssss

we have to stop meeting like this x ryomen sukuna

**part of my tortured poets concert event

“we have to stop meeting like this.”

sukuna can tell when he’s in trouble.

he’s seen the look hundreds of times – when he used to talk too loudly during lectures in college, when he’s late to meetings at work, from his brother when he misses his nephew’s basketball games – to the point where he’s able to pinpoint it down to the expression.

narrowed eyes. furrowed eyebrows. a pursed expression.

and sukuna can evaluate that, at the very least, he’s not in trouble with you, because you have none of the three, despite the fact that he’s most definitely earned it at this point. a testament to your overwhelmingly large well of patience. if sukuna’s bruised eye isn’t betraying him, he’s almost convinced that he sees a whisper of a smile on your face.

sukuna readjusts himself in the bed, shifting awkwardly from how small the stretcher is, as you make your way over to his side and pull the shiny blue latex gloves over your hands.

“how else am i going to see you, doc?” he asks.

you roll your eyes.

you’re not particularly fond of downtown los angeles.

there’s too many people – bustling in the streets, clogging up the sidewalk – to the point where you feel like you see hundreds of people every single day. and while the initial thought of moving was exciting, of the unknown, you very quickly realize that you detest it.

you work in an emergency department that houses almost hundreds of patients everyday. strangers going in and out, coworkers cycling through to the point where you can barely remember anyone's name, and it’s a severely stark culture shock from the ten manned hospital you used to work at out in the suburbs. the same few patients you saw every few months.

nothing is consistent in los angeles. except for the promise of a local bar owner, by the name of ryomen sukuna, who always tumbles in around the holidays with some type of injury.

halloween. new years eve. thanksgiving. a broken arm, dislocated shoulder, a viral infection.

“you know, i almost thought you weren’t coming.” you joke.

“and miss out on valentine’s day with you?” he asks.

you reach forward, fingers light on the side of the face as you guide him to look straight at you, so you can assess the damage. there’s a deep cut on the side of his forehead, superficial, accompanied by bruising around the soft warmth of his eyes.

and while his pretty face is intact, his arm evidently isn’t. there’s a deep gash, one that makes him wince loudly as you touch the bruised skin around it. you narrow your eyes at him, before craning your neck over your shoulder and whistling.

“yuuta.”

“yes, dr. l/n?”

you give him a polite smile.

“can you get me a suture kit please?” you ask.

he gives you a polite nod, quickly scurrying away towards the supply closet, as you turn back to sukuna.

“don’t make that kid do my stitches.”

“why not? that kid has to learn, you know.”

“well, he can learn on someone else, for fuck’s sake.” he mutters.

sukuna leans forward, giving you a bright grin, and whispering so quietly it sends a warm shiver down your spine.

“you’ve got a special touch, doc. i’m only going to give you permission to patch me up.”

you narrow your eyes at him.

“will you really say no if i make him do it?” you ask.

he gives you a nod.

“plus, that poor kid has been staring at that girl with the green hair the entire time. you should let them play hooky.”

“i should let my residents play hooky?” you deadpan.

sukuna shrugs.

“where’s your sense of romance?” he asks.

you cross your arms over your chest, as yuuta sets the suture kit down on the counter and reaches for the gloves. you raise your hand in the air, gesturing for him to stop, and note that you’ll slightly regret this gesture in a few hours when you have to do the paperwork.

“no need, yuuta.”

he gives you a frown.

“i don’t mind, boss. you should take a break.” he offers.

you shake your head at him.

“you should go into my office and go to the desk on the left. there’s a box of chocolates that someone gifted me in my top left drawer this morning that you should share with dr. zenin.” you note.

yuuta’s eyes go wide.

“what do you mean?” he asks.

“everyone can see that you’re hopelessly pining over maki. including my patient, who has very graciously convinced me to let you be a romantic. get out of my face before i change my mind.” you respond, making your best attempts at a stern voice.

yuuta flickers his eyes in between you and sukuna, an unmistakably delighted look on his face, as he lightly taps on the door on his way out. you turn back to sukuna, who now has his eyes narrowed at you as you open up the suture kit.

“you’re telling me there’s other people that give you gifts?” he asks.

you scoff.

“you give me gifts?” you asks.

“the pleasure of my company at your workplace. on every calendar holiday, mind you.”

you roll your eyes as you clean up the area around his skin, pulling out the silk material for his stitches. sukuna’s well versed in your stitching techniques, and with a pain tolerance so high, it only takes a few minutes.

“what did you do this time?” you ask.

“occupational hazard. who gave you the chocolates?”

you scoff.

“where do you work? the mma boxing ring?” you ask.

“do you think i’m fit enough for that? more fit than the dumbass who gave you the chocolates?” he asks, a wide grin spreading across his face.

you shrug.

“evidently not. you can barely…

you pause to lift the chart left on the table, yuuta’s messy notes scribbled on the top, before you look back to glare at him.

“...take down a christmas tree at the bar without injuring yourself. looks like you’re irritatingly possessive too.” you state.

sukuna places his hand on his chest.

“i told you to take it down earlier when suguru was still in town.” you note.

“in my defense, i was protecting my beloved nephew, yuuji, from injury. he crawled underneath and almost got trampled.” he exaggerates.

you give him a smile.

“heroic.” you deadpan.

sukuna gives you a smile, before lifting his hand up to cup the side of your cheek, the touch warm as he rubs a circle into your cheek. you lean into the feeling as sukuna reaches back and fixes the flyaways to the back of your ear, before you return to stitching up his arm.

“i’m starting to think you’re injuring yourself on purpose just to spend time with me, ryo.” you murmur.

“would that be wrong, baby?” he asks.

you roll your eyes.

“wait for me to come home, dumbass. i’m literally off in five hours.”

sukuna rolls his eyes right back at you, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. he retreats as you set your forceps down, reaching for the roller bandage as you wrap it around his arm. you secure it with a piece of tape at the end, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder to signal you’re done.

sukuna interlocks his fingers with yours, lifting your hand to press your fingers to his lips.

“thanks, doc.” he murmurs, tone uncharacteristically soft.

you can’t help but sigh – the aching feeling of seeing couples doting over each other all day hitting you in full force, that you’re spending your first valentine’s day away from him – as you reach forward and run your hands through his hair.

“be careful. i’m wrapping you in bubble wrap next time.” you warm, reaching forward to lean your head against his shoulder.

sukuna welcomes the touch, with three warm kisses spread between your forehead and your hairline, as he shows you the three pictures of the little valentine’s day card that yuuji made for you that’s waiting at home.

you grant him twenty minutes – twenty minutes before you tear yourself from his side to go process his discharge paperwork – and send him on his way. you can’t help but sink into the chair the second you see his pink hair dart out the doors, as you type the last of his notes into the chart.

“did the boyfriend enjoy the chocolates?”

satoru’s hovering over your shoulder, a bright smile on his face, as he expectantly waits for an answer. you lean back in your chair, heaving a great sigh as you eye the clock.

“he was here, got injured taking down the christmas tree at the bar. and the boyfriend insisted i give them up for okkotsu and zenin. they’re probably kissing in my office for all i know.”

satoru gives you a polite tap on the head, lightly ruffling your hair, before pulling up the chair at your side.

“well, you should be flattered. sukuna’s so dedicated to spending time with you. so romantic of himself to injure himself just to come down here.”

you scoff in response.

“dedicated to being a dumbass is what he is.”

satoru shakes his head.

“i think he’s just a big fan of getting doted on. being cared for, patched up by you, and all that.”

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svnriseblvdd · 4 months ago

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AND FOR ONCE, YOU LET GO OF YOUR FEARS AND YOUR GHOSTS — dick grayson

hurt/comfort, slight angst (he's okay in the end), love confession, big steps in a relationship. when dick grayson stumbles through his girlfriend's window in the early hours of the morning, she's there to patch him up and listen to all that troubles him.

It’s some time after four in the morning when Dick Grayson finally steps through the window into your apartment. He shouldn’t be here. It’s not fair on you. He knows it’s not, but he can’t help himself.

He’s silent as he moves across your living room floor, still silent as he opens your bedroom door. He hates that he has to be here. He hates even more the fact that you left your living room window open a crack so he could come in. He’s closed it now, locked it and made sure all the security measures he’d installed for you were in place how they should be.

He doesn’t want to wake you, doesn’t want to disturb you as you look so peaceful in the comfort of sleep. He doesn’t even need to touch you. Well, he does. But he won’t. Not if it’ll wake you up.

He just needs to see you. Needs to know you’re safe, alive, breathing, content. He needs to sit in the comfort of the sound of your breathing, the smell of everything that’s so unequivocally you. The detergent on fresh sheets, your shampoo, shower gel, the remnants of your perfume lingering. Even the underlying scent of your worn shoes that just barely creeps through everything else.

He knows where not to step. Where floor creaks and where there’s little things hellbent on stabbing him in the foot. Not that they’d do a good job through the suit, but he won’t risk it.

But through all his manoeuvring, he bends just slightly too far the wrong way, and he’s hissing in pain.

You stir, and hum. He thinks for a moment that maybe it’s okay. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he hasn’t woken you up and ruined your sleep because he’s an idiot.

But he’s wrong. “Dick?” You mumble. “You there?”

He winces. Not at the annoying pain in his side, but because now you’re awake. It’s nearly 5:00 AM and you’re awake because he didn’t think.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, honey, go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

He looks at the clock on your nightstand. The numbers on it glow faintly, almost accusatory. Oh, he knows.

“4:47,” he replies. “I’m sorry for waking you, baby.”

You push yourself up, eyes opening properly and taking in the sight of him. Your eyes are soft as you evaluate him, the redness of his cheek as a bruise begins to form, the cut above his eyebrow, the faint glow of the lenses of his mask, which he has yet to take off. “Dick-”

“Don’t worry about me, baby. I’m okay.”

You shake your head. “Come here.”

“’m dirty. You just washed your sheets.”

“I don’t care.” You stand from the bed, patting it. “Sit. Wait while I get the first aid kit.”

He gives in, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting for your return. It’s not a long wait, but every second without you feels like agony. It’s worse than anything that happened tonight.

When you return, you sink onto the bed next to him, setting the kit down next to you. “Let me see those pretty eyes,” you whisper, lifting the mask from him. His beautiful blue eyes meet yours, and it hurts to see the sadness in them.

You dab at the cut above his eyebrow with an alcohol-dipped cotton pad. You know that nights like these, he needs time before he can open up about it. So you treat the cut on his brow, the bruise on his cheek. Then you begin pushing his suit down his shoulders and torso.

“If you wanted me out of my clothes that badly, all you had to do was ask,” he jokes, but it lacks the same tone he usually has. Dick flirts with you all the time. Even now that you’ve been together for almost a year. And he still holds the same charm that he did when you first met, when he first realised his feelings and decided he was going to ‘make a move’. But tonight, he doesn’t hold the same charm or humour in his voice.

“Dick…” you murmur. He’d spent far too long being valued by Gotham’s social elite and their tabloids only for his looks. He was gorgeous, there was no denying that, he was the most wonderful person you’d ever laid eyes upon. But he was far too used to being a performer, even through his worst times, laying on the charm thick as possible when he had to attend a gala that fell during some of the bad days.

You get the suit down to his waist, where you let it rest as you evaluate the bruises, cuts and scrapes on his chest and abdomen.

You begin cleaning a cut on his chest, wondering whether or not it’ll need stitches. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” At your expression, he sighs. “I just- my head wasn’t in it.”

“Then where was your head?” You ask, threading the needle. “Hm? Tell me what’s going on, Dick.”

“I just… don’t know if I’m enough,” he whispers.

Your expression turns softer still. “What? Dick, of course you are. You’re more than enough. If you ask me, you’re more than most of this city deserves.” He sniffs, still trying to hold in the tears. “Do you want me to numb it before I start the stitches?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I can take it. It’s okay.”

You begin to sew the cut shut, back and forth, back and forth. It’s muscle memory by now, the number of times you’d stitched him up after a rough night. Never like this, though. Usually, even when he’d taken worse beatings, he could still crack jokes easily and he’d still lay on that Dick Grayson charm. Not tonight.

When you’re done, you lean down, placing soft kisses along the edge. You cover over a graze on his side, the one he’d irritated earlier that had led to you waking up.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he says, voice heavy with regret and despair.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. It’s not. You have work.”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t. I’m taking the day off. Want to spend time with you.”

“You don’t have to do that. You shouldn’t. I’m not worth it.”

“You’re more than worth it, honey. Besides, I’ve had it booked since last week, so I can’t just take it back.” You reach up with one hand to cup his face, tilting his head to look at you. His eyes are filled with tears. “Oh, Dick, sweetheart.”

He breaks then. The tears spill over, and he collapses into your hold, your arms wrapping around him. He smells of blood, sweat, dirt, and smoke, but you don’t care one bit. You’ll hold him forever if that’s what he needs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He lets out a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, my love,” you assure him. “I promise you, that you’re more than enough. Do you trust me?” He nods. “Then trust that I’m telling you the truth.”

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m falling and I won’t ever stop.”

“I know, honey. But I’m here to catch you. I’ll always be here. You do so much for this city, for your team, your family, me. You work so hard, honey, and I know that it’s difficult. And I know you don’t feel like it’s enough sometimes but it is. You’re so good, Dick. You bring hope, safety, happiness. I know it’s a lot of responsibility, but you shoulder it so well. I just wish you didn’t feel like you had to take on everything. Sometimes you need a break, and that’s okay.”

“But who else protects Bludhaven?”

“That’s the problem, Dick. You take care of this all by yourself.”

“Bruce protected Gotham by himself.”

“Bruce hadn’t been Batman for nearly as long before you came along. Besides, he’s had help for years now. You handle Bludhaven, you still help in Gotham, you run the Titans. Hell, you help the Justice League from time to time. Even Bruce has bad times too. Even Batman struggles with his responsibilities. Both of you have yourselves convinced that you have to take on all this responsibility and pressure because if you don’t, you’re not worthy of love. But even with all that, neither of you think you’re enough. And I love you for your heroism and your courage and your goodness. I really do, but you need days off. You need time to just be Dick Grayson. Not Nightwing, not the Wayne heir, not the socialite the tabloids love. Just Dick. The same one who I fell for.”

He stops sniffling for a few seconds, just breathing irregularly. “You love me?” He whispers then, breaking the silence. He pulls back, your arms falling loosely to his sides. You hadn’t realised you’d said it.

“Yes,” you whisper back. “Yeah, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, hands cupping your face. “So much.”

You smile, and it’s the first time tonight that he’s smiled and it’s felt genuine. He kisses you, softly, lovingly, every inch of his soul poured into you. It’s such a simple kiss. Neither of you dare deepen it - you both know it’s not the time. It’s just ordinary, small, wet with his tears, but it’s the most wonderful, caring action.

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask, pulling away from him.

“No.”

“How about a bath? Or a shower?”

“No, I just want to hold you.”

You smile softly, nodding. “Let me find something for you to wear. It’s colder tonight.” You stand, moving around your room to find any of his clothes that he’s left behind. You think you might’ve run out of clean things of his in his allocated drawer. “It’s getting really difficult, working with only one drawer of your clothes.”

“Especially when you use my shirts to sleep in,” he comments.

“True.” You hum as you find a pair of his sweatpants, folding them over your arm.

“Maybe it would be easier if we just lived together,” he says.

You turn to him, now holding one of your baby tees, mistaken for a shirt of his. The words “I’m too sexy for this shirt” stare at him, standing out against the white cotton. “Do you mean it?” You ask.

“I do. I want us to live together. I love seeing our shoes next to each other when we stay together. I love seeing your things at my place. I love cooking together. I want to stay up late talking to you. I want to dance in the kitchen in the middle of the night. I want to come home to you.”

You smile, practically attacking him with the way you hug him. “I want all of that too.” You kiss his cheeks, then his forehead, then peck him on the lips before you roll off the bed to look for a t-shirt. You throw the items at him when you’ve found them.

When he’s changed, the two of you lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. And you look up at him while the first hints of the sunrise filter through the crack in the curtains.

You look up at him, and he meets your eyes, a loving smile on his face. “I love you, Dick Grayson. And I can’t stand to see you destroy yourself.”

“I love you too. I’ll stay together for you.”

#dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #muse: dick

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cece693 · 4 months ago

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Hothead

pairing: steve rogers x male reader tags: reader is an avenger, weird relationship dynamics, people think you're bad news, Steve sees the opposite, proving people wrong, hurt Steve, but reader tends to him and comforts him

You stride into the briefing room with a chip on your shoulder, ready to butt heads with whoever decides to question your methods today. Tony throws you a quick glance, eyebrows raised in contempt—or maybe curiosity. Clint, seated backward on a chair, eyes you warily. Natasha merely tightens her jaw and shifts in her seat. Bruce goes quiet, trying not to ruffle your feathers. And Thor, well, he’s half-amused but uncertain. After all, you’re not exactly known for your subtlety.

In truth, you don’t blame them for looking. By now, the Avengers had time to know you: you’re the hotheaded guy who’d rather slug first and ask questions later. The one who’ll bark at a helpless agent for misfiling paperwork or curse at an enemy mid-battle with no shame. No one can figure it out—why in the world did Steve Rogers, the ultimate golden boy, choose you of all people?

He’s not here yet, so you stand alone in your corner, arms crossed, lips set in a firm line. Fury’s voice drones on about mission updates and tactical readiness, but you hardly listen. You’ve already memorized the mission parameters on the flight here. You’re scanning the room for threats, evaluating every inch. To the untrained eye, you’re on edge, maybe just itching for a confrontation. The team sees the tension brimming beneath your stance.

It’s only when you feel a steady hand come to rest lightly on your arm that you uncross your arms. Steve appears beside you, the warmth of his palm pressing through the fabric of your uniform. He doesn’t say a word—doesn’t have to. Your glare softens. If anyone notices, they pretend not to. But you’ve learned how to be subtle for him.

You’re both exhausted when you touch down after the mission, battered and bruised. You had insisted on being the decoy, drawing enemy fire, because you handle force better than most. You’d never share this, but you did it so Steve wouldn’t have to. He’s strong—beyond strong—but you’ve never shaken your protective streak.

The rest of the team fans out. Everyone’s too drained to talk, but the confusion is still there. More than one pair of eyes lingers on you as you carefully loop Steve’s arm around your shoulder, guiding him to sit on a bench in the hangar. The second he’s down, your hands are on his face, tilting it up gently to assess the bruise blossoming along his cheekbone. “Stevie,” you murmur, the syllables so low that the others almost miss them, “Does it hurt too bad?”

He gives you a small smile. “I’m alright. Just need some ice.”

Your brow furrows. Gone is your scowl from earlier—no arrogance, no fists clenched, nothing of the raging storm you usually are. Instead, there’s only concern, your thumb brushing the bruise with trembling care. The hush that falls over the rest of the Avengers is deafening. “Stay put,” you say quietly, your voice gruff. “Don’t move.”

He nods, trusting you. You stalk away to grab an ice pack, ignoring everyone else. When you return, you kneel in front of Steve, pressing the cool compress to his cheek. Your free hand drifts to the back of his neck, softly coaxing him closer, checking for other injuries. “You’re such a brat,” Steve teases under his breath, but there’s unmissable fondness in his tone.

"You like that about me,” you quip. And the corners of his lips curve into a warmer smile.

Steve gently pats your hand where it’s wrapped around the ice pack. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

You don’t respond at first. You just nod, focusing on the cut above his eyebrow that’s starting to bleed. You rummage through a makeshift first-aid kit, dabbing at his wound with a gauze pad. The lines between your brows deepen every time he flinches. Finally, you speak, low enough that the words are almost lost: “I’m always here, Rogers.”

The rest of the team stands by, silent observers to your quiet exchange. Every so often, Tony exchanges looks with Clint or Bruce. No one expected you, the loudmouth with fists perpetually clenched, to be so gentle. The sweet murmur of “Stevie” just doesn’t match the image they have of you threatening an enemy on the battlefield mere hours ago.

When you finish, you wipe your hands on your pant leg and place a careful, feather-light kiss on Steve’s knuckles. You do it unthinkingly—he’s still trembling a bit, adrenaline coursing through his body. In that soft touch, the Avengers finally see it. They realize you may wear rough edges on the outside, but it’s purely the armor you put up to keep those you care about safe.

Steve, with a smile lighting his face, reaches up and cups your cheek. “Thanks,” he says again, and in that moment, the rest of the team witnesses a warmth in your eyes they never imagined was there.

“Take it easy, Cap,” you say. Your voice drops so no one else can hear, but your words catch the edges of Tony’s hearing regardless. “I love you, you know that?”

Steve’s eyes sparkle, and he presses his forehead gently against yours, relieved. “I know,” he murmurs back, “and I love you too.”

At a respectful distance, Natasha and Clint exchange glances. Bruce glances at Tony, who just offers a slight shrug. The legendary Captain America had fallen for a man with grit and fire, a man so different from him that it left them all baffled. Yet here you are, devoted and steady, unafraid to bare that tenderness when it counts.

Tony can’t help but grin a little. Leaning over to Clint, he mutters, “Well, guess there’s more to him than a bad attitude and a mean right hook.”

Clint only shrugs. “Steve sees it, and that’s enough.” And it is. Because in the end, for Steve Rogers, you’ll always be the one who keeps him safe, wipes his wounds clean, and whispers the gentlest words in the quiet aftermath of chaos—and no one can deny how right that looks on you.

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leah-lover · 1 year ago

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Doctor. Alexia putellas x reader.

Angst

As a medic of a football club, not having anything to do is considered a blessing. You are the happiest member of the team when a training session or a match goes without a hiccup. However, when an injury does in fact happen you train yourself to isolate your feelings and be as objective as possible with your patients.

As the years progressed you had a close relationship with the team, you considered all of them to be a part of the family. Especially your relationship with a certain captain you had caught a big crush for.

Being subtle about your relationship isn't as easy with Alexia being around almost all the time. You both tried very hard to keep your bodies off of each other which were successful most of the time.However, sometimes she would steal a kiss on your office, hold you waist, or just look at you with most love sick eyes when you were taping yet up.

Your relationship only got stronger during her ACL recovery. You were the chief doctor responsible for her rehab in which you did well and you were her girlfriend who held her at night when she had doubts about her career.

When Alexia first came back to the pitch you were very proud of her, you continued to support her and be there for her at every start and sub, and you celebrated the hardest when she scored.

The team didn't know about your relationship but they knew you two were close after her rehab.

Today was as usual as any other day. You started out the work day by checking out the girls, taping some of them before sending them off to the field. You would normally watch the girls train and observe if anybody was hiding an injury.

You were watching as usual when you heard a familiar scream. You ran to the field as quickly as possible.

“joder joder joder” yelled Alexia.

“ It's okay I am here with you. You are gonna be okay, is it your knee?.” You say brushing the hair out of her face.

“ No no, I am fine, just help me stand up.”

“ Ale no you need to be evaluated the way you scream, want normal and you like you are in a lot of pain.

“ I told you I am alright I need to train, just go “ she said while trying to get up and walk but she failed.

“ Alexia you are not playing another minute you either come with Me or I will bring out the stretcher. “

She complies with you after you give her a stern look.

Once you are inside your office she doesn't say a word to you but you didn't need her to, you knew she was in pain and she was afraid to show it. After examining her knee you knew that she affected the acl graft.

You sit down next to her, she is still looking at the ground and not saying a thing.

“ Amor, it's gonna be okay. I will be with you the whole way again. It's just a set back honey “

You see a tear come out of her eyes which you wipe with your thumb.

Alexia normally reacts every time you touch her but this time she was stiff and she still hasn't said a word.

You quickly get your stuff, give her crouches and take her home, leaving your responsibilities to your assistant.

When you get home Alexia goes directly to the couch and shuts down, so you follow her.

“ Ale let's go shower,we will do it together with some music just like you like.”

Still no response or even a look.

“ Okay enough babying get up right now it's not the end of the world you will get back up again.” You say hoping the thought treatment would help her snap out of it.

“ You don't know how I feel.” You barely hear her say.

“ Ale of course I do. You feel helpless, tired, and angry. That's how I feel too. yes this is happening to you but just fight for yourself just like I want to do for you.”

She doesn't respond to you but you see her close off on you.

“ Ale don't go there again. Please. Let's go shower and then we can talk.” You say and hold out your hand for her to take.

Once you are in the shower you strip her of her kit, and hold her under the warm water. You give her a few kisses before you wash her hair slowly and massage her scalp. She is still stiff under you but you continue to try and get the tension out of her body and show her that you are there for her.

Once you are done you help her back to your bed and you lay next to her.

Her acl scar is visible to you so you go directly to it and give it a few kisses. Alexia flinches at your touch but relaxed when you continue.

You give her more and more kisses.

“ Would you like to retry that thing we did the other day? I still have only a few hours left.”

She smiles at your request so you take off your robe.

“ Si . Doctora. ” She whispers.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso request #alexia putellas fic #alexia putellas angst #alexia putellas imagine #alexia x reader #alexia putellas

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futureelectronic1527 · 6 months ago

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youtube

onsemi: Getting Started with CEM102EVB and RSL15

https://www.futureelectronics.com/resources/featured-products/onsemi-cem102-analog-front-end . Get started with CEM102 EVB, including what software you need, building your first application, and monitoring current value. https://youtu.be/-k6U8iPUmBE

#future electronics #WT #onsemi #CEM102EVB #RSL15 #onsemi RSL15 #Embedded Systems #Wireless Connectivity #BLE5 #Evaluation Board #Development Kit #IoT Devices #Youtube

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tetedurfarm · 1 year ago

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well, speaking of evals....i do not like the look of these guys. short and hippy, ugh. i've been fighting hips for ages now and i'm this 🤏 close to just eating all of my hippy himis cos i cannot seem to get rid of them :(

#hopefully these guys will look prettier as they age but himis tend not to shapeshift much :(#show rabbits #himalayan rabbit #kits #evaluations #rabbits

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cassandraclare · 1 year ago

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Hi Cassie!! Sorry to bother you but I feel like Ty would be more likely to have panic attacks than Dru. I have evaluated the situation and Ty seems to have more trauma and anxiety than her. Adding onto that I’m hoping Kit and Ash don’t have too similar powers. I feel like Kit should be more powerful as Ash only as Ash didn’t get much powers especially since the king didn’t have the black volume the whole time he had Ash. I also think Kit she be more powerful than Magnus for reasons.

I've gotten a lot of emails about how Ty should be the one who has panic attacks, not Dru. Usually the idea is that he should have panic attacks because he has 'more trauma and anxiety' than Dru, specifically because of Livvy's death and Ty being "more close" to her.

The thing is, that isn't how characters work because it isn't how people work. “Amount of trauma” is not an objective measurable thing, and not everyone responds the same ways even to the same things happening to them.

Of course Ty and Dru have both experienced trauma. But it is not as if there is a certain "level of trauma", like "level 6" beyond which everyone has panic attacks, and Ty is a trauma 7 while Dru is only a trauma 5. None of that is how people work or panic disorders work or really how anything works. The question is a lot about, I think, an anxiety that somehow because Dru has panic attacks this means the narrative will consider Ty to have no trauma at all and be dandy about everything, and I can only say that that's not the case.

One thing I rarely see acknowledged in these letters is that Ty is not grieving Livvy currently. Everyone else in his family is, but he lives with her, she talks to him all the time, she's entirely present in his life. Yes, she is a ghost, but people can get by on a lot less than Ty has with Livvy. I think it's worth noting that what Ty is currently experiencing re: Livvy is not grief but denial.

At the end of the day, there are all sorts of ways of responding to trauma and grief. The acknowledgement that someone has been through trauma is not something they have to earn, nor are panic attacks a thing given to one character at the expense of another who has somehow deserved them more. What is important about how characters respond to loss and trauma is that it be consistent with the character and their growth, and that's something that can't be evaluated before a book is read. :)

As for Kit having the most powers of anyone, well, we will see. It's not really how power works in the Shadowhunter world. We don't spend a lot of time thinking about whether Clary or Magnus is more powerful because what they can do is so different, and what Kit and Ash can do is also very different. Also in evaluating who gets what power level I would say it's important to consider whether they will be friends or deadly enemies – which is something we don't yet know!

#the wicked powers

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ticifics · 4 months ago

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the nanny

Kit Walker x f!reader

Summary: "Hi. You came for the ad?" His voice was raspy, slightly surprised. He ran a hand through his hair, as if realizing too late that it was disheveled. You nodded, not fully trusting your voice. "Yes—I… I saw the ad and... I’m interested in the job." Kit took a step back and opened the door wider. "Come in. We can talk better."

Warnings: no use of y/n, dad!kit, nanny!reader, fluffy, no briarcliff

A/N: It's been so, sooo long since I wrote about the kit, so I decided to do something cute, the poor man deserves some happiness (just look at that face, he's basically husband material)

The paper between your fingers was crumpled at the edges from being held so many times. You read the ad once more, as if the words would suddenly change:

Looking for someone to care for two children and help with the house. Immediate work. Interested parties, please come to the address below.

Simple, direct, and with a certain implicit desperation. It was your best chance. You had been in town for just a few days and needed a job, a roof over your head, some stability.

The house was small, modest, but cozy. The front lawn was a bit overgrown, and a tipped-over tricycle near the porch indicated it was indeed a home with children. You took a deep breath before knocking on the door, your heart racing.

The steps on the other side were quick, and when the door opened, you found yourself facing him.

Kit Walker.

The name was in the ad, but you didn’t expect him to be... like this. Brown, messy hair, eyes the same color, deep and somewhat tired, as if carrying more than a man his age should. He looked a few years older than you, yet young enough to be the father of two small children.

"Hi. You came for the ad?" His voice was raspy, slightly surprised. He ran a hand through his hair, as if realizing too late that it was disheveled.

You nodded, not fully trusting your voice.

"Yes—I… I saw the ad and... I’m interested in the job."

Kit took a step back and opened the door wider. "Come in. We can talk better."

You entered, smelling the warmth of wood and coffee, mixed with the unmistakable scent of a house with children: crayons, cookies, and a faint trace of baby cologne.

The living room was simple, with old furniture but well cared for. There were toys scattered here and there, a small blanket thrown over the couch, and some kids' drawings pinned to the wall.

"Well, I don’t want to make this formal or anything," Kit scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable. "To be honest, I need someone as soon as possible. I work all day, and I can’t keep up with everything on my own. The idea is for you to be with the kids, help with the house... those kinds of things."

You nodded. "I can do that."

Kit studied your face for a moment, as if looking for something beyond your answer.

"Do you have experience with children?"

"Not professionally..." You hesitated. "But I’ve taken care of my cousins when they were little. I like kids."

Kit nodded slowly, as if considering your answer, but his gaze was still sharp, evaluating you in a way that made your heart race. He seemed like someone who wanted to trust, needed to trust, but didn’t give that trust easily.

"It’s a full-time job," He crossed his arms, the thin fabric of his shirt stretching slightly across his broad shoulders. "You’d need to be here all day, sometimes at night, depending on my schedule. I work a lot."

You nodded, trying to seem as confident as possible. "That wouldn’t be a problem."

"Good. Because they need stability," Kit rubbed his chin, briefly looking away. "It’s already been hard enough for them."

There was something heavy behind those words, something he didn’t say, but that lingered in the air between you. You wondered what exactly had happened, but didn’t dare to ask.

Kit cleared his throat, refocusing on the conversation. "Can you cook?"

The question came without warning, and you blinked, a little surprised. "Yes. Quite well, actually."

A shadow of relief passed over his face. "Great. I get by, but..." He made a vague gesture, as if already used to eating poorly. "It’d be nice if they could have real food, you know? Not just sandwiches and instant noodles."

You smiled faintly. "I can take care of that."

Kit opened his mouth to say something, but then hesitated, shifting his weight. You noticed how tense he seemed, as if about to ask a question he didn’t know whether he should.

"Can I ask you something?" He narrowed his eyes, curious. "Are you married?"

The question caught you so off guard that it took an extra second to respond. "What? No! No, I’m not married."

Kit relaxed almost imperceptibly, and you couldn’t tell if it was because the answer relieved him or if he just didn’t want to get into trouble. "Sorry. I just... don’t want to hire someone with a jealous husband showing up at my door afterward."

You let out a short laugh, more out of nervousness than anything. "You don’t need to worry about that. No jealous husbands. No husbands, period."

Kit gave a half-smile, but quickly looked away, and it was at that moment that a fleeting thought crossed your mind.

It was sad that a man like him didn’t have a wife.

The thought came as a reflex, and you quickly pushed it away, as if you’d done something wrong. It wasn’t your business. But still... he seemed like someone who deserved it. Someone who loved deeply, who would do anything for those he cared about. A man like him shouldn’t be alone.

Before you could get lost in that thought, a sound echoed through the hallway—small footsteps, followed by excited laughter. Kit didn’t even need to turn around to know what was coming, and the smile that appeared on his lips was so immediate and genuine that something warm spread in your chest.

"DAAAAD!"

Two children appeared in the room, running without hesitation toward Kit. He bent down instantly, opening his arms to receive them. The first to arrive was a boy with light hair and bright brown eyes, who threw himself into his father’s arms with the force of a rocket. Right behind him, a little girl with dark skin and soft curls stopped beside them, eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Kit laughed, running his hands through the boy’s hair before turning to his daughter. "Hey, hey, calm down. You don’t even know her yet."

The two turned to look at you, and you felt as if you were being assessed.

"Who is she?" The little girl asked, her voice small but firm.

"She came for the ad," Kit explained, adjusting Thomas in his lap. "She might take care of you guys while I work."

"Can she tell stories?" Thomas tilted his head, his eyes shining with expectation.

"I can," you answered, smiling.

"Better than Dada?"

Kit scoffed, indignant. "Hey! I’m great at it!"

Thomas looked at his sister, clearly waiting for her opinion. Julia crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at you before asking, "Can you make pancakes?"

You laughed, crouching down a little to be on her level. "With chocolate chips and strawberry syrup."

Her expression shifted slightly, as if considering your answer. Then she looked at Kit and then back at you, still evaluating.

Kit watched the interaction with a playful gleam in his eyes, as if enjoying seeing how you handled the two.

Finally, Julia nodded, crossing her arms. "I think you can stay."

Thomas agreed with an enthusiastic nod, and Kit let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

"Looks like you passed the test."

#kit walker #kit walker x you #kit walker x reader #kit walker x y/n #reader insert #nanny!reader #dad!kit walker #kit walker drabble #ahs kit #evan peters #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you #kit walker x f!reader #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #fluffy #ao3 writer

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on-a-lucky-tide · 10 months ago

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Price prepares for his first date with Nik. 141 rib him.

CW: none.

Price stared into the mirror above his sink and wondered when the fuck all those lines on his face had arrived. Last time he’d looked, he could have sworn there were fewer, and there had been no grey either, but now he saw traces of his old man in the reflection and that made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

In all fairness, he didn’t really have much reason to look–really look–at his own face. Even when he was smearing camo around his eyes and down his cheeks, he was only looking for areas of shine that might draw an enemy’s eye. He never really considered why else someone might be lookin’.

Why Nik might be lookin’.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed as he began gathering up his shaving bowl and the badger-fur brush he only got out on special occasions; medal ceremonies, weddings, funerals and now, apparently, bloody dates. Why the fuck he had even agreed to it in the first place he had no idea, but Nik was surprisingly romantic given what Price knew about the rest of his life, and it was difficult to say no when he turned on those eyes. The word ‘no’ felt like booting a Labrador in the face.

Price stashed his shaving kit away and turned back to the mirror to check the rest. He had been pretty sure the shirt he had scrounged from the bottom of his paltry wardrobe hadn’t seen the light of day since the early noughties, and that had been confirmed when he’d pulled it around his shoulders and the buttons had gaped over his chest. Twenty years ago he’d been a lot leaner, but two decades of focused gym sessions, hard graft and being battered in the field had left him with a lot more heft. He’d pulled on a white t-shirt underneath and left it open, hoping he didn't look too much like someone's dad trying to look ten years younger.

Hair waxed into place, beard conditioned, aftershave and cologne–but not enough to register as chemical warfare–and he was as good as he was gonna get. He had never been asked on a date, only ever done the asking, and even then the sum total of his dating efforts as a young man had ended in disaster. Cold fish and chips on the riverfront and getting your leg over in the nearby park, only to fumble that too, wasn’t exactly peak romance, even at fifteen years old, and somehow he didn't think Nik had anything similar in mind.

Fifteen years old. That had been--

Oh, fuck. He was not equipped for this in the slightest.

Price’s phone beeped and a glance at the message confirmed Nik had arrived on base to pick him up. Bang on time too. Price took one final look in the mirror, grimaced, shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck it. It would have to do. Nik had seen him looking like the arse end of a donkey, so this… jitter in Price’s chest felt bloody stupid.

“Get a fuckin’ grip,” he murmured to himself as he snatched his wallet and keys from his bed and shut the door behind him. Unfortunately for Price, the rest of 141 were eagerly awaiting his appearance in the rec room and all looked up when he closed the door. He immediately regretted not exiting through the open window in his room.

“Well, well, cap, don’ ye brush up nice. G’ies a twirl,” Soap said, leaning forward with a wide grin that informed Price he was about to endure a good five to ten minutes of focused ribbing.

“Watch it, MacTavish,” Price replied, but without heat. He felt like a prize twat and this was Soap’s roundabout way of helping.

“Och, c’mon noow,” Soap spread his hands and turned to Garrick for support, “Gaz, back me up…”

Garrick looked up from his phone and tilted his head to the side, clearly evaluating just how much he wanted to chance Price putting him on the worst details for the next week. Apparently, he was feeling pretty fucking lucky that evening. “Pretty sure my dad owns that shirt, Tav. Very… uh, early noughties chic. What d’ya think, Ghost?”

Price could count on Simon to fight his corner against these two reprobates. Or so he thought. Simon leaned back, arms folded across his chest, and examined Price for a beat before choosing violence. “Pretty sure I saw it last about ten years ago,” Simon said, and then shook his head. “Happy to drop a pony on a new striker xt gen 2 so you can have the ranger green as well as the steel grey, but couldn’t cough up a few quid on a new shirt, sir.”

“You’re all bastards, and I you’ll be shovelling the shit next week once I get back to my desk,” Price growled.

A round of groans followed, and Soap rolled up to his feet. “C’mon, sir, we’re just jossin’. As my ol’ nan used tae say: a pritty face suits the dish-cloot.”

“Dish cloth chic,” Gaz said, grinning.

“Ah mean he looks bonnie, right? ‘Side, we need to cut the ol’ man some slack. When was th’ last time ye got tae let yer hair doon, sir?”

“Not long enough,” Price said, pinching the bridge of his nose and planning to beast the trooper delaying Nik at the checkpoint.

“I reckon the last time was when Usher was in the charts. What was the song? Ooh-whoop ooh-whoop, ooh-whoop ooh-whoop, shit, what was it called?”

Price decided that Garrick would be organising a mock dawn raid for the freshest batch of recruits. He would make sure the weather forecast was grim.

“Wait, wait, lemme get it up on Spotify. We c'n get cap in the mood tae drop tha’ thang. Reckon Nik’s an animal on the dancefloor, aye? Ha! Found it. ‘Yeah’ by Usher.”

Soap would be joining Garrick. Full weighted kit.

Price watched as the two sergeants bounced around enthusiastically to a song from 2004 that was, by Price’s estimations, only a year older than the shirt he was currently wearing. Fucking disaster. He looked at Simon, who was watching Johnny with that far away look he always did when he thought no one else would notice.

“You have started the party without me, I see,” said a familiar voice at the door. Price looked over and nearly choked on his own tongue. Nik looked fucking good. White button down open at the collar, black slacks, polished shoes, with his hair freshly cut. Simple, but classy. Price tugged at his sleeve and rubbed the back of his neck, hoping the heat he felt under his skin hadn't translated into a flush.

Nik appraised Price with those same soft eyes that had implored him from the cockpit of his damn helicopter for a date. Price cleared his throat. “You scrub up good, Nik.”

“I could say the same. But you are always the prettiest thing in any room to me, captain.”

Price’s face burned to the very tips of his ears.

“Ah, Nik! Watcha mate, how're you doin’?” Garrick bounded over and threw his arm around Nik’s shoulders for a half hug.

“Ye better have him home by ten!” Soap called from where he stayed slouched on the sofa.

“Of course, sergeant.”

“Nik, let's go, and you lot, get an early night. Pay back's a bitch.”

Nik smiled and stepped aside with what was definitely a bloody half bow to let Price out of the rec room first to a chorus of groans and entreaties for mercy from the two sergeants. Price and Nik emerged into the night air and had almost reached the car before Nik took Price's hand and drew him to a stop. “You are nervous.”

Price cleared his throat, sniffed, and did his best to come off as nonchalant. “Nah, I'm grand, just realised I’ve not got the clobber for this kind of thing, or the, uh… expertise. I'm worried you'll be disappointed.”

Nik looked at him blankly.

“Ah, sorry, my… clothes. It's been a long time since–”

Nik took his chin and lifted his eyes from where they had drifted to the ground. The kiss he placed on Price’s lips was tender, fleeting compared to their first shared under the downdraft of spinning helicopter blades, but it made Price's heart stutter just the same.

“You look good…” Nik released his chin to push both hands into Price’s hair, mussing it out of its careful arrangement. Next, he reached around the back of Price’s belt and tugged his t-shirt free. “Hm, now better.” Price swallowed hard, trying not to be too obvious about inhaling Nik’s scent as he pressed in close.

“Scruffy more like.” Price was still getting over the feeling of Nik’s fingers in his hair, brushing the skin on his back. Nerves had been replaced by the soft thrum of something warm in his chest.

“Nyet. English country boy with rough edges and blue eyes. You are honest, John Price. And a good man. It is what I have always loved most.” Nik opened the car door as Price gawped at him with wide eyes. When his senses had returned, Price realised Nik had rented a nondescript BMW for his stay, with leather interior and a fully digital media system. Plush. “After you.”

“Where’re we goin’?” Price asked as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Is surprise.”

“Bloody hell, and here I was thinkin' we’d go out for a movie and a pint.”

Nik grinned, tapping the beemer into ‘Drive’. “I will have the captain back before he turns into pumpkin, or the lieutenant mounts a rescue mission.”

Price chuckled as Nik pulled away into the night. Thankfully, Usher didn't feature in the evening‘s itinerary.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #cod #call of duty

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