#duty belt hanger

[dbmars]

December – New Orleans, 2015

         Will had thought that his uniform would stand out amid the splendor of the gala, but as he waded through the glitterati, brushing past old money debutantes in shimmery dresses and NFL players in their tuxedos, nobody paid him any mind. There were plenty of off-duty cops here working security, some of whom he knew and nodded to as he passed. Gotta earn some extra cash for the holidays. 

         The ballroom was decorated in white and gold, the walls covered with cascading lengths of Christmas lights softened by gauzy wall hangings. A brass band played jazzy Christmas fare and couples danced on the shining wooden floor, while other guests socialized at cafe tables or small gathering areas with chairs and sofas. The banquet table supported a massive spread, its centerpiece an ice sculpture depicting a stylized ocean wave dyed green, symbolizing Tulane’s mascot. 

         Will scanned the crowd with a policeman’s focus, his eyes trained by many nights on the Quarter or working Mardi Gras. He wasn’t out on patrol much anymore. It’d been at least four years, in fact, but he was surprised how quickly the old instincts returned. 

         He would have thought it difficult to locate one man in a tuxedo in a crowd where everyone was wearing the same black tie, but it wasn’t. Hannibal stood at a cafe table, champagne in hand, surrounded by five or six hangers-on fixated on every word coming out of his mouth. The most besotted of the groupies was Hannibal’s research assistant, Randall Tier, who gazed up at him with shining eyes that caught the holiday lights, the reflections making physical the shining adoration they exuded. The others were potential donors to the neuroscience program and Hannibal had them eating out of his hand as he described their most recent research study.

“Survival requires the selection of appropriate behavior in response to threats. When given the choice between fight, flight, freeze, and fawn, one’s chances are improved by the brain selecting the response with the highest chance of success, and quickly, too. Dysregulated defensive reactions are associated with psychiatric illnesses – PTSD, panic disorders. Threat-induced behaviors are controlled by neuronal circuits in the central amygdala. However, the source of neuronal excitation is unknown, and so our team set out to discover the source.”

         “All right, Doctor Lecter, in English, please!” one of the men in the circle laughed, the others joining in. 

         “If we can isolate the origin for these brain signals that insist there is a lion in the room when there is no lion, we can more effectively treat post-traumatic stress disorder and those who suffer from anxiety and panic attacks,” Hannibal clarified, setting down his empty champagne flute. Randall scurried off to get him another. “And that, my friends, is the essence of the work we do.”

         “I just think that is so important, y’know?” a woman with shoulder pads and a blonde bouffant hairdo said, laying a long-nailed hand on Hannibal’s forearm. “My cousin Arlene, she gets these awful panic attacks every time the lawn company comes to mow the yard at her house, or the pool guy comes by…” 

         “Dr. Lecter.” All eyes turned to Will as he broke into the circle, gazes traveling over his uniform and the gun strapped to his belt. 

         Hannibal’s face shifted, a crack formed in his finely crafted mask of charm, betraying a hint of resentful vexation. It only lasted a moment before smoothing into something mild and blank, as if they were acquaintances only and the light of friendship wouldn’t reach them for a million years, much less the solar flare of passion. “Detective Graham. How unexpected to see you here. Allow me to introduce you – this is Fred Moncus and his wife Terri…” 

Will suffered through the round of introductions, forcing himself to make eye contact, smiling, even. He was familiar with many of the names – part of the job, knowing who the power players were in New Orleans and state at large. He was surprised to see Lydia Antoine out tonight, considering her brother had been arrested three days ago for the attempted murder of a sex worker. Jed Antoine had lost an eye to a stiletto heel in the altercation, which Will felt was deserved, to say the least. Of course, he’d never comment on an active investigation. 

And he needed to be on his best behavior. Hannibal wasn’t happy with him at the moment, and there was no reason to fuck things up further by being a rude little gremlin. Showing up in uniform was bad enough. 

         “So, Officer Graham.” The state senator who addressed him had a drawl that teased out his name, gray-yam. “How do you know our good Dr. Lecter here?” 

         “Detective,” Will corrected coolly.

         “We met during the Adams murder case last year,” Hannibal supplied, quickly enough, Will thought, so that he didn’t get a chance to say anything. 

         “Oh, that whole business was just awful,” Arlene’s cousin said with an emphatic shake of her bouffant and another touch of Hannibal’s arm. “I’m so glad you were able to help catch him.” 

         “Detective Graham solved it. I merely assisted.” 

         “Oh, you’re that guy!” the senator exclaimed. “Hold on, hey!” he shouted to one of the event’s roving photographers. “Can I get a picture with you?” he asked Will.

         “I need to speak with Dr. Lecter,” Will insisted, adopting his cop voice. 

         The senator looked like he wanted to protest, but Hannibal interjected, cutting through the circle. “This way, Detective,” he suggested, indicating a small side hallway where caterers marched in and out of the kitchen with loaded or empty trays. 

         Will kept quiet, pausing only when Hannibal was trapped into shaking someone’s hand or saying a few words, lassoed by politeness. Even as he smiled and danced the dance of social grace, Will’s empathy pulse told him that Hannibal was displeased. Angry, even. Will tried to prepare for the conversation they’d have once they were alone, but he kept getting distracted by the shocking difference in the way Hannibal’s tuxedo fit him compared to the men who hadn’t worn theirs in so long they no longer fit, or who had rented one for the night. Hannibal looked at home in a tux, like James Bond or some shit. Elegant, but with a license to kill. A license Will gave him, anyhow.

Distracting, how his ass looked in the bespoke trousers, the way the cummerbund circled his waist, drawing the fabric tight against his middle, emphasizing the T of his shoulders and the sexy, meaty curves of his pecs that often popped the button on his dress shirts if he moved too much or too quickly. Will had seen that happen in a variety of contexts and it delighted him every time. 

         At last, they disentangled from the glamorous crowd, and passed into the utilitarian hallway, where the sound of clanking plates and cooks and servers yelling at each other replaced the jazz rendition of “O Christmas Tree.” Around a corner was the door to a utility room with a sign that said employees only, along with a staff bathroom and water fountain, and a custodial closet. At the moment, it was deserted. 

         Will paused to radio in, then turned down the volume almost entirely to cut the chatter in the quiet space. Then, he faced the wrath of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. 

         “May I ask why you’ve come?” These six words, so polite and benign, were wrapped in razor wire coming from those princely lips.

         “Merry Christmas to you, too,” Will snarked, a reflex. He knew he was in the wrong, but it still made him defensive. 

         “Left your patrol to wish me a happy holiday, then?” Hannibal cocked his head, eyes maroon murder, voice like ice-brittle velvet. “Surely the force is short-staffed. Some bad math with you, Detective Graham.” 

         “I didn’t like how things ended between us this morning.”

         “Our discussion?”

         “Yeah,” Will said, biting the inside of his cheek. 

         “It wasn’t a discussion. It was you informing me that you’d volunteered for a patrol shift that wasn’t assigned to you and is beneath your rank, despite our previous agreement to attend this event.”

         “And I told you why,” Will returned, trying to keep his voice even. “I don’t like being paraded around in front of rich assholes hoping that they’ll donate to Tulane just because you worked with me to catch a murderer. Much more, ah, exciting, isn’t it, to talk about working a murder case, than, ah… complicated neuroscience? Easier for the yachts-and-botox crowd to understand, anyway.” 

         “But you’d agreed a month ago to attend.”

         “Manelli called in sick, Bernard and O’Toole pulled a double yesterday, and Williams got his ex to let him have his son for the weekend,” Will revealed. “And I… wanted to help.”

         “How convenient.”

         “It was,” Will admitted, rubbing his hand over his face and wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. Hot back here by the kitchen. 

And hot under his uniform. The way Hannibal stood, perfectly still, his cheekbones casting dagger shadows in the unadorned lighting, like he was a hair’s breadth away from violence, was… fucking sexy. It felt like the breathless moment right before a leopard struck, the creature going preternaturally motionless in the tall grass before leaping upon its unsuspecting prey. Will realized he didn’t have the good sense to feel mortal fear. 

“And yet, here you are,” Hannibal said, just above a whisper. “Barging in with your uniform and your gun.”

Despite his instincts of self-preservation, Will took a step closer. His right hand was of two minds – unsnap the holster of his gun and feel the reassuring bulk of deadly metal or touch his lover’s face. Indecision left it hanging at his side. “You,” he said, breath a sultry hiss, “are… so fucking beautiful like this.”

The short silence after his confession could have easily been followed by having his throat slashed, but Will’s luck held out. Hannibal’s lips curled gently at the corners; a prince pleased with a peasant’s pluck. 

Both of them glanced down the hall at the busy kitchen door. Will stepped over to the wall and tried the handle of the custodial closet. Not locked. The space was small of course, lined with shelves of products, but the floor was clear, with a concrete sink built right into the wall for rinsing mops. 

He’d planned to step back out and say something to Hannibal, to coax him inside, but didn’t get the chance. Hannibal took him by the collar of his uniform shirt and his thick black duty rig and pushed him into the small space, closing the door behind them. Will’s first instinct was to resist, but he wrestled it back and let Hannibal manhandle him, pushing him against the back of the door to kiss him, knocking his hat to the ground and pulling his hair. Will groped along the fine fabric of his tuxedo, slipping his hands along the silky cummerbund and relishing the feel of his waist encased within, then helped himself to a handful of ass. 

“That was, ah… our f-first fight,” Will panted as Hannibal tongued along his throat. 

“Won’t be the last,” Hannibal growled in his ear. 

“I’m sorry,” Will breathed, taking Hannibal’s face between his hands to arrest his devouring, at least for the moment. “I came here to say I’m sorry.”

“By all means.”

Will’s mouth curved up in a mischievous smirk. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“Certainly.”

Will switched their positions, quickly enough that Hannibal’s back rattled the door on its hinges. “Don’t move.”

“Who am I to resist arrest?” The coiled pressure of Hannibal’s anger was still woven in his words, beneath layers of gentility and clinical mildness. He reached over and flipped on the light switch, bringing a dim bulb in the ceiling to life.

Will undid his rig and draped the black belt full of danger and authority on a shelf of toilet paper rolls, unclipping his radio from his shoulder. Hannibal yanked him forward by his shirt again for a kiss, capturing his lower lip between his teeth and drawing it out slowly when he was finished with it. “Just how contrite are you?” Hannibal whispered against his swollen mouth.

“Very.” Will slowly knelt, dragging his hands along Hannibal’s body as he went, then pushed up his cummerbund enough to open his trousers. 

Hannibal caught his chin and tilted his head up to meet his gaze, dark eyes glittering in the dirty light thrown by the old bulb. “Beg.”

Will slipped his hand between Hannibal’s legs, testing his outline, thumb making lazy circles over his growing bulge. “Please, Hannibal… I need you to forgive me.”

Now a genuine smile, showing the hint of fang-shaped teeth. Will took that as an invitation to keep going, and slipped the trousers down, revealing a little pair of black silk shorts that hugged Hannibal’s anatomy seamlessly, curving just right over the contours of his thighs. Will made an unconscious sound of delight and leaned in, nuzzling against the silk, running his nose and mouth along the silhouette of Hannibal’s cock, breathing in his heady, intimate scent. He mouthed it through the fabric, teasing the length, delighting in the shift in Hannibal’s breathing and the hand that found its way into his hair. 

“You’re forgiven.”

Will chuckled, nuzzling in again. “I haven’t even started yet.” He tucked Hannibal’s shirttails up under the cummerbund to get them out of his way and breathed on the outline, licking the shaft through the silk.

“Tease,” Hannibal accused, though lovingly, leaning his head back against the closet door behind him. 

The radio on Will’s rig chirped, even at the low setting, and Will sighed, stroking his shaft through the layer of silk with more intent now. As tempting as it was to draw this out, he better get a move on before he was missed. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of the undergarment and slid it down as well, greeted by Hannibal’s straining erection and well-groomed body hair. Will took him in hand and slid back his foreskin, flicking his tongue against the exposed tip to gather the pearly drops that already leaked free. He kept his eyes locked on Hannibal’s, a deliberate connection. Will wasn’t fond of eye contact, but he’d learned to cope as a cop, and with Hannibal, it was easy. Always had been.

Hannibal’s breath hitched softly, and Will watched him let himself go, closing his eyes and leaning his head back again, clearly savoring the sensations as Will continued teasing the head of his cock with his tongue. His hips tilted forward as if by instinct, seeking more. As much as Will wanted to flip the script and hear him beg, he was the one in the wrong here. Wrapping his hands around Hannibal’s broad, swim-sculpted ass, Will opened his mouth and drew him inside, relishing the groan of relief that came from that aristocratic mouth. “Shh,” Will said after a few solid sucks. “Someone might hear us.”

“High risk, high reward,” Hannibal breathed as Will went deeper, deploying his finest skills, switching up the pressure and suction, holding the base of his shaft at a pleasure point to work him to euphoria. Hannibal’s fingers tightened in his hair, and Will relaxed his throat, which he was getting better and better at – Dr. Lecter did love a good face fuck. Will squeezed his ass encouragingly and let him go to town. When he sensed the change in muscle tension that signaled the upcoming orgasm, he looked up at Hannibal again, doing his best to convey his contrition through his eyes and the desperate way he groped and caressed up his chest and down the backs of his thighs.

Hannibal’s legs trembled as he climaxed, hand still tangled in Will’s hair, the small space filling with the resonant moan of bliss. Will sputtered a bit on cum, distracted by the way the doctor came undone for him, but cleaned him up with his mouth dutifully after. 

“So, you forgive me?” he asked earnestly, easing Hannibal’s underwear back up gently over his softening cock, giving his ass a lingering caress. 

Hannibal was still panting softly as he looked down at Will with a mixture of exhaustion and adoration. He offered Will a hand, helping him to stand. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, cupping his face to bring him closer for a kiss. 

It ended when Will’s radio chirped again. He answered it in a hurry, checking in as he strapped his rig back on. “I gotta go,” he said, putting on his hat. 

“Of course.” Hannibal carefully adjusted his shirt, buttoned his trousers, and returned the cummerbund to its appropriate position. 

“I get off at midnight,” Will told him, smoothing Hannibal’s hair back into place for him. “Then it’s back to homicide. But, ah… I got someone to cover so… I don’t have to go back until Thursday. If you want…”

Hannibal put a warm hand on his neck, touching his Adam's apple with the pad of his thumb. “Yes, Will.” 

Will smiled and kissed him again. “I’ll go first so it’s not as obvious.”

“Be safe,” Hannibal said by way of goodbye. Will fled the closet and the gala, heading back out to patrol. 

Hello there, intrepid reader of Hannigram! If you would like to read the second part of this story, where Will gets off work and gets a surprise from everybody’s favorite New Orleans serial killer – the Pontchartrain Ripper – it’s only available on my patreon. Sorry for doing the whole paywall thing. I do sort of hate myself, but here’s the thing – I have a podcast called The Feast is Life, and need patron cash to cover expenses such as the software, microphones, and the hosting site for the podcast itself, as well as tickets to fannibal events that we can cover for the show.  If you haven’t checked out the show yet, the free episodes are available everywhere you find fine and wondrous podcasts, and our patreon at patreon.com/thefeastislife. There, you can make fic requests as well as get your hands on the end of this patron fic, as well as a 12k X-Files AU I wrote that will not be appearing on Ao3. AND you get a whole second show called Table Scraps. It’s only 5$ a month. Five dollars and you get EVERYTHING. We have one and only one tier, and that’s it. Okay, two. We have Randall Tier, but he’s currently chilling in a time out for biting people and humping Hannibal’s leg. Anyway, head on over to our patreon and sign up to grab this fic. You can always cancel after a month if you’re not feeling it, and still get the rest of this story. 

[freetheshit-outofyou]

For the "Well Regulated Militia" Crowd

57th CONGRESS, 1st Session H. R. 11 ,654. The "Dick" Bill by Gen. Charles Dick (Ohio), Chairman of the House Militia Committee, and in the Senate by Gen. Joseph R. Hawley (Connecticut), Chairman of the Senate Military Committee.

IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

February 21, 1902.

Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled,

That the militia shall consist of every able-bodied male citizen of the respective States, Territories, and the district of Columbia, and every able- bodied male of foreign birth who has declared his intention to become a citizen, who is more than eighteen and less than forty- five years of age, and shall be divided into two classes —

The organized militia, Territory, or District of Columbia, or by such other designations as may be given them by the laws of the respective States or Territories, and the remainder to be known as the Enrolled Militia. Changed from:

SEC. 1625. Every able-bodied male citizen of the respective States, resident therein, who is of the age of eighteen years and under the age of forty-five years, shall be enrolled in the militia.

SEC. 1626. It shall be the duty of every captain or commanding officer of a company to enroll every such citizen residing within the bounds of his company, and all those who may, from time to time, arrive at the age of eighteen years, or who, being at the age of eighteen years and under the age of forty-five years, come to reside within his bounds.

Sac. 1627. Each captain or commanding officer shall, without delay, notify every such citizen of his enrollment by a proper noncommissioned officer of his company, who may prove the notice. And any notice or warning to a citizen enrolled to attend a company, battalion, or regimental muster, which is according 57TH CONGRESS, to the laws of the State in which it is given for that purpose, shall be deemed a legal notice of his enrollment.

1628. Every citizen shall, after notice of his enrollment, be constantly provided with a good musket or firelock, of a sufficient bore for balls of the eighteenth part of a pound, a sufficient bayonet and belt, two spare flints, and a knapsack, a pouch with a box therein to contain not less than twenty-four cartridges, suited to the bore of his musket or firelock, each cartridge to contain a proper quantity of powder and ball; or with a good rifle, knapsack, shot pouch, and powderhorn, twenty balls suited to the bore of his rifle, and a quarter of a pound of powder, and shall appear so armed, accoutered, and provided when called out to exercise or into service, except that when called out on company days to exercise only he may appear without knapsack; and all arms, ammunition, and accouterments so provided and required shall be held exempted from all suits, distresses, executions, or sales for debt or for the payment of taxes. Each commissioned officer shall be armed with a sword or hanger and spontoon. For the "Source" crowd who can't Google.

[fox-buried-in-maple-leaves]

Good Morning, Agent Peregrine!

“Good morning, Agent Peregrine.”

Honoré’s eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. White tile decorated above him, decorated the walls, and the floor. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, long brown hair falling into his eyes, it framed his face. The alarm beside him went off, it grated his ears. He sighed, turning and slamming the top of it to silence it.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he narrowed his eyes. He didn’t remember going to bed without socks. He cradled his head, bending forward some amount. He really was out of it. Honoré sighed, tilting his head back again to stretch his neck.

“Agent Peregrine!”

Honoré turned his attention to the screen that spoke to him, tired as he read the weather displayed on it. “You have an email from K.Kaslana, would you like to read it?” Honoré pinched the bridge of his nose, did he? He stood up, hip cracking as he limped towards the large screen. 

“Dismiss, Judah.”

“It has been marked as High Priority!”

His head was pounding, he reached up, releasing the rest of his hair from the ponytail he’d fallen asleep in. Honoré looked up at the screen again, his vision blurred slightly, but he blinked the exhaustion away. He reached up, sliding his fingers across the screen. His emails opened, the computer immediately flipping to Serpent’s email.

“Would you like me to read this to you, Agent Peregrine?”

“No thank you, Judah.”

“Very well!”

Honoré squinted against the light from the screen, eyes scanning the words written out before him. “Malfunctions in the Elysian Realm? Again..?” Green-brown eyes flicked to the date of the email, it was dated from early this morning. 

He groaned.

The young man turned, running a hand through his hair as he walked back to his bedside. “Shall I inform the sire that you’ll be attending your duties?” Judah’s grating computer generated voice made him want to stab his hairpin into his ears.

But Honoré merely grabbed his pin from the bedside table, twisting his hair, he stuck the pin through, securing it. “Yes, Judah.” The agent continued his path to his closet, throwing open the doors. The same outfits lined the hangers, neatly organized, easily within reach. He grabbed one of the hangers.

Honoré tossed the clothing onto the bed, shutting the doors behind him. “Email sent to K.Kaslana!” He stripped himself of his underwear, changing quickly, efficiently. He was consistent, if anything. Consistent. Honoré grimaced, hand gripping his bedside table as pain shot through his skull. 

“Your vitals are faltering, Agent Peregrine. Should I send for-”

“No! I’m fine, Judah.”

Honoré stood straight, he was entrusted with the task of additional maintenance of the Elysian Realm. A bonus of his close relationship with Klein. His duty. The agent carefully pulled his clothing on, clipping his belt, adjusting his jewelry. 

“The Frozen Shard, please.”

A soft hissing sound filled the room as a compartment in the screen began to roll out. His weapon was imprinted into the casing. Honoré wrapped the whiplike bottom around his arm, gripping onto the shaft of the glowing blue scythe. 

Ice formed over his finger guards and spread along the shaft as he stepped back from the screen. “Good luck, Agent Peregrine!” He never needed luck.

The halls were cold and empty, surprisingly barren of any of the others. But Honoré paid the silence no mind. He was far more focused on the task at hand, he had more than enough to do without the maintenance. 

His heels clicked on the tile floors as he turned down another hallway, it was quiet here too. Almost too quiet. Honoré stopped as he reached the stairs down to where the equipment had been set up. Maybe an important mission had been called? But usually he would be sent.

Honoré shook his head as a throbbing pain spread across the back of his neck upwards. He reached out, gripping the railing as his grip tightened on his scythe. His vision spotted pink, the Honkai radiation in his body pulsated with his pain.

“Ugh..” 

He lowered himself down a step, carefully making his way down the stairs. But with every step he took, the pain in his head grew greater, it felt like his skull was splitting. Honoré took shaky breaths as he finally stepped foot on the landing at the base of the stone staircase.

“Huh?” The guards usually stationed outside of the simulation room were gone. “Ram?” He ignored the pain as he picked up the pace, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Eland?” Honoré received no response and he softly cursed under his breath. That wasn’t good at all.

He pushed open the door to the room. 

The sound of metal cutting through air, he felt the wind knocked out of him.

[gumnut-logic]

Once upon a time, Nutty wrote Virgil/Kayo...

This short is a favourite and is great to fall asleep to :D No warnings, only that it is V/K.

-o-o-o-

It had been a horribly long day.

Virgil rolled his left shoulder, his baldric shifting with the movement, rubbing against the tough fabric of his uniform. Everything ached.

The slog from the hangers to the villa took forever, and had too many stairs, and by the time he made it to the residential levels, he was about to give up, find a corner of the corridor and just crash.

As he finally approached his room, he found his door ajar and soft music wafting through the gap.

Just want to sleep.

He leant against the wall outside his door, forehead to the softly textured drywall, eyes closed. The kitbag he was carrying in his right hand dropped to the floor.

Just a minute.

A minute.

A hand brushed against his cheek, soft skin catching on his stubble.

“Love, come inside.”

His eyes stayed closed, but he leant into her touch.

“C’mon. I’ve run the bath.”

And she was leading him, her hand on his arm, gently drawing him through the door.

He let her.

The door clicked softly closed behind him.

The music was a little louder now, but still wafting through the air. He realised he recognised the tune. It was one of his own recordings. One he had written for her. He smiled despite himself, and reaching down, kissed her softly.

She responded, but pulled away shortly, fiddling with the buckles on his baldric. “Let’s get you out of these.”

The links on his belt clinked as he unfastened the harness, letting it drop to the floor. The baldric caught on his hair as he lifted it over his head, but her hands were there, tugging it gently from his grasp until it too, lay discarded on the floor.

She unstrapped the remote from his wrist and pulled off his glove, quickly followed by its partner. The air in the room caught his sweat-damp hands and cooled them.

The rip of microvelcro and his scuff pads fell discarded at his feet.

He touched a finger to her cheek. “Love you.”

She smiled just a little. “I love you, too, but you smell and you are exhausted.” Her hand cupped his cheek. “Bath and then bed.”

Her green eyes were just beautiful.

A tug of a heavy duty zipper, and she was pulling his uniform off his shoulders. When she yanked on his right side, he couldn’t help but flinch.

“What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “Nothing. Just wrenched it pulling Gordon back into Two.”

Those eyes measured him up before she continued to peel off his uniform.

This would be so much more fun if he had the energy.

His arms clear, she let the material drop to his waist. Removing the helmet seal, she gently pulled off his undershirt, dropping that, too, to the floor, before examining his shoulder thoroughly, inspecting the damage.

He wondered if she used that expression when assessing Thunderbird Shadow.

Her fingers touching his skin made him shiver as the cooler air evaporated perspiration.

He caught her hands. “I’m fine.”

Her lips thinned. “No, you are not.” But she pulled his fingers up and kissed them softly. “Now, drop your drawers, beautiful.”

A stare and a smirk, and he removed his boots and the remainder of his uniform as she disappeared into the bathroom.

Steam floated out the door and he was drawn in to follow her.

She had filled the large bath until almost full, aromatics drifted up from its steaming surface. The lure of the hot water was calling him.

“Get in, love.” And she was divesting herself of her clothing, obviously intending to join him.

The first step in was stimulating. The slow immersion of his aching body was ecstasy.

God.

He closed his eyes, relaxing gently against the curve of the porcelain. The heat worked its way in, releasing tension, unwinding muscle.

“Oh, god.”

It was wonderful.

And for a moment, he just existed, breathing fragrant steam.

Water movement and slim hands were touching him, and he let her shift him as he floated a little. She slipped behind and settled him back against her. Her softness cushioned his body, his head coming to rest back against her shoulder.

He was so much bigger than she and he immediately felt their positions should be reversed and he moved to make it so. But she held him back. “Relax, love, I’ve got you.”

Her hands wrapped around his chest, and he sighed, letting it all go. No question of trust.

She had him.

And she loved him.

-o-o-o-

Time hung for awhile, the only movement the thermals rising from the hot surface of the water, and if she hadn’t moved, he would have drifted off to sleep right there. Quite happily.

But there was a long day to wash from his skin.

Her body moved against him as she reached for the body soap. He resisted almost petulantly, wanting nothing more than to dose off right there and then. But she began to wash him.

If the water was relaxing, then at her touch he came undone.

She lathered soap across his shoulders and torso, clever fingers pushing, kneading, working out the knots that had knotted knots. He groaned as she dug her fingers into his trapezius at the curve of his neck and back down into his shoulder. His whole body began to melt into the water it just felt so good.

Her hands found his sides, his abdomen, soap frothed, floating across the water’s surface as her hands slipped below it.

She shifted her position, moving slowly out from behind him, letting his rest once again against the warm porcelain, and then she was working his thigh, massaging down the length of his leg, first one, then the other.

At any other time, he might have reached up, wrapped his arms around her, and drawn her down into a kiss, a caress, and bedroom activities that had nothing to do with sleep. But the simple gesture of a slight hand on his chest, a gentle kiss on his forehead, and he had permission to just fall, to just be, and to take what she was so lovingly giving him.

Once she decided he was clean, she curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his chest.

They didn’t speak.

The gentle lap of water.

Breath.

He drifted.

Her soft voice. “Time for bed.”

“Mmmm.” He didn’t want to move.

But she disturbed the silence, by shifting away and standing up, stepping out of the bath. Water splashed and dripped. “Come, Virgil love, you’ll be safer in bed.”

Her hand took one of his.

And he forced himself out of the bath. He took the towel and dried himself, running it through his hair to soak up the dampness.

As he stumbled almost blindly into the bedroom, he caught a flashback to the days before he and Kayo. Days where he had been equally tired and fallen to bed sometimes still half in his uniform. The time he had woken and found he’d bled all over his pillow because he had forgotten to dress a cut on his forehead.

Those days were gone.

Some days it was Kayo who came home dead on her feet. Others were like today. When they both came back wrecked, they still had each other. They still made sure the other was safe, cared for, loved with every touch.

There were days when this job just simply hurt.

And those days were the days they valued each other more than any other.

Virgil let himself drop to the soft mattress, falling flat on his belly, grabbing the pillow and automatically snuggling himself into it. Kayo followed and touched his back, massaging just gently, until he rolled over, wrapped her in his arms, and drew her down to the bed, curling his body around her.

She came willingly, her hands over his. Twisting for just a moment, she caught him in a kiss before reaching over and turning off the light.

Darkness fell.

“I love you.” Whispered into her ear.

Her hands squeezed his as she whispered back. “Love you back.”

And the world faded as he drifted off to sleep.

Home.

Safe.

Loved.

-o-o-o-

[bargainshouse]

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[micheal-jordan]

The Enduring Appeal of Leather Biker Jackets: A Timeless Fashion Staple

Leather biker jackets have long been synonymous with rebellious style and effortless cool. From their origins in motorcycle culture to their prominent place in high fashion, these jackets have cemented their status as a timeless wardrobe essential. Here’s a deep dive into the allure of leather biker jackets, their historical significance, and how to incorporate them into your modern wardrobe.

A Brief History of the Leather Biker Jacket

The leather biker jacket was born out of necessity in the early 20th century. In 1928, Irving Schott, the founder of Schott NYC, designed the first motorcycle jacket for Harley-Davidson, naming it the "Perfecto" after his favorite cigar. This jacket was built for durability and protection, featuring a heavy-duty leather exterior, asymmetrical zipper, and belted waist—design elements that are still present in modern versions.

Throughout the decades, leather biker jackets have transcended their utilitarian roots to become a symbol of rebellion and counterculture. Icons like Marlon Brando in "The Wild One" and James Dean in "Rebel Without a Cause" solidified the jacket’s association with the cool, rebellious spirit of the 1950s. The punk rock movement of the 1970s further cemented its status, with bands like The Ramones making it their uniform of choice.

The Modern Leather Biker Jacket

Today's leather biker jackets retain their classic elements while incorporating contemporary twists. Designers experiment with various colors, cuts, and embellishments, ensuring there’s a style for everyone. Despite these updates, the core features—a sturdy leather build, zippers, and a snug fit—remain integral, preserving the jacket's original spirit.

Styling Your Leather Biker Jacket

Casual Cool

For a laid-back yet stylish look, pair your leather biker jacket with a simple white t-shirt and distressed jeans. Add a pair of combat boots or sneakers to complete the ensemble. This classic combination is perfect for everyday wear and effortlessly exudes a sense of rugged charm.

Smart Casual

Elevate your leather biker jacket for a smart casual look by pairing it with tailored trousers and a crisp button-down shirt. Opt for a jacket in a sleek, fitted style to maintain a polished appearance. Finish the look with loafers or Chelsea boots. This outfit strikes the perfect balance between edgy and sophisticated, making it suitable for a variety of occasions.

Night Out Glam

For a night out, go for a bold and glamorous look by wearing your leather biker jacket over a little black dress or a fitted skirt and top combo. Choose a jacket with metallic accents or unique detailing to add an extra layer of flair. Complete the outfit with high-heeled boots or stilettos and statement jewelry for a look that's sure to turn heads.

Caring for Your Leather Biker Jacket

To ensure your leather biker jacket remains a staple in your wardrobe for years to come, proper care is essential:

Cleaning: Regularly wipe down your jacket with a damp cloth to remove surface dirt. For deeper cleaning, use a leather cleaner specifically designed for the material. Avoid soaking the leather to prevent damage.

Conditioning: Leather can dry out over time, so it's important to condition it periodically with a high-quality leather conditioner. This keeps the material supple and prevents cracking.

Storage: Store your leather biker jacket in a cool, dry place. Use a padded hanger to help maintain its shape and avoid hanging it in direct sunlight to prevent fading.

Ethical and Sustainable Choices

As awareness of environmental and ethical issues grows, many brands now offer leather alternatives made from sustainable materials. Vegan leather jackets, made from polyurethane or innovative materials like pineapple leather (Piñatex) and mushroom leather (Mylo), offer an eco-friendly option without compromising on style or durability.

When purchasing a leather biker jacket, consider supporting brands that prioritize ethical practices and sustainability. Look for companies that use ethically sourced leather, support fair labor practices, and implement environmentally friendly production processes. If you are looking for a cool leather biker jacket for yourself “Lilibet Clothing” would be a great option for you.

Conclusion

The leather biker jacket is more than just a piece of clothing; it's a symbol of timeless style, rebellion, and individuality. Its versatility allows it to be styled in numerous ways, making it a valuable addition to any wardrobe. Whether you’re dressing for a casual day out, a smart casual event, or a glamorous night out, a leather biker jacket can effortlessly elevate your look. Invest in this iconic piece, care for it properly, and enjoy its enduring appeal for years to come.

Author:

Micheal Jordan is an expert in fashion designing having 7+ years of experience in this field.

[takeeachdayonebookatatime]

Why did you elbow me? 195

Achilles Castle part 97

Lemonade and lies Part 40

Nicholas (Nick) Stephen McSwarek undercover part 4

Kate: pov besides studying up for today's meeting I think we should get to know each other better. Nick asks if I like water because he is not a big fan. Says he almost drowned as a toddler. Well I almost drowned in the Hudson River. Me and Castle were working a case with the CIA and my squad car went into the Hudson and my seat belt was jammed. Castle had to shoot at it to free me. He had to do mouth to mouth until I started breathing, I then proceeded to throw up everywhere then I was checked out by the medics just to make sure I didn't have any complications. Nick is an only child and both his parents are still alive. Well my mother was murdered I explain as much as I can up until the airport hanger the rest is for another story. My dad didn't take her death well, he was an alcoholic and is sober now, been for a while.

Officer Nicholas (Nick) Stephen McSwarek: pov i’m so thankful I haven't had any near death experiences on the job. I guess almost drowning in the Hudson can count for you as a near death experience. Kate says it is not my first, I was locked in a freezer with Castle. Well Kate I'm a hard worker, I was in the military before being a cop. Addicted to coffee and chocolate, I could eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day if allowed.

Kate: pov we talk a little bit more about ourselves. I was so obsessed with my mother's case that I almost lost my life, I used to be a control freak. I'm getting better at it. My friends and family worry too much about me.

Ryan: pov Esposito informs me Kate might have to go undercover and he will be in charge until she gets back, I'm looking at surveillance Camera footage from the area where the murder took place. Esposito says something about Lanie finding something during her autopsy.

Officer Nicholas (Nick) Stephen McSwarek: pov I understand they don't want to hear you died in the line of duty. A guy I knew from the gang unit was killed in the line of duty a few years ago. It was so hard going to his funeral, his wife was pregnant at the time and they had a 2 year old at home.

Kate: pov that must have been horrible, my Captain also died in the line of duty. I have never been able to attend another funeral since his I actually have severe PTSD from everything that went on with his funeral. I explain to Nick what went on before the funeral and how he died.

Officer Nicholas (Nick) Stephen McSwarek: pov wow that must be hard with his betrayal and lies about your mother's case no wonder you have PTSD. Now that i'm thinking about it she said PTSD from his funeral. I get it, it's hard going to funerals after losing someone you are very close with. Kate says well dying at one does make you afraid of funerals. I’m so confused, what do you mean?

Kate: pov you've never died at a funeral before. Nick says you say that like you have died at one before? Because I have.

Officer Nicholas (Nick) Stephen McSwarek: pov you've died before when, Kate says my Captain's funeral. I was shot in the chest on my left side. In the ambulance I went into cardiac arrest they had to use the defibrillator on me and bag me. I had severe chest trauma and blood loss. At the hospital my friend Lanie, who is a medical examiner, continued CPR on me until another Dr took over for her. I was rushed into emergency heart surgery. My boyfriend at the time Cardiac surgeon Josh Davidson happened to be on shift. I had a collapsed lung that required a chest tube. The trauma was so severe that they had to do a thoracotomy. It's a massive horizontal incision on your side from your chest to your back. Josh then inserted a breathing tube since I wasn't breathing and my stats were dropping the bullet hit/grazed my left inferior pulmonary vein and left ventricle causing a cardiac tampon my surgeon Dr Kovaks who took over for Josh had to cut some of my pericardium to let the blood out and repair my ventricle, I then went into vfib and they had to use the internal paddles twice, they had to do manual heart massages I then went into cardiac arrest again and flatlined. Dr Kovaks eventually brought me back to life. I had to have a massive transfusion of blood because my blood loss was so severe. I spent a week in the CICU unconscious with a breathing tube breathing for me covered in wires. I don't think people thought I was going to make it, but here I am alive and doing better. I still struggle a little but that is expected after everything I went through. My immune system still isn't great and I have to take heart meds daily for the rest of my life for my arrhythmia. I'm still working on my PTSD. I know my triggers and stay away from them as best as I can.

Kate: pov I'm also allergic to pineapple, waiting for my allergy test results to see if i'm allergic to anything else. Should know in 2 to 3 days. I think the both of us should pack just in case we have to go undercover. How long will it take you to pack, it will take me a while to pack. Since we are using your car, can you pick me up from the loft and then the both of us can go to the meeting? Make sure to throw some food in a cardboard box/ cooler if you have one and grab some ice at the gas station while you fill up the car. At the loft Castle is still home I explain everything to him and Martha quickly.

Martha: pov I'm in charge of putting the food from Katherine's cabinet in a cardboard box and some stuff from the fridge that she can eat. I grab the cooler and put some fruit and a few other things in it. To be continued. ……..

[artinstallersmelbourne]

Picture Hanging Specialists: Handle your Artwork with Professional Care to Avoid Unwanted Incidents!

Working with experienced picture hanging specialists increases your chances of dealing with true experts in the field of art logistics. They possess the knowledge and abilities to make your images appear not only useful but also appealing. Professionals will ensure that the artwork becomes a subtle and pertinent addition to home design; this is not about pick-and-hang types of things.

Professional picture hanging services providers have essential hanging equipment, such as heavy-duty hangers and wall hooks, aside from the requisite abilities. Regardless of how big and hefty the image is, they can hang it properly thanks to their professional equipment. One of the frequent problems is when individuals try to use the tools on their own and are most likely incompetent.

Avoid Twirling or Heavy Lifting of Artwork

Hiring expert picture hangers relieves you of the burden of carrying those hefty solid wooden frames and the need to balance art, hardware, tools, and levellers. The experts have a method for hanging pictures that will get the work of art up and on display in no time at all because of the many years of expertise we have under our belts. Families with young children or dogs will want to spend extra money to hire experts to display the art in their homes. Businesses and public spaces that purchase art must also purchase a reputable picture hanging service.

You're Worried About Your Safety

Professional picture hangers can make sure that your artwork is securely fastened to the walls of your house. Art can cause serious harm to spectators as well as costly works of art that could be ruined as a result of a fall.

Even if artwork improves a place's ambience, if it is not safe, it poses a risk to the business. Nobody wants a painting to fall on them when they're eating supper or waiting somewhere.

Source

[qocsuing]

HIGH SPEED GEAR REFLEX IFAK SYSTEM ROLL AND CARRIER

HIGH SPEED GEAR REFLEX IFAK SYSTEM ROLL AND CARRIER

The ReFlex? IFAK was developed with direct input from active-duty medical personnel. The ReFlex is a two-piece system, med roll and carrier, that is designed to carry organized medical supplies with ambidextrous accessibility. The system, constructed primarily with heavy-duty nylon laminate, allows rapid deployment of medical supplies. This system was designed around the medical supplies included in the U.S. Army-issued IFAK. The ReFlex Carrier and ReFlex Med Roll can be purchased together or separately.To get more news about nano zeolite hemostatic combat gauze, you can visit rusuntacmed.com official website. Developed with direct input from active-duty medical personnel, the ReFlex Hanger IFAK system from High Speed Gear is a two-piece system — med roll and hanger carrier — designed to attach directly to the hook and loop system of a plate carrier to carry organized medical supplies with ambidextrous accessibility. The system, constructed primarily with heavy-duty nylon laminate, allows rapid deployment of medical supplies and was designed around the medical supplies included in the U.S. Army-issued IFAK. The ReFlex Hanger and ReFlex Med Roll can be purchased together or separately. ? Features HANK? (High Abrasion-Resistant Neoprene Kevlar? composite) grab handles for long-term durability ? Can mount vertically or horizontally on belts 1.5 "-2.25", and horizontally on MOLLE ? Intentional organization features put all supplies in easy reach ? Carry handle and shock cord loops allow the roll to be attached to a patient, or hung from an I.V. rack ? Gloves can be accessed via side slots with or without removing the roll from the carrier ? "Mini" MOLLE allows for precise fit on belts as narrow as 1.5" or two-row MOLLE panels ? Features loop panels on med roll and carrier for label patches (Medical Cross Patch included)

[wrxthfulguard]

Headcanon: Don’s room in the hotel

Since the lobby/foyer is where he must first report in for his patrols/shifts, Don’s room in the hotel is on the ground floor, room 01.

Inside, one can see that it’s the typical hotel room... Though a bit bigger than the average hotel room you might see these days, it is clean and tidy due to both Don and Niffty keeping the room that way.

The room’s closet takes one wall, a bit big enough to almost be made into a walk-in closet, this is where Don’s clothes are stored... There’s also a small vault containing holy weapons that are to be used for the yearly cleanses only.

Don’s cabinet and night stand is also neat and tidy, but one should take note of the various small gifts from his allies sitting on them, but not enough to crowd the cabinets entirely.

Don’s night stand has a wireless speaker with a built-in alarm clock and phone charger mount, thus he is able to use his Hellphone to play music while it is charging, this was a gift from Charlie upon joining the hotel’s staff as a ‘hotel room warming’ gift of sorts.

Don’s bathroom has a standard walk in shower, although the rest of the bathroom is best describe as a high-end average fancy hotel-type.

The room has a small space where Don can do his workouts or to meditate, only a set of small barbells occupy one corner of the room for weight training.

... Oddly enough, there is no televisions in the room, this is due to Don’s wariness towards modern tech (and Vox being a cause for said wariness)... An old vintage radio sits on a counter, that was a ‘gift’ from Alastor.

And finally. a coat hanger sits near the door, but it’s only used to hold his duty belt when not in use (Don keeps his gun in his night stand’s cabinet while his knife is stored under his bed’s pillow for safety reasons)

[theogygiaisland]

You know what, fuck it- PACIFIC RIM AU: Batfamily edition

Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown

Warnings: Teen (13+)

Categories: Action, Found Families, Angst, Fluff

Words: 4,223 words

Read on: AO3

They call them 'The Crazies'. Dick calls them family.

Across any universe- it was always them versus the world.

--

The PPDC calls them the crazies. Dick calls them family.

The jaeger he pilots slaps its hands together in anticipation, neural handshake 100% stabilized and drones deployed.

“This is the Belting Robin.” Cass says in her comm-pod. “Ready to engage.”

Command grunts an acknowledgement.

The Category-4 kaiju crawls out of a Breach and roars.

Across any universes, it was always them versus the world.

–

A Medic insults Jason. He doesn't even flinch.

"And I thought you were good." Damian snides as he wipes the floor with Tim. Jason throws the nearest object, an escrima stick, and gives Damian a concussion.

–

Damian would look at his father, see the radiation poisoning of the mark 1, that leaves him weak. He would use his cane getting to places, adamant and too stubborn to acknowledge his dwindling health, and the advanced wheelchairs Babs had made specifically for him. Bruce would lie. Say he doesn’t feel sick despite the nose bleeds. Say he isn’t getting a migraine as if he didn’t pop a mefenamic acid behind closed doors.

Sometimes it was hard to see the man who was able to push back the kaiju invasion back to the western seaboard. The man who, during the initial attacks that claimed multiple countries unaware and multiple lives in a single week – including his mother, strapped himself into a prototype death machine that wasn’t fully developed to withstand the radiation coming from jaeger cores. He says it was a matter of his duty to protect people.

Damian wonders how much that was a lie too. He knows Bruce still kept his mother’s photo on his nightstand. The photo was old. The teardrops were always new.

“Damian, come here.” Bruce asks him as they walk past the hanger.

He counts one, two, three , four, five jaegers getting maintenance repairs. He spots the melted armor on the Striking Onyx (they should’ve stuck to long range for an Otachi type), the loose bolts of the Belting Robin (the scientists really should develop better shock absorbers for lithe combatants, and more defenses in the Drivesuit), and the gaping hole that was Red Chemo’s left arm (Damian admits he finds no fault, it was better to lose an arm to a Raiju than a head).

The rest were either decommissioned or training jaegers he does not particularly care about– including his father’s Black Menace.

“Who will patrol with all of the jaegers under maintenance?” He asks Father. Under their catwalk, he could see the pilots lounging around in sweats, laughing as one of the older men lands a backflip from the jaeger’s foot and into the proximity of an agitated medic.

“These are still operational– they’ve fought with worse conditions.” Bruce replies, not acknowledging the frustrated arguments and bellowing laughter below. “But the latest findings of the Breach shows that there wouldn’t be anything the Lanterns Corps can’t fend off in the meantime. They’re stationed down south, but our helicopters can get them into a fight within the hour. But this isn’t why I asked you here.”

Bruce turns his gaze to his son and Damian stands, back rigid.

“Damian, I know you’ve gone into the Academy because you felt like I wanted you here. Just know that this is a profession that’s going to take over your life. You’re not going to experience the world the way others do–” ( Too late for that, Damian thinks) “– and I want you to know that, son. My life should not be your life too.”

“I understand the repercussions, Father. I won’t let you down.” Of course he wouldn’t. Damian excelled in everything he touches. He was the youngest graduating cadet in history , and that’s why he was here , in an actual Shatterdome, and not behind the lines doing something trivial like algebra .

Hopeful eyes peer at him. Are you proud of me?

“Don’t let the mission down, son. I’m happy to have you in the team when you’re ready.” Bruce shares with him a small smile and plants a hand on Damian’s shoulder. And in his eyes, Damian knows the truth.

Under them, there was a sound of metal crashing and someone cursing and then running.

“Well, only if the team learns to behave.” Bruce says, leaning over the railing. The commotion stops.

That evening, before Damian closes his eyes, he thinks, no Father, I didn’t go into the academy because you wanted me here– I wanted you. I wanted to be here, like you. For mother.

–

Jason catches Tims eye with the one that isn’t swollen shut and huffs out.

“Fine.” He grits out. “We can try to drift. Hope you die.”

In return, Tim shoots him a bloody smile.

After a brief shouting match with the doctor and a stern lecture from the head honcho Bruce Wayne himself, Jason learns he has a compatible mindlink.

When they’re done, Jason feels hope that Tim doesn’t listen to him and start living.

–

Duke’s first words in operating Striking Onyx was “This is so fucking cool !”

Steph laughs at his face, which usually would cause him to blush scarlet, but their link assures him it’s all about laughing with him.

This feeling will never get old , her mind brushes against his. For that he’s grateful, and he feels her acknowledging it.

And it’s nice. Knowing someone’s got your back and you’ve got theirs. He knows it’s not easy, but Stephanie besides him radiates it.

‘If you fall, I’ll catch you ’ is written in her eyes.

“Now, remember what we practiced, Duke.”

“Let’s go!”

–

Steph thinks she knows Tim inside and out. They were like a pair of socks, old and worn. Built together by neural handshakes and closed Academy doors. He was hers, and she was his. Me and mine.

But the brawler in the jaeger on screen, together with Jason of all people– that man is not Tim. He's brutal. Efficient. Blazing fury like the cannon that leaves a gaping wound on the kaiju's chest, and cold like the knife that impales itself after. No flairs, no twists, no laughter in the deck as the monster clumps down and the kaiju signature blinks out of the technician panel. Only grunting, and snarls, fighting like a monster in a corner.

Of course there wasn’t any of those, she reminds herself. This isn’t their Glitter Chrome.

A snarl rips through the radio feed as another signature pops up on the radar.

“Incoming!”

“This is Command to Red Chemo. You are operating on a 10% power cell charge. Retreat now and we’ll send out Striking Onyx. I repeat, retreat–”

She thinks she knew Tim inside and out.

“This is Red Chemo to Command.” Tim’s voice fills the air. “No, we will not. Just get them extracted. We can hold the kaiju back.”

The jaeger from the feed moves into a fighting stance, because this is Red Chemo, it’s their best tank in the division– their only tank on the Californian line– and the only one between the fallen jaeger on the field and a Category-4 kaiju. And Red Chemo is nothing but a metal bottle of bullheaded danger .

“Command to Red Chemo I repeat, retreat now. This is Command to Red Chemo– retreat now– Jason! Tim! Dammit !” Bruce rips off his headset and looks over to her. “Get Duke and I want Striking Onyx out there NOW! ”

She nods, because what else is there for her to do. In the background, the jaeger grapples a monster and struggles. Hand to hand. Full out brawling with closed fists and thrown bodies.

This was not the Tim she knows.

Their failed neural handshake should've been her first clue.

–

“Bruce, are you sure I can pilot this? Don’t you think I’m not ready?”

Dick was a happy child. His family consisted of Martha, the bearded lady, and Juan the fire breather, and Zitka the elephant and Haley, and Denise and Jose, and a whole rotating cast of aunts and uncles, acts and presentations. His childhood was full of life, and of people. And Dick– Dick felt content being the center of it all.

And then his parents fell.

It was the first attack just off the coast of the Atlantic. They were doing their routine for a bigtop full of people, and Dick was ready to swing in from the other side and into the awaiting grin of his mother’s face until the Knifehead kaiju rips open the tent like a can of sardines, taking his parents with it.

Dick could remember the paralyzing fear watching the monster chomp down on the tent like bubblegum. He remembers his own platform shaking, and then of falling–

And then of Bruce Wayne catching his fall.

And from there it was going through different orphanages, until Bruce came back for him, offers him a chance at the Academy. Offers him a chance to be alive through giving him purpose.

Bruce smiles. “You’re born in the sky chum. And I bet you can lead them out with you.”

Bruce not only gives him a reason to carry on, he gives him a family.

And standing in the Drivesuit on the shoulder of this giant of a mech, with his sister by his side, Dick believes him. Hope blossoms in his center, like his own radioactive core, and it’s one radiation he wishes that would spread.

–

Steph places a hand on Tim's arm.

"Tim, please. Red Chemo's new- not yet fully operational. Your handshake with Jay- he's good, and so are you. But it's untested with the jaeger. Please. This isn't me saying you're not good. This is me saying I need you safe." For me at least.

Before, Tim would've listened. Felt her anxiety. Knew where she was coming from.

Tim now only looks down. "I have to Steph."

–

Wake up, wake up! I won’t let you do this. I WON’T!

Despite everything, Damian hopes by the side of the bed.

–

She would watch the others train, waiting for her turn on the mats. They were supposed to practice coordination on the bars today, but her partner is late. Dick was almost never late, but she could feel the traces of fatigue in his bones even after their link. He could use the rest some more– training be damned.

“Cain.” Damian greets her in his full cadet uniform. She smiles at him brightly. “I need you to teach me more about aerial maneuvers.”

“Hi.” Cass tilts her head. “Why do you want to learn about it?”

“Your mark 7 jaeger–”

“The Belting Robin.”

“– the Belting Robin– it’s one of the first prototype jaegers. When I graduate from training exercises with Atlas, I want to operate on one just like it. It’s light and it’s well equipped for fast offense that we need to push kaiju and take over the Western Seaboard. But it’s biggest caveat is that it’s sleek design gives way to defense and thus needs a lighter fighter who could out class even a Slattern’s tentacles and so wouldn’t take a hit–”

She hooks her foot on his ankle and pulls . Damian scowls at her from the floor.

“Less theoretical and more practical now.” She grins at him, nodding to the uneven bars on the overhang. “Rule number 1. Be born to fly.”

His scowl lessens marginally and Cass was pretty sure that’s his way of smiling.

–

Jason didn’t want another co-pilot, thank you very much. After his last one– Roy– he couldn’t see clearly above the seething anger in him whenever someone even mentions replacing his partner.

But of course Bruce fucking Wayne does not care.

“So you’re the replacement.” Jason says, watching this willow of a man with stick arms and vines for muscles pass him in the corridor. They haven’t met officially, but Jason is known to be resourceful around a computer.

“You’re replacing mine too.” Tim– and that’s his name– says, blue piercing eyes looking him up and down which makes Jason feel vulnerable.

“Ah yes, only on your fourth mission and suddenly you couldn’t protect your partner enough to not have her knocked out? What a good teamplayer you are.” Jason asks, fists ready at his sides. “Yeah I read your file kid, little baby can’t do a little solo piloting without suddenly developing PTSD?”

Tim looks on, impassive, but Jason had sick glee watching him clench and unclench his fingers.

“Look, you don’t have to like me to drift with me. We get into a jaeger, we fight monsters, we go home. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

“Oh you think that’s what it takes to be a pilot for you?”

They both know it wasn’t just it. Drifting is all about trust– trust your partner can keep up and keep you alive. That’s why it’s so important, why some siblings just won’t fit together, why some partners just can’t drift . Piloting a jaeger is something vulnerable and important. It’s a bond stronger than friendships, it’s camaraderie, of brotherhood, of love.

And God does Jason miss it and miss Roy . He feels that grief of never being able to come back and be on field with him, takes it, and replaces it with the only way he knows how: with overflowing anger.

He will never be the same , the doctors said.

At least I’m not drooling into a cup , Roy joked.

He can never be Roy , his mind screams.

“I don’t want to fight you Jason. We don’t even know if we’re drift compatible.”

“Probably not because I’m not drifting with you.”

The fact that Tim keeps steady eye contact despite the venom in Jason’s tone makes his insides hot. Jason fumes.

“You are drifting with me. We’re both our last chance to go back on field.”

“No I’m not. Besides, I think ghost drifting wouldn’t be impossible if a snotty nosed brat like you can handle it, then I can too.”

“As if you can be any better. Tell me, is Roy’s arm still unresponsive?”

He punches Tim before he can think about it and feels bones crack under his knuckles. As he draws his fist back, he sees blood flowing down the kid’s face.

“Pretty boy can dish but can’t take huh?” Jason taunts.

Tim scoffs. “Pretty boy ain’t done yet.” And headbutts Jason in the eye .

Jason rolls over in shock more than in pain. Tim jumps to his feet and knees him in the stomach. Jason retaliates by catching a second kick and twisting the ankle and making Tim fall. Tim ‘s other foot catches him by the chin and–

“ENOUGH! ”

Medics surround them, yelling, frustrated, angry.

–

"You learned that from Steph." Cass notes, as she releases Duke.

"She's quite the fast brawler. I felt her- in my head. That kick spin was what she used when she got cornered when she was young."

Cass smiles, all teeth and pink gums. "Good. You'll need to learn fast."

-

“I heard you’re taking lessons on aerial maneuvers from Cass.” Dick tells him one day as he sun bathes on the roof in one of those rare sunny day.

“I am.” Damian replies.

“Are you hoping to replace me as partners with Cass?”

“No– I– Why’d you think so?”

Dick laughs, not seeing the offense in the statement. A lot of pilots would punch you in the face for even thinking about poaching their co-pilot. Instead, he lounges back parallel to him, eyes covered by an arm slung over his face.

“It’s happened before– look at Steph and Tim.”

“Whatever happened to Drake and Brown was…unfortunate, but I don’t see a point in your asking.”

“I’m just saying. I wouldn’t mind.” Dick says.

“Why?”

“Well, for one, it means Cass makes it out alive.”

“Don’t say that–”

“It’s a possibility, Dames, and it’d be an honor to have you take my place.” Dick says, staring at him intently that Damian has to look away.

“Okay.”

“But don’t you worry lil’D, I’ll be here for a long time so don’t get your hopes up just yet.”

–

Wayne’s elites were whispered about in the hallways for their efficiency and their ruthlessness on this side of the country. They were the battalion that were first to the scene, with the highest success rates in missions and lowest casualties of jaegers. As the latest recruit, he was half excited for the chance to operate his own jaeger and half terrified with everything else.

He doesn’t understand how Cass has managed to squirrel alcohol in his room, nor how everyone just knew where to converge tonight, but at this point he doesn’t seem to care.

“Why are you all here?” Duke asks.

“Well, we’ve managed to get ourselves kicked out of almost every bar in San Francisco.” Tim says.

“I checked. Still banned.” Cass replies.

Duke puts a pin on that since that was a whole can of worms he did not want to tackle right now.

“I mean in the jaeger corps. They brought me in because they found me scavenging a carcass.” Duke says to no one in particular, legs draped somewhere over the tangle of bodies on the floor. He didn’t particularly keep track of it– despite knowing it’s on something too firm to be a pillow and too soft to be the floor. No one particularly cared enough to voice it out. In his head, he remembers the blue that tainted his fingers, searching for scraps to get by. “I had nowhere to go.”

“By carcass, you mean kaiju or…”

“Kaiju, God Dick what else would I scavenge?”

Dick just shrugs and grins.

“Mine was either fuckin’ jail time for being a street urchin or this– though I don’t think they knew I was a particular flavor of crazy until it was too late. I raise to one cleanup duty.”

“Don’t worry Jay, you make our neural handshake spicy .” Tim says, downing his gin shot. “Besides, I think everyone here’s a little bit fucked in the head to operate the way we do. I got here because I was apparently too manipulative for the military.”

“We can't all be high and mighty either, could we? Sense of duty my ass , I’m just here because dear old dad wanted me to direct my rage before I cut a bitch or start a gang war or something.” Steph nods over the cards in her hand.

“Are you okay?” Duke asks her.

“I’m just dandy, ranger.” She smiles brightly at him. Duke doesn’t know if the glint in her eye is because she’s laughing at her joke or at him. “And make that cleanup duty in the Drivesuit Jay, and you’re on. Call.”

Jason curses under his breath but nods and Tim deals out two more cards on Duke’s lap. One thing Duke learns is that there is no concept of personal space when it comes to these guys. Or for Poker.

“I didn’t want to share a bed in the orphanage after the initial strike. It was too crowded as it is, and then suddenly BAM! More orphans. Yay.” Dick says and Duke chokes on a laugh. “Apparently I had too short of a fuse and smiled too much.”

“Smiled too much?”

“I’d smile then throat punch someone. My bunkmate was an asshole.”

“Okay?”

“Even the Alaskan division is kinda weird with us, you know.” Tim continues, passing his shot glass to Jason who takes it without breaking eye contact with his hand. “I heard the Kents were adamant we kept to the South-Western Seaboard–”

“Yeah, yeah, they’re all just scared cause we got individual thought and shit and big bad Wayne can’t even keep us in line– whatever. I raise one full laundry day.”

“Fucking fine! I fold.”

Steph groans. Jason cackles. Tim looks on, bored with a glint in his eye and Duke could feel his lips twitch up.

“What is this?” Damian asks from across the room, sipping his drink and looking like he doesn’t particularly know if he likes it or not. “Why can’t you pass me the shot, Drake.”

“Kaiju milk.” Cass says, sipping her own bottle. “And you’re still underaged.”

“I’m eighteen. I didn’t know kaiju has milk.”

Duke plucks the shot glass from Jason’s hand– it was his turn already– and downs a shot. Dick wiggles from his spot on the ground and shifts the tangle of limbs.

Dick smiles. “Well apparently you’re not old enough to know what’s kaiju milk either.”

Cass looks over at Damian as he rolls his eyes and sends a wink. “It’s not really kaiju milk. You get it when you sneak up to the little Otachi types and you–”

“Okay! That’s enough discussion for today.” Steph says, jumping up and throwing half of the limbs off of her legs. Duke was pretty sure his left foot was on Steph’s thigh by how he falls sideways into Jason. “Duke, let’s ready up for patrol. Robins, relieve us after 5am, yeah? And Reds, just...behave.”

“It’s kaiju essence .” Duke stage whispers to Damian as the kid chokes on his drink and Steph throws him a half hearted glare. The rest of them– they just laugh and shoot him a grin.

He might feel a little out of place in this weird hodge podge of a battalion, but at least Duke knows he belongs.

–

“Negative Belting Robin, abort mission now. I repeat, abort mission now .” One part of the screen has Dick’s vitals flying everywhere.

On the other, Cass’ vitals are silent.

Babs types furiously on her desk. “Warhead is locked and ready to fire sir– proximity damage is inevitable– We can still retrieve the– Sir! Sir! On your orders!”

“Negative– Do not Ghost Drift, I repeat, DO NOT GHOST DRIFT DICK! ”

“Command I’m– Bruce. I’m sorry.”

An explosion rocks somewhere where Cherry Hill used to stand. Miles away, it rocks another person onto their knees.

“ Medic! Now!” Babs says but she looks on with dawning horror on her face.

–

Belting Robin passes them on their way back with a salute.

“So that was patrol, any questions?”

“Yeah, so why aren’t there kaiju during this time of night? Aren’t they like nocturnal?”

“No, they don’t really have a sleeping schedule that we know of. They just appear in the Breach and we couldn’t really get a chance to study them. As for the numbers… well we’re not too far off for another wave, all we’re doing now is just cleaning off the remaining ones from last month.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Steph says, stretching and making Duke and their jaeger stretch as well. Duke doesn’t know if the satisfaction was his own or Steph’s amplified one, but it did felt good. “Count your blessings Ranger, at least there’s haven’t been a Breach yet. If you want, we can even cut our patrol short and get us some chili dogs from the caf.”

“Uhm…”

“I’m joking. I’m really joking. Hey command, if you’re hearing this, I’m joking.”

A snort fills their earpieces. Duke was happy and tired that he might take the offer on after patrol–

Then the earth shakes. A Category-4 kaiju climbs out of the Breach.

“ Striking Onyx , pull back. You’re too inexperienced for a Cat-4. I repeat, Striking Onyx pull back .”

“Striking Onyx copies Command.” Duke says, eyes not straying away from the monster.

–

“Jason and Tim fought in the hallways. I think they’re benched.” Damian tells Dick. “So Striking Onyx is out for patrol now.”

Dick eyes the duo, who was lounging at the foot of Red Chemo , heads bent together in hushed  whispers.

“You think they’re going to be a great team?”

Dick smiles as Tim catches him looking and doesn’t even have to tell Jason before the older man whips his head back and to their audience. With only one neural uplink between the two of them, it’s frightening how in sync they already were.

He’s been with Jason for years, training, learning, growing; and with what Steph has told him about Tim, Dick has a feeling they’re at least on the path to being a pair. Where Jason overflows, Tim catches. Where Tim lacks, Jason compensates. It’s, simply, basic math.

“I know so.” Dick tells Damian as Red Chemo walks nearer to them. “Hey guys, what’cha think about having a movie night? Cass has alcohol and we’ve yet to conquer Duke’s room.”

–

His arm bruns but Jason grits through it because Tim is a punch and a skip away from losing consciousness.

To be fair he’s got the longer end of the stick here– at least he still has his arm . The kaiju roars and Red Chemo snarls back, the pilots working in sync to punch back as hard as they took it. Red Chemo is a fucking tank built to last and goddammit they will .

“Shoulder blasters!” Tim yells and Jason grips the mouth of the kaiju open enough for the warheads to hit–

“Rest in fucking pieces!” Jason yells, adrenaline coursing through his veins. “You okay there Replacement?”

“We did it.” Tim whispers and promptly faints.

Jason was sure he was able to yell out for a medic one more time before his own vitals go crazy with the shut down.

We did it.

–

Tim remembers Glitter Chrome – he used to call her Glitz. He remembers it when he looks at Steph and smiles.

“Stop smiling and be somber.” She tells him. “You know, situations like these are why they call us crazies.”

“I know.”

The steady beeping fills the room, partly comfort in having retrieved both pilots from the wreckage of Belting Robin and partly dread for their future. They haven’t woken up .

The medic can’t give hope that they will. But Tim goddamn will hold on to it.

Steph sighs and leans back, letting her head drop over the backrest of her seat. “I remember when you were the one I had to visit in this room.”

“I know.”

“And I– I couldn’t feel you then.” Like I can’t feel you now , his mind supplies. “It was bad. But I’m glad you’re alive.”

“I know.”

“Do you think they’re going to push through?”

Tim smiles a little bit wider at her. Because he knows . He’s been there before. And that gives him hope, for Dick and Cass who’s yet to wake from their comas. For their own future. For their next jaegers .

They were siblings now by kaiju blood and their own tears, and the Wayne brotherhood were made of tougher things.

And in their team, their family, when hope is not given, they will take it by force .

[steelcarbuncle]

╔Onerous╗

Onerous: (of a task, duty, or responsibility) involving an amount of effort and difficulty that is oppressively burdensome.

Mood Music

Darkness. All of the world was darkness.

The sensors told her it was light out, many life forms registered in the target area ahead. Threat minimal.

"Commence field test of the central cannon." A voice commanded from behind, he wore the full armor that affected his voice unlike the others.

"Locating targets," Her mechanized system voice responded to the commander. The sensors flared to life again, taking in the people gathering to observe the mechanized unit.

No. No stop! Please!

"Targets locked on," the voice coming from her system continued. Changing designation of life forms to threat.

They can't fight back! Please!

"Charging central aetheric beam," uncaring of her wishes, the system voice droned on. Channeling of aether battery commence. Temperature raising within acceptable parameters. Charge at 76%. 88%. 97%.

Get away...Run!

The whole world was darkness and pain. Searing, burning pain.

"Firing." Internal overload. Further use will damage battery beyond repair. Downtime required. Commence cooling systems. Scanners indicate there are no remaining targets. Proceed with downtime.

-----------

The screams that echoed within the hanger as Sasari awoke had to have been her own. She frantically pulled at her arms to remove the melting metal she remembered. Finding the metal gone and only the scars remained, she clasped her fingers in her sweat drenched nightshirt and tried to get a handle on herself. She tentatively reached across her connections to the souls of her sister and her other attachment but found the former was too far for her to provide comfort and the latter snuggled safely within the arms of a lover.

She quashed any more effort to reach out for comfort and instead pulled the multicolored blanket from her pile of pillows and pressed it against her face. Thankfully the mammets, used to this, gave her the professional courtesy of ignoring their maker's plight as she choked quiet sobs into the hodpodge fabric.

Once spent, she rose to get ready for the day. She straightened her work clothing and pulled on her tool belt before spending a few moments running her fingers over the scars at her wrists. It hasn't been that long since the bindings had been lost.

Freedom was proving to be onerous.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Secrets ~ 7

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series; fingering.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

Will King Steve ever show up?! Haha, we’re getting there, I promise.

I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don’t shy away in the comments, reblogs, etc.

After your midnight run-in with Barnes, you hid under your covers but didn’t sleep much. The morning rose behind the curtains as you groaned and mulled over another day of royal hell. You dragged yourself out of bed on your own that day. You dressed after grumbling over the selection of pastels and print then waited for your keeper.

You could probably march right out of the palace and not be noticed, you thought. Last night, he hadn’t even heard you enter the pool room. You cringed at the recollection and pushed your legs together as you felt a tickle between them. You stood sharply and teetered on your feet. 

You marched to the door and pulled it open, intent on sneaking out in your bare feet without the annoying and unsteady click of heels. If your mother could outrun Astrania for two decades, you could probably put up a good chase.

You were stopped by the figure awaiting you on the other side. Barnes was just as surprised as you as his hand was still outstretched as if to turn the handle. He blinked and his lips curved in amusement as he looked you over. You scowled, caught before you could run, and crossed your arms.

“You’ve forgotten your shoes,” he looked down.

You huffed and turned back. You stomped to the closet and wrenched it open. You blindly pulled out a pair of white heels. He followed you and kept you from closing the closet. He bent and reached past you to reveal a pair of nude pumps.

“The white… doesn’t go,” he switched the ivory for the beige. “Are you so impatient to start the day?”

You were silent as you sat on the edge of the bed and held back a whine as you shoved your already tortured feet into the shoes. You stood and flitted past him for the door.

“Eager for it be over with,” you swept through the door.

His chuckle stoked your chagrin as he caught up to you. He walked beside you as you retraced the usual path to the dining hall where he would sit and chide you for holding your fork wrong.

“Oh yeah? And how did you sleep?” He smoothed the lapels of his jacket, “Or maybe you were kept awake… by some wandering thoughts?”

You stopped short and turned on your heel to face him. He calmly met you as he came to a smooth halt and he smirked at you. His dark hair was combed neatly but still appeared soft and his thick beard was, as ever, trimmed and clean. He watched you with an unsettling confidence. His eyes ventured further down and you smacked his shoulder.

“And what happens if I tell your king what you did last night? What you tried to do?” You challenged.

He shrugged and fixed the top of your dress as the frill that ran along the neckline folded oddly.

“You think he would be bothered?” His hand slipped down your chest and you shoved him away. He caught your hand and held it firmly. “First, you do not strike a noble.” He remanded, “Like it or not, I have my own title, your highness. Second, I have done nothing more than the duty I’ve been handed. The king wants me to present him with a fit wife and your vow includes a lot more than dining room etiquette.”

“I assure you, I have more than enough experience to guide me in those matters,” you struggled with him as you twisted in his grasp. “Let go of me, Barnes.”

“My lord,” he corrected as his grip tightened, “That is how you must address me.” He released you at last. “Not Barnes, definitely not James.” He sniffed. We have only a few more days and I have little confidence that you will retain much of our work, so if anything, you might appease the king in other avenues.”

“And you would what? Show me how to f--”

“Language!” He cut you off as he grabbed your arm and spun you suddenly. He tapped your ass harshly. “You push too far, your highness.”

“You,” you tried to elbow him but he kept your arm in place as he tugged you down the staircase. “You push too far… my lord.” You descended if only to keep from falling on your face. 

“Because I must,” he sneered and for a moment, you were proud of how you had irritated him. “Because you insist on making it so… difficult.” The pause revealed his urge to swear himself. You wanted to laugh but his hold on you had you more inclined to slap him.

“Get off,” you wiggled free as you got to the bottom of the stairs, “Lord Barnes,” you spat with spite, “You want me to be proper, you want me to act as a queen would, then you should treat me like one and listen to me.”

His blue eyes gleamed as he watched you. You shook your head and waved him off as you strode ahead of him. He followed with even steps. You refused to look back at him or slow your pace. Just a few more days, but for what end? For what would be a man just as bad, if not worse.

“You’re not queen yet,” he admonished from behind, “But… not so far as you were.”

👑

Another ridiculous dance lesson, this time without Priscilla tapping your calves with her stick, and you were ready to kick your heels off. Barnes, however, had other ideas. He ushered you from the grand hall and back up the stairs. You knew where he was taking you before you even turned the first corner. The hall of mirrors was your personal nightmare. Your flaws reflected back at you from every angle.

You stopped before the door and, with his arm still hooked in yours, you drew him back.

“Not another fitting,” you pleaded as you untangled yourself from him, “I can’t--”

“You better get used to it, your highness. All of this isn’t for nothing. This will be your life. Fittings, dancing, events… your wedding is a footnote to the list of expectations.” He pushed open the left door. “For every season, you will need a new wardrobe, and as time goes, you might need second fittings.”

“Jesus,” you sighed.

“Your highness,” he reproached curtly. “You must learn to withhold your gripes. Whenever you feel you must bemoan your unhappiness, you might instead smile and count to ten. It works well for my nephew and he is much younger than you.”

“I…” you grimaced, “How dare you--” You searched for words but all you could think was “asshole”, so instead you clamped your lips shut and stormed through the doors.

“There,” he entered behind you, “Much better but you must remember to smile.”

He poked your cheek as he came up beside you and you shook him away. You squinted as you looked to the middle of the airy hall. The mirrors reflected the lights in your peripherals as you took in the scene. A bench had been dragged out and a folding screen was only six feet away, erected beside another rack of clothing. The garments, however, were scant and made your lip curl.

“What is this?” You snarled.

“Well, we have your wardrobe sorted, your attire for your engagement, and of course, the wedding dress,” he passed you and turned as he walked along the bench, “We only need to worry about the wedding night.”

“Oh, no,” you laughed dryly, “No, no, no. I don’t think--”

“Do you think? Ever?” He scoffed. “Now, I will give you a choice. Humour your stubbornness for this one instant. You can choose whichever piece you want and try it on or I can choose and put it on you myself.” He unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it back as he put a hand on his belt, “So?”

You stared at him. Your eyes strayed to the rack of laces, satins, and silks. Your gaze was drawn back as his fingers twitched and you nodded. Slowly, you crossed the hall and swept by the end of the bench. He turned and sat, you glanced over your shoulder from the corner of your eye as you approached the hangers.

You flicked through the selection and found none of it preferable. Whatever you picked would offer little coverage and you expected, little defense to the king’s whims. You tapped your toe and grabbed a hanger without looking. You felt the heat of Barnes’ gaze as you moved behind the screen.

You paused and closed your eyes. You took a breath. Your nerves swirled amid the anger boiling in your chest. You sighed and lifted your lashes. You held up the lingerie and turned it in disgust. Something blue…

The pale blue lace was stretched between slender boning along the structured bodice. You set the set down on the small stool and stepped out of your heels. You rubbed the soles of your feet as you delayed. You wanted to moan as your thumb grazed the tender arch.

“Do you require assistance, your highness?” Barnes taunted from the other side.

“I could just check the sizing and--”

“Would rather the second option?” He called back. “I do like the pink one.” You let out a disgusted ‘ugh’ and strained to unzip your dress. “Two minutes,” he warned.

You slipped out of the pink, frilly dress and shivered as you stripped off your underwear. The panties, made of delicate lace, barely covered your ass as you stepped into them. Your cheeks peeked out the bottom as the top tickled low on your pelvis. The bodice met the upper hem of the bottoms and the cups barely covered your tits, finely embroidered flowers just big enough to conceal your nipples beneath the lace.

“I can’t--” you stood and looked down at yourself, “I can’t-- Barnes, it fits but I can’t…” You were suddenly very self-conscious. You didn’t want him to see you, or anyone else for that matter. “Can I just--”

“Well,” he startled you as he came up and peeked around the screen. You tried to cover yourself but it was of little use, “It does fit.”

“Hey,” you turned away from him and grabbed your dress.

“Mmm,” he purred, “Very nice.”

His hand closed around your arm and he drew you back. He wrestled the dress from your hand and tossed it over your shoulder. He dragged you away from the screen and turned you ahead of him. He placed his hands on your shoulders as he walked you to one of the many mirrored walls.

“Look,” he ordered, “Look at yourself.”

You blinked and raised your eyes. You made yourself focus and bit down as you faced your reflection. Your flesh was on fire as you took in the revealing lace and your exposed skin. You gulped and your gaze met Barnes’ in the mirror. His tongue glided over his bottom lip as his hands slid down your sides.

“You’ve convinced me. The blue is… nice,” he slithered as he gripped your hips. He pressed against you and rocked his hips. His arousal was obvious through his trousers. 

“What-- Hey,” you grabbed his wrists, “That’s enough.”

“His majesty doesn’t like a woman who acts shy,” his hot breath grazed your scalp.

“I don’t care what he likes. You either,” you wrenched his hands away and spun to face him. “I tried it on. We’re done.”

You shoved him but as your hands met his shoulders, he caught your wrists. His eyes were dark and dangerous as they clung to you and he marched you backwards. You stumbled, afraid you would trip, and were steadied only as your back met the cold glass of the mirror. He pushed your hands against the wall on either side of your head and leaned in. His nose met yours as he loomed over you.

“Now, don’t go making a mess,” he raised your hands up above you and held them together. 

His right hand fell to stroke your cheek as he stared you down. He played with the strap of the bodice and slid his fingers beneath as he tugged it past your shoulder. You trembled as your hands throbbed from his tight grip and you squirmed against the mirror.

“Barnes,” you warned as boldly as you could but your voice wavered tellingly. “Get off!”

“You don’t want to ruin this,” his fingers danced over your breast and along your stomach. “Not yet.”

“Let go,” you begged as he fumbled with the lace along your pelvis. 

He turned his hand and pressed two fingers down your vee. He pushed along the crotch of your panties as he forced his foot between yours. He hummed as he crushed the lace against your cunt and both felt the slickness seeping through it.

“Your highness,” he rubbed your clit and you hissed in surprise. “What did I say about making a mess?”

You could only squeak as he swirled his fingers. You turned your head away from him and closed your eyes. Your thighs closed around his hand but did not deter him. He kept his hand snug against you as he curled his fingers and teased you through the lace.

He released your hand and grabbed your chin. He turned your head as his large hand framed your face. His hot breath washed over you.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded and you whimpered. He repeated himself, his tone so deep, so dark, that you obeyed without thinking. You bit your lip as his fingers kept on. “Don’t hold back. You can’t. Not with him.” He rested his forehead against yours. “You have to let the king hear you.”

“B--” your words fizzled to a moan.

“Like that.” He goaded, “Or the king will do worse. If you do not show your pleasure, he won’t care for it.” Barnes fingers sped up and you writhed between him and the wall. “He’ll use you like he has so many, or you can make him want you, like he has never before.” Your mewls grew louder as he played with your bud. “Just like that,” he growled, “Listen to you.”

You spasmed as your climax rose at once. You braced the glass as your body tensed around his hand and you quaked through the ripples of ecstasy. You gasped and gulped for air as your nerves bounced off each other and your blood pulsed hotly in your veins. 

Barnes stilled his fingers and his other hand slid down to your throat. He tutted as he stood straight and kept you against the mirrored wall. He dragged his fingertips up the lacy panties and hooked them beneath the top. 

“We’ll have to choose another,” he tore the panties down your thighs and dropped his hand from your neck. 

He rolled the lace to your feet and tugged until you stepped out of them. You leaned against the glass senselessly as he stood and folded the panties. He felt the wet fabric before tucking them into his chest pocket and buttoning his jacket. He cleared his throat and winked at you.

“Try the pink one,” he said before he strode back to the bench, “The king likes pink.”

You pushed away from the glass and covered your vee with your hands, dazed but humiliated. Only two more days. Could you make it through?

[my-head-is-an-animal]

It Shouldn’t Be You

Plo Koon x Reader (N: Master Y/N Dolrook)

Warnings/Content: Fluff, Smut, Angst, Force Bonds, Lightsaber Battles, Inappropriate Use of the Force. 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Master Plo Koon is asked to seek the help of a woman who can save Master Fisto and destroy the weapons that are about to tear the planet in half. Sadness is all he feels at this request, in truth, the Council don’t want to ask him to do this at all, but there’s no other choice. He agrees and allows his mind to linger on things he’d rather not think of.

Chapter 6 – Mission To Yavin

You were still exhausted, not having had nearly enough sleep to be ready for another mission, but duty called and whatever it was Plo had been assigned to, it was your job to assist where you could.

    ‘Alright Rookie,’ Wolffe entered the hanger as you began walking towards Plo and the transport ship. ‘That was some nice flying out there. You and the General make a great team.’

    ‘A compliment? For me?’ You feigned shock. ‘I must savour this moment for eternity.’

    Wolffe rolled his eyes, making you chuckle.

    ‘Commander,’ Plo turned to Wolffe. ‘Are you still tracking the other cruisers?’

    ‘Yes, sir,’ Wolffe nodded. ‘They’re holding position, yet to make a move, but from their formation, it looks like they are considering retreat.’

    Plo hummed. ‘Let’s get this ship closer to the medical base. Master Dolrook and I will try to make our assignment quick.’

    ‘Sir.’ Wolffe nodded and moved off to leave the hanger.

    You clasped your hands behind your back and stared out at the black sheet of sky. You had been concerned about the other cruisers, but knowing that Plo was tracking their movements, settled you somewhat.

    You closed your eyes for just a moment, seeing a bright flash of gold, before snapping them open again with a gasp.

    ‘Are you alright?’ Plo asked, a little closer behind you than you anticipated.

    Truthfully, you felt a little jarred, but there were bigger things to be concerned about. ‘I’m fine.’ You nodded. ‘Shall we go?’

    Plo hummed, unconvinced, gesturing for you to enter the transport ship first. It was just a simple transporter, not much bigger than the ship you’d just been flying, but it had a hyperdrive and it would get you to the Yavin system and back in no time at all.

    Plo had a better grasp on the ship’s controls, you were just there for assistance.

    ‘May the force be with you Commander.’ He said, communicating with Wolffe as you were about to make the jump to hyperspace.

    You couldn’t shake the same flash of gold that had been present before, once again catching Plo’s attention once you were flying safely.

    ‘Something is bothering you.’ He said as you sat, staring out at the stars racing beside your ship.

    ‘I’ve been having visions of the future.’ You sighed. ‘I can’t imagine what they mean. I’m sure it’s nothing.’

    ‘If it were nothing, you wouldn’t dwell on it.’

    You turned to see Plo giving you a sympathetic look, making you smile and shake your head.

    ‘We need to focus on the mission,’ you let out a deep breath. ‘What information are we collecting?’

    Plo was hesitant, but soon ran through the mission brief. All you needed to do was get yourselves into an archive, extract some information on a few trading routes and get out. Easy.

    ‘So, why are they sending both of us?’ You frowned, thinking it was more of a mission for a diplomat.

    ‘Because the archive we are going to is heavily guarded,’ Plo explained. ‘We have no authorisation and very little time to work with.’

    You smiled, realising why your particular skills may have been of use to Plo. ‘I see.’ You inhaled, rubbing your eyes. ‘How long until we get there?’

    ‘Two hours, plenty of time for you to rest.’

    You smiled over at Plo, he was right, you needed to sleep. You unbuckled your belt and headed to the back of the ship, where you’d be able to get some rest for a couple of hours. You rolled up your robe into a pillow shape, lying on your back and trying to clear your mind of everything.

 -----

The control room was being thrown into chaos, lights flashing, alarms sounding, every possible indicator that something was wrong, was being set off. The ground was shaking. You had a sinking feeling that you wouldn’t make it out of this one.

    ‘I’m so sorry, my love.’ You whispered.

    You went over to a console and began shutting and bolting all the doors surrounding the control room. You heard Plo’s voice calling you from beyond the door, telling you to get out of there, but there was no other way.

    Your body was on fire, the pain was searing for just a moment.

 -----

‘No!’ You snapped up, patting down your body where the flames had licked you. You felt the sweat on your forehead, your hands shaking and your whole body unable to stand.

    Plo came rushing to find you sitting on the floor, breathing deeply and trying to find a steady rhythm.

    ‘What is it?’ He said, kneeling down beside you.

    ‘It was just a dream.’ You shook your head. ‘Just a dream.’ You repeated, shutting your eyes tight, once again that flash of gold caught you off guard. You opened your eyes, not daring shut them again.

    ‘Tell me.’ Plo pleaded, his hands wrapping around yours, steadying you, giving you the peace of mind you sorely needed.

    You nodded, maybe he could help you through this.

    ‘It’s a control room,’ you started, remembering it as clearly as you could. ‘You and I are there, or maybe it’s just me… I’m not sure anymore, but it’s going to explode… I was on fire.’

    Plo’s expression dropped, you felt the fear building inside of him and heard him clearly calling you name through the bolted door.

    ‘You have to run,’ you said, gripping his hands tighter in yours. ‘When I tell you to get out of there, please, please just run.’

    Plo looked down, struggling with himself for a moment. ‘I will… because it’s my duty.’

    ‘Yes.’ You nodded. This was only going to work if you could put duty before anything else, if you could find a way to protect those around you without regard for the personal cost, then this could be something special.

    ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’ Plo said, looking back up at you. ‘The White Woman.’

    You felt your body sinking, how could Plo have known about her? Unless he’d seen her as well? Dreamt of her?

    ‘You’ve seen her. Who is she?’ You asked.

    Plo glanced away for just a moment. ‘I think… there will be time for this once our mission is complete. We’re almost in Yavin.’

    ‘Plo, please.’ You begged, making him stop and look at you through his goggles. You could just about see the white of his eyes, or maybe you were just visualising them.

    ‘It is difficult for me to focus when you look at me like that.’ Plo admitted, his voice hitting that depth you loved so much. He sighed, helping you to your feet so you could go to the cockpit together. ‘I have dreamt of a woman I visit often sometime in the future. She depends on me to focus on the present, but I have no idea who she is.’

    You nodded, wondering who this woman could have been and why you were both dreaming of her.

    ‘I think I ask her for help, but she refuses.’ You frowned, remembering the first time you saw her.

    ‘Hmm.’ Plo hummed. ‘Yes.’

    You were both quiet for a few moments. Maybe he was right, this wasn’t the time to dwell on things that had yet to happen.

    You arrived in the Yavin system, deciding it was best to try and go under the radar as much as possible, until you got to the archive in the centre of the city, then it would be controlled chaos.

    ‘There is no security feed inside the archive.’ Plo said, as you left the ship, putting your hoods up and making your way through the busy industrial city. You pulled your scarf up to cover your mouth as well, low profile.

    ‘So, all we need to do is make sure you can get in without being watched.’ You concluded, sensing the anxiety of the crowd.

    ‘Indeed.’

    You walked at a slower pace, trying to blend in with the merchants selling their goods. It was a good spot for a mob to overpower the local law enforcement, and indeed, you could feel the mob mentality rising.

    ‘How close are we to the archives?’ You asked.

    ‘Not far,’ Plo shook his head. ‘We should be able to see the central buildings soon.’

    ‘Probably not the time to allow things to get out of hand then.’ You looked around, still sensing the rising anxiety.

    Plo chuckled. ‘This is your field of expertise.’

    ‘What chaos and disruption?’

    ‘Yes.’

    You rolled your eyes. ‘Is that all I’m good for?’

    ‘I sincerely hope not, my dear.’

    You felt a rush of warmth shoot through your body, glaring playfully at Plo. ‘Focus on the mission Koon.’ You tried to supress a smile.

    Plo was smiling beneath his mask, and you would have been irritated, if you didn’t love his unique style of flirting so much.

    You managed to use the Force to keep the crowd at a lower level of anxiety, but you couldn’t keep it up for long. You reached the end of the street and saw the large, white stone building that contained the archives. It looked as if it had seen better days, but simultaneously like it would stand for another thousand years.

    You sensed where the security feeds were coming from and where a good spot for a distraction would be.

    ‘On your word.’ Plo stated.

    He followed your lead, slowing your pace just slightly. You latched onto a particularly guilty individual, a Trandoshan, seeing his memory of robbing a stall a little way behind him. You angled your body so that he pushed past your shoulder.

    ‘Hey!’ You snapped, turning back to him. ‘Hey, give me my credits back!’

    ‘What?’ His anxiety was escalating.

    ‘You heard me,’ you squared up to him, knowing that the crowd was starting to take notice. ‘You think it’s clever stealing in a place like this?’

    ‘What are you talking about?’ He hissed.

    You listened to the sounds of a Sullustan trader catching up to the Trandoshan.

    ‘Thief.’ He pointed towards the guilty party.

    ‘So, you’re a known thief?’ You stepped up to him. ‘Guards! We have a thief!’

    The crowd began pushing and shoving, the local law enforcement were fighting their way through, all the security feeds were now pointed towards you and away from the entrance to the central building. You just needed to keep this going long enough for Plo to get in and out.

    You managed to use the Force to latch onto what the thief was carrying, well over two thousand credits, and handed it back to the Sullustan trader.

    ‘Thank you, thank you.’ He said, bowing a little.

    ‘You’d better get out of here,’ you smiled. ‘This is going to get ugly.’

    ‘Ah, it always does in this place.’ He chuckled and headed off back to his stall.

    You heard someone else shouting thief in another direction, stretching your neck up to see who it was and seeing a riot starting further down the street.

    I may have gone too far.

    You opened up the Force bond you and Plo shared, listening to him chuckle as he made his way through the archive.

    Your methods have always been unconventional. Just make sure no one gets hurt.

    What do you think I’m doing? Sight-seeing?

    You sighed and observed from a distance, trying to lower the anxiety of the crowd, but wondering if it was in fact a lost cause.

    The riot was getting out of control quickly. You went over to a display pad and called for more law enforcement, who arrived promptly. It was just enough to help disband the rioting crowd and send everyone back to their stalls, but anxiety was now high. An easy trigger to cover Plo’s exit from the archive if need be.

    ‘It seems I missed a few things.’ Plo startled you. ‘My apologies, my dear.’

    ‘You know, being your look-out isn’t as much fun as you’d think it is.’ You breathed a laugh.

    ‘And here I thought it was a particularly romantic setting.’ Plo teased, making you properly laugh. ‘But I fear the excitement is about to begin. I may have been spotted leaving the archive.’

    ‘Did you get what we need?’ You began walking down a back alley towards the ship.

    ‘Yes, but the information is incomplete.’

    ‘What does that mean for our assignment?’

    ‘That we may need to travel a little further afield.’ Plo guided you down another alley away from law enforcement officers patrolling the streets.

    ‘Not ideal, but doable.’ You sighed.

    You continued to walk down the side streets, weaving in and out of officers and trader, trying to blend in, even feigning interest in some of the stalls, before finally making it back to the docking platform.

    You’d managed to get away from the planet without being spotted, but from what you sensed, you were definitely being searched for.

    You flew the ship to the edge of the Yavin system while Plo got in contact with Obi Wan, informing him that some of the information was missing.

    ‘Well, that’s disappointing.’ He mused.

    ‘My distraction wasn’t.’ You called. ‘Just saying, I started a very safe riot.’

    ‘And I’m sure you should be commended for it,’ Obi Wan rolled his eyes playfully as you stood up to appear in the hologram beside Plo. ‘But it doesn’t get us the other half of the information.’

    ‘Some of the routes are listed,’ you countered, getting serious. ‘I suggest we head to some of these locations and find out if the other half is kept elsewhere.’

    ‘Agreed, but we can’t just send you to random locations.’ Obi Wan argued.

    ‘Perhaps narrowing it down would be beneficial.’ Plo suggested, earning an exasperated look from both yourself and Obi Wan.

    ‘We’ll need some time to decipher the trading routes.’ You carried on as if he hadn’t spoken, making him chuckle quietly. ‘We can do that back at the medical base and continue to defend it until those cruisers have retreated.’

    ‘Wolffe and Fluke are there with two whole squadrons,’ Obi Wan countered. ‘They’ll be fine, this needs to take priority.’ You frowned, not exactly happy with leaving your men to defend the base on their own. ‘There’s a republic friendly system nearby, I suggest heading there to investigate the information. I can send you authorisation to access the archives and data trails there.’

    ‘What? No riots?’ You grinned.

    ‘Maybe you’ll get lucky next time.’ He rolled his eyes and playfully shook his head. ‘May the Force with you both, though maybe more Master Plo.’

    ‘That’s just rude.’ You folded your arms, feigning offense.

    Obi Wan disconnected the hologram, leaving you and Plo to head to Republic space.

    You headed straight for the cockpit, receiving the co-ordinates and set off. Plo eventually sat next to you, but you could feel his conflict.

    ‘What’s wrong?’ You asked.

    ‘I did not anticipate a longer mission.’ He mused. ‘I know you would like to get back to the medical base and defend the people there.’

    You shook your head. ‘It’s fine. Obi Wan was right, Fluke and Wolffe have got a handle on things, they’ll check in if they don’t, and we’ll not be far away.’

    Plo hummed, something was clearly still bothering him, but he made no attempt to talk about it.

Stay up to date with this fic here. New chapter posted every day!

[humanlighthouse]

hello i am here and i have heihua kiss prompts!! either 8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand. (+bonus if hurt/comfort!) or 23. A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating. xoxo

Hello friend!! I went with the second prompt, you will notice a theme in there perhaps :D I hope you like it! This was cross-posted here for better readability~

 __________ 

For their young master’s birthday celebration, the Xie clan went all out, as was expected. 

It was a grandiose event, with only the finest of culinary delicacies, the prettiest of dancers, and the best of everything that could be drunk. Everyone of importance in the antiques and less-legally-acquired antiques business was there, in black tie - or almost everyone. Xie Yuchen’s smile never quite reached his eyes but he shook sweaty palm after sweaty palm and posed for the required photos with a level of patience that should honestly count toward his general karma. Thankfully, by midnight, the young master was deemed properly toasted to, fed and celebrated, and the guests bid their goodbyes at last.  

Xie Yuchen closed his bedroom door behind him and rested his forehead against the wood panel. 

Here’s to another year. 

Shrugging off his jacket, he walked into his closet. His own face stared at him from three different angles as he loosened his tie. He wasn’t tired yet, but he should probably change anyway. He crossed the room toward his pajama closet, looking for something comfortable. There had been enough showing off for one night, so he pushed aside the silk co-ords. Maybe the velvet robe. He took it off the hanger, running a manicured hand over the fabric. No. Too hot for the season. He dropped it on a chair. When he turned back toward the closet, he noticed a midnight blue sleeve peeking out from behind where the robe had hung, in the darkest part of the closet. His only hoodie. 

There was an idea. 

He stared at it for a long moment, before grabbing the garment and shrugging it on over his dress shirt and wool-blend pants. He swapped his leather shoes for crepe-soled boots and turned the lights off. 

Less than five minutes later, he exited the manor, having successfully avoided every single person in it. He had had to duck behind a vase at some point so a maid didn’t see him, and for the first time that evening, he had laughed, albeit silently. There would be no real consequences, no consequences at all, even, if he was found out, but it was exciting to sneak out. He snapped a face mask onto his ears, checked again that he hadn’t been spotted, and walked down the street and away from the gates. 

As he walked, Xie Yuchen wrestled his phone out of his pants pocket. With the ease of habit, he created a throwaway account, and then pulled up the webpage of his favorite fast food place. The closest one would be too suspicious - he had been there only last month. Selecting the next one over, he submitted his order and paid. By the time he arrived, his number was first on the list, and a greasy bag of treats awaited him. 

This restaurant was farther from his house but closer to the river. It was warm enough, that evening, that groups were scattered here and there along the riverside. Xie Yuchen found one empty spot with a decently clean bench to sit on, and dug into the bag. 

The city lights twinkled over the water’s surface, ever changing - stop lights turning red and green and red again, car blinkers sparkling to life, office neons buzzing in the distance. There were people laughing nearby. He listened to what he could of their inept conversation as he chewed, salt and fat heavy on his tongue. Usually he would be annoyed at the forced proximity, at the unwanted company of these strangers sharing beers and laughs, but not tonight, for some reason. 

Still, it was better to be alone after the night he’d had. Enough socialization for one day. Even after an entire burger and most of a large serving of fries, he didn’t have the energy to keep up the usual pretense. Maybe if he was there with a friend it would be different, but he didn’t have that many of those. Wu Xie certainly counted as one, but according to the birthday card he had sent, he was off raiding a secret spot in the South with his boyfriends this week and wouldn’t be back for a while. Xie Yuchen hoped it was code for something else. At least one of them would be having fun tonight. 

He finished the fries and crumpled the greasy paper, throwing it back into the mostly empty bag. The only thing left was what he had been looking forward to: a tub of soft-serve ice cream doused with an extra helping of chocolate fudge. He rummaged around the bag for the plastic spoon and popped open the container, inhaling the sweet scent with a smile of anticipated delight. That would almost make up for tonight. 

He carefully chose the ratio of chocolate to ice. That first spoonful was always the best one. He brought it to his mouth and closed his eyes. The fudge melted onto his tongue, vanilla ice cream following right behind, hot then cold, and delicious. He couldn’t help but let out a small moan. 

“That good, uh?”

Long legs folded beside his on the bench and for one short second Xiao Hua was tempted to throw the ice cream tub into the river and pretend this never happened. 

It was too late. Hei Xiazi had seen him, and he would never let him live this down now. 

Oh sure, the man had seen him in more compromising situations, technically speaking, but from the way he smiled at Xie Yuchen’s face, Xie Yuchen knew that his guilt was obvious. He was screwed. Hei Xiazi had just hit blackmailing gold.

“Gimme a taste if it’s that good,” he asked with a jerk of his chin toward Xie Yuchen’s ice cream.

Xie Yuchen frowned and moved the tub away from him. He had expected a few days of grace before the demands started, at least. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked in return. 

The man’s attire was ridiculous, even by his low standards. Under his usual leather jacket, the one he always wore, the one Xie Yuchen could recognize the stink of from miles away, he wore a tank top and a black polyester tie, haphazardly tied around nothing and dangling well under his belt. He looked like a cheap gigolo. Maybe that was his new side gig. Xie Yuchen made a mental note to inquire about that. 

“Well, you see, I was on my way to wish a friend a happy birthday, maybe a little later than I should have, admittedly, but what’s a little night visit between friends? Except, what should I see when I arrive at their home, but a shady silhouette sneaking out of it! Very suspicious, you’ll admit. I felt that it was my duty to make sure that the interloper was properly identified.”

“What bullshit are you sprouting now?” asked Xie Yuchen, eyes narrowed. 

“I followed you,” replied Hei Xiazi with a satisfied smile.

“No you didn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I checked. You ran into me here by pure chance and extrapolated the rest,” he guessed.

The smile fell from Hei Xiazi’s face, but the humor stayed in his voice. 

“Yeah, okay I did.”

Xie Yuchen huffed a laugh and turned back to his ice cream before it melted. 

“I really was on my way to you, though,” continued Hei Xiazi. “Look, I even have a gift and all.”

When he turned, Xie Yuchen found himself faced with a brightly patterned square. The gift wasn’t badly wrapped, Hei Xiazi’s fingers were certainly skilled enough for it, but it had been done with the tackiest paper Xie Yuchen had ever seen. There had been plenty of gifts at the party earlier, covered in gold-embroidered fabrics and satin, tucked into leather boxes and glossy bags, but this was the first that Xie Yuchen had wanted to open all night. It was the only one of those that seemed … heartfelt. 

He quickly ate another spoonful of ice cream instead. It was probably just another joke. 

“What’s in it?” he asked after a minute.

Hei Xiazi was still holding it out to him, and probably would until he relented. Sighing, Xie Yuchen took the package. 

“Open it later.”

At the strangeness of his voice, Xie Yuchen raised his head and looked at Hei Xiazi. The lights were playing on his face, and with those stupid glasses he could never be sure of anything, but it almost looked like he was blushing. The man was looking toward the river, not at him, so Xie Yuchen allowed himself to stare.

In his hand, the ice cream tub was cold and slightly wet with condensation, and the sweetness of chocolate remained in his mouth. There were still people laughing nearby, in riotous bursts, but he found that he didn’t envy them anymore. 

It was his birthday, and Xie Yuchen was going to celebrate it the way he wanted.

“Hey,” he called.

With a hum, Hei Xiazi turned, just enough for Xie Yuchen to grab his face and kiss him. He startled but didn’t pull away, rather turned his head aside to deepen the kiss, hands curling around Xie Yuchen’s waist and into his hair. His clever tongue swiped at Xie Yuchen’s lips and he licked into his mouth when they opened. 

“Wow, you were right,” he exclaimed when they broke for air. “That is good ice cream!”

With a roll of his eyes, Xie Yuchen handed the tub to him. It was a day to indulge in guilty pleasures, it seemed. 

[cat-soda]

in indigo

every time near brings someone back to life, his own lifespan is cut in half.

Pairings: one-sided meronia, implied mellodramattic

Word count: 1187

Warnings for: angst, hurt/comfort (mostly hurt lbr), major character death

Part 1 [2] [3] [4]

[AO3 Link]

Near hadn‘t let himself think about it, at first. There was still Kira to be dealt with, then reports to put on file, and housekeeping duties that needed to be done before they left Japan. But then, the day before their flight back to England arrived, and Near—

their bodies. He still had to do something about their bodies.

And he considered it. Delaying the move, pushing off the visit until he stopped getting dizzy at the thought of seeing either of them... like that.

But.

Corpses rot.

So he went. Identified them, quietly had Rester make arrangements for them to be sent home, and wondered how cruel it was to bury Mello at the place he’d hated so much. (Then again, maybe it hadn’t been the House he’d hated. Perhaps it’d just been Near.)

He almost doesn’t check the small apartment they’d been renting until Lidner asks him to accompany her. “There’re some things that Mello left behind for you, Near,” she says, soft-voiced. “You should probably take a look.”

Which was how he found himself blinking in the middle of their flat, staring at all the wires snaking all over the floor, the mattress shoved against the far-end wall, the Christmas decorations that they hadn’t even started to put away. Matt’s old GameBoy was charging next to a section of wall where it seemed he and Mello had started a playful argument in sticky notes. He steps forward and sends an old bottle of drugstore nail polish skidding across the room. Remnants of life covered in a fine layer of dust.

“Lidner.” His throat feels tight, and he clears it before trying again. “Lidner, please try not to disturb any of these objects. I’d like to preserve things as they were, as closely as possible.”

“Yessir.”

She hands him a folder, then a laptop. “This is it.” A note on the folder’s front says, For that shithead, Near, and Near studies Mello’s looping handwriting closely before hugging the two items close to his chest.

“Let’s go.”

---

Mihael Keehl.

Near repeats the name to himself over and over again, rolls it over his tongue, tries to imagine how it’d sound leaving Mello’s lips. My name is Mihael.

A pit’s growing in his stomach. He feels as though he’s already having trouble remembering what Mello sounds like. Of course, this isn’t really the case. Near’s memory is impeccable, and he’s especially always had a particular gift when it comes to remembering the specific undertones to one’s speech patterns and mimicking what it is he hears. He wouldn't forget a voice so easily.

Especially not Mello’s.

And yet,

My name is Mihael.

How would he have said it?

(Church bells are ringing in his ears.)

---

It had rained on the day A died.

Or maybe it was during her funeral.

Near couldn’t quite recall which it was. The days from that time had all seemed to melt together into a gray conglomerate of tears and heartache, and for Near, who had been very small, the church bells rang with enough ferocity to shake him to his very core.

Mello wasn’t very nice back then —had never been ‘very nice,’ really— but he’d stood in front of the doorway and blocked out the light as Matt sat besides Near’s curled up form and spoke in soft and gentle tones, helped him unfurl his fists from his hair, slowly, joint by little joint, then held his trembling hands. None of them had been old enough to attend her funeral, but they all knew grief, in their own ways. They’d all heard Beyond’s howling when he found her.

Probably, it’s when she died that the rain started, incessant and cold. It’s logical. What Near remembers in startling clarity, however, is that when B went away, he took the rain with him.

And the church bells came to a stop.

---

“Yo.”

Near blinks.

In the dark of L’s —now his— bedroom, Near was building himself a barrier out of Legos blocks. Its purpose wasn’t so much to keep anyone out, as it was to keep his predecessor’s things out of sight. Old folders and clothing on hangers alongside some knick-knacks the other children had sent L over the years. Near was surprised he kept them— he could even see some of Linda’s most ambitious paintings from when she was young hanging up on the wall. Above a chocolate fountain.

It wasn’t being used at the moment.

After reading the documents that Mello had left him, Near curled up on the floor beside L’s bed, staring at the empty space beneath. ‘The best dresser that died like a dog’... you were always so dramatic, Mello. He had been wondering, though. About what happened to B. About Naomi Misora. About L.

About Mello.

This was his voice, wasn’t it?

Then, Near’s stomach started churning, so he opened a large tub and started snapping Lego blocks together, and this was how Ryuk found him, several hours later.

“Yo,” he says again, like he was worried that Near hadn’t heard him the first time. “Damn, kid, you look like shit.”

“Thank you, Mr Shinigami,” Near replies, “for your astute observation.” Ryuk cackles as he continues putting blocks together. “Was there something you needed? I’m afraid that I’ve already burned the notebooks in Mr Mikami and Mr Aizawa’s possessions, so I can’t return them to you.”

“Nah, that’s not it.” Ryuk does a handstand and wiggles his feet in the air. “I still have mine, so that’s not a problem. And anyways, even if the King does have anything to say about the incident, Armonia Justin owes me a favor.” Without looking over, Near lifts his eyebrows, which Ryuk seems to take as curiosity, as he immediately follows with, “You know what sex is, don’t ya?”

He suddenly wishes that he does not. “Why are you here?”

“Just wondering.” Ryuk cackles again. He goes silent, watching with glowing red eyes as Near, wearing a puppet on each finger, arranges and rearranges painted Lego figures atop the highest points of his barrier. A blonde one stands directly in front of him, looking outwards and standing guard. That one, he doesn’t touch. “Say, kid,” says the shinigami. “Do you miss them?”

Near’s hands pause. He doesn’t answer.

“I was thinking: you don’t really look like you're cut out for this. I mean, look at you. You’re shaking.” The shinigami creeps closer. “But I can help you bring them back. You could bring them all back. If you want it bad enough, that is.” Near’s gaze shifts up from the floor and over to meet his. “What do ya think?”

A finger comes up to curl around white hair. “‘Once dead, humans can never come back to life.’ Is that not what the rules of the Death Note said?”

“Rules, Nate River,” snickers Ryuk, pulling out a white notebook from underneath his belt, “are meant to be broken.” He holds it out to Near, just under his nose. And there, right on the cover, read the words Life Note. “I think it’s about time you learned to be a rule-breaker.”

-----

a/n: *wheeze* i almost posted this onto ao3 without any tags.

i just wanna say whoever came up with the idea of a life note first... i'm going to fight you with my bare hands.

hope you guys enjoyed this fic! title is from deep indigo (although hitchcock is definitely more of a near song)