#why is his Lieutenant is getting in trouble senses tingling again

[trustme-imamedic]

He swears if Silver's Anatomy is on the TV when he gets home from work there's gonna be one big pink nakey bunny locked out on the balcony—

[tosikoarts]

SFW Alphabet | Usami Tokishige

🎵 This may become a little brutal If I'm honest but It's any-anything for you my dear, I promise 🎶 You can figure our what I was listening to while writing this piece. Anyway, hope you’ll like it, anon!  You can check tosikowrites tag for more.  Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

The fact that Usami fell in love and now can’t shut up about them is not that surprising since the soldiers of the 7th Division have already witnessed his unhealthy obsession with the First Lieutenant. The dangerous aura of infinite adoration he carries does not bother others as much as well, maybe, because now his cursed energy has more output options, you know? It is not concentrated on one person and seems not so intense. Seems.

No matter how wild his fantasy runs, Usami behaves himself in their presence. Of course, his nerves are as taut as a rope since if he loosens up his attention he may not contain his passion…Chooses words carefully so as not to push them away and comes across as a lovely bubbly young man with the cutest smile! Even sitting in silence together is special. Usami can’t quit staring at them, they are so majestic!

He wants to follow them everywhere. Eat together, go on morning walks together, sleep together. Usami is a human version of burdock that will either quite by accident bump into his crush every other day or shamelessly ask them if they will be in this specific place or if they want to go there with him.

Personal boundaries? Don’t know her. As soon as his loved one gives him green light, Usami’s hands are all over the place. If he isn’t pinching their pink cheeks then he is patting their head. If he isn’t patting their head, he might be squeezing their ass. Usami is all about physical affection in every possible way, and it is extremely important for him to touch his partner. He might even lose it when they put a hand on his knee or take him by the hand, leave alone anything spicier.

Usami will end anyone who steps between him and his loved one. For him this is a cut-throat axiom, it is as natural as breathing, and it should be obvious to the surrounding. Anyone who wants to separate them automatically signs their own death sentence that will be carried out immediately by Usami himself.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

To be friends with the rabid Superior Private, you have to be a mad lad with no moral compass (the questionable moral compass is ok too) just like him or be a literal angel with the patience of a sage and a heart of gold to deal with the chaos Usami brings into your life. Also, this person has to have impeccable reflexes just in case he decides to cut this friendship off. Takagi Tomoharu didn’t and where is he now?

With such a friend, nothing is scary. Friendship with Usami provides invulnerability in situations where an ordinary person would think twice. In addition to that, Tokishige doesn’t really look for troubles and prefers to spend time like a real hedonist: red-light district workers know his preferences very well, the owner in his favorite diner always meets him with a question “the usual?”, and Usami knows places to hang around in general. His friend gets to experience life delights with him as well.

He needs so much attention! If it was up to him, Usami would spend at least an hour every day with them even when they have already talked about every single thing in the world. Everyday chats about nothing are cool, mutual flattery is appreciated. These points lead to Usami being overly possessive: if his best friend suddenly starts spending more time with someone else, he will definitely take action against this stumbling block.

Demands that his friend to follow the “the enemy of my friend is my enemy” rule. They are obligated to get embittered at Ogata. No, Usami doesn’t explain why, they just have to.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Usami has restless ass syndrome. It’s like restless legs syndrome but with ass: he can’t sit still for more than 15 minutes. Cuddles do not last longer than that and often progress into steamy making out. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to cuddle though. Usami prefers to do it while leaving some space for moving so the leg hug is just perfect. Any other position including classical spooning feels like a rabbit trap.

If his partner is bigger than he is, Usami will definitely lie on their chest with legs wiggling up in the air. First of all, now he can see their lovable face, and second of all, he is on top which means being in control.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Eeeh. Does he want to settle down? No, not really. Let’s say, there was no reason for him to think about settling down but even if there was, Usami would aggressively shake his head in negation. He is, just like Koito, too young to plan a quiet family life, and, at the moment, living on the wheels without thinking up ahead seems much more exciting than being chained to one place with one person. In his head, things are kind of overexaggerated but the answer to the question is still no for the next 10 years for sure.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It is highly unlikely that Usami will break up with his partner in a proper manner. Self-deprecating comments and taking the blame for a failed relationship have no place in his explanation if he even decides to talk about it. Most likely Usami will leave them as spontaneously and unexpectedly as he popped up in their life in the first place: hops on a horse, gives them short indifferent look over the shoulder, and fades into the darkness of the night to never be seen again. Maybe, it’s for the better since Usami doesn’t have to face the fact he has nothing to say. Well, he chooses to be silent since crushing them with disinterest that makes the kid throw the old toy into the toybox doesn’t please him either. No check-ups, no letters, no “let’s stay friends”.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Avoids this question to the last minute because he is too young to commit and jump into family life. Usami reminds me of the type of person who wants to experiment in youth so that in old age he would not regret missing exciting opportunities. There is not a chance he will propose until he comes to the conclusion that he has already seen and experienced the most impressive stuff. So, maybe, from 7 to 10 years? Most definitely feels neutral about having an affair or two since he has a pretty lenient conscience.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Emotionally? Absolute emptiness with, perhaps, distorted memories of family love arising here and there. His feelings are strong, aggressive, filled with preceding excitement before the upcoming fun. Calm states of mind such as serenity, clarity, boundless love are too underwhelming for Usami. Wouldn’t call him gentle in the physical sense either: life is motion, and he has to move or do something, anything to feel alive, and impatience makes his moves rough and harsh. Even in a gentle embrace, it seems that he squeezes his loved one to their ribs cracking. He kisses them out until they want to slip out of his hands like a gasping fish. They may like it, they may not, but Usami doesn’t loosen his love grip and remains a (little) wild in the relationship.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Usami hugs them at the most unexpected moments, takes them by storm to squeeze the hell out of them. Perhaps these are his favorite ones, to pick them up high and spin, leaving their legs tingling in the air like a ragdoll.

His hands never stay in one place. Feeling their warm body under the fingertips is indescribable pleasure so Usami gives himself free rein to rub their back, squeeze their sides, press them to his chest, and nuzzle into their neck. He may bite them as well.

Can’t stand to be hugged when he is obviously busy to the point where Usami can kinda gently push them away but sees no problem when he does the same to his partner. Believes that everything can be forgiven for his big puppy eyes (and other particular qualities).

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Casually says it on like the second day of official dating over the cup of tea. Hard to say if he is for real so confident in his feelings or if he does it to check their reaction but nevertheless. Usami looks his loved one right in the eyes with undisguised beaming complacency, and his confession is short, definite, and unobjectionable. Propping his chin with his pale hands, he immediately returns to the casual conversation and keeps going joyfully about whatever on his mind like Usami didn’t just murmur how he is in love with them forever and for ever. After that, he is elated. Confession is a kind of seal of belonging to him, consent of another person is optional, it doesn't matter at all, all that does it that they are his and he is theirs.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

This shit is scary for everybody involved. Usami doesn’t get jealous per se but he has a strong feeling of having his loved one in his possession. Should someone try to covet his partner as hell breaks loose: regardless of who exactly was the initiator, - his loved one or another person, - Usami immediately takes action. In his mind, his partner can’t be guilty of infidelity, they were simply coerced into foul play and have to be taught how to recognize such a thing, they are innocent. This awful other person is different though, they are the ones who need to be taught some manners.

To start a fight Usami needs one dirty look, one carelessly thrown word. This is just an excuse to allow himself to take out all the anger on the poor soul. If Koito likes to gab hours on end but secretly hoping to avoid getting physical, Usami sees talking as a waste of time. Of course, if one fight is not enough, then Usami can go in for murder.

After the accident, he acts a lot rougher with his partner forcing them deeper into submission. To maintain ego and control and to be sure that they know their place, Usami needs praise, persuasion, and tons of physical affection.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Loves the concept of kissing, loves to kiss, and to be kissed. Sees every kiss as a personal signature but also, on another level, rewarding pastime so Usami is all about steamy make-out sessions. He is eager and rough, oftentimes marks his partner in visible areas with not only bright hickeys but with straight out bites. The look of dark crescents from his teeth scattering on their delicate neck turns Usami on like nothing else.

Likes to be kissed all over the body, would prefer them to be as rough though since casual soft kisses don’t really set a mood for him. The same goes for them, Usami won’t leave a spot unkissed on their body. Has a thing for the neck, wrists, and insides of the thighs.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Don’t let him around kids because it seems like Usami is good at it but in reality, he just builds up an army of naughty children to throw eggs at the neighbor's door. He like a devil coerces the goody angel into a mini-revolution under the nose of parents without offering any candy. Give this man a free hand, remove Tsurumi from his life, and you’ll see Usami growing into a cult leader. So, yes, he is pretty good with children older than like 5-6 years old, can’t do shit with babies younger than that. Usami hasn’t thought about being a father himself because beyond pranks and fun he knows absolutely nothing, zero, nada about raising children.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Incredibly active and varied if Usami managed to fall asleep before midnight the day before. He unceremoniously wakes his partner up either covering their face with kisses or pulling the blanket off them or starting a pillow fight. Expects his loved one to rise and shine without spending an hour just sitting here with an empty stare in the void.

Even when Usami collapses in the bed at dawn, it is possible that he will accidentally wake them up with a sweeping elbow blow to the nose. During the cold season, his partner should be ready to wake up trembling without a blanket. This bastard steals it every other night.

It is rare to see Usami cooking or doing anything useful at all in the house in the morning. He prefers to wander around while his partner lays the table and talk out loud to himself.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Unpredictable. He may get lost for an evening, come back with no explanation (we all know he was up to no good), and crash next to them with a smug smile. Other nights Usami can’t leave them alone: it feels like it is vital for him to fiddle with their fingers, play with their hair, pull them into a tight hug. The maximum relaxation effect is achieved with a couple of bitter sake shots drunk before meals.

Sleeping. Nobody canceled messed up sleeping schedule (check out the last letter of the alphabet) so Usami may have to make up for it by going to bed as early as 8 p.m.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Opens up slowly but doesn't pay much attention to what exactly he is saying. Everything that has happened to the present moment is already history so Usami treats it as such. What once pleased or upset him does not evoke any strong emotions now and he easily reveals his past to the loved one. Usami, of course, avoids mentioning the murder of his friend but with a partner who very clearly shows their loyalty, he will not hesitate to describe how much it turned him inside out and changed him, opening doors to the darkest corners of his soul. In return, Usami asks his loved one tons of questions from favorite color to a relationship with their mother, feeling free to ask the most intrusive ones.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He is in the state of the boiling kettle 24/7, ready to whistle for any given reason. Not that he is that angry, but definitely in an unstable state of mind. When he gets pissed off, Usami doesn't change in the face, except that his smile can get even wider baring sharp small teeth. In most cases, other people have to restrain his anger so the military does a good job at keeping Superior Private in check with an iron fist out of battles and letting him go wild when the situation requires it.

In the relationship, Usami teeters on the brink just like the outside of it but his reactions to upsetting situations are milder and are easily resolved by sublimating desire to destroy into intense workout, make out, etc. He is easy to blow out but he tries really hard to do not harm his loved one.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

There is a whole room in his mind palace to store volumes of information about the loved one. Usami thrives on discovering different aspects of his partner’s personality in deep conversations and in characteristic behavior that he enjoys so much to observe. Therefore, nothing goes unnoticed.

Perfectly navigates the tone of their voice: Usami knows exactly how their sadness sounds when they try to veil it with cheerful words and when to step back when they rise their voice in a fit of anger. Awfully useful with a person who has a hard time communicating and/or expects others to understand them just like that.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He doesn’t have a favorite one. All meaningful moments like the first meeting, first kiss, other first times occupy equally important places in his heart so if asked Usami will murmur how every second with them is unthinkably precious and he can’t pick just one!

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Ready to faithfully protect his partner in the most dangerous situations. It is obvious, isn’t it? Usami will cover them like a shield on the battlefield, but most of the time he prefers to eliminate the source of danger: thanks to a state of perpetual alert and intense adrenaline rush, he can ignore multiple injuries for hours while shooting off foes. Usami lacks the voice of reason so he tends to overreact when it is completely out of place.

Oh, Usami doesn’t let anybody touch his loved one. As soon as he sees a hand reaching to them, he reflexively grabs it if not twists it with excessive force. Strangers understand they should not mess with Usami from his piercing look but there is always a fool who tempts fate in vain.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Not that much. He doesn't bother planning dates and gifts but sometimes there are moments of enlightenment that make Usami sit down and think about how to impress his loved one in a good way. Most of the time he prefers spontaneity to foresight since in his mind whatever is fun to him will work for them too.

Anniversaries are the dates when Usami is all sweetness and light: he runs around his loved one ready to bend over backward for their enjoyment. Seriously, he is ready to be used as a footrest for the whole day if it’s what they want.

Slacks on everyday tasks though, he is great at avoiding daily chores under the stupidest pretext.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

I won't even start talking about how unhinged he is, you should have had figured it out by now. I just have to mention again that this is an integral personality trait and Usami cannot physically change it. Take it or leave it. He is not forcing anybody to participate in his violent misadventures but he won’t tolerate attempts to stop them.

Control freak, Usami thinks he owns a person when in the relationship. He quite seriously believes that he is in control of their life and can decide whether they can or cannot do particular things. Of course, if they do not act in accordance with Usami’s wishes, they will be punished to prevent further misbehavior.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Usami’s skin is naturally silky and he likes to keep it this way despite the harsh weather conditions. Nobody knows if he is using any creams or other cosmetics but the fact remains: his face is almost baby-like soft. Also, running men tattoos fade quickly due to their location so Usami has to renew them quite often. He does it with enviable regularity and forbids everyone (except his partner and First Lieutenant) to touch his cheeks. His clothes are in fair condition as well as his shoes. Usami wears his clothes neatly, and never wears them off to the holes and patches.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

All attempts to break up with Usami end with his theatrical chuckle and short “good joke, darling”: they are not going anywhere until he allows them to do so. The more times his partner brings this dumb question up, the angrier he gets, barely hiding it behind biting his lips. By the time his patience bursts, Usami has already come up with a plan to keep them by his side, voluntarily or compulsorily. If they decide to leave him because they didn’t get enough attention and affection, Usami will try to fulfill their every whim. If they express their concerns regarding his behavior, Usami will learn how to hide unsightly features better. All in all, he is not going to let them go just because they want to. It seems that the risk of ending on the side of the road gives him even more fervor to fight for their love.

The only thing that remains for his loved one is to leave Usami with no farewell letter left behind. Otherwise, they risk gaining a stalker with military experience under his belt. Not the best combination if you ask me.

If they were killed, Usami one hundred percent will find their murderer and tear them apart. Literally. He snaps, he is not going to hold back any longer.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Must be an obvious one but Usami is a kinky bastard. He tries such things to which no adequate person would agree or if they did it is unlikely that they would tell anyone about it. This applies not only to sexual behavior, he is eccentric in general, he is not held back by social rules and limits of decency. Usami would set few things on fire just to see how long it takes each to burn to the crisps. Sucks fingers and toes. I don’t know, he does everything you are kind of uncomfortable to do. Might fuck around and start another war idk.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Can’t handle boring people. Looking at what he considers “boring” people tells that it includes people with no character, withdrawn from society and recent events, silly and predictable ones. First, most likely they would not interact with Usami considering how unhinged he is. He is more trouble than he is worth, you know. And secondly, Usami doesn’t notice them in the crowd. If his loved one happens to be too boring, he will leave them, sooner or later.

Anyone standing between him and First Lieutenant can forget about any relationship with Usami. It is impossible. The gears in his head are spinning like crazy to come up with a perfect plan and get away with their murder. No hard feelings, but Usami’s obsession with Tsurumi isn’t going anywhere, and the only scenario he can agree with is dating someone who if doesn’t support it then at least doesn’t try to ward him off of it.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

His sleep schedule is an absolute mess with no hint of changing in the future. First of all, Usami sleeps 4-6 hours per day, can’t sleep during the day so he doesn’t take naps and doesn’t nodes off. At the same time, these short hours of sleep do not stick to night time only: sometimes Usami decides to go to bed at 3 a.m. still full of energy, other days he crawls under the blanket at 6 p.m. exhausted to the point of collapsing. He never complains about sleep, sees almost acid-trippy dreams a few times a month, and not even once had to take a pill to fall asleep.

Sleeps like a dead man with limbs entwined around his loved one. His lips break into a sweet smile as Usami throws a leg over their body and presses himself closer. He looks so peaceful you’d never think this man can bite your hand and throw you out of the window uwu.

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Helmeted Hunter: Chapter 22

Boba Fett x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Injuries, fluffity romanceness

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 22: Caring Sentiments

You closed your eyes and let your face rest against the cool metal interior of the Slave I. You focused on getting your breathing under control. Calming the buzzing in your head. Staying conscious.

You could sense his motion behind you as he clambered down from the cockpit, but you didn't immediately give him your attention. And he didn't demand it. You took in a few breaths and then let your eyes slowly flutter back open.

Boba stood in front of you, his helmet and jetpack off, but nothing more. When you finally pushed yourself off the wall, he took hold of your shoulders and bent so were at eye level.

"They hurt you?" It was more of a question now than it had been on Crimson Dawn's ship. His eyes were wide, full of an emotion you'd never seen in them before. Fear.

You looked down at the floor. "I'm fine," you mumbled, wanting to assure him you were stronger than he thought. But the words didn't sound right even to you. As difficult as it was to admit, you were far from fine.

The sound of your name made you look back up at him. He lifted a gloved hand to cup the side of your head, brushing his thumb just below the cut on your cheekbone.

"Show me," he whispered.

You hesitated before finally lifting up your hands. There was pain elsewhere. Everywhere, really. Your wrists, though, were the worst of it.

He gingerly took one in each of his own hands, inspecting them for a moment.

"Come sit down," he then said, leading you carefully into the nook just to the side of the lavatory. Along one wall was a counter, where he promptly began rummaging for supplies. From the opposite wall hung a small bed, his bunk. You sat on the edge of it hesitantly until he situated himself next to you, bringing your wrists into his lap.

"This is going to hurt," he warned, looking up at you sympathetically. He had taken off his gloves and scraped some kind of white goo from a jar. Upon nodding your head, he applied it liberally on one wrist. You almost jerked your hand away at the sudden burning sensation that seemed to be seeping straight through you. But Boba held you in place, massaging the salve deeper into your wounds. After a few agonizing seconds, the pain finally numbed down to a slight tingle, enough for you to relax again.

He did the same for your other wrist, all the while keeping his furrowed gaze down at his work. He wasn't rough, only thorough.

"I wish I could've done more to him," he eventually muttered. "Vos. I had him cornered for a few minutes but his lieutenants were on me too fast."

You weren't sure how to respond, so you asked the only question you could think of. "So you found the buyer?"

Boba glanced up at you, confused, then seemed to remember there was only one reason he was supposed to come back for you. He shook his head and cleared his throat, unrolling some gauze. "No. I... I just... It didn't feel right. Leaving you."

You watched as he began to carefully wrap the bandaging around your wrist. "Well, you're going to have to leave me when you do find the buyer."

He looked up at you suddenly. "What if I didn't?" His gaze on you was steady, serious, but his voice wavered from... shyness? Pink dotted the top of his cheeks and you were suddenly aware of his deep breathing. Had he really come back for you? Just for you?

"Then you wouldn't get the money," you answered his question cautiously. You weren't sure where this was headed and were much too tired to be misled with false hope.

"Because that's all that matters to me, right? Because I'm nothing more than a ruthless bounty hunter?"

"I'm sorry," you said softly. "I know you're more than that."

He was so much more, you'd come to discover. He was a tinkerer, keeping his hands busy as a way to think. He was an observer who noticed even the tiniest details. He was a planner and a skilled pilot and a surviver. And he was also a sweetheart, though you suspected he wouldn't take well to that word. He needed people to think of him as ruthless and tough, to only know his armor. But he'd shown you what was underneath. A calm, gentle spirit who latched on to those he respected and did everything he could to care for them.

"I'm sorry, too," he said, finishing up with your bandages. "For a while, I just tried to protect you. When I realized I couldn't do it on my own, I tried being creative instead. But that plan only got you hurt."

"Well I can't protect myself, either. As much as I'd like to be okay on my own... I cant."

He looked back up at you, allowing your hands to rest in his. "Which is why I meant what I said. That we make a good team. We've been our best when we've worked together."

You couldn't quite conjure up any examples in your exhausted mind, but you knew in your heart it was true.

"There are other bounties in the galaxy," his next words came out a little quicker, as if he had to say them before he lost his nerve. "We can disappear, lay low for a while. Until they all forget about you. You'll be nothing more than a memory, a myth. And then we can... well, we can do whatever we'd like. I can teach you how to shoot. We can pick up bounties or help with more heists. Or we can just travel around. Find you a new planet to call home."

You sighed as you tried following along with his ideas. You were tired. So, so tired. Target practice and travel sounded great and all, but right now, you wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and sleep away all your pain and troubles....

No, that wasn't quite true. As you realized what Boba's words really meant, what he was really trying to tell you, you knew there was one thing you wanted to do more. You wanted to curl up with him. To have his strong arms wrap around you. To feel the warmth of his breath and hear the steady beating of his courageous heart. To know that with him, you were not alone.

Perhaps if you had the energy you could deny having such desires. You'd been denying them for some time now, believing it'd only lead to heartbreak. But now he was sitting so close and his amber eyes were so sincere. And how could he possibly hurt you more than you already had been?

"You would do that?" you asked, needing him to be very clear with his intentions. "Other bounties aren't as much as what I'm worth. You'd honestly give that up just to... be... with me?"

His cheeks grew flushed again and he took in a deep, nervous breath. But then he smiled, muttering your name like a cherished secret. "You're worth far more than any amount of credits."

You both seemed to move at the same time, you to lean in closer and he to hold your face in his hands. He ran a thumb just along the corner of your mouth.

"I know you're tired," he said, low and breathy. "But can I kiss you?"

You could feel your face flushing now too. You nodded, already closing your eyes in anticipation. His mouth was soon on yours, softly at first, as if waiting to see how much you really wanted of him. Then more ardently once you scooted yourself closer, lifting up your swollen, bruised hands to rest lightly on his chest plate. He let out a contented sigh and you immediately knew that no other moment in your life would ever be sweeter.

Everything around you, everything within you, simply melted away.

[snowbellewells]

“The Case of the Heart in Armor”  {Part Five}

Wow, it’s hard to believe that I started this fic last fall for @csrolereversal​ and am just now getting close to the conclusion. A lot of other things have jumped in line ahead of it, but I am still really enjoying this one, and I hope those who are still reading it will continue to as well. Only one more part to go after this!

Thank you once again for the patience of @courtorderedcake​ for the lovely and inspiring art which birthed the idea and started it all!

Summary: Killian “Holmes” Jones is rarely surprised or shocked anymore, but that all changes when he meets one very stubborn - and very beautiful - pickpocket, and trouble brews in the distance, hidden by the London fog…

From the Beginning: on Tumblr HERE or on AO3 HERE

Part Five

The next morning found Inspector David Nolan once more within his well-appointed office at the Yard; this time not fruitlessly scrutinizing scattered photos for missed details, but pacing the length of the room with the restless energy of a caged beast. His walk to headquarters through a chill drizzle as dawn was just beginning to lighten the grey English morning, had been wet and cold, but nothing out of the ordinary for rainy London weather. Granted, he had barely slept that night, surely disturbing his sweet, compassionate wife. She had risen earlier than was her wont as well, making him a hearty breakfast and holding on more tightly than usual as she saw him on his way.  He had been at work long before it was necessary, but it still did not explain why his second-in-command and his sister had not arrived for their meeting as scheduled; Emma to report anything she might have noticed on the streets in her previous evening’s scouting work, and David then intended to share with them both the clue he and Jones had uncovered.

Of course, he tried to recognize that his frustration was heightened, his patience not at the level he would normally attempt to exercise, and that they were merely a scant few minutes late.  All the same, it was completely unlike Watson to be anything but prompt, following his superior’s orders to the letter (often even anticipating David’s wishes or going above and beyond in fulfilling them). It went against all established character for Graham to be tardy or forgetful, and though he did have a pleasant and more relaxed side to his personality once he grew comfortable with others, Watson was never careless. The fact that he had been meant to swing by Emma’s building and accompany her in, made Nolan’s already high tension all the more volatile. Though he knew his adopted sister could handle herself - had more than one permanent scar upon his person to attest to the fact - David Nolan would not be appeased until both Graham and Emma were present before him.

Even as he was thinking that very thing, pacing back over to the window to peer out upon the dreary sidewalk and damp grass in front of the imposing building in which he stood, Nolan heard the quick flurry of rushing footsteps at his door before it was flung open to admit his lieutenant’s abrupt entrance. 

Whirling with all senses on the alert, David’s shoulders only lowered a bit in relief to find Watson standing in the doorway. Eyes wide and searching as they scanned the office anxiously, Graham panted slightly from clear exertion, his face worried and paler than usual. The deputy’s wheaten curls were riotously mussed and in disarray from his hands raking through them, as he proceeded to do once more upon seeing his boss was the only person in the room. “Isn’t she here?” he asked worriedly.

David shook his head tersely. “No, she isn’t. I thought you were going by there to walk in with her?” He tried to keep the bite of recrimination from his words, but winced internally at the way Graham dipped his head to avoid his eyes, knowing he must not have succeeded.

“I did go by her building. Rang for her several times, in fact. I got no answer and wasn’t sure how to proceed. Eventually, the building’s landlady came to the main door and let me in, but even going directly to her door, knocking and calling for her repeatedly brought no response. I couldn’t very well pick the lock and break in with the matron standing right there. I assumed - well, hoped really - that she had gotten an early start and was already here with you.” His words died out on the obvious conclusion that, not only was Emma not present, but she clearly had not been at her home either, or if so, was somehow unable to answer. The implication was chilling, to say the least. Their plan for the morning had been concocted between the two of them to see Emma safe but not make her feel coddled, doubted, kept on a leash, or watched like a child. All the same, now something might well be wrong, and they had been none the wiser.

“Send a runner to Jones’ residence. Holmes was here late last night; he saw Emma home from her undercover work, then wanted to discuss the last victim. We found something I was anxious to share with you. I’ll fill you in on the way, but we should get moving and figure out where Emma’s gotten off to. Have him meet us at her building as soon as possible - at least it’s a place to start.”

Graham gave a bob of the head and stepped into the lobby to flag down the needed messenger. Then both men were out the door and on their way again within moments; concern lending speed to their steps amidst hopes they were not too late. What neither man wanted to say was that Emma had likely not gone anywhere on her own - at least not of her own free will.

~~~~~~~~~~***

‘Holmes’ Jones met the Inspector and his friend Watson at Miss Nolan’s apartment, looking more rattled and concerned than David Nolan ever remembered witnessing; of course, he had done some research on the gentleman detective before reaching out to consult him in official police business. He had looked into the other man’s affairs well enough to know that there had been early abandonment, a less than savory romantic entanglement ended abruptly in a suspicious death, and a past proclivity to drown the memory of said losses in drink before his elder brother had lured him into an undersecretary position a few years back and seemingly given Killian Jones the rudder he needed to steady his course and once more find purpose. Said gentleman had eventually quit the position with his only known kin to go into his current private investigative endeavors, but it appeared that since his point of turnabout, Jones had maintained utter control of his more tempestuous impulses from the past. In fact, Nolan had often thought him rather cool and detached in his manner, unless he was employing charm and his handsome face to coax a witness into talking or to trip up a suspect. The inspector realized now that perhaps Jones’ business-like, emotionless distance had been a carefully arranged mask that was  slipping away.

Killian Jones, for his part, could not help cursing his own negligence at simply walking away and leaving Emma at her doorstep the previous night, as if there were not a care in their worlds. Granted, she had been fine when they parted company; no doubt she would have balked at him insisting to see her all the way up to her private apartments as though it had been some blushing first date. The place had seemed normal and undisturbed - no signs of commotion or threat, no uneasy tingling at his nape (which once he could have depended on to give fair warning) - and so he had let it go, not wanting to push the tentative peace between himself and the prickly beauty.

However, fear for her safety and rampant self-loathing licked at the edges of his mind like ravenous ghouls in the changed circumstances of morning light. Had someone been lying in wait for her return home? How would said person have gained entrance? Or did a villain watch and wait until she was alone, asleep and off her guard, to break in and overpower her? Suddenly, Killian knew all too many details and statistics of this case and uncounted others to let that train of thought travel further without losing all composure.

The three men stood in Emma’s living room searching for anything which might provide a clue as to what had happened and how she had been accosted. Neither her door nor windows showed any sign of forced entry. The apartment reflected the comfortable clutter of a lived-in home, but it was free of the broken and scattered shambles that would indicate a struggle. Had Emma been overwhelmed before she could even attempt to fight back?  Just as they had all feared, she seemed to have disappeared without a fight, in the midst of a case - something the feisty blonde they all held dear would never have allowed to happen without scratching and clawing and raising an alarm in her own defense if she were able.

That coupled with the discovery he and Nolan had made the night before was more than enough to set Killian well and truly on edge. Not only that, and the creeping fear that it was all connected, but an old memory of a disturbed individual whispered of some year before began to niggle at the corners of his mind. It had never become an official case - the clues and questions frighteningly sparse and circumstantial at best, but… there was a troubling echo of the deaths then with the ones they were seeing now. Holmes was just debating the efficacy of sharing his suspicions when the Inspector sat heavily on the large chest at the foot of his sister’s bed. His voice was weary as he looked down with unnecessary focus on his large hands clasped uselessly in his lap.

A deep sigh left him, broad shoulders slumped as David Nolan began, in a voice much softer than Killian had ever heard the officer use. “I don’t want to think this… and yet...I can’t in good conscience not tell you both that I fear Emma is in the hands of our killer.” His words were interspersed with reluctant pauses, but he continued. “She... she would want to strangle me…” Here he shook his head, looking almost boyish when some long ago memory caused a small grin to transform his face for mere seconds before slipping away once more. “If she knew I was telling you this...Emma would have my head...but let’s just say… she could easily be the ‘heart in armor’ from the clue we found.”

Graham at Nolan’s right side looked uncertain, brow furrowed as he considered his boss’ words. “Sire, no disrespect, I know she is tough and guarded, to be sure, but what makes her more so than many others?”

Killian arched a brow, surprised and rather impressed that Watson was going to push his superior for further explanation. Granted, he had wondered the same - especially since he had privately believed the clue was referring to him up until Emma’s disappearance at least. Still, he had figured he would need to ask the question himself.

Nolan ran a sharp, frustrated palm back over his close-cropped head, his agitation and discomfort growing continually clearer. “It wasn’t just that she was picking pockets on the streets to survive when Mum and I found her,” he murmured, forcing out the rest. “She wasn’t merely homeless; she’d never had a home at all...or anyone who cared how she was...if she were hurt...or angry...or afraid. There had been someone… an older boy who preyed on that...said he loved her. Then he betrayed what little trust she had for anyone… and left her with a baby… that she lost. She never told even me any more than that. So, yes, there is armor a foot thick and a mile wide around that heart of hers.”

Graham flushed and looked away, abashed and silenced as if he had forced Nolan to talk in the precinct box. Killian too blew out a stunned breath, well aware from just her small tells and the feeling of kinship with her he couldn’t ignore - despite their heated sparring - that Emma Nolan’s life must have been anything but easy. Still, he had not expected that depth of tragedy and pain. He was almost embarrassed to have assumed his own losses would have left a larger mark.

“Aye,” he murmured reluctantly, pursing his lips in troubled thought as he continued to scan the room around them, hoping to find something amiss or out of place, anything that might give them a lead as to where Emma might be now. “I can understand why such treatment might make anyone put up walls,” he finally added, coming to stand near the door and at last reluctantly admitting that there was nothing in the small apartment of any help to them.

Looking from one of his companions to the other intently, Killian bypassed his original theory - his own heart being the needed target. With Emma was missing and what David had shared, it seemed unlikely and a waste of their time. Instead he licked his lips, cautiously preparing himself to speak on the other odd connection that had been growing and solidifying in his mind.  That half remembered case’s detailed were coming clearer as he pulled at the thread of recall. It had been suspected that the perpetrator had espoused the mad gothic ideas of reanimation, much like had been written of in Mary Shelley’s popular novel. He didn’t know any sensible way to broach such an outlandish theory outright with his colleagues, so instead he swept his gaze over to Graham’s face and queried, “Do you remember that mad tale Frankenstein which was all the rage some years back?”

He was banking on the fact that his friend enjoyed those same eerie Victorian authors Liam did, having heard them discuss many such fictional works over scotch or brandy in Liam’s study countless evenings while a fire roared in the hearth and they idled a while in companionable talk before night’s end. He was honestly hoping Graham would know of the twisted story so he would not sound to both men as though he were making up his next conjecture from pure imagination.

Graham’s forehead creased in curious thought, but he nodded, warming to the topic just as Killian had intended. “Yes, I remember it. The main character - a doctor, but more like a mad scientist - creates a man from parts of grave robbed corpses. Hair-raising, genuinely. The author claimed the entire thing came to her as a nightmare, and I would believe it.” He shook his head, then continued, “However, the doctor does bring the inanimate body back to life with electricity from lightning.” Graham’s voice trailed off, eyes widening as he stared back at Killian, understanding dawning on his face. “Surely you don’t mean…?”

Killian didn’t answer aloud. It was clear exactly what he was coming to believe.

Inspector Nolan looked between the two, his lieutenant and his consultant, with increasing impatience and frustration. “Mean what?” he prodded intensely, standing with hands fisted at his side and looking ready to take a swing at one, or both, of them if they didn’t start to explain. “One of you had better tell me what you’re getting at and how it ties to this case, and Emma, before I lose my patience.”

Sighing, Killian stepped forward to face the police officer he had come to genuinely respect and hold in high esteem. He and Liam had not had an easy start in life, as boys and young men who had encountered many coppers, lawyers, and others in positions of power who were as selfish, cruel, and crooked as David was straight and true. It was a new thing to look at this man and know that he truly upheld the law in order to stand for and protect those who could not protect themselves.

Killian hated the picture taking shape in his mind from a mixture of long-buried reminiscence and unsolved cases, but he owed it to them to offer all the information he had. “I’ll explain, Mate,” he assured Nolan in a clipped, heavy tone, clasping his shoulder for a moment before dropping his hand again, “but brace yourself. I’ll wager it’s going to sound a preposterous tale.”

David nodded curtly, crossing his arms over his broad chest and widening his stance as if to tackle whatever Killian said head on. 

“Some years back, when I still worked under my brother in his diplomatic office, there were several suspicious deaths in a single fall and winter. All nameless victims, homeless, without any identification, anything to go on. The distinguishing factor tying them together was… the absence of a vital organ. There were also whispers - rumor and conjecture only, most thought - of an ambassador’s wife who dabbled in the occult and alchemy. Nothing concrete was ever found in order to charge her... but I met her, and the ambassador and their two grown daughters as well,  at more than one political function when I was serving under Liam. It was not something which could be quantified, and shame on me, I did not pursue it. But she could freeze a man’s blood in his veins with a glance; there was truly something unnatural and unsettling about her - a Mrs. Cora Millsen, her name was. I kept my distance beyond a few necessary conversations. I could see she had intent to strike up an arrangement between myself and her younger daughter, Regine, and began to beg off engagements assisting Liam where the family would be in attendance. The ambassador himself, Henrik, was a pleasant fellow, honest and well-liked enough that most overlooked his peculiar family, as he was the one they had dealings with. I cannot say I made the connection until it began to prick my memory with this present case’s similarities, and its same lack of conclusive evidence. Perhaps most horrifying though was that the seemingly unsolvable wave of killings ceased when the Millsen family returned to their country, abruptly and suddenly after the fiancé young Regine did eventually choose, some young equestrian riding champion, died in their home.”

He took a moment to chance a look first at Graham’s stunned expression, the other man probably even remembering those unsolved cases which had continued to trouble his elder brother long after the book on them had been shut, and then to David Nolan’s face, a mask of stony silence. There was nothing for it but to finish what he knew of the sordid tale, so Jones drew a deep breath and plunged on. “Regine refused to go with her family. She came to Liam’s offices, raving about her mother killing her ‘beloved Daniel’. A report was drawn up, but her account was impossible, unbelievable. Nothing came of it. The young woman seemed clearly unhinged by grief and anger, almost deranged. Heaven help me, I was glad when Liam’s colleagues dismissed the charges. Obviously she was troubled and in need of help, but she made me every bit as unsettled as her mother Cora ever had.”

“And what happened to her after that?” David asked skeptically. “There was no more trouble?”

“After that?” Killian replied. “I do not know. She seemed to fade from public view… and I was relieved. I was happy to let her do so. I admit it.”

He looked to Graham then, and his friend took up the story when Killian paused. “It wasn’t always the heart - that was where those cases differed from ours currently.  I remember the incidences you are speaking of Killian, but I failed to make the connection as well.  One was missing lungs, another the kidneys, but there were two or three that were without the heart as well. The past case was kept within the offices of the embassy, largely because the only possible suspect known had immunity. Killian is correct. Something was not right about that woman; pushing her two daughters at any dignitaries who might gain them British citizenship and a finer, fancier life, but yet something cool and detached about her as well, as if all around were pawns to move on some chessboard only she could see. It was rumored she espoused the ridiculous popular idea in some circles at the time that perhaps Dr. Frankenstein was based on some real life doctor. Utter rubbish of course, no sane, self-respecting physician would…” This time Graham broke off in agitation, jerking fingers through his already disheveled hair and mumbling. “Simply not possible…” and “first do no harm” as he paced away from them.

“Anyway,” Killian intoned forcefully, determined to finish the story in short order. “The family’s official dossier attributed the woman with study of the occult and alchemy, as well as a rather accomplished knowledge of anatomy, botany, and medicine in her native land. But there was no motive, no evidence… well, unless you count the rather dramatic coincidence of the daughter’s suitor dropping dead of a heart attack in their parlor. Even that is not a crime in itself, however suspicious it looked that the family fled Britain back to Norway within hours of the incident, and that the bizarre killings then ceased.”

He could tell as he finished recounting the tale that David Nolan was fit to burst with numerous questions and arguments. Yet no words left the man’s mouth; instead it opened and closed mutely before he huffed and turned his back, gathering his composure. They were all quiet for a minute until David turned sharply, speaking in a voice that took command and snapped them into action. “None of that matters at present. What does matter is finding Emma and stopping this killer. Could your brother tell us if the Millsen family, or the wife at least, have returned? If so, we need to know where they’re staying, places they frequent…”

Killian nodded his assent, but it was Graham who spoke. “Liam has never really let that case go; he will no doubt still have documentation of any information that was unearthed, what little there was. Or, if nothing else, he will have kept tabs on the family.”

David sent him to call Liam and sighed, running a hand over his face as he looked once more to Killian. “Let’s hope your brother knows somewhere we can start. That tale of yours was far from comforting, and we need to be doing something.”

“I completely agree,” Killian confirmed gruffly, hoping his face would not betray the panic stirring in his gut. They needed to find Emma Nolan sooner rather than later. He did not wish to contemplate the terrible possibility that not all of her would be in one piece to find.

~~~~~~~~~***

The dark-eyed femme fatale looked down upon the operating table she had modified for her research, hidden in the basement of the home she had let upon her return to London. Most did not even know that the sub-level existed, which was exactly how she needed it - locked away, where she could do her work without fear of discovery.

Her eyes were sharp, narrowing in dangerous concentration as she studied the unconscious form laid out before her on the flat surface, though there was not a mark marring her fair skin, the debilitating cloud of vapour had struck the pretty flowercart girl as hard as any physical blow. Throughout the transport to her lair and depositing her on the hard surface the blonde had not wakened or even stirred. Her long hair was fell around her, hanging off the edges of the worktop and making Emma Swan look all the more vulnerable for her bared neck and shoulders; uncovered, unveiled, in only her thin shift as protection against the darkness and cold creeping in all around her and the jagged knife her abductor wielded. 

Though the inspector’s younger sister - oh yes, she had done her research as well! - was merely the pawn in a sinister plan much deeper and more twisted than any had realized, the fiendish villainess had prepared for all contingencies. Waking up and beginning to fight would not free the lovely bait in her trap; it would only make the sacrifice more satisfying. She had already bound her prey to the table’s surface, at wrists and ankles and around her torso. She would not be making any sort of escape; even as she at last began to stir restlessly. 

Perversely pleased with herself, Regine Millsen, daughter of the once-ousted ambassadors, had used her ill-gotten powers, first learned at her cursed mother’s feet and then honed in hatred and bitterness to something even more potent in order to transport and incapacitate her victims. She had bided her time until she was strong enough, smart enough, and assured of her victory. She had searched until she found the very spell she needed - and all the ingredients but this last one. She had watched long enough to know that the infamous Holmes Jones, cool of head and hard of heart through tragedy’s tempering, cared for this saucy slip of a girl, and when he came to her rescue, she would at last have the armored heart she needed. She would resurrect her mother’s last sacrifice: the man she had loved and lost. Smirking sadistically as she hovered over the younger woman blearily surfacing to a wakefulness that would not be pleasant, Regine considered, How did the poet Eliot put it - ‘pinned and wriggling’ ?  She nodded to herself; like a helpless fly in her web this one was. And finally she would have what she desired most - none could stop her now.

Tagging a few who have been interested in the past:  @csrolereversal​ @courtorderedcake​ @kmomof4​ @jennjenn615​ @hollyethecurious​ @cocohook38​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @stahlop​ @laschatzi​ @therooksshiningknight​ @winterbaby89​ @lfh1226-linda​

[hitsuhinalover]

A/N: I’m going to be away from tumblr for about two weeks, so I needed to fill myself with hitsuhina for that time :) (And stop stressing.) This fic turned out to be not so bad, that’s why I decided to post it here. It isn’t very original (it was completely self-indulgent), but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless!

Now I know (haven’t I always?)

“A Hollow behind you!” Hinamori shouted as she turned around the corner, brown eyes widened from panic. However, instead of at least glancing to the direction she was pointing to, Hitsugaya kept leaning his shoulder to the door, arms crossed. “Nice try, Hinamori,” he said, though neither his voice nor expression hinted that he would be extremely impressed by her actress skills.

Sighing, Hinamori lowered her arm and eyes, then returned her gaze to him, once again filled with determination that he loved but that had brought troubles into his life more than once. “Fifteen minutes,” she demanded.

“No.”

“I can watch she won’t escape,” Hinamori bargained. “You can go and take a nap meanwhile.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Hinamori,” Hitsugaya sighed.

“Well, you don’t need to go anywhere! I just need to go inside.” Her tone had acquired a begging note to it, and once again Hitsugaya found himself grateful for his ability to hide his feelings. If Hinamori knew how close she was to have her way, she would never give up.

“Look, Matsumoto has to to do her part of paperwork for once,” Hitsugaya said. “I’ll let her out once she’s done with it.” Perhaps Matsumoto’s slacking wasn’t the only reason why he had lost his temper this morning, not entirely, but Hinamori certainly didn’t need to hear of his lieutenant’s inappropriate comments on him, his childhood friend and their relationship.  

“I can help her,” Hinamori promised.

If Hinamori’s smile had been close to coaxing him into accepting her plea, her words shook some sense into him. “Absolutely not,” Hitsugaya responded. “It’s your day off, Hinamori, you aren’t going to do Matsumoto’s work! That’s nice of you to offer, but you should be resting and doing whatever you want to do. Go to read that book you told me about. And don’t let Hirako give you too much work either,” he couldn’t help advising.

Hinamori flashed him a slightly confused smile before replying, “I don’t know what happened, but my workload has decreased since the last week. He’s also asked if he gives me too much work.”

Huh. Hirako had actually listened to his request – well, a threat actually. What’s more, he hadn’t said a word to Hinamori, like Hitsugaya had asked. Later, he should go and thank the Captain of the Fifth Division. First, however, Hitsugaya needed to handle this situation. Glancing at Hinamori, he noticed she expected him to say something on the topic, to his horror. He was able to lie quite well, but he loathed to do that to Hinamori, especially after everything they had went through.

A couple of coughs, and Hitsugaya changed the topic as gracefully as only he could. “Why do you need to talk to Matsumoto right now, anyway?”

Now it was Hinamori’s turn to look at her feet and wish her face wouldn’t usually be so pale. “It’s important,” she finally said. For a while, she tried to find some excuse, then repeated, “Very important.”

Something shifted in Hitsugaya’s gaze, but Hinamori had no time to study it closer since he cast his eyes down. When he talked, his voice was quieter than usually. “You know...well, you know that you can always talk to me, right?” Then he shrugged, as if it didn’t really matter to him, but Hinamori knew to read him well enough so that she started feeling pain in her chest. She hadn’t thought...well, clearly she hadn’t but...of course she would have come to him if she could have, he shouldn’t feel bad about it! But how could she tell him she couldn’t talk to him, without confessing the real reason?

Her inner monologue ended as Hitsugaya glanced back at her, still waiting for her reply.

“Ah! Yes, I know!” Hinamori exclaimed. “It’s just...uh, I couldn’t talk to you about your birthday present either, couldn’t I?” Great thinking, Momo! Instead of telling the truth or a lie, she had found a perfect analogy! The birthdays presents were secrets that never hurt anyone, and no one liked to know in advance what they would receive, so surely Hitsuagya would understand to drop the topic.

Or perhaps not, judging by a frown on Hitsugaya’s face. “So it’s something about me?”

“Maybe,” Hinamori reluctantly admitted, but couldn’t help adding, “Or maybe not.” Since Hitsuagaya didn’t look any happier, Hinamori explained a little more, “It’s not anything bad, I promise!”

Hitsugaya offered her a tiny smile. “I know. You wouldn’t do that.”

The words left her without words and breath alike. How could he again and again place his trust in her, unconditionally, without any proof? After everything she had done?

The sound of him stepping closer drew her back from her thoughts. “I guess I could give Matsumoto a break if it’s so–”

Hitsugaya had always loved Hinamori’s smiles. Not those exhausted smiles that didn’t reach her eyes, only meant to tell him to stop worrying when she obviously wasn’t fine, neither those that she used when the situation was awkward and she didn’t know how to handle it without hurting other’s feelings, even though in Hitsugaya’s opinion, that bastard from the last month would have deserved –  anyway. No, he loved her real smiles, ones that she didn’t even seem to notice because she was so delighted, ones that lifted her chin, straightened her spine and turned her eyes into stars. Those were Hinamori’s smiles he loved the most, and he wanted to spend an eternity looking at a smile like she wore now.

“There’s no need, thank you.”

Hitsugaya didn’t know which one left him without words, her smile or surprising reply. He went for the latter, just to be stubborn and to prevent Matsumoto’s ‘helpful observations’ for invading his mind. Their bond had endured enough, he didn’t need to complicate things by being selfish and thinking about, possibly even acting upon his feelings, or by imaging there was a possibility that she also – nothing good would come out of it. What Hinamori needed was her best friend who she could rely on, who would be there for her, who wouldn’t feed her lie after lie. That he could do, and he should be content with the honor. If only Hinamori let him help her when he could, like now. A while ago, there had been something bugging her, a problem for which she desperately needed to consult Matsumoto, but now it seemed to have disappeared. “But–”

“Do you know how sometimes you look for other person’s opinion on something, but you’ve known the answer all along? You only want a confirmation of what you’re going to do is right because you’re scared of the consequences, scared of doing something irrevocable, losing that person you lo–” Hinamori halted and breathed deeply, her vision blurry. “Still, you finally understand that you must follow your heart, otherwise you would forever regret not acting.”

His own eyes prickling, Hitsugaya tried to wrap his sluggish mind around what Hinamori wanted to say. Surely she wouldn’t...no. Her words resonated with him too much, he gave them his own meaning, let his own situation affect his interpretation. Yet Hinamori was right even if she didn’t have the similar kind of situation. He should...could he…? Opening his mouth, he understood he was ready to say Hinamori those three words he had sworn to never pronounce.

He didn’t get the chance.

“Anyway,” Hinamori said, almost too casually, “do you want to meet after work?”

The disappointment rushed through Hitsugaya, but he pushed it aside. Though the moment had been perfect now, the confession on the tip of his tongue, he would get other chances, if only he would be brave enough to take them. If only.

Maybe what Hinamori really needed was a best friend.

“Sure. Let’s meet here and go for a dinner, okay?”

“Okay.” Still, Hinamori didn’t move to leave. A blush crept over her cheeks and she inhaled deeply, in attempt to say the following words slowly, but they came in one rush Hitsugaya barely managed to catch. “It’s a date then.”  A peck to his cheek confirmed his interpretation before Hinamori dashed away, leaving Hitsugaya to stare after her, his face red and the warm, pleasant tingling spreading from the spot she kissed to the rest of his body.

“Wha– Wait! Hinamori!”

[numinex919]

After Crait - Chapter 6

This chapter is dedicated to my Blood Sisters of the Thirst Order - @raven-maiden, @delia-pavorum, @newerconstellations, @kitten-the-cat and @strawberrycupcakehuckleberrypie thank you for the #sparkles! (@raven-maiden I left the art alone, too lazy to change it! :D).

He has to see her.

Face to face.

He doesn’t know why. Liar.

It has simply become as necessary as . . . breathing.

When he’s not with her, he’s unbalanced, swinging between rage and softness, weakness he can’t handle. It’s getting harder to control himself. He needs more of her . . . her touch, her scent, her company, even her anger. All of it.

“Supreme Leader, I believe we should establish a covert presence on Felucia. Despite the report you found nothing there, my spies are never wrong.” Hux barely controls his disdain, his top lip pulls into a sneer.

The cracks are showing and Ben wonders how long it will be before the general stages a coup.

He swings around to impale the man with a stare. “Really?”

Hux shifts nervously in his seat before glancing around the table for support and finding none from the other men seated there.

“General, why are you obsessed with using valuable resources to chase down a handful of individuals who have no base, no allies and no resources? Don’t you feel we should be focused on the task of ensuring the rest of the galaxy runs smoothly?”

“With respect, Supreme Leader, the Resistance has been a thorn in the First Order’s side for too long. We must stamp out the last of them or run the risk they garner support and rise again.” Zealotry glows in Hux’s gaze.

This is beyond rage or hatred, and Kylo can only stare wordlessly at the man’s commitment, which borders on insanity and is all the more dangerous because of its fervor.

Premonition creeps up his spine. Rey is in danger. His thoughts, so scattered of late, come together and find a cold focus.

“As you appear to think these lingering remnants of the Resistance are a clear and present threat to the might of the First Order, then it is obvious I need to give this more attention than I initially thought it warranted.”

Hux gazes at him and he can feel the man’s mind scrambling to see where this might lead. “Supreme Leader . . .”

“General Hux, I shall personally return to Felucia and root out the last of the Resistance, if they are indeed present on the planet.”

Hux jerks straight in his chair. “Sir—“

Ben cuts off the protest with a raised hand, rare amusement warming him as the general flinches. “My full attention, general.”

Kylo’s blood heats at the idea of bending all of his concentration to Rey, her smooth skin, silky hair, her determination and strength. His breath catches.

“Captain Peavey, you will assist the general in my absence.”

“Yes sir.”’

Ben stands and Hux shoots to his feet, his agitation finally overcoming his control. “Supreme Leader! I must protest. You cannot just leave your position vacant to chase after a band of Resistance fighters.”

Kylo turns, raises his hand and this time Hux actually grabs his neck. “You said yourself, general that the Resistance still pose a threat. Have you been wasting my time with inaccurate reports?” He suspects grandfather would have been proud at his chilling tone and deadly control.

The pressure on Hux’s windpipe is light, but his own rank fear causes him to choke on his reply. “N-no sir.”

“And, general?”

As Kylo waits for Hux to gather himself enough to answer, a dark figure enters the room.

“Yes, sir?”

“I won’t be leaving my position vacant.” Kylo gestures to the robed and masked individual. “One of my Knights will remain here in my absence.”

Hux flicks a nervous glance at the Knight of Ren. “Yes, Sir.”

Kylo stalks out, his Knight hard behind. After a few paces an amused voice, modulated by the mask worn by the owner fills the silence of the empty hall. “You know he plans to usurp you. But this objective of yours clearly has more weight.”

Kylo stops abruptly and turns to stare at his companion. The Force rolls between them as his control slips. “Do not question me. I am still Master of the Knights of Ren.”

“I see. Then consider the subject dropped.” Silence reigns for a moment as they resume their walk.

The masked face of his companion turns to him. “For the moment.”

* * *

“Reports indicate, well, they indicate that there is growing stability amongst the remaining systems.” See-Threepio sounds as surprised as those around the table look.

“Can’t be true.” Poe dismisses the droid’s report with a wave of his hand.

“Sir, I beg to differ. Almost all system representatives who’ve met with the new Supreme Leader have reported that his position on issues and his responses to problems has been remarkably . . . balanced.”

Rey casts a quick glance at Leia and while her expression remains impassive, there is a sense rolling off her of amused pride.

Shock tingles along her spine. Does Leia actually believe Ben is capable of ruling the galaxy in a just way while head of a despotic regime?

When it’s so clear he will not turn?

As she gazes at the general, it occurs to her that Ben comes from a female line used to governing and more than capable of political savvy. After all, his grandmother was a queen and senator, his mother a princess and senator who has successfully lead both a rebellion and a resistance.

Hope, so hard to extinguish even after their showdown in the throne room, flickers inside her. The growing sexual awareness between them hasn’t blinded her to the fact that from a moral standpoint, they are on vastly different paths.

Confusion clouds her thoughts and the rest of the meeting passes in a blur. As they finish however, a few things are very clear.

Poe Dameron is determined to continue building the Resistance, even amidst reports the First Order’s new leader does not seem intent on enslaving the peoples of the galaxy and is actually quite . . . reasonable.

Leia is torn between this news of her son, and the awareness that there could be deeper things at play here. Rey can also sense a burgeoning concern for Poe’s attitude.

Rey needs to see Ben and find out if the reports are true and . . .

his mouth on hers, his powerful hands cupping her shoulders, big body dominating the space between her thighs . . .

No! This is not about the attraction.

She wishes she remained in blissful ignorance. Though now, looking back, she can see it was there through every exchange. Even at Starkiller Base, the first time he took off his helmet and she was confronted, not with a monster, but a man who compelled and confused her so much that she simply couldn’t sort out her conflicting emotions.

So she chose anger and then compassion and all the while ignored her attraction, refusing to recognize the pull as more than something to do with their mutual Force abilities.

She needs more time to sort out the tangle of her thoughts and to resist the desires, which cloud her judgment.

No wonder the Jedi eschewed attachment.

“Rey?” Leia’s concern flows over her. “Are you okay?”

She snaps from her introspection to find the older woman gazing at her and it hits her forcefully where Ben got not only his dark eyes from, but the piercing intensity and the softness.

His mother’s boy.

Overwhelming sadness washes through her as she suddenly recognizes, really recognizes how much Ben and his parents have lost.

Leia clasps her arm, obviously sensing the powerful tide of emotion and Rey makes an effort to centre herself.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” She doesn’t feign the shiver. “I’m struggling to get used to the cold after Jakku.”

Leia stares a moment more, then nods. “Why don’t you go on the next supply run to Felucia? We need that shipment of coaxium, it’s only a small amount, so it should be a fairly simple trip, or at least, only as complicated as you make it.”

Rey can feel her brow knot as her gaze snaps to the general. The Force hums with meaning she can’t quite decipher.

“Do you suspect something, general?”

Leia shakes her head and smiles. “I have no intel to suggest you’ll meet with any major trouble, though I guess it depends on what you define as trouble.”

Despite her enquiring stare, the general won’t be drawn, though amusement has returned to that dark gaze, making Rey realize how sad Leia had been.

“See-Threepio, see that Rey is assigned to the supply run to Felucia immediately.” The general turns to Lieutenant Connix who is waiting patiently at her elbow.

The meeting has broken up and Rey makes her way back to her quarters to prepare for the trip to Felucia.

Excitement clenches her gut and she takes a moment to breath deeply through the swirls of anticipation. She’s well aware it’s not the opportunity of getting away from Rhen Var’s icy chill that is the cause.

There is no way Ben is still on Felucia.

She’s well aware he’s returned to the Finalizer. Intel said he’d had meetings with representatives from Balamak, a Mid Rim planet that had suffered under both the Empire and the First Order.

She packs the few things she’ll need. They’ll stay overnight in Felucia to avoid suspicion.

It’s a quick walk to the hangar and onto the ship.  She passes Finn on the way, there’s only time for a quick update on Rose’s condition and a hug before she boards the shuttle.

As they make the trip, she gazes out the window and can’t suppress the churning mix of anticipation and dread tightening her stomach and making her breathing short and choppy.

He won’t be there.

Even her quelling thoughts aren’t enough to help calm her.

It’s only when they reach Felucia’s bustling central marketplace and there’s no sign of First Order TIE pilots, indeed much FO presence at all, that disappointment makes her heart sink.

The brutal realization that she is desperate to see him again washes over her. Not only is it a betrayal of the paths they’ve chosen, but of her friends.

He is the enemy. Worse, he’s the leader of the First Order.

She’s a traitor in so many ways and yet she’s still scanning the thronging crowds for any sign of a tall, dark figure.

“Don’t worry, FO presence is light. Most of it is concentrated around the shuttle landing sites.” Sogr glances around, searching for their contact.

Rey’s guilt makes her stomach churn as they move through the quarter until the Mandalorian nudges her again. “I’ll go to the next street over, you keep to this one. The Sullastan shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

He moves away and she continues on until the marketplace splits. Taking the left path she follows it as the both crowds and stalls thin out and the hum of the marketplace becomes distant. Here, the odd inhabitant escapes the burgeoning mid-morning warmth under the shady areas created by second story balconies.

The Force crackles at the same moment her arm is grasped and she is tugged into a patch of shadow under one of the spaces.

Before she meets the intense gaze she knows who it is. The Force is a living thing, moving and shifting with emotion, energy, life. Ben is wearing casual clothes, albeit in his usual black, but the attire is as unexpected as his presence and for a moment, she can’t speak.

But only a moment.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone is snappy and slightly outraged, though her heart tells a different story, thumping heavily in her chest as her gaze flicks over him.

“I came to see you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that tugs at her heart and pricks at her temper, she doesn’t want to feel things for him, she’s already in too deep.

“Why? Hoping to get intel on the Resistance?”

His head jerks back a little before his mouth works, a sure sign he’s biting back on his emotions.

“I already know all I need to about your Resistance.” His tone carries a hint of temper and it’s obvious he was expecting a different response from her.  

She can feel it through the Bond too, a mix of anger, hope and need that twists and bucks like an out of control speeder.

“What do you want, Ben?” She’s suddenly tired, but still annoyed.

At the power he has with her, over the fact he’s all she’s been thinking about, at the overwhelming mix of complex emotion filling her.

She waits and when he answers her, with a kind of desperation she recognizes, all the more potent because she feels it too, and her world is blown apart.

“I want more.”