#and the MINUTE you get home legacy snatches his body | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shewrites02 · 3 years

Text

Gone Too Long |Shikamaru x Reader|

Summary: Not having his partner around begins to toll on Shikamaru

Word count: 3k

Lady Tsunade was assigning weekly chores to all the Shinobi who had yet to be assigned a mission. Usually these tasks were reserved for Genin, but this week had been slow for the village. Many Chunin and Jonin were left task less aimlessly patrolling the village.

"Shikamaru, you'll assist Iruka at the Academy for the remainder of the week."

Shikamaru let out a long dreadful sigh before muttering "What a drag, that's so much work." Just above his breath.

Shikamaru complaining was not out of the ordinary, but him complaining in front of the Fifth Hokage was and everyone took notice. Lady Tsunade slowly looked up from her journal with her eyebrow slightly raised. She was offering Shikamaru a chance to apologize before she completely ripped into him like she often did with Naruto. But all he did was smack his lips and cross his arms against his chest.

"Forgive him Lady Tsunade, he gets like this whenever y/n is gone on a mission." Ino announced proudly as a devilish smile graced her lips.

The other ninjas futilely tried to suppress their laughter but soon the whole room erupted into a uncontrollable fit. Even Lady Tsunade's scowl had turned into a humorous smile. Shikamaru's face began to turn beat red as his fellow shinobi teased him.

"So that explains his nasty attitude this whole week. Me and Akamaru knew there was something up with you!" Kiba laughed after Akamaru barked, agreeing.

"I bet his attitude will change once he gets some... special attention" Tenten snickered.

This even warranted a light chuckle from the stoned face Shino Aburame.

"Special... Attention?" Naruto mumbled completely lost. as usual he wasn't paying any attention and the joke had gone completely over his head. Kiba leaned over and explained the joke as clearly as he could. It took Naruto probably a full minute before he caught on and laughed with the rest of them.

Shikamaru grumbled under his breath, but didn't argue. As much as he hated to admit it to his friends, not having you around severely impacted his day to day interactions. He was constantly irritated because he didn't get as much sleep with you gone. The side of the bed where you usually reside seemed like a gaping hole with you not there, and no matter how much tossing and turning he did he was never comfortable.

He was frustrated that he couldn't come home to you after a long day of working with idiots. Even if you did nothing but tell him to give his teammates a break he missed the sound of your voice soothing him. He missed laying in your arms while you lectured that not everybody was a genius like him. At this point he would settle for your hands just gracing his.

And most of all he was distracted by the crippling fear that one of these days you might not come home to him. Shikamaru undoubtedly knew that you could handle yourself. Yall had spared a couple times and you'd come close to beating him more than once. But the idea of not being there to protect you often left him feeling helpless.

With these thoughts constantly running through his mind, it was difficult to focus on the seemingly mundane tasks he was often given. To be honest the only times he wasn't thinking of you was when he was on his own missions, and even then his thoughts were reserved for keeping his squad alive and staying alive himself specifically to see you again.

"Well you'll be glad to know she's coming back today, I'll be expecting you to be in a better mood tomorrow!" Lady Tsunade teased before shushing the crowd and returning to give out assignments.

Just as Shikamaru had thought working at the academy was the exact mindless work he dreaded so much. They could've put him with the younger children, given him a challenge, well at least that's what he thought. Instead he supervised a group of kids around the ages of 9 to 11. These children were no stranger to Shikamaru or his legacy, actually any shinobi rumored to have amazing talent or great potential was a topic of discussion amongst the children in the academy. The stories they've heard of Shikamaru and the Nara clan as a whole were impressive enough to earn their respect. In fear of potentially earning themselves a bad name with someone they could possibly call their squad leader once graduating, They gave Shikamaru absolutely no problems.

"Shikamaru Sensei... is it true you forfeited your last match in the Chunin exams?!" A little boy shouted across the blacktop as he and a large number of his classmates came rushing towards the lazy uninterested ninja.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"I told you, Idiot!" A young girl exclaimed, hitting the previous boy in the back of the head with a scroll she had. "He was running out of Chakra and knew he couldn't finish the fight!"

The young girl's confident proclamation surprised Shikamaru. Every ninja in the village knew the story, but very few knew the reasoning behind his actions. Usually the only ones who accurately recounted the story were those who saw the match with their own eyes.

"Who told you that?" Shikamaru inquired.

"Y/n Sensei told our whole class the story the last time she came to the academy, had all of us try to figure out why you'd throw a match that you practically had won. She said it's her favorite story to tell students who are about to graduate."

"Yeah she said it's still the most amazing match she's watched during the Chunin exams, even now!"

"She told us that if we wanna be half the ninja you are, we always have to be thinking two steps ahead."

Shikamaru couldn't stop that infamous smirk from creeping onto his face. He loved hearing that you spoke to your class about him, that you even bragged about how talented he was, even if it was to a bunch of children. You admired him not only for the person he is, but the ninja he's become and that was a great honor to Shikamaru.

"Look, it's y/n Sensei, she's back from her mission!" The little girl from before yelled pointing over at the village's entrance. All the children fervently yelled your name in a vain attempt to get your attention. The academy laid on hill that allowed them to peer down at the entire village, though they could see you, you could not see them.

Shikamaru acting as if he too were one of your students rushed to the fence to see if they were correct, if finally the love of his life had returned home. Sure enough right alongside Kakashi and Tsume there you were. Your smile is as bright as ever despite having a few minor scrapes and bruises. Butterflies filled the pit of Shikamaru's stomach and what was just a sly smirk had turned into a full blown smile, teeth and all. He's heart fluttered, but skipped a beat at the same time it was like he had seen you for the first time.

"Go ahead, class is wrapping up anyway!" Iruka whispered over to him.

Shikamaru was stunned, he was so entranced by the sight of you he was completely ignorant to his surroundings. For the first time since he graduated from the Academy he had let Iruka sneak up on him. Your being gone had even a greater hold on him than he initially thought. He needed to see you right now.

He thankfully patted Iruka on his back before darting off toward the exit. He knew you'd first go to Ichirkau Ramen to pick up dinner for the two of you, a tradition set in place to celebrate a successful mission. So if he could move quick enough he could make it to the flower shop and back to the apartment the two of you shared before you. He did not want a cold empty uninviting apartment to be what greeted you once you returned home, especially after seeing you had endured wounds while on your mission. Honestly he didn't want you to have to worry about a thing.

Once he fumbled into the door, he immediately began to prepare for your arrival. He lit every candle he could find and arranged them around the perimeter of the bathroom while the water for a hot bath drew. He even went as far as to place rose petals in the water. Something he never understood but knew you would appreciate. When that was handled he placed one of his t-shirts on the counter and dimmed the lights. He could hear your footsteps approaching down the hall.

His nonchalant nature made it absolutely impossible for him to display any type of excitement or anticipation willingly. Due to this he sprinted back to living snatching up a book that was left on the coffee table and pretended to read it as you walked into the room.

He lowered the book just below his nose being careful to conceal the wide tooth smile he had behind those pages.

"You're home." He announced very casually.

You laughed. He never exceeded those two words when it came to welcoming you back, never a "I missed you" or "I'm so excited to see you" always those two words. When you first started dating such a dull response hurt your feelings, you wanted him to be jumping for joy to see you. Now the promise of hearing those two words was the primary motivation in completing your missions.

"And look, ramen!" You squealed slightly shaking the bag.

Shikamaru glanced over at the bag then returned his gaze to his book. You scoffed slightly offended, this was your favorite part of coming home, pigging out on loads of ramen after eating forest food for a week. Shikamaru knew this! He'd let you recite the details of your mission to him while he attentively listened, it was when you explained all the scrapes and bruises you inevitably always returned with.

"Go get cleaned up so we can eat." He demanded eyes still glued to that stupid book.

Your face fell, that childish giddy smile now wiped clean away. Shikamaru had never had a problem sharing at least a quick meal with you before you hopped in the shower. You were well aware of the toll half a day's walk had on one's body, but was this your boyfriend's crude way of telling you, you smelled. You sat the ramen on the dining room table not bothering to suppress the pout on your face.

Shikamaru got a glimpse of your expression out the side of his eye and immediately felt guilty. Perhaps there was a better way of getting you in the bathroom to see his surprise for you. One that hadn't made you feel so self conscious or small. For such a genius he made some stupid mistakes.

He placed his book on the coffee table to meet you in the kitchen. Bypassing the food he snuck behind you, creeping his arms around your waist before planting a small soft kiss on your cheek. Shikamaru snuggled his head into your neck before speaking.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so crass." He mumbled against your skin. "But I do have a surprise for you in the bathroom."

You perked up at the mention of a surprise. A wide grin sneaking on your lips as the scowl you held earlier dissipated. Shikamaru had always been a thoughtful boyfriend even if he was so coy in his interactions with you. He'd fill the apartment with roses for your anniversary , then downplay the extravagant act when you walked in the door. He once planned an entire surprise birthday party for you just to spend the entire night proclaiming he barely did anything. You were excited to see what considerate display your partner had put together this time.

You let out a small gasp as you walked into the romantically decorated bathroom. The dim candles created such a relaxed yet intimate ambiance to the entire space. You chuckled some at the rose petals. Despite the countless lectures both you and Ino had received on how pointless it was to pick the petals off of roses when a person could simply just give their partner a bouquet of roses, he still included them in your warm bath.

"Shika... you didn't have to do all this."

"It was nothing." He reassured disregarding the full speed sprint from the academy to the Yamanaka flower shop, then to the apartment. "Here let me help you."

Shikamaru assisted you in removing your garments. He knew how even the smallest tasks could bring out the failure's in your body after such a long mission. Something as simple as slipping out of a pair of cargoes seemed like a feat to a body so sore from what felt like an endless battle. He let you grasp onto his forearm before dipping into the tub and sinking shoulder deep. The warm water against your ailing body felt almost euphoric. As usual Shikamaru knew exactly what you needed.

Of course your generous boyfriend could not stop there, running you a bath was not enough. He was going to bathe you himself too. Tenderly rubbing the dirt and grime from every cut and scrape on your body.

"How'd you get this one?" a question he asked ever so often. His tone is always dull and irritated.

Shikamaru hated to see you covered in bruises. You called them a causality of the job, but to him they were just a sign that he wasn't there to protect you. He would try to ignore the small ones, but any that seemed too deep or painful he felt obligated to inquire about. Although he never liked the answer. That's probably why wiping away your wounds was so therapeutic for him. If he couldn't prevent the pain, at least he could alleviate it now.

"A shuriken hit me, cheap shot." You huffed.

Your boyfriend's face didn't soften, in fact you were sure you saw him actually grimace at the mention of you getting hit. You wondered why he even tortured himself asking questions he didn't want the answer to. Nonetheless you weren't going to let some small injuries ruin your first night home.

"Rumor around the village is you missed me a whole lot while I was away. "

Shikamaru's cheeks instantly flushed as he averted his eyes away from you. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as a few unsure chuckles fell from his mouth. He was searching for the words to say.

"I ran into Naruto at Ichiraku's, he said you had such an attitude with all of them. Heard you even snapped at Lady Tsunade you missed me so much."

"Damn, Naruto!" He mumbled underneath his breath. "You mess up my whole routine when you leave!"

You let out an exaggerated sigh at the tired excuse.

"Give it up Nara, you missed me!"

Reluctantly the shadow ninja accepted defeat. He laced his now wet hands with yours and brought them to his lips. He planted a trail of endearing kisses up your arm to your elbow before gently returning your hand to the soothing water.

"I'm a mess when you're not here. I swear you occupy so much space in my brain, I can't even think straight. I miss you so much."

The revelation caught you off guard. Maybe it was his lustful entrance of finally having you home after a month, but Shikamaru very rarely was this vulnerable with you. Such words blossomed butterflies in your stomach. It was as if Shikamaru was confessing his feelings for you for the very first time.

"I love you so much y/n."

"I Love you too."

The two of you feel into a comfortable silence. Shikamaru stood to grab you a dry towel. Reluctant you feel deeper into the water, Although drawing colder you couldn't imagine getting out the tub just yet. After all it had been weeks since you allowed yourself to be pampered in such a way. You wanted to savor every moment.

"God, this feels so good." You moaned in pleasure.

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow at your blissful proclamation, that infamous smirk plastered on his face. He approached the tub, abandoning the towel on the counter, and kneeled behind you. He snaked his hand up your torso, fondling you some before they landed at your neck. You'd have let out a small gasp if the familiar feeling of his fingers lightly squeezing your throat hadn't completely knocked the air out of you. He kissed his way from behind your ear down to the base of your neck.

"I can make you feel better."

The next morning the two of you found yourselves in Lady Tsunade's office, along with your comrades. As usual the Fifth Hokage was assigning daily tasks, when her eyes fell upon Shikamaru. His demeanor was clearly different from yesterday, His hands had returned to his pockets and his scowl had been replaced with a content grin.

"You seem to be in better spirits Shikamaru." Tsunade announced inquisitively. "I assume you've resolved that issue of yours?"

The other shinobi snickered at her insinuation. The attention made both you and Shikamaru look down at the floor hoping it would open up and consume you two whole. Shikamaru rubbed the back of his neck, eyes closed before answering.

"Yes Ma'am."

#shikamaru imagine #shikamaru x y/n #shikamaru x you #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru #shikamaru nara #fan fic #fanfic #naruto #naruto shippuden #konoha 11

435 notes · View notes

from-a-reckless-writer · 3 years

Text

read on ao3

Kara’s time in the Phantom Zone has always been labeled into two parts. The Going There and The Leaving. In part, because those two things are the things that she was coherent enough to remember but mostly because she doesn’t like remembering the time in between.

Not liking it, was an understatement. Kelly would probably call it trauma. Yeah. That was the word. Trauma. It was 24 years of traumatic experience but it was easier to just refer to it as The Going There and The Leaving. Simply put, just a part 1 and a part 2.

Kara didn’t even know when The Going There began. All this time she thought, Krypton exploding behind her pod was the beginning of it. But later, when her aunt comes back for her, when an entire fleet comes for her new planet, when her hero dies by the hand of her sister, she will learn: The Going There started the moment her mother thought of using Kara to arrest her aunt. That realization was something she didn’t like. Some days she wishes she’d never come to that realization at all.

The beginning of The Leaving on the other hand was something she was awake to remember. She remembers the rumbling, she remembers the hum of the engines as it powers up, she remembers the pod slowly coming to life and then the whoosh!.

The exhilarating, wondrous woosh! that roared into Kara’s ears. Filling her with hope after sleeping a slumber of despair for so long. Of course, she wouldn’t know that ‘so long’ would translate to 24 years till she arrives on Earth and Kal rips her door open. Of course, the hope wasn’t replaced with the utter feeling of failure and defeat, till Kal flies away from her. Some days she wishes she was never awake for any of it.

There were two parts to Kara’s experience in the Phantom Zone; The Going There and The Leaving.

She’d never expected that there would be a Return.

******

Loss was something the universe had given Kara at 14 years of age. Others received dreams or new siblings but Kara? The universe handed her loss and then left quickly before answering any of her questions. The universe handed her the burden of an annihilated planet’s legacy, a race of dead people that only she can remember.

It was something she’d learned to live with, had moulded into her every day life, a permanent mark on her soul.

In her hands loss used to be a strange thing.

She used to be a daughter of one of the respectable families of Krypton. A high born. The progeny to Zor-El’s brilliance, the successor of the El’s legacy. She had never known loss, until one day she woke up and nothing was left. At first, she didn't know what to do with it except for crying and screaming and waking the entire house of a family she didn’t belong with, night after night after night. But soon, it became a part of her, became a kindling to a roaring fire.

Nobody had expected the last daughter of Krypton to burn, but when she did, it was brilliant and bold and the world had stood in awe of her flames.

And so, as she watched herself lose her father for the second time. She snatched loss from the universe’s hands before it even had the chance to hand it to her, she snatched it and claimed it for her own. That was where this was going all along wasn’t it?

Another loss, another mark, another kindling.

The only difference this time though, was, she isn’t sure whether she wants to burn brilliant, bright and bold or set the entire universe on fire for what it’s done to her for the second time around.

These were the thoughts that chased each other around in her head as she breathed heavily; sagging against the walls of a cave she’d found shelter in. Aside from misery and agony, caves are also one of the most abundant things in the Phantom Zone. The jagged spikes and hard rocks are slowly becoming home to her now.

No, not home. This isn’t home. Home is-

And then her brain stalled. Home is…

Home is?

Home is—

It felt like a headache was ripping her skull. The more she thought about it the more it hurt.

She knows where home is. Home isn’t this place, home is— home is— home is—

It was at the tip of her tongue at the edge of her brain.

She can’t remember. Didn’t she just see home not 30 minutes ago? An hour ago? Two seconds ago? Time doesn’t pass the same way, her brain throws at her and the pain starts anew.

But she refuses to give in. She knows where home is. Home is...is...is

NOONAN’S!

Noonan’s is home! Or at least, it was a part of it??? Kara thinks and thinks and thinks.

And for a moment, Kara could swear that she smells the familiar aroma of coffee beans and sweet sugar in the air but then the thought vanishes just as quickly as it came.

She was grasping at the edges of that little snippet. She tries to picture the logo of the store, tries to recite the branches littered around National City, tries to remember how she had worked there once, tries to remember her order, tries to remember Alex’s order.

Alex!!!! Her brain lights up at the thought.

Alex is home too.

At this point, the pain was unbearable, she was barely breathing. It feels as if the more she’s trying to remember, the more something, someone?? Is blocking her. The chances of it being something seems more likely than it being a someone.

She remembers her father’s words of warning from just days before. Hours before?? Weeks before?

Before.

Just before she’s lost him again.

How this place will drive you to the brink of insanity, Kara held her tongue but she wanted to scream that she knew that. She knew what the Phantom Zone did to people. She knew what it had done to all those Fort Rozz escapees, what it had done to Astra, what it had done to her. She was fucking insane for 24 years! 14 year olds weren’t supposed to go through that.

The worst part is, it was her parents who put her there, her mother, her father. The same father she mourned and who not only minutes ago was telling her to give it up.

The same father she’s lost, again.

Pain flares at the back of her head, from her nape slowly snaking its way to behind her eyes. Kara suspects it’s something to do with the cave and the silver glow around the cave’s awning that she’s only just now noticing.

But it was too late now. Too late to get out nor to retreat even further. She has used the last ounce of energy she has in that fight with Nyx and this headache was only making her weaker. Headache, feels too juvenile a word to describe this feeling, this cleaving of her mind from the inside.

Alex, caramel macchiato and sticky buns were the last thoughts in her head before everything turned dark.

******

She steps out of the portal and the moment her foot touches The Tower, weapons and superpowers alike suddenly poise to strike at her.

Until, Alex whispers, “Kara,” lowers her gun slowly, arms shaking from shock and then she loses track of who crashes unto who first.

Just that she’s home and Alex is sobbing but so was she, and she’s never seen J’onn cry like this before but he cradles her and his sobs rumble out of his chest and into Kara. She can feel it rumbling between their embrace. The three of them stay in that position for what feels like hours until the voices of the others filter through and then next thing she knows M’gann is hugging her.

Brainy lifts her off the ground and it should surprise her that he could do that, but it doesn't. It feels like the most natural thing in the world as Kara laughs and Nia squeals at Brainy to put Kara down so she can hug her too. Nia’s squeals turn into quiet emotional sniffles the minute Kara’s arms wrap around her. And in that moment Kara realizes it isn’t just one sister she lost for a while there, she lost Nia too.

And then, her eyes land to the person in the back of the room. The person who didn’t run at her like the others. Whose heartbeat is now thundering so loud in Kara’s ears, now that her eyes have found her.

Lena.

She looks as beautiful as ever and Kara feels her heart swell so hard she fears it could burst. For a moment, she thinks she’s survived the Phantom Zone just so Lena Luthor could kill her with one look.

The moment their eyes meet, Lena’s body lurches forward only to stop awkwardly halfway through, leaving her standing there, twiddling her fingers, eyes shining with tears, her whole frame shaking from holding back.

Kara is two steps away from running to her and she was absolutely going to. She realizes Lena is doing the thing she does best.

Shrinking herself.

Kara was about to run to her—

But a shrill ringing breaks through their staredown, Lena breaks away from Kara’s gaze to look at her phone and then she is turning away; phone to her ear.

Later, Kara will think she should’ve run after Lena. She should’ve run after Lena, snatched the phone away from her and wrapped her arms so tight around her and told her how much she loved her, how much she missed her, how hard she fought just to see her again.

If she did, maybe they wouldn’t be here now. They wouldn’t be running inside an abandoned warehouse, trying to find where Lex had hidden Lena.

She wouldn’t be too late.

Maybe, if Kara did things a lot more different, she wouldn’t be here now; clutching Lena’s broken, bloody body to her chest and screaming at the sky.

How dare the universe hand her another loss?

******

When she opens her eyes, she gasps out Lena’s name. She jerks so suddenly, her head hits a low stalagmite and rattles the ground she’s currently lain on.

It takes her a long time to collect her bearings. She stares long and hard at her hands. It felt so real.

Lena’s blood on her hands. Lena’s pale face getting paler and paler. Lena dying.

She gets approximately two minutes of reprieve. These 120 seconds she uses to breathe in deep, lets herself feel the extent of her fear. The anger seeps deep into her bones but it was nothing compared to the grief in her heart at the thought of losing Lena.

Lena!!! Her brain screams, LENA IS HOME!!! Lena is ho—

And then the moment the thought comes barreling at her, the pain returns. It returns tenfold and Kara doesn’t even try to move.

She knows what’s going to happen next.

******

Alex finds her unconscious on the ground.

She yells for back-up in her comms.

Dreamer and Brainy and J’onn run to the portal.

J’onn fends off the Phantoms circling Kara long enough for Dreamer to create one of her forcefield tunnels in order to get Kara from the ground and unto the portal entrance unharmed.

These are the things they will tell her once she wakes up.

They will tell her how hard it had been for everyone, how perpetually dim those days without Kara were.

Kara will cry upon hearing all of it. She will cry because she saw her father again and she couldn’t save him, she will cry because why does it always keep happening to her?

What could she have possibly done to the universe that it would give her something this cruel?

She will cry because it’s been so long since she’s heard Alex’s voice and now she is right here, telling Kara that she did nothing wrong, that the universe just sucks. But it’s okay, because the universe can suck all it wants and Alex will always be there through all the sucky parts.

After the teary reunion, Brainy will come running into the room, just as the two of them are untangling from their embrace.

Brainy will then tell them that Sentinel needs to suit up. Brainy will be too emotional to say the words, “It’s Lena- Lena has- Lena’s been-”

“Brainy what is it? What's wrong with Lena?”

M’gann will say it for him.

“Lena has been killed.”

Kara will cry and cry and cry.

******

You know that painful lump in your throat that makes it hard for you to breathe because you are holding your sobs in?

That was how Kara woke up, with a painful lump in her throat that made her want to throw up. She didn’t even get to see her this time. She just woke up to a world where Lena was killed, and all she could do was cry about it.

And so, she cried. She cried and cried and cried and punched the walls of that cave. She screamed so loud and let the echoes of her screams resonate all around the hollow space.

The hollow space so similar to the chasm inside Kara’s chest.

Her screaming is cut off by a sharp pain shooting from her temple and immediately spreading. This time, the spread was much faster than the last. It knocks the breath out of Kara, steals the voice out of her shout and makes her submit.

She curls into herself. She struggles to fight off the call of slumber. Her eyes close against her wishes.

******

There are no portals this time.

All Kara remembers is that she touched a glowing stone on the murky soil west of her cave and then the next moment she is standing in The Tower.

Something was wrong.

Kara knew something was wrong, because the moment she was zapped in. Alex didn’t come running to her. Nobody did. They just stared at her. All of them wearing black.

“I’m back, I-I’m home.”

It alarms her that she felt the need to verbally say it. J’onn comes up to her, “Kara,” he says and he swallows, puts a hand on her shoulder.

J’onn looks like he’s going to tell her something. And that this something isn’t easy for J’onn to say. Alex takes one look at J’onn, realizes what J’onn was going to do and walks out.

“Wait— Alex! What- Where are you— J’onn what is happening?”

She wishes she never asked.

******

She wakes up again. This time she doesn’t bother to get up, doesn’t try to scream, doesn’t try to cry.

She just lays there.

The ceiling of the cave is the same shade of grey as of Lena Luthor’s tombstone. Never would she have thought that Lena Luthor and tombstone would be two things she says in the same sentence. It was J’onn who flew her there. In the dream? In the vision?? Kara doesn’t know anymore and frankly, Kara doesn’t care anymore.

Somebody left plumerias at the foot of her grave.

Plumerias.

Plumerias, like her mother’s favorite flower. Like—

Like the one in Lena’s office.

Like the one back home.

Home.

She lets the dark claim her willingly.

******

The Tower is destroyed. There are no survivors. Just Kara. Standing there in the ruins of what once used to be their hideout. Behind her the still gaping portal is blowing puffs of cold air from the Phantom Zone.

******

It’s Alex, this time. A role reversal. Lena breaks the news to her.

“S-she died, Kara. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Kara wants to die too.

******

It’s Lena and Alex.

Kara wants to laugh.

Of course, there would be a version where both Alex and Lena would be taken away from her. There was already a version where nobody survived. Why not this one too, right?

She should’ve known.

******

Eventually, she comes to one where it’s her who dies.

Isn’t it funny? That the thing she’s wanted—has been begging for—has come to life right in front of her, and Kara realizes, turns out it wasn’t what she wanted after all.

From where she's fallen on the ground she sees Alex bark orders. She hears hysterical screaming. She feels Lena kneel by her side.

Nia is slowly crumbling next to Alex’s side; she’s removed her Dreamer mask to let her tears flow freely.

“Don’t leave us, please, don’t leave us. Fight back, goddamnit, Kara fight back! We just got you back. Please, please, Kara, please. Not yet.”

She feels Lena’s tears fall down on her own cheeks.

She looks beautiful even with tears in her eyes.

Kara wishes she can move her thumb to wipe the tears from Lena’s eyes.

******

“I found her!”

Nia shoots up from where she was sleeping. Alex runs into the room. Brainy steps aside and lets her punch in the coordinates.

“Where is she?” Lena asks, suddenly materializing out of nowhere, startling Nia, green eyes frantically darting around at the monitor, waiting for the map to appear.

“There!” Nia shouts and points. There’s a little red dot blinking on the screen.

Lena shoves her, fingers flying across the console, zooms in and makes a 3 dimensional version of the landscape appear.

It’s a cave.

Kara’s inside a cave.

“I believe that’s what the Klamarian’s refer to as Caverna Tim-or,” Brainy states upon closer inspection.

They hadn’t noticed Alex behind them already gearing up.

“Then what are you nerds gawking around there for?! Suit up. Come on, let’s go!”

It spurs the whole team into action.

Nia was already in her Dreamer suit. She’s been sleeping in it for 2 nights in a row, now. Refusing to be woken up, just getting up to eat a power bar or to go to the bathroom. It was slowly nagging at Brainy, the way Nia wouldn’t move for extended periods of time until she jerks awake, exhausted and depleted from overusing her powers.

But this time, this time Nia doesn’t feel tired at all. She is pumped. She is hyped. She knows where Kara Danvers Zor-El is and they will bring her home.

The only one not running about the place in a flurry of guns, ammo and armor is Lena.

She is sitting perfectly still, in front of her monitor. She has to stay back, that has been the plan. If they ever find Kara’s coordinates, someone has to stay back and prepare The Tower for their return.

Lena knew it was going to be her. She didn’t have training to fight. She didn’t have any powers. All she knows is to throw a punch and she guesses that wouldn’t be helpful when faced with soul sucking creatures.

So, there she stays; controlling everything with her just a flick of her fingertips.

Besides, all their suits wouldn’t be upgraded if it weren’t for her. It was fine that she had to stay. She’s waited for Kara long enough, what’s a few more minutes of holding down the fort, right?

******

Lena might not have superpowers but she’s been gifted with enough intelligence to build the Superfriends trackers into the fibers of their suit, even have all of them linked directly to Lena’s supercomputer.

The one she’s had installed in The Tower much to J’onn’s protests. Lena didn’t have a job. She didn’t have responsibilities, she didn’t have to wake up at 7, go to work at 8 and be stuck in stuffy meetings.

She has free time and tonnes of money to rebuild The Tower’s entire tech department.

Brainy almost drooled when Lena pitched the plan to the team.

Lena also brought them Jess.

Or rather, Jess brought herself and nobody was man enough to tell her no. Who says no to a formidable American-Asian woman anyway? After Lena had emailed Jess about the recent developments regarding LuthorCorp. Jess had emailed her back almost instantly, telling her that she’s also just turned in her resignation and before she starts applying for another job, she asks, Ms. Luthor, do you need help with anything else?

Lena was floored with the loyalty that Jess had shown her. Instead of replying to the email, Lena called Jess. Upon answering, Jess expected many things from her boss, an eloquent thank you, a huge last pay, but she never expected to hear Lena Luthor sobbing into the line.

Jess asks if she could visit Lena in her flat.

“Like I mean, right now Ms. Luthor.”

“Lena, please, call me Lena.”

“Okay, Lena. Can I please go to your penthouse? Because, no offense, but you obviously do not sound okay, and I think I can help.”

“I’m actually not at my penthouse as of the moment.”

And that was how Jessica Huang was brought into the fold.

And also, if it weren’t for Jess, Lena thinks the rest of them would be lost.

As much as Lena was the brains of this operation, logically and legally speaking she wasn’t doing well.

The woman wasn’t eating and sleeping for fuck’s sake. For a woman who built a state of the art tech system in under three days, you’d think she’d realize that humans need to be healthy in order to function.

And so, it was Jess who handled Lena like she's done so many times before, handled all finances, handled all the press that all of them were bringing unto themselves. Jess enforced a No Flying Through the Balcony Unless Absolutely Necessary Rule and thus far it has worked.

Nobody was also allowed to use the main entrance. Only J’onn, the owner of the building, was allowed to be seen coming and going.

There were rag reporters at every turn and just one photograph of Dreamer, Sentinel and Guardian all going into the same building, would be a catastrophe. The young woman wanted to tear her hair out when she pointed it out and everyone was like, “Oh, yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Oh my god, yes, that makes sense.” As if the thought had never occurred to any of them before. Although, they were distracted with tracking a missing hero after all. So, Jess lets it go. She just shakes her head and makes sure each one of them has access to the secret entrance Lena designed.

Jess had also taken the time to go into the building opposite them, talked to the tenants and bought their silence. And then at the last minute, Jess thought, Hm, why not buy the whole block's silence?

The last thing these people—this team—needs right now, is a media frenzy.

She’s had enough practice with the youngest Luthor on that front.

Jess was also the one who organized them into shifts, pushed Alex to try to find a job at a local research center or even teach a bunch of self-defense classes. She made Nia go to CatCo on time and actually monitored all her deadlines, told J’onn to go do his private investigation stuff and made Lena eat three meals a day and sleep for about 6 hours every night.

Her and Kelly shepherded the team into a more reasonable routine.

Alex took the longest to warm up to her, though. Until the day Lena and Alex had a fight on whether or not they should tell Eliza.

It was a brutal screaming match.

Alex shouting that Lena has no right telling her what to do when it comes to her own mother. Lena screaming back that Alex has an obligation to tell her mother what really happened to Kara.

They all knew what it was really about, though. It was about Alex still being in denial. It was about Alex’s fear of Eliza labelling her a failure for not protecting her younger sister.

She didn’t want to tell Eliza. Because telling your mother news is one of the best ways to make that news a reality.

It was Jess who offered to find accommodations for Eliza once Alex finally found the courage and called her.

She bought Alex a six-pack of her favorite beer and sat with her till 4 am.

“Just once,” Jess says, “You get to drink this away, just once. And then you talk to Kelly about it, okay? I know we’re not really close, but well, I’m no stranger to family drama.”

“Thanks, Jess.”

Jess was not a stranger to loss too. She knows none of them are in their right minds with Kara gone. Everything happened so fast. And it really didn’t help that on every billboard and every LuthorCorp commercial you’ll hear about how perfectly perfect Lex Luthor is.

Everything happened so fast that Lena didn’t even question when she had known about Kara being Supergirl.

As if a ponytail and glasses would ever fool her, not to mention she’d seen Kara use a bit of superspeed now and again when she thought her best friend’s secretary wasn’t looking.

And so, the moment the Superfriends left for the Phantom Zone to find Kara. Lena Luthor immediately dialed one of her most trusted people in the world.

“Jess, I need you in The Tower, now.”

******

In twenty minutes, Lena was monitoring the team’s progress a thousand lightyears away, in the other room Eliza and Jess were preparing the med bed and the sunlamps.

It is now, in this moment, that it sinks in to her. This is real. This is real, they’re really bringing Kara back. They’ve found a way to find Kara, built a safe transport system into the Phantom Zone and if things go well, in less than fifteen minutes she will see Kara in the flesh again.

And she can’t help but feel the stirrings of fear begin in the pit of her stomach.

Sure, Kara had said that she trusts her again, but where exactly do they stand?

Does she even have the privilege of Kara’s friendship? Or are they merely allies?

It’s ironic, Lena knows exactly where her place is with the Superfriends, it took a long time and a lot of long talks but Lena now knows without a doubt that she belongs here, but well, now she doesn’t know where she belongs when it comes to Kara.

Kara’s been coaxing her to join them for years and now that Lena has, she’s now uncertain of their friendship with each other.

That’s always been the question with Kara isn’t it?

Are we really friends?

The red dot on the screen is joined by six more others on Lena’s screen.

They’ve arrived. They’ve located Kara. They’re right there with her right now.

Lena’s heart starts to race in her chest as the moment.

She tries not to imagine what Kara looks like once they find her there.

She tries not to imagine all the times she’s had nightmares about her being the one who finds Kara in the Phantom Zone.

Nia has been learning to project her dreams. Lena’s seen glimpses of what that piece of the universe looked like. She didn’t like what she saw, not one bit. She remembers how casually Kara had talked about it.

Whenever Alex asks Nia to project her dreams or asks Brainy to run the simulators, Lena walks out.

She takes it as her cue to leave. Don’t get it wrong it isn’t that Lena is afraid of the Phantom Zone. Oh no, if she could she had long rode a rocket ship there and rescued Kara.

It’s the visual coupled with the feeling of powerlessness along with the thought that Kara is out there, she’s there in that hell in outer space and it’s all Lena��s fault that she can’t stand.

That last one took a long time to shake off, it took a lot more than shaking off actually.

So, Lena leaves when they start to explore more about the Phantom Zone in VR and Nia’s dreams. She gets all of her information about the place, reading atlases from Brainy’s 31st century archives and other alien records, instead.

She has no idea what her friends are seeing there right now, what kind of creatures and all kinds of traps are set up for them. She hopes and prays to whoever it is up there that they bring Kara safe. That none of them gets hurt in the process.

She prays her family returns home to her in one piece.

******

Lena was brilliant enough to fix their suits with trackers that can remain linked back to her even if they were literally in outer space, but she didn’t have enough time to build a secure communication link.

Which means that the three of them, Eliza, Jess and her are staring at the screen. Watching seven multicolored dots move across the map, while they hear absolutely no news of how the team is doing.

The red one, Kara, remains unmoving, Lena notices, while the other colors circle around her. Lena does not want to think of the implications of that visual.

It either means Kara has been seriously injured and isn’t well enough to fight or Kara is…

She doesn’t dare finish that thought.

No, they will bring Kara home. They’ve got two Martians, a twelfth-level intellect Coluan, a human-Naltorian hybrid and two of the most elite human soldiers to fight for Kara.

They will save her, not to mention all of them are armed with tech made by Lena Luthor. There is no way Kara wouldn’t return home if she knew how hard they’ve been fighting.

Eliza must’ve noticed how tight she’s been gripping the edge of the console, because the older woman puts a hand atop hers.

“They’re going to be fine. We’re going to get them back. Don’t worry.”

Lena gives her a smile.

And then a portal opens in the middle of the room.

A strong woosh! comes out of the portal and immediately the three of them are running to the center of the room.

Inside, Lena sees Nia holding an entire ten yards of force field between where she's standing and the entrance of the portal.

J’onn is zipping around them fast, throwing off and assaulting Phantoms, Brainy is holding the portal open and there, in a dark awning of a cave she sees Kelly shielding Alex and M’gann.

A figure on the ground. Kara.

There was Kara. Kara was right there, lying unconscious on the ground and it’s taking every ounce of Lena’s willpower to not barrel through and carry her back here herself.

What good would she be if those creatures catch her? So, she stays there and she shouts, “Brainy, do you need help getting the portal stable?! I can hook you up to a closer power source if you keep it open long enough till all of you get back here!”

Brainy shouts something back but he is being drowned by the howling wind, so Lena takes it upon herself to do what she told Brainy.

Runs to the console with shaky fingers and with just a series of clicks and codes the portal opens much brighter and glows much more stable.

“THANK YOU!”

She hears Brainy shout and she smiles. Until she hears Nia say something that sounds like -can’t keep it up any longer, Alex! Alex! Now!

And then M’gann is heaving Kara unto her shoulders and Alex and Kelly are running for the portal, J’onn covering the four of them, Brainy waiting for Nia.

For a moment, Lena thinks, “This. This is what my life has become. I have alien friends. We are saving a superhero and there is a portal right in front of me right now. This is my life now.”

She shakes that epiphany out of her head

Alex sees her mother and shouts, “Mom, gurney! Gurney, she’s unconscious!”

Jess and Eliza run to fetch the gurney and Lena meets the four of them at the portal’s opening.

God, Kara was so pale, she was so pale being carried like that on M’gann’s back. Her cape is in tatters and her suit is soiled and dirty, there were cuts all around and her face, her wondrous beautiful face was so grimy and so was her hair.

There was nothing else in the world Lena wanted more than to cradle Kara in her arms.

******

Kara’s consciousness comes to her slowly; piece by piece. A bright light, a buzzing room, the quiet hum of an air-conditioner, and oh, her back is on a mattress, a soft, soft mattress. It makes her want to cry. She’s been sleeping on rocks for so long, she’s forgotten what mattresses feel like.

Her eyes remain closed but she’s lucid enough that she can decipher the buzz into separate voices.

“I cannot believe you didn’t change out of your suit! What did I tell you about hygiene and rest?”

“But, Jess— “

That was weird, was that Nia and Jess? What was Jess doing here?

For a brief window of a second, Kara’s heart drops. She’s in another dream-vision. She’s in—

“Would the two of you keep it down? Go yell at her in the living room.”

That was Alex. Wait— living room what?

“How’s she doing?”

Eliza! Eliza was here!

“Her vitals are fine, but I don’t think she has her powers. I was able to insert her Dextrose without using the red sunlamps.”

“She didn’t have sun there, honey.”

“I know.”

And then the conversation turns quiet and Kara hears Alex let out a quiet sob.

Then it gets muffled and Kara knows Alex is clinging to their mom. She wants to open her eyes now, she realizes.

So, she does.

She opens her eyes and she gets the frontrow view to Eliza and Alex sharing a teary embrace. Alex sitting down both arms wrapped around Eliza's torso, face soaking her mother's blouse.

“Hey, what about me?”

Her voice sounded scratchy and weak even to her own ears.

Alex breaks away from their mother, turns to look at her, gasps and flings herself forward to hug Kara.

Kara lets out a wet laugh, “I missed you, I really, really missed you, Alex.”

“I missed you too, loser.”

And oh, how she's missed this.

Eliza steps in to give her a hug too and Kara sobs in her arms and she lets herself fall apart in the arms of her mom.

Because that’s what Eliza is to her. A mother.

Her mother.

“Don’t you scare me like that, ever again, you hear me?”

“I promise, never again, Mom.”

It doesn’t matter that all of them know it isn’t true. Kara will be in far more dangerous situations again. Kara will risk her life again and again. But that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is she’s safe and Eliza’s asking her to tell her what she wants to hear, even though they all know better.

She still wants to hear it anyway.

“Good,” Eliza says, squeezes her one last time and then pulls back to brush the hair out of her face, “I’m going to get you some food, you must be hungry.”

When Eliza said that, it was like Kara’s body remembered all of its functions likewise all of its needs, she’s never felt this exhausted and this hungry before.

Eliza sees her eyes light up at the mention of food and chuckles before exiting.

And now, it’s just Alex and her.

Her sister doesn’t look good. She looks older somehow. She looks tired.

Not that Kara can blame her, she understands what it must’ve felt like to Alex to lose her in a split second and not see her again for almost—

Her train of thought stops when she realizes she doesn’t know how long she’s been gone.

“How long have I been out?”

“12 hours. You need more hours under the sunlamps, so don’t even think about—”

“No, Alex,” she cuts her off, sits up on the bed, “I mean— I meant to ask, how long was I gone?”

Alex refuses to meet her eyes, swallows hard.

Kara moves her hand over hers and squeezes.

“It’s okay, I’m here now, we can go through it together,” she says and Alex eyes well up in tears again before letting out a strangled, “3 months, Kara. You’ve been gone for 3 months.”

“Oh, Alex, come here.”

At first, the mention of the time doesn’t even bother her, she was more concerned about Alex. She lets her climb in bed with her, careful not to jostle her IV.

Her sister says she's been dehydrated and she needed a boost. Kara knows that it’s no ordinary Dextrose. Lois must’ve given them some of Kal’s stuff from Argo.

They lay side by side in that cramped bed and Alex catches her up on everything.

And then and only then, does Kara realize she’s missed 3 months of her life.

“How’s Kelly?” she asks, not for her but for Alex because she’s missed the way her sister's eyes light up when she’s talking about the person she loves and besides, Kara doesn’t really want to talk about her side.

And so, Alex tells her that Kelly is now Guardian, and then she tells her—albeit more shyly—that she also has a hero name now.

Sentinel.

Kara likes the sound of that.

“It suits you,” she tells her, “You’ve always watched over me.”

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Eliza finds them like that, feeds Kara soup and she's taken in approximately 20 swallows before she passes out again.

******

The next time Kara wakes, everybody is there.

Brainy bought her 3 dozens of donuts, Nia brought her flowers, Kelly bought her potstickers.

All of those made her cry, the colors of the flowers were so vibrant, she’s missed seeing colors. The Phantom Zone was all black and gray and sad. Nia almost pulled away in fear of doing something wrong that might’ve upset Kara when she started sobbing at the sight of roses. Kara just gave her a big ole bear hug and a wet kiss on the cheek.

But, there was one person though, one person that she hasn’t seen around and to be honest? She’s been too scared to ask about.

She still hasn't told Alex about the visions. How can she explain her fear of seeing Lena if Alex doesn’t know about the visions? Her sister would start asking questions soon, though.

Why hasn't she talked to Lena yet? Why she hasn't asked? Why was she so scared of—

And then, as she was just inhaling her third box of potstickers, mind going over how to talk to Alex and Kelly is snorting over whatever it is that Brainy said, Kara’s world stops.

Her supersenses—it seems—are back and the first thing it chooses to focus on is a familiar heartbeat.

Her head whips to the door and there, Lena Luthor, her best friend—the most beautiful soul Kara’s ever seen—is standing there.

She’s fiddling with her thumbs and it reminds Kara so much of the first time she’s fallen victim to those horror show visions.

Fear grips her and refuses to let her go.

She knows this. She’s seen this sight way too many times.

Lena takes a step forward, then pulls back, holds herself back and then—

Her phone rings.

Kara shoots out of her bed, in the next instant she is right in front of Lena.

Distantly, she hears Nia shriek and Kelly shout, “Kara, oh my god!”

It doesn’t even register to her that she’s used superspeed that her superspeed is back.

All she feels is that she knows who’s on the other side of the line and she’s got to stop Lena from taking the call and she really, really, really just wants to hug her.

Lena’s eyes are wide when she realizes the quick woosh she’s heard is Kara.

“Kara, what—“

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she is quick to amend, “I just- I-” and then more eloquently, “Can we please talk?”

“I—” Lena hesitates, looks down at her phone, “I- I have to take a call.”

“No. Please, no don’t take the call, please trust me?”

“Kara, what are you talking about?”

Lena’s brows are furrowed in confusion now.

“Please,” she pleads, “Trust me, give the phone to Brainy, let him check it for you.”

“Kara, what—” she stops herself but then Lena takes a deep breath, looks straight into her eyes and says, “Okay, okay.” and then calls, “Brainy? Could you come here for a second?”

She lets out a sigh of relief and tension leaves her body and that’s when she realizes the cold tile of the floor beneath her feet and looks down to find that she’s barefoot.

Lena hands Brainy her phone and Nia hands Kara a pair of familiar fuzzy slippers. Alex must’ve made a run to her apartment, this morning.

“So,” Lena says, Kara can tell she’s nervous.

“You said you wanted to talk?”

“Yes,” Kara breathes out, “But first, can I hug you?”

This, Kara thinks, as Lena’s arms wrap around her and her shampoo invades her sense of smell and her warmth seeps into Kara’s body...

This is home.

******

Lena led her through the ‘living room’ and out to the balcony.

“I’m sorry I’m confused, living room?”

Lena chuckles and god, Kara’s missed that sound. Out of all the sounds on Earth, it was Lena’s laugh, Lena’s words, Lena’s voice she’s missed so much.

“Well, uhm everybody started camping out, there two weeks after you’ve…”

Lena's smile falters a bit but then she braves on through; omitting the words the both of them already knew, “And then Nia just started calling it living room, I mean, I guess it does look like a living room more than a heroes’ lair, now.”

And then Kara takes a good look around and Lena’s right, it does look more of a messy living room than a heroes’ lair.

There was a tangle of chargers on the cushions besides Nia’s laptop and Alex’s leather jacket draped over a couch, a couple of mugs sat on the coffee table. There were other knick-knacks too littered around, a Rubik’s cube here, a stress ball there, a couple of discarded pens and a lot of scratch papers filled with gadget designs.

She knows who to credit with those.

She’s missed so much. It hits her then She’s missed how all of this happened. How everyone had grown comfortable enough in The Tower that everyone considers it their second home.

Lena must’ve seen the way Kara’s eyes were roaming the place. Because she places a hand on Kara’s arm and the touch grounds her.

“Hey,” Lena says, “It’s your home too.”

She doesn’t know how to feel about that, but the way Lena says it makes Kara aware that Lena considers this place her home too.

Lena feels part of the team. Lena’s at home here, with her people, with her team.

The thought fills her with so much happiness but then—

If Lena became family while she was gone, what did Lena think of her now, then?

They stay quiet for a moment, which is driving Kara crazy, because she dragged Lena out here and now, she doesn’t know what to say.

“Kara,” Lena says the same time Kara says, “Lena,”

She smiles shyly at Kara and god, that smile. Kara wants to kiss that smile.

She doesn’t.

Even though Lena’s caught her staring at her lips.

“Okay, uhm I’ll go first,” Kara decides, averts her gaze and Lena gives her a small nod.

“Look, I’ll be honest, I- I don’t know how to do this and frankly, I’m not sure where I stand in your life anymore,” she admits and that seems to get Lena’s attention which just makes Kara’s palm get sweaty.

“Lena, I—”

“There you are!” Alex shouts at the two of them and whatever was about to happen, whatever Kara has to say becomes completely eclipsed by the next words Alex says.

“Lex is back. We have to hide Lena.”

******

“What?” Lena retorts back, loudly, “What do you mean hide?”

“Your phone, you gave it to Brainy right?”

Lena nods slowly at Alex, then looks at Kara and holds her gaze as if to say something.

“Yes, and?”

“We have reason to believe that he’s targeting an attack mainly for you,” Alex says and Lena isn’t really surprised.

The whole team is gathered now and Brainy is pulling up the details on how Lex had planted a bomb in her penthouse.

How original.

“Wait, you gave your phone to Brainy. How did you even know something was up?”

It was Kelly who asks and Lena realizes that it really wasn’t her it was—

“She didn’t.”

“What?”

Kara speaks up for the first time since they’ve been gathered here and Lena somehow finds herself wanting to close in on Kara’s space.

“Lena didn’t know. I did,” Kara tells everyone and Alex frowns for a minute, trying to comprehend.

“How?”

She sees Kara tense up at the question and this time she lets herself be pulled into the gravity of Kara. She takes the three step gap between and sidles up to her.

Kara seems to notice their close proximity and proceeds, “I uhm— I had these…”

Kara’s struggling to find the word, “Visions, I guess you can call them that, when I was uh- when I was stuck in this cave in the Phantom Zone. It was— they were very, very awful dreams. And in each and every one of them I lose somebody I love. But—”

She stops again and the pause seems to kill Alex but Lena’s attention is all on Kara, Kara’s staring at her like she’s trying to tell her something, Lena reaches over and squeezes her hand.

It works. The gesture gives Kara the push she needs.

“But mostly, they were about Lena.”

A tear falls from Kara’s face and Lena aches to wipe it away.

“Cavena Tim-or,” Brainy interrupts, “In Latin, timor stands for fear. You were stuck in the cave of fears, Kara.”

“But didn’t you say it was Klamarians' who named the place?”

“Yes, well, you’d be surprised at who was present during humanity’s past civilizations.”

After that, Alex quickly asks the question she’s been dying to ask since Kara told them about her experience two seconds ago.

“What did you see?”

“In one of them, the first one actually, I came home. I came back here, though a portal. Lena’s in the back of the room. She steps out to answer a call, but she never comes back,” Kara chokes up and this time, Lena presses up against her and wraps an arm around Kara.

“I’m here,” she says quietly.

“She never comes back because Lex abducts her and then kills her. And every time I fall asleep in that cave, it was that. Again and again and again. Lena dies again and again. And I lose her each and every time. I- I lose you each and every time.”

Before anybody else can speak up after Kara’s little revelation.

Lena tugs at her, makes her look at her. Lena’s wearing heels, Kara’s wearing fuzzy slippers, it allows Lena to put a hand on Kara’s cheek and finally wipe away her tears.

“I am right here. I am not going anywhere, you will never lose me. You always have me, Kara. You’ll always have me.”

******

Lex planting a bomb was such a fucking insult. It’s infuriating. But Lena wasn’t mad that he wanted her to die but because that was the lamest attempt ever. It was an insult to Lena’s intelligence.

She knows her brother. He wouldn’t settle for something as pedestrian as this.

And so, Lena does something she hasn’t done in a long time.

She calls her mother.

******

“Your favorite child is attempting sororicide again.”

“Yes, I’m aware. At least tell me you’re clever enough to have run into a discreet location?

“I don’t run, Mother.”

“Hm. For this one I advise you do.”

“What is he planning?”

“Well, that’s a surprise, I thought you already knew. Given the fact that you weren’t running.”

“I have an inkling.”

“I’m telling you now, Lena. You should run.”

“Why would I?”

“Supergirl’s back, Lena. Think about it.”

How the fuck did Lillian knew they got Kara back?

******

It turns out Lex's grand plan was to make the Girl of Steel choose.

The city or Lena Luthor.

It took them a while to figure out how Lex knew Kara was home.

Because of course, it’s always the things right on your nose that you don't see.

Remember the story about Jess making the occupants around the whole block sign NDA’s and buying their silence?

Apparently, Lex Luthor bought them at a much higher price and made them talk. Money makes the world go round, indeed. Or in this case, makes the world explode.

He planted moles and surveillance cameras all round the area and when the team got Kara back, somebody made the call to Lex Luthor.

He was staging a series of explosions using all of the National City’s residential areas. If there are victims, there would be a need for a saviour. And who would be a better saviour than Lex Luthor?

The explosives were all planted throughout a group of small-income businesses that can be found in most residential areas. A salon, a bakery, a dentist clinic, you name it.

Lex bought out these properties one by one under a pseudonym. Goddamn pretentious bastard. And then had his goons plant the bombs.

And the most irritating thing is, they weren’t the simple kind of bomb. Cut the red, save everybody kind of bomb. No, this one was a high-tech, highly volatile kind of bomb. Lena would soon discover that the bomb was one of Lex’s designs.

A compact, almost the size of a notebook, a plastic rectangular thing that nobody would notice. If you left it in the dentist's office, they’d just assume somebody has left a power bank in their hurry. But as soon as one goes near it—

Kaboom!

Game over.

******

Lex succeeds in taking Lena.

The plan was to get to a safe house before anything happens. Make use of the transmatter portals because Kara says she doesn’t trust any of them driving Lena and she was still too weak to fly her anywhere.

Lex abducts her in the middle of transporting. Her entire being felt like they were turned upside down during that. He hacked her coordinates and grabbed her in the middle of the process. Her brother defied Laws of Physics just to get to her.

“You’re forgetting, I was the one who made those watches.”

She is gagged and cuffed, not the police kind of cuffs but the DEO kind of cuffs, the heavy biometric access ones.

She can only imagine Kara’s horrified face when Lena fails to turn up at the other side of the portal.

Lex drops the bomb on the floor, 5 steps away from her and makes his mandatory villain speech. Lena tuned out about halfway through.

Every hour that the Girl of Steel fails to show up for Lena and saves another neighborhood instead, the bomb gets closer and closer to Lena.

Don’t save me, Kara. Save the lives of others. Don’t save me.

******

The thing about using tech for bombs is that Brainy will most likely have a solution on how to solve it, fast.

"We encountered a similar problem back when I was part of the Legion."

"Well, you know what to do then?"

"I do."

******

It’s Alex who saves her and...Lillian.

“Only you?” Lena jokes breathing heavily, as Alex removes her cuffs and Lex is down on the floor.

“Where’s the rest of the cavalry?” she says, standing up from the monobloc chair. Alex in all her Sentinel glory, waving a device that Lena suspects is for detonating the bomb.

“Actually…” Alex trails off, gestures somewhere to the entrance.

And like some well-timed cue, Lillian Luthor rounds the corner.

Her mother was wearing a long black coat and heels, hair flowing, half in an updo. She looked as she always looked, an expensive calculating cold bitch.

“Lena,” she coos, gracefully kisses Lena on the cheek as if she hadn’t just sidestepped her son who was lying on the floor unconscious with a broken nose, as if Lena wasn’t just held hostage fearing for her life and for countless others, as if half of National City almost didn’t blow up.

Just a typical Tuesday for the Luthors.

Alex was too busy detonating the bomb on the ground to explain what the hell Lillian was doing here.

Her mother leans in closer, Lena feels the cold metal of a gun being thrust in her hands, she whispers, “I told him not to harm you.”

And in that moment in time, Lena realizes what this is. Her mother didn’t come for her because she cared if Lena lived or not. This was Lilian’s cheap shot at redemption. Lex had obviously failed her. But Lena? Lena might just be her saving grace.

Lillian must’ve thought if she played her cards right, Lena would pull her up from the depth of her sins. But no more, Lena knows better now. She isn’t the same woman who Lillian Luthor can manipulate into her traps.

Lena knows better now.

******

The sun is harsh on her face as Alex, her and Lillian make their way out of the warehouse.

Lex was being taken care of by a SWAT team. Old agents of the DEO that remained loyal to Alex Danvers and just like her had a hunch that Lex Luthor was bad news.

They pile up inside a nondescript van.

Alex’s first words to her as she shuts the vehicle doors close and the van lurches, are, “‘You’ll always have me?'” she mocks, “I mean Christ, Luthor, I had a hunch that you were gay for my sister but I didn’t know you were that ‘gay’.”

Alex rolls her eyes, makes air quotations around the word ‘gay’. Lena snorts. Lilian looks like she was going to throw up.

On the ride back, Alex tells her that Lillian stepped forward saying she knew where Lena was, snuck into The Tower, which J’onn or any of the Superfriends didn’t appreciate.

“Your security system is predictable, Lena. I’m your mother not to mention I’m a Luthor.”

Lena pushed down the urge to punch her in the face.

“Kara was this close...” Alex holds her index finger and her thumb in a pinch. “-to heat visioning her.”

Of course, it would be Lillian Luthor who would know where Lena would be taken by Lex.

Apparently, the others were scattered around National City helping to evacuate residents.

They all know Brainy could undo all of Lex’s bombs and avoid any casualties, but still, better safe than sorry.

It was only when they are already stepping inside the Tower’s elevators that it occurs to Lena that she still doesn't know where Kara is.

******

“She solar flared looking all over National City for you,” Alex tells her as they walk into the medbay and she sees Kara’s sleeping form under the glow of the sunlamps.

Alex excuses herself after changing out of her suit, muttering “Idiots, goddamn idiots I swear to God-” under her breath and Lena pretends she doesn't hear.

Flying around National City all night long exerting her supersenses fresh from a 3 month stay in a sunless hell and after only 12 hours under sunlamps, resulted in this; Kara unconscious yet again, powerless and weak.

Lena pulls up a chair next to Kara's bed. Grabs her right hand and puts it against her cheek, her palm warm against Lena's skin and there, with only Kara and the hum of the sunlamps, Lena cries. The events of the last few months finally catching up to her.

She falls apart, clutching Kara's hand tightly like an anchor.

******

Kara wakes up exhausted and parched. She blinks her eyes open to bright yellow lights.

She groans, rubs her eyes trying to sit up. The moment she sits up she realizes she isn’t alone.

Lena was here, sleeping on folded arms on the side of her med bed.

That does not look like a comfortable position.

“Lena,” she tries, nudging her gently on the shoulder.

“Hey, baby, wake up.”

Lena rouses, hums a confused, “Mm?” and slowly opens her eyes. Kara is shocked to see Lena’s emerald eyes have turned into bloodshot, tired ones.

“Were you crying?” Kara whispers, shuffling on the bed to get close enough to cup Lena’s face.

Lena doesn’t answer, just lets her head be tilted, Kara’s thumb softly rubbing at her cheek, concerned blue eyes burning into her. Kara looks like she’s going to ask once again but Lena cuts her off, half-afraid that if she doesn’t do it now, she will never do it.

“Kara, I love you.”

There. She did it. It’s done. She's said it. She can't take it back.

Immediately, Kara’s thumb stills and her eyes widen.

“And I’m so tired of this, I’m so tired of you and me getting separated. With you not knowing how much I love you. How much it hurts every time you’re away from me. I’m so tired of not being with you, Kara.”

Her voice is heavy with emotion; exhaustion and overwhelming love bleeding into each other. She stares at Kara who’s still frozen, tears slowly falling, making her eyes shine like sapphire.

She feels Kara resume the movement of her thumb and only then does Lena realize she’s crying as well.

“I have you, right here, right now, but for how long? For how long? Because I know, I fucking know, Kara, this life. Your life. Our life. One way or another some disaster is going to get us again and I don’t want that to happen without me having told you how I feel. So, here I am,” she breathes out, “Here I am, telling you how I feel.” Lena puts a hand to Kara’s hand and cradles it, leans in to the touch, kisses her palm.

“I love you and I can’t hide it anymore. I don’t want to hide it anymore. I love you.”

“Lena,” Kara finally replies, breathless and emotional, “You saved me, do you know that? You’re all I’ve dreamt about the whole time I was away. You're the thing that's kept me alive. My home is you, has been you, for some time now and I didn’t even have the chance to tell you.”

Lena breaks when she hears this, as her mind takes her back to the past three months of missing Kara, of feeling so fucking lonely, of feeling so fucking scared.

“I love you, Rao, I love you so much. I can’t not love you. You’re everything, Lena. You’re my home.”

Kara has moved so close to her that she’s able to press their foreheads together as she murmurs, “I love you,” again and again and again.

“I’m tired of all of this too. I just want to love you, Lena.”

These are the words Kara utters before she presses their lips together.

******

“Lena?”

“Hm?” Lena hums, distracted. It was a good day today. She woke up to Lena making pancakes in her kitchen, wearing nothing but Kara’s old yellow hoodie. The sight almost made her turn to goo.

It was her third day back after spending so long confined to The Tower’s bed under the sun lamps. She was sure it would be longer if Alex had her way.

Tomorrow, Lena will be arranging her affairs in taking L-Corp back. They both know she has a long way to go. Kara’s not worried though, if Lena did it once, she can do it again and just like before Kara will be with her every step of the way.

Now, they’re just lounging around lazily in Kara’s apartment. Lena curled up on her couch with a book and Kara on the floor writing on her laptop.

She came back to CatCo last Monday and now she’s trying to come up with a good enough email to send to Cat Grant and ask her for a favor. She loves Nia but Rao, did she really have to say Cat Grant to Andrea?

“Why was Jess yelling at Nia last week? I woke up to Jess’s voice, actually. And more importantly, Jess knows???!”

“Oh, darling, Jess has always known.”

Kara stops typing and turns around to prop herself up on the couch.

“What? I’m sorry what?” she blurts out, incredulous. Lena puts her book down and looks at her.

“Apparently, you haven’t been very subtle.”

“Wha- No! I can be sneaky! I’m sneaky!”

Lena snorts at her protests.

“Sure you are,” she purrs and if Kara wasn’t writing an urgent email, that voice would’ve made her destroy the couch

“—and uh Jess was yelling at Nia for not following Tower rules.”

“W-we have rules?” she says, Kara shakes off the straying thoughts out of her mind and focuses back on what Lena is saying. She hauls herself off the floor and unto the couch, Lena making room, lifting her legs and then putting it back down on Kara’s lap once she’s comfortably seated.

“Mm-hm.”

Kara’s hands start trailing up and down Lena’s bare legs on her lap.

“Will you tell me? I don’t want Jess to yell at me.”

Lena flashes a smile at that and Kara blushes adorably.

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you, come here,” she answers and makes grabby hands at Kara. Rao, it’s a miracle Kara hasn’t died from the sheer cuteness that is Lena Luthor.

Kara shifts positions and fits herself horizontally, draping half of herself on Lena and Kara listens to the 5 cardinal rules of Jessica Huang. It mostly just says all of them should eat, sleep and balance superhero work and real work.

She wants to ask if somebody is paying Jess, but then realizes Lena Luthor is next to her and she would never let somebody like Jess work for free.

The thought of how utterly good and compassionate Lena is, makes her smile.

“Lena?” Kara mutters, nosing at Lena’s neck.

“Have I ever told you I love you?”

Lena laughs, “Once or twice.”

“Well, that wouldn’t do. From now on, it’s my mission to tell you I love you till I’ve said it a billion times,” Kara declares.

“A billion?”

“Mm-hm. And even a billion doesn’t even feel like enough.”

“You’ll always be enough for me, Kara,” Lena says, looking down to her and kissing her temple, “You’re more than enough for me.”

“I love you, Lena.”

“I love you too.”

******

There are two parts to Kara Danvers' story The Searching and The Coming Home.

She never even knew she was searching for something, someone, till she found Lena, till she found somebody to come home to.

******

uhm so, @uselesslesbianfr submitted something to me and my brain just started churning and then before i knew it i've written a 10k one shot about the brief plot she's sent me. so yeahhh.

#so uhm hi #this happened apparently #the reckless writer writes #a longggggg supercorp one shot #supercorp #supercorp fic #rcklss writes

239 notes · View notes

yandere-wishes · 3 years

Text

⭐Yandere Joestars⭐

(Parts 1-7 + Bonus Charcter: Joseph and Johnny’s characterizations are based off @dear-yandere ‘s interperations) I tried to write this mostly in the Joestars' POV. Their respective darlings resemble lifelike dolls rather than human beings to further illustrate how out of touch with reality the Jojos have become.

Warnings: Gore, kidnapping, dehumanization.

Edited: By the amazing Peri!! (@tealyjade-libran )

⭐Jonathan Joestar is possessive. ⭐

It's only when you lose something, that you start to cherish it...

It's an old saying, one that Jonathan remembers from an antique storybook his mother use to read him. It didn't mean anything back then, when he was still an infant too young and new, to fully comprehend what "owning" and "losing" was. But as the years ticked by faster than any clock could keep track of, things started to change. What had once been a passing quote in a chivalrous story about knights and dragons, soon turned into the epitome of Jonathan Joestar's life.

Soon love wasn't about saving a princess or impressing the neighborhood girls with his boxing skills. No, all too soon love became about own and guarding.

There may have been a time -long before "Jojo" and Dio met- when Jonathan was just like any other gentleman. Tender and sweet, flirtish at gatherings and charming in ladies' companies...but that was a Jonathan from a could-be-past that had been demolished the minute Dio Brando stepped foot onto the Joestar estate. From then on things depleted all so quickly. Everything Jonathan had come to unconsciously cherished had been so easily stripped from him by his beloved new "brother".

Everything he loved had been killed, destroyed, or broken in some inhuman way. His friends had abandoned him, his lover had distorted him, his father didn't even notice him...

"It's only when you lose something, that you start to cherish it". The second time he hears that phrase, it freezes him to the pavement, his body star-struck like he just received a message from the heavens. Although it's rather peculiar, why "heaven" would convey a message to him in such an unholy place.

With Dio having practically kicked Jonathan out of the mansion and countryside. Jojo had no other place to go but the back allies of London. Sure he still tried to be home for supper and bedtime and any other time his father may get an inkling of his absence. But when there was no need to 'appear' Jonathan took to the London streets away from Dio and his lackeys.

In fate's bizarre game, it's in a backstreet that reeks of days old licker and rotting flesh of paupers that no one has bothered to bury. That Jojo hears that life-defining idiom once more. His dulling sapphire blue eyes follow the mist of those melodious words. Staring until they're practically itching to cut through his sockets and run after those little words. But they stop right before they can leave their eyelets, they stop and stare at the figure that strolls out of the shadows, in such a way, that would make Jojo's father slap him across the face for being "barbarous".

It's luck or fate or maybe even destiny that leads the heir of the Joestar legacy to meet his darling in the slums of England.

"How my heart resonates when I lay my weary eyes on your enchanting face..."

There's an odd sweetness about the naivety that surrounds his little friend. A sort of innocence that comes with not knowing about the hell that he's gone through. It's charming in a moderate way, his darling can't come to despise him if they haven't got a clue who he is. Keeping both his worlds as far apart as possible is really the only option left. Dio and his friends can't hurt his new friend? Lover? Companion? In actuality, Jonathan really doesn't know what you are to him. At first, you're merely a distraction from his crumbling, lonely shell of an existence. A sort of invisible pillar holding up London's bridge before it collapses into the River Thames. Sure he views you as another person, unlike the other noblemen Jonathan has no desire to treat you as anything less than a respectable young lady despite your social statutes.

Dio can have the noblemen and ladies, he can have all of George's affection and favor, Heck Dio can have the whole goddamn world for all Jonathan cares. So long as he has his darling, his sunflower, his only means for living, then he will be content.

Jojo lost everything he once loved, but he swears it to every star in the night sky that'll preserve his darling from the wickedness that runs this cruel world. He'll cherish her while she's still in his arms...

He'll protect her, just like the knights did in the old bedtime stories his mother would tell him.

"...I swear on my honor as a Joestar that I shall never lose you to the likes of anyone, I'll be a true gentleman, a true knight and I'll protect you from any who wishes cause you harm."

⭐Joseph Joestar is Protective and all so patronizing.⭐

Why must Love hurt so much?

It's solitude, pure utter solitude that attracts Joseph to his darling. Oh sure, he must have known them from an earlier time in his life, back when the words Hammon and Ripple just sounded like fancy dessert names. Back when he was still a naive kid wishing on every goddamn star that he could just meet one of his parents for a fraction of a second. Back when life was easy when everything made sense. That's when he first met his darling. Although all so many years ago he probably just thought of them as the little sister he never got a chance of having.

There's a numbness growing inside him now that his life has slipped off its axes, hurling into unknown darkness that plagues him in the form of Pillarmen and red gems.

Everywhere he looks there's a reminder that nothing's going back to the way it used to be. No waking up to Granny Erina's voice calling him down for breakfast, no running around chasing Old Man Speedwagon. Everything is gone, replaced by Lisa Lisa's brutal training and Ceaser's endless taunting.

Day by day nothing changes, but once he looks back every little thing is different. Ruptured and mangled into something unrecognizable.

But then there's his darling. Someone -or rather something- that's still the same. Just like before. Her smile is still the same as ever, bright and cheery as she runs up to him wrapping her arms around his abdomen muttering about how much she missed her "Dear Big Brother".

(Y/N) is a comfort, a familiarity in a strange new world. She's something so frail and vulnerable, not to mention naive. Thrusted into a world where horror writers don't dare venture into. It's so likely that she'd be captured by one of Kar's zombie vampire things or -even worse- charmed by Caesar’s silver tongue.

It's thoughts like these that haunt Joseph at night, keep him up and wandering into her room just to gaze at her sleeping form. He's lucid enough to know how it might look. Like he's the bad guy trying to take advantage of a defenseless little girl. But he can justify his actions, he's her big brother, he has to watch over especially when she's at her most vulnerable. If Ceaser ever tried anything or some vampire freak snatched her away in the dead of night, Joseph would never forgive himself!

But what does he get for all his efforts? What does he get for all his sleepless nights and hours upon hours of worrying? Just a small smile and a fleeting kiss on the cheek. No sincere, "Thank you big brother," or, "You're my hero Joseph!" Nothing, nothing worthwhile anyway.

Now it's a competition, a battle to the death if it has to be -funny how he takes this more seriously than his match against Wamuu.- He's competitive by nature and he's willing to do anything to earn his darling's affection once more. He doesn't care who he has to beat within an inch of their life so long as he can have his darling back in his arms.

There is an aftermath to all of these, once all the fighting has ended and the battle's won. Once Joseph has finally claimed his prize. There's a certain way his darling has to act. She’s got to smile and play the role of the dotting little sister once more. Just so Joseph can justify his actions...

"And your next line is, 'I love you more than anything else big brother Joseph!'...at least I wish it was."

⭐Jotaro Kujo is cold and sadistic.⭐

Never learned how to love...

A lover by Jotaro's book is nothing more than a walking, talking doll. Someone who cooks meals, irons clothes, and kisses him on the cheek before he leaves for the day. Sure they have other uses, in flares of passionate moments, they're something to hold onto, another pair of limbs to get tangled in. Something hot and solid, someone to push down, to weigh his force on.

That's it, that's all there is to it...

A lover and a convenient toy are one of the same.

He knows it's wrong to think about someone that way. To deprive a living thing of all their thoughts and feelings just so it's suitable for him. But at the end of the day who wants to hear idle chatter and gossip or go outside for walks in crowded areas. All too social, it's all so troublesome. All Jotaro wants is a closed-off life, away from the scums of the earth...away from people in general.

It's such an inconvenience to seek out a lover, to hassle through dates and meetups in hopes of finding someone that clicks. Jojo would even go so far as to call it wishful thinking. So it has to be a pure accident that he even meets his darling. They're just someone who gets tangled in with the crusaders. A perfect living perception of 'wrong place, wrong time'. Someone who's life gets blown to bits and shambles just because fate decided to play a cruel joke on them.

And that's what piqued Jotaro's interest. The desperate, depleted look of pain cemented over their face. The sparse dying gleam of determination that blazes within their eyes. Oh, what Jotaro wouldn't do to snuff that little ray of hope. To watch as what little purpose they have is ripped from their arms. What he wouldn't do to see them in pain...

Pain is submission, that's really all Jojo wants. A darling submits, not out of their own free will, but because every little thing they've ever loved has been slaughtered, all that they cherished has been stolen from them.

But it's not enough

It's never enough

Although Jotaro adores the looks of anguish that decorates his lover's face. There's something more satisfying about maltreating them. About leaving marks all over, about leaving bruises that never lose their violet glow. He's claiming his darling, physically and mentally. Not a single day goes that Jotaro doesn't remind his lover who they belong to. From verbal taunts that plague his darling's mind day and night, to punches that break bones leaving them paralyzed on the floor begging for help, to cuts that are just a little too deep to ever heal properly.

Even when his darling is behaving, even when the poor little thing does everything her lover tells her to do, there's still going to be some sort of violence directed at her. Some backhanded remark about how useless they are just because they couldn't follow his mother's recipe. Some sort of blow just for greeting him 'too late'. Trivial things morph into punishments, just for Jotaro's sick amusement.

At his core, Jotaro is an unresponsive man, one with no regard for how others feel. He's distant, it's a trait he can't change. He likes how he does things, how there's no room for slip-ups when it's only him. Even his darling isn't someone he'd consider opening up to. Their opinion of him doesn't matter and their feelings are irrelevant. Most days he's gone until the last possible moment, leaving his darling an endless amount of time to mull over every word and scar.

But here's the catch.

As the clock ticks by, as the nights and days begin to merge into an endless existence, as all hope burns in the pits of hell, darling's mind is also going to stray. Ever so slowly losing its perception of reality.

'Maybe' spiders begin to spin webs of doubt through darling's empty cranium. The isolation begins to bite at her skin like the razor-sharp fangs of frostbite. They start to crave Jotaro's harsh touches, they start to miss the venom-like words. Every insult and slap to the face is welcomed, all the misplaced anger and death threats start to feel like sweet kisses and flowery touches.

Poor darling no longer sees big scary Jotaro as a monster. They've lost the ability to see him for what he truly is.

And what happens when Jotaro does finally come home? Oh, how little (y/n) will ravish in the gut kicks and loathsome words. How she'll take every beating with a sweet sugar-coated smile.

Cause this is her life now. A meaningless existence that revolves around Jotaro and his bleak personality. A life that's only worth living when Jotaro is around.

Is it even a life?

"Yare yare daze you're such a hassle, be glad I keep you around...”

⭐Josuke is obsessive with delusional tendencies.⭐

Maybe I'm the one you'll fall in love with next...

Just like his "father" Joseph, Josuke is stuck in a perpetual state between diaphanous and phantasm.

There's something all too wrong with Morioh nowadays. The narrow streets and verbose buildings have started to feel like a transparent cage. The town has always been small, barely reaching a population of 3,000 despite all the new families that keep moving in.

Nevertheless, everything has dulled, faded, and withered into a monochrome collage. The layers of repetitiveness had finally begun to pick at Joskue's nerves...

And yet somehow, by some diabolical twist of fate. In the mists of the oceans of familiarity, Josuke’s eyes grab onto some shimmering pearl lounged into between the crowd of familiar faces.

Sure he's seen this girl before, but he's never actually seen her. Never stopped to look at the odd way their eyes twinkle like newborn stars or how their skin shimmers with the glow of a thousand suns.

One second is all it took, a fleeting compliment as you passed by Jojo in the peppermint flavored afternoon. Your hair flowing like a tapestry of the galaxy as you disappeared in the crowd of dead pulsars. Not a care in the world, not for him, not for anyone.

Destiny was definitely up to its old cruel tricks again.

He's not stalking. Josuke will swear on his grandfather's grave that he'd never "stalk" a harmless little girl, like some distorted maniac. He just happens to bump into you at the beauty parlor when he's picking up a new brand of hairspray. And it's totally an accident when he meets you out in the abandoned fields! Honest! It's not his fault fate wants the two of you to keep meeting, it's not his fault that you guys are meant to be!

It's not technically a friendship that you two start to build up, it's far from one. Friends don't dream about sugar-filled kisses behind school walls. Or about ice cream that tastes like scandalous touches and candy induced moans. No, Joskue isn't your friend, he NEVER wanted to be your friend. He knows that! He knows what he wants...but with each passing day, he's beginning to doubt that you know that.

He'd never realized he's been so sensitive on you. So entranced by your out of tune voice that muttered rather than spoke. He's seldom been so eager to throw a punch and crack his knuckles on someone's skull, just for saying you looked "lovely today".

Whenever his eyes don't land on you, a rage-filled volcano bubbles in the pit of his gut, uncontrollable anger that festers inside of him, like lava waiting to spill out and burn anyone that wanders too close. His palms itch with the need to hold you, to feel your soft skin rubbing against his.

The jealousy is always there, pricking at his skin like rose thrones. Until they inevitably cut through his flesh and make him lose his composure. He's ready to kick and punch and hurt and kill anyone that comes too close to you, anyone that saunters off their orbit and makes a beeline for you, disturbing the balance of solitude that Josuke so eagerly sets you into.

Sometimes in the dead of night, when the world has finally dozed off, Joskue's mind begins to wonder. He thinks the way he feels about you is the same way an addict feels about his drugs. Maybe to him, you're even more addicting than heroin and ecstasy...and yet he can't quit you, he just doesn't want to quit you. Nothing in this world could compare to your sweet voice that tickles his ear when you lean in, to whisper a secret, or the may your full lips move when you throw another honey-filled insult at him.

He prefers when you're alone when he's the only one you talk to.

Sure there are exceptions like everything in life, although in the end

there's a sort of backhanded irony.

It's those exceptions that are going to hurt him in the.

Josuke trusts his friends, he knows that Okuyasu and Koichi would never do anything to hurt him...

But you're not on that list and to be fair you're surely the only one who can truly hurt him.

You fall for a friend of his. Not him, not the boy that's been driving himself insane just to earn a smile from you, not the boy that let you get away with insulting his hair and poking insults at his look, not him never him, it just can't be him.

"You're like an older brother to me"...Did you wash your mouth with acid before you spat those words at him? Did you intend to lace your words with knives and blades and rubbing alcohol before you stabbed him? It's figurative, sure. But it might as well be literal. No pain, no cut, no punch from any stand would ever hurt so much! You really don't know what you do to him, do you?

"I'm happy for you," it's a lie, blank and simple. Automatic words that he's practiced in the mirror a thousand and one times. He'd rather watch you suffocate on your own blood than in the arms of another man. He'd rather break every bone in your body than watch you kiss one of his friends.

How on earth had he ever come to love you? Someone as cruel and cold. Were you even human? You resembled some ice stand more than a flesh and blood person. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM.

He really hadn't meant for it to become an addiction, he hadn't meant to get all so used to the crunch of bones beneath his foot, and the bloodied lips quivering, shuttering out apologizes for having the gall to utter your name in his presence. But there's only so much a teenage boy can take, only so much torture that he can bury inside with a moonlight smile.

Addictions really do funny things to semi-sane people, huh?

It's a split-second decision, done in the heat of an all so regular moment. It's just a simple half-hearted punch when you beat him at another videogame. Then another

And another

Then a crack, another and another, and before either of you knew it you're on the floor screaming out in pure agony.

Josuke vows he's not being cruel when he breaks your bones so delicately. He can justify every crack, every fracture. Although it's rather repetitive and in certain cases borderline petty.

Five broken bones on your left leg just for "kissing" your new boyfriend. Your right leg is bent at an angle you're sure it's not meant to be. All because you hugged said new lover before going to class.

Josuke's once liquidy blue eyes that held the softness of clouds have been dulled over by a sort of thick mania. His once soft touch is nothing but nails digging into already bruised tissue. His lips wobbling as stray tears flow past his eyes. Muttering apologies and stuttering curses at both you and himself.

It's not really like his darling can leave after that incident. Josuke is known around town as the boy with a diamond heart. There's no way in hell anyone will believe what he did to you. It's just better, safer, to stick close to him, to swallow the indignities and paint a loving smile over your face when you gaze into his depraved eyes.

It's better to pretend to love him, rather than have another limb broken...

"Come on (Y/N), it's just a little crack. If you promise to give me a tiny kiss I'll let Crazy Diamond fix you right up."

⭐Giorno Giovanna is sneaky and manipulative. ⭐

Sono pazzo di te. Sei la cosa più bella che mi sia mai capitata...

There's a sleekness to Giorno, a cunning that's hidden behind layers of charisma and charm mimicking that of his birth father's. It's so easy for him to fool his darling into believing that he's a charming prince from a storybook. He's the good guy trying all so damn hard to make his dream a reality. He's admirable, he's noble, he's Giorno Giovana, the golden boy.

It's not like he ever intends to hurt his darling. He'd never dream of laying a hand on them, he's all too familiar with the wounds that come from endless beatings. The bruises and phantom pains, that get worse as the days slip by. He knows real pain, and unlike all so many others on both sides of his family, Giorno doesn't want his lover to experience an uncia of it.

He'd never repeat what his stepfather and mother did to him. He's going to try and do everything he can to make sure that his darling is safe...

Because isn't that what's important? To make sure the one you love is safe. To make sure they don't get swept off their feet by some masquerading drunkard or taken advantage of by some fanciful sadist.

Giorno will do anything to keep his darling safe, even if it means tampering with their mind a little. Nothing too serious, he'd never even considered changing anything about them. Although isolating them isn't completely off the table and a few verbal threats are fine from time to time. Just for precaution...

Giorno is a rather determined boy, he'll go to any lengths to isolate his lover. Scaring away friends by letting Gold Experience give them a small out of body experience. If they're persistent then he can't guarantee that that out-of-body experience will simply remain an experience much longer. It's not out of malice, but it's what must be done for the sake of his darling, the only other thing he cares about.

There's a shift, a difference between the young naive Giorno Giovanna, the golden boy with starry eyes, and the new boss of Passione, the Mafioso who holds the whole country in the palm of his hand.

Oh sure, as a simple Soldato Giorno was dangerous in his own right. But Don Giorno? He's the sort of monster written about in the grimmest fairy tales. Wearing the appearance of a true king but underneath the luxury suits and priceless watches, he's just another greedy, fire-breathing dragon.

As the Don of Italy's most influential gang, Giorno's manipulation tactics have gotten rather ....hazardous. He doesn't have time to waste getting rid of every single person that poses a threat to his darling. If someone looks their way, he'll send some goons to take care of them.

Although it's so much easier to keep his lover locked away, he even has the perfect excuse now. He's the head of the mafia, he has all so many enemies who jump at the opportunity to hurt him in some way. So he has to keep his defenseless little lover locked away in some mansion that's all so far away.

He's also a bit more violent now. Giorno's more physical, ready to break a bone just for a wrong word or a cracked jaw from a punch for even asking to go outside. He blames it on the stress of running an organization...although it's more likely that all the power from passion has begun to rinse away Giorno's caring side.

"Cuore mio, Resta con me per sempre"

⭐Jolyne Kujo is clingy and obsessive and delusional.⭐

I can't stay away from you...

Jolyne is a rather condescending yandere. Her rough ragged exterior does little to hide the clingy neediness that writhes inside her shattered heart.

She's soft, dependent, desperate at best. Wanting her darling to approve of every tiny trifling thing she does. Needing their words of praise and approving smiles to have the courage to live another day.

At times it seems like the only thing keeping Jojo alive is the "good girl!" and "I'm proud of you!" her darling throws her way. Chanting the words of praise with closed eyes and fluttering smiles of anxiety.

It's difficult to make her sweetheart realize how virulent this relationship is, far too hard to call Jolyne a Yandere. The derogatory term applies to someone who ceases all control from their lover, who locks them in a basement, and throws away the key. It applies to murders and

stalkers and lunatics that roam the streets in the dead of full moon nights. It applies to those who were thrown into Green Dolphin for a reason.

Not to some girl whose life has been demolished over and over and over again.

Not to the girl with a star birthmark that follows her darling around like a lost puppy in the freezing rain.

But even Jolyn has her limits. She's been let down time and time again, abandoned and framed by those she thought she loved unconditionally. From friends to boyfriends to even her own father, everyone leaves, they take what they want, and then they leave.

Flesh like strings, stitched into a web of antithesis and distraught moods, act as a solid, interchangeable reminder of who really holds the power in this relationship. Of how Jolyne can go from needing her darling to controlling her darling in just a fraction of a heartbeat. She loves them, she swears she does...but they need to stay close to her, they need to only think about her.

Her addiction gets worse as the days tick by. It's less romantic, less loving. Morphing into a dependency, a compulsion. Rotting thoughts of her darling suddenly leaving, plague her every waking moment. The once semi pleasant conversations between her lover and her friends, get cut off like a severed limb.

Even Hermes and Foo Fighters aren't "good enough" to be around Jolyne’s lover. She's all so, scared they'll try to take them from her. Stealing the ONLY good thing in her life.

There's a certain degree of control that Jolyne's willing to give to her darling. A sort of freedom to make, revolting appalling choices, so long as they include her. A freedom to boss her around and make her submit. Her darling is free, so long as that freedom revolves around Jolyne.

"(Y/N)~ don't look at them! You should only focus on me! I'm supposed to be your world!"

⭐Johnny Joestar is sadistic and manipulative.⭐

Arrogance disguised as affection...

It's all degradation, all harsh words that sting worse than bullet wounds. Glares from dull wicked blue eyes that might as well kill, cause it's better than the alternative. Smirks that make being alive so damn distasteful. Kisses that engrave the lingering taste of rotting lead into your tongue.

Johnny isn't sweet, he doesn't smile at his little sweetheart. He doesn't pat their head and kiss their temples while uttering sweet nothings into their blushing ear. No, his lover doesn't deserve a honey-coated life. They don't deserve to have what was stolen from him by his so-called "loved ones". Instead, he uses them as a living dart board, for both his acid-laced words and bullet-like fingernails.

There's no love when it comes to Jojo. He doesn't want to waste time on something so frivolous as a "significant other". But he does like having someone -or rather something- to play with, a form of entertainment that bends at his will. Not a pushover, not someone who's too proud either. But a living doll that can take a few verbal spats and survive an armada of fingernail bullets through the stomach.

Oh, sure he wants to break them, having a toy that's so conflicted, that questions their own sanity is so much more fun. But it's the intervals that count. Johnny wants to be the one to break his darling. To engrave the helpless look of distress into his memory. He wants to preserve every scream, every tear. That's the whole purpose of even keeping a darling.

Johnny rarely lets his darling out of his sight. It's so much easier to play with their mind if he's the only one they ever talk to. They'll become so easily dependent on him if he's their only companion. Although sometimes Gyro can get a little too touchy and friendly. And there will be occasions when Hot Pants start to pry into the darling and Jojo's personal life. But the incidents are few and far between. Not like Johnny minds, if anything these minor secondary "meetups" are useful to the paraplegic jockey. They refill his darling with the most precious thing..." Hope". Just so Johnny can beat it out of them all over again.

There's a darkness that resides deep within Johnny. A toxicity that laces his actions. His life is miserable and he's damn well sure it'll always be that way.....

So why not take his lover down with him?

"Don't you love me darlin' ? Cause I certainly don't love ya."

⭐Jorge Joestar is delusional and obsessive.⭐

What if we lost our minds, together?

A love story better than his parents, that's all Jorge wants. Flower field dates, and quick lingering kisses before midnight. Something sweet, that doesn't have a macabre end. A romance without body-snatching vampires and zombies that shed their flesh. Something normal, gentle, lovable.

Although with the family he's been born into and the kind of things that keep finding him. Jorge doubts he's ever going to get such a hopeful love life. He's all so desperate to carve a life for himself outside of his family's shadow, but in the end, it's simply eager wishing.

He's not exactly sure what he's even looking for in a lover. Someone sweet but strong-willed, an average answer. Someone who bears a sort of resemblance to Lisa Lisa. Not physically but rather mentally, he's not a coward, he swears he's not, but he just wants someone who can protect him. A fair exchange in his eyes. His lover will guard him against the bullies and freaks of the island and in turn, he'll protect them from the grim ghouls that run amok through the world. Although when push comes to shove he isn't sure if he'll really be 'protecting' his lover or running away and hiding somewhere with them.

He just wants to fall in love and not go insane, a reasonable request, if he hadn't seen the worst that the world has to offer. It's just wishful thinking, sweet dreams for a boy designed to attract trouble.

He doesn't want to have conversations with his dead lover's head. He doesn't want to wear their skin and waltz around town. He doesn't want any of that creepy, supernatural stuff that destroyed his parent's love.

He just wants normal. But as the years slip by Jorge's grip on "normal" slowly begins to decay.

Normal is something, but what that something is has become a blur. Normal isn't vampires and zombies and ghost clowns that throw nooses around people's necks...Yet on the other hand maybe it is?

He's so far gone that he can't even differentiate between methodical and irregular. His brain's capacity to understand the difference has gotten so altered and broken.

Once he finds his darling he does try to act like the ordinary people of the Canary Islands or England, depending on where he's residing at the time. He tries to follow the mode, just to impress his lover. It's a façade, a bloody masquerade that's bound to deteriorate once he and his lover have settled down.

Although a poetic, domestic life had always been Jorge's dream, he soon comes to learn that it just doesn't suit him. Jorge's paranoia starts to increase. It's comical at first, the way his eyes dart to closed doors, half expecting a killer to emerge. Although the same paranoid tendencies can become rather smothering at times. He's all so certain something is going to jump out of the shadows, some creature with sharp fangs and knife-like claws is going to rip his lover's body to rags.

He's gotten rather umbrageous now that he's the one who's married and living in the Joestar estate. His tendency to run away from any form of conflict has morphed into a rogue-like sense, much similar to a rabid dog barking at anyone who gets too close to its territory. He keeps his darling locked away inside, triple-checking the locks to make sure no one or thing can get in. He avoids the probing disquieting neighbors who still speak ill of his widowed mother and murmurs about the "curses" bestowed on the Joestar bloodline. Sometimes even getting physical when the insults shift towards him and his new lover.

Punches are thrown.

Insults exchanged.

And then the door and windows are locked once more.

Leaving both Jorge and his darling in the chilling company of the semi alive shadows.

It's safer in the basement. It has to be safer down there. After all his mother kept his father's severed head down there for decades before anyone found it. So it's only sensible that his lover will also be safe, tucked away in the darkness of a brick room some few meters under the earth. He's not acting like his mother -and deep down he prays that this isn't something his late father would ever even consider doing- It's a thin line of justification, but he can reason with himself so long as he knows it's not something his other family members have ever done. He does try to keep his darling comfortable down there. Buying them the most luxurious furniture and comfortable bedding. Constantly bringing them new forms of entertainment.

Keeping them in this preserved state is what any reasonable person would do. Not just another insanity driven Joestar.

"It's for your own safety" he's repeated that phrase an umpteenth amount of times, although every time the sculpted words leave his tongue, Jorge becomes less sure of who he's really trying to convince.

Jorge is all so sure that he's doing all of this for both his lover's safety and to erase whatever misfortune follows around the Joestars, like an airy plague. Even his enrolling for the great war is done with this mindset...

Even though in the end it's also this mindset that gets him killed. Leaving his darling a wide window to freedom.

"Darling, what do you think when you look at me?"

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

835 notes · View notes

mrvdocks · 4 years

Text

Under the Skin

Summary: Reader is a celebrity Kurt looks up to and chauffers for a bit before everything goes downhill.

(requested by anon) gif credit to the lovely yocalio (x)

Word Count: 2K+

Warnings: smut, roughness

He outruns the police when they turn their back on him for a second. He runs as fast as his shaky feet can take him, wrists cuffed together. There’s a ringing in his ear that muffles the sounds of rubber shoes against the pavement and the officers behind him. He laughs maniacally, they wouldn’t be able to put a damper on his plan. Not yet.

He wanted to look good for when he met up with Jessie later, but he knew better than to lead the police where they expected him. That’s why he had to go somewhere they wouldn’t expect him to go. Your place.

He estimates he’s been running on adrenaline and on the streets of Alhambra for about five minutes, but when you’re close enough, he ducks behind a building and slows down. He shuts off the stream momentarily, it’s better to keep them in the dark.

He knocks on your door rapidly, scanning the area for any signs of nosy neighbors or people passing by. He hears you rushing to the door and once it swings open, he meets your faltering face. It switches to panic, eyes wide, and paranoid sweeping looks to the outside.

“What have you done, Kurt?” You step back, hand gripping the knob.

You’ve been following his spree up until now, only realizing the gravity and danger of what he’s done when he shows up bloody and beat up on your doorstep. You’re about to ask how he found your address but figure with everything he’s done, him committing some privacy violation is not the worst to worry about.

He strains against the cuffs, wincing when he can’t fit his wrist through. “We can catch up later, I just need your help.” He pushes past you, rushing into your kitchen to find anything that could either saw or fit into the hole to free himself.

Feeling rightfully worried, you lock the doors and shut the blinds. You are cautious when you get close to him, he’s operating on another mindset.

“Kurt.” You try to get his attention. He opens drawers and cabinets frantically, coming up empty. He raids your bathroom and rummages through drawers, trying out bobby pins and clips.

“Kurt.” You repeat firmly. His manic searching stops for a second. Even with his back to you, you can hear his breathing is ragged, his broad shoulders moving up and down to get steady.

You put a hand on his shoulder warily, turning him to inspect the damage. He’s got cuts on his face and a bad lip. No doubt the results of him crashing the car. His face scrunches at the sudden light of your phone shining on his face.

“What’s gotten into you, Kurt?” You cry in disbelief.

This couldn’t have been the one who spent the whole week basically chauffeuring you, could it?

“You’re not like this - this isn’t you.”

“And what is like me? Who do you think I am?” His figure towered over you now, establishing some sort of dominance over you.

You can’t completely answer that now. You’ve seen a side of him that snapped. One that was done playing the fool to the once King Bobby.

“Kurt, you can fix this. We can make this go away.”

“I can’t.” He closes his eyes in slight annoyance. “Not when I’m just getting started.”

“I can’t let you keep doing this.” Your voice wavers, betraying the brave front you were trying to put on. “We’ll get you help, it’s going to be fine.”

You stray from his plan, dialing the emergency line as quickly as you can but he snatches the phone from your hands and throws it away from you. The sudden roughness makes you recoil. Kurt takes a hold of you by your shoulders, pushing you back until you hit the wall with a grunt. Gone was the boyish and awkward Kurt who was gentle with you.

“Yeah? You wanna film and post that too?”

The accusation is a slap to the face. In the small window of time you two knew each other you grew comfortable with him, not even thinking of using him for what he definitely would use you for. It would propel him, sure, but it wouldn’t give him the image he wanted to curate.

“Pretty ballsy move,” he mocks your pluck. “But I can’t let you do that.”

The cold of the cuffs against your flush skin makes you shiver as you feel the adrenaline in you pick up. How blind were you really to his dark desires?

His gaze is intense, eyes darker than the dimly lit corner of your home he’d pushed you against.

“Do it then,” You pant. Your eyes staring back into the abyss of his own in awe and then onto his bleeding lip. “Finish this.”

He smirks. “I’m not going to kill you. You’re no good to me dead. I need you.”

“Kurt,” You try to give reason a try again. “This isn’t what you want.”

“This isn’t what I want? Or is this not what you want?” He counters.

This should’ve been a bad idea. He shouldn’t have gone to you if he knew you were going to react like this. But you were his idea of safe, even if it was something he just didn’t want to be anymore. He wanted risks. He wanted to take the world by storm, to be seen as some kind of twisted hero for those like him. After all, he’d taken most of the brunt of it for it to fail now.

Kurt being a threat was definitely something you would have laughed at before. He couldn’t even kill the spider in the car that one time. Him being rough wasn’t without reason, you’d seen it before with other passengers that harassed you. Hell, you’d even liked it in the bedroom. But this was different.

“You don’t know what I want.” You grit.

His brows raised. “You don’t want out of this? The cycle of bullshit they keep making you do? Your ideas shot down and forced to do degrading shit?”

He wasn’t wrong. Though the fame came at a price, it wasn’t even you or your personality people were really seeing. Everything was controlled by someone else. You were the puppet.

He must’ve known you were mulling it over, a sly smirk on his lips becoming prominent in the little light there was illuminating him.

“What do you want?”

Kurt chuckles to himself, “I’m not asking you to do the dirty work. Just don’t call the cops when I do it.”

“Is this you admitting you need a partner?”

He’s always liked power. The exposure and influence and the legacy that others before him had. You had that, even if you didn’t like it, and it only made him more attracted to you. You could be a power couple if you agreed.

He chuckles. “I’m saying you have that urge in you too, somewhere. You just have to trust me to help you find it.”

You laugh ironically. “Trust you? You’d sell me out. Anything to boost your views.”

He shakes his head. “Like I said, I need you. Besides, I think you’d like to be free.”

“You mean be like you.” You writhe under him, trying to get free.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he pauses, remembering he had you pinned against a wall. “Not any more than I already have. I’m here to get you on my side.”

If you agreed with him, then great, things would go on without a hitch. But if you didn’t, things would get difficult and he really liked you too much.

Your breath hitched when his fingers came down to your chin and tilted your head back.

You should be running for the hills. Calling the police. Screaming for someone to help. But oddly enough, none of the red flags before remained. This cat and mouse game somehow made you feel sought after, even with the undertone of him using you just for his personal gain.

There was a warmth between you two, tension in the dimly lit corner. He’s dangerously close, his hips pushing against yours in a way that makes the feeling in your lower body ache for him.

“Did you mean it when you said you were willing to make a sex tape?”

His face softens in amusement. “It all depends on how the night goes.”

“So you would’ve fucked Daisy’s brains out?”

He eyes you, studying you, noticing the shift in tone in the room.

His shackled hands come down in between your bodies, one hand gripping your hip and the other settling on the danger zone; above your crotch.

“Yeah maybe I would’ve,” he surmises, taunting you. “I could’ve had her screaming my name for everyone to hear.”

He traces over your body, reaching every dimple, dip, and the sensitive area he could get his eager fingers on. He’s memorizing your body in the dark, keen on staying true to his word.

“She would’ve disappointed you.”

He pauses his movements, lips coming close to your ears. “Maybe. But I’m sure you could do better.”

His voice is low, it makes you imagine just how he could use that teasing mouth between your legs, the vibrations that would send shock waves all throughout your body. You gasp when he slips his hands into your pants, fingers ribbing you up and down and making your knees buckle.

The small moment of dizziness is good enough for him to use his foot to kick your ankle to the side, allowing him more access for him to slide his fingers in. The height difference between you two proved helpful as you let your head fall against his, bucking your hips against his relentless pumping. He revels in this, taking the opportunity to glance at you and flash that shit-eating grin.

Your breathing quickens and sharpens with each pump of his fingers, him adding a second and then a third. The introduction of more in you forces you to shut your eyes and squeeze his bicep in both pain and pleasure.

The coil in your core keeps bubbling, knowing if he kept it up you would be done for. Then he does it, he curls his fingers and his thumb plays with your pearl making you cry out and clutch him closer.

He hums, “You always looked good like this, so vulnerable and desperate.”

“Oh fuck you.” You moan in light pleasure, feeling the coil only tighten more.

“We can make that happen.” He goads you, his pace in you getting faster to the point where you can’t bear the thought of standing anymore.

You press your legs together, desperately trying to get more than what he’s giving. If you had it your way you would’ve already ridden him to get rid of the friction. But he’s nothing if not cruel.

Your chest heaves in rapid breaths, head falling back against the wall in quiet euphoria. You’re almost there and he can tell. Just as you bring your leg up he stops and removes his fingers, prompting you to mewl at the loss of his fingers in you.

“C’mon, didn’t think I was going to let you off that easy now, did you?”

You pounce on him, taking him by surprise as he topples backward onto the couch. You make quick work of his stolen and bloody pants, lifting his hips up and out of his briefs. You almost literally tear through your pants and discard them somewhere behind him and shove your panties to the side to ride him.

You tease him a bit at first, hovering over him and lining him up but not fully sitting all the way. It’s his turn to buck his hips.

Confidence looked great on you, he thought.

You impale yourself on him, gripping his shirt in fistfuls as you wait to adjust to his size. His head dips back into the cushion at the feeling of filling you up and settles his hands on your hips. You move agonizingly slow, in languid strides before changing into circles. He makes a pass to squeeze your ass but you move his arms above his head, keeping a grip on them.

Kurt closes his eyes in ecstasy, your moans and whines are music to his ears as you basically fucked yourself against him.

He brings his upper body up to take a hold of your hair from behind and takes your lips into his, tongue pushing into your mouth. Yours fights his, eventually letting him lick at your neck and kiss at the sensitive area all the way to your jaw. He thrusts upward roughly, forcing you to clutch onto him in a semi hug. He slides in and out of you with ease, the sound of skin against skin and smell of sex permeating the air. He grits his teeth and brings his forehead to connect with yours, slick with sweat.

“Look at me,” He grunts, hand coming to grasp your chin to force you to face him. You can’t look at him in the eye, still lost in the sensation of him hitting the right spots. With his right hand coming in between your bodies, he flicks and teases at your pearl sending shock waves through your body. “You don’t cum until I tell you to.”

He pulls out of you, making you huff in annoyance but compliant. He flips you over, pushes you down onto the arm of the couch for you to lie on. His clothed chest is flush against your back, bringing your lower body against his stiff cock. You inhale sharply as he slides back in, thrusting hard enough to make the fabric of the couch mark you.

He grabs your hair and pulls you back, still delivering devastating thrusts from behind while attacking your neck with slobbering kisses and grasping your throat firmly. The pleasure of it all made you cry, feeling your lower belly pool with warmth as you gripped him.

Finally, his thumb grazes you in the center of your core again and rubs in small circles, before using the index of his fingers to finish you off. He’s hitting you in all the right spots, rendering you completely babbling and incoherent. He kneads your breasts with his other hand, pinching your nipples to get a rise out of you.

You feel like you’re seeing spots when his thrusts stop being hard and fast and instead wane. With an arch of your back, he groans as he feels himself twitch in you.

You come down from your high, vision hazy but feeling blissful and fulfilled. He pulls out of you and turns you over again, bringing your head to level with his pumping hand. You open your mouth hungrily, letting him spill himself.

It runs down your chin but you nonetheless swallow with ease.

“Good girl.” He chimes, grinning from ear to ear.

You collapse back onto the couch, panting and trying to come back to reality. He rests next to you, giving your thigh a squeeze, satisfied.

“Partners?” He asks, arm under his head as if he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion a minute ago.

If this is what came with being partners, you would’ve been an idiot to decline.

“Partners.”

#sorry if this is bad lol #kurt kunkle x reader #kurt kunkle #spree #joe keery x reader

436 notes · View notes

julyarchives · 3 years

Text

Scintilla (M)

Having to deal with the most handsome and cocky nemesis can be fun when that person is Yanan

→ Pairing: Yanan x Female Reader

→ Genre: Smut

→ Words: 2.6K

→ Contains: Smut; Enemies To Lovers; Mafia AU, Semi-public sex.

→ A/n: This was very fun to write and we may have gotten carried away, hence the word count lol. We truly hope you guys enjoy it, we think there’s too little Yanan on our blog so we decided that the next story will also be an Yanan imagine, although the plot will be completely diferent. Good reading!

Check the sequel HERE

You were born into this, but it wasn't like you are involved against your will. Your father is the head of an organization that runs half of the city through technically not legal ways. People call it mafia, you call it a family. You learned from your father how to be a good leader, how to be tough, and to not let anyone step over you. You were ready to make this organization your legacy and nobody could take that from you.

Except for one person.

The other half of the city is taken by a different organization. An enemy. And just like you, someone else wants to make their legacy. His name is Yanan and he is the prodigy you should keep an eye on, the one who threatens everything you stand for.

Yanan and you have been in war since you can remember always racing to be one step ahead of the other. You two wanted different things, had different visions that clashed and were not possible to execute simultaneously. You were mafia but you had your morals, and what his crew does is not what you want for the city, and that's why things never go well if you two are in the same room. Today is one day that you two have to be in the same room. Your dad is meeting with his, the current leaders, to discuss the limits and business, and you two as heirs will be attending.

Sitting on opposite sides of the table, Yanan simply does not stop staring at you. He has this stupid smirk on his face, like he knows all your secrets, presumptuously assuming he has some kind of upper hand. At some point, you two were excused so they would discuss private aspects reserved for them only.

You stood at the door, and he positioned himself by your side, lazily leaning against the wall.

“You know, y/n” Yanan was the first to break the silence between you “coming to these meetings is always so fun.

You rolled your eyes, already anticipating some snarky remark from him.

“Why is that, Yanan?” you said impatiently

“Because one day it will be us there, and I’m pretty sure I can have you on your knees for me.” His smirk grew wider “figuratively, of course”

He winked and your stomach turned.

“Gross.” You simply answered “And as if. I’ll have you destroyed in no time. Your little business will be nothing once I’m in command”

“Cute” he chuckled.

"You know what's cute?", you smirked at him. He hummed in answer. "You, wasting my time to brag about your defeat".

You walked away, leaving a laughing Yanan behind. You had no idea why the banter between you never ceased, you both sounded like teenagers sometimes and he annoyed you to no end but as you took your place at the driver's seat in your car, you smiled without thinking.

All the Yanan situation was forgotten as you arrived at the nightclub. You were supposed to meet a guy there, a date a friend got you swearing the guy was hot enough to forget about some felonies. In the state you were in, all you wanted was to get laid so you agreed. The club was not packed, it was not a full day but still seemed like fun, the music was loud by the dance floor but the bar and the entrance had music low enough to hear people talking. You spotted some familiar faces from your gang and some others from Yanan's, the club being a very middle term and neutral place in town.

The guy spotted you as you spotted Yanan coming back from the bathroom doors and for a second you were confused. The guy was all smiles at you but your eyes seemed too curious about Yanan's posture, you hated seeing him here, he always managed to look extremely hot at the club. Shaking those thoughts away, you turned to the guy, finally giving him your full attention, not before seeing Yanan wink at you. You took a seat by a couch, with the guy close to you. Your friend was somewhat right, the guy was kinda cute, but didn't quite match your tastes but you swore to give him a chance.

An hour later you regretted even leaving home. The guy was such a bore you couldn't stand, his voice was annoying you in a way you never thought possible. His only subjects were his family history and his adventures. Many ridiculous adventures. Not once he asked you about yourself, just speaking nonstop with the cockiest grin ever. Once he tried to touch your thighs but you shook his hand away and ordered your fourth drink.

"Hi, sorry to interrupt", someone said just as you were praying for the first time in your life for a rescue.

Looking up you scoffed. Of course, God sent you Yanan to rescue, like a mean genie that twisted your wish. The asshole was hotter up close and that annoyed you even more. You realized that you truly needed to get laid, more than ever, to even consider Yanan this attractive.

"Y/N. Urgent call, sweetheart. You know, heir business".

The boring dude asked something about heirs but you got up immediately. Business was business and any chance to leave the guy was a chance. You followed Yanan closely to the back doors and sighed in relief when you get fresh air outside. Yanan leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette lazily, he had a very much shit-eating grin and wiggled his eyebrows at you. It all clicked.

"There's no call, is there?", you asked, already leaning on the opposite wall and taking the cigarette pack and lighter from him. He managed a small "no" between his grin as you lit your own cigarette freshly stolen from him.

"Why were you with that idiot?", he asked seriously after some minutes of silence. The alley was well lit enough but seemed cut off from the rush of the club.

"I honestly don't know. A friend set us up but that was such a stupid idea", you laughed at your own misery. You didn't even know why you were being so honest with him. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe the frustration.

"Do you need to get laid that bad, Y/N?", he scoffed, "that idiot tried to get in with our business once. He was so stupid he got arrested a week later picking pockets at a football game".

That made you crack. You laughed hard, thinking of how lame the guy was, your power situation always being your most proud deed. You finished your cigarette and tried to light another but Yanan snatched it from you, pocketing the items before you managed to get one cigarette out.

"Shut up, Yanan", you said, crossing your arms almost like a stubborn child whose toy got snatched.

"I mean it, is that how desperate you are?", he moved his head to the side, analyzing you. Shit. For a second you wondered if all his endless innuendos with you actually meant something that you never read but dismissed it quickly. No way. Yeah, he was hot but he was a cocky annoying enemy and you were just lonely.

"What kind of question is that, Yanan? Are you that interested in my sex life?"

"Yes", his simple answer shocked you, your mouth agape. He smirked. "I almost never see you with someone and always wondered why. I think you're too hot to be that lonely, you know?"

"I never see you with someone either", was your smart comeback and you wanted to kick yourself.

"Who's interested in who's sex life now, Y/N?"

"Shut up, Yanan", you said with no bite, looking away from him.

"Maybe…", he said it like he was architecting a plan, "maybe I am a bit lonely as well. I mean, I get you perfectly, don't I? We have the same position, same problems…", he got close to you in seconds and you didn't even hear it, soon enough he had a finger running along your neck to your scalp, "same needs".

You'd definitely blame the alcohol tomorrow. And the boring guy. But right now you couldn't care less, he was blatantly teasing you and he did make sense. You both had similar life and of course, you two were lonely, in this line of work and life you can't trust anyone. Or almost anyone. That was your resolution as you grabbed him by his leather jacket and pulled him for a bruising kiss. You decided that if anything were to happen, he would not be in charge.

Yanan seemed to be expecting that, you felt him smirk in the kiss and fist your hair quickly. The kiss was hot and you both moved with your bodies, a full fight for dominance. You knew you had the upper hand when you moved your hips to rub against him and felt his semi-hard already, earning a groan. His free hand grabbed your ass with force, not even hiding his intentions, and lucky you had the same ones, you used his hair to guide the kiss, never letting go of his jacket.

Even as you or he needed to pull back to breathe you'd stop, the kissing was replaced by nibs and sucking, you knew both of you would be marked tomorrow and that made you win this as well, leaving many hickeys on his neck and collarbones. You thanked his unique ability to wear loose thin shirts that allowed you to reach downwards on his neck while he fumbled to reach your bra in your tight fit shirt. Saying fuck it to any last reasonable thought, you pulled back entirely and took your shirt off, quickly pulling his jacket away. Yanan got the hint and took his shirt off, going for your bra seconds later, not wasting time and already teasing and sucking on your nipples.

Of course, his mouth would be heaven, you thought. He never stopped talking and teasing you all his life, his mouth always drove you crazy and now you discovered he could get you crazy with his mouth in some other way. His thigh reached your covered core and you shivered, you automatically riding his thigh with want. Yanan grunted out your name, his hold on your ass coming back to help you move with even more force, his dick rubbing on your jeans pants with the movement. It felt like you stayed that way for a long time, you needed more but it was too good to stop, his mouth doing wonders on your neck and boobs, it was leading to a very strong orgasm, you could feel it.

Suddenly he stopped you, getting his thigh out of reach. He laughed at your involuntary whine and leaned over, hands massaging your breasts.

"You seriously think I'm gonna let you cum with my thighs only?", he nibbled your ear, "what kind of asshole do you think I am?"

The wetness in your panties got even damper with his words, your hands already opening your pants. Yanan followed your lead and soon both pants and underwear were by your ankles. But before anything could happen, you put both hands on his chest, feeling his strong body with more calm.

"Don't make me regret this, Yanan. This better be good", you meant to be serious but his cocky smile made the corners of your mouth move upwards without intending to. He whispered your name and gently held your chin, placing a gentle kiss on your lips that got you both gasping softly.

"Can you turn around, please? With the pants where they are, I think it'll be better this way", he asked, too calm for the situation. You hated to agree with him but moved in silence. You placed both hands on the wall and bent over, looking back only to see him watching you with dark eyes. He was stroking himself and fully moaned when you placed your fingers in your entrance to tease him. It was Yanan that yanked your wrist back and even from behind you saw him suck your fingers next to your head.

"You taste so good, Y/N. Maybe next time".

Next time. Was it even going to have the next time? You didn't even have time to think it over before he pushed his dick inside, slowly but surely. You moaned at the feeling, hands turning into fists from how good that was. You could feel he was no better than you, hips spasming to move already even if he was waiting for you to adjust. When you pushed back he held your waist and wasted no time in moving. He got his member almost completely out only thrust in fast and hard again.

Yanan held that rhythm all along and if you had any coherent thought in your head, you'd praise his physical strength and stamina. But you didn't. He was giving it to you and it felt like magic, he knew how to move and where to move exactly as you needed him to without you having to guide him. He was hitting your g spot dead on and it took all of you to not scream his name over and over in the small alley. His expert fingers moved to your clit and rubbed it deliciously, making you writhe against him.

"Keep that up and I'll come too soon, I'm so close", you said, already clenching at how he was touching you.

"I'm close, Y/N. Shit, come with me", he breathed it out against your ear.

You'd deny it forever but his pleading voice did the trick. You came with a cry you couldn't hold back. Vaguely you heard Yanan curse at how you clenched around him and you felt him release. You two moved until both came back from the high, now the silence was coming back but you were too tired to care.

He stepped out and got his clothes back on first and followed, tired hands retrieving pieces of clothing from the ground. You heard him chuckle, looking at nothing specifically and you somewhat understood. You laughed quietly and you exchanged a look.

"So, Y/N, any regrets?", there he went. The same old annoying bastard.

"Shut up, Yanan", you laughed, throwing his jacket at him.

"I will start to collect streets from your domain every time you tell me to shut up, by the end of a year you'll have no more power, Y/N", you both laughed out loud and you shook your head.

"What do you wanna do now?", you said, reaching for his cigarettes in his pocket.

He only raised an eyebrow at you and extended his hand to collect his items after you used them. With both cigarettes lit and smoke clouding the air a little, he huffed.

"I'd invite you over to my place for more and just for tonight, I'd pretend we're allies and not enemies. I truly think we are similar, Y/N", Yanan was not looking at you.

"Alright. Lead the way, Mr. I'm-just-like-you", you mocked him with a very bad imitation of chis voice and you laughed at both your joke and his shocked face.

"May I hold your hand, m'lady?", it was his turn to mock your voice, a quick recovery from his shock.

"Don't push your luck, sweetheart". You used the same nickname he used with you earlier and he laughed, walking back into the club without saying a word and without looking back.

You threw your cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it, shaking your head. Tomorrow you'd deal with all the consequences but tonight you were willing to let this good sparkle inside your belly make decisions for you. Just tonight.

#ksmutclub #pentagon smut #yanan #yanan smut #yanan x reader #yanan x female reader #pentagon yanan #pentagon #kpop pentagon #pentagon imagine #pentagon fanfic #pentagon scenario #kpop imagine #kpop scenario #kpop fanfic #mafia au #enemies to lovers #yanan enemies to lovers #yanan mafia au

98 notes · View notes

carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

“How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die? It is love we must hold onto -- Never easy, but we try. Sometimes our happiness is captured; Somehow our time and place stand still... Love lives on inside our hearts and always will... Minutes turn to hours, days to years, then gone, But when all else has been forgotten, Still our song lives on...”

~“How Does a Moment Last Forever? (cover)” by Celine Dion

x~x~x~x

tw: character death, funerals, grief

x~x~x~x

The kelpie known as Ru Ollivander always knew their time on Earth would be fleeting -- at least, in comparison to the human witches and wizards they’d ended up living alongside. It was the main reason Ru had such a passion for photography, animation, and moving pictures. The thought of capturing a single moment and making it last beyond that moment...making it possible to relive that moment over and over again, as many times as one wanted...it was meaningful in a way Ru couldn’t quite put into words.

And so over the years, the eccentric, blunt kelpie -- never the best at expressing themselves in the way more upright, classy humans did -- captured as many memories as they could of the things they found most remarkable about the Wizarding World they’d entered. They sketched the rows upon rows of disgusting-looking ingredients in jars set up in the Potions classroom. They took pictures of the way the moon looked from the Astronomy Tower after a thunderstorm. They made animations of how Venomous Tentaculas and Mandrakes grew, compressing entire months into mere seconds. And, of course, over the years, Ru used their cinematograph, Aeroscope, and other cameras to film the humans who had become most important to them -- their best friend, Galen Stagg @cursebreakerfarrier; their fellow Ravenclaw and Galen’s eventual other half, Siobhan Llewelyn @kc-needs-coffee; and their “keeper”-turned-muse-and-life partner, Estrid Soelberg @thatravenpuffwitch.

One morning, however, in the 1930′s, Estrid returned to the cottage she shared with Ru from a trip to the market to find the entire place in disarray. A table had been overturned, Ru’s camera was knocked over on its side, and a drawer of photographs had been pulled out, its contents spread out all over the floor. Alarmed, Estrid rushed to find Ru -- when she did, she found them on the floor, in full kelpie form, looking very restless and distraught as they huffed and puffed through their nose and mouth. Estrid hurriedly rushed over and bent down, trying to help, but it soon became clear what the problem was.

Ru couldn’t change form. They couldn’t transform themselves out of their real appearance. ...They couldn’t turn into a human anymore.

The realization overwhelmed Ru. As much as they always knew the day would come, it wasn’t any less devastating. They’d never have hands again. They’d never have legs or feet again. They’d never speak properly again. They’d never be able to take any more pictures, or make any more movies, or make improvements to their cameras, or draw any more sketches or animations. They’d never be able to visit Galen’s classroom anymore for his lectures. They’d never be able to exchange any more friendly swears with Siobhan over a game of Wizard’s Chess. ...They’d never be able to comfort Estrid again...never be able to stroke her hair and hold her until she stopped crying...never be able to play her film reels of her grandfather, or plant flowers in the garden with her, or dance with her in the rain...they’d never be able to tell her how much they loved her.

The kelpie’s eyes fell toward the ground, darkening, as they flooded with tears. Those tears streaked down their long face in cold, deafening silence. Estrid, who’d almost never seen Ru cry in all their time together, found herself struggling not to break down completely herself as she threw her arms around Ru’s snout and hugged them, resting her face in their overgrown seaweed mane. The two sat together on the floor for what felt like hours, crying and cuddling as best they could, Ru pressing their soft nose into Estrid’s cheek and the crook of her neck and Estrid kissing their nose and the top of their head.

Estrid wrote to the Staggs to pass along the news. Galen pretty much dropped everything to be by his friend’s side -- the magizoologist had always had a particular talent for speaking to magical creatures, and it had never been more useful than in those final weeks of Ru’s life. It seemed that what upset Ru most out of everything was that they’d had a project they hadn’t been able to finish. It was an incomplete film reel they’d stored under their and Estrid’s bed for the last year, taking out and working on only whenever Estrid wasn’t home.

Galen had made as if to go get it, but Ru had snatched his sleeve in their teeth and pulled him back so he couldn’t leave their side.

“Not yet,” they were clearly saying. “It’s not time. Please, not yet.”

Reluctantly Galen respected his friend’s wishes.

Within a month of them being unable to change back into a human, Galen and Siobhan received the owl they’d been dreading. Ru had passed the previous night, Estrid by their side all the way up until the end.

As per Ru’s wishes, their funeral service was very small. They were laid to rest beside the small pond behind their and Estrid’s cottage -- Galen knew that kelpies’ bodies tended to decompose quickly, leaving only the seaweed of their manes behind at the bottom of the seafloor. There wasn’t a dry eye during the modest ceremony.

On Galen’s prompting, Estrid went to their room and fetched Ru’s unfinished project from under their bed. Inside the box holding the film reel were hundreds, maybe thousands of old photographs and drawings, many of which Galen, Estrid, and Siobhan had never seen. Some featured Hogwarts, from different angles; some were of the places they’d been to, or the creatures they handled, or the food they ate, or just cool and random things they only half-remembered. Most of all, though, the pictures were of them...and a small fraction, toward the very front, were of Ru themselves.

It was incredible, just looking through the pictures. Forty years of memories were compiled together, documenting not just the changes in those years, but the advancement in Ru’s talent as an artist. The newest pictures were so much clearer and more life-like -- the magical ones moved with such clarity -- the drawings were more refined -- the animations more complex. The pictures placed side-by-side were an animation unto themselves: a beautiful montage of time, like a blooming flower.

Siobhan was the one who knew Ru’s equipment well enough to work out how to set up the projector so they could play the incomplete film reel. The beginning featured Ru as the three remembered them -- very long, wavy black hair, bright blue angled eyes, and diamond earrings, dressed in a dark violet velvet suit and vest with no collared shirt underneath and a gold and emerald necklace around their neck. They were smirking right at the camera, but it seemed to be a bit strained.

“Hi, Estrid. Galen...Siobhan...reckon you’re both here too. You are the only one who could ever figure out how to work the projector, Sha.”

They cleared their throat, snorting through their nose before continuing.

“...I’ve...recorded this a few times already, trying to get it right, but...well, I’ll just be straight. This morning...I had trouble creating my daddles.”

They held up their right hand and flourished the fingers in explanation.

“I woke up with hooves and it took me about a minute to conjure up my fingers. I didn’t tell you, Estrid, since I knew it’d only make you worry, but...well, I know I’ll only be doing more of that, soon.”

They forced a stronger smirk.

“So I decided to make this for you. It’s a compilation of our lives...one that you can hopefully play, when you need to remember. When you need to get away from the present, and run back to the past for a bit. Watch it every time you feel the urge to drink -- and then push away that urge.”

The moving image of Ru was replaced with the pictures, movies, drawings, and animations the three had seen in the box, overlaying Ru’s voice as they continued.

“When I first started disguising myself as Rudolph Ollivander, all I cared about was living in the moment. But the thing I found so amazing about being human was this instinct you all have to try to make moments last long after they’re over. Considering how long you all live, and therefore how short my existence is in comparison, I loved the thought of making something last. Something I made last. I wanted to plant some seed that would grow into something that would keep growing long after me. But it didn’t take me long to realize that even if I took great photographs, or made beautiful films, or made the best magical camera in the world...it didn’t matter. Because I didn’t have a family who would tend to my garden, after I left it. I didn’t have a family who would keep the things I’d made, and pass them on, and share them with the world. ...I didn’t have a family who would pass on my legacy. After Hogwarts, it’d be a lot harder to hide what I was from the world...and once everyone knew the truth, I would undoubtedly be alone again. It was something I knew was inevitable, really, so it didn’t break me or anything...but me leaving something lasting behind was still a dream I knew would never come true. And I won’t lie, that hurt like shit.

“But then, somehow...somehow or another, I ran into you, Estrid. I was steamed as all get-out when we first met, mind you...but I don’t think I’ll ever be more grateful for anything than you stopping me from eating that first year that day. The bridle you put on me? I hated it. I had to stay in one form for almost eight whole years, and that was a real pain in the arse. But as I told you before, over time, I found I didn’t mind so much. Kelpies don’t stay in one form because changing forms helps us survive. It keeps us safe and keeps any other creatures from getting close enough to eat or trap us. And sure, I couldn’t change form...but I wasn’t exactly trapped. Hogwarts was a fun place to be. There was a lot to learn and do and get into, and there were all sorts of rules to buck and dozens of lick-spittles to give a good arse-kicking to. And better still...there were even some humans that were fun to be around.”

The pictures all started to reflect Galen -- at the piano, with a tree of bowtruckles, laughing at a joke -- Galen and Ru running down the lane away from the Shrieking Shack --

“There were ones who were gentle. Pacifistic and wussy, yeah, but also...well, kind. Good at expressing their feelings and making others feel stronger. Good at being brave without being loud or obnoxious. Good at being a friend, to someone who didn’t know anything about friendship.”

The pictures then started to add Siobhan, often alongside Galen, but also on her own, or even with Estrid and Ru.

“There were ones who were clever. Too proud for their own good and prone to overthinking things that are really quite simple...but brilliant, and witty, and a blast to be around. Someone who you can share your interests with and know they appreciate them.”

The pictures then shifted over to Estrid with braids in her hair -- Estrid sitting by the pond in their garden -- Estrid dancing --

“And...there were ones who could change you...more than you ever thought possible.”

The pictures abruptly cut off -- Ru’s face returned to the projector. They were still talking to the camera, but it was clear they hadn’t intended for their face to be seen, as they weren’t looking straight at the lens anymore.

“A ‘keeper,’ who became a friend, and then a muse...and then something more. An equal and a partner...someone who makes you unafraid of the future and how fleeting life is, who actually makes you think that your life makes a difference. Who teaches you more than any book, without even trying. Someone patient, and brave, and compassionate...who never tries to stuff the silence full of worthless words...whose beauty masks a greater one underneath, one that few people ever are fortunate enough to see...”

Ru’s eyes on screen had begun to flood with tears. They closed their eyes and breathed in and out through their nose to try to get a rein on their emotions.

“...Estrid...my whole life, I wanted to leave something behind that would outlive me. That thing isn’t just my pictures, or my films, or my drawings -- it’s you. You are my legacy. You and Galen and Siobhan...you are the wonderful thing I’ll leave behind. It breaks my heart that I’ll have to...and it breaks my heart more, knowing I can’t make sure you all remain as you are, in this moment. Healthy. Successful. Stupid and happy and full of life.”

They forced a smile even as their electric blue eyes overflowed with tears that streaked down their face.

“I don’t have a family to make sure you all last beyond me...but I do have you. So, for me...I need you to tend to my garden. I need you to maintain my legacy -- by maintaining yourself. I need you to live, and heal, and grow, and do everything I can’t do...”

Ru was unable to keep themselves from breaking down into sobs. They bowed their head, clutching onto their own hair as they vainly tried to keep their voice steady.

“Don’t throw your time away. Don’t throw your lives away. If you do, I’ll never bloody forgive you!”

For the next minute they took a few stabilizing breaths, sucking in air shakily through their nose and mouth.

“Damn it...” they hissed under their breath. “Now I have to cut this...”

They swallowed, wiping the tears from their eyes with both hands. The tears left tracks on their face even as they forced themselves to return their focus to the camera.

“...Make every moment count...and when you can, make that moment last forever.

“I realized, when I was looking through my old pictures, that I’ve never really taken many pictures of me. I guess in the moment, I really was a lot more focused on capturing everything I saw, rather than myself. So here are some pictures I took more recently that have me in them. Hopefully you can use them to imagine me behind every picture I took earlier, of all of you. Even though I probably wasn’t smiling or anything...I’m sure you know I was enjoying myself, right? ...I did enjoy myself a lot, with all of you...”

They forced another smile, even though the tears on their face still shone in the light from the next room.

“I remember you once said, Galen, that you could see the love in the pictures I take. I still don’t really know what the hell that’s supposed to mean...but I reckon you bringing up love made some sense. I did love taking those pictures, every one of them -- and more than that...I learned about love, through the people in those pictures. So thank you. Thank you for loving me...and for teaching me so much. And even when this film reel’s obsolete, and my pictures are ruined, and my drawings fade...don’t stop doing things that are worth remembering. Keep making more memories. I know I’ll never forget you -- all you have to do now is make sure the rest of the world won’t either.

“So live. Live, and learn, and love. Make today last forever.”

When Ru’s film reel finally ended and faded to black, Galen, Siobhan, and Estrid were all in tears. Galen was clinging to his wife, his face buried in her hair and his hands clutching at the back of her dress as he sobbed. Siobhan herself had her eyes shut tight as she held Galen in return, unable to contain her own grief. Estrid was holding herself, tears streaming from her hazel eyes still staring at the blank projector screen where Ru had been smiling moments earlier. She closed her eyes, her hands covering her face as she cried silently.

The grief in the room was overwhelming, and yet Ru’s final unfinished present tapped into something at the base of the grief -- the deep, bottomless love they all felt. For as blunt and stubborn as Ru could be, the depth of their feelings was undeniable. They didn’t want their loved ones to despair -- they wanted them to remember, yes, but not languish in the memories...to live with an eye on the past and feet walking toward the future. Ru knew the grief Estrid had gone through when she’d lost her grandfather, and had tried so hard to give her something to help her through her grief again even when they weren’t there to physically support her.

And so over the years, Siobhan, Galen, and Estrid maintained Ru’s legacy. The three lived their lives to the fullest and worked to make sure that no one forgot about all of the advancements Ru had made in the world of wizarding photography. Galen used Ru’s old film reels of magical creatures in his classes; Siobhan took even more pictures of her own; and Estrid fought to ensure Ru’s work was put up in wizarding museums and exhibitions all over Europe, as a testament to her partner’s talent and dedication.

A man has no control who lives, who dies, and who tells their story...but the ones who they love in life, and who inspire them in death, are the most precious legacy they can leave behind.

#hphl #hogwarts legacy #ru ollivander #estrid soelberg #siobhan llewelyn #galen stagg #my art #my writing #*throws herself off a cliff sobbing* EHHHHHH #I cried several times writing this good god ;~;#I am so sorry everybody #but this song gave me such ru feels and I just had to get them out #in my headcanon kelpies grow more and more seaweed-like hair on their bodies as they grow hence why ru's got so much now #most real life horses die between the ages of 25-30 so ru actually lived a pretty long time in comparison #but yeah estrid galen and siobhan would've been in their 40's when ru died #I tapped into a lot of feelings surrounding the people I've lost while writing this #so hopefully the grief comes through #'hopefully' guh #if it does I apologize in advance

22 notes · View notes

thatbloodymuggle · 4 years

Text

the one with the contaminated beer bottle

Tongue Tied 1/?

masterlist

word count: 2.6k

warnings: cursing ig? mentions of death

read it on wattpad

playlist

"Miss Connolly, what makes you think you'd be a good fit for emancipation?"

The unbothered judge flipped through a stack of papers, glasses nearly falling off the bridge of his nose. The seventeen-year-old shifted uncomfortably in her seat between her uncle and her lawyer. It was painfully evident that all four of them, the judge, the lawyer, the uncle, and the girl, would rather be anywhere else.

"Well," the girl coughed to clear her throat, "I believe that I have the facilities to thrive on my own. I have a paid off house and car in my name from my mom's will, a sizeable amount of savings from my dad's, and a steady income from my job. It's not huge, but I'm hoping to build it up over the summer. I'm also on track to go to UNC Chapel Hill with my test scores and my dad's legacy, so education won't be a problem."

The air in the room seemed to get thicker with each word. The girl's throat was drying, and she felt the sweat building up on her palms. The office was silent apart from the nail-tapping of the lawyer, the occasional cough from the judge, and her uncle's chair squeaking.

"Overall, I think I'm just as capable to provide for myself, if not more, than my uncle. I believe I am responsible enough to be recognized as an adult, and I really want this for myself," she finished.

The girl let out a huge sigh she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. The drab room grew silent again apart from the bored "hmm" from the judge. Her uncle squeaked in his chair again. The nail-tapping from the lawyer continued.

"Mr. Connolly, do you believe your neice is a good candidate for emancipation?"

The greying man didn't hesitate to grumble a rushed 'Yes' while stroking his untamed beard. The judge nodded in response.

"And Mrs. Watson, based on your assessment, do you too believe that Miss Connolly is a good candidate for emancipation?"

The lawyer stopped her nail tapping and shot a plastic smile towards the judge. "Yes Sir. From my meetings with Miss Connolly, I believe she is a perfect fit," molasses dripped from her deep voice, gravelly from years of smoking.

"Well," the judge shuffled a few more papers, "Then it seems you've made my job here easy. With great references and support from your uncle and reviewer, I don't see any reason to deny you what you want. By the power vested in me by the North Carolina Judicial System, I declare Rose-Ann Mae Connolly to be an emancipated minor."

The air in the room thinned and Rosie felt a massive weight lift off her shoulders.

The next few minutes of papers and signatures were a blur. Her body carried her through the motions, but her mind was elsewhere. Somewhere in the realm of 'Holy shit. I'm free'. She swiftly shook the judge's hand, and collected her paperwork. Her uncle was already out the door, and she didn't hesitate to follow.

The pair weaved in and out of hallways and staircases towards the exit in silence. Rosie's mind was reeling with too many emotions, and David Connolly just wanted to get home and continue his marathon of Duck Dynasty. Before she knew it, they'd reached her mom's Mini-Cooper and his 2004 Toyota Corolla parked side by side. David Connolly continued to move in silence as he transferred a large suitcase from his trunk to her backseat.

"Well, uh," he swung the door of her red car shut, "I guess this is it."

He shifted awkwardly, and scratched at his overgrown beard. The Connollys cleared their throats simultaneously in a pathetic attempt to fill the awkward silence.

"Yeah, looks like it," Rosie sighed with a tight-lipped smile. Her uncle nodded sharply and unlocked his dented car door.

"Drive safe, then. You have my number if something goes wrong," the greying man grunted while climbing into his beat-up car.

Rosie waved a breathy, "Bye," just as he slammed the car door shut. He didn't hesitate to pull, quite recklessly, out of the parking lot. The 17-year-old watched the Toyota drive away until she could no longer see it. She shook herself back to reality as the car blinked from existence. Slowly, a grin took over her face. Her heart beat out of her chest in excitement.

She could finally go home.

Rosie jumped into her infamous red Mini-Cooper and slammed the door shut behind her. She gripped the wheel, her grin growing so wide it hurt. She released the scream of excitement bubbling inside her. She must have looked crazy to anyone passing by, but Rosie didn't care.

She was finally going home.

The young girl forced herself to settle down, but a smile remained. Rosie inserted her mother's Beatles for Sale CD into the car player and prepared herself for the 2-hour drive to the OBX. The engine revved in sync with the silky, smooth voice of Paul McCartney. Rosie zoomed out of the parking lot in record time to begin her trek down the North Carolina state road. Signs, farms, and gas stations passed, but the only thing on Rosie's mind was home.

God, she'd missed her friends. She'd missed late nights at The Wreck with Kie, and study sessions on the docks with Pope. She'd missed impromptu races against John B, and the whole crew dog-piling on John B's hammocks. Hell, she'd even missed rolling blunts with JJ and their constant bickering.

Rosie's fingers drummed against the steering wheel to the beat of Eight Days A Week. The warmth in her stomach and the smile on her face felt unfamiliar. This was the first time she'd felt true joy since her mom had passed just 4 months earlier. Finally, everything seemed to be falling back into place.

By the time the teenager had reached the ferry, she'd cycled through two Beatles CD's and one Bob Dylan. Just a little further, she thought to herself as she boarded the large boat. Her phone buzzed beside her. She scrambled to grab it, nearly dropping it.

12:01 P.M Kie: any news?

1:43 P.M Pope: How'd it go?

1:44 P.M Pope: Btw, if u can't come back we'll survive. U know like good riddance see u never type vibe

1:45 P.M Pope: Sorry that was JJ

1:45 P.M Pope: He's an ass

3:59 P.M JB: ur KILLING us here. what's the verdict!?

Rosie grinned at the texts she'd received from her friends over the past couple of hours. She began to type a reply, but deleted it midway. She was so close by now that it would be more fun to surprise them instead.

The teenager leaned against the railing next to her car. The salty smell and cool breeze tickling her nose was a bliss like no other. Rosie peered into the distance, catching sight of a blurry island in the distance. A soft grin tugged at her lips. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, enjoying the ocean air and peaceful waves she'd missed oh-so-much.

The warmth in her gut grew as the ferry approached the dock. Within minutes, Rosie was driving her Mini-Cooper off the massive boat.

The Outer Banks. Home. She couldn't believe she was finally back. Rosie turned onto the main road and drove towards the small home one of her dearest friends inhabited. She'd drop off her things at her own house later. She just couldn't wait a second longer before seeing her friends.

Rosie usually hated driving through the Figure Eight, but even the sight of the lavish houses and boys in polos put a smile on her face. It was the first sense of familiarity she'd felt in months. Minutes passed and her heart raced as she got closer and closer. Before she knew it, the Chateau was just in the distance. Another uncontrollable grin took over Rosie's face. She was bouncing in her seat in excitement.

She pulled her small car onto the gravel driveway and jumped out. Rosie stared at the shack in disbelief for a brief moment. She was afraid she'd never see the beat-up place ever again, but here she was. Kie's familiar shriek sounded from inside the house. This was enough to send Rosie racing towards the front door. The screen door nearly swung off its hinges from her force.

Four startled faces shot towards the door. There was a moment of silence: Rosie beaming in the doorway, John B dropping a half-full bottle of beer, Pope hanging sideways off the couch, Kie dropping her jaw, and JJ, well, JJ looking unbothered

The few seconds of silence were short-lived as the room burst out into indistinguishable screams.

"Oh my god!"

"You're alive!"

"She's a free woman!"

Rosie was tackled by Kie, quickly followed by John B and Pope. The four teenagers nearly tumbled to the ground.

"Guys... can't.. breathe..." Rosie struggled from underneath John B's armpit.

"It's what you get for leaving us hanging all day! We thought we'd never see you again," Kie laughed, squeezing her friend even tighter.

"Oh come on, Kie," Rosie wiggled out of the suffocating group hug. "I wanted it to be a surprise! I did good too, didn't I? Gotta keep you on your toes," she giggled.

"It was a pretty good surprise, Kie," Pope laughed, swinging an arm over Rosie's left shoulder while John B took her right.

"I've seen better. You know, could've added some flair: fireworks, balloons, a unicorn. 5 out of 10 at best," a certain blond piped up from the couch.

Rosie Connolly locked eyes with JJ Maybank. Usually, her mortal nemesis—a pest, if you will—but today, a friend. A mischievous grin took over her face, matching his playful smirk.

"Hey to you too, shithead," she quipped. "Aw, how sweet! You got me a 'welcome home' gift," Rosie swiftly shot forward and snagged his beer bottle mid-swig. JJ yanked her arm back in an attempt to salvage his beer, but she'd already stuck her tongue inside it.

"Oh, sorry, did you want this?" Rosie cocked her head at a pissed off JJ. "How rude of me! Here, you can have it," the girl feigned innocence, but couldn't wipe the devious smirk from her lips.

JJ snatched the beer back, "Oh nah," he spit inside the bottle, swirled it around a little, and handed it back to Rosie, "It's all yours. Welcome home, bitch."

She crinkled her nose in disgust at the contaminated drink. JJ leaned back in his seat, clearly pleased with himself. Rosie moved to dump the drink over his head, but John B intercepted before it could escalate.

"Hey hey, no need to get all loved up now. Let's keep the PDA to a minimum," John B snatched the bottle and set it on the counter. He tossed two new bottles to his bickering friends. Rosie caught it gracefully, and fell back onto the couch next to Kie.

"I swear, in some past life you two were an old married couple," Kie laughed, draping her legs over Rosie's. The Pogues chorused in laughter, apart from JJ and Rosie. He shot her his infamously infuriating smirk, to which she took a massive swig of beer.

"Damn, I've missed this," Rosie moaned at the bitter taste. "Haven't had a drink in four months."

Rosie brought the bottle back to her lips to take a second sip, but paused upon the realization that all four pairs of eyes were trained on her expectantly.

"What?" she cried, "Can I not have a drink without being stared down?"

"What do you mean what? We haven't seen you in four months and all you've gotta say is how much you love beer?" Pope deadpanned.

"Rose-Ann Mae Connolly, I knew you were always just mooching off of me!" John B jokingly accused. Rosie rolled her eyes at the two boys and set down the bottle.

"What've you been up to without us? How was the end of the school year? How was the trial?" Kie ignored John B and turned to face her friend with curious eyes.

"School? Boring. Living with David? Boring. Trial? Boring. And there you have it! 4 months in 5 seconds!" Rosie entangled her legs with Kiara's, letting her feet fall onto John B's lap.

Kiara began to protest at the severe lack of information, but was interrupted.

"A woman of many words," JJ grumbled from across the couch with his eyes closed as if he were mid-nap.

"Seriously, guys," Rosie huffed, "That's all it was—boring. But I'm here now, a legal adult, and I just wanna have fun, so let's do something fucking insane!" she diverted her friends away from asking anymore questions.

Truth be told, the last few months had been absolutely miserable. Grief is a heavy emotion. The great thing about having a family and friends is they can help carry some of the weight. But Rosie had been forced to spend those months grieving over the loss of her mother alone, and she was ready to move past it.

"Fair enough. Why don't we go late-night diving off the cliff up Old Miller Road later?" Kie suggested.

"Do you want to die?" Pope deadpanned at the same time that JJ spoke, "Sounds exhilarating".

"Oh, come on Pope. It's my first night back! Do it or you're lame," Rosie laughed at her nervous friend.

"Then I'm lame."

"Well, 4 to 5 majority rules," John B clapped his hands, "we'll leave from here at 10:00."

Four out of the five teenagers cheered. Pope crossed his arms and grumbled in disapproval.

Rosie pulled herself from the confines of Kie, "Sounds like a plan, but I should probably head back to my place for a little bit before. Need to unpack and, uh, clear some stuff out," she coughed awkwardly at the last part. Her friends nodded in understanding.

"I can come with if you want? You know, help you unpack and stuff," Kiara offered a warm smile.

Rosie smiled back, but shook her head, "Thanks, Kie, but I've got it covered."

"Are you sure?" John B added.

"Really," Rosie emphasized. "I'll be fine. I need to sort some papers out, anyways." The newly-emancipated teenager reluctantly lifted herself from the comfy couch and the warmth of her friends. "I'll be back soon. Don't you worry your pretty little head," she made a show of ruffling John B's untamed hair.

"Hurry back!" JJ's voice dripped with sarcasm underneath the hat that was now covering his face.

"Just for you," Rosie quipped. She did one last once-over at her friends before swinging the unstable door open. "See you soon!" she called as she strode back to her car.

The chatter of her friends died out as she moved further from the house and closer to the Mini-Cooper. A different sort of happiness flooded her body. Being isolated from the people she loved for so long was like losing a piece of her heart, and she'd finally found it. It was a warmth like no other, and as she drove home, she could only count down the minutes until she'd be with them again.

this is unedited oops

if you’d like to be added to a taglist, message/pm me!

part 2 coming soon!

251 notes · View notes

twobit-anime-trash · 3 years

Text

Painting Outside the Lines | D.N Angel Ficlet

Pairing: Satodai (Satoshi/Daisuke)

Summary: Post-curse, after the dust settles, the boys try their hands at making 'bad art' by badly imitating Jackson Pollock. Fluff and angst and tenderness and hilarity ensues. Or: I don't make the rules of 90's rom coms, I just work here

Warnings: Mention of scars, very minor contextless spoiler for the end of the manga, minor angst, mostly fluff

Here on Ao3

“Jackson Pollock was an American expressionist painter, active from the mid 1930’s to 1955.”

In the depths of the Niwa family’s infamous basement, a room had been cleared out. Covering most of the grey stone floor was an enormous fifteen by eight foot canvas, pinned down haphazardly by open cans of house paint and scattered brushes and sticks.

Daisuke fiddled with a thick dowel rod, eyes following Satoshi as he paced the edges of the canvas, confidently educating his only pupil on the artist whose work they’d be bastardising today. Oh the lectures he’d get about the “damn Hikari walking around like he owned the place” if his mother saw this. Daisuke shook his head and tuned back in to the speech.

“-of course most famous for his iconic ‘drip paintings’, a style that came to define the-“

It had taken them a long time to get to this point, for Satoshi to be ready to paint again. The desire was still there, had always been there, but it had been tamped down for so long, held down with so much fear, it was very hard to let it loose. The handful of times he’d allowed himself to paint outside of his training, the work was always constrained. Limited to imitation, re-creation, or locked down in the traditional Hikari style: realistic, overly ornate, cold.

“-rejected traditional material’s and instead use alkyd enamels, better known as commercial household paints, and tools such as hardened brushes, sticks, and basting syringes to-“

This was something Satoshi had been toying with for a long time, ever since the day Daisuke carried him to the Niwa home, and he caught sight of the messy vent painting Daisuke had made while he worked through his frustration. Art had never actually been available to Satoshi as a tool for self-expression before. After the dust had settled, he’d confided in Daisuke that it was something he’d like to try. To not feel the pressure of his family legacy pushing down on him every time he picked up a brush, to let go and not care about what the end result looked like.

“-instead of limiting himself to merely using his hand and wrist, Pollock used his entire body dynamically to create his pieces-“

Daisuke was trying to pay attention, really he was! But watching Satoshi stride about so self-assuredly, gesturing with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, not at all insecure about his scars, well, it made that difficult! His heart was racing with pride; Satoshi had fought so hard and come so far. Half of Daisuke wanted to cut the lecture short and tackle him to the floor right then.

“-actually Pollock himself described his paintings as not relying on accident at all, but rather as a balance of controllable and uncontrollable-”

It also didn’t help that confidence looked really, really good on Satoshi. Daisuke felt his face heat up. Oh what would Dark say to him now? A little bubble of sadness welled up in his chest at that thought, but he pushed it aside for the moment. This wasn’t about their families, or legacies, or the curse; this was about them. They were going to have fun today, doing something that would have their ancestors all rolling in their graves: making art together.

“Are you listening, Daisuke?”

Busted. “Ah well……”

Satoshi shook his head with a put upon sigh, and put a hand on his hip. “Well, I suppose it’s not too important. After all, the rules don’t matter here today,” His lips quirked into the slightest suggestion of a smile.

“Color theory?” Daisuke asked playfully, dipping his dowel rod into a can of lime green paint, “Never heard of it!”

“Indeed,” Satoshi nodded, choosing a burnt orange color for his start. He dipped a stiffened brush into the paint, but paused before he could draw it out. Daisuke held his breath for a moment as he watched Satoshi take a deep breath, and square his shoulders.

“Well,” he said, finally raising the brush, “shall we get started?”

Daisuke beamed at him, “Only if you do the honors!”

Satoshi slowly raised the brush, letting globs of burnt orange hit the canvas in thick drops, then gently flicked his wrist, sending a streak of paint splattering against the canvas.

“Yeah!” Daisuke cheered, flinging his paint stick out and sending another stripe of paint down to join the lone splatter.

Satoshi graced him with an amused grin and flushed cheeks, “Go on, and have at it.” Daisuke was only too happy to oblige.

It took a bit of warming up to get over the awkwardness of the movement, but soon they got into a rhythm. Working his way back and forth, and round and round, Daisuke sampled the many garish colors on offer, dripping, flinging, and splashing them around the canvas quickly and slowly, changing his tempo whenever the mood struck him. Soon he became absorbed in the strange dance of it, smiling and laughing as he lobbed strings of paint harder and harder to hit the center of the canvas. So absorbed even, that he forgot to keep an eye out for his painting companion until-

“Niwa”

“Yeah?” Daisuke said, looking up, “What’s up Hiw- OH!” His sentence cut off in a squeak. From across the room, Satoshi was giving him his patented deadpan, the effectiveness of which was somewhat undercut by the large hot pink splatter of paint that streaked up his arm. Some had even managed to hit his face and glasses.

“Oh my god! I’m so, so, so, sorry Satoshi!” Daisuke sputtered, dropping the paint stick and waving his hands frantically. “I got caught up in it, I wasn’t paying attention, I didn’t mean to get paint on you! M-maybe if we go upstairs and wash it right now-”

“It’s fine Daisuke,” Satoshi cut him off with a wave of his hand, “When you’re doing this kind of work, you don’t wear clothes that you would mind getting a bit messy,” he flicked his arm, sending a few droplets of paint flying down to the canvas where they were supposed to be. “Just be careful.”

Daisuke’s face burned. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “Of course Satoshi, I’ll be more careful! I promise!”

Embarrassed, he drifted towards the edge of the painting, further away from his partner. Of course he’d managed to make a fool of himself in front of Satoshi, as usual. Stupid! He angled his body away from the other boy, and decided to stick to carefully dripping paint instead of flinging it for a while.

His resolve lasted for a few minutes, until something cold and wet suddenly splashed across his back, and Daisuke jumped, his head whipping around instinctively looking for the source of the attack.

Across the canvas from him, Satoshi’s expression hadn’t changed, even though he had a very incriminating dripping-wet brush clutched in his hand.

“Oops. Sorry, Niwa-kun,” he said flatly.

Daisuke’s brain stuttered for a moment. Had Satoshi just….he cocked his head, looking closer. Sure enough, there was the slightest ghost of a smile in the corner of Satoshi’s mouth, and he would swear he saw laughter in his eyes. Oh. So that’s how it was, huh?

Daisuke waved the ‘apology’ off cheerfully, but behind his smile he was scheming. Game on, Satoshi!

Years of training kicked in as he stalked around the canvas, keeping his body language casual as he waited for an opening. When he had to turn his eyes away, his sharp ears listened for his target’s footsteps amongst the sound of paint hitting the canvas. Finally he found the opening he’d been searching for, and struck.

Satoshi started, but this time didn’t call attention to the ‘accident’. Instead he just kept dripping paint with his back to the other boy. Daisuke looped around the painting again, carefully casual, turning and twisting with his paint trail. His back had only been turned for a few seconds when he realized the sound of footsteps had disappeared. Splat! Another direct hit to his back. Daisuke whipped around, but Satoshi still had his back to him, dripping paint in a wide arc at the other end of the canvas.

So he definitely hadn’t lost his touch either! Daisuke smirked. Their little game of cat and mouse continued for a few minutes, the opponents exchanging carefully calculated blows one after the other. And then a wicked idea suddenly sprung to Daisuke’s mind. He quickly picked up a stray brush, dipped it in the nearest paint can, and tucked in into his back pocket. His pants would be destroyed, but if his tactic worked…he bided his time, waiting for Satoshi to strike again.

This time, when a volley of paint hit his side, he turned to the other boy and laughed, dropping the paint stick in his hand and throwing his arms up in surrender. ‘Ok, ok,” he chuckled, making his way around the painting to Satoshi’s side, “you got me!” He moved his arm as if to wrap it around the boy’s shoulder, but with nimble fingers at the last moment, snatched the paintbrush from his pocket and smooshed it right into Satoshi’s hair.

Who froze for a moment, eyes wide with surprise. And then his lips curled into a smirk as he let out a huff of a laugh.

“Oh, it is on now Niwa!”

It devolved from there into all out warfare. The basement witnessed a battle like no other as paint flew everywhere, splattering against the walls, floors, even the ceiling! Screams and laughter echoed down the halls as two boys chased each other around and around like the children they were, leaping, and slipping, and crashing into each other in a cacophony of sound and color.

Eventually even the former Phantom Thief host ran out of stamina, and the paint stopped flying, as the two soaking wet combatants stopped on either side of their painting to catch their breath.

“Well I’d say that experiment was a success!” Daisuke exclaimed, as soon as he had the wind for it. Indeed, their canvas had managed to catch some of the paint, even though the process had involved some acrobatic moves that he was pretty sure that Pollock had never used.

“I’m pretty sure most of the paint ended up on us,” Satoshi said dryly, wiping some paint from his brow and gesturing to the canvas, “But I digress. There you have it, the first collaborative artwork in existence created by both a Hikari and a Niwa. What do you think?”

Daisuke backed up a few paces to examine their handiwork. It was a mess, well and truly, streaks of garish, oversaturated colors clashing wildly against each other and mixing muddily in splotches. Smeared handprints and two different sets of shoe treads littered the edges of the canvas. There was a large smudged blotch in the bottom left corner where two bodies had hit the wet paint and tussled.

“It’s awful, I love it!”

Satoshi looked down at it with a critical eye, leaning over and spotting a clean patch of canvas that had somehow miraculously avoided getting splattered.

“It’s missing something,” he said cryptically, and beckoned to Daisuke with a crook of his finger. Daisuke trotted over, curious, as Satoshi brushed a thin layer of light colored paint on his palm and pressed it to the empty space for a few seconds. He fanned one hand over the wet paint, and wordlessly handed Daisuke a paintbrush dripping with a darker paint with the other. Daisuke followed his lead, coating his own palm with paint as well.

“Here, put your hand down right there” Satoshi directed, “That’s it.”

Daisuke pulled his hand back, and looked down. Before his eyes were two handprints, layered as if two hands were pressed against the canvas together. His breath caught.

“There. Though it’s a bit corny, I suppose….” Satoshi said, his tone carefully bland, and glanced away.

Daisuke didn’t think. He reached out with his hand still tacky with drying paint, turned Satoshi’s head back, and kissed him softly. The lips against his stayed still for a moment, before gently returning the kiss.

After a moment, Daisuke pulled back and stroked the other boy’s cheek with his thumb, smearing the dark paint even worse.

“I changed my mind, it’s a good painting.”

Satoshi looked at him, blinking as if to clear the stars from his eyes, after all this time still awestruck by the affection. And then he smiled so softly that Daisuke couldn’t help but kiss him again. And again.

Later, when they came up from the basement to clean up for dinner, if Kosuke noticed the suspicious amount of paint handprints all over the two boys’ skin and clothes, well, he kept it to himself.

A/N: So remeber in the manga when Satoshi passed out at school and Daisuke took him home and Satoshi sees Daisuke's vent painting where its a total mess of feeling on the canvas and Satoshi says he likes it and that he could never paint something like that. NOW YOU CAN BABY, NOW YOU CAN! Now you don't have to hold yourself back and keep yourself in a cold little canvas frame, you can pour your feelings into it and it doesn't have to be perfect or even good it just has to FEEL-

SUGASAKI LET ME SEE THAT CANON FOR A MINUTE, WAIT A MINUTE JUST LET ME SE-

Anyway...been chatting a lot with Luanna about the boy's post-canon lives, and basically them reclaiming their lives and childhoods. One thing I really want for Satoshi is for him to be able to make quote unquote """bad art""", meaning that I want Satoshi to be able to explore his own style without fear of failure, to experiment and try things that might not work, to make kitschy or weird or ugly art. Like, the boy has been cut off from expressing himself in any way for so long, let him explore self-expression through art! And its Satodai this time because Satodai was like, the og ship for me and I need it.

Also, two fics in a month??? I haven't posted two fics in a year since 2016 wtf. As always, comments and critiques appreciated!

#d.n.angel #dn angel #satodai #satoshi hiwatari #daisuke niwa #satoshi hikari #fanfiction #twobit scribbles #some cute fluff stuff with a smidgen of angst #let these boys have some FUN #also cross-posting this one like a week later whoop whoop

9 notes · View notes

capricornus-rex · 4 years

Note

Hiya! Still taking any requests? If so, can you write something about Cal and JediReader finally settle down and have a kid or something. I literally binged your materialist in one night until I realized the sun was coming out. I love your writing so much btw! It’s BEAUTIFUL!!!! 💕 (I’m saving your inquisitorCal fic until I finish my classes for this semester. I can’t wait for the pure heartbreak😖)

Hi Anon! Sorry you’ve waited so long ;;A;; I had to finish the prompts that came before yours. Anyway, your prompt has helped me fix up the fic idea I had in the middle of writing another fic so thank you for that! And also thanks for liking what I post! ^w^ Hope you enjoy this fic! 💕

“A Legacy Begun” | Chapter 1: What Comes Next | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.

Additional prompt: My fic idea

Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance

Also posted in AO3

Next: Part 2 | Masterlist

1 of ?

“Where to now?” the young man asked to everyone.

The crew exchanged glances. Cere stepped in.

“It’s up to you to decide, Cal,”

“I think we should just take a breather,”

Cal charted a course back to Bogano. All this action has taken a great toll on everyone. During the jump to hyperspace, the crew dispersed—back to their own activities—while you plopped down on the couch, Cal sat next to you, barely allowing an inch of space between you, and your little adopted Bogling peeks under the lounge’s center table. It chittered but you quickly put a finger against your lips, hoping that the animal would understand your gesture. You and Cal shared a secretive chuckle, glancing at the cockpit to see if Greez had heard.

“I don’t think he heard,” Cal whispered.

“Good,”

You link arms with Cal and rested your head against his shoulder, he planted a kiss on your forehead as he nestled himself by your side. Your free hand extended to the Holocron—now reduced to shards—and a single crystalline nugget gravitated to your fingers; raising it up so it aligns with the overhead light, the prism glowed yellow as you turned it in different angles, the specks of impurity within the crystal appeared like glitters.

While you gaze at the remains of the relic, mesmerized, Cal started to shift in his seat. He rested his head on your lap and buried his face against your abdomen. You chuckle at his gesture, but you were totally endeared, your eyes wandered to the cauterized part of his jumpsuit’s armor while running his fingers through his hair.

“How’s your rib?” you purred.

“The sting’s still there, but bearable,”

“I think I have something for that back in the abode,”

“I leave it to you, doc,” he cooed.

His hand reached for your cheek, ever so lovingly he caressed the curve of your skin while his eyes trace every inch of your face; you spot the involuntary upward curls of his lips as you nuzzled your nose against his palm, your tired Jedi drifted off to sleep in the middle of the journey.

An hour later, Cal awakes by the rumble of the Mantis landing on Bogano’s soil.

“We’re here,” you announce softly.

“Five more minutes,” he groaned, tossing to his right so he can wrap his arms around you and buried his face into your abdomen again.

“Honey, we’re home,” you tussled his hair, trying to get him up. “You can take a nap when we get to the abode.”

Cal was childishly uncooperative, continuously coaxing him to get up because your legs are starting to go numb from his weight.

“Alright, alright, I’m up!” he exerted, sitting up from his comfortable headrest that is your lap and finding the strength to plant the balls of his feet back on the floor.

It was midday when you arrived in Bogano, the shorter way back to the abode was hopping from one mesa to the other where the roofs of the huts dotted the land. Upon entering, you’ve already reached the second floor of the abode and turned to the archway tunnel that connects the abode itself to the second level of the bedroom.

The living quarters was dim but BD-1 scampered off of Cal’s shoulder to switch on the power. White lights glowed to life and illuminated the entire bedroom, the redhead staggered to the bed, plopped himself and proceeded to lie flat on his back against the mattress. His hands lazily searched for the straps of his armor, unfastening the buckles, undoing the buttons of the shirt underneath the leather chestplate, and finally unzipping the top of his jacket.

When all of his upper clothing was shed, Cal felt liberated. A sight of relief escaped his lungs while you gathered a Bacta gauze and tape. You brushed aside the left flap of his jacket, revealing the stab wound—blood had dried and curdled into a maroon crust around the flesh and the body water had pooled on top of the damaged skin.

“Just a few more inches up and he’d pierced your heart,”

He takes your hand and places it above his heart.

“Still here, but I could’ve sworn you’ve taken it already,”

You rolled your eyes, scoffed laughingly, “Smooth.”

A crisp, pastel green square covered the circular wound, secured with medical tape. You briskly caressed Cal’s jaw and kissed his forehead.

“Go get some rest,” you cooed. “You’ve earned it, my love.”

He nodded obediently, continuing his nap from the Mantis as his eyelids drooped and his features softened. You watched him drift off again.

Evening fell upon Bogano. Cal had the longest yet nicest slumber he’s ever had in years. He wakes up and finds you absent in the bedchamber, he stepped out of the abode, climbing back up to the mesa’s surface. He spotted you lying down on the grass, wobbling your leg leisurely as you stared at the deep blue blanket of sky.

Cal joined you on the cool bed of grass, putting a flower he had plucked before lying flat on his back next to you.

“Something on your mind?” Cal began.

“Not really. I just missed the night sky here, it’s all so peaceful,” you sighed. “Just a few weeks ago, we were hopping between planets—so much has happened in every one we’ve been to—and all of that to save the next generation of Jedi. It’s kinda poetic.”

Cal had no response to that, although he almost had the exact same thing in mind. Another thing entered his head, though he wasn’t ready to say it yet. He decided it was a talk for another time, allowing himself to enjoy the present with you.

“What do you think happens now, Cal?” you curiously inquired.

“I don’t know, honestly,”

The pair of young Jedi exchanged glances, trading short, awkward smiles, both speaking an expression that painted an uncertainty of what the future holds for them. Fingers interlocked with one another as their eyes glanced at the sky, as if hoping the stars had the answer for them.

—–

A year and a half has passed since Cal Kestis destroyed Eno Cordova’s holocron.

The Mantis crew eventually found another refuge: the remote planet of Cerinda, located in the Mid Rim where the hand of the Empire almost stretches thin. The rich countryside of the planet attracted everyone—including Greez to some extent, given that he was after the seeds and sources of food that can help step up his culinary game.

You and Cal have made a hobby of strolling across the spaciousness of the land every now and then to get some fresh air. Like today, the two of you sat in the sea of grass—the meadows filled your eyes with the brightest green, sweet and cool water sourced from the waterfalls and rivers irrigated the soil, and the weather was simply divine.

“Your stubble’s growing out” you pointed.

Cal massaged his jaw, the hairs pricked his fingertips as he ran them across his face.

“Should I get rid of it?”

You shake your head, you couldn’t repress the grin forming in your lips, “No, I’d rather you keep it.”

In the corner of your eye, the waterfall’s mist became a prism against the sunlight, spreading the rays of light to where you and Cal sat. The two of you approached the basin, your fingers glided across the water, forming ripples that expanded and then panned towards the waterfall itself. You and Cal waded on its shore, stepping closer until the water has reached the middle of your boots.

You started a water war when you playfully splashed Cal, nearly wetting his hair, he retaliated when he used both hands to scoop water and throw it to you.

“You’ll never get me!” you laughed, running away from the pond before Cal could have a chance to pour a handful of water on your head.

“Not if I can help it!” he cheered back, chasing you with the water running out drop by drop.

When he got close enough, water rained over you—wetting your clothes especially on your back and shoulders—and he gleefully snatched you up; wrapping his arms around your waist, lifting you inches above the ground, and you spinning you around as both of you filled the air with laughter.

He lost balance when he has spun enough times to stumble back on the ground. You’re still laughing out whatever’s left of you as the grass tickled your skin. Cal crawled and stood on fours over you, he cupped your jaw and closed in to kiss you—it was tender and luscious, when he pulled away, you found his sweet smile greeting you back.

The fresh breeze has picked up, the two of you continued to lounge in the fragrant grass whose length reached your breasts when sitting up; every once in a while, Cal would find himself staring at you and thinking about the question that popped into his mind a year ago in Bogano. Back then, he didn’t think that that exact moment was the best time to say it; now at the present, he still wasn’t so sure, but he figured that it’d be best to test the waters—now that things seemed to have toned down.

You turned to see Cal looking at you, but his eyes appeared to be in deep thought.

“What is it, Cal?”

Your soft-toned question somehow jolted him back into reality, realizing too late that he has zoned out too much just thinking about the entire topic. He began stammering, trying to string together the right words that he has been mentally practicing a few times now.

“Listen, I’ve meaning to ask you something—ever since Bogano, actually, but I just didn’t think it was the right time for it, and I really didn’t think that I would find myself asking it,”

The tinge of seriousness in his tone suddenly made your stomach sink, but you waited for him to finish. He knelt on one knee, level to your sitting height, and you could’ve sworn you felt your heart skip a beat and a shiver run down your spine under a sunny afternoon.

“[y/n] [l/n], will you give me the biggest honor to marry me?”

At the very moment, your heart gave out what ought to be the biggest beat in your entire lifetime. Little did you know that at the top of the hill, Cere was standing there, surveying the land in search of the pair of you—she had secretly witnessed Cal proposing to you and you giving him the best answer you could have ever given him. The woman smiled to herself, somewhat getting secondhand joy from what she had witnessed.

“Yes,” you gasped. Overjoyed, you repeated your answer in a medley of crying and laughing. “YES, CAL KESTIS, YES!!”

Cal huffed out the tension that he has been choking himself with, he was unable to control the upward curls that were growing along his lips. He threw himself towards you, pulling you in abruptly, thanking you in the form of kisses and bursting in laughter.

“Really?”

“Yes, to the ends of the galaxy, yes!”

The joy in his heart was so great that he’s simply acting out of impulse. He snatched you up once more, his hold tighter than the last, and buried his face on the crook of your neck as he slightly spun you again. You latched onto him so tight that for a moment, time seemed to have stopped ticking, and the next moment felt like cloud nine.

The two of you returned to the ship, hand in hand, the first one to greet you was Cere. A smirk on her face suggested that she may or may not know what had just transpired.

“Well, you two seem awfully happy,”

“Come inside with us, we want everyone to know,” Cal beckoned.

Cere chuckled but only within her earshot, she followed the two of you into the ship.

Out of excitement, BD-1 scampered off of Cal’s shoulder to the center of the table in the lounge and started chirping a string of notes at everyone.

“Don’t spoil the surprise, BD!” Cal cooed.

“What did BD say?” Merrin asked, on behalf of everybody in the ship.

There was brief pause, Cal turned to you, wordlessly giving you the honors to bear the news. You took a deep breath.

“I’m engaged!” you declared.

The ship was filled with gasps and hushed exclamations. Merrin’s jaw dropped, she put away the extra plants that she had harvested from the terrarium, rushing to both of you in a hug. Cere laughed in a celebratory joy and Greez swooned, witnessing him being genuinely affectionate and supportive—which he rarely does.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Greez beamed.

“In three days, we’d like to keep it simple,” Cal replied.

The Nightsister braced you on the shoulders, “We definitely have to find you a dress!”

107 notes · View notes

lee-em-dee · 5 years

Text

A Season 6 Bellarke Recap [a.k.a. the Receipts]

Before the finale airs, I thought we were due for a recap of some of the major B/C moments of Season 6, episode by episode.

6x01 “Sanctum”

[a.k.a. “It’s not crazy.”]

This felt like such a turning point for Bellarke, particularly on Bellamy’s end, because you can finally see him starting to fill in the blanks of their relationship. Clarke is so tentative and reticent about addressing the radio calls. Bellamy recognizes her vulnerability, understands the significance of this admission. And by assuring her “it’s not crazy” that she depended on him for six years, he reveals that he relied on her memory just as much, thus affirming the strength and stability of their relationship. Devotion is the name of the game.

6x02 “Red Sun Rising”

[a.k.a. “I don’t need you anymore.” + “This time, you die. Not me.”]

Talk about Foreshadowing™. This episode allowed audiences to get into the heads of each character (sans body snatching) and fully grasp what it is that drives/haunts them. Case in point, during Bellamy’s red sun psychotic episode, his compulsive need to protect and save his people is underscored, as is his deep-seated fear of being abandoned by/losing Clarke. This illustrates how, to a certain extent, Bellamy is terrified of how much he depends upon Clarke, knowing fully well the toll her death took on him for the past six years.

6x03 “The Children of Gabriel”

[a.k.a. “She is. She can speak for us.” + “We’ll bring Madi back. I promise.”]

Though the two are separated for the majority of this episode, Bellamy and Clarke’s “Together” partnership and co-leading dynamic are back in full force. Theirs is a relationship built on trust and mutual respect, a fact made very apparent when Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to allow Clarke to unilaterally conduct diplomatic affairs in Sanctum while he reconnects with their people. Likewise, Clarke entrusts the safety of her daughter to Bellamy in spite of the calamitous series of events that transpired in Season 5. It’s truly a redressal of S5, and it establishes how a relationship as profound as theirs is only strengthened by past disputes, betrayals, and grievances.

6x04 “The Face Behind the Glass”

[a.k.a. “You’re my family, too.” + “You’re too important to me.”]

I found this moment particularly significant when juxtaposed with the B/C dynamic in Season 2. Clarke’s “You’re too important to me” is very reminiscent of her S2 “I can’t lose you, too,” only this time around Clarke doesn’t attempt to diminish Bellamy’s value to her and, instead, recognizes that her love for him is a strength, not a weakness. She conveys to him how deeply she regrets abandoning him at the pits (much like her abandonment of him at the gates of Arkadia in S2), vowing to never lose sight of the fact that he is and always will be family to her.

6x05 “The Gospel of Josephine”

[a.k.a. “How are we on different sides of this?”+ “Who are you?”]

The strength of B/C’s relationship is even further bolstered with Josephine acting as a foil character to Clarke. Bellamy and Clarke know and understand each other so well, and her absence is glaringly obvious to Bellamy when he recognizes how uncharacteristically out-of-sync they are. He is the first and only person to have figured out that Clarke had been bodysnatched purely from knowing who she is as a person—her mannerisms, the way she speaks, the way she thinks, the things she values most (the same cannot be said of her own mother, but c’est la vie).

6x06 “Memento Mori”

[a.k.a. “...the hardest decision of his life: he will not take revenge.”]

Bellamy reveals the depth of his love for Clarke not by being consumed with his desire to exact revenge on her murderers, but rather by pushing aside his rage and grief in order to honor her. His inconsolable, bereaved, emotionally volatile state screams at him to perpetuate the cycle of war and violence, yet he overrrides his natural bloodthirsty instincts, all for Clarke. Bellamy is a fighter, and him choosing not to fight to preserve Clarke’s legacy is precisely why his love for her must be true and abiding—a love that stands the test of time and transcends death.

6x07 “Nevermind”

[a.k.a. “You’re too afraid to face him.” + “I’ll take your deal.” vs. “We’re gonna get her back.”]

The noticeable absence of Bellamy in Clarke’s mindspace (save for the drawings of him on her cell walls) is very weighty, especially when accompanied by Mindspace Blodreina’s spiel about Clarke‘s subconscious being unable to conjure Bellamy up due to fear. Fear that he will always resent her for her mistakes, fear that he views her as a selfish monster. It’s evident that Clarke values Bellamy’s perception of her to an unparalleled degree. Pieces of him are scattered throughout her mindspace (notice how a sketch of him is hanging in the area of her mindspace that symbolizes home, happiness, security, and family). He is literally ingrained in her head. This makes her decision to sacrifice herself to Josephine all the more meaningful. It is only when Clarke assumes Bellamy had given up on her without a second thought that she, herself, gives up. What she doesn’t get to see is how devastated he had been by her death and how determined he is to get her back when he discovers she’s still alive.

6x08 “The Old Man and the Anomaly”

[a.k.a. “You only care about Clarke.” ATTA BOY, JORDAN]

Bellamy is a man on a mission, and he’ll stop at nothing to save Clarke, regardless of the fact that doing so potentially endangers his people and their prospects for peace. While it’s inaccurate to suggest that Bellamy “only [cares] about Clarke,” you cannot deny that in this precarious situation she takes priority above all else. Saving Clarke is more important to Bellamy than ensuring that the peace deal for his people is fleshed out without a hitch. “He’d do anything for her. To protect her. Just makes sense.” Yet another S2 parallel. Bellamy will do whatever it takes to bring Clarke back, consequences by damned. If that entails leaving his people to fend for themselves, then so be it.

6x09 “What You Take With You”

[a.k.a. “Your people are in trouble. I guess you care about her more.” + “Now that’s a weird relationship, isn’t it?” + “I won’t let you die.” + “I’m not leaving you.”]

This episode was truly an ode to the history between Bellamy and Clarke—a complex history characterized by its highs and lows, by reconciliation and betrayal—but a history of devotion, nonetheless. Bellamy’s interactions with Josephine are enlightening, to say the least. The clinical way she breaks down the complicated relationship between Bellamy and Clarke is not only a testament to who she is as a person (i.e. a psychopath) but also to how deeply B/C must care for each other. In spite of everything that’s happened between them, their love and devotion to one another remains. Josephine leaves no stone unturned when it comes to recounting the bad and the ugly aspects of Bellamy and Clarke’s relationship, yet she redacts all of the good (those deep, intimate, emotional moments must be difficult to comprehend through the eyes of a psychopath). Everything about this episode—from Bellamy’s heartfelt “I won’t let you die,” to the terror and desperation in his eyes when J!Clarke is on the chopping block, to Clarke’s adamant “I’m not leaving you”—affirms that their bond is unbreakable.

6x10 “Matryoshka”

[a.k.a. THAT SCENE]

It takes real acting chops to simultaneously rip my heart in half and stitch it back together, yet, within the span of two measly minutes, Bob Morley accomplished the feat seamlessly. When Bellamy is confronted with the reality that Clarke is dead on that operating table, his greatest fears in 6x02 paradoxically come alive before his very own eyes. “I’m not losing her again.” “I need you.” “I’m not letting you go.” The shift from denial to desperation to devastation is as breathtaking as it is heart-breaking to watch. Speaking of the heart, what elevated the CPR scene to a caliber rivaling that of poetic cinema was its overt symbolism. Bellamy is Clarke’s heart. Clarke is Bellamy’s heart. When she’s trapped in her own head, it’s Bellamy’s voice that brings her back and jumpstarts her fighter instincts. When her heart’s stopped beating, he pumps it for her. He’s begging for her to come back to him because she is his touchstone, his other half. “The heart and the head.” “The head and the heart.” In other words, we belong Together. In other words, I love you, and I don’t want to live without you.

6x11 “Ashes to Ashes”

[a.k.a. “You saved me.” “So how do we save everyone that I left behind?” + “For Monty.” “For Monty.”]

The guilt sets in for Bellamy as he begins to think about the potential repercussions of his actions. Leaving everything behind to save Clarke was purely a heart move, and now that he’s got Clarke back, his head is starting to punish itself for shutting down and abandoning his people. Bellamy is off kilter and guilt-ridden. His plans for a peace deal fell apart, and he’s terrified that he won’t be able to protect his people just as he had failed to protect Clarke before (a 6x02 callback). Now, more than ever, it’s evident that Bellamy relies on Clarke to center him. She is his voice of reason, the head to his heart—a heart that, in a lot of ways, beats for her, as evidenced by his adamant refusal to allow her to jeopardize her life by acting as the inside man. Objectively, he knows her plan is the smart play and the only way to ensure that they “do better” per Monty’s charge, but he can’t risk losing her again. Bellamy eventually conceding to her plan illustrates how ideologically-attuned they are now. They’ve never been more Together, and, above all else, they uphold faith in each other.

6x12 “Adjustment Protocol”

[a.k.a. “I left them.” + “What took you so long?”]

Though this was definitely more of a fast-paced, plot-driven episode, the flashes of Bellarke peppered throughout are very telling, teeing up a major emotional moment for them in 6x13. While waiting for Clarke to shut down the shield, Bellamy is once again plagued by guilt for leaving his people behind without a second thought. Octavia’s verbal consolations do little to ease his mind, which goes to show how tormented he is by his actions. He genuinely believes dropping everything to save Clarke was a selfish decision on his part because he couldn’t bear to live without her. It wasn’t so much about Clarke needing Bellamy than it was about Bellamy needing Clarke.

He needs her. Not just as a co-leader, not just as a partner. Bellamy needs Clarke. His person. Never mind that his people may need him. If Clarke’s in trouble, he’ll go through hell and back to save her.

Pivot to the Becho reunion. Bellamy’s just been reunited with his girlfriend, the person he’d entrusted to protect his people while he went off to galavant around the woods with J!Clarke. The pure relief on his face upon being reassured that Echo okay is apparent. He left her behind, she was in trouble, but now she’s okay. He’s comforted by her presence in the same way that he’s comforted by the knowledge that a member of his family is safe.

But that look on Bellamy’s face when his eyes meet Clarke’s and everything around them seems to melt away? That’s more than relief. That’s yearning. That’s devotion. That’s “You came through. I knew you would.” That’s love.

#bellarke #the 100 #bellamy x clarke #analysis #season 6 recap #mine*

690 notes · View notes

that-foul-legacy-lover · 6 days

Text

Extended Parting

Synopsis: After being separated from you for so long, Childe finally finds you again.

Foul Legacy x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Warnings: Mentions of blood, physical injuries, fear, pain, crying, allusions to being attacked

Original Request by Anon: requesting requesting! beep bop beep bop ! more foul legacy × reader hurt/comfort, perhaps? :3

hear me out- in the format of a scenario; just pure comfort, reader is perhaps sent of to a dangerous mission/commission while childe is away doing his own thing. when he is going back home however, he stumbles across a group of fatui, taking the reader hostage & hurting them. foul legacy's reaction to his "allies" hurting the love of his life? and how he would take care of the reader after, assuming the reader got pretty severe injuries (even though they're not fetal).

Im a big sucker for this big boi getting all soft when the reader is hurt, and i wanna see more of him just holding the bleeding reader in his arms while trying to comfort them

~ * ~

Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and eight minutes. That’s how long you’ve been apart, how long Childe has gone without being in your presence, and he’s hated every second of it. Important commission, hah! No commission could be so important that it took you away from him for this long- almost half a month! All of your other missions took you a week, tops, and even then he could barely handle it, missing you more and more as each day passed without a single word or letter. Of course, he admits, it’s not like Childe didn’t also have his own duties to attend to during this time, this extended parting. As usual, he was forced to store Ajax and Childe away, slipping on the mask of Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, and taking delight in violent diplomacy. But even fighting and bloodshed did little to satiate his longing for you; how much he wished to see your wonderful smile and that keen twinkle in your eyes, hear your lovely voice, cradle you in his arms and kiss your cheeks- Childe groans, burying his face in his hands. It makes him irritable, constantly yearning for you, and Foul Legacy is even worse. His Abyssal half is constantly clawing at the back of his mind, worrying his talons and whining as he asks why they haven’t seen you yet? Where are you? When will you be back? He wants cuddles something fierce, desperately seeking out the attention and affection you always give him only to find that you’re nowhere near. They’re both so lonely without you, only each other for company, and Childe has to physically bite his hand to prevent Legacy from simply snatching control of their body away and flying off to find you. With a sigh, the Harbinger wipes the blood from his blades, then his hands, and finally his face, ginger hair all wild and unruly. At the very least, today was when he would finally return home to Liyue. He never thought somewhere other than Morepesok could be considered home, but it turns out that “home” is wherever his heart is, and he gave it to you long ago to keep safe from everything that hurts.

Home… Childe’s mind drifts back to the house you both share, a small smile instinctively tugging at his lips. With a quiet snap of his fingers and a salute, his underlings are dismissed- they’ll be going back to the Fatui Headquarters in Snezhnaya. Childe, however, packs his supplies near the road back to the harbor city, waving the agents away, and the moment they’re out of sight his smile widens into a full-on grin, a delighted gleam in his azure eyes.

Even just thinking about you seems to bring out the best in him, Foul Legacy chirping happily in the back of his head when Childe reassures him that yes, they’ll be seeing you again soon. If you’re done with that horribly long commission of yours, that is, which he’s sure that you are- even the most arduous never take up to three weeks. Despite being exhausted, he finds a spring in his step, dust swirling as his boots land against the dirt path. You, you, you- he’s going to see you again, his beloved and most treasured. Childe almost glows with energetic joy as he jogs, as if he never fell into the Abyss at all. His hand twitches, Foul Legacy begging and pleading to be let out after spending so long locked away, but Childe hushes him gently. You’ve said that you like it when he’s kind to Legacy and Legacy is kind to him- they are part of each other, after all, and you love both of them- so he tries to treat the monster as a friend rather than a weapon, and with a huff Legacy settles back down. Something faint and distant as the moon pierces the night, and Childe pauses, ears pricking. He tilts his head to listen, and for a moment he hears nothing but silence. Until- there, there! A scream! It’s far off, over the next hill, but unmistakably there. Even from a distance Childe can hear the desperation, the terror burning into his bones like a raging fire with a familiarity that makes him stop in his tracks.

No… no, it couldn’t be. It can’t be- Please, please let him be wrong- Childe’s feet carry him towards the sound, dread spiraling and twisting in his gut as another awful shriek rings out and he looks up, eyes widening. He was right. Oh, he was right, and he wishes he wasn’t, because it’s you. It’s you, gripping your weapon like a vice and covered in blood, expression filled with panic and fear and pain. It’s you, still in your adventurer’s gear, bag packed with whatever stupid, insignificant item the commission wanted. It’s you, surrounded by Fatui agents- not his, thank the Archons- the rest of them laughing and sneering. It’s you, hurt and scared and looking as if you’re about to collapse onto the ground and never rise. It’s you, and Childe’s veins freeze over with cold, splintering ice. You’re pressed against a ruined wall, swiping the blade in your hands at the soldiers, who merely snicker at your weakened attempts. The leader- one of those Electro vanguards with a giant hammer- smacks the weapon aside and seizes your arm, and you let out an involuntary yelp of pain as tears prick in your eyes. The yelp is all the motivation he needs, and Childe barely feels his restraint shatter like glass. They never even saw it coming, Foul Legacy throwing his spear and ripping the agents apart as fast as lightning, vibrant purple sparks searing the grass as he roars, driven only by wrath and fury. The vanguard who grabbed you so violently shouts in surprise and horror- then everything goes silent, apart from Legacy’s heavy breathing, claws dripping with blood. He exhales, curling his talons into fist with a tight crackling noise, letting out a low, guttural growl of rage. You bite down fiercely on your tongue, trying to stay quiet, but you can’t help but gasp in pain as the slashes in your body flare, and Foul Legacy’s anger burns away as quickly as a dying candle. He turns and rushes to you, chittering frantically, only to freeze when he sees you stiffen, petrified with fright. His chirps and trills lower to soft croons, gentle and sweet and familiar, crouching slowly to your height and holding out a hand. He tentatively inches forward, hand extended and palm up, claws curling delicately around your wrist when you desperately reach for him. “A-Ajax…?” Legacy’s Abyssal heart cracks, and he swiftly gathers you in his arms, whimpering and nudging his forehead against your cheeks as you cling to him and let out anguished, hitching cries. You suck in a breath when his talons ghost over a wound, and Legacy almost sobs with despair. Some part of him- the rational, trained soldier that is Childe- tells him to get you home, heal you, make sure that you’re well- he carefully gets to his feet, holding you close to his armored chest and adjusting your head so it’s pillowed by his lavender fluff. You shudder with pain again, and Legacy gently licks his tongue over the shallow scrapes on your face, cooing softly; with a flutter of his glimmering wings he takes to the sky, his arms cradling you like you’re made of crystal and gold.

He lands near your shared home not ten minutes later, hastily unlocking the door with the key he always sees Childe using. The house is quiet and a little dusty from being empty for so long, but your bed is as soft as ever as Legacy delicately lowers you down onto the mattress. Childe is the one who tells him what to do, again, guiding his claws to gently wrap your wounds with snow white gauze. None of them are fatal, and Legacy thanks his constellation with a grumbling sigh of relief. A quiet croon slips out when he sees you fading in and out of consciousness, sweetly cupping your cheek with a clawed hand- he’s shaking. Why is he shaking? He’s not the one who nearly died- but your hand comes up to weakly grasp his, and Legacy’s heart melts and breaks and patches itself up all over again.

Your lips twitch into a shaky smile, exhausted, your fingers resting on Legacy’s and soothing the minute trembles running through his body. The Abyssal creature- your wonderful, sweet Abyssal creature- blinks slowly at you, crystalline eye filled with tears that drip down his crimson face and pool in the divots of his mask as he fights to contain the sobs that threaten to break out, and when you reach up your other hand, covered in bandages, to caress his cheek, his breath hitches and he collapses into your arms, burying his head against your neck and weeping. In a whispered voice you coo and murmur and hum to him, repeated words of “it’s okay, I’m here, I’m okay”, and he tries so, so hard to do it back to you, his own sounds cracked and stuttering, something along the lines of “don’t leave, I miss you, I’m sorry”, or as close as he can say with a mouth made for biting and gnashing. Your hands lightly tug him closer- or rather, your hands tiredly loosen and he moves to follow them- until he’s close enough for you to press a soft kiss to his forehead. Legacy immediately purrs, tearful and whimpering, and your silent offer of lifting up the blanket is met with an instance moth monster at your side, curling around your body and holding you close. He’s careful not to squeeze you, trying to get as close as possible and mold his form around yours as you rake your hands through his fluffy coppery hair, drawing more deep, comforting rumbles from within his chest, the type he makes when you’re dreadfully ill.

Cats’ purrs are healing, so you’ve heard. Perhaps Abyssal beasts’ purrs are much the same. Slowly, your eyes begin to droop, and you yawn, exhausted and worn. Foul Legacy quietly nudges you, a croon of reassurance falling from his fanged maw, claws dancing over the wraps on your skin now stained brilliant red. It hurts, it hurts like fire- but you’re safe. Safe in your bed, and in Legacy’s arms, and the tension leeches from you and dissipates into nothing. You vaguely hear a soft melody, low and rumbling and familiar from when you’ve sung Foul Legacy to sleep, and the arms around you tighten ever so slightly as the sun finally dips beneath the horizon into the locked box of night. Two weeks, three days, eight hours, and thirty minutes. That’s how long Foul Legacy refused to let you out of his sight, even after your injuries had closed and healed.

182 notes · View notes

hashtagartistlife · 4 years

Text

Maybe fate was called fate because some things weren’t choices; some things were simply written into his DNA, woven into the very fabric of the universe. World orders. The sky is blue. The sun is hot. He is in love with Kuchiki Rukia.

Kuchiki Rukia is dying.

Ten years after the defeat of Yhwach, it’s time Ichigo and Rukia started facing some truths— about the world, about themselves, and about each other.

so, i haven’t written anything decent in over a year, but i AM sitting on literal tens of thousands of words of unfinished fic, and i figure, what the hell, there’s some good writing in here that deserves to see the light of day. so in that vein, here’s a couple chapters of my absolute favourite unfinished fic, the one i’m almost too scared to work on because i just want it to be that good. god give me the perseverance and skill to finish this one day because if i leave any legacy behind in the bleach fandom i want it to be this fic.

the premise for this fic can be found here | this is chapter 1 | chapter 2

________________________________________________________________

F r a y

by hashtagartistlife

________________________________________________________________

It’s rotating

Rotating

Every time the sun and the moon touch each other

Constantly changing its appearance to something new

If there’s something that doesn’t change

It is my impotence

It’s rotating

If destiny is made of gears

And we are the sand in between that is torn apart

There’s nothing left to do but be powerless

If I cannot protect by just extending my hand

I want a blade so I can reach in front of her

The power to crush destiny

—looks like a blade that has been swung down

One

12 years ago

Karakura Town

Rukia sleeps like the dead. The irony of this isn’t lost on Ichigo, as he glances out the corner of his eyes to see her out like a light against his covers, her homework splayed everywhere like she isn’t just going to make him do it for her at the last minute again. Her eyes are closed and she looks peaceful, even as her arms are twisted under her at an awkward angle. She was going to get cramps if she kept sleeping like that. He calls her name, softly and then a little louder, but she doesn’t budge an inch.

He sighs and gathers her up in his arms; she stirs a little, murmuring a sleepy protest that he ignores. He settles her in the closet and arranges the blankets, taking a moment to study the lines of her face.

“Idiot,” he mutters, “stop falling asleep on my bed. I’ll just push you onto the floor next time.”

It’s a lie. Rukia’s only reaction to this is to shift a little in her sleep, to curve her body in his direction like a plant tending towards the sun. He smiles a little at that, despite himself, and fights an inane urge to sweep her hair off her forehead and place a kiss there.

“Sleep well, Rukia,” he whispers instead, and slides the closet door shut.

She does.

Present Day

Soul Society

Rukia never sleeps.

She wanders through the halls of Kuchiki Manor like a ghost, weaving in and out of lucidity; she’s never slept particularly well, even as a Rukon street rat, but this… this sleepwalking is new. Renji himself tended to be a light sleeper, a product of their shared childhood when uninterrupted sleep had been a luxury they couldn’t afford, but not to this extent. He silently watches the dark circles under her eyes grow bigger and deeper with every passing day, and worries.

In the beginning, the smallest things had woken her up. She often stirred beside him, restless and alert, till well into the small hours of the morning. When he’d brought it up, she’d brushed it off; she’s always had trouble sleeping, she said. He should know this by now, and it isn’t anything to worry about—she can take care of herself, Renji, didn’t he trust her? It had sounded an awful lot like a dismissal, a warning to drop it, so he had.

But then she’d had Ichika, and things changed.

The first time he catches her slipping out of bed, he assumes that she is going for a walk in the garden. It was a habit she was slipping into more nights than most, and he doesn’t think twice. But when he wakes up again in the pre-dawn, and discovers the futon beside him still empty, he panics. He finds her at the gate, a cold hand on the latch, as if to walk out; god knows how long she’s been there for. When he touches her on the shoulder, turns her around, she blinks like she’s surfacing from a trance. Her eyes haze, then refocus.

“Renji…?” she asks, in a voice so thready it’s barely audible, “What are you doing here?”

He swallows the same question rising in his throat and mutters something hasty about how she’s been too tired lately; she should take the day off. She looks surprised at that, and quietly follows him back to the manor. She does as he advises and stays home that day.

It doesn’t help. The very next night Renji catches her slipping out of bed again. He grabs her by a wrist, but then she turns to him and whispers, eyes clear—

“Ichigo?”

He freezes, and when she pulls her arm from his grip, he lets her slip through his fingers once more.

Ichigo?

His hands fist in the sheets of their shared bed; he hasn’t seen an expression like that on her in over a decade. Hopeful, young, happy—

A boy with bright orange hair, and a sword as long as his height.

Renji finds, once again, that he is at a loss for what to do next.

He thinks that maybe he didn’t have a clue from the start.

Present day

10:05 am

Karakura Town

A beat of silence, then—

“Yo.”

“Hey!”

His face is familiar, but the carefully mild expression on it is not. Rukia finds that she dislikes it, but it isn’t her place to say anymore. She shoulders her way into the clinic, and ignores the way the heat of his body still radiates like it did ten years ago. She scoffs a little, wracks her mind for an appropriate jab that might recapture their easy banter from once upon a time; but what leaves her lips makes little sense, considering the fact that this is her first time seeing him in ten years (let alone setting foot in the clinic). Thankfully, he rises to the bait.

“I see this little place is as empty as ever. And is that—yup, I think I even hear some crickets!”

“Shut up. This is an emergency clinic, so it’s a good thing it’s empty, isn’t it?”

He hasn’t lost his habit of grumbling under his breath about her insults. Rukia allows a small smile to touch her lips as she makes her way to the living room, confident with the layout of the place; she doubts renovation is a thought that crosses his mind with any frequency. She encounters the old Karakura gang, and the twins; they’d all grown so much. The twins, especially; she would have gathered them both into hugs and pat them on their heads, had they not both been grown women and far taller than her now. Orihime comes down to greet her, beaming, in an apron—there’s an edge of surrealism to all of this, almost. She looks well, and for that, Rukia is glad. Everyone looks well. Peacetime suits them.

There’s a small kerfuffle as Ichigo rejoins them, and he points out that her daughter is missing. Rukia starts, and finds it to be true. She and Renji split up to find her; Ichigo accompanies her, nagging all the while.

“—nbelievable, how do you lose your own daughter—“

“Hey, I don’t see your child hanging around the premises! Don’t you have a son, too?”

“Kazui’s—Kazui’s fine, Orihime’s keeping a watch on him—“

“Yeah, well, I’m telling you Ichika’s fine too, there’s nothing in the human world that could possibly hurt her—“

She stumbles; a wave of vertigo hits her and she loses her balance, careening towards the asphalt in front of his house. He’s there in an instant, arms strong around her waist; he pulls her back upright and doesn’t let her go. “Easy—“

She pulls away, only to sway again and grip onto his arm for support. Shit, not this today. She thought it had been getting better lately—Ichigo didn’t need to deal with this.

His brow furrows, and he almost looks fifteen again. “Hey, Rukia, are you—“

“—I’m fine,” she cuts him off, struggling to sound nonchalant, but the hand fisted in his shirt is trembling. She’ll let go soon, when the world around her stops spinning. “I’m just a little tired—“

“Rukia,” he says quietly, and she ignores him, focusing on channelling strength back into her legs. For the love of everything holy, why couldn’t she stop shaking—

“Rukia,” he repeats, louder, and grips her shoulders. “Rukia, stop—“

“Stop what?” she asks weakly, then: “Oh.”

His hair and clothes are dusted white with snow; the tips of his fingers, where he’s touching her, are frosted over blue. Ice creeps over the street and telephone poles in tendrils. Rukia heaves an unsteady breath and closes her eyes, pulling the fraying edges of her reiatsu back within herself.

When she opens them again, he’s inches from her face.

“Kami—“ she jerks back, snatching her arm from his grasp. “Have you ever heard of personal space, Ichigo—“

“Like you ever respected mine?” he retorts, but straightens up; his hands rub the nape of his neck. “What was that, Rukia?”

“Nothing,” she snaps. She draws her arms around herself to still the trembling. “Like I said, I’m tired—“

“To this extent? How hard are they working you over at the Seireitei—“

“I can take care of myself!” the words come out too loud, echoing in the empty street. “Need I remind you, I’m centuries older than you are—“

“Well maybe if you weren’t such a midget I’d remember that once in a while—“

“Hey, Ichigo, Rukia! We found her!” Renji’s call interrupts their bickering, and they draw away from each other hastily; they’d been leaning in towards each other again. Rukia deliberately turns away from Ichigo.

“You found her? Where was she?”

“In Ichigo’s room. Well, Yuzu’s room, now, I suppose. She was with Kazui. I think we were worried for nothing, Rukia, they get along like a house on fire.”

“Oh—good. Good.” She’s still a little disoriented, so Renji’s words are taking some time to sink in; he eyes her face, paler than usual, and steps up to put an arm around her. Ordinarily, she would have been annoyed at him for that, but today she appreciates the support. She tries not to visibly sag as she leans against him.

Ichigo’s eyes burn holes into her all the way back to the clinic.

9:46 pm

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Rukia disguises the fatigue that has settled over her like a shroud by staying close to Renji and surreptitiously leaning against him whenever things get too hard. She puts on a bright façade for everyone else; she thinks she does a convincing job, too, but Ichigo’s eyes linger on her all the same. Orihime prattles on about how they hadn’t seen each other in ages and she’s so happy for the two of them and isn’t Ichika just a darling? They must be so proud—

She nods weakly, glad that Orihime is the kind of person who can hold up entire conversations on her own. She has missed them too, she has, how could she not—but the circumstances of their reunion are less than ideal, and she knows that she won’t be able to see them again for a long time after this. Even after ten years of stability, opening a doorway into the gensei is precarious business; missions in the world of the living are now all long-term, to minimise the number of passages being opened. Their own trip had been a very, very special extenuation, granted only because the reason the universe still stood as it did today was Ichigo.

A week was all they’d been given. After that, who knew when they could return? So, she is trying, she is trying—but her body is so, so heavy, and the pressure of keeping her wildly fluctuating reiatsu under wraps is taking its toll. She participates less and less in the conversation, hoping people won’t take notice.

Ichigo puts his foot down when she nods off for the fifth time in as many minutes; he cuts the party short and ushers everyone out, with the promise that they could all return tomorrow. She tries to protest when he directs them to the guest bedroom – ‘Urahara has a place for us, we shouldn’t intrude’—but it’s Orihime who tells them don’t be silly, Kazui and Ichika are such fast friends, it’d be a shame to split them up already. The children are excitedly building a pillow fort under the dining room table, and, too tired to argue, Rukia acquiesces.

As soon as Renji hits the bed, he falls straight asleep. He’s had a rough few nights, what with her tossing and turning keeping him awake, too, and Rukia feels a wave of guilt wash over her. She hopes tonight will be a little more restful for him. She stretches out gingerly on the double bed next to him, tucking the covers around her and closing her eyes.

The last thing she is conscious of before the suffocating embrace of sleep is the deep low hum of Ichigo’s reiatsu through the house.

2:57 am

Ichigo wakes to the sound of the clinic door opening.

Beside him, Orihime is still sound asleep; his wife had always been a deep sleeper, capable of ignoring storms, earthquakes, and anything else the Karakura night cared to throw at them. Ichigo, on the other hand, woke often; a holdover from nights spent hunting hollows, from sleep frequently interrupted by a hiss in his ear and a small hand slamming into his forehead. He sits up and shakes the last vestiges of his dreams –curiously unsettled tonight—from his mind, and shuffles outside to investigate.

It’s not the kids. They’re both fast asleep, holed up in their pillow fort; he tiptoes past them, careful not to wake either. He steps out onto the street, and his breath catches in his throat.

Rukia’s there. She’s ethereal in the moonlight, white skin almost glowing, that true-black hair swaying behind her with the wind. She’s looking up, up, up, to something he can’t see, and the curve of her neck and the delicate line of her wrists and ankles captivate him. Had she always been this fragile-looking?

“Rukia,” he rasps, voice still scratchy with sleep, “what are you doing?”

She turns her head to face him; her eyes are huge and dark like bruises in the pale moon of her face. Something about her gaze is both clear and dreamy; Ichigo has the feeling that she’s seeing right through him to something beyond, but also focusing on him with the kind of relentless intensity he only half-remembers from dreams of the past. She takes a tentative step in his direction.

“Ichigo?” she asks, in a voice as intransient as smoke, and he does not back away.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

She reaches for him and, instinctively, automatically, he mirrors her; he is expecting her to need support, to meet his hands with hers, but instead she goes straight past his open arms to place her hands on either side of his face.

Before he has time to react, she leans up and kisses him.

Everything in him short-circuits; the world slows and all he is aware of is the softness of her lips on his. They part slightly, and the breathy sigh she lets out electrifies all of his senses. Faster than his thoughts can catch up, his hands are gripping her shoulders and he thinks that maybe he meant to push her away, but finds he’s only clutching her closer, closer. His eyelids fall shut with a groan as her mouth opens under his — and then the kiss changes, dangerous and hot and wanting.

He presses his face blindly into hers, and walks her backwards into the stone wall that surrounds his house. She lets out a tiny gasp as her back hits the rough surface, and he uses the distraction to sweep his tongue across hers. Her fingers curl viciously into his neck and he revels in the sensation; there’s nothing but her her her in this world, her taste in his mouth and her scent in his nose and the feel of her skin, fever-hot, against his own. His fingers move to tangle in her hair and she makes a noise at the back of her throat that destroys what little rationality he has left; he hitches her up against the wall and kisses her as though she’s about to dissolve into thin air.

They both draw back for air at the same time; their eyes meet across the infinitesimal space and then Rukia blinks, once, twice, before Ichigo sees something click back into those bruised-violet depths.

“Ichigo…?”

A realisation of his own slams into place; his eyes widen and he disentangles himself from her, stepping back frantically as though that will erase what has just transpired between them. He only barely resists the childish urge to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Rukia slides down the wall without his weight holding her up; the dreamy glaze is gone completely from her eyes, and it’s replaced instead with a bone-deep weariness that sets Ichigo’s instincts on edge. Half of him wants to run far, far away from her, the other half wants to gather her into his arms and—

“Ichigo, what are you doing here?”

The tone of her voice, slightly irritated, so ridiculously normal, brings him back down to earth. He casts about in his jumbled mind for a suitable response and flings the first one he finds at her.

“Y—I could ask you the same thing—“

She seems to notice her surroundings then, looking side to side at the deserted street. An expression somewhere between horror and resignation crosses her face. “I—was I sleepwalking—?“

“Was that what it was?” he retorts, the memory of the kiss burning in his mind. His face feels uncomfortably hot. “Rukia, what’s going on with you—“

“Nothing!” she snaps, but then she sways on the spot; in a flare of panic, Ichigo flash-steps beside her, and she falls into his chest. The spike of reiatsu through his body after not having called upon it for years makes his head spin, but he braces them both against a telephone pole and they manage to stay upright. Her jasmine-scented hair tickles his nose.

“Rukia—“ his voice is thick, choked, but she pushes him aside; impatient, indignant.

“I’m fine, Ichigo, you don’t have to treat me like a child—sleepwalking is hardly a medical emergency.”

She takes a deep breath, before standing on her own; her knees are a little wobbly, but she turns her back on him once more, just as she did that morning. “I’m going back to bed. You should, too.”

A pause. Then, softer; “Goodnight, Ichigo.”

The door to his clinic swings shut after her, and Ichigo slides down the telephone pole slowly.

His heartbeat thunders in his ears in a way that it hasn’t in ten years.

#bleach #ichiruki #kurosaki ichigo #kuchiki rukia #writer life #bleach fanfic #686 compliant but we ignore the hell out of the novels babey #f r a y

97 notes · View notes

unholyhelbig · 4 years

Note

Hizzie Prompt... Ok so Lizzie has to deal with Hope while in heat or during a blood moon

Read on Ao3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts!

Title: Uncharted Waters

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Lizzie Saltzman

[A/N: I will be the absolute first to admit that I got a little carried away with the plot here, I really enjoy the disgruntled lifeguard thing. So that means this could totally get a part two if you guys want!]

The day held a soft golden hue to it, spilling onto the scalding cement and glinting expertly against the choppy artificial waves that started at one end of the pool and pushed to the section that Lizzie was stationed at. She had the liberty of a sun-stained umbrella and a bout of shade that did nothing to quell the heat of the summer wind.

Cool Waves Summer Adventure Park was the bane of her existence. For the cheap wage of seven dollars an hour she would rise before the sun and leave when the night was finally cooling off. Everything smelled like cheap spray tan and sunscreen, and the occasional puddle of vomit. But her father insisted that she keep the position as a lifeguard if she wanted to keep that nice 1969 Chevy Camaro that a family friend had given her.

So she sat at the far end of the pool, day in and day out, watching for lazy parents that tip too far on the rafts, or for their demon kids who would drink the chlorine infused water. Occasionally she would have days like this; where it was crowded and the sun was more irritating than anything.

“Sir I don’t know how to explain this to you in any other way. The coupon you have isn’t even for our park. I couldn’t give you half-off at the snack shack even if I wanted to.”

If the customer in front of her wasn’t already sunburnt, she could see his bald head shifting through three shades of red. He frowned and removed his sunglasses because maybe that would make him look more intimidating, but really it just paid tribute to how many times he had fallen asleep by the side of the ocean. He had the measly paper clenched between his fist.

“Maybe if you went to the snack shack, they could help.” She tried weakly. It was dirty, she knew, pushing the disgruntled father off towards another department. But she was a lifeguard and nowhere near the food stand. “I’m sure they could give you something.”

He sputtered, not happy with the answer. “I want to talk to your supervisor, Josie.”

She glanced down at the white logoed shirt that hugged her closely, damp with sweat. He had used her name to drive a point, but she had grabbed the wrong nametag this morning on her way out the door. Another misstep that she would have to make up to her sister somehow in the next few days.

Lizzie opened her mouth to respond but halted to a stop when the sharp cut of a whistle captured both of their attentions. It wasn’t Lizzie’s hers still hung lazily around her neck, collecting heat like a beacon.

It was easy to spot an accident, she learned that her fourth day on the job when part of the Black Vulture came loose and the large waterslide was shut down faster than an ambulance could arrive to haul away the kid who got a few bruises.

People tended to clear and gawk instead of doing what they could to help. Right now there was a steady circle in the middle of the water and something, someone, thrashing around in the deeper end of the pool. Lizzie could feel her heart in her chest and suddenly didn’t care much about arguing with a disgruntled patron.

She moved quickly past the umbrella, and the chair, shoving both of her hands against the large red button that screamed: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. It didn’t do much of course, but it did bring the motor that created waves in the pool to a screeching halt. They had never used it before.

And then there was the girl, the one who blew the whistle in the first place. Hope Mikaelson didn’t bother shedding away her shirt or pulling the walkie-talkie from the waistband of her annoyingly tight shorts. Instead, she jumped into the pool with expert speed and precision.

Lizzie rushed down the cement steps, hand running across the scalding metal railing. “10-10 wave pool.” She knew her words were breathy over the radio, and she knew even more than that, that this wasn’t just a possible drowning. It was laid out clear and plain in front of her but her scrambled mind couldn’t get a grasp on the correct code.

Hope had pulled the young girl from the far end of the pool and onto the edge by the time that Lizzie had gotten there. They were both dripping and she had linked her hands together, placing them in the center of the young girl's chest, lips blue.

“Where the hell were you?” Hope snarled, squaring her shoulders and applying pressure in intervals. Her mouth moved while she counted before she said: “Help me, Saltzman.”

Lizzie didn’t need to be told twice. She was careful, listening to Hope count out the last five intervals before she lilted the girls chin up and blew just enough air into her lungs to push them outwards. She did this twice before Hope started pressing against her chest again.

Everything had slowed and by the time Hope alerted her of her position, Lizzie was ready to lean forward again. The girl coughed violently, a mix of bile and water pushed from her lips and a healthy dose of color returned to her cheeks.

“Stand back, both of you” Lizzie was shoved to a standing position as the real medical team got there, heeding her shout over the radio. The on-call medic pressed two gloved fingers to the edge of the girls throat for a pulse, despite her lucidity. “It’s a good thing you were here.”

“Where else would I be?” Hope asked, her words dripped of acid and her stare burned like a flame. Lizzie frowned.

“That’s not fair, I was dealing with another situation.”

“Yeah, so was I but I always keep on eye on the pool, Lizzie. That’s basic lifeguarding.” Hope started to walk to the main office shoving past her, shoulder wet and cold as she dripped onto the dry pavement. “Get it together.”

Lizzie wanted to call after her just like she had wanted to rip that guy's coupon to shreds and push him into the shallow end. But she bit her tongue until she could taste blood again before turning her attention back to the medic and the young girl who sat at the edge of the still water.

“You were really lucky that Hope was there.” MG struggled with the combination of his lock. He had been at it for a good fifteen minutes, but with no luck. Lizzie considered the fact that he had the wrong locker altogether, but she resorted to pulling on a sweatshirt, not wanting to stare at that stupid logo of the penguin holding a beach ball anymore.

“But why was she there?” Lizzie asked, earning a patronizing stare. “Not that I’m not thankful. That girl is totally alive because of her. But last time I checked, the almighty Hope Mikaelson was stationed at Hurricane falls, all the way on the other end of the park.”

He pulled down on the lock one final time and it clicked open fluidly. “Yes! Alyssa said she wasn’t feeling well so she was going to take a break in the shade. Hope kind of blew up on her.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Lizzie let the conversation fizzle in the air as MG collected his stuff from the locker, shoving his car keys in the slim pockets of his shorts. Though she thought that the girl had a hero Complex, Hope was anything but violent. Never one with a short fuse and always liked by every single supervisor including Alyssa.

The two of them strolled out into the nearly desolate park, breathing in the hot air. It had cooled off significantly from the afternoon and the usually pitch-black path was lit by an oddly orange light, a curved half-moon in the sky.

“Would you look at that?” MG stared up at it and blinked “Kind of cool,”

Blood Moons weren’t cool, not the full ones anyway. Not in Lizzie Saltzman’s household. She wasn’t an expert in the supernatural by any means, but she had found enough old and dusty books in her mother’s stuff to know that the energy around them was anything but pleasant. That the world was better off forgetting anything like that existed in the first place.

Over the years she and Josie had tried to ask their parents about it, about the old stories and the reason they had all of that stuff in the first place but they were shut out each time. Because magic didn’t really exist, and neither did the creatures that basked in its light.

“Oh, shoot-“ Lizzie patted down her person, “I forgot my keys. Go on without me.”

MG hesitated, his features soft in the darkened crimson light. “You’re sure?”

She nodded, sure of herself. Nothing bad happened here, not this late at night when all the bloodthirsty tourists had retired for fancy dinners by the ocean’s edge. Even if something did happen, the park was littered with cameras, and she was confident.

Lizzie parted ways with him and the two of them walked in opposite directions. Him towards the parking lot and her towards the main building, filled with offices and the employee locker rooms, lined with metal and eerily silent at this time of night.

The air was thick and wet with steam and the scent of soap, unlike it had been moments ago. She felt sweat collect instantly against her skin. They had showers lining the far end, something that had never been converted from the park's original design. But no one ever used them.

Lizzie silently crept towards her locker and started to struggle with her combination just like MG had. Her fingers were shaking, and she was starting to think coming back here on her own was her worst idea yet. But finally, she got enough advantage to snatch them and closed it softly, turning, but halting.

Her body came in contact with another, so quiet and smelling fresh like lavender body wash. Not the usual chemical scent that they all carried home with them like a badge. She felt the soft edge of a towel under her fingertips and slammed her back against the cold metal of the lockers.

“Jesus Christ Hope, you scared the hell out of me!” Lizzie felt her heart in her throat once more but for a different reason than before. Not adrenaline, not fear- something else entirely that she couldn’t’ pinpoint.

Hope was wrapped tightly in a dark green towel, or maybe it was black, she couldn’t tell over the soft light that flooded the bathroom like split blood. It shaded the girls features, sharp and different. Her hair was damp.

“Oh?” She cocked a perfect brow “Should I start wearing a bell, Saltzman?”

“Yeah, maybe. What are you doing here so late anyway?”

Hope raked her gaze up and down Lizzie’s frame before landing back on her stare. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I forgot my keys.” She jingled them like a prize, swallowing the way her hair raised on end, goosebumps prickling. “Hey, I wanted to apologize about earlier today. It pains me to admit it, but you were right. I should have been paying more attention.”

The Mikaelson girl nodded thoughtfully and pulled the towel closer to her, suddenly moving an inch of a step back. Hope frowned and Lizzie couldn’t tell if it was about what she had said or the sudden loss of heat in the air. The light had shifted, hidden behind nothing but a wisp of a cloud.

“Uh, yeah.” Hope cleared her throat and blinked dumbly and took another step back. “Don’t worry about it. You should probably get home.”

Lizzie stared at the girl and the way she pulled into herself against the darkness of the locker room. It hung in the air and her fingers tightened against the edge of her keys. She knew she should wait for Hope, should offer her a ride home or politely walk her to her car- but she didn’t. Instead, she nodded slowly.

“See you tomorrow?”

Hope averted her stare, “yeah, sure thing.”

#lizzie x hope #lizzie saltzman #hope mikaelson #hizzie #Hizzie fanfic #requests #Legacies #legacies fanfiction #legacies fanfic

40 notes · View notes

fragilevixenfic · 4 years

Note

After Scully calls Mulder in the ep Emily, she asks him to bring her some things from home. Her journal falls to the floor and Mulder sees some things written about him that she has never allowed him to know.

Alright, ma’am...I have had far too long to stew in this...I really don’t know how this panned out but here it goes.

----

Title: Brick

Category: During “Emily”/Angst/Mulder’s POV/Minor Canon-Divergence/URT

Prompt: After Scully calls Mulder in the ep Emily, she asks him to bring her some things from home. Her journal falls to the floor and Mulder sees some things written about him that she has never allowed him to know.

Summary: His eyes focused, not wanting to read but it burned through him as the words illuminated and etched into his consciousness with a vividness. “…of the fear that you would have to watch me wither away, leaving nothing more than ashes behind and the memory of what I once was…”

Six a.m. day after Christmas

I throw some clothes on in the dark

The smell of cold

Car seat is freezing

The world is sleeping

I am numb

-Benjamin Folds/Darren Jesse

December 30th, 1997

11:00 PM

Washington DC

“Will you get a few things and be here on the next flight? I know it’s a lot to ask…”

The words echoed in Mulder’s head as he pulled along the sidewalk to Scully’s apartment complex, scraping the rims along the concrete in the process. He muttered a few choice cuss words as he threw the shift into park and turned the engine off, sitting in the chilly cabin of the Ford sedan. He would never have refused her and the lack of hesitation in his sleepy voice as he cradled the phone close to his ear spoke volumes. It was anything but that as he nearly ate ice ascending the stairs while he plunged his hand into his pocket to get her spare key, rattling it across the tender skin of his palm until he could feel his teeth chatter in the nip of the night air.

“Anything.”

Anything for her. It had been like that since her cancer went into remission, even if everything had been largely unspoken for far too long.

“Pilfering through Scully’s drawers in the dark has me uncomfortable and I haven’t even started yet,” Mulder was having that conversation with himself as he heard the click of the deadbolt release, allowing him inside of her oddly welcoming space. “Frohike just got the chills somewhere…Spidey sense on full alert.”

Focus, you’re running out of precious time.

Mulder swallowed and inhaled a breath as he snatched the leather overnight bag from the edge of the dresser, checking off each item in his mind as he pulled a drawer open. It was clinical, much like Scully would approach gathering up his stuff, he imagined, as he reached for each requested piece of clothing. He went to the nightstand and deposited a collection of notes into the bag followed by a compact manicure kit that he knew she had mentioned. As he turned with the bag, the bottom notches snagged a softbound journal partially concealed beneath the alarm clock came tumbling down onto the floor, flipping open to a set of well worn, written pages.

“Dammit,” Mulder knelt, gathering the faded edge between his fingers as he dragged it toward his lap, the spine along his index as the pages fluttered and caught light.

His eyes focused, not wanting to read but it burned through him as the words illuminated and etched into his consciousness with a vividness. “…of the fear that you would have to watch me wither away, leaving nothing more than ashes behind and the memory of what I once was…” Mulder knew in the pit of his stomach that it was so invasive of him to delve into her private thoughts but the tattered edges of his heartfelt a tug as the waves crashed into the shore. He glanced at the clock, noted the slipping away of precious seconds before his red-eye would take off but curiosity was burning as he couldn’t help but see his name scrawled along the same section, muddled by little splotches.

Kissed by tears.

‘I’ve reflected, long and countlessly, on a moment of emptiness as it expanded while I stood at the ledge of life and death; ready to let go. I counted minutes with preciousness in spite of holding a certain amount of deniability in it. Denial of fate, denial of need, denial of hope…but there you were, Mulder, with your hand extended like you knew exactly when I was ready to break to release necessary chaos into the air all over again.

Fight.

Push.

Try.

Even as tears fall, there will come a day that you’ll know the truth of it. I was not afraid of staring at death as he waited in the doorway. I feared so much more than that. It was the reality of the fear that you would have to watch me wither away, leaving nothing more than ashes behind and the memory of what I once was. The shell of a woman who couldn’t carry on a piece of herself—a woman who had made the choice of exactly whom she’d want to leave a legacy behind with. One day…one day you’ll know.’

“Oh…fuck,” Mulder had his own emotional epiphany as he wiped the tears from his cheeks, reluctantly pulling his focus away from the journal as he snapped it closed and stood. “I wasn’t ready for all of that…”

Mulder had already come close, as one could get, to losing his best friend and the buried deep truths that he kept well-guarded within his own, half shattered soul was feeling the reverberations of her written secrets. He held the journal to his chest and closed his eyes, letting the gravity of what he wasn’t supposed to know seep into his bones, plucking the strings loose as he watched another minute tick away. His shoulders sank as he wanted nothing more than to feel her heart beating against his own as the sting of emptiness surrounded him all over again, reminding him of that self-inflicted fate. They’d bestowed it on each other. If Scully had only known that her hidden epitaph was dangerously near a mutual thought, one that had been rolling at the tip of Mulder’s tongue for a long time. His eidetic memory betrayed him again as the words flashed into his consciousness, throttling his psyche as he pictured every note again—almost to the point of being able to see her curled up on her bed, tears falling with every move of her pen.

As though he were praying for it—the phone in his pocket began to chime, the tones returning his attention to the task at hand as he pulled it free, answering immediately. “Mulder?”

“Did you find everything okay?” Scully’s voice crushed and elated him in the same breath as he slid the journal into the bag and zipped it up, wiping the last of his stray tears in the process.

“Yeah, was just getting ready to lock up,” Mulder’s voice involuntarily cracked as he went for the door, the weight of her confessional unbelievably heavy as he held her bag on his shoulder.

“What time does your flight leave?” Scully could hear the change in his voice but her own, melancholic tone was bleeding through as she sighed into his ear. “You okay?”

“I’m good, I’m good…I have just enough time to get there and take off,” Mulder locked the door, felt that ache in his body as he shook away heartache for another moment, knowing what lay ahead of him. “I’ll be there soon.”

Tagging @peacenik0 @kyouryokusenshi @poolsidescientist @postmodernpromartheus @baronessblixen @fistful-of-fandom @kikocrystalball @allthingsxfiles @suitablyaggrieved @suilven19 @rationalcashew @admiralty-xfd @gaycrouton

#my fic #txf #angst/fluff prompt #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #mulder and scully love #mulder and scully

88 notes · View notes

lowkeyaesthvtic · 4 years

Text

Evil Karma - Chapter 12

Chapter 1 - Chapter 11

Word Count: 2,180

Summary: Harry, Sofi, and Gil hunt down the beast. Basically the solo Harry Hook scene from D2 with some EXTRA EXTRA gay thrown in because why not?

Pairings: Harry Hook x OC, mentions of Jay x Carlos, mention of former!Harry x Carlos, mention of Harry x OC x Uma, oh and a Harry x Gil kiss because why not

Rating: T for language, threats of violence, and a whole lot of sexual tension

Warnings: Language, threats of violence, whole lot of sexual tension and some possible innuendos if you squint??

Tags: @descendantofthesparrow @hookedradge @batmanwearsabowtie @newtshairdryer @amityravenclawelf

Author’s Note: Tumblr’s formatting is so weird and won’t let me indent my paragraphs and it’s kinda driving me crazy.

It didn’t take Gil and I very long to get to Harry. The two of us walked through the bazaar, Gil’s fire still roaring high and my hand ready on my dagger in case someone wanted to cause some unwanted trouble. We finally found him twiddling with his hook and taking a swig from his flask as he stood outside of Shenzi’s Hyena Pub. “Getting tipsy before a hunt, huh? Bad idea, Hooky.” I spoke flirtatiously as we finally came close enough for me to snake my arms around his neck.

Harry plants a quick, fiery kiss on my lips as he responds. “All of my ideas are bad, duckling, that’s what makes them so good.” He smirked as he leaned in to take the kiss further. As tempting as his lips seemed to mine, I put my finger gently on top of them to keep him from deepening his touch.

“Not here, Harry.”

“Why not? We’ve got plenty of time to catch our beast, it’s not like Uma gave us a deadline, right?” His lustful gaze bore deep into my chest, but that gaze was changed to a look of realization as Gil tapped his shoulder, waving excitedly when Harry made eye contact with him. “Oh, that’s why not.”

“Hey, Harry! I’m helping you guys take Ben, isn’t that awesome?” Gil beamed, his disposition faintly switching back and forth between sweet and an angry fire. Harry turned me to the side and lowered his voice as he spoke.

“Since when was Gil a part of this? Did Uma say it was okay?” Harry was a combination of confused and a tad bit paranoid. His free hand gripped onto the arch of his hook, seeming worried that Uma would punish us for letting someone into this special plan of ours.

“Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, you’re strong, Harry, but Gil has the strength to drape you over his shoulder in seconds. Imagine the damage he could do to Ben before Uma ties him up. It’s fitting. The son of Gaston finally hunting down the little legacy of the Beast that made both his and his father’s life miserable. Besides, Gil was third in command before I got here. I think he should stay there.” I looked to Gil as we spoke, watching as he smiled back at me.

“Wouldn’t that knock you down a peg, duckling?”

“Not necessarily. Two people can share a certain amount of power.” I leaned in extra close to his ear, lowering my voice to a husky whisper. “Happens in the bedroom all the time, right, Hooky?” His breath makes a tiny hitch as I take a small, gentle nibble on his earlobe before backing away. Harry smiles before wrapping his arm around Gil and playfully dragging him across the trash-infested streets of the Isle.

Not long after our walk began, we found a familiar looking crowd standing down at the end of the street, with one boy in particular trailing just a bit too far behind. “Huh, that hut at the end of the street looks like Mal’s old place..” Gil pointed at the straying group of kids. Harry quickly knocked his hand down, careful not to draw too much attention to ourselves.

“That is Mal’s old place. And it looks like our prey is falling a bit far behind the pack.” Harry replied. I snickered as I noticed Ben’s naive dancing along the shoulders of the street. Honestly, I’m surprised that he’s lasted this long. But the time for roaming the Isle is long gone for this royal bastard.

“Gil, you should get him now while he’s behind. That way we don’t have to worry about fighting off the entourage.” When I turned my head to gesture Gil towards the baby Beast, his demeanor seemed nervous, unsure. “Gil, what are you waiting for? Go get him, knock him out and bring him to the lower deck of the ship so Uma can tie him up!”

Gil stood still. Frozen and almost dumbfounded by the sight of his greatest enemy standing so close in his sights. “I...I don’t know, Sofi. Maybe I’m not cut out for this after all.” He mumbled, stepping back behind Harry.

“What the fuck are you talking about, not cut out for it? Just a few minutes ago, you were yelling at me with fire in your eyes about how you wanted to be included in things like this!” I gritted my teeth, wanting to yell the boy into shape but not wanting to scare off the Beast.

“I know..and I do. But I just, I’m not very good at hurting people. I don’t..I don’t really know how to do it.” Gil began to stumble on his words as his nervousness grew and grew. Was he really having second thoughts about this when he was so close? Harry grabbed Gil by his shoulders and pulled the blonde closer to him, mere inches separating their faces as their chests touched.

“Gil, sunshine, listen to me. You see that son of a bitch over there?” He asked, pointing to Ben, who didn’t seem to suspect a thing. “That boy’s father had your father nearly killed by pushing him off a cliff. That boy’s father created this hellhole Isle and had you, me, Uma and all the rest of us trapped here without even giving us a chance! Do you think he deserves to walk away from that unscathed?” Gil shook his head, slowly understand Harry’s words but more encaptured by their closeness.

“I mean...I guess hurting Ben would be hurting his dad too, right?”

“Exactly, Gil! That asshole over there made you, your father, and your crew’s life miserable from the jump. I know that pisses you off. So why don’t you get over there and beat him so black and blue his parents won’t recognize him?” Before Gil is able to playfully shout in agreement, Harry grabs Gil by his face and crashes their lips together. My eyes widen at the suddenness of it all, but from Gil’s brightened eyes and motivated smile, I could tell he wasn’t complaining. After the quick collision of their lips had subsided, Gil hastily and quietly ran to hunt his Beast. Waiting for our cue to pass Uma’s message, I look to Harry in a bit of a shock.

“Harry, what was that?” I ask, a small laugh of confusion escaping from my mouth.

“A bit of motivation. Some good luck for our brave soldier.” He joked, shrugging it off as if it was something he had done before. Was it something he had done before? Did Uma know about this? It then dawned on me the main reason Harry kissed Gil, and the main reason it worked so well.

“You know about his crush on you, don’t you?”

“Oh definitely, duckling. He makes it very obvious. Uma and I thought about letting him into the relationship at one point, but he’s just not into Uma like that. Why be with the both of us if you only have feelings for one, yeah?” I shrugged in response. It seemed so simple yet so complicated at the same time. It made sense, but yet so many questions popped into my mind.

“So, do the two of you have something going or are you just some lip service to each other?” Harry chuckled at the pun, not caring much whether or not it was intended. “Seriously. I’m sure Uma and I would like to know if you’re hooking up with someone that isn’t us.”

“He thinks of my kisses like little good luck charms. Nothing more. He told me so himself. Although, I would be lying if I told you I had never hooked up with him before. But it was long before Uma and I became an official item.” As I watched Gil carry an unconscious Ben over his shoulder and away from the entourage, I began my slow walk towards Mal’s home.

“You’ve got quite the body count, don’t you, Hooky?”

“What can I say, duckling? He’s very tender. Tender and gentle. I love taking the gentle ones and making them scream my name.” His luscious words tempted me, but we had a job to focus on. I would deal with my urges later.

“You better hope Uma doesn’t hear you saying that. The only name she wants screamed is hers.” Harry was about to spit out a response when we hear a soft, fair voice calling out Ben’s name. Harry and I were still relatively far back in the shadows. I stayed towards the back as Harry walked in front of me. His silhouette must have looked similar to the King’s because Evie still believed the shadow belonged to the royal Beast.

“Ben! Ben…don’t scare us like that.” With Evie’s words and sighs of relief from the boys around her, Harry and I emerged from the shadows and stood side by side, leaving them in shock.

“Don’t scare you? That’s my speciality.” Harry teased as I gave a conniving, quiet laugh from the side.

“Harry…” Evie whispered in disbelief. Did she really think that someone like Ben could walk through the Isle and have nothing happen to him? Whether we had a plan or not, there are plenty of people on the Isle who would hate Ben enough to snatch him. It just so happened to be us this time around.

“What did you do with Ben?” Jay asked, seeming tempted to take a step up towards us.

“Oh, uh, we nicked him.” Harry replied simply and nonchalantly, a small smile reminding him of our victorious mischief. I chuckled in response, remembering Gil’s smile as he walked past us with Ben passed out and draped over his shoulder.

“Like candy from a baby.” I taunted, peering into every pair of eyes I could find in front of me.

“And if you ever want to see him again, have Mal come to the Chip Shoppe tonight. Alone.” He glared as he let his finger roam to Evie, then Jay, then Carlos. “Uma wants a little visit.” He side eyed towards me, excited for what was in store for us.

“No weapons, either.”

“Weapons? Why would Mal need to worry about weapons?” Evie asked.

“Aw, Evie darling, seems like you’ve been in Auradon a bit too long, haven’t you?” Harry taunted, eyeing her up and down like a piece of meat.

“I saw Mal at Curl Up and Dye not too long ago. The blushing Queen to be had a knife in her back pocket. If she even tries to think about pulling something on Uma…” I let my fingers trace on the arch of Harry’s hook, wandering until they decided to grip the middle. “She’ll get hooked right where she stands.” I’m slightly taken aback as Carlos takes a confronting step in front of Jay and Evie, attempting to defend them.

“Why are you even a part of this? There’s no way you grew up on the Isle.” Carlos bit back aggressively. Given his small stature and some juicy bits of information I had learned about him from Harry, it was nearly impossible to take his defense seriously. I let an evil, mocking laugh roar from my chest as I looked over to Harry, pretending to be frightened.

“Well, well! Looks like Doggy Boy over here has got some brains after all. I had no idea someone so small could have so much bark in them, did you, Harry?” He tsked and shook his head as he eyed his old flame up and down.

“Oh, I know about his bark, duckling. But his biggest weakness is one..little..bite.” Harry lowered his voice to an alluring growl as he yipped directly to Carlos’ face. Jay immediately pushed his boyfriend behind him, ready to fight Harry by any means necessary. But, to his dismay, Evie held him back. “Aw, Jay...it seems like you’ve lost your touch. First you let your bike get snatched up, now it seems you can’t even keep your boyfriend from being stolen. It’s a good thing we’re not interested in him, ain’t it, Sofi?”

I chuckled as I eyed the flustered and angry kids in front of us. “Damn straight, it is. Seriously, Doggy Boy, you’re gonna go from someone like Harry..to someone like Jay? Talk about a major downgrade.” Evie continued to hold the two boys back behind her as she stepped forward and looked at me. There wasn’t any kind of glare or sneer. Quite frankly, she didn’t even look afraid. It seemed that all she wanted to do was take in the girl in front of her: me.

“Who are you? We saw you at Yzma’s egg stand. You could’ve killed Ben right then and there. Why didn’t you?” She asked, attempting to scare the truth out of me using interrogation. However, her skills weren’t that strong.

“Oh, Evie. That’s for me to know and for you to find out later. Ciao.” I gave a small wave as I locked my fingers into Harry’s hand and walked away from the entourage.

48 notes · View notes