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myherowritings · 4 years

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hearts intertwined | t.s.

— You and Todoroki have been roommates for months now but have barely had more than a two minute conversation. When quarantine hits and everyone is on lockdown, you find yourself forced to spend more time with him and actually end up...enjoying it?

pairing: todoroki shouto x reader word count: 3,055 genre: roommate au, pro hero!shouto, fluff warnings: suggestive content, 16+, mc and todo are both mid-20s

a/n: this is written as part of the crackhead sanctuary’s server collab! (pls excuse my server name lmfdkgfdg i have terrible naming skillz) i hope y’all enjoy and pls lmk what u think!! xx sof

In many ways, Todoroki Shouto was the perfect roommate.

He cleaned up after himself, always made an extra serving of food and set it aside for you (though it may only have been because he sucked at measuring out ingredients rather than him intentionally planning on leaving you leftovers), and generally kept his volume to a minimum when entering the apartment at ungodly hours of the night.

There was also the fact that he was the most attractive person you had ever shared a living space with in your life, and seeing him shirtless on his way to his bedroom from the bathroom was a definite bonus.

But despite all that, he was never someone you considered yourself close to.

You needed help paying for rent and expenses and he happened to be a friend of a friend of a friend who was looking for a place in the city to stay. Call it a divine intervention, a gift from the gods, or even fate… But you still wouldn’t consider yourself his friend.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to befriend him--Todoroki seemed like a sweet person. It was more along the lines of neither of you having the time. While you spent most of your day in the lab studying and doing research, Todoroki was always working in his office or out in the field to fulfill his new hero duties.

This quarantine was probably the first opportunity either of you had to be in the same building for more than thirty minutes at a time. Which was why, as the two of you sat side-by-side on the living room sofa, no one knew exactly what to say.

“So, the weather--”

“Looks warm out--”

Both of you opened your mouths and shut them at the same time.

“Sorry,” Todoroki said with a small smile. “You first.”

“I-- Oh… It was nothing,” you managed, clearing your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “Just trying to make some small talk.”

With a tight-lipped smile and wide eyes, you slowly craned your head away from his view. Who admits they’re trying to make small talk? That breaks all the rules of how to properly talk to someone.

The faint sound of the television playing old infomercials buzzed in the background while you and your roommate sat in silence. You never struggled to talk to him during those brief moments of passing, so why now?

Looking at the screen to pass time, you noticed an outdated commercial of an older Tamagotchi game playing and felt yourself breaking out into a grin.

“Aw, I miss that game!” you cried as you turned to Todoroki with an excited glint in your eye. “Don’t tell anyone, but in elementary school I used to play it in class and since I was such a goody two-shoes, the teacher never suspected a thing.”

He raised an eyebrow in response. “I see we have ourselves a rebel in disguise here.”

“It’s our little secret, though. To everyone else, I am the epitome of innocence.”

You couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze travelled down your body and lingered on where the fabric of your oversized pajama shirt stopped and the expanse of your thigh started.

“Sure. I believe you,” he said in what was almost a teasing tone.

You felt your face growing hot but you paid it no mind.

“As you should,” you sniffed, crossing one leg over the other haughtily. When he chuckled, you turned back to him. “How about you? Are you a secret bad boy who played with his Tamagotchi in the back of class?”

Todoroki shook his head. “I never had one. I actually never even knew what it was until high school, I think.”

“Really?” Your eyes widened. Sure, the hand-held game was marketed to girls, but to never have heard about it through your whole childhood? You weren’t sure how that was possible. “Not even your older sister had one?”

Now, you didn’t know much about his personal life (whether or not he was dating someone, if he slept on the left or the right side of the bed, which leg he put in his pants first, et cetera), but you did pick up on a few things about his siblings from the previous interactions you’ve had with him.

“Not to my knowledge,” he said, looking away thoughtfully. “My father never afforded us such luxuries.”

You frowned. “What about toys like Pokemon? Oh! Or Yu-Gi-Oh cards?”

“Yu-Gi-Oh cards?” repeated Todoroki slowly, as if he was unsure what you were talking about.

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “You never played--? Oh, never mind. How about family games like Twister or Just Dance?”

As far as you were aware, Todoroki Shouto came from a rather affluent family. So it was a wonder why he never participated in at least one of these experiences that characterized a whole generation’s childhood.

Again, he shook his head. “Never did those either. I wasn’t exactly allowed to play with my siblings, let alone other kids my age. My father always made me prioritize my training.”

“That’s not right of him.”

You winced. Of course he never had the opportunity to have a “normal” childhood. How could you be so insensitive? It was no secret Endeavor had a troubled relationship with his family, but you weren’t exactly sure to what extent. You didn’t focus much on the whimsical world of heroes and, ever since you were a child, you know you wanted to pursue the field of research rather than use your quirk. The lives of heroes--even top ranking ones--was something you never paid much attention to. Still, even you have heard some gossip about the estranged Endeavor.

“Sorry for pressing you,” you said, toying with the hem of your shirt. “I didn’t mean to be so insensitive.”

He gave you a nonchalant shrug and a small smile to let you know it was okay.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/L/N. You didn’t mean to,” he comforted. “Besides, it’s been a long time. It would be useless to hold a grudge against my father for this long.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Forgiveness, huh? That’s very mature of you, Todoroki. I think I admire you.”

His shoulders moved upward in silent laughter. “Thank you. I admire you, too.”

Ignoring the faint heat you felt in your cheeks, you beamed. “Thanks. Anyway-- You know what I just realized?”

“What?”

“You did not have a childhood.”

While his face remained passive, you could have sworn you saw his eye crinkle in amusement.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” he said in agreement. “My youth was spent quite differently than most.”

You nodded profusely. “Right. And while I don’t think there is anything inherently wrong with that, per se, it could be beneficial to do these things you haven’t had the chance to!”

He examined you curiously as you bounced up from your seat on the sofa with an excited grin. After a few moments of silence, he craned his neck, prompting you for clarification.

“You’re bored on lockdown, I’m bored on lockdown,” you stated matter-of-factly. “What better time to reclaim your childhood than now?”

Todoroki didn’t bother to hide the small smile making its way across his face at your determined words. “Okay, then. Count me in.”

- - - - -

When you decided you wanted to help your new friend Todoroki reclaim his childhood, you expected your days to be full of cute Beanie Babies and Webkinz, as well as the presumed amounts of chaos that followed edible bubbles and candy kits. And while the first few days of the week consisted of that, the tone changed rather drastically when a certain game was introduced. Of all things, what you expected least was to be practically panting on top of Shouto as you braced your muscles and tried not to collapse onto him.

“Left hand, blue,” he called after flicking the spinner.

How he managed to turn the spinner with one hand and keep his body balanced with the other on a Twister mat without toppling over was a mystery to you.

Stupid heroes with their stupid, bulging muscles, you thought crossly as you relived your many previous losses. You tried to ignore the bead of sweat dripping down your face as you struggled to stay up.

Somehow, you turned your head just enough that you had the perfect view of Todoroki’s flexed triceps as he held himself in a modified pushup position of sorts. There was a look of concentration on his face and, while you found his furrowed brows to be rather cute, you still couldn’t help but focus your attention on his arms. He had a lean type of muscle that you thought would feel especially comfortable wrapped around your waist--

“Y/L/N, do you forfeit?”

You blinked, feeling lightheaded both from this game which you lacked the stamina for and from the lack of oxygen that travelled to your brain as you held your breath while staring at Todoroki.

Once your mind processed his words, you huffed. “Forfeit! Me? Never! Why would you think that?”

“Because I called ‘left hand, blue,’ minutes ago and you still haven’t moved.”

Blood rushed to your face and you were thankful you had the exertion to blame it on. It wasn’t your fault Todoroki’s arms were so toned and strong and...distracting.

“No,” you said, unsure if there was even a question asked for you to reply to. “I don’t quit!”

Your eyes scanned the mat feverishly, looking for a blue circle to place your left hand on that would cause the least amount of strain. Shouto had already won the first two rounds and you’d be damned if you were to let him win again. (As much as you loved witnessing him succeed, your pride would simply be too hurt if you lost a third time in a row.)

“Find a spot yet?” he asked in amusement. “I’m not sure how much longer my arms can hold.”

Of course, just the mention of his arms drew your attention from finding the optimal Twister position to staring stupidly at his triceps again.

As you attempted to tear your gaze away from him, you spotted hints of a smirk lingering on Todoroki’s face.

Did he notice your staring? There was no way…

You looked at him, wide-eyed and dubious, and almost choked when you saw his shoulders start to shake as he tried to hide his laughter.

His laugh was muffled by his shirt in an attempt to keep his volume down, but it still rang rich and deep in the air. It was the first time you heard him laugh like that and you wanted to do anything to hear it again.

With a shake of his head, he removed his hands from their spot on the Twister board and sat upright beside you.

“I concede,” he said when he saw you eyeing him with curiosity. “You win this round. My arms were getting too sore.”

After hearing the sweet sound of Todoroki saying, “You win,” you let yourself collapse on the floor, rolling onto your back to get a clear view of your cream-colored ceiling.

“For some reason, I sincerely doubt that your arms were getting sore,” you said, stretching your own--genuinely sore--arms out in front of you. “But seeing as I was about to fall flat on my face if I waited any longer… Thank you for conceding.”

“Doubt I’d be sore?” he repeated, craning his neck to peer down at your face. He placed his left hand on his right bicep and gently massaged it with his thumb and forefinger. “What for?”

By then, whatever rational thought was left in your brain had been fully replaced by Shouto’s arms and Shouto’s arms only, and you couldn’t even complain.

“Mmm, what did you say again?” You blinked, clearing your throat. You suddenly had the desire to chug a cool glass of water.

Todoroki’s only reply was another small--almost imperceptible--smirk. It would have been easy for someone to miss, but to you, someone who was perhaps being more attentive to their roommate and newfound friend than they’d care to admit, it was clear as day.

“You’re totally messing with me!” you groaned, covering your face with your hands as you continued to lie with your back on the floor. “Aren’t you?”

He let out a breathy laugh and shrugged, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. “Sorry. It’s just cute seeing your reactions. I didn’t know you liked my arms so much.”

You could’ve sworn he flexed once more for dramatic effect and an indignant squeak escaped your mouth.

“I-I don’t!” you protested, making sure to look anywhere but his arms. “I just never noticed how...proportionate they were before! Just thinking about how da Vinci would admire them. For scientific purposes, of course.”

“Sure.”

You gaped at the knowing look on his face. “How did you even notice? Aren’t you a bit of the oblivious type?” With wide eyes, you slapped your hand over your mouth. “Wait-- I’m sorry. That was rude to say.”

Todoroki waved it off with a smile to show he wasn’t offended in the slightest. “I guess I was rather oblivious in the beginning of high school. But as I grew up I became more accustomed to picking up on such things.”

You hummed in silent contemplation. Of course he had to have grown used to people making moon eyes over him. He probably got it all the time.

“I usually pay it no mind,” he continued as he stood up, peering down at you sprawled out on the floor. “But when you do it, I find it sort of cute.”

As if he didn’t just say something that caused your heart to skip a beat, Todoroki extended a hand out to help you up.

Ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks, you gently placed your hand in his.

“Thanks,” you murmured as Shouto pulled you off the mat and towards his body, a feeling of lightheadedness overcoming you at the sudden motion.

One hand held yours while his other was placed firmly above your elbow to help you steady yourself.

“You okay, Y/L/N?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice as he watched you regain your balance.

“Oh, yeah! No worries. This happens all the time, to be honest,” you admitted, vaguely taking note of how your chest was almost fully pressed against his. “Whenever I move my head too fast I get a bit dizzy. And whenever I stand too fast my knees sort of just crack.”

Your words did nothing to soothe the worried furrow between his brows.

“Is...Is that not normal?”

He blinked.

You grimaced. “Okay. Guess not. Maybe I need to work out more.”

“You can work out indoors with me,” Todoroki suggested with a small smile. He looked so sincere you were just about to agree until he opened his mouth for a second time-- “As long as you don’t spend the whole workout gawking at my arms.”

With an indignant cry, you pulled yourself away from his loose grip, face burning with such intensity you wouldn’t be surprised if he were able to sense the rise in temperature. “I never gawked at your arms.”

He hummed.

“Well, okay, maybe I did,” you relented with a huff, bending down to fold up the game mat in front of you. “They look very strong. Being a hero must be hard work.”

Todoroki shrugged, helping you clean up. “It’s worth the toll it takes. I can imagine your research requires hard work too.”

You tried to hide the look of surprise on your face. You briefly talked to him about what you did during the roommate-finding process, but you didn’t think it was anything interesting enough for him to recall. It brought an odd warmth to your stomach knowing he cared enough to remember.

“I guess. But I’d say it’s nowhere near as difficult as hero work,” you brushed off. “Not everyone has what it takes to be a good hero.”

A faint blush colored his cheeks as he followed you into the kitchen for a glass of water.

“There are lots of great heroes,” he stated, filling up two cups and handing one to you.

“Yeah, there are. And greatness is one thing, but you’re a good one-- In the heart.” Your gaze flitted to his, unsure why you were filled with the sudden urge to have such an intimate conversation after a game of Twister. Still, you rolled with it. “I know we haven’t talked much prior to this lockdown...but even I can tell how caring you are. And I’m looking forward to getting to know you more.”

A comfortable silence filled the air as he took a seat beside you. If Shouto was taken aback by your sudden compliment, he did a good job at hiding it, simply giving you a small smile as he let his shoulder rest against yours. You glanced over at the point of contact and bubbled with elation.

“Todoroki?” you called quietly, the edge of your pinky brushing against his.

He looked down at the gentle touch of your hand and didn’t move away. Instead, he took the initiative and placed his fingers on top of yours, his hand surprisingly soft despite the calluses on his fingertips. The back of your neck heated at the sudden movement, but you decided you rather liked how his hands felt on yours.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for letting me drag you along to play these childhood games,” you said, letting out a sigh of contentment. “It’s a nice change of pace while we’re stuck indoors.”

Shouto shook his head. “I should be the one thanking you. These are much better childhood memories than the ones from my actual childhood,” he admitted with a light laugh. “I’m glad we had the opportunity to spend more time together, Y/L/N.”

By now your fingers were intertwined with his, his thumb lightly stroking the peak of your knuckle.

He continued, “I hope this continues even when quarantine is over.”

“I hope it does, too.” You couldn’t stop the grin from spreading wide across your face as you nuzzled your head on his shoulder. “Let’s keep making memories together, okay, Todoroki?”

“Happily.”

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silentexplorer18 · 3 years

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Pen & Ink Soulmates: A Kakashi Hatake Fic

Summary: A partner, they said. Someone compatible with you, they said. Lies. Or the story in which you sneakily convince Kakashi that soulmates aren't all that bad.

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Female Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Writing on skin, Minor Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Abduction, Minor Injuries, Serious Injuries, Hospitals, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Word Count: 12,100+

Note: For clarity, this fic occurs over a relatively large chunk of time, but it might make more sense to pretend Kakashi joins the ANBU in later teenage years (though we could pretend two high-level Jonin could talk with such maturity at age 13 if we wanted to!). Basically, I didn’t stress a timeline too much, but I hope you still enjoy it as much as I do! :)

Read on AO3 ▪ Masterlist

Hi, soulmate!

Soulmate?

Are you getting my messages?

Let me know if you want to talk.

Can you see the moon where you are?

I found the prettiest flowers today at the market. I wish I could draw you a picture of them.

Do you like flowers? I have a hard time picking a favorite.

You’d been trying. The whole connecting with your soulmate thing was supposed to be exciting and invigorating, but so far it had only left you with the bitter taste of defeat.

A partner, they said. Someone compatible with you, they said.

Lies.

Apparently whoever was supposed to be on the other end of your soul connection didn’t care about the messages you sent. They weren’t as eager to speak with you as you were to speak with them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. The alternative was much, much worse; a fate you weren’t willing to consider.

You had a soulmate. They just weren’t ready to talk yet.

So, you threw yourself into training. Every swift movement and taunt muscle, every hit target and victorious sparring session, all the work left you feeling strong and powerful. When your soulmate met you, maybe they’d regret taking so long when they saw how hard you’d been working, how skilled you’d become.

Thankfully, you had a sparring partner that liked to keep you on your toes. Kakashi had been training with you for about as long as you could remember; he was your closest friend and greatest ally as you worked to become a talented shinobi. Of all the people in the village, he facilitated and supported your growth more than anyone. You could rely on him for almost anything (except for being on time).

But there was one problem.

Kakashi didn’t like talking about soulmates. You couldn’t blame him. Deep emotional connections wasn’t a topic he wanted to dwell on, not after everything that had happened throughout his still-young lifetime. So you kept the conversation civil, even as your heart desperately yearned to talk to someone about your sudden fear of being alone, your deep, unrestrained terror that there was no partner to your soul, no body to receive the messages you delicately penned on the skin under your wrapped arms.

But apparently there was.

You learned that roughly a year later, after many failed attempts and more destroyed pens than you cared to admit.

The amount of times you’d tried to contact your soulmate had dwindled, both due to the lack of response and the influx in your shinobi duties. Regardless, you still took the time to try every once in a while.

Usually, your messages were sweet or silly. A few times, you’d merely asked if anyone was receiving your carefully written words, begging to know there was someone out there for you.

But every sensible person reaches their breaking point. And evidently both you and your soulmate broke in very different ways on the same day.

Good evening, soulmate. I didn’t do much today, but I can give you a run-down if you’d like.

It was a game you’d started a few months into your attempts at contact. Pretending someone was there was much, much easier than thinking about any alternative. So you tried your best to leave messages despite how much it hurt.

Staring at your wrist, you considered the scribble of the letters, the handwriting you only tried to make semi-nice now. That was your soulmate’s fault; you were past the point of a perfect first impression. But what to write today? What could entertain your soulmate, maybe even draw them out? You weren’t sure.

When the first inky letter swirled across your skin, your heart leapt into your throat, and your pen dropped from your hand. Your thoughts of what to write were quickly forgotten. There was someone. There was someone! There was someone waiting for you!

You leaned forward, hand clamped around your wrist to keep it steady as the words appeared on your skin.

You’re putting us both in danger. Stop writing to me.

Well, that certainly wasn’t what you expected.

After all the waiting, after all the time, that’s what your soulmate was willing to give you? Your jaw clenched, hand releasing your wrist so you wouldn’t inadvertently snap it. What a jerk.

How dare your soulmate assume you were incapable! How dare your soulmate treat you like nothing more than a hindrance! How dare your soulmate act like you were some worthless flower that would be trampled over by a single breeze!

You clicked your pen, hand pressing just a skosh too hard into your skin as you carved a message back to whoever that jerk was.

I can take care of myself.

The reply came a few minutes later.

Good. I don’t want you in my life. Leave me alone.

Oh.

Years of waiting for a soulmate, and the one to finally show up didn’t want anything to do with you? Great, just great.

You closed your eyes, hands shaking as you drew your knees closer to your body. Alone. You were alone. No matter who was destined to be by your side, nobody would be there. The tears burned in your eyes, but you tried to keep from shedding them. You were a shinobi. You were strong. You were… alone.

No, no you weren’t. You still had Kakashi and Kurenai. You had Asuma when he bothered to chat with you. You weren’t totally alone. You had people in your life to keep you company. Hell, you were even supposed to meet Kakashi for breakfast tomorrow!

You went over your list of friends in your head, desperately trying to drown out the nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that the person who mattered most would never want you.

Kakashi was late to breakfast the next morning. Even later than usual. You idly wondered if he’d been called on an emergency mission while trying to keep your thin soup down.

The events of the night before rested at the forefront of your mind, making your stomach queasy with the memory of the harsh words.

Your soulmate had washed them off your arm by morning, but the message had already been branded in your mind. There would be no forgetting.

When Kakashi finally deigned to arrive, he looked much worse than usual. It was hardly perceptible to the untrained eye, but you knew something was wrong after so many years of friendship with Kakashi. He was even quieter than he usually was, picking at the cold soup you’d ordered for him.

It had been spur of the moment to order for the both of you, a decision brought on by being too wrapped up in your own thoughts. However, Kakashi didn’t comment on your unusual gesture.

For once, something went your way.

After your relatively brief and quiet meal, you offered to walk with Kakashi to the Hokage Tower, desperately craving the fresh air. He accepted your offer with a half-hearted nod, and you fell into step alongside him, trying to keep up with his impossibly lanky figure.

“You’ve been going to the Hokage Tower a lot lately. Is everything alright?”

Hummed, the sound still gravely from failing to use his voice all morning. “They’re pushing me up to the ANBU.”

You froze. The ANBU? One of the most elite and dangerous positions that a Leaf shinobi could accept? Your best friend—the talent, the protector, the lost child inside willing to throw his life away for the sake of his home, for the people who had left without him—an ANBU?

Kakashi stopped a few paces in front of you, casting a distasteful look over his shoulder at your expression.

“I can handle it. Stop fussing.”

With quick steps, you joined his side again, clenching your fist in embarrassment. “I’m not fussing. I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.”

“We die young as shinobi,” he murmured, continuing his walk toward the tower in the distance. Suddenly, the structure appeared to be looming rather than protecting, and a chill crawled along your spine.

Of course shinobi died young. All bodies gave out eventually, and shinobi would fight until that occurred, regardless of whether or not it was to their detriment (it almost always was). But Kakashi was the most talented shinobi you’d ever encountered. He wouldn’t die young, you hoped. He had so much left to live for, even if he couldn’t see it through the haze of his own pain and guilt.

The remaining walk to the Hokage tower was silent. And afterwards, you took flowers to the memorial stone. You prayed for the dead. And just this once, you begged them to look out for the living, too.

The day Kakashi joined the ANBU, you knew. The matching tattoo colored your bicep in sweeping increments, a sharp red rattling your heart within your chest. The reality of your situation washed over you like the worst kind of genjutsu.

Your best friend was your soulmate. And he didn’t want you.

The realization left you shell shocked for a few days, unable to even speak or look at Kakashi. Even without the contact, your mind couldn’t escape from him. However, you eventually managed to safeguard your heart as best as you could. You wouldn’t tell him yet; something within you couldn’t handle that risk of rejection, especially when it would come from Kakashi. But you weren’t willing to throw away the lifetime of friendship the two of you shared. So you put on a smile and met Kakashi at his favorite restaurant, just like usual.

“You haven’t been here for a few days,” he noted as you sat down, watching you intently. “Everything alright?”

You shrugged, fingers trailing down the side of your glass. “Yeah, just wasn’t feeling up to anything.”

It was a partial lie, one Kakashi could easily prod into if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He let you be. And you relished in the way the conversation eventually grew normal between the two of you, right up until he rose from the table, leaving you to pay the bill.

Everything was normal. But you cried again that night anyway.

Life fell back into the usual pattern after that. There were times that you could almost pretend the weight on your shoulders wasn’t there. Kakashi was away on more missions with the ANBU, so you were able to bury your head in your training and missions and pretend nothing was wrong. At least, you could pretend until a pen caught your eye.

The words on your skin had been so brutal, and you hoped they were just because of the pain Kakashi had endured. You hoped it came from a place of love rather than hatred; perhaps Kakashi’s intention was protection rather than cold-hearted rejection.

At least, that’s what you thought until you found Kakashi sparring with Gai.

You tried your hardest not to invade their privacy, not to listen to words that weren’t meant for your ears, like the good friend you were, but Kakashi’s voice was too sharp, too defensive, to not draw your attention.

“—but it’s a waste of time, Gai. Soulmates are unnecessary. Especially for people like us.”

“You’re hiding from your future, Kakashi. Wasting all your youthful days that you could be spending with the one who will love you as much as life itself!”

Another failed attack. The clang of clashing kunai.

“A soulmate could only be a liability to me. You know what kind of missions I’m being sent on.”

“They’re your soulmate, Kakashi. Soulmates are built to work together. They fill the cracks like the best kind of glue!”

Kakashi scoffed. There was another clang, the gentle zip of shuriken on the breeze.

“I’d never love them anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“You’d say something so cruel—”

You turned away, unable to listen anymore. The pain pooled heavy in your gut. The message he’d written hadn’t been a reflexive, angry reaction. His beliefs were set in stone. He didn’t want you.

So, you held your chin up, resigned yourself to eternal loneliness, and pretended the whole soulmate dilemma didn’t exist.

If being Kakashi’s friend was the closest you could get, then you’d ignore the sting in your chest when you looked at him. You’d be his friend. Nothing more.

Your resolve lasted a few weeks.

There was whispering. There had always been whispering, but this day was much worse than usual. He’d been mocked, insulted, shamed. Openly. And aside from Gai, nobody had said a word otherwise. You couldn’t stand it, watching him mask the pain as much as he masked his own features. His feigned nonchalance couldn’t fool your perceptive eyes. You’d been watching too closely; you knew him too well.

Curled at your desk that night, you wrote a message on your wrist, scared of talking to him again but unable to leave him alone.

You’re a good person.

Hours passed before you received a response. It was curt, defensive, everything Kakashi carried to protect himself. You don’t know me.

But you did.

Although it was difficult to sleep, you tried your best not to toss and turn too much as you brooded over your feelings. Was it worth saying more? Was it worth risking the hurt, the rejection?

In the morning, you’d made your decision, especially after noticing his words had already been rinsed off your wrist.

Cleaning your own wrist, you wrote the message in your head a thousand times over, only hoping the words wouldn’t hurt you so much when they reached his skin.

You're a good person, Kakashi Hatake. I won't let you tell me otherwise.

Kakashi met you for lunch just like usual. You wouldn’t have found anything odd about the meeting, but he showed up on time. Apparently your message had rattled him enough to throw him completely off his rhythm.

Rather than comment on his early appearance, you just smiled as he sat down, choosing to dig into your meal. Kakashi followed suit, pulling out a book while he waited for his bowl.

Silence settled between you, and you let it. After all, you were trying to make the situation appear normal. The last thing you wanted was for him to figure out you were in on the secret that was bothering him. So, the two of you ate. You sipped your tea, glancing out at the people passing on the street until Kakashi finally broke the silence.

“My soulmate knows who I am,” he murmured, setting down his raman bowl.

You plastered on a smile, knowing you had to fake congratulations, had to fake knowing that he had, in fact, zero intentions of finding his soulmate.

“That’s so exciting, Kakashi! I’m glad you’ve finally found yours!”

He laughed dryly, scratching his neck. “It’s not quite like that.”

You tried to neutralize the way your expression dropped. Either Kakashi didn’t notice, nose stuck in his copy of Make Out Paradise, or he didn’t care. You bit your lip, brows furrowing before you could stop them. “How so?”

But you already knew the answer to that.

“I’m not talking to my soulmate,” he said curtly. “It’s not something that interests me.”

You shook your head, sighing softly. He’d never let anyone in, never let anyone close. Kakashi was too reserved for that, and you resigned yourself to the knowledge that he’d never care to change the fate he’d chosen for himself. For such a hopeless romantic, he had a terrible tendency to reject love.

“You’re so foolish, Kakashi,” you whispered, balancing the chopsticks on the rim of your bowl.

His eye snapped to your face. Though he appeared nonchalant, you could tell that he slightly bristled at your words. “You’re one to talk.”

“Mine won’t talk to me,” you pointed out sharply, eyes dropping to refold your napkin.

His expression softened minutely, but his tone stayed firm. “That isn’t what I meant. We’re shinobi, (Y/n). Love in our line of duty is fatal.”

Pursing your lips, you caught his eye again before dropping his stare. “Perhaps,” you murmured, knuckles straining in your lap. “But you can’t say it’s pleasant to live without love.”

He was silent for a moment as you both stared at anywhere but one another. Kakashi was ruminating under your words while you wallowed in the silent pain of listening to your soulmate openly deny your importance. It hurt, but you wouldn’t admit that, least of all not to his face.

Before he could speak again, Gai had clapped Kakashi on the shoulder, greeting him as warmly as ever.

You slipped out of the shop, enough money to cover both your meals pressed into the owner’s hand before either of the shinobi could realize you’d disappeared.

Although your conversation with Kakashi had stung deep within your chest, you appreciated the insights it gave you.

Kakashi Hatake was aware his soulmate knew his name. And he was terrified.

The fact that he’d brought it up at all was enough to tell you how jarring the event had been for him. That, and the way he responded at the mere notion of knowing his soulmate. He was like a cornered cat lashing his claws out in terror. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone, not his soulmate, not you. But in his desperation to protect himself, reinforce the walls he’d so meticulously crafted to fortify his aching heart, Kakashi Hatake was willing to scratch.

However, you weren’t willing to let it go that easily.

He was scared of having someone care for him. You were willing to start small in the hopes of changing that.

Along the curve of your inner wrist, you swirled the letters that would become the first of many.

Stay safe on your mission.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Today is supposed to be cold. Wear an extra mask.

He didn’t. Worse yet, he chose to do the opposite. Although it was hard to tell, you knew his mask and undershirt were the spring/summer fabrics rather than the fall/winter ones.

The bastard was spiting you. Well, spiting his soulmate. So, unwittingly spiting you.

It was still irksome.

As the two of you wandered around the village, helped the farmers, and even took a leisurely stroll around the village perimeter “just in case,” you relished in the way Kakashi moved. It was obvious he was cold, regretting his unnecessary fashion stance.

But you couldn’t stand to see him cold.

He looked close to dropping to the ground for a rapid succession of push-ups just to rekindle some warmth. As smug as you were about watching him suffer, you weren't willing to let him perform a Gai for a small semblance of relief.

Swiftly, you unlooped your scarf, draping it around his neck unceremoniously. It wasn’t much, but the fabric was warm, and it would certainly help a little.

If only you knew how happy the gesture made him.

As the two of you walked back to the heart of the village, Kakashi walked a little closer to you than normal. And, for some reason, you didn’t really mind.

When Kakashi didn’t show up to lunch the following week, you weren’t surprised. You’d only just returned from a mission, and word of Kakashi’s travels had already graced your ears. He was heading to the Village Hidden in the Sand. For what, you weren’t sure. Some missions were still classified even for you.

Despite knowing how skilled Kakashi was, you still worried about him traveling alone through the desert.

The click of your pen hurt a little less when you clicked it now. It helped to know who your soulmate was. It helped to feel like he cared about you still, even when he so clearly loathed his soulmate.

Remember to drink some water today.

A few hours later, you were surprised to see a response scribbled across your inner wrist.

Yes.

Just one word but finally a positive one.

Rest when you can.

Kakashi stared at the words delicately placed on his wrist. His mission had taken longer than expected, and he was beginning to think his soulmate knew that.

Whoever they were, they must have been a shinobi like him. A high-ranking one, too, for them to determine the length of time he was supposed to be away for.

He’d been receiving one message per day. At first, it irritated him to no end. But now, he didn’t hate it quite so much, even if he often didn’t bother to reply. The messages were always harmless. Sometimes they were funny. Sometimes they were giving him advice, a little reminder meant—he assumed—to help him through the day.

While the sender certainly had the best intentions when sending the note, the message still left him irked. He was alone for this mission, and the sleeplessness and general strains of traveling had started to take a toll on him.

Only a day’s journey left until he could return home and try to shake the sand out of every nook and cranny of his backpack. Only a day’s journey left until he could sleep in a bed. Only a day’s journey left until he could go to dinner with the others. Just. One. More. Day.

He could make it. He had to.

Kakashi had been injured again.

The news swept through the village like a wildfire, and you showed up with two Make Out novels and a bowl of raman, nearly being knocked over by Gai’s comically large bouquet in the process.

Kakashi accepted Gai’s flowers with moderate amounts of grumbling and a few lackluster attempts to get him to leave. Eventually, he did, and it was just the two of you.

You filled the vase at his bedside with water, delicately stuffing as many of the stems as you possibly could inside the glass.

Kakashi watched you move around him, cherishing the silence. At his bedside, you unclasped your bag, pulling out the blindingly colorful books and the container of Ichiraku raman. After making sure the utensils were settled and there was a napkin, you turned back to Kakashi, just missing the warm expression on his face.

“You should rest,” you encouraged gently, “and eat up.”

His eye squinted playfully. “You fuss too much.”

You smiled, smoothing a shuriken printed blanket over the starchy hospital ones. It was yours, but it still smelled faintly of dogs and Kakashi and spice. Hopefully it would stave off some of his nightmares, having something that smelled vaguely like home.

“I fuss just enough. Now, don’t stay up too late reading. Some rest will go a long way.”

“You fuss too—” He yelped as you pinched his toe through the blanket, slinging your bag back over your shoulder.

“You’re lucky you have me as a friend.”

Kakashi’s expression softened, mind racing toward how close he’d come to death yet again. “Yeah, I am.”

He relished in the way that simple statement delighted you, watching the way your expression lit up.

“Get some rest,” you encouraged again, turning to leave him in the bright, quiet room.

As per your request, he did.

Although he listened to your advice, it was only marginally. In true Kakashi fashion, he’d talked his way out of the hospital after a measly two days of treatment.

His body needed more time, but Kakashi was always one to push himself.

Since the Hokage stalled sending him on another mission, something he both hated and appreciated, he occupied the following days in his normal rhythm. He trained privately, visited the memorial stone, and wandered the village nose-deep in supposedly trashy romance.

You’d caught him wandering around a few times, and even saw him lightly competing in a challenge against Gai.

The sight made your blood boil even though you knew it was Kakashi being Kakashi.

He had no sense of self-preservation, which wasn’t particularly helpful when you—his soulmate—were watching from the sidelines.

Did he even care that he could leave you all alone? No, probably not, your mind taunted. Kakashi didn’t care about soulmates; you knew that.

If only you could convince your heart not to care.

That afternoon, you let the letters curl across your wrist as you watched him do another training exercise with Gai, looking faintly more fatigued than normal.

Give yourself time to recover.

If he found your message, he didn’t care to respond.

Kakashi would visit the memorial stone in the morning; you knew how his routine worked.

He felt it fitting to visit them as often as he could, an apology for living the life they all should have lived.

You couldn’t blame him. You visited the stone often, too.

But you couldn’t today, not while you were traveling to the Village Hidden in the Sand with a scroll. So, you asked for a favor, scribbling on your wrist: Pray for mine, too, please.

He was starting to grow accustomed to your messages. A small part of you wondered if he kept an eye out for them. But that was silly. You were thinking about Kakashi. He probably was just reading his book when the words appeared, his wrist already in his line of sight.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But it still didn’t dispel your excitement when the answer scribbled across your skin a few minutes later.

Sure.

He’d been taking on so many missions lately, wearing himself to the bone just to be a good shinobi. A part of you wondered if he was trying to avoid thinking about anything other than his shinobi world. That hunch didn’t stop you from worrying.

Soulmate or not, Kakashi’s actions would have worried you. He looked exhausted as he shuffled through his laundry. You’d brought him takeout from his favorite restaurant to hopefully get something other than rations in his stomach before he left on his next mission.

Who knew how long it would be before he drug himself in, requested another trip, and raced off to somewhere new. You would’ve thought he was avoiding you if it weren’t for the obvious delight in his eyes when you caught up with him outside Hokage Tower.

But there was a reason he was working himself to exhaustion. Possibly long-dead memories brought back to life that he couldn’t stand thinking about. You didn’t even want to know; you just wanted him to be okay.

A week later, you saw him walking through the village gates yet again. Back again. Planning to leave again. It was always the same, just relentlessly overkill at present. He was taking on too much, and one day he would slip up and regret it. You didn’t want that.

So you stayed behind the kiosk you’d been perusing, fingers untangling the wraps around your hand. It was a simple message, but you hoped it would help snap his mind out of whatever hole he’d buried it in.

Please don’t overwork yourself.

He didn’t respond. Not a word graced your hopeful skin.

But Kakashi caught you outside one of the stores in town and asked if you wanted to meet up for dinner that night. He would be around for a while, he said, but he was too tired to cook.

Despite trying to hold on to your resolve, a small part of you couldn’t help but hope he was staying because you asked him to. It was probably wishful thinking, but you were grateful for whatever force made him stay nonetheless.

I believe in you.

Kakashi scoffed at the message on his arm, printed in the spot where his glove met his sleeve.

He found it after a competition with Gai. Hardly anything worth fussing over, but his soulmate had still sent him encouraging words.

Had they been watching? Had they seen the fun (though he’d never admit it) that he and Gai had been having? Had they wanted to join in?

For a long time, he’d been able to avoid thinking about his soulmate altogether. Now, though, they’d found a way to weasel into his mind with the words swirling over his skin.

He wasn’t willing to consider whether or not he enjoyed it.

I worry when you’re reckless.

The message shouldn’t have stung Kakashi’s heart, but somehow it did. His soulmate was watching and worrying, hearing the stories about his travels. Whoever they were, they must have been a shinobi, too.

Were they okay with forsaking love in the name of war? Could they abandon emotions for the sake of duty? Maybe. His soulmate had never directly asked to be anything more than penpals, though even that notion was quite one-sided.

But the message on his wrist betrayed his soulmate’s strength. They worried about him. They listened for the stories and understood when something went wrong.

Kakashi couldn’t help but wonder if they were reckless, too.

If he never took the chance to know them, would he care if they threw their life away as often as he’d tried to? He wasn’t sure.

The next Make Out novel comes out today. I reserved you a copy at the Northern bookstore. It’s less crowded.

Kakashi didn’t understand why his soulmate was being so nice to him. Not after his harsh words at the beginning, not after his sparse replies and general lack of interest. But whoever they were, they were trying, and he had to admire that.

At first, he was surprised his soulmate was not only fine with him reading erotic novels in public but also encouraging it. But, then again, his soulmate was meant to be compatible with him, right?

There would be butting heads, of course. All soulmates lost the honeymoon stage eventually. But this seemed deeper, warmer. His favorite book in a quiet shop on his day off. It was kindness. And it felt both strange and wonderful.

He vaguely regretted not doing anything for his soulmate. Though, maybe they were okay with that. Maybe they enjoyed being alone, just like he did.

Maybe if he kept lying to himself, he’d continue to enjoy it.

But crouched in a tree a few hours later, he couldn’t shake the gratitude deep in his chest. The novel was amazing. And he wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on it if it weren’t for his soulmate’s generosity.

Two words.

Thank you.

Kakashi had arrived home from another long mission. Although unscathed, his clothes were a mess. Dirt and mud clung to his legs, dried blood was smattered across his upper body, and a few rogue twigs and leaves stuck to him in strange places. He needed a shower. Desperately.

But something within Kakashi was restless, and he chose to wander around the village absently.

Something must have happened for him to look so dazed and unattached, but you tried to avoid asking anything direct in public.

Instead, you hopped beside him, catching his arm with the tips of your fingertips. He hummed in response.

“You just got back, right, Kakashi?”

He hummed again. “Yep.”

“Have you bought groceries?”

“No... Why?”

“A bunch of us are going to dinner tonight. You should come. It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

He inspected you for a long moment, and you could tell what he was thinking. The laugh bubbled in your throat before you could help yourself. “It’s Iruka’s turn to take Gai home, don’t worry.”

He stared for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Okay.” Another small, dazed nod. “I’ll come.”

You couldn’t hide your smile as you told him the establishment and the time. That alone made Kakashi’s mood improve, though he’d never admit that aloud.

An hour later, though, he was still wandering around the city absentmindedly. So you figured his soulmate could take matters into their own hands.

Blood in your hair? Isn’t that a bit macabre?

He replied an hour later.

No.

But the next time you saw him, he was dressed in a new uniform. Not a single pristinely white hair was out of place.

If it hadn’t been for Anko talking your ear off about her last mission, you almost could’ve imagined that you and Kakashi were on a date.

It was the closest you would get, a clean vest and all.

But when Asuma blew a puff of smoke and Kakashi glared disdainfully from across the table, any hopes of romance slipped through your fingers.

You were friends. Close friends.

And you refocused on Anko’s story in the hopes of forgetting the state of your friendship with Kakashi for the span of a few minutes.

Every little glance he sent your way certainly didn’t help.

Nor did the way he offered you the last bite of his cake as a thanks for paying for his meal yet again.

Damn, you were in deep.

Be safe on your mission.

His reply came a few minutes later.

Yep.

Although it wasn’t much, the gesture made you smile. It seemed almost like he was waiting for your message, like he’d been checking as he and his companions wandered down the road.

You told yourself it was wishful thinking, but the word scribbled on your wrist in his handwriting warmed your heart all the same.

You’d forgotten. The mission had been too complex, your mind too preoccupied. You’d forgotten to write to Kakashi.

A part of you distantly wondered if he cared, if he even thought about your messages.

He’d started to reply on occasion. It was never more than a quickly scrawled, single word response, but it was still better than the total isolation he’d given you before.

You couldn’t say it was great, or that the two of you talked as soulmates. But it was relatively amicable. And that was a much better foot to get off on than the first time he’d responded to the words you’d scribbled words across your arms.

Things were okay.

And although you had a few scrapes and scratches from your mission, that had gone okay, too.

When your team settled in a clearing for the night, tent built and fire glowing, you drifted off, too exhausted to think of sending a scrabbled love message to Kakashi.

But he hadn’t forgotten about you.

Although you assumed he wasn’t paying attention, Kakashi was one of the best ninja in the Village Hidden in the Leaves. He paid attention to everything, despite his usual nonchalance.

He noticed immediately that his soulmate hadn’t written to him.

After weeks of at least one little message per day.

And he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was terrified. Had something happened to you? Were you injured? Could it be worse?

The idea of soulmates may have left him feeling disgruntled, but your messages had burrowed a home in his heart.

He wasn’t ready to give you or your messages up yet.

So for the first time in a long time, he wrote a real message.

You’re late. Doing okay?

As you watched over the dying flames several hours later, an early morning guard for your teammates, you stared at his words, tracing a finger over the scraggly characters.

Late.

You knew he wasn’t talking about your mission because the four of you weren’t due back for another two days. He didn’t know your identity. That only left the messages…

Was he treating this as a check-in?

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. Leave it to Kakashi to care more than he let on.

Got lost on the path of life. You?

Kakashi stared at your message. He’d been perusing his favorite bookstore for spare copies of the Make Out series’ novels, sleeve suspiciously cuffed and waiting for a reply, when the words had swirled across his skin.

And he laughed. Warmly and purely. Because you’d stolen his line.

You knew him. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing if you would continue to make him laugh so openly.

Surprised with himself, he clicked his pen, words scribbling across his skin before he had the chance to doubt himself.

Glad you’re alive.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. An admission that he wasn’t as dismayed by the soulmate thing as he let on. And you arrived home from your mission absolutely beaming.

You were able to catch Kakashi for lunch before heading off on your next mission with Kurenai. The food was filling, and the conversation was nice. Funnily enough, he was supposed to leave for a mission with Gai the next day. No rest for the shinobi apparently.

Kakashi waved at you as you walked away, and you smiled to yourself. Even if you didn’t have your soulmate by your side, at least you still had some connection to Kakashi. Being by his side was worth the dull ache it left in your heart.

But you would be without it for the next few days. Although you and Kurenai were leaving for no more than two days, Kakashi and Gai would probably be gone most of the week. Part of you hated when Kakashi was away, but part of you enjoyed getting to write to him more often. When he was away, you could be a little less secretive as you scribbled down messages throughout your day in the village.

But, for the time being, you’d focus on the mission at hand.

It was a standard case of bandits in the woods. At least, that was what the scroll had described the mission as. However, as you and Kurenai crept through the dense forest, something felt off.

No matter how far the two of you traveled, the quiet whisper of wind in the leaves greeted you. Despite your speed and silence, you couldn’t sense any animals or hear anything suspicious. Bandits would have left campsites or trash or, hell, even footsteps. But nothing greeted your senses, not even traces of animals. These weren’t ordinary bandits.

Your suspicions were confirmed when eight people jumped from the brush, attacking with a swiftness you hadn’t anticipated. Their presences had been completely concealed.

Kurenai lept to your left, and you lept to the right, sending three shuriken through the air to hit the nearest attacker. While your attack worked slightly, you immediately had to jump again, barely catching Kurenai rushing off through the trees.

This was the failsafe plan; if you got caught, you’d separate far enough that you couldn’t catch one another in the crossfire of your attacks.

But you were outmatched. Whoever these “bandits” were, they were extremely skilled in capturing and securing enemies. One moment, you were wielding a fire jutsu. The next moment, your vision had gone dark.

Capture wasn’t the only thing the bandits appeared to be skilled in. Upon waking, you’d been tied to a chair with restraints stronger than you could break. The room was dark, probably somewhere underground, and you realized you had no idea how long you’d been unconscious. Was Kurenai okay? Had she been captured, too? What did these people want with you?

None of that mattered, not when the first blow had landed across your exposed side. Whatever these people wanted, you wouldn’t give it. So, you took a deep breath, clenched your teeth, and shut out the world. Your village was valuable to you. The people there mattered to you. And you’d follow your training to the letter, or you’d die trying.

Whether it had been hours or days of torture, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that everything hurt, and your vision was starting to go blurry. Despite that, you hadn’t relented. No matter what they threw at your body, no matter what manipulation they tried to play with your mind, you wouldn’t budge.

At the end, at least you’d make the Village Hidden in the Leaves proud.

But there was something that was missing, something you wanted to do before you died, even if it was just selfish, even if it was just a foolish whispering of your heart. You wanted to be buried somewhere your friends could visit. You wanted everyone to know about your end, to know what had happened, to never worry that you were out there somewhere.

You wanted Kakashi to find peace in your death, not guilt.

So there was a secret you had to spill.

You slid the pen from your pocket, clicking it open as you stared at your arm. Slowly, you undid the bandages, greeted once again by blank skin. Swirling the pen across your forearm, you wrote the rough coordinates of your capture on your arm. It wasn’t exact, but hopefully it would be good enough. Then, you wrote the words “urgent note” on your fingertips and wrist, hoping that would encourage him to look. Below the coordinates, you wrote: Abducted by enemies. Not relenting to torture. Getting weak. Send help if possible. Or someone to collect my body. Look at leg later. —(Y/n).

Carefully, you rewrapped your arm, moving to roll your pant leg up. Your hands were shaking, and it was hard to hold the pen, but you had to write to him.

They said the end is coming, and I'm starting to believe them. It hurts a lot. So I'm writing to you. I know you didn't want to deal with the whole soulmate thing, but I couldn't stay away. You were just too wonderful to not stand beside. I'm sorry I didn't leave you be, didn't respect your wishes. But I wanted to be a part of your life. I'm being selfish by writing to you now, but you're the one person I've always been selfish with, so I'm not going to stop at the very end. Please don’t be upset with yourself if I don’t make it.

Your eyes were watering now, vision slightly blurry. Had they drugged you, too? Or was it just the injuries?

I just want you to remember that you’re loved. That I love you. That you deserve to be loved. Please don’t forget that when I’m gone.

Whatever else you wanted to write would not be written. Quietly, the pen clattered out of your hand, and your head slumped forward.

Time was up.

Your vision was blurry when your eyes finally blinked open. You were cold, but the ache in your muscles was a reassurance that you were very much alive. Alive and in a hospital, it seemed.

There was a crinkle beside your bed, and you looked up to see Kakashi thumbing through his book.

What had… You blinked, trying to recall exactly what had happened.

There was a mission… you’d been on a mission with Kurenai… right. Then… and then... you were abducted. Yes, you could remember that now. And Kakashi… you remember thinking about Kakashi. Gosh, everything was so damn hazy. You shifted, wincing as you tried to sit up.

“Hey!” His voice was cheerful, and you blinked up at him in surprise at the warmness in his tone. “Good to see you waking up!”

How had he known you were at the hospital? Had Kurenai… Wait, no. No. Hazily, you could recall writing coordinates on your wrist. They weren’t precise, so someone must have looked for you. You couldn’t remember being found. Everything after the last interrogation was too hazy… too confusing. But Kakashi had known… maybe Kakashi had looked for you.

“You made it in time?”

He hummed, closing his book with a thump. “Pakkun found you. Once I knew what to look for, I could rely on his nose.”

You nodded groggily, reaching up to rub your eyes. The ink was still on your wrist, visible due to your unwrapped arms. You’d forgotten about—

“Kakashi, I’m so sorry about the message.” You turned to look at him, eyes wide and embarrassed. “If I knew everything would’ve been fine, then I wouldn’t have—”

His hand rose, and you stopped, heart hammering in your throat. This was it. This would be the rejection.

“I’m glad I had the opportunity to save you.”

Of course. Because he wouldn’t leave a comrade behind; that wasn’t like him.

But that wasn’t the message you were referring to.

If he wasn’t going to bring up the love message, then you wouldn’t, either. “I’m grateful,” you murmured, looking down to finally see the treatment your body had undergone. There were marks everywhere, which meant Kakashi was marked everywhere, too. Marks on the soulmate that didn’t want you…

“I appreciate you waiting,” you forced yourself to say. Maybe he’d get the message and leave you alone.

Instead, he met your awkward sidestep with bluntness. “I figured we should talk.”

Your head felt like it was spinning, and you had the slightest sensation that you were going to be in the hospital for quite a while. It would be embarrassing to be rejected here; it would be embarrassing to cry in front of the nurses.

“Not now,” you croaked, hand scrabbling to grab the invisible cup of water at the bedside. Water, sake, medicine, heck, even the flower water beside you. Anything to push the lump out of your throat. Anything to avoid thinking about Kakashi’s rejection.

You were eyeing up the vase next to you as Kakashi stood, long legs moving to fill a glass by the sink. He handed it to you, assuring your fingers were pressed around the cup before he moved away.

You sent him a grateful half-smile before you swallowed the water like a shot, desperate to drown yourself in something other than your own awkwardness.

“Feel better?”

No, you really didn’t. Your head was still spinning, stomach still queasy. Whether it was from your injuries or Kakashi’s pointed stare, you weren’t sure. “I don’t want to talk about it today. Everything—” you coughed, trying to release the tightness in your throat. “Everything hurts.”

He nodded, humming low in his throat. “I’ll go get a nurse, then.”

You nodded shakily, debating whether or not you could escape from the hospital before he came back. The ache in your side told you moving probably wasn’t the best idea.

“But before I do, I have one question.”

Your head snapped to where he stood by the door, wincing as you did so. “Yes?”

“How did you find out it was me?”

You stared at him for a minute, searching his impassive face. He was one of the best shinobi this village had ever seen, and he was still impossibly clueless sometimes. Slowly, you rolled up your sleeve, revealing a roll of gauze. It was blue, unlike the starchy white medical gauze on your sides. You could fiddle with it; the fabric belonged to you. With nimble fingers, you untied it, letting it pool below your elbow on the bed.

Kakashi stared openly at the ANBU tattoo, and you watched the pieces click into place. He hadn’t even considered what a tattoo would be like for his soulmate.

“I see,” he whispered, fingers unconsciously twitching toward his covered arm. After a moment, he shook himself from his thoughts, gaze again becoming impassive. “I’ll go get the nurses.”

“Kakashi?” you called, shocked as the words left your lips. You hadn’t meant to call out for him, not yet, anyway. But he was standing there staring like you’d held up a practice dummy, focus radiating from him in waves. You had to say something. “Thank you. For saving me… and waiting. And thank Pakkun, too?”

Kakashi’s expression softened. “I will. Now, get some rest. You look exhausted.”

Though, rest was the last thing you would come close to receiving as the doctors gave you a full evaluation. Poking, prodding, and asking questions took up most of the afternoon. Although you tried your best to focus and take in all the information you were given about your physical state, your mind continually strayed to Kakashi. Did he hate you now? Did he want you out of his life? Was he waiting for you or just waiting to ask about the whole soulmates thing? You wished you could quiet the questions swirling through your mind.

That evening, you found a message scribbled across the back of your hand. Although his handwriting was still messy, it was obvious he took his time. He wanted it to be legible.

Get well soon, (Y/n).

It was the first time your soulmate had written your name on his skin. He knew you now. There was no going back to the secretive messages and hidden assurances. Everything was out in the open; Kakashi knew exactly who you were. He knew everything.

That night, you wept.

You wept for the injuries that would bar you from upcoming missions. You wept for the bitter sense of death that had grazed your fingertips. You wept for the compassionate message on your hand. You wept for the fear of being alone again.

You wept for Kakashi and all that he meant to you.

Between the crying and the medical evaluations the day prior, you slept well past the time you’d typically rise. Consequently, it was well past the opening of visiting hours, too.

Kakashi arrived before you woke up and tucked himself into a corner with a book. However, he read very little. Instead, he watched the gradual rise and fall of your chest, comforted by the knowledge that you were still breathing.

When “urgent note” had appeared on his fingers, his heart had nearly stopped in his chest. When he read the message printed on his wrist, the sinking sensation had only grown. Fear consumed him more than it had ever consumed him before.

His head had spun with the realization that you were in danger, that you were his soulmate. Summoning his ninkin had happened in a blur. If he was being honest with himself, everything was a blur up until the moment he found you. That moment would live on in crystal clarity in his memory forever.

There are some moments in life too horrific to forget. Finding you unconscious on the floor of a dingy bunker, pen by your side, chest barely moving, would be one of those moments for Kakashi.

The only thing more reassuring than watching you breathe was watching your eyes blink open slowly and focus in on him. He could tell you were nervous about talking to him, and he knew why. The message still hastily scribbled on both of your thighs was more than an acknowledgement of the soulmate bond. It was an admission that you loved him, an admission that you believed in him, that you wanted to stay by his side.

It was also an admission that you believed he didn’t want to stay by your side.

He really needed to talk to you.

“Good morning,” he hummed, tucking his book back in his vest. Smiling, he moved to sit on the chair beside you, feeling it was appropriate now that you were awake. This close, he could smell the antiseptic on your skin, the overbearing flowery scent of the hospital lotion, and the faintest whiff of your shampoo still clinging to your hair despite the days it had been since your last shower.

“G’morning,” you mumbled, stretching lazily. Kakashi watched your movements, chuckling at the way you arched like a happy rabbit after a nap. It was cute and endearing, a movement Kakashi had gotten used to witnessing over the years.

Shifting the other direction, you winced, body instinctively jerking back into a ball. “Ow,” you grumbled, hand moving to put a little pressure on your side. With some effort, you managed to shift into a sitting position, still moving gingerly to somewhat satiate your aching limbs. “I thought I’d feel better today, but I guess not.”

Kakashi snorted dryly. “That’s a bit ambitious, don’t you think?”

You stopped rubbing your shoulder to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

What did he mean? Hadn’t the doctors told you? Surely they would have mentioned… Were you playing dumb or did you really not know? Kakashi stared at you for a moment, scrutinizing your confused expression, before his eyes dropped. He let out a breath, then another, trying to hide the pain blossoming in his chest.

He’d almost lost you.

“You were dying,” he said lowly, gaze fixated on his gloves. “By the time we got you back, we really thought you weren’t…” he shook his head, expression dark. “The medics thought you were already gone.”

It took a moment for you to respond. The doctors said your recovery was astronomical, that you’d been close to death, but the way Kakashi described it, so somber and broken, made the reality of the situation hit home.

You’d almost died. You’d almost lost everything you held dear.

You’d almost lost him.

Glancing back to Kakashi, you found him still lost deep within his thoughts. His expression was dark, fist clenched over his thigh, over what was intended to be your last message to him.

Carefully, you reached out and bushed a hand over his clenched fist. The action drew his attention back to you. “It wasn’t your fault,” you gently offered, stroking the back of his hand once more before pulling away. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

He huffed, scooting backward in his chair. “I should have got to you sooner! Protected you! If I’d asked, you could have sent me updates. I could have prevented you from getting hurt—”

“Will you stop with the narcissism!” you chided, wincing as you swung your feet over the edge of the bed.

He met your gaze, lone eye blinking once in surprise.

“I took the mission. I accepted the consequences of it. I knew what an infiltration would be like. I knew the chances of getting ambushed. You didn’t endanger me, Kakashi. You weren’t even supposed to be on that mission.” Your voice faded, soft and overwhelmed. “But you saved me anyway.” You ran your thumb under your eyes, catching the tears before they had a chance to fall. “So claim that. Stop… I need you to stop only claiming your failures.”

He clenched his fist, unclenched it, and nodded once. For the first time in a long time, you couldn’t read Kakashi’s body language at all. What was he feeling?

Part of you wanted to reach out and comfort him, but you didn’t. He’d made space between you for a reason. And as upsetting as it was, you were willing to honor that.

After a few minutes of silence, you plucked one of the flowers from the vase beside your bed. “Did Kurenai bring me the flowers?” You smiled, brushing a finger against the petals. “She accidentally picked my favorites.”

When you looked back up, Kakashi was staring at you again, cheek barely pinking over the edge of his mask.

He could read erotic novels in public, but you made him blush.

“Actually, I brought them.”

Freezing, you stared at him in surprise. “You did? How did you—?”

He flushed again, eyes fixing on the flowers rather than your face. “You buy pots of those every spring, but they always die because you’re out on missions. And you take daisies to the memorial stone a few times a month. You leave iris for your parents, and you bring peonies and cookies for the ANBU guards when you have meetings with the Hokage. And on the second Sunday of every month you’re both in town, you hide 100 tulips around the village for Gai to find.” When his eyes snapped back to yours, your shocked expression made him grow self conscious, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve, uh, been paying attention.”

“Why?”

He gestured to the room, pretending to misinterpret your question. “It’s so dull in here. I thought a little decorating wouldn’t hurt.”

You snorted at that, impossibly undignified but oh so delightful.

Of course Kakashi would stall now that he was here.

But… no. He was usually blunt when it came to bad news. So why was he stumbling through the conversation like he’d never spoken to you a day in his life?

Your face shot back to him at the realization, and he arched a brow under your scrutiny. Could he like you? Could you have a chance?

“Everything okay?” he asked gently, tone much more serious than before.

You’d worried him.

Before you could respond, Gai burst into the room with the second largest bouquet you’d ever seen in your life.

“(Y/n)! I heard Kakashi was with you, so I figured I’d bring you some flowers on my way to challenge Kakashi to a shuriken throwing challenge!” He set the flowers—which balanced precariously due to their immense size—on your bedside table, giving you a dazzling smile and a thumbs up.

Kakashi sighed, “Well, Gai, I was just here talking to her—”

What if you had been interpreting Kakashi’s expressions all wrong? What if he didn’t like you? What if this was all his way of trying to stay friends? Although you hoped for something else, the fear of rejection clawed at your throat like a Shadow Strangle Jutsu. This was your chance. The chance to get out of Kakashi’s rejection. Gai was the perfect opportunity.

“You should go!” You chirped, smiling at them both.

“I… what?”

“That’s the spirit, (Y/n)! It would be a shame for Kakashi to waste his precious youth not enhancing his physical prowess!” Gai dropped to his hands, beginning to do push-ups on the floor of your room.

Ignoring the incredulous look Kakashi sent your way, you wriggled your fingers at his bag. “What volume are you on? I need something to entertain me while you lavish in your youth.”

Kakashi scoffed at your statement before fishing the Make Out Violence novel from his pouch. He dangled it in front of your face. “Is this what you’re after?”

You grinned, snatching the book from his hands. “This just so happens to be the volume I’ve been waiting for.”

Kakashi blinked in surprise, feeling his face grow warm again. “You read Make Out Paradise?”

You smiled sheepishly under his gaze, fingers tracing over the edge of the cover. “Really, it’s all your fault. It was so boring waiting in line to reserve that new edition for you. I needed something to do.”

Because that gift from his soulmate, that gift had been from you.

“And now you’re moving on to book two?”

Embarrassed but pleased, you grinned up at him. “I may have figured out why you’re so hooked on them.”

Kakashi laughed. Just a short huff, but still. Could you get any more perfect?

He was about to respond again when Gai grabbed his shoulder, already taking his ear off as he dragged Kakashi out the door.

You settled in with your—Kakashi’s— book, pleased for the reprieve but missing him all the same.

Delving into Make Out Violence was both a blessing and a curse. You lost track of time as you devoured the pages, and the story was so riveting that you barely thought about Kakashi. Though, every time you took a break, love—that sickening concept you didn’t even want to consider in reality—was at the forefront of your mind. So you dove into the novel again with renewed fervor, completely unaware that Kakashi had hopped through the open window. That is, until a warm voice interrupted your reading.

“Having fun?”

In surprise, you snapped the book shut, embarrassment washing over your expression. “A bit. How was the competition with Gai?”

Kakashi shrugged, dragging the chair he’d occupied that morning so he could sit directly beside your bed. “It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary for Gai.”

“Thanks for the book,” you murmured, passing it back to him. “Maybe I can borrow another one of your copies again sometime.”

He took the novel, setting it down on the bed beside you, only to take your hand in his.

His hands were warm even through the gloves, and his fingertips traced over your skin delicately, as though afraid his touch would somehow hinder your healing.

“(Y/n), we need to talk.”

Despite only holding your hand, he could sense the way your entire body went rigid. “Kakashi, please—”

“(Y/n). I almost lost my soulmate this week.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the faint stinging in your eyes. He was right, you were being selfish. It wasn’t like you were the only one who had a terrible, terrifying week.

You just didn’t want to lose whatever you had with him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you didn’t bother to mask the strain in your voice. He already knew how you felt about him. “We can be friends. Anything you want. I just… I don’t want to lose this. You. I don’t want to lose you. Even though I was being so selfish—”

“I read your message,” he said softly, gaze fixated on the bend of your wrist as your hand flexed in his own. “I’ve read it so many times,” he laughed, strained from holding onto unshed tears. “I’d get it branded on my body if I could. Parts of it, anyway.”

He shook his head, looking back to your face. He didn’t miss the shocked expression, nor did he miss the tears still frozen within your eyes. He shook his head again. “I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been, that it was you and you were here all along. And then you almost died and I…” He paused, gaze still tracing along the bend of your wrist.

“You..?” With bated breath, you watched his eyes, the pull of his lips through the mask, anything to give away what he was thinking.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not after how much you’ve grown to mean to me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Was he accepting you or rejecting you? Your breath shuddered over your lips, hand trying not to clench his too tightly. “What does that mean? For us?”

Kakashi leaned forward, pressing a masked kiss to your temple. “It means I want to take you for dinner when you get out of here. And—” he stood, letting go of your hand to walk toward the door. The sun was setting. Visiting hours were coming to a close. “Keep the book. I’d hate for you to be bored while I’m gone.”

With that, he vanished from your room, leaving you to wonder exactly what he wanted from you.

Tossing and turning that night, you couldn’t sleep, not with Kakashi’s words ricocheting through your mind. He cared about you, but he was putting distance between you. He was being aloof, just like the cautious jonin he was, but he was exposing vulnerable aspects of his soul to you.

Everything was so damn complicated, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep until you’d gotten an answer to the questions burning a hole in your tongue.

It took a few minutes to sit up, but clicking the pen against your wrist had become second nature to you after so many years. You just wanted to know what he was thinking.

Do you love me?

He scribbled a reply a few minutes later, and you wondered if maybe he was just as terrified as you were, if maybe he couldn’t sleep because he was thinking of you, too.

Not like you want me to, but I could. Someday soon.

The thought sent hope skittering through your chest, but you tamped it down. He hadn’t wanted you. He still probably didn’t want you. You were a liability. You were a danger to his way of life. You were—

Ink stained your hand, trickling down your arm, as you realized the pen had snapped under the strength of your palm.

Without a way to stand on your own, you stared at the drying ink, trying to think of anything other than the fear in your chest, the longing in your heart, the nervousness bubbling under the surface.

Kakashi was stuck to the wall beside your window a few minutes later, staring worriedly through the glass.

An ink stain. Of course, he’d worried something was wrong.

He’d been awake waiting for your reply.

He’d been awake because of you. For you. The thought made you dizzy.

Silently, he slipped through the window, crouching worriedly beside your bed. Whatever pretense of nonchalance he kept up during the day, he dropped it now, just for you. “Are you alright?”

You nodded once, stiffly, mind still racing with the situation. Your friendly banter from the morning disappeared, words dried up as your emotions increased tenfold.

A million thoughts rattled through your mind, but you finally settled on one. “You told Gai you couldn’t love me.”

He cocked his head, confusion furrowing his lone brow.

“You were… it was a training day. You were talking about soulmates. And you told Gai that you couldn’t love a soulmate, so it didn’t matter if you didn’t find them…”

Your eyes were watering, and you looked away until you felt the warmth of Kakashi’s fingers circling your own. His hand clung to yours with renewed fervor, though the interaction still held the same touch of softness that it always held when you were injured. Comfort. It has always been an attempt to comfort you, a silent word of compassion. But now that he knew you were his soulmate, would his gestures hold the same meaning?

His voice, coupled with a gentle tug on your hand, had you vanishing into his gaze yet again.

“Soulmates are supposed to be your other half, right?” he asked softly. “If you’re mine, then maybe the whole soulmate thing can work out.”

Even in the moonlight, you could see the blush peeking over the edge of his mask.

You’d stood beside him through thick and thin. You fussed. You took care of him. You let him take care of you. You bought books for him, and he watched your favorite movies with you. He took you out to your favorite restaurants, and you always paid for him. You trained with the strength of a hurricane, and you always kept him mentally and physically on his toes. But no matter what, you’d both been able to rely on one another. It wasn’t romantic love, not yet, but it was the closest thing Kakashi had ever experienced to romantic love. He was close to being in love with you, and the revelation of the soulmate bond had changed those feelings very little.

He’d always been on the precipice of falling in love with you. Now that he knew you and he were destined for one another, the proposition of falling didn’t seem all that terrible anymore.

“If it’s me, you think it’ll work?”

This time, he flushed fully, pinking to the edge of his hairline. “Yeah. You’re… you’re perfect for me.”

Then, it was your turn to grow bashful under his praise. Perfect. He thought this could work because you were perfect. Not perfect in general. Not perfect to him. But perfect for him, with all of your many imperfections.

He wasn’t in love with you. He wouldn’t say it yet. But he was falling, and that was impossible to ignore.

His words left you lost in another world. All this time, he was rejecting his soulmate for fear they wouldn’t truly be his other half. But you were his other half, and he could see that now. He could love you. He could see a future with you. He could—

Kakashi’s warm voice brought you back to the present, hand still gently squeezing your fingertips. “Did you hurt your hand?”

He cares.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, just a little ink.”

Kakashi stood, striding toward the other side of the room. He washed his hands under the sink before returning a moment later, damp rag in hand. This time, he sat on the edge of your bed, hand enveloping your own.

With slow, delicate movements, he swirled the rag across your skin, stealing the ink from your skin almost as effortlessly as he’d stolen your heart. If only you knew how easily you’d done the same.

“I was so scared you’d hate me when you found out,” you whispered. His hand tensed under your own, but he didn’t stop his ministrations. You continued, “Since I kept talking to you, both as your soulmate and myself, I was so worried you would feel betrayed.”

“I did,” he murmured quietly. “At first.” He flipped your hand, wiping away the stray trails of ink that had escaped from your palm. “When I got the message, I couldn’t believe that you’d… after all this time, it was you. And when we found you almost dead, I thought the world was punishing me again, just like everyone else…” Looking away, he began wiping the remaining ink spots off his hand, leaving your fingers to fiddle with the fabric on his knee. “But on the way back, all I could think about was the things I’d said to you. How could you trust me after I so blatantly pushed you away? How could you look me in the eye and put your faith in me when I hurt you so deeply? The fact that you’d tried to stay by my side after everything, the fact that you put your faith in me to keep you safe, after all the things I’d said to you… you never betrayed me. You’ve been by my side all this time, and I want to be by yours. Completely.”

You squeezed his knee, searching his face for any sign of illusion. “Is this real?” you whispered. “I want this to be real.”

Kakashi smiled, eyes crinkling as he took your hand. You looked dazed and happy as you stared at him; he’d never encountered anyone else so stunning.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward, brushing a masked kiss over your forehead, then your eyebrow, and finally your cheek. The pressure sent sparks across your skin, and you squeezed his hand a little bit tighter.

He hovered over your lips, breath ghosting across your skin through the durable material of his mask. You leaned forward, nudging his nose with your own. It was a silent message that you wanted his affection as much as he craved yours.

His breath puffed against your lips once again, and his voice, barely audible, filled the minuscule space between you. “Would you mind closing your eyes?”

Instantly, you complied, proving to him yet again how lucky he was to have met you. You put your faith in him time and time again, and he promised himself in that moment under the moonlight that he would do everything he could to be as compassionate a partner as you had been for him.

One of Kakashi’s hands released from yours, and you faintly heard the brush of fabric against skin. Your stomach fluttered as you felt his breath on your face again, warmer and closer than before.

And then his lips caught against yours, a gentle press against your tingling skin. His hand cupped your cheek, and you melted against him. The scratchy blankets and the faint hoot of owls faded into the background. Everything seemed to disappear except for you and Kakashi and the oh so delicate kiss between you. From the brush of his lips, so soft and tentative against your own, you sighed, leaning into him even more than before.

He groaned when the two of you pulled away. “I can’t believe I waited so long for that. Make Out Paradise really doesn’t do it justice.”

Make Out Paradise also hadn’t prepared him for the way his heart would race at the sound of your laughter.

“Are you sure?” you asked, reaching toward your bedside table. “Surely there’s a good passage in here somewhere.”

If it meant more time by your side, Kakashi was willing to spend an eternity searching the pages with you, stealing kisses for every paragraph you skimmed through.

In the morning, the nurses were alarmed and horrified to find Kakashi Hatake laying in your bed, one arm wrapped gently around your side, masked nose nuzzled into your neck. On the other side of you, his fingers brushed the cover of a well-worn Make Out Violence novel.

It was indecent, a break of protocol, and, most of all, a shameful mockery of their hospital security. But when you woke to find Kakashi’s nose tucking a little closer into your neck, a mumbled “good morning” slipping into your skin, neither of you could think of a more fitting way to wake up. For the two of you—soulmates, real soulmates—the scenario was somehow perfect.

He wasn’t one to care about looking indecent. You could certainly get behind that.

You welcomed sappy, romantic gestures. Kakashi was willing to privately oblige.

Yeah, you both thought, the soulmate thing could definitely work out.

Masterlist

A/N: Don't mind me casually fandom hopping again. This fic has taken ages to finish, but I'm so excited with the result! I have several more Kakashi fics currently underway, so I hope to get a few of them finished sometime soon! Have a nice day! :)

#kakashi hatake #kakashi x y/n #kakashi x you #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #hatake kakashi #hatake kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi x you #hatake kakashi imagine #kakashi hatake fanfiction #anbu kakashi #silent writes

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thedragonnerd · 3 years

Text

Fic: Love Languages

Headcanon suggested by a lovely anon, which spawned into a fic. Read on Ao3 or under the cut.

Words of affirmation

Receiving compliments or words of encouragement are not uncommon for Namaari. She has gone through life aiming to be the best at everything she does – the best leader, the best warrior, the best Princess – and along with her success come compliments on her fighting techniques, her decision-making skills, and even her ability to look formidable in her formal attire.

As royalty, people lavish her with praises when they see an opportunity to get into her good graces, despite the obvious lack of sincerity behind their words, and it tires her to deal with fawning citizens. She loves her people, but she’d rather they’d love her back truly; false words mean nothing.

Chief Virana does not give out compliments easily, and is often faster to critique than to encourage. Namaari pretends her mother’s approval is nothing more than something important to receive from her Chief, but in reality, she craves hearing soft words such as ‘well done, Morning Mist’, whenever she is lucky enough to have them bestowed upon her.

As she grows up, she decides that sweet words are nice to have, but ultimately unnecessary – nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement is needed, before one can place it aside and move on to more important things. And then Raya comes back into her life.

Raya, who can flirt endlessly with elaborate innuendos until Namaari rolls her eyes at her ridiculousness. Raya, who is quite happy to press herself closer than absolutely necessary in their sparring sessions, just to set out some unspoken physical challenge.

And yet, when it comes to providing a genuine compliment, Raya practically freezes.

‘I like…like your hair,’ she mumbles one day to Namaari, glancing off to the side in order to avoid making eye contact. Her cheeks are flushed bright red, even though earlier in the day she had made a lewd comment about a sword which didn’t even have her blinking.

For some reason, Raya’s lack of suaveness when it comes to providing true compliments delights Namaari, and she hoards each instance close to her heart, happy in the knowledge that every word spoken was genuine in its meaning.

In return, she starts to gift Raya with compliments of her own.

For Raya is not used to receiving compliments, at least not in a long time. Her Ba used to provide encouragement and compliments often, but that was many years ago, and now he hesitates to put them into words sometimes, unsure of how this new dynamic works when he’s looking at a grown-up daughter rather than a small child.

Namaari has no difficulty in sharing them though.

‘You look very beautiful today,’ she tells Raya softly one evening, when they are having dinner. Raya stammers out some incomprehensible response, and spends the rest of the meal staring down at her bowl, occasionally darting her eyes over to Namaari.

‘I love that hairstyle on you,’ Namaari says to her a few days later, watching as Raya braids her hair back with expert precision.

‘Umm…thanks?’ Raya squeaks.

‘Your techniques were excellent today,’ Namaari informs her after a sparring session. This time, Raya just nods, and clears her throat before trying to awkwardly change the subject. Namaari can still see the smile on her lips though.

Eventually, Raya becomes better at both giving and receiving words of affirmation. Namaari learns how true compliments can be more meaningful than expected.

It isn’t the most important aspect of their relationship, but they like to encourage each other all the same.

Acts of service

Raya sees how much of a burden Namaari perpetually takes onto her shoulders, in her duties for Fang. She is so focused on helping her people rebuild and expand, or going away on diplomatic missions to help form better relations with the other lands, that she forgets to take a moment to breath sometimes.

Raya wants to take some of her stress away, by helping her carry out some of her duties or at least be involved in organizing certain aspects of the expansion projects, but she discovers quickly that Namaari is somewhat of a perfectionist. It is almost more stressful for her to find herself out of the loop or uninformed about decisions, than it would be to allow her undertake the duties in the first place, and so Raya finds it more helpful to just back off from the work unless asked to provide support.

It’s also a way for Namaari to feel as if she is atoning for her past actions. Raya wishes she wouldn’t feel the need to do so, but it is something they’ve argued about before, and they always end up stuck in a perpetual loop.

One of the ways Raya can help however, is with her cooking.

Namaari is an awful cook (something Raya unfortunately discovers herself with one ill-fated meal), but she is fascinated by watching Raya conjure something up in the kitchen.

Gone are the days of living off jackfruit jerky; with so many fresh and interesting ingredients at her disposal, and with the occasional reminders from Ba when she is unsure about something, Raya makes a whole array of different foods over the months.

It’s one of the best ways of getting Namaari to relax, Raya finds. Every mealtime when Raya is behind the pot, Namaari will abandon whatever work she is doing, and will sit and watch Raya finish making the dishes. They’ll always eat it together, and for a short while, Raya can feel the stress lift free from Namaari as she laughs over Raya’s words and enjoys good food.

Gifts

The first gift Namaari ever gave Raya has almost become a symbol for their entire complicated history. It represents new friendship, betrayal, and after so many years…forgiveness and a fresh start.

Namaari gives it back to her not long after the return of Kumandra, before she can second-guess herself.

‘It was a gift,’ she says, half-expecting it to be thrown back in her face. But Raya runs her finger gently over the surface of the dragon pendant, and then sends her a small smile. The next day, Namaari sees it hanging around her neck once more.

Once they start dating properly, Namaari can’t get it out of her mind how much the gift seemed to mean to Raya, both times.

‘She still doesn’t have that many personal belongings,’ Namaari informs Sisu, as an explanation as to why she was forcing the dragon to accompany her around endless market stalls in Talon, looking for the perfect gift for Raya. ‘I figure it’s because she was on the move so much in life, she couldn’t carry a lot.’

Sisu makes an ‘mmm’ sound, clearly not buying her reasoning completely, but allows the topic to drop when she’s distracted by shiny objects at the next stall.

Namaari finds a small knife that can be strapped to a wrist and slipped up the sleeve. She knows how much Raya prefers to be carrying at least one weapon with her at all times, and this would be perfect for diplomatic meetings – subtle, and easy to hide. And indeed, Raya wears it continuously after receiving it as a gift.

On another visit to another market, this time in Spine, Namaari spies a comb with a beautifully carved handle.

‘For your hair,’ she says in an attempt to be casual, thrusting it awkwardly in Raya’s direction that evening. Raya loves it, and it is indeed used every night before bed to comb out her braids.

Every time Namaari has to travel on diplomatic missions, she now ensures that she brings back something small for Raya.

‘I love the gifts,’ Raya tells her one day. ‘But I love even more how it shows you’re thinking of me when you’re away.’

One evening, as they are getting ready for bed, a small golden ring drops out of Namaari’s pocket by mistake.

‘Is…is that my old hair band?’ Raya asks, peering over the side of the bed as Namaari scoops it up in a hurry. ‘I thought I’d lost that years ago.’

‘I found it,’ Namaari says defensively, clutching it tight in her fist. ‘I guess…I never asked you if you wanted it back?’

Raya shakes her head with a smile, but the following evening, she steps up behind Namaari, sliding her hand into her pocket. Namaari watches as she pulls out the hair band and threads it onto a small gold chain.

From then on, they both wear a gift from the other around their necks.

Physical touch

Sometimes, everything can become overwhelming, the past traumas so great that it seems suffocating. And in that darkness, sometimes the gentle touch of another is the only thing keeping the world grounded.

Raya goes six long years without receiving a hug. At the time, she doesn’t see it as a big deal – she’s grown up fast, and learnt that the world isn’t the welcoming place her father once hoped it could be. Even moreso, her Ba was the last one to hug her, and she doesn’t mind keeping it that way.

Now though, she finds comfort in the small touches. It’s in the featherlight way Namaari’s nose brushes against her neck as they curl up together in bed, waiting for the morning sun to rise. It’s in the gentle trail of Namaari’s fingers across her back, as they stand talking to others, and Namaari absentmindedly reaches out for her. It’s in the soft kiss against her temple, when Namaari has to go back to work after lunch.

Occasionally, she will need to be encompassed by that comfort, and in this moment, she will go and find Namaari, stepping closer until her forehead rests on her shoulder. No matter what she was previously doing, Namaari will pause everything, wrapping her arms tightly around Raya, and they stand there until Raya can feel as if she can breathe again.

Namaari has a habit of falling too far into her own mind sometimes. She is an outwardly composed and pragmatic individual, but internally, all sorts of doubts and guilt still plague her, and there are days where she can’t shake off the feeling that she isn’t doing enough in her life to atone for her past, or that she is a fraud who has no right in stepping up and trying to lead her people when her previous actions cost them so much.

It’s difficult for her to ask for help in these moments. Raya learns instead to notice the signs of a bad day, or whenever Namaari gets trapped into a downwards spiral, and she will take Namaari by the hands and sit them somewhere quiet.

There they can actually talk, and sometimes Namaari feels comfortable enough to share her fears. But the most important thing, Raya finds, is to slide an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight and peppering her cheek and bare shoulder with small kisses.

Raya refuses to let her go until she sees at least one small smile.

Quality time

In the early days of the relationship, there is still so much separation between the two of them. Raya is in Heart, helping her Ba welcome back everyone to their lands, fixing up the buildings, ensuring the harvest gets started…There are so many jobs to do, and Raya knows Namaari is undergoing the same issues back in Fang, coupled with an expansion of their kingdom.

On top of all of this, there are endless council meetings and diplomatic missions, so if it isn’t Namaari being busy with politics, it is Raya, much to her annoyance.

Whenever they do get to spend time together, they ensure no minute is wasted. They have meals together, and spar together, and find all sorts of random ways to entertain themselves. Namaari loves to go out in the evenings and watch the night sky, attempting to teach the constellations to Raya; but Raya decides that these constellations are ridiculous, and so they create their own. Raya meanwhile loves to go for hikes in the woods, dragging Namaari along to discover new plants and wildlife, and occasionally climbing the trees.

They both love to sit in bed next to each other, quietly reading their books, or discussing their day. Sometimes, Raya will lie sideways on the bed, her stomach across Namaari’s legs and her arms hanging over the edge, so she can carve pieces of wood into intricate shapes, with Namaari reads out loud for the both of them.

Even after several years, and living together permanently, Raya finds herself reflecting on the fact that she never gets bored as long as she’s with Namaari.

They are currently lying in a field somewhere in the depths of Heart land, enjoying the sun shining onto their faces and the grass tickling their skin. She lazily wiggles her hand until it makes contact with Namaari.

‘Dep la?’ Raya whispers, and Namaari grunts in response. ‘You don’t get bored with me, right?’

Namaari merely shuffles closer without even opening an eye, resting her cheek against Raya’s shoulder.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she mumbles, and she’s curled up so close that Raya can feel the vibrations of her voice on her skin.

‘Didn’t think so,’ Raya says in satisfaction. They continue to enjoy the peace.

#rayaari #raya and the last dragon #raya and namaari #ratld #raya #namaari #rayaari fic #rayamaari #this was supposed to be a headcanon #but it all was just like 'hello must get out of the brain'#some fluff to keep you guys happy #while i work on the concept au angst

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rainbowvamp · 3 years

Text

This is True Love

Hello friends!

Chapter 3 of the Princess Bride AU (Affectionately named "Rolling Unexpectedly Downhill to Find Your True Love Again" on AO3) is live. I'll put the whole chapter below the cut.

WARNINGS FOR: brief mention of not wanting to be alive/killing one self from grief.

Relationship: Morgana/Lancelot (Finally!) (Also! Big thanks to @merlintheselkie for being my romance checker/beta reader for this section. You were so excellent 💗)

For the protagonist general prompt for Albion Party 2021

This is about 5.8k. I'm trying to not make the chapters much longer than 5k, but I'm not always succeeding. Expect an update every day this week. 💗

---

The Lady Morgana is a lady mostly in title. Of course, she is beautiful, one of the most beautiful women in the five kingdoms, but that was the end of her ladylike behavior. Her mother blamed her father’s instance that she grow up on a farm, like he had, rather than in one of his nicer houses, or even the manor house she would eventually be entitled to.

Morgana loved living on the farm. It was obvious in the way her face lit up every time she returned after a trip to visit her cousins, or returned from the winter spent lodging somewhere warm and ornate. She embraced the farm life, though she could never be bothered to do any chores. Mostly she spent her time riding, or sitting among the fields, making notes to herself on parchment she’d stolen from her father.

Morgana could also often be found in the stables, speaking softly to her horse, grooming her, and generally making a nuisance of herself with the stable boy, just because she could.

When Lancelot had first come to the Gorlois’ property, to work as a farm hand and do odd jobs, Morgana had treated him much the same way as she has the stable boy. It seemed to give her a certain amount of joy to order him to do something ridiculous or useless and see it done quickly and without fussing. And always, she refused to use his name.

“Farm boy, I need my horse saddled first thing tomorrow morning. See that it’s done. I want to ride out at dawn.”

“Farm boy, make sure my horse has the best hay in the stable. I’ll be gone for a few days and I don’t want him to be neglected. Give him an apple each day, and tell him it’s from me.”

“Farm boy, fill these buckets with water.” Morgana didn’t even look up from where she’ stroking her horse’s mane to give him the order. He smiled a bit to himself, because he thinks that maybe she has learned the sound of his footsteps, much as he had learned hers.

This is the first time he says it. The phrase that will seal their fate. “As you wish.”

Morgana, daughter of Gorlois, is hardly an unwanted woman. Every day a dozen gazes must set upon her with lust and desire. Lancelot had promised himself he would never be among their number. She grew so obviously frustrated at such attentions, and Lancelot had no desire to upset her, even when they had just met and he’d known nothing about her. In her softly died peasant dresses and her singley braided hair, Morgana’s beauty could still put any lady to shame, and she knew it. Everyone knew it. Lancelot cared nothing for it.

To see Morgana smile at the children of the farm workers who occasionally bowled through the stables, and how she always snuck them treats when she knew they were coming. To see how Morgana loved her horse, not as a tool to take her places, but as an animal, a friend. To see the way her eyes glazed while she daydreamed. These things were enough for him.

He doesn’t know what changed, or when it changed, but one day, Morgana hands him a basket of apples, perfectly ripe, and tells him to sort through them and separate the bad ones. He only nods and tells her “as you wish.”

He’s said it hundreds of times by now, he’s sure, but something about the way her eyes linger on him tells him that something is different now.

“Good…” She says in return, quiet, a little flustered as she turns away.

And he knows that she knows now. Knows that he cares for her. He worries only momentarily for his job, and then worries about Morgana. This had been what he was trying to avoid. His intentions had always been to spare her his affections. And yet, here he was, drowning her in them.

He sorted through the apples and brought the basket back to her, a small sack of bruised ones sitting on top.

“My Lady,” He said quietly, pulling her from whatever daydream she’d been having while she brushed her horse. Morgana was prone to daydreams, but this was just another thing that Lancelot found endearing, another reason to love her.

“Farm boy.” She startles a bit, but he had been careful to stay far enough back that his presence wasn’t threatening. It takes her a moment to see why he’s come, to focus on the basket of apples in his hands. Her words are slow, like she isn’t sure of them, and Lancelot feels terrible. “Thank you.”

He only nods and goes to leave, but she stops him, another order on her tongue. “Farm boy, polish my horse’s saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.”

Lancelot catches her gaze, smiles softly, “As you wish.”

She was testing something, and he knew that. By the set of her shoulders, and the uncertainty in her tone. Whether she was testing him or her own theory of him, he wasn’t sure, but it was a test. He couldn’t tell if he had passed or not, but he hoped whatever she found, it wasn’t overly lacking.

It continued like that, for days, then weeks, until winter came and Morgana was packing her things to go to her father’s winter home, far warmer and with more fireplaces than the farm they usually live on.

Lancelot is chopping wood when he hears her coming, the sound and weight of her footsteps alerting him, even before she speaks.

“Farm boy.” She says, and Lancelot turns from his work to look at her. She’s stiff, holding herself in a way that is too tall, like she’s uncomfortable and making up for it. Her hair is done up in braids and ribbons her mother was likely thrilled by, and her dress is beautiful, a deep blue made for riding in a carriage, rather than atop a horse. Lancelot will be sad to see her go. “My father needs a stable servant for the winter. The one in the winter house has just had a baby, and his wife has taken ill. Pack whatever belongings you have. We’ll leave at noon.”

Lancelot thinks of the duties on the farm that will be left undone, of the perfectly good stable hand that will be out of a job without horses here to care for. He thinks of the friends he won’t have time to say goodbye to, and the graves he won’t be able to visit on the anniversary of their deaths.

“As you wish.” Is all he says to her, and he bows slightly, accepting his new responsibilities.

When he looks back up, a piece of hair has fallen into his face, but it doesn’t obscure her entirely from his view. Her soft lips are parted in awe, and he doesn’t want to hope, but he thinks that maybe there is something more between them now, than there was before.

Morgana closes her mouth as if remembering herself. “Good. You’ll ride my horse. I don’t trust anyone else with her.”

“As you wish.” The words are reverent now, more so than they ever have been, and he think he sees it in her eyes, the return of the affect he’s carried for her for almost as long as he’s known her.

I love you he says between breathes to her.

I might love you to she whispers back wordlessly in the silence shared between them.

—

The Winter is a harsh one, even in the south. The servant quarters is poorly warmed, but Lancelot never complains. What good would it do, really? He stokes his small fireplace well for the night, drags his bed nearer to it, and waits out the long Winter, almost never seeing Morgana, who is locked up in the house most days for fear of the chill. Morgana is not delicate, but she is Gorlois’ only daughter, and the man will take no chances.

There is finally a mild day, where the frost is not so bad, when Morgana can come and see her horse. It is truly happenstance that Lancelot is there, tending to and feeding them when she arrives. He smiles at her, nods his greeting, and goes back to his work. Morgana grooms her horse herself, despite the fact that Lancelot had brushed her first that morning. He tries not to listen in on the conversation she has with the animal, but the stable is not overly large and the wind is low today, and it doesn’t drown her voice out like it might have on another day.

“Is that farm boy taking good care of you, my sweet? I picked him especially, you know. If he’s not I’ll set him out into the cold.” There is a lilt to her tone, and Lancelot smiles to himself. She’s teasing him, and it feels good. There’s no cruelty in her words. She knows that he is doing a good job. He always does.

For a while only the sound of the brushes they are using fills the stable, until Morgana’s brush pauses and Lancelot looks up at her, curious.

“Farm boy, fetch me that comb. Please?” She points to a comb just above her, perfectly within her reach, especially if she used one of the stools, but Lancelot doesn’t question it. He just puts his own brush down and goes to grab the comb, having to stand quite close to her to reach it, but she doesn’t move away. He takes it down and hands it to her, her eyes never leaving him all the while.

“As you wish.” He says it softly, quiet like a promise made in the cover of darkness.

“Thank you.” Her voice is breathy, and Lancelot can’t stop the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. He goes back to brushing the horses without another word.

—

Morgana makes more excuses in harsher weather to come down to the stables and see him. Lancelot spends an inordinate amount of times in the stables, trying to keep the horses entertained. He feels bad that most days they can’t go out, and that the stables are so boring inside. He comes just to talk to them, and sometimes walk them slowly around the stable, just to give them some exercise.

It’s during one of these very circular walks that Morgana comes to see him.

“You’re good with them.” She says, taking a seat on a stool by the door while he stables the horse to keep from crowding her. She is wearing the same dress she’s worn to the stables for the last couple of weeks. It’s older, he knows, remembers it from years ago, and the hem is starting to wear. She probably wasn’t allowed to bring any of her normal, less formal clothes along for the winter, and so Morgana was making do.

“I’ve never cared much for riding, but I took care of my parents animals when I was a boy. It’s not much different.” Lancelot has never said so many words to her all at once, but they have been speaking more, carrying on these small conversations while Morgana put off tending to her horse. It feels nice to have someone to talk to. The servants quarters is lonely, just him and a maid who can’t be bothered with him.

“You never talk about them. Your family. What are they like?”

Lancelot smiled wanly at the memory. “My mother was very kind, giving. She was a medicine woman. She and my father took care of most of the ailments in our village. When Camelot outlawed magic, someone turned them in, and they were arrested.” Usually Lancelot wouldn’t say something like this, but Morgana wears servants clothes and smiles at horses and small children. He thinks maybe she’ll be sympathetic.

“I’m so sorry. How old were you?” Her eyes are soft when she asks him this.

“Fifteen.”

He can see the wheels turning in Morgana’s head, her eyes cast upward while she does the math in her head. “That would’ve been just before you came to work for us.”

Lancelot nodded. “The King gave our land back to the Lord who owned it, kicked me and my sister off. My sister got married, I got a job.”

“That’s awful.”

Lancelot shrugged. “She loves him. They’re very happy. I see them sometimes. She has a very sweet baby. A year old this week.”

Morgana shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers clasping and unclasping while she searches for words. “I’m sorry to have taken you from them.”

“They would’ve understood.”

“You didn’t even have time to say goodbye.” Morgana realizes, and Lancelot doesn’t respond. Can’t think of a way to that doesn’t in some way hurt her.

“I’m sorry.” She says after a long time. “I won’t ever do this to you again. Take your choice, that is.”

“I had a choice. I could’ve chosen to stay, get another job. I usually have to find other work in the winter anyway.”

“Why did you come?”

Lancelot looks over his shoulder at her, putting all the sincerity he could muster into his next words. “You asked me to.”

She doesn’t speak again, and Lancelot moves to groom another horse, one of the carriage horses that is made to ride and gets antsier than most. He coaxes it to settle, and eventually Morgana gets up. He thinks that she is going to groom her own horse now, or maybe even go back up to the main house, but instead of that, he hears her footsteps approach him. He doesn’t look at her because he doesn’t know how. So much of the time he’s been in the service of her father has been spent trying to give her peace and privacy. It feels strange to do anything else.

“You always do that.” She said, as she touched the horses mane, trailing her hand down it’s side so that she could walk around to the other side of it and stand across from Lancelot. “When I’m around, you just don’t look at me. I used to think it was because you were afraid of me.”

Lancelot glances away from his brushing to look at Morgana, who is smiling at him.

“I figured you had enough people looking at you. I thought you might prefer I didn’t.”

Morgana picks up a comb and gently runs it through the horse’s mane, working out the few knots that have formed since Lancelot cared for it yesterday. “I used to make a game of it, trying to get you to look at me. Work you up like I always did Will. He was easy, but you… you just wouldn’t be moved. I could have asked you to dig a ten foot hole just to amuse me and you would have without complaint, I was sure of it.” Her voice is soft and teasing and Lancelot smiles at the memory of it.

“You did sometimes try my patience. Thank you, for never making me dig a ten foot hole.” He smiled, exposing teeth for the first time and Morgana laughed. The sound of it was soft, like a music box his mother had. It was a beautiful sound that sat in his chest, warm and beloved even after only hearing it once.

“I don’t consider myself to be cruel. Just demanding.” She focused back on her work, a teasing grin still on her lips. “That thing you always say. Do you say it to anyone else?”

Lancelot raised a questioning eyebrow that Morgana didn’t need to look at to see. She swallows down her fear and repeats herself. “Do you tell all the lovely ladies ‘as you wish?’”

Lancelot grins wider. “No. Just you.”

“Don’t look so full of yourself. Ego is unbecoming.”

“Fortunately, I’m a servant, and my becomingness is of little consequence.”

She laughs again and Lancelot tries to memorize the sound of it. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he can never have her, but he does love Morgana, and he never wants to forget any piece of her. Especially not these.

“Yes.” Morgana’s face falls a bit, and he wonders if she is thinking the same thing he is. That a servant and a lady have no chance in heaven or hell. That station will always keep them apart, even if Lancelot had the money to marry.

They are quiet again, Morgana puts a little plait into the horse’s mane that Lancelot will have to be careful of next time he brushes her. Lancelot removes the dirt from the horses shoe and gives his neck a loving pat before moving to the next stable. Morgana stays.

He grooms the next horse almost entirely before she speaks again.

“How long have you loved me?” Morgana asks from the stable over, and Lancelot takes his time contemplating this question as he changes the hay in the stable and fills the trough with fresh feed.

“Do you remember the little girl who got lost in the fields? We looked all day for her, and you were right beside us, calling just as loudly as anyone. And when you finally found her she was a crying, shaking mess, and you promised her that she could stay with you until her mother came. You kept your promise, never left her side, even took her to the main house with you, even though she was just the daughter of a servant. We all knew your mother hated that, but you wouldn’t be moved. I knew then that I loved you.”

Morgana laughed, but it doesn’t sound happy. There is a note of bitterness in it that makes Lancelot’s heart ache.

“Most boys say they fell in love with my eyes.”

“You do have beautiful eyes.” Lancelot concedes, and Morgana scoffs. This sound is also a contradiction, just a hint of amusement in the otherwise dismissive sound.

“They don’t know anything about me. Mother would see me married off to a Lord’s son I barely knew who wanted me to just act like a Lady. Run his house, do needlepoint in the evenings. I want none of those things.” Her tone is harsh, angry. He has never heard her truly angry, and he wishes there was something, anything he could do to comfort her. Nothing he could say or do would be appropriate, so he just gives her space to vent.

“I’ll be eighteen in the spring. Mother wants to have a party to show me off to all the eligible men in the kingdom. I’ve been putting it off for years, but I think she might finally get her way this time. I’ve run out of excuses.”

When Lancelot looks up, Morgana is standing at the door to the stable, eyes downcast and gloved hands wringing anxiously at her chest.

He doesn’t know what can say that might comfort her, so he musters up a wish for her. “I’m sorry. I hope they are better than you expect.”

Her jaw twitches, clenching her teeth. “That’s the problem. I’ve already found someone better than I expected him to be. I don’t think that miracle happens twice.” Her gaze, when it finally falls on him again, is wet and glassy. His chest aches and he can’t stop himself from moving forward, taking her hands in his.

“For you, anything is possible.” He makes her a promise that isn’t his to give, but he wills it to be true. Wills her to find someone who will love her, or at the very least be good to her, if he can’t have her.

“Don’t say anything.” A tear strays down her cheek, and he shakes his head while he pushes it back.

“I believe it, Morgana. Anything if possible for you.”

She blinks and two more tears fall down her cheeks, flushed with either cold or sadness. “I want it to be you.”

He can deny her nothing, so when she closes her eyes and leans toward him, he doesn’t even think to tell her no, or make excuses about their stations.

He kisses her, soft and chaste. The cold of the stables can’t touch them here.

“You said anything.” She reminds him when he pulls away. He is in far too deep, and he knows it, but he just nods his head.

“Anything.”

“Marry me. Be mine. I’ll deny my father and we can run away together. We can live on a farm and have animals again, and be free from all of this nobility and pomp.”

Lancelot smiled wanly, kissing her gloved hands. “I have no money for land, or marriage.”

“I don’t care. I don’t need money. Just run away with me.” She clutches his hands in hers, and he cannot deny her anything.

“I’ll go to sea.” He said, shushing her when she started to cut him off. “As soon as the weather lifts. I’ll sail through spring and be back by summer’s end. My sister’s husband is a merchant. He’ll gladly hire me to a crew. When I come back, I’ll have enough. If I have to starve and work through every night the entire time, I will have enough to take you away.”

Morgana’s tearful smile is all the reassurance that he needs. When she releases his hands, it’s only to take his shirt in them and nearly pull him over the half door into a second kiss. This one far more intense than the first. He can deny her nothing, and he kisses back with just as much fervor. When they pull apart her cheeks are wet and truly flushed, her lips swollen. He runs his thumb lightly over that pink flesh and Morgana leans her head into his hand.

“Summers end, we’ll run away?” She asks, needing him to say it again, and he does.

“Summers end. It won’t be an easy life, Morgana. I hope you know that.” He would give her as much as he could, but peasants tend to stay peasants.

“I don’t care. I only want to stay with you.”

He believes her.

—

They steal kisses, but nothing more, through the winter. Lancelot thinks her father suspects their dalliance, when one knight he comes down to the stables as Lancelot is locking up and reminds Lancelot that his job is easy to fill. When Morgana hears of this, she pretends that it’s an affront to her honor that her father even suggest such a thing, let alone confront Lancelot about it, but her solo visits to the stable stop after that. She drags the maid along now, as a supervisor, to prove that nothing untoward is happening. The maid is easily distracted and sometimes even falls asleep, so Morgana still gets to steal an occasional kiss.

When the weather turns warmer, not warm, just warmer, and plans start being made to move Gorlois’ family back north, Lancelot packs his things and tells them that he will not joining them. Morgana and Lancelot don’t even look at each other as he leaves, having said their goodbyes the night before while the maid took a nap on a clean blanket.

Lancelot can’t read well, and he certainly can’t write, so he has his sister’s husband pen a letter to the stablehand at Gorlois’ farm, with instructions to hand the letter off to Morgana when she comes back. In the letter are the name of Lancelot’s ship, as well as his departure date. He tells her again how much he loves her, and begs her not to forget him.

Remember this, no matter how much you worry and despair. This is true love, and nothing can stop it. I will always come for you.

Morgana reads the words over and over again, memorizes them until she can read them off the backs of her eyelids. She knows that he is right, that what they have is true love, dearest, truest love, and she will wait for him to return to her a thousand years if she must, even if she only gets a single day with him.

Inside the letter there is a small ring, his mothers ring, that she wears on a string around her neck, tucked beneath her dress to hide it, and her intentions, from her mother and father.

She wants Lancelot to be the one to put it on her finger for the first time.

She writes back and tells him exactly that, tells him how she loves him, and how she will wait for him, even if she has to convince her mother she’s gone insane and get locked up in a tower until his return. Even if she has to run away.

He doesn’t receive this letter because by the time it arrives his ship has already left the harbor, but her future sister in law saves it for him.

He never receives the letter.

Spring is in full bloom when she gets word that Lancelot’s ship has been taken by the Dread Pirate Roberts. Suddenly the small flower garden she’d been tending for the last several years is unattended, and the plants wilt and die. She has to be pulled from her bed and forced to eat. She doesn’t say why she is so distraught, but soon enough Gorlois gets word. Their farm hand that had become so close to his daughter, had been on a ship attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts.

The Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners. The man was certainly dead.

It hurts Gorlois to see his daughter so despondent, but in the end he’s grateful. A few months of moping and maybe she’ll get over it, move on, and find a suitable husband. She’s well into her marrying age, and he doesn’t want to force her hand, but if she gets much older, he’ll have to.

One morning, Morgana comes down to the table, dressed in peasant clothes, hair still lose behind her, wearing a band on her left ring finger.

Gorlois is the only one who notices, and he chooses not to alert his wife. She’s been less than forgiving about Morgana’s mood, and the presence of a ring probably belonging to a commoner would not help the tense situation between them.

Morgana sits down to breakfast with them, and Gorlois tries to make small talk, asks her about how she’ll replant her garden, whether she’ll take her horse out soon, if she has any friends she’d like to visit.

And his daughter only nods, like she’s not really listening, while her mother grows more and more exasperated.

“Your father is speaking to you, Morgana.”

Her eyes are blank when she looks up at her mother, almost like she’s not really seeing her.

“I know.”

Her mother throws her napkin down and excuses herself from the table before she says something unkind to her grieving daughter. She does not notice the ring.

—-

The ring that had been settled comfortable beneath her dress for months was the only thing that kept her going, through the long months she mourned for Lancelot. His mother’s ring. The only proof she had that he’d really intended to marry her. Sometimes she would pull the chain out from under her bodice and just spin the ring, round and round between her fingers for hours, thinking of the man who gave it to her, and her love for him.

She thinks maybe she would rather be dead than live her life without him. She also thinks Lancelot would be very unhappy if he knew that she killed herself. He can’t know that she killed herself, of course, he’s dead. But still. The thought keeps the kitchen knives firmly in their drawers.

She had promised herself once, that the ring Lancelot had given her would only be put on her finger by Lancelot. That seemed impossible now, so, as she sat cross-legged on her bed, still in her night dress, she decided she’d do it herself.

As she slipped the ring on her finger she promised herself, and her memory of Lancelot, that she would never love again. That she would run away and die a spinster on a farm somewhere before she let herself be married, so help her all the gods.

The ring, miraculously, fit just perfectly on her finger. It was a simple thing. A thick, dull band inlaid with a single stone that certainly wasn’t very precious, but it was beautiful because Lancelot had given it to her.

The first day she wears it down to breakfast, her mother doesn’t notice it, too wrapped up in chastising her every breath, but her father does. She sees his eyes flicker to it over and over again. Fine, let him know. By now the servants had probably already talked all the rumors to death and everyone probably knew. Poor little Lady Morgana, in love with a man sent to sea to die. Let them see. Let them talk. She didn’t care about what they had to say.

Only, new rumors emerge in the place of anything with substance. She hears the maids talk as summer winds down and her mother plans the presentation of her daughter, like meat to a market. Hears how they say a woman that distraught could never bear an heir. How a woman who wears another man’s ring is unsuited for marriage. How a woman who would love below her station was no better than a man who would love above his.

But Morgana doesn’t care. Not for their idle gossip, or the terrible slander they do against her name. She plants a vegetable garden, instead of a flower garden, and learns quickly that vegetables are at once more hardy and less forgiving than her flowers were. She listens in on conversations the farmhands have about how to run a farm, and sneaks looks at her father’s books to start to understand what sort of money is required to keep a farm going. She makes plans to leave and create a homestead for herself, and starts stealing money, a coin here, a coin there, from her father’s coffers.

He will eventually miss them, but she intends to set off as soon as Winter is done, a year after Lancelot left her, consequences be damned.

Winter was still half a year off and in the meantime, her mother is making her sit for another fitting for the same ridiculous blue ballgown that she’s been fitted for three times already.

“Hold still, and stand up straight, Morgana. That boning is delicate, and we’ll never fix it in time if you break it with all your hunching.”

“I’ve been standing for hours, mother.” Morgana defends herself, but her mother would likely call it whining.

“That is the best way to make sure everything is correct. The King and the Crown Prince are going to be here, and you will look perfect.” This was not a reassurance, but a command.

Vivienne, her mother, was a beautiful woman, with the same grey eyes as Morgana, though her hair was a golden color that many women envied. Morgana could hardly be blamed for no longer being enthusiastic about this dress after standing for hours in these terrible soft slipper atop a pedestal not made for hours upon hours of standing. Her toes even ached.

“It won’t be much longer now dear.” The tailor smiled up at her, and Morgana tried to return it. She knew the woman was just doing her best. It was mother who was to blame for this.

“See, not much longer, now chin up, shoulders back. You’ve never done a day’s work in your life, so stop arching your back like you’ve broken it.”

Morgana tuned out her mother’s insults, twisting the ring idly on her left hand. It was the only thing that ever gave her comfort in moments like these, where her mother was so obviously setting her up for a doomed life.

Morgana liked how the metal of the ring Lancelot had given her was always warmed by her skin, even during the chilled spring nights. She’d been afraid that quality might be lost once she started wearing it on her finger, instead of around her neck, but it hadn’t. The dull metal still retained heat like no other she had touched before.

Her absentminded playing catches her mothers eyes, and she scowls at the ring, not for the first time. Vivienne is no idiot, despite what some might think. She knows that the ring belonged to the stable boy, and that Morgana had taken to wearing it after the news of his death had come back from the ports, but she had let the behavior slide. Vivienne knew all too well what it meant to mourn a lost love, and she wouldn’t begrudge her daughter’s grieving, but she also wouldn’t let it ruin her prospects of finding a good husband and making a good life for herself.

“You can’t wear that to the presentation.” Vivienne’s tone is final, but Morgana doesn’t quite understand yet. Her mind had been elsewhere, remembering stolen kisses in cold stables, and promises made.

“What?” Morgana asked, still spinning her ring.

“You can’t wear that,” she points accusingly at her left hand “to the presentation. It will give people the wrong idea. You aren’t promised to anyone, and you can’t wear that ring.”

Morgana’s face becomes hard in a way that reminds Vivienne so much of Gorlois. “I will submit myself to your dress up games and let myself be paraded around in front of every single man in the kingdom like a prized mare, but I will not marry any one of them, mother. You can throw the crown prince himself at me, and I will want nothing from him.”

“You,” Vivienne wags a finger at her, standing close, but still beneath her because of Morgana’s place on the tailor’s stool. “Are a silly girl who doesn’t know what’s good for her. And if I say you won’t wear the ring, you won’t, if I have to pry it off your finger and throw it in the fire myself.”

“You wouldn’t.” Morgana’s throat is tight, uncertain of her own conviction.

“I would.” Vivienne’s eyes never waver, and Morgana meets her gaze without flinching, but she knows that face. This is the same face her mother used to get when Morgana didn’t eat her vegetables, or tried to refuse to sit with her tutor. She isn’t going to get around her mother’s rule.

“I will never marry.” Morgana tilts her head higher, looking down her nose at her own mother, who’s jaw is tight and forehead wrinkling with the anger kept held inside.

“That is not your decision to make.”

Vivienne leaves the room, then, before she says something she will regret, and Morgana stares after her, tears pricking at her eyes.

The tailor finishes her work and then helps her out of her party dress without a word. When the maid comes in to help her dress, Morgana still feels numb. She can love, will love, only one man, and it will always be Lancelot.

#tw suicide mention #albionparty21 #noblepriestess #bbc merlin #morgana pendragon #lancelot #pbau #lysa’s pbau #pbau proper #pbau au proper

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kiame-sama · 5 years

Text

🍋Heat- Sesshomaru x Reader Part 2 Lemon

Due to a landslide of requests for this, I had decided to give the people what they want.

Now, as per usual, this is a lemon which means there is mature content within the story. If you are unable to handle such content, do not read. For those who are able to, please, enjoy the lemony goodness.

Warnings; Rough lemon. I think that's it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was finally peace in the large home you now lived in. Sesshomaru had you live in the large home of the Dog demons of the West, as you were his mate. You had been well acquainted with his mother who happily welcomed the idea of pups running around and your position in the clan is quite clear. You are the only mate that Sesshomaru has kept which means you will be the female head of the clan and you are to bear Sesshomaru's pups and care for them throughout the duration of your life.

It wasn't exactly a bad deal, and hearing what happened to all of Sesshomaru's other mates, you felt lucky that the silver haired dog demon sparred you from the same fate. From what you heard, he had a habit of finding a mate and keeping her during his rut period only to slaughter her once he was satisfied. You were the only mate he kept, and you couldn't begin to fathom why he had chosen you, a Vixen from a small Skulk of little power, to be the mate to keep and have pups with.

Of course, you weren't exactly complaining. Being the mate of such a powerful demon who was next in line to be head of his clan had quite a few perks and it also ensured your safety, as many demons feared his wrath should they draw too close to you for his liking. Though he did not show many emotions outside of mating, he was quite clearly possessive and protective of you. He would become enraged should another male or potentially harmful female draw too close to you and he would quickly slaughter them before keeping you by his side for the rest of the day in order to ensure your safety.

Speaking of pups, it didn't take long for you to bear your first litter, he made sure of that. The litter consisted of two males, one clearly inheriting dog demon genes and the other inheriting fox demon genes. Though the birthing process was difficult, you would argue that the pregnancy was even worse. Sesshomaru was a wandering type and would often leave for periods of time before returning to you, but when you were with pups, he refused to leave your side for even a moment, snarling at anyone who came near, even his mother.

He didn't let you do anything yourself and though he never asked about your well-being, you knew to tell him if you were well or uncomfortable. Though, goodness forbid that you tell him about being uncomfortable. His response to such things would be to keep you on your shared bed and refuse to let you up for long periods of time. Quite clearly he was taking the idea of protecting his pups very seriously and wasn't about to let anything harm you or his unborn litter.

When the pups finally arrived Sesshomaru calmed down a bit, but was still murderously protective. Though, when he had gotten used to the idea of the pups being around, his attention turned to other things. Namely, you. It was clear throughout the time you carried his pups that he was rather discontent with the fact that he was unable to mate with you whenever his wished as he had grown quite fond of the idea of having a permanent mate that he could have even if he was not in one of his ruts.

You currently sat upon a large pile of soft furs and watched your pups interact, listening to them playfully growl and squeak to each other. Though they were only a few months, they were already very active and would grab hold of your tail any time it was near them, prompting you to keep your tail far from their little grasp. You were thankful that Sesshomaru's mother, Inukimi, would help you care for the pups and keep an eye on them for you if you needed a break from the duties of motherhood.

Though they were not all too mobile yet, they still managed to cause trouble any time they were left to their own devices. They especially loved pulling on your mate's tail and hair should he venture close to them or interact with them in any way. Speaking of Sesshomaru, he was sitting behind you with his arm draped lazily around your waist, golden eyes closed as he rested with you upon the pile of furs, tail laying over your form. You were close to the edge of sleep when a light voice broke through the haze in your mind, snapping you to attention.

"I will take the pups and let the two of you rest. Clearly you both need it."

You looked over seeing Inukimi stand up, her eyes gazing at you knowingly as her silver hair gently waved with her movements. Sesshomaru let out a low growl, but otherwise did not protest against the idea of being given a break and time to rest as she gathered up the two pups, not at all bothered by them gripping and tugging her hair in the process. She left the room, closing the ornate door behind her and giving you and your mate some needed privacy and rest.

You let out a soft hum, settling into a more comfortable position in the arms of your mate, relishing the quiet. Though you adored your pups, you were still glad for the reprieve from them for the moment. You felt the one-armed grasp around you tighten, causing you to look up at Sesshomaru in curiosity at his sudden increased attention. You felt a jolt run through your body as you locked eyes with the distant dog-demon, seeing that his gold irises had turned a light blue and the white of his eyes had become red.

You knew that any time he looked at you like this, there was a good chance that he was riled up and in the mood to mate.

"Mine... my mate..." He growled out, quickly pinning you on your back and causing a soft yelp to escape your lips at the sudden movement.

"S-Sesshomaru... I need rest, not to mate..."

You whimpered out softly as he quickly pulled open your kimono, insatiable lips attacking your soft skin.

"Then lay there and rest."

He snarled out, effectively ending the conversation as his mouth roamed your fevered flesh.

You couldn't help the shiver that traveled through you any time his fangs grazed you or the soft whimpers and yelps that escaped your lips with every lick and bite he gave. He ensured to leave a light dusting of his scent on your skin if only for his own benefit than to actually mark you to keep other males away. You felt a slight tug at your tail, making a barking-yelp escape your lips due to the base of your tail being a very sensitive erogenous zone. An answering growl escaped his lips as he tightly gripped one of your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth and descending to hungrily lick at your heat.

You let out soft whimpers and moans, feeling his heated tongue slide over your needy heat like a man starved. He growled against you and held tightly to your thigh, giving you no reprieve from his pleasureful onslaught. You felt a familiar building heat as you yelped out in pleasure, reaching down to grip lightly at his hair and at the furs beneath you, trying to ground yourself. He growled in response to your tight grip on his hair, only sliding his tongue into you and licking more vigorously.

The more you moaned, the faster he licked, growling against you and digging his claws into your thigh as he feasted upon your sweet heat. You let out a sharp cry as the building heat flooded your veins, forcing your back to arch upwards and legs to twitch from the pleasure. You were given no time to recover from your high as he continued to lick aggressively at you, forcing you to ride out your orgasm.

"More."

He snapped out, continuing his pleasureful torture upon your yielding body, causing you to repeatedly release due to his actions and extended attention.

When he finally pulled away, you were panting heavily, chest rising and falling sharply as your overwhelmed senses began to slowly return to you. He watched you closely, licking his soaked lips in a predatorial manner as his intense eyes focused on your panting form. With no hesitation, he quickly ripped off his clothes, not caring about shredding the cloth as he threw it somewhere else in the room, eyes never leaving your form. You looked up at him, about to ask him to wait for a moment so you could catch your breath before you were cut off by a sharp thrust into you, forcing a loud moan from your lips.

He growled and dug his nails into the furs beneath you and began thrusting his hips, growling and hissing in pleasure. He was already too lost to his lust and his pleasure to be reasoned with or stopped as he pounded into you, taking pleasure in your whimpering form. You knew that Sesshomaru has been riled up for a while, seeing as any time he tried to mate with you the two of you were interrupted due to the pups needing attention or something he needed to deal with. It was clear that he wasn't going to be stopping anytime soon, and you pitied anyone who may come in and interrupt as he wasn't going to stop for a while.

#sesshomaru x reader #sesshomaru #seshomaru x reader #seshomaru #reader insert #Female reader #x reader

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hiro-gari · 3 years

Text

Speaking of Neo Heroes' security guards doing the housekeeping at Badd's house as part of the deal between Badd and Neo Heroes when he joined them, this makes me think:

- "What if redeemed Garou successed at infiltrating Neo Heroes without getting recognized and disguising himself as Badd's guard?" -

This is just pure self-indulging thought because imagine this: Current Garou, the calmer, wiser, matured, yet still powerful as ever, been wanting to return the favor to Badd for defending him in the previous battle and also to protect him from Neo Heroes' shady schemes, he decided to infiltrate Neo Heroes with his new identity and becomes Badd's security guard.

Of course I know this scenario wont be possible at all because of Neo Heroes would investigate everyone to the tiniest details, and some of Neo Heroes members already recognized Garou in canon webcomic just like the whole Suiryu's team squad did. But let's just think they would be fooled by Garou's new persona when he enrolled the job.

Not to mention, let's just assumed enrolling the job as Neo Heroes' staff would be separated from the regular member's employment and many of Neo Heroes' execs haven't familiarized yet with Garou's new appearance.

The setting could be after Garou got ambushed by Suiryu's team and also after Badd got attacked by Neo Heroes' cyborgs, since I think these events occured on the same time or at least at the same week, imho. So, once Garou heard about what happened to the Neo Heroes' members, he got worried for Badd and decided to sorta helped him in a way by become his personal guard.

During the interview, Garou would giving "made up" personal data that wont mentioned any of Bang's influence or everything related to his mentor. During the physical test, he would only using the most basic martial art moves in front of the execs so they wont recognizing his distinct style.

Garou successfully passed the test and get the job, at the same time when Neo Heroes' need a new security guard for Badd since the delinquent hero already kicked out the latest guard from his house for being "too goddamn nosy", courtesy by the furious Badd himself. Badd said he wanted a more decently normal guard and not a creep. That was a great chance for Garou to fill the requirement as his security guard.

Imagine the short-haired Garou wearing a suit like usual bodyguard outfit, looking so neat, professional, and reserved. And he was standing in front of Badd's front door, ready to greet the hero (who saved his life before) then introducing himself as both his new bodyguard and housekeeping guard.

Eventhough from outside Garou looked very calm, actually he was a bit nervous because he would meet Badd again. Unsure if he should be proud that he got a real good job in which he could be by Badd's side, or afraid that Badd would reject him then kick him out from the house just like what he did to other previous guards.

The moment Badd opened the door to scold and complained whoever Neo Heroes stubbornly have sent to him, he got tongue-tied by Garou's appearance. At first Badd still not recognized his identity, but after inspecting him for a few seconds Badd immediately gawked and immediately yanked Garou into the house, closing the door so noone would hear their conversation.

Badd realized that this man, this charming mysterious person, his new bodyguard, is Garou. Garou the ex Hero Hunter, Human Monster, the former enemy who put him into hospital yet also the one whom he protected from the rest of S-Class heroes, the reason why Badd leaving Hero Association, now was standing before him. Introducing himself as Neo Heroes' new security guard who will "keep him and his lil sister" from any danger outside.

Not easily convinced, Badd cornered Garou and asking if Garou has gone crazy for joining Neo Heroes, too. Especially now Badd knew that they were such scumbags disguising themself as saviors.

Garou calmly answered that he already know firsthandly of what Neo Heroes is, also had heard of what they have done to Badd. Hence he became a double agent: working for Neo Heroes to gain their trust so he can protect Badd from anyone, including Neo Heroes members itself since he has the privillege to do that. Of course by doing that, Garou must be smart enough to trick them and manipulated the reports so they wont gain Badd's personal information that was too private to be shared because it could endangered Badd's life.

Garou doesn't care if this could endanger himself should Neo Heroes realizing his true intention. As long as Badd is safe, he wont give a fuck for all of Neo Heroes' bullshits again. Nobody would hurt Badd any longer, let the delinquent hero do his job properly without any disturbance.

Badd was surprised at how far Garou willing to do for the sake of him, but he still wont convinced enough of him because at this point it seems Badd couldn't trust people anymore since the Hero Association's post-war chaos and Neo Heroes' cyborgs assault.

Garou knows Badd got trust issue because of them, same as what Garou feels after all this time. Wanted to reassure Badd, Garou kneeled before Badd and vowed to him, that he definitely will keep Badd and Zenko safe at all cost. If something wrong happened between Badd and him that makes he should betray Badd, Badd has the full rights to punish him severely and he wont fights Badd back. His life is fully on Badd's hand and not Neo Heroes'. With pleasure, Garou pledged his loyalty just for Badd only. Only him.

Garou ended his vow by taking Badd's hand and kissed his knuckles softly. Then he gave Badd such tender genuine smile with equally tender adoring gaze, because for Garou this man in front of him is his "Hero". Now he would return the favor by cherishing Badd and make him happy.

Listening Garou's vow and receiving sweet gestures from him made Badd flustered, he didn't expect that the ex Hero Hunter who hunted him down would be willing to be his loyal guard. Even swore to cherish him. That's more than a regular guard should do to their client!

Badd had thought he didn't deserved to be treated so nicely like this since he was just doing what he thinks is right. Also he wasn't often getting praised at all by people hence he still hasn't used by it. But seeing how genuine and determinated Garou is, somehow it warms Badd's heart. That Garou really appreciating him to the point he wanted to return the favor, in which Garou didn't have to do that yet he still do it out of free will.

Finally, Badd accepting Garou's offer and trusted him to do his job as his bodyguard. Like Garou has promised before, if someday Garou has to betray his trust, Badd will not hesitated to demolish the wolfman. Monster form or not.

With a bright yet soothing smile, Badd helped Garou to stand up again from his kneeling position and then hugged him tightly.

And saying, "Welcome home, Garou".

----------------------------

Bonus headcanon:

Imagine how often Garou gets Badd blushing madly just by appearing as professional bodyguard, so handsome and charming. Not to mention now Garou showing more responsible and mature side of him that put Badd in awe everytime Garou doing his job properly. Sometimes it distracted Badd's mind and every single memories of the wolfman being so sweet and loving to him lives in his head rent free.

Also, Zenko totally adores Garou and really glad that he wasn't like those creepy bodyguards that Badd had to kick out before. More often Zenko asked Garou to be more casual and to treat Badd more as a friend and not as a client, since she told Garou that her bigbro loves his presence especially when both of them were off-duty at home.

Gradually, Garou becomes more laid-back around Badd (except when he was on-duty or still under Neo Heroes' surveillance). They're eventually becomes bestfriends, completing and complementing eachother since they both were alone and lonely boys.

Secretly without Neo Heroes' knowledge, Garou has been helping Badd to cope with his doomed situation under Neo Heroes' cruel scheme by finally having someone trusted enough on his side when he need it, as he will be always on Badd's side no matter what. Even as far manipulated the daily reports brilliantly so Neo Heroes wont touch Badd with their dirty hands anymore. Anything Garou will do, for Badd.

In return, Badd wont let anyone to hurt Garou again, even if it's Neo Heroes itself. The ex Hero Hunter has already suffered enough. Badd would try his best to cooperate with Garou so they both could make convincing "false reports" while they enjoyed their secret private life together. If someone from Neo Heroes found out what they have done, Badd worried if Garou would be taken away from him. Or worst, gets a fate worse than death. And Badd doesn't want that happens.

On the brighter side, Garou could spend time together most of the time with. Even living with Badd as a privillege of his bodyguard status and Badd's seal of approval to the Neo Heroes execs (so they would let Garou lives together with him, for "surveillance" reason).

Sometimes Garou also assisting Badd in a battle when he was still on bodyguard duty, ensuring Badd wont be too reckless during fighting the enemies. If Badd was injured, Garou was the first one who reacted and immediately taking care of him at home, or bringing him to the nearest hospital if the injuries were quite heavy and need proper medical treatment.

Imagine Garou bridal-carried Badd towards hospital. Badd was actually unconscious at first, but when he regained his consciousness the first thing he saw was Garou's handsome face with those seriously worried expression. That made Badd swooning because: 1. "Why did Garou has to be THIS gorgeous even in pinch situation like this??"; 2. "But he cares so much to me, this strangely makes me happy in some way..";

Then Badd pretended to be passed out in Garou's arms, just so he can peek on Garou's face. Spoiler: Garou knows it the entire time, but he let Badd enjoyed the scenery while he focused on running to hospital.

Imagine the off-duty Badd walking around the town together with Garou. Or going to family picnic with Zenko and Garou has to "keep on eye" on them (when in fact Garou just having fun together with them as it's just a false report for the Neo Heroes execs, Neo Heroes surveillance be damned).

Maybe somewhere in the future, Badd would finally releasing himself from Neo Heroes' grasp and decided to be vigilante, followed by Garou who rebelled against Neo Heroes since his loyalty is only for Badd. Noone can stop them as vigilante duo. Maybe at that point, one of them would confessed their feeling to the other and then they would become lovers, too..

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---- THE END -----

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Notes:

NO THOUGHT HEAD EMPTY, ONLY GAROU WEARING BODYGUARD SUITS *hyperventilated* 😍😩👌💗💘🔥🔥

This was totally self-indulged headcanon where I want short-haired Garou wears some formal outfits and being a Cool Looking Guy™ who is secretly as powerful as monster. I'm thirsty for any short-haired Garou contents (and also him being together with Badd), forgive me for this outrageously messy writing.. 😅🙏

But honestly, if Garou really showed up at Badd's door as his bodyguard that would be very hilarious lmaoo! Btw I wrote this at 4 AM and now it's already 7 AM by the time I finished, lol. Getting not enough sleep go brrr 😜

So, how was it, guys? Did you enjoyed it? I'm so sorry if it wasn't good enough 😳💦👉👈

@hiro-gari @the-goddessfighter @garous-nipple @jusqu-une-etudiante

Thank you so much for reading this headcanon, guts! I will try to fight off my writer's block and depression, hopefully I can get back on writing more stuff in the future. Wish me luck ✌😁

Have a nice weekend, guys! Love you all~ 😎😘💕💞💖💝🌸🌺🌼🌻🌷💐

-Little1993lamb-

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~Lilia:

Yessss dude I’m here for this!! Finally he’s got a job that suits him :’) And oh yeahhhh Garou dressed as a bodyguard 🥴 pleeease it would be such a look for him👌😩 bet he pops the collar a bit tho

I love how Badd is like ??hello these guys are scumbags, wtf are you doing, and Garou’s like 🤷 that’s why I’m here, duh. What a sweetheart agshsjsks

I irl clutched my chest when he got down on one knee!! awwwe 🥺💖 The fact that he went to such lengths has to speak for itself as well, I mean Badd knows how much he hates heroes, but especially morally corrupt ones with ulterior motives 🙄BROOO and Badd’s acting all professional and slightly suspicious and Zenko’s just coming out and telling Garou how it really is 😂😂 That’s perfect omg

I love this alternate webcomic version so much 💗 What happened to Badd is so heartbreaking 😓 so it’s very nice to see Garou’s using his mischievous tactics for good to help him get through it and support him 😩 *sobbing*

Thank you so much for sharing this with all of us!! It’s beautifully creative and sweet 💕💗💖😚 We love youu~

#ahhhhh webcomic batarou hits different agsjajsk #thank you anon this is so perfect!!#hope you got some sleep 😥#and I hope you are having the best day!! 💕#good luck and good vibes to you 🍀✨#batarou #garou #metal bat #opm #webcomic #spoilers #headcanon #submission #emoji anon

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youcanteatmysins · 4 years

Text

It's starting to get cold outside.

The air is crisp and the sky is grey. The plant life, for the most part, have started turning to more lighter and paler colors. The lightest of greens and yellows brushing the very edges of trees and grass alike. This isn't too much different than most days on Coruscant, given the lack of natural life left in the area, but it is noticeable. There usually isn't much time these days for basking in the weather, but one sometimes has to stop and enjoy these little changes. It's nice, Obi-Wan thinks. He's been here, doing all sorts of duty related missions for the Jedi Council, for most of his life. It is easy to let the days, months, and seasons pass without as much as a thought, especially when you're having to fight an ongoing, never-ending, intergalactic war.

Sometimes though, even as insignificant as it may seem, it's nice to stop and remember all the small things that happen around you that go unnoticed. One of those small things, is the scent of blended spices and legumes in the air. Sometimes the scent is more sweet with floral notes behind them, drawing the attention of many of the youth and elderly alike. Other times, it changes to a more bold scent, often there are notes of peppermint when the planet is at its coldest, or fruits such as shuura or meiloorun when the outside temperature is warmer. On occasions like these though, when the outside is barely starting to chill, is when the scent changes to his favorite blend spices; cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves.

Obi-Wan finds time, be it on more scarce occasion, to stop by the local caf shop in the morning. He isn't too picky, anything with enough caffeine to jolt his systems is usually enough. But this scent? This lovely aroma of blended spices enchanting him with its charm? He can't pass this up for a regular espresso.

The shop isn't packed in this particular hour of the morning. About one and half hours after the caf shop opens and people are headed to their respective duties, it gets quiet. This is usually when Obi-Wan likes to show up.

Upon entering, there is a small bucket and a sign reading "please donate to your local shelter!" What kind of shelter? Obi-Wan thinks as he walks fully into the shop. The inside of the caf shop is layered with different shades of mute purples and browns, small 2-4 person tables are dotted to the left side of the entrance and two sofas line the wall. The relaxing atmosphere and caf filled aroma already makes Obi-Wan feel more ready for the day he is preparing to take on.

"Hello there" Obi-Wan greets the mikkian on the other side of the counter. The barista, who is tending to the pastries displayed on the counter beside the register, looks up to greet the man in front of them.

"Hi! What can I get for you this morning?"

"Can I have a pumpkin spice latte?"

"Of coarse! Anything else I could get for you?"

As Obi-Wan goes over in his mind if he is forgetting anything, he remembers Anakin complaining this morning about going to class, as well as the fact that Anakin would be upset with him if he found out he had gotten this sweet caf without him.

"Yes, can I make that two please? And that will be all"

"Sure thing! Will be ready in just a moment"

As Obi-Wan waited for his order, he began to reminisce on how his day was going, and what needed to be done for the rest of it.

Today wasn't terribly busy, actually far from it. It was one of the few days Obi-Wan had a few extra hours to spare for himself before picking Anakin back up from his classes. He wasn't really used to it these days, having to spend hours alone. Ever since his master had given him the responsibility of teaching Anakin, he was used to either having him around to keep the mood light or having other Jedi masters around to discuss their duties. He had recently picked up teaching Anakin how to play Sabacc; since the boy was already 16, he'd figured he would need the knowledge incase one of their missions required they gamble their way through it. He seemed to look forward to coming out of his classes to play the game, and Obi-Wan took comfort in that fact. There must be a lot of stress on that boy, with the war and his training, but at least he could enjoy these few things. Plus he got to talk with Anakin when they played. Sometimes he could even get Anakin to share some of his stresses with him, which made Obi-Wan feel better about his role as his master and guardian. Before they could sit down and play sabacc though, duties came first.

Anakin went to his classes from early on to the evening, and while Obi-Wan was usually busy during this time, he found he had a 3 hour gap in his schedule today. He decided to spend the first hour at the local library, remembering that he'd been needing to find a new book to read. Yes, the temple had a library of its own that Jedi can borrow and read books from, but there's only so much history and biographies one can handle; he wanted something new. It wasn’t too far, just about a 10 minute ride from the temple on a speeder. After spending an hour weighing his options of books and chatting with the librarian (who has a fine taste in literature), he decided on getting something warm to sip on and going to the local park.

Obi-Wan was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard "Here you go sir, your order is ready." He realized he had been standing by the counter and was starring off at the wall opposite of himself. His felt a slight bit of heat form on his cheeks.

"Thank you so much" Obi-Wan said as he turned to grab his coffees. He placed 10 credits in the barista's hand before asking "Oh and what kind of shelter is the sign for?" The barista looked confused for a moment before turning to the sign at the front entrance. "Oh! Yes that is for the local animal shelter. Since there isn't much plant life on Coruscant anymore, the shelter has taken in any animals that have been found wandering the streets, since of coarse they don't have the means necessary anymore for survival here."

An animal shelter? Obi-Wan is surprised. He hasn't ever heard of an animal shelter on Coruscant before.

"Sounds lovely. I'm glad someone has taken care of what's left of natural life on this planet. Such a shame that they even had to leave." Obi-Wan, coffee's in hand, dropped a few credits into the bucket.

"Thank you! Have a wonderful day" And with that, Obi-Wan was headed to the park.

Obi-Wan arrived at the park and, out of habit, went straight for his favorite reading spot. It was on the outskirts of the park, a place particularly picked out for the fact that hardly anyone ever bothered to venture off there. He sat under one of the large trees, making sure the sunlight would reach his book, and started reading.

About 20 minutes in, his mind started wandering. The parks were lively and chirping with people. Tourists coming to see Coruscant and locals just spending the day out with their families filled the sidewalks and fields. It was something that Obi-Wan found warmth and pride in. He was never really given a choice to join the order, and although he curses himself for it, he sometimes wonders where he would be if he was. What kind of life would he be living, or would he be living at all? Would he still have gone to the order, or would he be elsewhere? The toll it had taken out of him, from the loss of his master to the toll on his mind and heart from the war, was he really meant for this? He ached everyday he couldn’t tell himself he was. That this was something good and he was doing the right thing by being a part of it. Looking around at these people, seeing children running and laughing, people enjoying something as simple as an ice cream as they walk freely about the city, Obi-Wan was able to make it possible. He was fighting a war for this. For these people. He liked to think that anyway. The idea gave him comfort and some sort of ground as he went off to help fight an impossibly long wa-

Something was off.

He felt something watching him, or someone.

Obi-Wan lowered his book only to jump about an inch off the ground in surprise, as there was someone he foolishly almost didn't recognize standing but 3 feet in front of him.

"And the fates speak again" The figure said. He knew that voice.

What a good time for his mind to remind him of how the man in front of him looked. The man, in which fate had decided, who he had crossed paths with far too many times to count by now. His red and black skin so smooth and intricate with design, sometimes too difficult to break away from its alluring pattern. His hard-to-hide-under-a-hood horns that somehow add to his charming figure. Those eyes, oh those eyes of his that haunt his dreams and daily trains of thought. How they take hold of Obi-Wan and keep him captive. Eyes so deep with stories and scars, watching him as they burn holes into him.

"Maul" Obi-Wan had muttered out, surprised to see the zabrak here in the busy Coruscanti park. "Aren't you a delightful surprise" Obi-Wan said sarcastically, although he feels he somewhat means it.

Maul was the last person he'd expected to see here. The last time Obi-Wan saw him was on his last mission about 2 weeks ago, which took place on a cargo ship hiding slaves going to some spice mines. Apparently Maul was there on his own mission to steal some of the supplies off the ship, and hadn't known about the slaves. Not like Maul cared much about the slaves though.

Obi-Wan placed a bookmarker on the page he left off at and fully closed the book. Maul was staring at him calmly, not showing any signs of being hostile, but not entirely friendly either. He was always unreadable though, so even if he was plotting Obi-Wans demise, he wouldn't be able to tell just by looks. Come to think of it, Maul and him hadn't been hostile towards each other for a long time now. Ever since Maul had uncharacteristically declared he had only wanted to spar with him and had no interest in killing him anymore (about 4 years after Naboo), they'd been slowly growing on each other. Or at least Maul has been growing on him, even in this current situation.

"I can say the same to you" Maul said as he smirked.

Obi-Wan knew he felt flustered, but that didn't mean he wanted to look it. He met the other man's eyes and focused on keeping his exterior calm and collected, no matter how he felt. Why was Maul here in the first place? Actually, bigger question, why was he standing front of him? He looked around for his caf and gabbed the extra one; he'd remember to buy another one for Anakin later.

"Do you like coffee?" Obi-Wan said, offering the cup of still hot but not unbearably so caf. Maul looked at the cup and back at Obi-Wan, probably searching for malice in his expression as proof of it being poisoned, before taking the cup into his hands. Obi-Wan patted the ground next to him.

"Would you stay to chat for a bit?" Obi-Wan said. Maul eyed the spot where he had patted. "If you're not busy that is." After a thorough inspection of the area he was invited into, he finally sat down next to him. "So what brings you here?" Obi-Wan asked, both out of genuine curiosity and suspicion that he's up to no good. Before Maul answered, he lifted his caf to his lips, sniffed, and took a sip. Obi-Wan watched him with interest, wondering if the man would even be used to the spices. Maul held a blank expression, starring into the cup he just sipped from.

"…" Maul took another sip from the drink and rested his elbows on his knees, avoiding Obi-Wans gaze and instead settling for looking to his right, the shapes of people in the distance squirming in his vision. "It's… adequate. I still don't understand why you people indulge in these sorts of things. But to answer your question, I'm here on a small smuggling mission."

Since the zabrak was sitting so close to him, Maul's words hummed in the air between them, that strangely beautiful voice reaching his chest and warming him from the inside out. Obi-Wan felt himself relax at the sound. Fuck him for having such a damned soothing voice. Wait. What did Maul say?

Obi-Wan, being distracted by the sound of the other mans voice, didn't hear a thing that was said to him. Luckily it didn't look as though Maul minded much.

"How much was this caf?" Maul asked, still not looking at him. "I think about 5 republic credits each, but if you're counting the amount to the local animal shelter, then 30."

At this Maul did turn to look at him. Obi-Wan looked back at him to notice his lips curled slightly in a smug expression. "Thank you for you're contribution" Maul said in a just as smug voice. Obi-Wan was confused. "Do you own an animal shelter?" He said incredulously. Since when did Maul of all people care about animals? The other took a moment to think before answering. "Partially. I don't own the front, but I own the business in the back. I told you I was here for a smuggling run." At that Obi-Wan chuckled. "I knew you were up to no good. Why would you tell me that? I could tell the authorities and you wouldn't know"

Maul starred at him, studying him almost. They stayed like that for a while. "You wouldn't." He said this confidently. It was Obi-Wans turn to stare off into the distance. "I guess you're right."

He heard Maul chuckle. "Oh, what the Jedi would think of you."

"What they would think indeed."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

They sat and chatted for a little while before Obi-Wan stood up.

"I have to go pick up Anakin soon, I better get going." He looked at Maul, who was still sitting in the same spot as when he first arrived, drink now empty. "Will I be seeing you around?"

Maul looked thoughful for a moment. "I don't leave for anothed week from now"

Obi-Wan took that as a yes, and in turn, for a reason he couldn't pinpoint, made him hopeful. "Well, if you have any free time this week, send me a message and I can show you some more kinds of caf I think you'd enjoy." As Obi-Wan said this, he handed Maul a slip of paper with his comm number on it. Then he blushed, if only just slightly, while saying "It's to my personal comm link, so nobody can see the messages but me." Maul took the slip of paper and held it up, reading the contents of what Obi-Wan claimed to be his number.

"I'll see you around, Maul." And with that, Obi-Wan left the park and never looked back, too embarrassed to see what Mauls reaction was.

I know it's not anywhere near october, but I thought this was a nice prompt and I really wanted to do it so here you go, hope you enjoy

#ObiMaul #sorry i havent posted much guys #been pretty busy in my life #Darth Maul #Maul #Obi-Wan #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Star Wars #Star Wars Fic #ObiMaul Fic #i know this is ssooooo late but im really bad at timing so #Qui-Gon died of other causes #not by Darth Mauls hand #in this story at least

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loyally-unfaithful · 4 years

Text

—; but “sentimental boy” is my nom de plume

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gn!reader

genre: slight fluff; hurt no comfort

summary: it has been a year after the android revolution. humans and android alike settled down, an olive branch was offered as a sign of reconciliation. with newfound peace came along newfound love, and many open roads to choose from. this was no different for the rk800—connor. surprisingly or unsurprisingly, he decided to continue working at the dpd, this time as a bonafide detective. but he has also accepted the thrilling uncertainty of life that deviancy has brought; the same strings that brought his lover in his life.the same ones he hated and cursed, the same fates who ripped it all away.

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

maybe if you asked him one year ago whether he’d consider returning someone’s feelings, romantic feelings, he’d reply to you with a placid smile and a polite « i’m sorry, i wasn’t programmed to reciprocate romantic interest. ». he remembered that he’d sneer at them internally. now thinking about it, long before he questioned his obedience towards her, he already showed signs of deviancy.

you did what you were designed to do.

memories from his past would still torment him erratically, doubts would resurface on particularly dark days. but you were the light that cut through that haze. this wasn’t a “fake deviancy”. it couldn’t have been. not when he is holding your body so close to his, warmth radiating off of each other, two heartbeats—similar, but different—thrumming together. all the softly whispered and adoringly announced « i love you »’s; all the quick and coveted pecks and all the feverish and passionate kisses. no, he was alive, he was sure of it—alive and absolutely enamoured by you. all semblance of doubt ebbed away when you entered his life.

whenever he’s around you, he feels more alive: you make him feel everything, all the little precious things. tenderness and adoration when he shares tranquil mornings with you. he feels more alive when he’s with you, all the little habits and routines too endearing: the sweet post-it notes scattered over your shared flat; scribbled upon it are encouraging words or sweet nothings. conflicting work schedules meant that moments spent together were scarce, but that made them even more valuable and coveted. captivation, was another emotion that he felt around you. your mannerism, your dreams and interests, your physical attributes and quality of voice. logically speaking, you were just another human, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you’d live and then one day, you’d die. as if you never really existed. but he wasn’t being logical. how could he be? when you were right there in front of him? you made him irrational, and he found that new aspect in life thrilling. confusing at first, but exciting. he was eternally grateful that you let him experience all these beautiful emotions with you. he was grateful that you allowed him in your short journey that you called life.

he was happy, absolutely content, with his shared life with you. you were both in perfect places in your respective lives: you both had a stable job, loving family backing you up, and a fulfilling love life. what seemed to be a mismatched couple at first turned to be 2 pieces of the same puzzle finally finding their place. life for the both of you couldn’t be better.

but along with the many exquisite moment that your romantic endeavours brought you, the android didn’t only taste the sweet delicacies of life; no matter how idyllic a moment may be, there were times when he had to taste the astringent and sour desserts life offered.

anger. that was an emotion that he felt. but that’s not accurate, no… it was frustration and shock and betrayal, all the unsavoury feelings in the world. perhaps it was due to his inexperience, maybe his lack of exposure to these negative sentiments, that caused him to snap the way he did. to hurt you the way he did. but it happened and there was no turning back the clock.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he was proud that you got the job offer in canada, he really was. and he, like any other caring boyfriend would, offered to accompany you there, an offer which you gladly accepted. that was the plan. but plans were difficult to follow. crime waits for no man, working for the law meant that connor must always be available for duty. no excuses, he was an android. but connor wasn’t just a simple android detective, no, he had a much more important role: he was the link, the messenger, between jericho and the police force. he was the crucial communication between the two forces. so when jericho contacted him about threats of anti-android attacks, he had to make an appearance at their base. the meeting coincided with the day you were meant to travel to canada. it was a simple trip really. it only took a few hours by train, stay in canada for 2 days (it was the weekend), and then return back to detroit, probably arriving in the late afternoons to their home.

but you were looking forwards to traveling with your wonderful partner after « [we] spent so much time apart ». the day he told you the urgent change of plans, connor was tired, overwhelmed. you were frustrated and expectant. a fight was bound to have erupted. accusatory statements, along the lines of: « you don’t actually care about me! it’s all about work and work and work! » and « i can’t believe how selfish you’re being right now! » in between shouting and yelling and frustration and anger and contempt–

you both went to bed exhausted but spiteful, still not forgiving each other. in hindsight, he felt so utterly pathetic, so unbelievably childish, for being that cruel, and uncaring. he didn’t want to be like him again. so many glares and insults were thrown at each other, tears threatened to spill, LED flashed and shone a true red, doors were slammed. he felt awful, plain and simple. you both lied in the same bed, under the same cover. so close yet so excruciatingly far apart. back facing the other’s, no one said a word.

you woke up before him. bitter and unhappy. no morning kisses, no whispered « i love you » to wake your other half. you wordlessly got yourself ready, grabbed your bag and quietly snuck out. no post it notes were left. no sweet promises or encouraging words. you could do this work trip without him. you were independent. you didn’t need a tin can to chaperone you everywhere. so you left. plain and simple. gone. since you woke up and left earlier than planned, you boarded an earlier train. how lovely and convenient. the carriages were mostly filled with androids. perhaps they were trying to immigrate to canada like the others. who knows. you paid no mind and absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, obsessively checking your messages to see if connor realised. to see if he apologised. because frankly, at that point you were tired of being mad and just wanted to spend the day in his arms. but prideful and petty as you were, you weren’t willing to apologise and admit your mistakes first.

connor roused from stasis a few moments afterward, less bitter and more regretful. he wished to right his wrongs but the normally warm presence beside him was not there. his system was slowly booting back up when his audio sensor picked up an incessant ringing from the living room. he jolted up and rushed out to pick up the ringing phone call and waited for the other side to speak up.

the room was so utterly quiet, a silence so suffocating engulfed the room, that you could hear a pin drop. the voice on the other side asked whether this was indeed your house and that he was indeed connor anderson. he swallowed dryly and answered with a soft, « yes ». running a quick check in his database, he matches the caller’s voice with a certain nathaniel edwards. first responder. he allowed his HUD to display the news. if androids could get pale, have all their blood drain from their faces, his would have certainly done so. he stood, rigid and motionless, consumed by shock and horror.

the news and the first responder’s words blended into one as he gripped the phone tighter: « this morning, at 7:48 am the train from detroit to toronto was caught in a devastating turn of events: the train soon caught in fire and exploded as it made its way over the border. it has been confirmed that there has been 0 survivors. it is unclear whether this was an unfortunate accident or the result of anti-android terrorism. »

the other person’s voice poured through the speaker but he wasn’t listening. he stared blankly in front of him. no way, he thought, it couldn’t have been… the only sign that the android was registering the other man’s input was the now constant red LED.

« sir? sir. i’m sorry to bring this— – no, this isn’t right… you must have the wrong number, he interrupted. there were probably others with your name… maybe they were mistaken... – sir that’s not possible, w— – you must have gotten the wrong house… not… it-it couldn’t have been…» but he knew how improbable it was that they got the wrong number. he was built to be logical, to believe statistics. the statistics told him you were dead. long gone. he hoped and prayed that you stayed back, didn’t get on the earlier train. the statistics told him you did.

he choked out a response, quiet and defeated. you were gone. he’d never get to see you again. « i… i’m sorry… i-i don’t understand… – we tried our best to find them sir, but… the fire was too severe… if we gain any new developm— – you didn’t save them. »

still in a daze, he must have hung up on the poor man and unceremoniously dropped the phone. its clatter the only sound in this deafening silence. the reality of it all comes crashing through and he collapsed, ugly sobs escaping him as the denial faded away to make way for the pure and unfiltered grief. he felt lost. for the first time in a long while since amanda he felt so utterly and completely lost. no more shining beacon during his dark and stormy nights. no more valued affection and coveted kisses. no more notes and no more smile to come home to.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesisonly gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

but now he’ll have to get used to not coming home to a warm embrace. he’ll have to get used to going into stasis alone, in the cold bed. he’ll have to get used to his aching heart being greeted by an empty house. every cold and lonely nights. it’s ridiculous how human he felt because of you. and he was both thankful and spiteful for it.

sadness and bitter regret ripped through him when he remembered that he didn’t share goodbyes before he left. he remembered how he couldn’t have apologised to you and tenderly held you. he regretted not being able to tell you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him for the last time. ra9 only knows the things he’d do and the things he’d sacrifice, just to have you in his arms again.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

like my work? consider buying me a coffee // checking out my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

#detroit: become human x reader #dbh x reader #connor x reader #rk800 x reader #connor dbh x reader #rk800 dbh x reader #falselywrites #crosspost from main acc

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tommysparker · 4 years

Text

Black & White: Prologue [QOH!Reader x Angel!Tom Holland]

Ayyy guess who’s back a few days later with a whole new series in tow :) This au is gonna be a little different to the other ones on this site, so read the disclaimer down below.

Disclaimer: I am not religious so I have no real idea how any of this works, I just like the concept. Also I was raised Hindu, so I’ve decided to do a mix of Hinduism and the standard Christianity concept for this fic. I really hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: None? (yet) incorrect representation of religion (like I said, I’m not religious I just like the concept.)

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“Well well, aren’t you a pretty thing?” a sultry voice whispered in his ear.

Tom involuntarily shivered, not wanting to show any weakness but failing miserably. In truth, he was terrified. Being sent by the Lord to talk to the devil was not on his bucket list, but he knew he was the only angel fit for the job. He spent his whole life on earth praising the heavens, and entering the afterlife and being welcomed with open wings was a true blessing he had earned.

He would not disappoint.

He will not give in.

Lord have mercy on my soul…

“He can’t hear you y’know,” the same voice echoed in his mind. “Down here, you’re all mine. Not even Brahma can help you now. So, tell me angel wings, what sins have you committed for God to send his most loyal devotee to my land?”

“Y-Your words speak of nonsense,” Tom faltered, hating himself for stuttering. “I’ve come by the Lord’s orders to suggest you stop tormenting Earth’s inhabitants at once.”

A small eerie chuckle bounced off the castle walls and reflected into his ears. He didn’t risk raising his head, not yet. For to look into her eyes, those dark black eyes he’s heard and read many stories of, is thought to be a sin alone worth being banished from the Heavens.

Some say the moment you look into her eyes, you’re a slave to her will. Others gossip over how you’ll be cursed for all eternity, though they sound both the same.

“Well then, suggest away.” She was amused by this, the tone was evident.

Tom didn’t know how to respond, searching his brain for words but coming up short. How could this...this thing have such an affect on him? Dear God--

“I told you, dear, you’re in my world now, not your world. I am the one in control here. I’m the almighty. Your dearest God can’t help you now, and he was well aware of that when he sent you here.” Her words were strong, bold-spoken, with meaning and intention. She wanted to make sure this white snowflake knew exactly what he signed up for when he agreed to pay her a little visit.

“God hears all!” Tom shouted, a small part of him praying his raised vocals would attract the attention of someone, anyone up above. He never should have agreed to do this alone.

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have,” the smile could be heard in her voice. “Now, I don’t have all night. I’m a busy woman as you know. Say what you must before I dismiss you to my demons.”

Tom dared to look up, eyes focusing on anything but those black-hole pupils. His gaze fell upon the broad, stretched out red and black wings, whose tips fluttered ever so slightly creating the small draft that made the hair on his arms rise. The sharp scales that glistened from the fire's reflection ran all the way behind her back, connecting to her figure. The shape resembled that of a dragon, and for a brief second he wondered if the she-devil could be a descendant of such a creature.

Curled horns sprouting from the crown of their head, wings with power to blow houses over with a single flap, and the fiery look in her eyes when he gazed into them-- wait what?!

In a single blink, she stood towering over him, black eyes with a small hint of white stared back at him, barging into his soul. He fought, did everything in his power to look away but his attempts proved useless. All he could do was stare into the abyss, feeling his grip on reality slowly fall as he got lost in her eyes. There was only black, and endless dark void- until it wasn’t.

Another blink, Tom was thrown backwards. He fell on his back, gasping for air as if he had nearly been drowned. He rubbed at his eyes harshly, reciting every prayer he’d learned in a desperate attempt to rid whatever evil spell she had placed on him. It was only when he heard a small whimper that he froze.

He slowly pried his hands away from his eyes, gaze darting in the direction the sound came from. Everything happened so fast his head was spinning, but he managed to make out a black figure, curled up with their wings wrapped around them protectively.

Tom stood and took a wobbly step towards the person before he suddenly remembered where he was, and exactly who was sitting in front of him.

Despite that, a small voice in the back of his head told him to make sure she was okay. Demon or not, as an angel he had a duty to take care of people, may God forgive him if he had done wrong by helping a lost soul.

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly, taking another step, despite his mind telling him to stay as far away as possible.

The figure rose, gracefully, wings unraveling like a blooming flower. She stood tall, a slight jerk in her hip as her hands gripped her waist. Her hair lit into a blend of red, yet maintained its natural shape. The flames danced along her back, falling over her shoulders, illuminating the structure of her face. Jaw clenched, tongue in cheek, and those eyes, those damned eyes…

Had he known his fate was sealed the moment he looked up.

“Are you just going to stand there and look pretty?” She quipped, dark written all over her facial expression. “You, my sweet angel, just made the biggest mistake of your afterlife coming here. Now, you will never see the light of your grace again. You’re mine now, and I don’t share.”

All traces of the figure he saw moments ago were gone, replaced by an evil presence that knew nothing of mercy.

Before he could react, two hands gripped his arms, pulling them back while a rope wrapped around his white feathered wings. Tom cried out, trying to fight but fell to no avail. The material trapping his wings felt as if they were burning him with sins, causing a silent scream to be ripped from his throat.

“What should we do with him, your majesty?”

“Take him to the chambers. I want no harm to come to this one, got it? If you pluck a hair on his head, if I find a single feather missing from his wings I will personally throw you into the river of lost souls. Do you understand?”

No response.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”

“Y-Yes, Rani.”

Little late for that, Tom wanted to say. Unfortunately, he never got the chance.

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And there you are! If you liked this please let me know so I’ll actually have the motivation to write more.

Feedback is always welcome!

B&W Taglist: @rebekkah4766 @greenorangevioletgrass @allegra-writes @soraitmnt @worldoftom @farfromparker @averyfosterthoughts @parkerpeter24 @angel-spidey @naztheapprentice

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland angst #angel!tom holland #queen of hell!reader #qoh!reader #angel!tom holland x qoh!reader #tom holland x reader #tom x reader #angel!tom x reader #angel!tom x qoh!reader #tom holland x y/n #angel!tom #my writing

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summer-jay · 4 years

Text

Forfeit (Tommy/Alfie fic)

Ao3 Link

Summary: “What do you want, Alfie?”

The only reason Alfie glances at Tommy’s mouth that moment is because he brings the cigarette up again and wraps his lips around it, hollowing his cheeks as he takes the final deep drag. He probably lingers a second too long, because Tommy’s eyes snap down momentarily, and when they land on Alfie again, it’s a completely different expression Tommy’s wearing.

In which Tommy has to deal with his men's fuck-up and discovers many things about himself in the process. At some point, Alfie thinks it's about bloody time.

Rating: Explicit

A/N: For some reason, I’m really struggling with this one, but all the rewriting seems to be paying off. First chapter’s finally up!

Chapter 1: Speak (3028 words)

The warehouse is in fucking shambles.

It’s charred from ground to ceiling—what’s left of it, at least—oozing the sickly concoction of foam, water and ash from every crack. Nasty fucking view to have, this early in the morning. On the far side, the roof was blown to shreds, and the newly formed gaping hole lets the bleak London sun illuminate the space with sinister greyness and spiky shadows of the jagged remnants of the carcass. It could be almost nice, this exterior. Spiritual and apocalyptic in a way. But now the damp blackened wood sucks any redeeming qualities right out of the building and leaves it cold, dead and hopeless.

Alfie takes one last look at it and grimaces, getting in the car.

“Back to the office, boss?” Ishmael asks, to which Alfie responds with a little more repetition and emphasis than strictly necessary.

He actually preferred the sight when it was all jolly and alight mere hours ago. There was a serene pocket of time then, while the firemen worked to preserve the area around more than the warehouse itself, since Alfie could do nothing but observe the chaotic nature of the world make yet another demonstration. He didn’t know a thing back then. But he does now. And it leaves the same taste in his mouth as the stale scent of rotting wood and smoke.

It’s barely past seven when he instructs Ollie to make the call. Tommy must’ve been up and about for some time now, because he picks up immediately, and Alfie tries his hardest not to get any more pissed off at the whole situation than he already is. He’ll have to fucking deal with it now then. Fucking brilliant.

“He said he’s on his way,” Ollie appears in the door, and Alfie tears his eyes away from the record book that he isn’t reading.

“Hm. Alright then. Go kick those brainless fuckers back into our world in an hour. Ollie-” he calls when Ollie starts to turn “-leave ‘em intact for now, yeah? And tell David whatever I see on them, before Tommy Shelby arrives, yeah, I paint right back on his fucking face. With my own hands.”

Ollie furrows his brow but nods. Smart lad when he wants to be.

The door closes, and Alfie throws the record book on the table and falls back on the chair, stroking his beard absently and watching the sun rise higher and higher in the small window. Wrong day in every fucking regard, except, it shouldn’t be. Some months ago, he would’ve sunk his teeth into such a glaring opportunity to squeeze something more out of Tommy, just to see how far he could bend him without breaking. It’s a goddamn mystery why things have changed, although Alfie’s not quite delusional enough to claim he doesn’t know what exactly has changed.

He decides to wait and see. There have not been many fuck-ups on Tommy’s part in the past—none, in fact—and it makes him curious, despite the simmering irritation, to see what Tommy will offer.

. . .

For all Alfie’s tendencies to run his mouth like hell, he’s quite good at giving instructions, and, even more importantly, he’s competent enough to get them obeyed. He reaps the fruits of this ability now, when Tommy strolls into his office, fuming with irritation and knowing absolutely bloody nothing.

“So. Where’s the fucking fire?” Tommy asks as a way of greeting, letting the frustration into his voice, and it’s not that he can’t keep it locked away—he chooses to let Alfie see exactly where the fault with such scandalous disruptions of his morning routine lies.

Yes, that was definitely the right call to forbid Ollie to tell him anything over the phone.

Alfie looks up from the document he’s been staring at, taking in the sight.

Despite the pointed lack of urgency in his movements and the spilling annoyance, Tommy came. He’s sitting in Alfie’s chair now, guarded and so utterly stripped of control it sends a rush down Alfie’s spine. It suits him, this vulnerability. Makes him all sharp and volatile, and Alfie couldn’t deny himself this even if he tried—he wants just another moment of it to roll in.

He holds up a finger, taking his sweet time marking completely random figures on the paper with the air of undivided concentration, and Tommy predictably huffs, taking out his cigarette pack.

It takes a few minutes of silence before Tommy’s irritation starts threatening to break out, another minute he takes to wrench it under control. Alfie feels an infuriating urge to grin. Yeah, that’s Tommy Shelby alright, from head to toe, and it was a rather long time going about without him; so long, in fact, that something angry and hot curls in Alfie’s stomach at the necessity to deal with this ridiculous fucking situation right now instead of talking with Tommy like civilized people over a nice set of tea. Not that they’ve ever done that. Not that they will.

Right. Time for fucking business.

Alfie gives the paper one last dramatic swipe of the pen and looks up, propping his elbows on the tabletop and lacing his fingers under his chin.

“Chalton Street, actually,” he says easily, and Tommy’s hand pauses briefly halfway between the armrest and his lips. Alfie nods. “Yeah yeah, ‘s funny you should ask, mate, right, all that unsettling gypo foresight. You should’ve been a bookmaker or something.”

“I prefer not to tempt fate,” Tommy deadpans.

Alfie realizes a tad too late his gaze still lingers on Tommy’s mouth and jerks it up. “Mm, gentlemanly of you. Well, it seems to me, right, that she’d been tempted long before your intervention, mate. Cause she’s supposed to watch over fools, don't she.”

Tommy exhales the smoke slowly. “That’d be God.”

There’s the thing about Tommy—he bounces Alfie’s bullshit right back at him. Alfie feels dangerously close to getting lost in the banter. Which, as an absolute and extremely vital rule, never happens to him. It doesn’t help that Tommy’s bristling demeanour is now gone and forgotten, switching the gears in his mind to prying, negotiating and doing all other kinds of wonderful things that Tommy manages all at once when he smells fire.

Fucking bloody hopeless, Alfie thinks with marginal disappointment directed at his very self and cuts to the chase.

“Right, those new arrivals you sent, yeah, two of ‘em, they blew up my fucking warehouse tonight, mate.” It sits in the air between them for a second, Tommy still and blank as a sheet. Technically, no explosion took place, but it’s the result that matters in these things, innit.

“They got drunk,” Alfie continues, punctuating every word, probably more to himself than to Tommy, and fixes Tommy with a gaze he calmly returns. “On duty. On their shift. And decided to ease the inexpressible burden of sitting on your arse doing nothing, right, by playing with matches like little boys.”

“Was there anyone else with them?” Tommy asks without missing a beat.

“No,” Alfie lies. “Who knew they needed fucking grownups for supervision, fuckin’ hell, Tommy.”

It’s almost cruel, this satisfaction, when Tommy’s face hardens momentarily. He isn’t buying a word of it, and frankly, Alfie’d be fucking insulted if he did, but there is suddenly an infuriating void of retorts at his disposal, that is if he doesn’t want to dig this hole deeper. Tommy knows this. And he looks at Alfie in a way that very clearly conveys that he knows.

Alfie watches him flick his thumb across the edge of the cigarette for a while. Probably contemplating if he should push, if he has any leverage and, if he does, what it would cost him to use it.

“The insurance-” he starts saying after a moment, and that won’t do at all, that is not where Alfie wants the balance to reside for now.

“Fuck the insurance,” he scoffs. “It’s just un-fucking-acceptable. You send me men, right, Tom, and I put them to work, right,” he gestures helpfully, “and now I’ll need to attach my man to each your man like some fucking queer Russian doll, is that it?”

Tommy quirks an eyebrow. “Your men are not without vices.”

“My men, mate, those I find logistically more difficult to lay off.”

It’s an empty threat that Alfie half-heartedly expects to elicit a response. It doesn’t. Tommy blinks at the wall, unaffected and unimpressed to the whole world, except for how he clenches his teeth. It makes his jawline even more acute, and that, well, that might set Alfie on edge a little. How others fall for Tommy’s submissive charade is a goddamn mystery, because he seems utterly incapable of doing a thing with that cold piercing gaze that now ventures back to Alfie, not exactly shooting daggers but cutting alright. Alfie’s tempted to scold him a little more, figures that’s what drives him up the wall the most, just to draw a reaction. To see that fire spill over. He’s tempted to do many fucking things.

“Well, mate, what I tell you? No man is without vices, yeah.” He brings his hands back on the table, watching Tommy’s eyes track the motion automatically. It’s somehow getting the wrong sort of heated, this little domestic drama. Alfie resolves to ignore it for now. Needs to get to the fucking point. “Now, mate, can’t say I understand a thing about your lot in that town, batshit crazy stuff you do, yeah. But for the sake of our shared human nature, right, flawed and all, I might be inclined to let it rest, so to speak, in the ashes.”

“How fucking kind of you,” Tommy says evenly. He resolutely maintains eye contact, and fucking hell, if that’s his negotiations look, Alfie will blow his own bakery and find early retirement somewhere on the seaside.

That’s a kiss-with-a-blade-under-your-chin kind of look. It’s as if Tommy knows Alfie’s provoking him and absolutely can’t help it anyway.

Alfie realizes he got a little sidetracked and stopped talking altogether only when Tommy speaks up, on the exhale, a couple of long seconds later.

“What do you want, Alfie?”

The only reason Alfie glances at Tommy’s mouth that moment is because he brings the cigarette up again and wraps his lips around it, hollowing his cheeks as he takes the final deep drag.

It’d be a fleeting look, if it were any other fucking day under the sun. But now Alfie finds himself strangely fixated on the picture. He probably lingers a second too long, because Tommy’s eyes snap down momentarily, and when they land on Alfie again, it’s a completely different expression Tommy’s wearing.

Confusion. Inhale. Decision.

Then Tommy leans back on the chair and tips his head back slightly, suddenly almost bored.

Alfie normally prides himself on being a professional reader of men’s minds—never women’s but who the fuck is—and it still takes his powers a second to comprehend the sudden shift in the air.

“Well?” Tommy says, voice going lower than the intonation dictates, and deposits the cigarette stub on the edge of Alfie’s desk. “Let’s get it done.”

Let’s get what done, Alfie wonders, what the hell has Tommy got into his head this time, until, in a blazing, surreal moment, it hits him.

He realizes two things, to be precise, which would be three things if he chose to lie to himself about being oblivious to the very first one all this time.

He wants Tommy Shelby. He’s wanted Tommy fucking Shelby for a rather inconveniently long time, rather desperately at that, and he’s getting hard just sitting across the table from the arrogant fucker, because Tommy’s irritated, Alfie’s no better, and this whole thing suddenly looks much more appealing when he imagines it culminating in fucking rather than shooting. It’s not a problem worth freaking out over, in Alfie’s mind.

But the fucking, though, Tommy here thinks it to be the payment. That is the second thing.

What do you want, Alfie?

Alfie starts moving before reasoning manages to stop him—and not like it’s a rare occurrence. He circles the table, led by a sudden angry impulse to push, see if Tommy would actually go through with it, cause that, right, that wasn’t what Alfie meant by that fucking stray gaze at all. But it’s burning right through him, now that it’s on the table.

Tommy looks up at him through his long dark lashes and stays just like he is, open and tense. Tenser still as Alfie shuffles into his space, squeezes between him and the table, legs touching. For a second, he’s so stiff it feels like he’ll shatter, like a fucking ice statue, from the mere touch.

But Tommy doesn’t move. He blinks slowly and breathes heavily in the sudden silence, solidifying Alfie’s third insight.

Tommy Shelby would let him.

Alfie’s heart is pumping molten lead through his veins, and it’s simultaneously heavy and unconscious when he brings his hand down and strokes Tommy’s cheek, taking a hold of his jaw to tip his head even further back.

To shock him out of this glazed state he seems to be sinking into. To touch him. To push him until he does break, because this is just a stupid fucking assumption to make that Tommy would whore himself out for business, not to another man.

But Tommy doesn’t move at all. He seems to be falling in the precise opposite direction of Alfie’s whirling thoughts, going more wide eyed and responsive, and, by the looks of it, almost fucking surprised. At what exactly, Alfie can’t begin to contemplate.

Tommy lets him maneuver his head up and stares back, unblinking, pupils blown like spilled gunpowder against the bright blue. Alfie swipes a finger along his cheekbone. Tommy doesn’t bolt. Alfie steps closer, kicking Tommy’s knees apart, watching every muscle twitch on his face, waiting, nearly fucking snapping-

But Tommy doesn’t bolt.

He draws a shaky breath instead and says, with what sounds miles away from cold indifference, “I don’t have all day. Get a fucking move on.”

Alfie barely holds himself back from slapping him, because what in all circles of hell does that boy think of him. Tommy’s not a complete fucking idiot, after all. He must understand Alfie, among all the things that he is, is not that kind of a man. But here they are.

Alfie suddenly becomes acutely aware of his fingers on Tommy’s skin. Funny how this particular setting—Tommy under his hands, under him, with eyes burning and lips parted so prettily—would put him in a much less conflicted and a much more aroused state just a day ago. Just a fucking hour ago.

Which is not to say he’s not aroused. He’s fucking aching. But Tommy doesn’t want it now, except as a retribution for the cock-up Alfie can’t even clearly recall at the moment.

Alfie drops his hand so quickly, Tommy’s head bounces slightly before he catches himself. More confusion. Darting eyes, calculating what he’s done wrong. It’s not particularly difficult to return behind the desk, although Alfie’s body is screaming at him to come back, pull Tommy to his feet, tear that coat off and make Tommy come so hard he’ll be only able to see complete fucking darkness for minutes.

But as Alfie sinks into the chair, the picture of the guarded, enduring void in Tommy’s eyes makes him shudder with disgust.

Jesus Christ.

“What-” Tommy begins and stops when his voice fails him. He clears his throat, miles and miles away, composed and distant once again, and Alfie doesn’t even want to look at him now, isn’t sure it won’t shower from his eyes or something.

“Reckon a bakery in Birmingham would be fine,” he blurts out, inevitably turning to watch Tommy as he draws his eyebrows together. “Fine location, innit, secluded, far from any semblance of law or morality, yeah?”

“A bakery.” Tommy swallows, clearly trying to be inconspicuous about it and failing.

“Right, a small one, from your pocket and all. Would serve your men well, to learn some bloody discipline. Could relocate those two excuses for workforce of yours there, spare us all the necessity to behold their fucking faces.”

Alfie doesn’t need a bakery in Birmingham. Hell, of all the things he hoped to get out of this whole ordeal, this wasn’t even remotely close to the list.

He fumbles with his rings absently while Tommy gets busy picking himself up and straightening his coat.

He considers saying something. Easy and dismissive, something along the lines of ‘nah, you misread it, mate,’ which would be simple enough and also absolutely fucking ballistic, because admitting anything out loud at this point feels like a death sentence in neat handwriting—very tiny and very lethal.

By the mortified look gliding across Tommy’s face for a second as he swipes a hand over his face, he knows damn well he misread it.

“Right,” Alfie mutters to himself and then repeats, loudly enough to shake the whole damn building, “Right. So it’s settled then, yeah, no hard feelings. With the bakery, that is.”

“Right,” Tommy echoes. He sounds strange, almost lost, although it would’ve been impossible to notice if Alfie’d known him any less.

When Tommy goes to leave, Alfie doesn’t stop him, although the impulse, for some fucking reason, is there.

He slumps down in the chair, draws a long, deep breath and tries to process what has just transpired. In particular, what that look on Tommy was, right before he gracefully stormed out of his own fucking shipwreck.

Alfie can’t seem to find a place for his hands; he keeps shifting around, the persistent sensation of rough stubbled skin under his fingertips unchanging despite the position, until he jolts upright and grabs the cigarette that witnessed all this chaos with dead silence.

Alfie’s powers are suddenly kicking back in to tell him the fucking look was one of disappointment. Which is complete and impossible bloody horseshit. Unless, of course, it isn’t. And in that case, opening a bakery in Birmingham is a bad, bad idea.

#peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy x alfie #tofie #sholomons #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #peaky blinders #it's something rather new to me so we'll see how it goes

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hypnotica-ships · 3 years

Text

3x3

So, thanks to some A+++ enabling from the discord server, I've decided to post my BNHA self insert fanfic. I haven't really talked about my insert, but I plan to sometime in the future, but for now I"ll leave ya'll in the dark.

This whole thing was made just to make me and my friends feel good and give us some much needed self indulgence.

Word Count- 1,550

Hypnotica- My S/I

Grafight- @fictional-characters-are-hot's S/I

Slasher- @alwayslovestruck's S/I

It's been 3 hours.

4 hours since the hero team Discorded was asked to help out with a capturing some drug smugglers.

3 1/2 hours since they found the drug den.

3 hours since Hypnotica sent in Grafight and Slasher to covertly search the place.

3 hours since he's heard a response.

It was a loud, shrill scream that made his blood go cold. Expecting the worst, he decided to find some loiters and use his quirk to get some backup.

After being only able to scour up 2 shadows for his mask alts to posses, he realized the longer he spends time looking for people, the more harm could come to his friends...*family*. Dolly, taking the form of a Harpy, and Dylan taking a shape of a Lion man, will have to do for backup. Hoping that it won't be needed, he finds an open window and heads into the den.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Look! They're opening the crates. That must be how they ship the quirk enhancing drugs."

"Slasher. I can't see shit, it's too dark in here and I don't have dope cat eyes like yo-....wait a sec..."

The younger of the heroes takes out a sketch book and quickly draws our some night vision binoculars and they suddenly 'pop' out into a physical object. After giving a thumbs up, in order to stay quite, Grafight uses the goggles.

"Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiit....that's a lot of powder. How the hell do they sell it all?"

Slasher just shrugs it off and continues watching the group of men, tail swaying as they do.

All of a sudden, all of the men stop moving. A few moments later they all turn to the gurder that the hero duo were perched on.

"Hey! Lookey here fellas, some new 'test subjects' to try the new mix on."

"Oh as if you'd even come close to touching us! You won't even get a chance to lay a finger on us. Right Grafight?"

"Right! Good luck fuckers!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Slasher! Grafight! What's going o-...."

"We won!'

Hypnotica was greeted by the sight of Slasher triumphantly standing with one foot on top of a human mound of passed out thugs while Grafight was looking over the crate of drugs, kicking one of the thugs that started move on the ground.

"Wha- Then who the hell screamed?!"

Grafight, grabbing the thug she kicked by his collar and threatening to punch him again.

"This guy did. I think he's like...the kingpin or something. Screams like a little bitch though."

"We managed to take these guys out super easily, like it was nothing! Can't believe they were talkin' smack like they could beat us..."

Still a bit shaken up from his worry, Hypnotica headed over to check out the crate. Noticing a strange metal box buried slightly underneath some of the drugs, he pulls it out and begins to question the kingpin about it.

"This your tracker? Is this the thing that you use to keep an eye on your 'supplies'?"

"You better answer. Grafight is pretty liberal with bodily harm."

Slasher says as she walks over to look at the box better, poking it with one of her claws.

"...it....it...he.....hehaha..."

"Punching time?" Grafight asks looking up at Hypnotica.

"Not yet. He needs to be conscious to answer our questions."

"Talk then, asshat."

"...doesn't matter....we....we were gunna..."

"Gunna what, idiot?!"

"d....die...die anways..."

"...Punch him Grafight."

Hypnotica grumbles while Dolly pried open the box with her talons.

"Gladly!"

"...I don't think he meant, like, *80 times Grafight...*"

Slasher now worriedly watches as the kingpin get's absolutely destroyed by fists.

"..."

Hypnotica seems frozen as he looks down at the box, unmoving, and holding his breath. Cocking her head, Slasher notices that somethings wrong with him.

"Hey....you alright big bro?"

"..."

Finally stopping her onslaught on the kingpin, Grafight looks over to Hypnotica.

"Cat got your tongue or something?"

Still not saying a word, Hypnotica turns the box so the others can see. In the box is a small glowing green tube with wires attached to it, there's also a countdown screen slightly below it. It's only got 3 seconds left on it.

As her tail drops, so does her heart, with only a few second to accept her fate Slasher meekly gasps as she starts to speak.

'Oh..'

'Shit'

Grafight finishes Slasher's thought, right before everything goes white.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sirens are blaring as the green mist clears from the rubble of what's left of the warehouse. Various bodies are strewn all about, policemen and EMTs were able to arrive on the scene fairly quickly. Not that it mattered, the damage was done. From the looks of everything, there was no survivors, all thugs and kingpin were either crushed by the rubble or suffered from some strange type of asphyxiation. Death seemed to encompass the area, until one of the EMTs discovered a lion like shadowy figure seemingly protecting a group of still breathing bodies. The figure soon dissipated leaving a strange mask in it's place.

The bodies were still alive, but barely, and they needed medical attention and fast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"-Sources say that the 'hero' team were incapable of apprehending the group and had to resort to extreme measures to stop the-"

"Horseshit! Why would we set off a bomb? We had it covered already, it wouldn't kill them to get their facts straight..."

"Calm down Gummybear, the doc said you shouldn't strain yourself..."

It's been 4 days since Grafight was released from the hospital, suffering from 2 broken arms, rendering her unable to use her quirk...among other things. Fatgum, her partner, had insisted to stay by her side until things healed, neglecting his own hero duties in the process.

"The doc can shove it as far I care! These newscasters have no right to spew out garbage lies like that! It's gunna hurt our rep.... Sure we might not be the nicest, safest, smartest heroes in the game, but we aren't villainous either!"

"...You...you do have a point, but don't worry about it, I"m sure one of the others will give them a piece of their mind and sort things out. Right now you and I have dinner to eat!"

Grumbling as she rose from the couch, Grafight followed her partner to the kitchen, sitting down at the small round dinning table that the family usually shared. This dinner was different though. The table had a nice white satin cloth draped over it, with 2 light candles on top. It seemed that this time these two will be dinning alone.

"Take a seat baby, I'll go grab our meal."

"It better be something good, the meals at the hospital were utter shit..."

She lets her sentence trail on as a covered plate is placed ever so gently in front of her.

"Oh? Did you plan on surprising me? ....Babe, my arms, I can't open it."

"Yeah, my bad, here ya go my sweet Gummy."

Fatgum slowly removes the cover for maximum surprise effect. Once it's off, Grafight can't help but smiley widely as she notices one of her favorite meals, but with a culinary twist. Hotdogs sliced up into star shapes, surrounded by a circle of mashed potatoes, topped with melted cheese, a dash or salt, and a glob of ketchup in the middle of it all.

"So? Ya like?"

"..."

Grafight's eye's start to tear up, but her smile still stays plastered on her face. Fatgum notices right away and goes to quickly grab some tissues.

"Oh Gummy, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you! I just...I just thought I could do something special for ya...I...I-"

"Oh baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabe! I love it! Omg, I love it so much, you're the best, you know that right?"

"I...yeah....no. Wait. YOU'RE the best, you're so strong and special to me, I...I"m just so happy that I didn't lose you...you mean the universe to me."

"Stop...I'm already crying, let's just...let's just enjoy this meal together, okay?"

"Okay. I"m starving anyways..."

Fatgum takes his place across from Grafight, and starts to devour his meal.

"Uh....Ahem...."

"Oh! Yeah, my bad, let me help ya."

The two enjoy their meal together, never breaking their love filled eye contact.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Slow down Mochi, you shouldn't be over-exerting yourself."

"But Kano, I want to dance! I really like this song...cough cough...it's a total....total banger, and I deserve to have some.....fun after what happened. Everyone else has been so....gloomy since then....I just....want to bring some life.....back into the house is all...."

"I know, I know...but, you won't be able to do much joy-spreading if you can barely walk to the mailbox without getting winded halfway there."

"Hmph, stupid bomb chemicals getting.....getting into my lungs...fucking up my whole system...did they ever figure out what...what was in that tube...anyways?"

"They still haven't called us back about the results yet, but they said the inhaler they gave you was working well enough for us not to worry. So we won't, right Mochi?"

"...Yeah...I guess...I just hate...feeling weak like this...I wanna cry but.... I don't want the others to...to see....they've been through enough....I don't wan them to worry about me...me too..."

Kano takes a moment to think, after a moment he takes Slasher's paw and leads her into the living room.

"Sweety...what are you doing?"

After he gets Slasher to relax on the couch, he walks over the Hypnotica's advance sound system and grabs a homemade looking CD. Putting it in he looks to Slasher.

"The good doctor said YOU shouldn't exert yourself, but....he never said anything about me."

As soon as the music starts, Kano begins to dance in a way that's all to familiar to Slasher. It's a dance they've grown to call the 'Humpty Dance', and no one else in the house can quite get it right like these two.

"Oh Kano! This....this makes me so....happy! Keep...keep going! Maybe...maybe you could...put in some...Slipknot next? Pwetty Pwease?"

"Anything for you my Mochi."

Slasher enjoys the show Kano puts on for almost 2 hours, by the time he gets done, Kano is just about as winded as Slasher has been recently. The two then cuddle on the couch, just taking in each other's slow and labored breathes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You will most certainly not."

Sir Nighteye slams his hand down on the counter to emphasize his point, making Hypntoica jump a little.

"And why the fuck not? The need to get their facts straight. I will not stand for all of this fucking slander."

Sir sighs and pushes his glasses up, trying to calm himself down.

"I understand that, but 'kidnapping the newsroom executive' is not the most ideal way to go about it. You can barely walk, even with the crutches!"

Motioning to Hypnotica's broken left leg, and the sprain in his other. Hypnotica just huffs and looks off to the side, still with an angered expression plastered on his face.

"So. Fucking. What? Okay, maybe kidnapping is a bit extreme, but..."

Sir's own angry expression starts to soften as he notices the tears that begin to fall from his partner's face. Wondering how long he's been holding it in.

"...I can't let my family take the blame for a stupid mistake that I made!"

Hypnotica's body begins to shudder as more tears fall, Sir walks over to him and embraces him in a way to try to calm him down.

"It's not your fault...all of you did what you could to try and handle the situation."

"That doesn't excuse all of the death and destruction that happened, and not to mention all the hurt my family is going through because of it!"

"No. It doesn't. But how is any of that your doing, hmm?"

"...I...I..."

"Shh, just stay, and relax. I'll make up a fully detailed report and send out a few copies to some of the stations. They'll most likely use those facts since my name does carry some weight..."

While still holding him with his right hand, Sir uses his left to tilt Hypnotica's chin up to meet his eyes. After a few seconds go by, he rests his head on his partner's.

"...Trust me dear. Everything will turn out just fine."

"Promise?"

"I promise. I saw it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"A trusted source, who has decided to stay anonymous, has confirmed that the deaths in the Discorded Warehouse accident were not the before mentioned teams fault, but the fault of-"

"Thank you! Finally, a news channel that checks their facts. Even though I'm fine with a few deaths under my belt, but whatever I guess."

"Oh! Look Gummy! That's me! Saving all of those orphans was quite the task, I'll have to tell you all about it later."

"Kano my love! Let me help you with those dishes, there is far to many for one man to clean."

"Thank you Mochi! I kinda went all out with the meal this time, it was a celebration for everyone recovering so quickly....well, mostly everyone..."

"I call bullshit. Of course right after I get healed I trip down the stairs and end up right back to square one."

"Guess that means I'll have play nurse bit longer my dear."

~~*Cue Laugh Track*~~

#my writings #neversetinstone #...#I don't know if i want to tag this with the source material tags...#considering this made for like 3ish people

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 5 years

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Fateful Objection

A long, long LONG time ago, there was a gifset of a supercorp au where Krypton survived and Kara interrupted a forced marriage between Lena and Mon-el of Daxam. This is my take on that AU.

----

When Kara Zor el learns she would be accompanying her parents to Daxam to observe the nuptials of the crown prince, she can think of a million other things she would rather be doing. Focusing on her grant to guild council requesting funding for an expedition to the most inhospitable planet in the quadrant. Dis- and re-assembling all the Kal-ex models in the citadel. Ask her Uncle Non for the full military history of the Daxamite war, and listen stonefaced as he flatly recounts every recorded and perceived slight inflicted by Krypton's closest neighbors. But when she disembarks her family's shuttle with her parents, cousin, and Aunt Astra at her side, Kara stares in awe at the grand pyramid that towers over their heads. Non remains on duty, thank Rao, manning the frigate still in orbit. It's beautiful, in an archaic sort of way-- imposing without a single ounce of nuance. Such is the way of Daxam.

Queen Rhea herself greets them, and Kara's mother Alura accepts the welcome on behalf of Krypton and the House of El. Soon, the queen bequeaths their contingent to a steward, with instructions to be shown to the chambers they would be using for the duration of the festivities. The steward takes them the long way, intentionally guiding them past Daxam's grandest views and most impressive architecture. Naturally. Kara wonders which sites are favored for the Prince's infamously lewd parties, and which were genuinely spaces for reflection and prayer. Still, as their tour winds deeper into the palace, Kara finds more to admire. Art and sculpture that both bewitches and confounds her, slowing her steps and ultimately pausing them to study one more closely. She doesn't notice her family moving on until she blinks and finds the corridor empty to either side of her. Alarm sparks low in her belly, as her mother's voice echoes in her ears. "While we are on Daxam, we must abide by the highest laws of decorum and honor," she'd warned them, more than once. "We are representatives of Krypton, and must demonstrate as such." Getting lost in a palace would not reflect well on Krypton, or the House of El. Kara follows the corridor in the direction she'd been going, only to pause moments later when the hall forked. Neither hold any sign of her family. This time, she chooses a direction at random. Within moments a sinking suspicion gathers in her gut, as she encounters nothing but more empty corridor... until it terminates in a single door. She knows it can't be the chambers alotted to the House of Zor el-- too secluded, too plain, too chill-- but Kara swipes her hand over the sensor anyway. Perhaps, she thinks, another steward lurked inside, and could redirect her before anyone important discovers her absence. But when the door slides open, it's not a steward she finds inside. Instead she finds a bed, and a woman asleep upon it. Kara's breath catches in her chest, feet riveted to the ground as the sight of pale skin against a dark gown overrides any compulsion to leave before being noticed. Those same traitorous feet carry her inside. One step, two steps, three... The door slides shut with a hiss, and the sleeping woman stirs. Dark lashes flutter open, and before Kara can bolt, sharp eyes focus on her. "I apologize," Kara blurts, heart thudding rapidly. "I got lost, and... I didn't mean to--" "I can't understand you," the woman said in another language. She pushed herself up to sitting, rolling her eyes with a helpless, resigned shrug. "Whatever Rhea sent you here to do, just do it." The words are foreign, but they tickle a long buried interest in alien linguistics, and memories float to the surface. After a pause, Kara reaches instinctively for the words that lift to her memory. "You... are not from Daxam." That sharp gaze flies to Kara once more, widening in surprise. "You speak English!" English, yes. More of her old studies sharpen in her mind. English. A language commonly spoken on a planet on the far side of the galaxy. "Some."

Suddenly, her hands are held tightly in warm fingers, taken by the pale woman who now holds her in thrall with beseeching eyes. "Please, you have to help me." Kara freezes, alarm jangling every nerve. "You... are here for wedding?" "I am the wedding," comes the swift response, almost too swift for Kara to follow. "Rhea expects me to marry her son, but I want no part of it." "You are unwilling?" "Yes! Rhea abducted me from my planet, against my will. I have no interest in Daxam-- I just want to go home." Kara stares at her, and the woman stares back. Keen eyes scan her up and down. "You're not from Daxam, either." "No," Kara agrees. "I am Kara Zor el, from Krypton." "Daxam's closest neighbor," the woman supplies, almost thoughtful. "You share a sun." Kara nods. "My name is Lena Luthor, from a planet called Earth." Earth. That was it. The planet Astra once told her would grant Kryptonians god-like powers. For flight, speed, strength. "Kara Zor el, please, you must help me. None of the servants will even speak to me. Rhea has them completely under her thumb." Kara can only imagine, considering they were not servants, but slaves yoked to the crown. "Can you not leave?" Kara asks. The door hadn't been locked. If what Lena says is true, surely the door would have been locked. But Lena merely lifts the hem of her gown, revealing a dark band around her ankle. "I can't take it off. As long as I wear it, the door closes before I can reach it." The dress droops, and when Kara turns a horrified gaze back to Lena, the woman can't quite meet her gaze. "I'm a prisoner." Kara can't quite believe it. But she has no means to distrust Lena either. And the beacon-- the beacon lends the story credence. "Please, Kara Zor el. You're the first person to speak to me since we landed. Just-- get me out of this room and I'll make my own way home from there." Kara almost agrees, already forming a plan to find and destroy the sensor that watched for the beacon, and help smuggle the woman out of the palace. But her mother's words echo once again, and makes her shake her head. "I can't." She pulls away, only for Lena's hands to grab at her once more. "No, please, wait! There-- there has to be something--" "It would be an act of war," Kara states plainly. "I cannot." Lena stares at her, stricken. Then her features harden, and her fingers release Kara's wrist. Silently, Lena turns away, folding her arms around herself, as disappointment settles heavily on her shoulders. Helplessness settles on Kara as well. She stands, unwilling to leave but unable to help. Until... "Speak no." Lena turns only slightly. "What?" "Marriage on Krypton provide a time for dissenters to voice... objection, to the union. I believe Daxam does as well." Lena stares at her. "It is often formality, but if you speak no, it will give the delegation pause. It could... give us cause to act. Give you time." Silence answers her. Its a long chance. Kara hopes her family will answer Lena's cry for help, but-- she isn't certain they will. "Listen for 'if any shall protest Rao's will, let them speak.'" Kara says the words in the old language, the one Daxam and Krypton still share in ritual. "Let them speak," Lena parrots. Her tongue stumbles over the words, but the comprehension is there. "And then you say 'I speak no'." The delegation may recognize English, but Rhea would be harder pressed to smooth over the bride objecting in their language. "I speak no," Lena repeats again. These words are simpler, better suited to a mouth used to softer sounds. Before Kara can say anything more, Lena staggers suddenly, listing sharply into her. Kara steadies her, helping her to the bed. "Are you all right?" Lena inhales sharply, rubbing at her chest with a hand that trembles. "The food doesn't agree with me." Kara watches her anxiously, but Lena offers nothing else. She fidgets, unused to being so unhelpful. "Speaking no may be enough to stall the ceremony. It's not much, I'm sorry." Lena's features finally soften. "It's more than I had five minutes ago." She offers a sad smile. Thank you, Kara Zor el." When she leaves, Kara does so with a lump in her throat. It doesn't feel right. Daxam's reputation for cruelty towards their slaves was well known to Krypton, but this? This was beyond anything Kara ever believed them capable. Mind twisting, Kara almost doesn't see the figure coming around the corner. "Oh!" She stops just shy of collision, and blinks back her dismay at the sight of Queen Rhea herself. In an instant, Kara smoothed her features and dipped into a genuflection. "Your Majesty, please forgive me." Regal features curl into a humorless smile, as her eyes track to the sigil on Kara's chest. "The House of El. I hadn't heard they'd misplaced one of their number." "I was admiring a sculpture, and didn't realize I'd lagged so far behind, your highness. I thought they'd come this way, but I've seen no sign of them." "Oh? And what have you seen?" Danger lurks under the sweet and patient intonation. Kara lifts her chin, channeling every ounce of her mother's training to keep her expression neutral. "Nothing? Your majesty," she tacks on. "When I realized I had gone the wrong way, I thought I had found a servant's corridor. Please accept my deepest apologies, your majesty. I did not mean to intrude." A dark eyebrow lifts. "A humble Kryptonian. I never thought I'd see the day." Her words mock, but her suspicion softens to mirth. "Perhaps there is some hope for the future of our people's after all." The queen turns to one of the guards at her shoulder. "Escort our guest to her delegation." "Yes, my queen." Kara dips again, eyes downcast. "Thank you, your majesty. I shall do my best not to be so enraptured with your palace in the future." This time when Rhea smiles, Kara sees the fangs behind it. "You may admire as you wish-- simply mind your way." "Yes, your majesty." The queen strides past her, her remaining guard trailing close behind. Kara itches to follow, but the guard waiting to escort her pre-empts any thoughts of subterfuge. She follows him in the opposite direction, pretending she doesn't hear the hiss of a door opening and closing behind her. When the door opens to her own family's chambers, her mother and aunt immediately rise to meet. "Kara, thank Rao!" "What happened? Where you detained?" Kara shakes her head. "I'm fine but--" "Kara, you know how important our presence here is!" Her mother scolds. "You can't be wandering off like a child! I brought you because I believed you mature enough to accept the responsibility." Kara glances at Kal el, who sits in a small corner of the couch, wholly absorbed in his reading and unconcerned with where he was or why. "Yes, mother," is all she says. "I'm sorry." She keeps her discovery to herself, avoiding her mother's disbelief through dinner and evening prayer. It's not until the quiet hour that Kara seeks out her aunt, and finds her gazing out the window of their main reception area, gaze deep and thoughtful. "Aunt Astra?" Astra turns to face her, silver hair glinting in the moonlight. "Yes, little one." She smiles. "Come, keep your old aunt company a while." Kara gladly steps into her aunt's one-armed embrace, sharing the same view. "You're not old." "Mmm," her aunt hums. "My ego appreciates that, little one." They stand in silence for several minutes, until Kara finally gives voice to the concerns that plague her. "Does Daxam follow the same bonding rituals as Krypton?" "Yes, for the most part. They select their matches differently, but the ceremonies are largely the same." "So there will be an opportunity to dissent?" Astra glances at her. "Does this have anything to do with your quiet this evening?" Kara swallows. "Something happened. When we were separated." "What is it? If they put a finger on you--" "No, aunt. Nothing like that. I-- I followed a wrong corridor, and ended up in the bride's chambers." Dark eyebrows lift. "How strange. Is she as lovely as the Daxamites all whisper?" "Yes, but-- Aunt Astra, I think she's in trouble." Astra snorts. "And she's only just realizing the Daxamites are trouble?" "She isn't from Daxam. She says she's from Earth." That gets Astras attention. "Earth?" "She doesn't speak Daxamite-- only English. She was difficult to follow, but I think she said the Queen abducted her from her planet, brought her here against her will. Her name is Lena Luthor, and--" "These are serious allegations, Kara. Are you certain you heard what you think you did?" Kara swallows. "She spoke so fast. But... she asked for help. I'm certain of that. And I saw fear in her eyes." "And what did you tell her?" "I couldn't act. Not without inciting conflict between our planets. But I told her of the right to dissent, gave her the words to speak that might stop the ceremony." Astra considers her words. Finally, she nods. "That was a wise move." "What if it's not enough? What if Rhea skips the rite?" For once, Astra doesn't have answer for her. "Then we will find a way to investigate further. If this woman is indeed from Earth, we may have grounds to interfere. It is an indexed planet earmarked for potential colonization. An abduction could threaten our prospects-- it would behoove us to prevent such an outcome." It does little to soothe Kara. The lump in her throat remains long through the night and breakfast the next morning, and through her preparations for the ceremony. All the while, she tries not to think what preparations Lena may be undergoing that very moment. In the ampitheater, Kara and her family are afforded an unobstructed view. She sits between her mother and cousin, back straight and fingers clenched. The Prince enters first, from the east. His features are solemn, heavy. Completely uncharacteristc of the rumors that abound of his celebrity and immaturity. He looks how Kara feels-- that he knows what comes next is very wrong. But instead of relief, Kara's dread only worsens. He could stop this, but hasn't. By showing up, he proves he will be no ally to his betrothed. When Lena enters from the west, Kara knows in an instant something is wrong. The woman's sharp gaze had been piercing the day before, but now they're cloudy and slightly unfocused. Her skin is flushed, red and shining with sweat despite the chill in the chamber. When she stumbles on air, a guard takes her firmly by the arm, and all but drags her to where the Prince and Queen wait. As the ceremony commences, Kara's focus remains on Lena's profile, and watches as her eyes close sluggishly, and her chest hitches as though in discomfort. "If any shall protest Rao's will, let them speak." Kara waits with bated breath, in the stretch of silence that follows. Astra touches her knee in readiness, but one beat passes, then two, and Lena says nothing. Kara lookes closer, and finds Lena's eyes clenched shut, hand pressed against her sternum as though she hasn't even heard. She hasn't heard. "Then by Rao's--" "I object!" Kara blurts, shooting to her feet. The prince's head turns sharply, but Lena's eyes remain closed, as she inhales through her nose. "Kara," Alura hisses, but the damage is done. Rheas gaze turns on Kara, and in them she finds outrage, second to mirth. She thinks she's won. "I speak," Kara repeats. "This union cannot proceed." "It is not your place, girl. You are not speaker of your delegation." "Lena!" Kara calls, shaking free of her mother's hands. Finally, Lena's eyes blink open. "Lena!" Sluggish eyes turn towards her. "Karazorel..." The name runs together on Lena's tongue, slurred and murky. "Yes, princess, it's me. Do you accept this union?" Rhea pushes between them. In a flash, Astra stands at Kara's side, ready to defend her. "You risk a thousand years of peace, Kryptonian!" "You are the one who invited us here-- to observe the rites. We will stand witness, and by Rao if you have done anything--" "I speak no." The words come soft behind Rhea, stuttered and cottony. The queen whirls, outrage twisting her pretty face into an ugly mask of rage. "How do you know those words?" Lena blinks sluggishly. "I speak no." This time, the pronunciation is close to perfect, and the utterance carries across the entire hall. "I speak no--" Rhea's hand cracks against her cheek. The force of the blow sends Lena staggering, ultimately losing her battle against gravity to fall to her knees. Kara doesn't think. She pushes past her aunt and the guards between them, and plants her hand on Rhea's wrist, where her hand twists in Lena's hair, pulling cruelly. "You dare--" Rhea's hand lifts to strike Kara as well, but Astra is at her side in an instant, tall and imposing. "Strike her and you will only live long enough to do it once." Rhea pauses. "Let her go," Kara demands. "You have no authority here." Kara looks over her shoulder, where Lena tearfully struggles to breathe past the ragged gasps in her throat. "Lena..." She can't give Lena the words this time. All she needs to do is ask for help. The system is listening-- they would hear, and act. She just needs to speak. In English, or not. When Lena looks up at her, searching through the bleary haze in her eyes, Kara isn't certain she could even hear her. Something was wrong. "Please," Lena gasps. A hand presses to her chest, as though trying to relieve a tremendous pressure. "Please help me." The room erupts in shock and outrage. Kara releases the queen to reach for Lena, and hears Astra declare Lena safe under the protection of Krypton and the House of El until the truth of Rhea's treachery is uncovered. It fades to a dull roar, as Kara presses her hands to Lena's flushed and sweating cheeks. She's shocked to find her skin chill and clammy. "Mother!" she calls. "Mother, she is unwell!" "I-- I can't breathe--" Lena gasps, moments before she face turns ashen and her body loosens. Kara only just manages to catch her before she slumps the floor, unconscious. "MOTHER!" "Her heartrate is too fast." "I think she's been drugged," Kara supplies quickly. She turns to Rhea. "What did you give her?!" "You insult me--" "We don't have time for this," Alura cuts her off. "Astra, we need to get her back to the shuttle. We will be able to provide treatment on the frigate." The flight back to the frigate passes tensely. Lena doesn't wake up, and Kara spends the minutes with her hand tight around the human's slack fingers. As soon as Astra carries Lena into the medical bay, she activates a stasis field. "This will give us time to quarantine her condition. Sister, do you still have the files on human physiology?" Alura nods. "Yes. I've sent a Kal ex unit to retrieve them." In the meantime, the healing units hover and dart around Lena's pale frame, taking samples and running tests. When they compare the results to Alura's records, Astra's features darken. "So it's true then. Daxam drugs its people into compliance." Kara stares, horrified. "She was drugged?" Astra nods. "These results indicate she has been for some time. No doubt she proved troublesome for the Queen. But it seems she received a significantly larger dose only just recently, likely in attempt to keep her from making a scene during the ceremony." "The prolonged exposure weakened her heart," Alura supplies. "Had it been just the one dose, we might have been able to fully repair the damage, but..." "She'll die?" "We can help her recover, and Krypton's gravity differs from Earth's. It's possible it will allow her to live a relatively long life... but she will have symptoms for the rest of her days." Kara breathes deeply. "We can't let Rhea have her." "I agree, little one. But I'm afraid the decision may be out of our hands. Once she is well enough, the council will want to hear her story. If it is true Rhea captured her, Daxam will never lay a hand on her again." Alura meets her husband's gaze, and nods. "The House of El will pledge their protection. She will be safe on Kryptonian soil." The others leave, citing duties and a desire to let the healers work. But Kara stays, unable to pull herself away. Astra lingers. "I am so proud of you, Kara. You took a great risk, speaking out as you did. But you saved her life." Kara shakes her head. Her exchange in the palace repeated in her head, looping on Lena's unsteadiness and her breathlessness.

The food doesn't agree with me. "She was ill when we met. I just, didn't realize..." "You couldn't have, Kara." "I shouldn't have left her there. I should have done more to help her that night. If I had, Rhea wouldn't have had the chance to--" "You did more than anyone else did. You were a hero today." But it wasn't enough. "I want to stay here tonight." "Very well. I will sent kal ex with some blankets." Kara stays, for days as they try to get Lena's baseline to a sustainable level. When they slowly reduce the stasis field, allowing Lena to function on her own, their patient sleeps, oblivious to the political volleys exchanged in her name. To Kara's surprise, Krypton remains adamant that Lena remain where she is, despite Daxam's demands for her return.

Kara is there when Lena opens her eyes. They lift heavily, as though burdened by great weight. Her eyes slowly focus, and then sharpen to the keen edge Kara had witnessed before. "You are safe," Kara says in English, pulling the woman's focus to her. "Safe." Lena's throat bobs in a thick swallow. "The wedding..." "You spoke no. The ceremony wasn't completed." Lena's eyes close, lips pressing tightly together. "You're on my family's ship now, in orbit over Krypton. Once the council determines the fault of Daxam, you'll be allowed to land, as a guest of the House of El." Lena nods, opening her eyes. "Thank you, Karazorel." "My friends call me Kara." Pale lips lift softly, even as her eyes start to slip shut, betraying her exhaustion. "I'm Lena."

#supercorp au #daxam wedding au #kara on krypton #kara saves the day #fateful objection

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