TenGen, Kairi and Harry
A TenGen meme, where you pick a pairing and write ten prompts based on ten different genres of fic. :3
This is based on Kairi/Harry from SW, which isn't even canon, but that rarely stops me from shipping anything. >_> :D
1. Angst
Her smile faltered. "I can't do this anymore."
His face went blank in response. For a moment her words hung heavy in the air between them, the memory echoing against itself, growing louder and louder.
She could just back out, now, turn and pretend like nothing had been said. His eyes, slowly widening, said he would let her. He'd much rather let her. Swallowing, she continued. "I can't pretend I'm happy when I'm not."
Harry looked like she punched him in the gut while holding him up against the wall. His eyes skittered to the side, as if seeking a way out.
"No, listen." The words were too much, caught in her throat like thick carnival taffy. But she shouldered ahead anyway, because they needed to be said. She didn't want to go back now, because where was there to go back to? "I can't pretend we're okay when we're... not. I can't say I don't want to kiss you, when I do.
"I can't... be that girl, Harry, who watches the one she wants pass her by because she was too afraid to say anything."
"Kairi--"
"Harry, I lo--"
"Kairi, don't."
Her mouth snapped shut. She stared at him, surprised at how fast her tearducts responded as a hot, wet pressure built behind her eyes. That was it, that was all she had. And he wouldn't even let her say it.
2. AU
3. Crack
4. Crossover
5. First Time
There is no pause, no time to think. Harry is thrown over the side without his wand, and she's already running through the fray, right at the point where he vanished under the edge. Right before she goes over, Kairi jerks her arm outward and points her wand without looking, shouting accio!, and then gravity is pulling her down into a swan dive.
It's about five seconds too late to think about stopping now, and Harry seems too far away to reach and the ground seems all too easy, but she's going to reach him before the ground does because there is simply no other way to go about it. She reaches out for him and and he doesn't see her and the ground is getting really really close and suddenly the broom she called for is there, right under her hand. She grabs it and swings her leg around and-- and there, she reaches him, she has him, catching his wrist and pulling up with every ounce of strength she has. It's hard because she's small and he's heavy and the broom is not built for two, but there is no way she's going to let go so reality will just have to adjust its rules and make this work. The broom dips dangerously in protest but she forces it to heel out of sheer willpower, carrying them steady for those precious few milliseconds, when Harry suddenly seems to realize he's not a pancake. He twists and reaches up and grabs the the broom for dear life with his free hand.
For a moment their eyes meet and his are wide and incredulous and filled with Hells Bells, Kairi, what did you think you were doing, and she doesn't know, doesn't remember processing a single logical thought between watching him fall and this exact moment, as the broom flies them back up to relative safety.
******
When it's over, she lets the broom take her down, searching out where her friends managed to find shelter. The attack is over and finished with everyone is safe now, and maybe in about five days her adrenaline will realize this and stop pumping. She lands a bit awkwardly, slipping off the broom and feeling like the butterflies in her stomach are enough to lift her right off again.
There he is. She spots Harry at the same time he sees her, and puts on a relieved smile, forcing her shaky legs to move his way. He is definitely in front of her and he is definitely okay and he is definitely not splattered all over the courtyard because she was a second too slow.
"You know, Harry," she teases, her voice somehow completely light despite the thunder in her blood, "You really need to learn how to fly."
He just grins at her, looking about as relieved to see her as she is to see him, and quite content to pretend like he's not just as freaked out as she is. "No, I think the feeling of falling to my certain doom is pretty exhilarating. Just you wait; it'll be the next big wizard sport."
She shakes her head and laughs, a laugh that sounds rather close to crying, because what else can she do? Surviving these crazy stunts are always dealt with by making bad jokes and easy banter. She keeps walking toward him and belatedly, she realizes she meant to stop somewhere along on the way, preferably before running straight into him. But somehow her heart is now deciding to override her body and she just keeps going, dropping the broom with a loud clatter as her nose bumps into his chest and her arms wrap around him, hugging him tightly.
"No, really." She mumbles against his shirt, because for the first time she lets herself realize how scared she was, and for the first time just joking about it is not enough to make the fear go away. Her mouth wants to turn down but she can't frown at him, can't fracture their fragile game, so she hides the expression against soft black cotton. Her voice breaks. "You need to learn, Harry."
He stiffens at first, but when she refuses to let him go, that shock softens away and his arms come around to hold her, too. "Okay," he says softly, carefully, like he's not sure what this is but he's not exactly wanting to frighten her anymore than she already is. She'll come to her senses and give him his space in just a moment-- just a moment-- right after her heart decides to stop beating out a mariachi. In the time that takes, there is a moment of quiet hesitation, and then his arm moves, tucking her head under his chin. "Okay. I promise."
6. Fluff
She's asleep on the couch when he gets home, and this knowledge registers just in time for him to catch the door with his foot before it slams shut behind him. He gets a bruised toe for his trouble, but he ignores the pain, hopping on his other foot as he quietly resets the wards.
It's hard to hop silently, but Harry does his best, coming around the old couch to see Kairi curled up around Mister, and Mister curled up around the remote. The TV had finally shorted out about two weeks ago, so he finds it hard to believe that the cat had been surfing very many channels, but Mister seems content to keep the remote to himself anyway. Kairi looks peaceful, one arm curled underneath her head, the other resting near the giant cat as though sleep had claimed her in the middle of petting him.
He doesn't mean to wake her, but Mister uncurls and stretches at his approach, greeting him with a firm head-bump against his arm. He requires attention (and, Harry notes dryly, wants food) as his last conquest seems to have fallen asleep on him.
The big cat sits up and then plops down onto the floor, heading toward the kitchen expectantly. The shift on the couch causes the redhead to stir, and Harry decides that Mister is going to have to wait a moment.
She shifts and turns her head and suddenly those blue eyes are looking right at him, and Harry can't help the happy feeling that suddenly blooms warm in his heart. He tells himself that by now he should have gotten over the surprise of coming home and finding her there everyday, that he doesn't still fear this is just a dream that cannot last. Yet it's always a relief when he meets that crystal-gaze and knows she's still with him, still chooses to stay.
She smiles sleepily at him, and he's struck by how beautiful that simple expression is. "You're home early," she notes with a slight yawn, raising both arms above her head in a languid stretch.
His eyes track the lift of her shirt as it reveals a slim expanse of light skin. She's wearing a just a t-shirt and jeans, but that t-shirt moves against her skin in the most interesting ways. Here seems the perfect place for a smart remark, but his normal repertoire is strangely stunted as he follows her curves underneath the cloth. "Slow day," He replies instead, no longer as mournful of the lack of clients as he had been before opening the door.
"No phone calls?"
"No." He decides to give into temptation and leans in to touch her, a hand sliding along her waist. He loves the way she shifts, leaning into his touch as she turns onto her side.
"No explosions?" She asks, a hand reaching out to teasingly tug at the collar of his coat.
"...Not today, but tomorrow is still a distinct possibility."
Her eyes widen in feigned astonishment. "Really? No car chases through the sky, no fire-breathing lizards in bank vaults, no frenzied robotic unicorns?"
"Not even a troll on Broadway trying to make it as a backup dancer." His voice is as deadpan as he can make it, his palm feeling a smooth line along her side, his thumb settling just below her ribcage.
"That is slow," She muses, and her hand is traveling slowly higher, fingers climbing his collar until they slip around the back of his neck. Her hands are cool and soft and it's all too easy to lean towards her, wanting to meet her in the middle, wanting more.
At the last second she pulls back, brow wrinkling in consternation. "Wait, wasn't that troll interested in singing, not dancing?"
He gives her a look that is meant to be flat, but is completely ruined when she laughs and reaches for him again, and he smiles and catches her and kisses her because he can.
7. Humor
8. Hurt/Comfort
He crashes into her, giving her barely any time to catch him before he's pulling her as close as possible and dragging her lips against his. At first his touch is frantic, the kiss all desperation and teeth and pressure as they try to find each other, burning fear on both their parts that cannot be quenched so easily. His grip on her is tight and almost overbearing, and even touching her now he just can't seem to calm down. He's cold fire and he's hurting but he's hers, right here where he should be. His every frenzied movement demonstrates just how much he needed her to be there, how much he needed to find her waiting for him. He pulls back only to kiss her again, harder and yet more tender this time, one hand caught across her cheek as he attempts to drink her in.
She lets him, because she was scared too.
She touches him and holds him, her fingers digging into the back of his neck, and her mind still takes a moment to accept that he is really there, that he's come back to her, that Death hasn't claimed him. In all her life she's never been so terrified, and she's surprised she isn't shaking against him.
Finally they pull apart for air, but not too far; he leans his head down and bumps his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. She doesn't move her arms from around his neck-- if anything, her grip manages to get even tighter as she presses against him. There is a brief moment of silence as they catch their breaths, and she whispers, "Never again, Harry. Don't do that to me again."
9. Smut
10. UST
They stare at each other a moment, realizing at exactly the same time that there is nowhere to go to change clothes. It's this tiny closet or nothing, because the goal is to come out looking like staff, and that involves wearing the costumes. Which involves putting them on.
Which involves first getting undressed.
The place is perfectly air conditioned, but for some reason, Kairi feels like the air between them has suddenly gotten rather warm. But instead of procrastinating for a few more seconds, she decides that she is not going to be the one to jeopardize this plan of Harry's, nor let his chivalrous side jeopardize it either because for once it's brilliantly simple and doesn't involve fighting or explosions or avalanches.
She turns away from him and reaches for the hem of her shirt. She can hear him exhale and although the sound is somewhat strangled, it is followed shortly after by the sounds of shifting and shuffling as, presumably, he turns away.
She arcs her back, stretching to pull the t-shirt over her head. It's not like she's getting completely naked; she still has her underwear and that's plenty of coverage for the locker room, so why is her heart racing? It doesn't help that the space is small and the rustle of clothes is so very loud. She moves as fast as she is able, in that small space, but it's hard to maneuver without hitting the wall or the shelves or the very tall man behind her. When she reaches back for the crisp, white uniform shirt that is supposed to fit her, her back bumps up against her partner in crime. His skin is hot against hers, smooth and --
And they both jump away from either other like they've been shocked by static electricity. But it's something deeper than that, striking down to the bone, sharp and thrilling. Suddenly instead of worrying about the mission, Kairi finds her traitorous mind preoccupied with wondering what Harry's bare back looks like. Or his bare everything.
Harry is a perfect gentlemen and she has no doubt that he won't peek. Of course, she doesn't make the same promise.
This is based on Kairi/Harry from SW, which isn't even canon, but that rarely stops me from shipping anything. >_> :D
1. Angst
Her smile faltered. "I can't do this anymore."
His face went blank in response. For a moment her words hung heavy in the air between them, the memory echoing against itself, growing louder and louder.
She could just back out, now, turn and pretend like nothing had been said. His eyes, slowly widening, said he would let her. He'd much rather let her. Swallowing, she continued. "I can't pretend I'm happy when I'm not."
Harry looked like she punched him in the gut while holding him up against the wall. His eyes skittered to the side, as if seeking a way out.
"No, listen." The words were too much, caught in her throat like thick carnival taffy. But she shouldered ahead anyway, because they needed to be said. She didn't want to go back now, because where was there to go back to? "I can't pretend we're okay when we're... not. I can't say I don't want to kiss you, when I do.
"I can't... be that girl, Harry, who watches the one she wants pass her by because she was too afraid to say anything."
"Kairi--"
"Harry, I lo--"
"Kairi, don't."
Her mouth snapped shut. She stared at him, surprised at how fast her tearducts responded as a hot, wet pressure built behind her eyes. That was it, that was all she had. And he wouldn't even let her say it.
2. AU
3. Crack
4. Crossover
5. First Time
There is no pause, no time to think. Harry is thrown over the side without his wand, and she's already running through the fray, right at the point where he vanished under the edge. Right before she goes over, Kairi jerks her arm outward and points her wand without looking, shouting accio!, and then gravity is pulling her down into a swan dive.
It's about five seconds too late to think about stopping now, and Harry seems too far away to reach and the ground seems all too easy, but she's going to reach him before the ground does because there is simply no other way to go about it. She reaches out for him and and he doesn't see her and the ground is getting really really close and suddenly the broom she called for is there, right under her hand. She grabs it and swings her leg around and-- and there, she reaches him, she has him, catching his wrist and pulling up with every ounce of strength she has. It's hard because she's small and he's heavy and the broom is not built for two, but there is no way she's going to let go so reality will just have to adjust its rules and make this work. The broom dips dangerously in protest but she forces it to heel out of sheer willpower, carrying them steady for those precious few milliseconds, when Harry suddenly seems to realize he's not a pancake. He twists and reaches up and grabs the the broom for dear life with his free hand.
For a moment their eyes meet and his are wide and incredulous and filled with Hells Bells, Kairi, what did you think you were doing, and she doesn't know, doesn't remember processing a single logical thought between watching him fall and this exact moment, as the broom flies them back up to relative safety.
******
When it's over, she lets the broom take her down, searching out where her friends managed to find shelter. The attack is over and finished with everyone is safe now, and maybe in about five days her adrenaline will realize this and stop pumping. She lands a bit awkwardly, slipping off the broom and feeling like the butterflies in her stomach are enough to lift her right off again.
There he is. She spots Harry at the same time he sees her, and puts on a relieved smile, forcing her shaky legs to move his way. He is definitely in front of her and he is definitely okay and he is definitely not splattered all over the courtyard because she was a second too slow.
"You know, Harry," she teases, her voice somehow completely light despite the thunder in her blood, "You really need to learn how to fly."
He just grins at her, looking about as relieved to see her as she is to see him, and quite content to pretend like he's not just as freaked out as she is. "No, I think the feeling of falling to my certain doom is pretty exhilarating. Just you wait; it'll be the next big wizard sport."
She shakes her head and laughs, a laugh that sounds rather close to crying, because what else can she do? Surviving these crazy stunts are always dealt with by making bad jokes and easy banter. She keeps walking toward him and belatedly, she realizes she meant to stop somewhere along on the way, preferably before running straight into him. But somehow her heart is now deciding to override her body and she just keeps going, dropping the broom with a loud clatter as her nose bumps into his chest and her arms wrap around him, hugging him tightly.
"No, really." She mumbles against his shirt, because for the first time she lets herself realize how scared she was, and for the first time just joking about it is not enough to make the fear go away. Her mouth wants to turn down but she can't frown at him, can't fracture their fragile game, so she hides the expression against soft black cotton. Her voice breaks. "You need to learn, Harry."
He stiffens at first, but when she refuses to let him go, that shock softens away and his arms come around to hold her, too. "Okay," he says softly, carefully, like he's not sure what this is but he's not exactly wanting to frighten her anymore than she already is. She'll come to her senses and give him his space in just a moment-- just a moment-- right after her heart decides to stop beating out a mariachi. In the time that takes, there is a moment of quiet hesitation, and then his arm moves, tucking her head under his chin. "Okay. I promise."
6. Fluff
She's asleep on the couch when he gets home, and this knowledge registers just in time for him to catch the door with his foot before it slams shut behind him. He gets a bruised toe for his trouble, but he ignores the pain, hopping on his other foot as he quietly resets the wards.
It's hard to hop silently, but Harry does his best, coming around the old couch to see Kairi curled up around Mister, and Mister curled up around the remote. The TV had finally shorted out about two weeks ago, so he finds it hard to believe that the cat had been surfing very many channels, but Mister seems content to keep the remote to himself anyway. Kairi looks peaceful, one arm curled underneath her head, the other resting near the giant cat as though sleep had claimed her in the middle of petting him.
He doesn't mean to wake her, but Mister uncurls and stretches at his approach, greeting him with a firm head-bump against his arm. He requires attention (and, Harry notes dryly, wants food) as his last conquest seems to have fallen asleep on him.
The big cat sits up and then plops down onto the floor, heading toward the kitchen expectantly. The shift on the couch causes the redhead to stir, and Harry decides that Mister is going to have to wait a moment.
She shifts and turns her head and suddenly those blue eyes are looking right at him, and Harry can't help the happy feeling that suddenly blooms warm in his heart. He tells himself that by now he should have gotten over the surprise of coming home and finding her there everyday, that he doesn't still fear this is just a dream that cannot last. Yet it's always a relief when he meets that crystal-gaze and knows she's still with him, still chooses to stay.
She smiles sleepily at him, and he's struck by how beautiful that simple expression is. "You're home early," she notes with a slight yawn, raising both arms above her head in a languid stretch.
His eyes track the lift of her shirt as it reveals a slim expanse of light skin. She's wearing a just a t-shirt and jeans, but that t-shirt moves against her skin in the most interesting ways. Here seems the perfect place for a smart remark, but his normal repertoire is strangely stunted as he follows her curves underneath the cloth. "Slow day," He replies instead, no longer as mournful of the lack of clients as he had been before opening the door.
"No phone calls?"
"No." He decides to give into temptation and leans in to touch her, a hand sliding along her waist. He loves the way she shifts, leaning into his touch as she turns onto her side.
"No explosions?" She asks, a hand reaching out to teasingly tug at the collar of his coat.
"...Not today, but tomorrow is still a distinct possibility."
Her eyes widen in feigned astonishment. "Really? No car chases through the sky, no fire-breathing lizards in bank vaults, no frenzied robotic unicorns?"
"Not even a troll on Broadway trying to make it as a backup dancer." His voice is as deadpan as he can make it, his palm feeling a smooth line along her side, his thumb settling just below her ribcage.
"That is slow," She muses, and her hand is traveling slowly higher, fingers climbing his collar until they slip around the back of his neck. Her hands are cool and soft and it's all too easy to lean towards her, wanting to meet her in the middle, wanting more.
At the last second she pulls back, brow wrinkling in consternation. "Wait, wasn't that troll interested in singing, not dancing?"
He gives her a look that is meant to be flat, but is completely ruined when she laughs and reaches for him again, and he smiles and catches her and kisses her because he can.
7. Humor
8. Hurt/Comfort
He crashes into her, giving her barely any time to catch him before he's pulling her as close as possible and dragging her lips against his. At first his touch is frantic, the kiss all desperation and teeth and pressure as they try to find each other, burning fear on both their parts that cannot be quenched so easily. His grip on her is tight and almost overbearing, and even touching her now he just can't seem to calm down. He's cold fire and he's hurting but he's hers, right here where he should be. His every frenzied movement demonstrates just how much he needed her to be there, how much he needed to find her waiting for him. He pulls back only to kiss her again, harder and yet more tender this time, one hand caught across her cheek as he attempts to drink her in.
She lets him, because she was scared too.
She touches him and holds him, her fingers digging into the back of his neck, and her mind still takes a moment to accept that he is really there, that he's come back to her, that Death hasn't claimed him. In all her life she's never been so terrified, and she's surprised she isn't shaking against him.
Finally they pull apart for air, but not too far; he leans his head down and bumps his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. She doesn't move her arms from around his neck-- if anything, her grip manages to get even tighter as she presses against him. There is a brief moment of silence as they catch their breaths, and she whispers, "Never again, Harry. Don't do that to me again."
9. Smut
10. UST
They stare at each other a moment, realizing at exactly the same time that there is nowhere to go to change clothes. It's this tiny closet or nothing, because the goal is to come out looking like staff, and that involves wearing the costumes. Which involves putting them on.
Which involves first getting undressed.
The place is perfectly air conditioned, but for some reason, Kairi feels like the air between them has suddenly gotten rather warm. But instead of procrastinating for a few more seconds, she decides that she is not going to be the one to jeopardize this plan of Harry's, nor let his chivalrous side jeopardize it either because for once it's brilliantly simple and doesn't involve fighting or explosions or avalanches.
She turns away from him and reaches for the hem of her shirt. She can hear him exhale and although the sound is somewhat strangled, it is followed shortly after by the sounds of shifting and shuffling as, presumably, he turns away.
She arcs her back, stretching to pull the t-shirt over her head. It's not like she's getting completely naked; she still has her underwear and that's plenty of coverage for the locker room, so why is her heart racing? It doesn't help that the space is small and the rustle of clothes is so very loud. She moves as fast as she is able, in that small space, but it's hard to maneuver without hitting the wall or the shelves or the very tall man behind her. When she reaches back for the crisp, white uniform shirt that is supposed to fit her, her back bumps up against her partner in crime. His skin is hot against hers, smooth and --
And they both jump away from either other like they've been shocked by static electricity. But it's something deeper than that, striking down to the bone, sharp and thrilling. Suddenly instead of worrying about the mission, Kairi finds her traitorous mind preoccupied with wondering what Harry's bare back looks like. Or his bare everything.
Harry is a perfect gentlemen and she has no doubt that he won't peek. Of course, she doesn't make the same promise.