We're Coming Home (Bellamy Blake x Reader)

I - Pilot

A/N -

I use she/her pronouns throughout this story but as always feel free to change them as you read if you identify as something else! Everyone deserves a love story with Bellamy Blake. Also, this is very slow burn. Just fyi.

One day. One more day, and then I would turn eighteen. They would float me, and just like that, my existence would be forgotten by all but my father. Seeing as he was the Vice Chancellor, I couldn't imagine he'd have much time to mourn me, and then eventually I would be far from his mind too. Looking for comfort, I turned to the small window of my cell where I resided in the skybox. Earth seemed farther away than usual, but maybe that was because I was dreading my re-evaluation and ultimate sentence to floating. I stared at the planet for what felt like hours, dreaming of what it would be like to step foot on the rich, green earth, to plunge into the depths of the sea. Not that I could swim, but I always wanted to learn.

Even as a child, I was always so obsessed with Earth. I remember I studied it for countless hours, familiarizing myself with plants, hunting, even the most strange, complicated techniques of climbing trees. I knew I would never have the chance to put my knowledge to use, but I couldn't help my fascination. Staring at the planet always offered an escape, a way to delve into my imagination when I felt so alone. Truthfully, I never was. But after my mother died, my father was always so distant with me. Of course, I was guilty of pushing him away too. But we never got the chance to mend our shattering relationship because I made a stupid decision that I was likely going to die for.

I sighed and rested my chin on my knees. It was no use dwelling on things I couldn't change. Today was my last day alive, and I had to spend it doing something I loved, not sitting in my cell wallowing in grief. From beneath my pillow I pulled out my old leather notebook, a gift from my mother on my fourteenth birthday the year before she died. It was falling apart at the seams, and the leather strap that bound it shut was frayed. Carefully, I opened it towards the end, where only a few pages remained blank. Struck with inspiration, I began to write. My imagination carried the words across the yellowing pages, spinning tales woven of magic and love and fear and pain. I loved to write, to bring characters to life in a world of my own making. The entirety of the notebook was filled with short stories and diary entries, and any words that popped into my mind. It was my favorite past time, one of the few things that distracted my mind and allowed my soul to experience adventure I'd never had the pleasure of taking.

I thought my mother would be proud of me. Always eager to learn, to write, to share stories with anyone I could, even if I myself was the only audience. I dreamed of telling magnificent stories to my child and my child's child so that one day my descendants would be armed with the knowledge and imagination of the Kane bloodline. Starting with me, at the very least.

The slam of my door opening startled me, and my pencil tore a hole in the page I was writing on. With a wild look in my eyes, I stared at the guards that stood there, electric beating rods in hand. Adrenaline exploded in my veins. I wasn't ready to die. Not yet.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I shouted, unable to keep my blood from boiling. I wasn't sure if it was in anger or fear. Maybe both. "I still have one more day before I'm eighteen!"

"On your feet," said one of the guards, one I recognized but never particularly liked.

I didn't obey. They had no right to float me. Not yet. When it was clear to them that I was not going to follow orders, they stepped towards me and yanked me to my feet. My notebook fell from my lap, landing hard on the floor. The seam tore a little more. A few pages fell out. My heart pounded as the guards began to drag me out of my cell, and my eyes were glued to the notebook. I couldn't leave that. Even if I was going to be floated, I wanted to hold that in my hands, I wanted the comfort of my mother's spirit with me when I finally met my end.