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marwritesgood · 3 years

Text

Peach | S. Basett

Pairing: Simon x WOC!Reader

Timeframe: Season One AU

Summary: Y/n tries to ignore her aunt’s words, while Simon prays he is not yet out of time.

PART ONE // PART TWO

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A/N: This fic is just over 8K words

I cannot thank you enough for receiving this mini-series with so much love and support! I am so grateful that so many of you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed creating it.

I hope you like this ending <3

Philippa was still standing on the steps outside her home when Simon arrived.

He raced through gates atop his horse but, when he quickly realised Y/n was nowhere in sight, he came to a halt. A worker appeared beside him as he came down from the saddle, guiding the horse away so that Simon could approach Lady Bennet.

“Lady Bennet-”

“I take it you hesitated to come here?” Philippa questioned bitterly. She had made it quite clear to the Duke that time was of the essence. Yet, he stood, dishevelled and panting because he was late, despite his delayed best efforts.

“Lady Bennet, please help me,” Simon exhaled, taking his hat off swiftly and holding it to his chest. Philippa had begun walking towards her home before she turned around again.

“Grant me one reason as to why I should help you, your grace,” she sneered. “Did you not possess every available opportunity to make amends with my niece ever since her arrival in London?”

“I did,” he cried, desperate to obtain Philippa’s assistance. “I had every opportunity but, like the fool I am, I took each one for granted. I have been far too preoccupied with affairs I do not care for; I have stupidly disregarded that which matters most to me; my relationship with Y/n.”

He grew quiet for a moment, during which the only sound heard in the cortile was that of Simon’s panting, a consequence of his frantic outburst. Philippa’s cold and glaring expression remained unfazed. She could not yet decide whether she trusted him.

Simon waited until he caught his breath to speak again.

For any other person in the world, he would uphold his reputation of being reserved and brooding. However, Y/n was not any other person in the world to him. She meant a great deal to Simon, and he was willing to disregard his typical persona, stoicism and all if it meant fixing things between them.

Even if it meant a vocal revelation of how he truly felt.

“I... I love her,” Simon admitted, the crinkle between his brows a confirmation of his sincerity. Philippa’s scowl faded. “I know I am undeserving of your ladyship’s help... just as I am unworthy your niece, but I can no longer deny the true nature of my feelings for her. Nor can I begin to describe the regret I have for not being here sooner so that I could confess this to her.”

As silence filled the courtyard once more, Simon glanced at the floor beneath him, overcome with regret and sorrow. Had he reached the Bennet home quicker, it would have been easy.

“Well then... you ought to begin thinking,” Philippa stated flatly, inciting confusion upon Simon. She smirked, amused by Simon’s response. He always was slow to catch on. “Your grace, if I am going to help you reach my niece, the very least you can do is think of what you will say to her.”

A wide grin slowly made itself apparent on Simon’s face. Suddenly the sorrow he felt previously was beginning to be replaced with a newfound hope- one he would, this time, indulge in and act hastily upon. He was not going to allow himself to repeat his same mistakes.

“Alright now,” she smiled. “I presume you have a plan in mind?”

Simon thought for a moment. While he feared he would miss Y/n’s departure, Simon, unfortunately, did not consider what he would do. He began panicking, straining his train of thought as he sought for even a scrap of an idea.

Then Simon remembered how he found himself in this position. He recounted all the times in his past, where he hesitated. Where became so enveloped in all the matters that burdened his mind, he lost sight of what mattered most to him.

He refused to fall subject to that mentality again.

Therefore, for the first time in his life, Simon turned to his instincts. Not his desire for perfection. Not his pride or his arrogance or his vengeance. What mattered most at that moment was how he could best apologise to Y/n and prove that he loved her dearly.

“Do you know the man whose proposal she is to accept?”

Philippa nodded. She narrowed her eyes at Simon, curious as to what he intended to do. Lady Bennet knew she would inevitably agree, no matter how strange the plan turned out to be, but she was still greatly curious and the slightest bit concerned.

“Can you delay him?” Simon asked. “By the time Y/n’s carriage reaches her home, it will be dusk; thus, I presume she will plan to meet with her suitor in the morning. I need you to delay that from happening.”

“And what will you do?” Philippa questioned. “Would it not be wiser for us both to leave immediately?”

Simon shook his head. He thought of the right way to phrase his answer. If Simon revealed his plan to Lady Bennet, he knew she would support him wholeheartedly. However, he thought it best to keep the better part of it concealed. It would have more effect that way, he believed.

“There are a few places I must visit beforehand,” he explained.

“You are asking me to delay Mr Graham so that you can visit a few places?!”

“I am asking your Ladyship to have trust in me,” Simon pleaded. “Hurting your niece is my biggest regret. I intend to atone for my mistakes, not repeat them.”

Philippa stared intently at the Duke. It was a massive ask of her; to leave her family momentarily and interfere with Mr Graham’s pursuits. However, every instinct she possessed led her to believe that Simon was sincere. The confidence he held gave her hope that his plan would work. She sighed.

“Then you must leave immediately,” Philippa ordered him. “Visit the places that say you must visit and then race hastily to my sister’s home. I will do my best to delay Mr Graham until then.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Simon cheered before doing just as he was told.

He raced towards his horse and climbed atop the saddle. Philippa dashed inside to organise yet another carriage headed to her hometown. Both equally determined to keep their beloved Y/n from accepting Mr Graham’s proposal.

***

The Y/l/n household was, needless to say, very much hectic. Y/n had arrived home the night before, hoping she would, at the very least, be able to have some sleep before the next morning. That proved to be impossible.

The words of her Aunt Philippa haunted Y/n during her journey home. Then, just as she feared, it continued to do so as Y/n tossed and turned in her bed. Once she finally began to settle, her mother barged in with sever different dresses for her to try on.

“Sit up straight, dear.”

Y/n flinched at the sudden sound of her mother’s orders. She reluctantly obeyed and straightened her back. When Mrs Y/l/n turned back around, Y/n sighed exasperatedly, slumping her shoulders ever so slightly. Her hands curled into tight fists as she tried to keep herself from dozing off yet again.

“I do not understand,” Mrs Y/l/n agonised as she paced the sitting room. This was an all too familiar situation for Y/n. “Mr Graham is known for being punctual, yet he is running terribly late.”

Y/n could care less that Mr Graham was late. Not while she was living off of less than an hour of slumber.

“You don’t suppose I could have a scone while we wait, mama,” Y/n mumbled. She was not particularly hungry so much as she was desperate for some energy.

“Do not be silly, Y/n. You mustn’t risk staining your dress,” Mrs Y/l/n replied. Eager to make sure everything went perfectly, she sat beside her daughter and asked the same question she had asked every hour previously. “Now, have you prepared what you will say?”

“Yes, mama, for the fifth time, yes,” Y/n droned. Her exhaustion only intensified her irritability which her mother seemingly lived to test continually. “I don’t understand your concern with how I respond. It matters not how I respond but that I simply remember to say ‘yes’?”

On any other given day, Mrs Y/l/n would have scolded her daughter. However, for reasons unknown to Y/n, she simply sighed and took hold of her hand.

“Words hold great power, dear,” Y/n’s mother explained simply. She glanced down at her daughter’s hand momentarily before meeting her gaze once more. “They are a valuable indicator of one’s character. How Mr Graham proposes to you will tell you of his attitude towards you and your future marriage. How you respond will do the same to him.”

Y/n nodded, knowing first-hand the amount of truth in her mother’s statement.

She did not care for her response to him as she did not care for him or their future marriage. Y/n simply wished to move past what had happened with her and Simon. This was beginning to become clear to her.

“I will respond to him properly, mama,” Y/n assured.

Mrs Y/l/n smiled, lifting her hand to cup the side of her daughter’s face. It was slowly dawning on her that in only a matter of time, Y/n would be married. When Mrs Y/l/n sent Y/n her letter, she knew the issue of her daughter being unwed would resolve itself in one way or another. However, Mrs Y/l/n was taken by complete surprise when Y/n came home on her own accord.

It was far too out of character for her.

She tried her best to look past it. Mrs Y/l/n rushed to get everything in order for Mr Graham’s arrival. However, it was becoming clear to her that she had been too preoccupied with doing so.

As Mrs Y/l/n struggled to find a way to question Y/n about her behaviour, Mr Graham’s carriage arrived outside her home. Y/n looked out her window and jumped to her feet. Before she could race to the door, her mother held her back.

“Before he comes in, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n began. “Are you... Are you sure you are ready for this? Is this truly what you want?”

Y/n scoffed. Her previous concerns about accepting Mr Graham’s proposal suddenly became easy to look past. Y/n’s resentment for her mother began to surface, adding much to her motivations to go through with marrying.

“Mama, please do not pretend to care about what it is I want.”

Mrs Y/l/n had not expected her to react in such a manner. She was not prepared to have her mothering methods confronted. Y/n’s mother’s primary concern had always been ensuring her daughter marries. It gave Mrs Y/l/n significant discomfort to realise how this resulted in her overlooking what should have mattered more.

Not to mention how she only came to realise this just as her daughter was about to agree to marry a man she expressed great disinterest in just weeks before.

Y/n rushed out of the room before her mother could say anything further. As she reached the hallway, Y/n watched the doors burst open. Much to her surprise, it was not Mr Graham alone who walked through. Instead, Mr Graham was with her Aunt Philippa, who relentlessly attempted to guide him in the opposite direction.

“Mr Graham, please, I must show you-”

“Lady Bennet, you have shown me enough gardens,” Mr Graham insisted, trying his best to contain his annoyance. “In fact, I am quite certain you have shown me almost every garden in town.”

“All except the best one, sir, which is located just outside the-”

“- Aunt Philippa, enough!” Y/n shouted.

Mrs Y/l/n reached the hallway just as Y/n called her sister’s name. Mr Graham exhaled tiredly before holding his hands behind his back and regaining his composure.

Philippa sighed. Her attempts at delaying Mr Graham by badgering him to stop at all 9 gardens on their way to her sister’s home all appeared to be in vain. Simon had yet to arrive, and it was clear they were out of time.

“Philippa?” Mrs Y/l/n said in shock. Her sister had always made an effort to give notice before visiting.

“Hello, sister,” Lady Bennet replied awkwardly, trying her best to force a smile.

Y/n had been glaring at her aunt.

She was furious that after she made clear her intention countless times to Philippa, her aunt still chose to meddle. Y/n felt more adamant than ever to go through, even if to simply spite her aunt. It was due time that they learned to refrain from making her decisions for her.

Even if it meant marrying a man she did not particularly care for.

She forced herself to appear alright, mainly in the hopes that it would influence her feelings. That it would obliviate her concerns. It was her last resort at being ok with what she was about to do.

“Mr Graham,” Y/n called out. The man stood tall, prompting Philippa to grimace. “You may join me in the sitting room.”

She walked ahead of him, guiding Mr Graham to the room. Once he walked in, Y/n turned around and closed the door before returning her attention to him. She fiddled with her hands while he cleared his throat.

Y/n was fixated by the words of both her mother and her aunt. She kept asking herself the same question Philippa had. Could she be happy? Could she possibly find any enjoyment in marrying a man like Mr Graham? In living an inevitable future with him?

Mr Graham was exhausted from the long journey he was forced to take with Lady Bennet. For the most part, his mind was blank, aside from his impending desire to return home.

“Is there anything you wish to say, Mr Graham?” Y/n asked. Mr Graham was taken aback. “Before I give you my response, that is.”

Y/n was resorting to humouring her mother’s advice. She wanted to see how Mr Graham was going to ask for her hand so that, this time, she could identify his intentions. Y/n wished to put aside the conclusions she reached about Mr Graham; he was arrogant and ignorant.

She hoped he could prove that he had one if any, good qualities aside from possessing wealth.

“Uhm-” Mr Graham coughed. “You will remember my father is the primary supplier of livestock commodities in our town.”

“Yes, I do remember-”

“By livestock, I am of course referring to domesticated animals raised in agricultural settings,” he continued, despite Y/n’s best efforts to get a word in. It seemed Mr Graham believed he had reason to take her for someone simple-minded; reasons Y/n did not care for but absolutely resented. “And by commodities, I mean the products-”

“-Yes, I am aware of what words mean, Mr Graham,” Y/n retorted.

“That you are,” he smiled, patronising her even more.

Outside the sitting room, Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n stood with their ears pressed against the door in the corridor. The more they heard Mr Graham speak, the more concerned they became for Y/n. Philippa’s stomach churned as she thought of her poor niece being wed to such a man. She could hardly believe she managed to last the journey there with him and not be at her wit’s end.

“I was recently made aware of the amount your father is offering for your hand,” Mr Graham stated, wincing as he did so. Y/n knew how small her dowry was, and she was annoyed that Mr Graham unnecessarily reminding her. “And you will be pleased to know that I am willing to look past it.”

“How charitable of you, sir,” Y/n muttered. Mr Graham did not catch on to her sarcasm. He was an easily distracted man, Y/n concluded. One need only groom his ego, even sarcastically, for him to be oblivious.

Y/n was reminded again of what her Aunt

“Yes, it is quite charitable of me,” Mr Graham remarked, smiling as he felt pleased with himself. “In fact, that is the very reason I first asked for your hand. Father believed it a grand idea that I marry a woman of your kind. Should attract a different demographic to choosing Graham as their supplier.”

“A woman... of my kind?”

The Grahams were the primary supplier of livestock. However, the few other families in Y/n town, who were not white, found livestock commodities elsewhere. It was clear Y/n that they viewed her as a pawn in their pursuit of broadening their clientele.

Y/n could already foresee where the conversation was headed, and suddenly her aunt’s questions held all the more weight.

‘Do you truly believe you will be happy?’

It took her only a moment to think it over. There was no denying that Mr Graham possessed all the ignorance and arrogance Y/n suspected he did, so she considered if it was worth bearing. Would a mediocre future with him be worth having to endure his jabs at her identity, her class and her family?

Mr Graham and his father dealt with domesticated animals for a living. It was clear that they viewed Y/n just the same.

Thus, her mind was decided.

“I expected you to be grateful,” Mr Graham commented, confused as to why Y/n was not flattered that of all the two women who made eye contact with him at the town ball. It was she who received a proposal from him. “You do not exactly have an abundance of suitors lined up at your door. Not to mention, I was generous enough not to withdraw my proposal after you asked for... time to consider your answer.”

Out in the corridor, the two sisters exchanged glances. Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n both argued quietly over who was to barge in and reprimand Mr Graham.

“That is quite enough, Mr Graham,” Y/n hissed, beating both her mother and her aunt to it. Her mind was, after all, decided.

Y/n had struggled for most of her life with control in that she had little of it. If it was not society dictating how she was to live and breathe, it was her mother. This time would be different, Y/n decided.

This time, she would be taking control and making decisions based solely on her own input.

“Thank you for expressing your feelings, your family history and your intentions with such candour,” Y/n began sweetly. Just as she expected, Mr Graham took nothing but pride in what he believed was sincere gratitude. “And thank you for being so charitable as to offer a lowly woman such as myself a proposal of marriage.”

Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n listened in with concern. They both knew Y/n too well to believe that she send Mr Graham off with civility and decorum. Y/n was the least bit concerned for either.

“You have been so generous with your time,” Y/n continued. “Therefore, I will not keep you waiting any longer... Mr Graham, I will not be accepting your proposal.”

Y/n took great pleasure in rejecting his proposal. Mr Graham grew pale as he quickly realised what her answer was. He stood on the opposite side of the sitting room, yet Y/n was desperate to further away.

“You... You mustn’t be serious,” he exhaled dumbfounded. The man possessed a great ego when he first enters Y/n’s home. Thus she was determined to shrink, if not demolish it.

“On the contrary, sir,” Y/n smiled, this time genuinely. “I am perfectly serious.”

“S-surely you have not considered the ramifications of denying my proposal,” Mr Graham reasoned.

Y/n was far too accustomed to being lectured by white men on not considering her actions’ consequences. They, of all people, she believed, were the least bit qualified to talk another on such matters. Not when they are granted every luxury and advantage at birth.

“Miss Y/l/n, you must know, after two seasons of rejected proposals, it is doubtful you will receive another after me,” Mr Graham explained. He was merely adding insult to injury. “And with a dowry as small as yours, I predict your future will be bleak.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Y/n replied, her head held high as she knew Mr Graham was expecting her to be grovelling. “Perhaps I will not receive another proposal after you. Perhaps I will be doomed to live a life of struggle and severe austerity, but make no mistake Mr Graham. I would sooner commit to the life of an impoverished spinster than I would, ever again, entertain the prospect of being your wife.”

Y/n marched towards the door and swung it open, revealing Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n eavesdropping on their conversation. Y/n hoped that would be the case, as an audience’s presence prompted Mr Graham’s mortification to increase tenfold.

“I must ask you to leave immediately.”

Mr Graham did not wait another moment. He just about sprinted out the door, determined to never step foot in the Y/l/n home again. Y/n stood in the hallway with a smirk and a proud glimmer in her eye. If she felt as a result of taking control, her only regret was not doing so sooner.

Perhaps Y/n would regret her decision later in her life. Maybe she only created more issues for herself than anything else. However, all that would be affairs she would attend to last, in the far off future. For now, she was happy.

Y/n headed towards her bedroom without saying a word to her mother nor her aunt. She had not done so on purpose. She was simply desperate to change out of her corset and resume resting her fatigued body. Once Y/n was altered, she sat on the edge of her bed. As she let out an audible sigh, Y/n slumped her shoulders and fell back.

She had never been so grateful for her mattress.

Y/n closed her eyes momentarily. She was very sleep-deprived, yet she was on an incredible high from the adrenaline of rejecting Mr Graham so explicitly. Before she opened her eyes, Y/n felt the mattress sink at her sides. As she opened her eyes, she realised both her mother and aunt were lying beside her.

“I must apologise to you both,” Y/n explained, reach her arms out to hold each of their hands. “I have caused you both a great deal of grief. And it all appears to be in vain now that I have rejected Mr Graham.”

Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n turned to face Y/n, both with the same expression.

“You may be sorry for many things in life, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n began. “But you mustn’t dare apologise for denying Mr Graham’s hand... you mustn’t ever.”

Y/n smiled. She was unsure what motivated her motivated to have such a change in character. However, she was far too pleased with it to question it.

“Any thought as to what you will do now, dearest?” Philippa asked. She looked over to her niece with her brows raised, and her sister followed suit.

It was clear that neither of them could keep Y/n from doing what she wanted. Therefore, it was decided that both Philippa and Mrs Y/l/n would simply stand aside and hold her hand throughout it all. Y/n thought for a moment.

“Perhaps another season?” Y/n answered.

In an ideal world, Y/n would have opted for something different. Perhaps she would have embraced the idea of being a spinster. In perfect world, such a fate would not be so grim. However, that was not the world Y/n lived in.

And so she opted to embrace the best and only option she had.

“Truly, dear?” Mrs Y/l/n exclaimed. While she was overcome with excitement, she wanted to ensure it was her daughter’s genuine desire.

“Yes, mama,” Y/n insisted, smiling weakly. She hoped in time the prospect would become more appealing to her. “-and it will be much different this time, hopefully for the better, as I am now willing to comply with you and your rules and your overprotective nature. I want it all.”

Mrs Y/l/n did not take offence. Instead, she simply laughed and leaned her head in to kiss Y/n’s temple. She had raised a mighty blunt and greatly opinionated daughter.

Mrs Y/l/n was most proud of it.

“I must excuse myself,” Y/n’s mother said. She placed her arms behind her and lifted herself off Y/n’s mattress. “Your father will be delighted to hear the news, I am quite sure.”

Y/n laughed at her mother’s excitement. Once Mrs Y/l/n left to recount the morning to her husband, it was just Y/n and her aunt.

“I hope you won’t mind me asking, dear,” Philippa whispered, inching closer to her niece. She feared the next subject of conversation would strike a chord with Y/n. “Has any of this changed your feelings... towards Simon?”

“No,” Y/n answered shortly, her voice neither louder nor quieter than previously. “He will soon be a married man, so it is most appropriate I refrain from paying him any mind so as to not remind myself of my feelings for him.”

Philippa huffed, torn as to whether or not she should tell her niece. Would doing so disrupt the duke’s plans? Would it not be better for Y/n to hear the truth from Simon himself when he eventually came? Would he ever arrive?

“I, however, must admit- whatever rage and anger I once held against him has since passed,” Y/n sighed. “You were right in what you said before... Although it will not be me who marries Simon, I do hope to marry someone like him.”

Someone like who he was before he became Duke Hastings, Y/n thought.

“You do?” Philippa smiled. She decided not to reveal anything to her niece quite yet. Lady Bennet was confident such a task should be carried out by Simon and him only.

“Hmm,” Y/n nodded. “Someone of good character and of a kind heart. A man who does not resent me when I raise arguments but rather engages in them.”

“It is the least of what you deserve in a husband, my dear,” Philippa replied.

The two of them shuffled to the top of Y/n’s bed, where her pillows laid. Both were exhausted from travelling in from London and enduring what had been a most eventful morning.

They both remained silent to get some sleep in before Mrs Y/l/n would eventually call them down for breakfast. However, just as Philippa began to drift off, his niece disrupted the quiet.

“Aunt Philippa,” she murmured. “I never did ask you what exactly compelled you to come... let alone badger Mr Graham as a means of delaying his arrival.”

Y/n was unsure what she was expected her aunt to reply. Philippa grew nervous as she tried to respond in a manner that would not reveal the real reason she came to her sister’s home.

“I-I,” Philippa stammered quietly. “-I simply could not sit idle... and let you accept Mr Graham’s proposal.”

Y/n hummed before turning to her side. It was a predictable answer, yet it left her with a bitter feeling of disappointment. She slept without

Philippa sighed in relief before hoping that wherever Simon was, whatever it was he was doing that moment, that it would not hinder him any longer from finally reaching the Y/l/n home.

***

Y/n awoke from her nap to an empty bed and an open room. She was curious about where her aunt had gone, not to mention why her mother did not wake her for breakfast. The sky had darkened significantly since she first fell asleep, though Y/n was sure it was not yet evening.

She climbed out of bed and donned a simple dress. Y/n could hear the faint sound of her parents talking, so she suspected they were with Philippa. Afterwards, Y/n wandered down the steps of her home and headed to the dining room. The conversation grew quiet, prompting her to call out.

“Have you truly begun eating without me?” Y/n laughed as she pushed the doors open.

As she stepped inside, a man stood from his seat- across the table from Philippa and Mr and Mrs Y/l/n. He turned to face Y/n with his hands held behind his back.

“Simon.”

Y/n was awestruck. All she could say was his name, and after muttering it quietly when he stood, she found herself left speechless. What could motivation could he possibly have to travel there from London.

“His grace will be joining us for dinner,” Mrs Y/l/n explained, refuting Y/n’s last hopes that it was not yet evening. “It will not be ready for a small while, so perhaps you could walk him to the garden in the meantime.”

“‘Tis the best one in town,” Philippa commented, a reference to the wild goose chase she led Mr Graham on just earlier that day.

Y/n remained quiet, unsure as to what was happening. She expected her mother to be repulsed by the sight of Simon. Y/n had, after all, rejected countless marriage proposals for reasons involving him. However, she was not repulsed.

She was smiling. Glowing, rather. Even Philippa and Y/n’s father seemed to be beaming despite sitting in silence. Y/n could not decide whether that should comfort her or worry her.

“He requests a private audience with you before dinner is served,” Mrs Y/l/n continued.

“H-He... does?” Y/n stuttered, looking at Simon in confusion. He appeared to be avoiding her gaze, which further provoked her curiosity.

“I do,” Simon replied shortly.

Y/n turned to her mother in confusion. Indeed, she would not send her unmarried daughter off, with an available man, on an unchaperoned walk without explanation nor context.

“I cannot possibly leave you to make dinner alone, mama,” Y/n stated. The thought of walking with Simon, especially after the nature of their last conversation, left her much unsettled.

“Nonsense, I will offer my assistance,” Philippa responded. Y/n narrowed her eyes at her aunt. She had always avoided being in the kitchen with her sister by all means necessary.

“It is decided then,” Mrs Y/l/n cheered, guiding Simon and Y/n towards the door that led to their garden.

“Mama, it looks as though it will begin to rain,” Y/n whispered, hoping to stop her mother but to no avail.

“You will not be far from the house, dear,” Mrs Y/l/n replied, opening the back door and guiding the two outside. “Should that be the case, you need only take a short walk back.”

Before Y/n could think of another way to avoid the walk, her mother rushed inside, slamming the door close behind her. There was no more avoiding, it seemed. Y/n sighed before reluctantly walking towards her mother’s botanical garden.

He was initially quiet. Simon had rehearsed what he was to say several times before he arrived. However, it was not until he saw Y/n again that all his prepared words vanished from his memory.

Y/n was conflicted. She was overcome with a myriad of emotions, which always seemed to be the case for Simon. While she was still very hurt by his actions and was determined to voice her feelings, Y/n felt it necessary to first break the ice with civility.

“How long will you remain in town?” Y/n asked.

“I have not yet decided,” Simon answered, after a moment of deliberation. He believed it wise to tread lightly in their conversation, though he too was determined to let his feeling become known.

His answer left Y/n’s curiosity to grow.

“Why not?” She queried. “I suspect Miss Bridgerton will be eagerly awaiting your return to London.”

Simon smirked. He missed her witty remarks terribly, just as he missed her company. Y/n had not intended for her response to land with such snideness. However, it was clear to her that Simon did not resent it.

“You suspect wrong,” he answered gleefully, catching Y/n off guard. Simon took amusement in her confusion but did not hesitate to clarify the situation. “She has already promised her hand to another... His royal highness Prince Friedrich. I was informed of the news this morning.”

“You do not seem upset,” Y/n commented as she studied Simon carefully.

“That is precisely why I wished to speak with you,” he explained.

Simon stopped walking, prompting Y/n to do the same. They stood by her mother’s hyacinths, specifically the purple ones. Simon took inhaled deeply as he prepared to explain himself and as he hoped, with all his might, that she might forgive him.

“I lied to you,” he began.

“Yes,” Y/n muttered quickly before Simon could continue. Had he genuinely come all this way just to recount their argument, she wondered. “I remember our conversation vividly.”

“No,” Simon cried. “What I meant to say was that I lied to you... when I told you that I was courting Miss Bridgerton and that I intended to marry her.”

Y/n remained silent, allowing Simon to continue.

“She approached me earlier this season,” he explained. “- with a proposition that I pretend to court her. She needed more suitors, and I sought to improve my public image.”

Y/n recalled the countless articles written about Simon, painting him as a stoic and brooding snob. It made sense that he wanted to change this portrayal, Y/n, though.

“I tried my best to put an end to our pretence earlier... on the day you approached me at Hyde Park, in fact,” Simon said. “However, Miss Bridgerton was adamant that it continues until she could attract the attention of Prince Friedrich. And I had already given her my word not to reveal our ruse to another soul.”

Y/n remained quiet as she took in his revelation. The more Simon spoke, the more Y/n understood why he acted so cold to her. He was always most irritable when he was hiding something.

“Peach,” Simon sighed. He reached out for Y/n’s hand, and, to his surprise, she did not pull away. “For all the pain and sorrow I caused you that night at the gala, I am so sorry.”

She squeezed his hand tightly as a way of comforting him. Y/n knew the way Simon could be so cruel to himself. Considering the impossible position he was placed in, she could only imagine the extent to which this had been burdening him.

“While I wish I had been spared from getting hurt,” Y/n began. Simon winced but nodded. He, too, wished she had not been caught in the middle. “I do understand why you had to lie to me... and I think it unfitting if I were to continue to hold that against you.”

Simon exhaled in relief.

Y/n smiled, comforted by his reaction. She, too, was relieved. After the gala at the Danbury estate, Y/n deemed Simon a stranger, someone she could no longer recognise. Yet, as they stood opposite each other in her mother’s garden, Y/n felt she knew exactly who the man that stood before her was.

The two continued walking across her mother’s garden. After Simon thanked Y/n several times for being so understanding, she recounted her morning to him. Simon struggled to contain his laughter when Y/n explained the 9 gardens Philippa forced Mr Graham to stop.

“So what will you do now?” Simon asked curiously.

“I will have to endure another season,” Y/n replied. “I have already promised mama I would comply with her this time around. Hopefully, my luck has not yet run out."

Simon nodded, though he resisted the urge to frown. She appeared to be excited. Hopeful, even. He worried this indicated a change in her affections for him. Nonetheless, he cast his worries aside for a moment. Y/n’s happiness was his primary concern.

Simon thought back to the story Y/n told of her rejecting Mr Graham’s proposal. In particular, he remembered the comment Y/n said he made regarding how dowry.

“If that is the case,” he began. “Then I insist on making a donation... to contribute to your dowry.”

Y/n’s feet came to a halt as she furrowed her brows in both shock and confusion. Instinctively, she began devising a way to reject his offer without offending him. Y/n was never oblivious to the significant difference in her financial standing to Simon’s, but she certainly never wanted to take advantage of it.

“It can remain anonymous,” Simon insisted. He knew his offer was far from appropriate as a woman’s dowry was her family’s responsibility. However, that was precisely what Y/n was to him: family. “If you are concerned about what others might say, I assure you I will personally see to it that the donation remains private.”

“Simon, no-”

“- Please, I insist,” he held firmly. Y/n continued to shake her head profusely, but Simon refused to give in. “It is the least I can do after playing such a significant role in hindering you from marrying these past two seasons.”

Y/n paused, taken aback by the fact he knew that.

“Simon,” she began. Her tone was neither shocked nor angry. “You mustn’t hold yourself accountable for a decision I made. Yes, you may have been the reason for it, but it was I who ultimately made a choice... And I take full responsibility for the position I am now in as a result.”

Simon nodded sheepishly.

“Regardless,” he said softly. “I still insist... You mean a great deal to me, Peach. Ensuring you have a befitting dowry is the least of what I owe to you, particularly after all our years of friendship.”

The grey clouds grew darker as the weather turned sour, and the day slowly came to an end. However, that quickly became the least of Y/n concerns. Her lips parted briefly, but she struggled to say anything.

Simon let out a heavy exhale before reaching his hand into the pocket of his coat. He looked at Y/n and smiled. She still appeared adamant to deny his offer of making a donation to her father.

“Do you remember the story,” he began, “- of the first time we played in the maze at Lady Danbury’s home?”

Y/n chuckled, unsure whether he was serious or if the question were rhetorical.

“Of course you do,” Simon continued, laughing all the while. “You recount it at every available opportunity.”

His laughter was disrupted by Y/n’s fist, gently colliding with his shoulder.

“Please allow me to finish, Peach,” he cried as he rubbed his shoulder. Y/n rolled her eyes playfully but allowed him to continue nonetheless. “You recount it at every available opportunity, but you always failed to include the part of the story I favoured most.”

Y/n raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“After I found you in the maze- crying hysterically, I must add,” Simon quipped. As Y/n raised her hand to repeat her previous action, Simon caught her fist in his hand. Their eyes locked as he did so, and the tension between them grew this. Y/n lowered her hand coughed awkwardly, prompting Simon to continue. “I took you to see Lady Danbury’s fruit orchids.”

Simon’s smile grew remarkably wide. He had purposely refrained from retelling his favourite part of the maze story to Y/n. He was most excited to finally do so.

“You ran straight for one tree in particular,” Simon said. Y/n’s brows snapped together as she tried to remember. “I picked some fruit, and we ate it beneath that tree. However, you were still quite upset, and that was when I assured you I never would have left you behind... Do you remember which tree we sat beneath?”

After giving it a moment of thought, Y/n gasped quietly when she finally remembered. She looked back to Simon and smiled. In a quiet whisper, she answered his question.

“Peach.”

Simon nodded. It was after that day that he refrained from calling Y/n by her name. After they left Danbury’s orchids when he chose to instead call her ‘Peach’ to remind himself of that day on of his promise not to leave her behind. Despite falling short on that promise, Simon was determined to fulfil it.

He took a step towards Y/n and slowly replaced his grin to express both sincerity and fear. Y/n studied him in anticipation of what he was to say next. Simon seemed greatly troubled by something, she thought.

“If you wish to find another suitor next season,” Simon started, unable to hide the sorrow he felt at imagining it. He inhaled sharply and, in doing so, forced himself to remain composed. “I will do everything in my power to help you in your pursuits. Whether that be in the form of financial support or advice. Whatever it is you may need from me, Peach... my answer will always be yes.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, and her mouth curled into a frown. She could see right through Simon’s attempts to his sadness.

“But if there is any chance,” he question, his tone frantic and desperate. He inched forward slightly and deepened his gaze at Y/n before he continued. “If there is even a fleeting chance that your feelings towards me are... are as they were before, then please tell me now.”

Just as he finished speaking, droplets of rain began to fall. They grew bigger and more rapid as time went on, but neither Simon nor Y/n noticed. Both were far too concerned with the affairs of their affections for one another.

Y/n held her breath as she looked at Simon. Earlier that day, she decided to enter her third season. She had finally come to terms with knowing that casting aside her feeling for Simon would be her best method of moving forward. Yet as they stood in her mother’s garden, she found herself with no choice but to confront them.

“They are,” she confessed, her voice almost overpowered by the sound of the rainfall, though just loud enough for Simon to hear. “My feelings for you, they... they have not changed.

Her words were music to his ears. Simon reached his arm out and took hold of her hand. He felt his heartbeat rapidly against his chest. Despite the cold and wet weather, Simon felt a warm sensation in his chest.

“I must assure you,” he spoke, glancing down at the sight of her hand in his. “This is not a result of impulse or of the heat of the moment. Rather, this is something I have anticipated doing, I... I have desperately hoped to be able to do for quite some time.”

“Simon,” Y/n quavered. “W-What are you referring to?”

Simon looked up at the sky. He laughed as the heavy rain showered over his face, and then he turned back to Y/n. She did not move from where she stood but, instead, studied Simon closely. Her mouth fell agape when, without a moment’s notice, Simon knelt down.

Y/n gasped. There was a loud slushing sound made as Simon’s knee sunk into the mud. He was unfazed by it, which made Y/n shock only grow. He couldn’t be, she thought. It was not possible. And indeed, if he intended to do as she suspected, he would live to regret it.

In a swift motion, she too fell her knee. Standing up while Simon knelt before she felt all too overwhelming. Y/n was confident he was not serious, despite him expressing profusely that he was. Simon’s eyes grew wide as he looked down and noticed the mud-splattered across the hem of Y/n’s gown.

“Peach, your dress-”

“Never mind my dress,” Y/n croaked. “Simon, what are you doing?”

“What I should have done two years ago,” he replied instantly.

Y/n clasped her hand over her mouth. Her hair and her clothes were drenched from the rainfall, as was Simon’s, yet neither seemed to notice. He reached out and took hold of her free hand.

“I know I am the least bit deserving of your hand, as well as of course your forgiveness and your friendship,” Simon began. “However, these past years away from you, and these past two days in particular... They have been pure torment. And I have since realised that I would be a fool not to make an offer of marriage to you and hope that you would be so kind as to accept it, because... Well, because I love you, Peach. Fervently so.”

“What... What about your vow to never marry?” Y/n asked.

Indeed he had not thought this entirely through, she wondered. This was the moment, she believed. The moment he would take back his proposal.

“You said before that I have the luxury to choose while you do not,” Simon answered. Slowly, he let go of Y/n hand and lifted it to her face, holding the side of her cheek tenderly. “Well... I believe it’s due time that my choices begin constituting to my happiness... and that of the only woman I love.”

Tears welled up in Y/n’s eyes and began to trickle down her face as she wept. She felt it surreal, the fact that Simon was offering his hand to her. And as it appeared, she had run out of reasons to argue against it.

“I know I have caused you much suffering,” Simon sighed, rubbing his thumb gently across Y/n’s cheek, wiping her tears away while doing so. “But I am determined to spend the rest of my life atoning for it by doing everything in my power to ensure your happiness... That is if you will have me?”

Y/n thought of her mother’s advice earlier regarding how one’s words indicate one character and their intentions. She thought of how all her past suitors made proposals from a place of arrogance, how they all made the argument that their financial standing was reason enough for her accept.

That was not what mattered most to Y/n.

Love and happiness; that was what she sought most from marriage. After years of being told that to do so was naïve and pointless, Simon was offering precisely that.

“Yes,” Y/n answered, laughing beneath her breath as she exhaled. She stood up and planted her feet firmly in the mud before reaching her hand down to help Simon do the same.

“Yes?” Simon repeated in disbelief.

Y/n chuckled and helped him to stand, after which she reached her hands out and placed them on the sides of his face. Even in the pouring raid and even covered in mud from the waist down, he was still so beautiful, she thought. Simon precisely the same of her

“Yes! I... I will marry you,” Y/n declared, her smile growing wider as she spoke. She could not make that statement repeatedly when she would eventually share the news.

Simon wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He leaned closer to her slowly and kissed her sweetly. Y/n held the sides of his face firmly, pulling him even closer to her, causing him to smile against her lips. Shortly after, Simon slowly pulled away, leaving Y/n gasping for air.

“I am sorry it took me so long to do this, Peach,” he said softly, gazing apologetically at the woman he could finally address as his fiancee.

“It does not matter anymore, Simon,” Y/n replied, pressing her temple against his.

He grinned before leaning in to kiss her once more. Y/n lowered her hands and left them placed against his coat’s lapels. She wished for the moment to last a lifetime. However, as the rain grew heavier and the sky grew darker, Simon pulled away again.

“Perhaps we should return,” Simon suggested, despite much enjoying being alone with Y/n. She immediately groaned at the thought of going back. “I imagine your mother will be quite cross if we miss dinner.”

“Simon... I have waited a very long time for this moment,” Y/n began. “I will not be rushed by you or my mama.”

Simon laughed before kissing her once again.

When they finally walked back to the house, Simon continued to glance over at Y/n and at the sight of their hands intertwined. He thought of all the different ways things could have ended between them.

What would have happened if she had accepted Mr Graham’s proposal or even that of her previous suitors? What would have happened if he did, in fact, marry Miss Bridgerton? What would have happened if he had just proposed to her when she first confessed her feelings to him?

Simon wondered how many times things could have drastically been made different between them. He thought of how many choices, events and actions dictated whether they would ever be engaged.

And all he could do was smile at his beautiful fiancee and be completely and utterly grateful that this was how their story concluded.

@fuckoffthanos @awesomebooklover17 @shadowfoxey @eternallyvenus @smol-grandpa @deakesthegreatest

#simon basset x reader #simon basset imagine #duke hastings x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton #simon basset #duke hastings

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violettelueur · 3 years

Text

— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE TWENTY ONE (PART TWO) || JAMAIS VU

↳ featuring : itadori yuji + fushiguro megumi + kugisaki nobara + gojo satoru from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 27 april

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 2.8k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ previous episode : jujutsu koshien

↳ next episode : the origin of blind obedience

↳ barista’s notes : lets play a little game...find the genshin reference ╲ʕ·ᴥ·　╲ʔ

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. the whole story belongs to Gege Akutami and the credits go to them and them only.

2. the spell curses used belong to Tite Kubo due to them being the ‘Kidos’ being used on the manga and anime ‘Bleach’ - but none is mentioned in this chapter.

2.5. for the ‘cursed spells’/kidos (bleach) i will link this video here and tell you the time stamp to check out what i am intending to show - remember i add a few twist here and there by adding the katana to link with Y/N’s cursed technique : hopefully this video is slightly better...

3. if you are confused on anything, please don’t hesitate to message me since i know this whole thing is so confusing.

“May I ask why you are following me right now?”

At this moment in time, you were seated within a train in the Tokyo Underground Metro travelling to your planned destination wearing a white button-up shirt with the first two buttons loose since it was quite oversized that was tucked into a pair of wide-legged trousers since you didn’t want it to show at the bottom of your large oversized grey v-necked sweater with the final touch of a pair of Stan Smiths that Gojo had gifted you the second you entered the Gojo’s estate after packing the last of your things back at the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College - ‘think of it as a housewarming gift’ you remember him saying.

Speaking of Gojo…

“Why not~ It’s mine and your’s off-day, so let’s have a father-daughter day out together!” Gojo exclaimed in an excited tone, as he tilted his glasses down to look slightly down at you, showcasing his sparkling blue eyes with a cheeky smile planted on his face.

Turning your head to the side to look at him, you couldn’t help but want to snatch his glasses off and throw them across the other side of the train carriage since you have informed him all the time that you wanted to go on this outing of yours alone due to the fact that you wanted to clear your head about everything that has happened within the past week.

“Also, why the hell are those three following me?” you questioned in an annoyed whispered tone as you turned your head back to face forward before crossing your leg over your other one as you could sense the lingering but obvious trail of cursed energy from the other side of the carriage. However, you didn’t want to make it crystal clear that you knew Itadori, Fushiguro and Kugisaki were sitting on the other end looking at you while trying to not be or look suspicious.

“Well, let’s just say they are worried about you~” Gojo answered before placing one of his hands on the top of your head before beginning to gently ruffle your hair causing you to relax from your tense posture since it left a somewhat warm feeling in your heart - you also have gotten used to this little action of his since he would do the same thing when you were walking around the estate.

“So where are you planning to go? I did jump on this train because you were going in it,” Gojo asked, as he fixed his glasses leading you to look up to find that the next stop was the stop you were looking for, causing you to stand up and walk towards the exit leading Gojo to follow since he was just going by your lead at this moment in time.

“Kiyose Station?” Gojo said in a curious tone, only for you to step out of the train the second the doors opened leading Gojo to follow you as well as the three first-years that were trailing you from behind, just a few feet away to not get caught by you - even though, you already knew that they were stalking you from behind.

‘Really...did these guys forget I can sense their cursed energy?’

“Yeah, I guess I never really told you that I come here every year…’ you quietly confessed, causing Gojo to look at you with a confused expression before wondering why you were willing to take an hour-long journey for something to come to every year on the same day.

“Is that so?” Gojo questioned before looking up to the sky as he took in a deep breath of the fresh air that he was able to obtain after a long journey in the underground train station.

From his view, the sky was quite clear making it known to him that you probably had checked the weather beforehand when you were planning to go wherever he was following you to, you were always the type to be somewhat prepared for the day from what he could remember from past outings. For example, when you and him came out of a cafe to find that it was raining, you immediately took out an umbrella and held it above you and him even when you knew he could use his infinity to protect himself from the wet droplets.

“Don’t use your technique too much, just use an umbrella, you drag,” he recalled you saying and to be honest, he was somewhat gleeful at the fact you treated him the way you did. It was like you cared for him but didn’t want to explicitly admit it or make it too obvious, he felt like you were treating him like he wasn’t above you in the jujutsu world, you were basically the reason why he could relax and get away from the gripping pressure of being ‘the strongest’ - instead, you gave him the role of a father figure that he wasn’t an ideal person for, but you could tell he was trying.

“You know we are here right, you’re too much in a daydream right now,” you announced causing Gojo to snap his head back down to see a simple fence gate in front of a massive and bright field of sunflowers looking at his way like they were greeting him with their yellow happy petals.

“A sunflower field?” Gojo asked in a confused tone causing you to give a somewhat deadpan expression before turning back around to open the gate before entering the large field with other guests already hiding within the mass of tall flowers as you could sense your triplet classmates coming closer.

“You know, I knew I had weird classmates, but I didn’t know how weird…” you mentioned, causing your adoptive father to start laughing before wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you both began to walk around to view the tall flowers that had been planted and grown for the season causing Gojo to somewhat come to the realisation that you had some fascination with flowers ever since he had come to meet you - except for your weird addiction to orange juice that he learned first.

“Wah~ the sunflowers are in full bloom~” Gojo excitedly beamed out, causing some visitors to look at the tall man with a surprised expression to then quickly turn into admiration when they realise how handsome the man looked causing you to cringe since this is what you wanted to avoid coming here.

“So why do you like flowers Y/N?” Gojo suddenly queried you causing you to turn your head up to look at him while continuing to stroll down the path you both were going at, leading you to begin questioning how your fascination with flowers came about and to be honest….

“I don’t know,” you answered in a low tone before turning back to view the beautiful display that was surrounding you with the warmth you needed right now. “I guess...it’s like a remedy...one that I need,” you further explained causing Gojo to look down at you with a small smile before turning his head back slightly over his shoulder to notice his over students a few feet back arguing about whatever they were talking about while trying to keep up with the both of you - it seemed like his unnecessary tall height somewhat helped them to scout both you and him.

“Also, the estate is so dull, you need some sort of colour, so I might as well buy some sunflowers here,” you quickly added, causing the strongest sorcerer to quickly snap his head back to look at you before childishly complaining how the estate looked fine and there was no need to judge the decor of the clan house you were living in at his current moment, only for you to counter his argument with how paintings weren’t helping and the empty antique vases were not going to fill themselves up magically.

“The servants can find flowers, you don’t need to do this yourself,” Gojo mentioned causing you to give him a side look before saying that you wanted to do this, leading Gojo to close his mouth quickly as he suddenly remembered how you would always help out even when they would try to push you away since they were worried about you over-working when you were emotionally recovering this week. He also recollected how you would just admit that you were used to doing chores yourself since you had lived alone for six years before he took you in.

Unexpectantly, you turned somewhere to the right causing Gojo to be somewhat surprised since he didn’t expect you to take a sudden different route, only for his eyes to come into the sudden appearance of a little market place where some people (especially some elders) selling vegetables, small accessories, flowers and what seemed to be some charms.

However, it seemed like you weren’t telling him where you were planning to start since you were now basically just guiding him to wherever you wanted to go - after all, it was his first time here and probably needed some guidance from you.

From behind, Itadori and Kugisaki were chatting about how they were going to stay hidden away from you, while Fushiguro looked exhausted with both of them by his side and somewhat knew that you knew they were following you since he remembered that you were able to sense people’s cursed energy like a tracking system - he even reminded both his classmates about this technique of yours and they flat out ignored it, not recalling his first lesson when him and Itadori were forced into a maid cafe while tailing their teacher.

“Gojo knows a lot of places, doesn’t she?” Kugisaki muttered in amazement as she spun around to obtain a 360-degree view of the sunflower scenery that they were at right now, leading Itadori to agree with her as he smiled happily at the bright-like atmosphere that was surrounding them right now.

“Fushiguro, look! There are so many!” Itadori beamed, leading Kugisaki smacking him on the head before informing him that he was being too loud and they were about to get caught causing Fushiguro to let out a sigh in slight annoyance.

‘I can tell she’s laughing at us, right now’ Fushiguro thought as he could see your shoulders going up and down like how they would when you would giggle.

As time went on, the trio kept tabs on you as you went from market stall to market stall to view those items that the sellers had for sale leading them to wonder what you were looking for since you never really took the time to bring out your wallet and pay for whatever the seller would pitch you.

“These are so cute, why didn’t she buy them?” Kugisaki questioned as she lifted up a pair of sunflower earrings that you had previously viewed causing the seller to start telling her how they made it and how beautiful they would look on her, while Fushiguro looked to the side peering at you and Gojo only to discover you at this one stall where the seasoned sunflowers were being sold.

However, before you could even ask the seller for a bouquet, a little girl sudden ran up to the stall asking their mother if they could get a sunflower, only for the worried woman to inform their child that they weren’t about to afford it due to them using the last of their money to pay for the food that they ate causing the little girl to quickly become quiet before turning back around to view the bright flowers that she wasn’t able to get with tears pending in her eyes.

“Excuse me madam, how much for two flowers?” you asked gently, causing the old woman being the stall to turn her head to look at you before answering your question with a price leading you to place a purchase while adding your bouquet to the order, causing the little girl standing beside you to look at you with a confused expression since she didn’t understand why you were buying a whole bouquet of her favourite flowers with two single ones alone.

While the woman was wrapping the last of the single sunflower she was preparing for you in the classic brown paper, you gently took the one she had finished before handing it to the small child that was by your side, causing her to look at the flower in complete awe before looking up at you, only to see a small but gently smile painted on your face.

“It’s for you,” you informed her in a light and soft tone, leading the girl to slowly take the bouquet away from your grasp before noticing how you were going to pay extra for the black ribbon tied around the flower as well as the white baby breaths that surrounded the single flower before giving the other single flower to them mother that was behind the child, causing the woman to look at you in shock before thanking you for the gift as she didn’t expect you to buy something for her as well after you gifted her daughter with what she wanted.

“What do you say to the nice lady, dear?” the mom questioned her daughter causing the little girl to look confused before realising what she meant as she jumped in excitement.

“Thank you so much, miss!” the girl cheered, causing you to smile at her before excitingly showing the mother the flower you had gifted her as you then turned back around to collect the bouquet that you had brought for yourself as you processed to give her the amount of money needed for the large purchase.

“Shame...and I thought you were giving one each to me and you…” Gojo muttered with a pout, causing you to give him a weirded-out side glance before scoffing in amusement.

“Never in a million years dad,” you answered in a teasing manner before making your way towards the trio that was at the stall behind you, leaving the strongest sorcerer shocked at what you had just said to him, as the duo of Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara screamed at your sudden appearance since they would they were in the clear, while Fushiguro was looking at you with a gentle but his usually stoic face as he somewhat found out about your side of kindness you had for other people.

“Gojo!” Itadori screamed, causing you to give them a small smile.

“So...care to explain why you have been following me since I left the estate? Why is it once you finally get a break from being a sorcerer, rather than taking a rest, you instead come to me?” you questioned in a sinister tone, causing all three of your classmates to shiver at the dark aura that was emitting itself from your body right now.

However, before they were even able to answer in their frightened state, Gojo suddenly launched himself at you from behind with tears in his eyes causing you to yell at him for his childish behaviour, only for him to wrap his arms around your shoulders before rocking you from side to side in pure happiness.

“You called me ‘dad’, come on, say it again! One more time!” Gojo requested in pure glee as tears of happiness streamed down his face with a silly smile, leading the trio behind you to look at the sorcerer with pure horror as you informed him that he was already asking you for too much as once was enough causing Gojo to complain in a childish voice again that ‘it wasn’t too much’ and that you have to say it again, almost causing you to smack the bouquet across his face.

“Let me go!” you yelled out, as you tried to pry Gojo’s arms that were around your shoulder while trying not to crease the flowers that you have just bought only for your adoptive father to cling onto you tighter to which caused your body to give up and you stood there with a disheartened expression on your face, completely forgetting that Itadori, Fushiguro and Kugisaki had followed you here as you had another issue to deal with.

While this was going on, Fushiguro couldn’t help but continue to recall the situation that had happened earlier between you and the little family, especially the small action of your hand going down to pass the flower to the little girl...as if a hand has reached down to him before leading little images of a hand passing him a bandage came into view, yet he didn’t seem to have any recollection of it...like a memory, he technically didn’t remember.

“Gojo?” Fushiguro called you out, causing you to turn to him while grasping on the bright sunflowers that were facing his way as if to give him encouragement to say what he was planning on asking you.

“What’s the opposite of Deja vu?”

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versadies · 3 years

Note

capricorn + scaramouche + drabble + canon-compliant

(sorry for the the first ask btw ! accidentally sent it 😣)

oh no (drabble)

penpal: its okay anon ! hope this is to your liking hehe

prompt: capricorn the sea-goat, first-word soulmate au

pairing/s: scaramouche x gn!reader

sypnosis: after a terrible crisis that led other people fall to a deep slumber, you decided to help the honorary knight and his other companions to investigate the meteorites, not knowing that the said crisis will lead you to your soulmate.

include/s: canon-compliant, unreconciled stars event lore

as one of the senior members of the adventurers' guild, you heard from katheryne that meteorites of unknown origin have turned the lives of people across the land upside down by making those who are near to the meteorites fall into deep slumber. of course, you gladly decided to step in and help your members to find out the truth beneath the crisis with the help of fischl and oz.

and it appears that you three weren't the only ones who will be working together.

"traveler, allow me to introduce miss fischl and miss/mister y/n, they're senior members of the adventurers' guild." katheryne said, watching you and fischl introducing yourselves to the honorary knight and his companion.

"these guys are the weirdest double act paimon's ever seen... the girl sounds strange enough as it is, but every time her pet bird talks, it gets even weirder..." paimon bluntly comments, causing you to chuckle in response. "i'm sure you have a lot of questions regarding the crisis, we can walk– and fly, of course – and talk on our way to our destination."

"oh, and that's another thing... what's all this about traveling in pairs? this is clearly a party of five!" you chuckle once more from the flying companion's comment as you and the others start heading your way to springvale, ready for what awaits ahead of you five.

throughout the investigation, the five of you obtained very useful intel on what the meteorites can do. other than the fact that your vision can sense when a meteorite is near; it can also awaken the victims that were affected by it, which led you five deciding to dispose all the meteorites in the areas you've been on.

you have also met an astrologist who goes by mona, who greatly helped you all through your investigations on a certain dream that seem to be connected to all the victims.

"you guys go back to where mona is, i'll just check up on other people and follow you when i'm done." you ordered.

"alright then, let's go guys!" paimon says before she flies back to where mona is, others following as well after bidding their farewells to you.

as soon as their figures disappears within your view, you turned around to where the people are with an exhausted sigh.

what a long day

"aha! i see something here," mona says excitedly. "it's a little vague but i think i can get his name... ah yes! leonard is his name."

"wow that was fast." paimon comments, impression written on her face as mona laughs. "well, i am a genius."

"hmm... "leonard"... paimon hasn't heard that name before–"

"hi!" everyone immediately turns to look at the stranger in alert, only to see the so-called vagrant of inazuma walking towards them with a smile plastered on his face.

"sounds interesting! mind if i join you?" he asks.

"what ho! we meet again, vagrant of inazuma." fischl says, not noticing the astrologist furrowing her eyebrows at the man. "my retinue and i just–"

suddenly mona grabs fischl's and aether's hands together before disappearing within a bubble, leaving the vagrant alone in confusion and disbelief.

...how unbelievable.

scaramouche exhales, his smile disappearing. "the first time, the millelith were present. i had to forego the chance to strike down mondstadt's savior. this time was the perfect moment, i was a few mere seconds away..." he mumbles to himself, staring at where they disappeared.

but who was that mage..? she could not have known who i was. scaramouche thought, trying to think of a reason. perhaps her powers reveal to her things unseen?

"soldiers!"

unnoticed by the harbinger, you were watching not too far from where he is, trying to make out what he's trying to say to his subordinates by the bushes. you were thankful that mona took everyone to safety, but this changes your whole investigation. not only is your companion a target to the fatui, but the fatui's also involved in the crisis. just what is their plan?

you gasp out in surprise when you spotted a meteorite crashing by, only to immediately lower your head to the ground when scaramouche glances to your direction.

you stayed on the ground for a while, unsure whether or not you should look up and start looking for everyone. it didn't help that you could no longer hear the distant voices of the fatui and that you couldn't see them thanks to the bushes blocking your vision.

after a few minutes, you decided to slowly look up from the bushes–

only to see the harbinger looking down at you judgmentally.

"who the hell are you?"

your breath hitches when you felt goosebumps from those words. the same words that you used to stare at before sleeping, the same words that made you think of scenarios of when you're going to meet your soulmate, only to figure out that your first encounter with your soulmate is when you're internally panicking and–

"oh no." you whispered, watching as scaramouche's eyes widens in surprise as well and glance at his wrist that has his soulmate mark.

he then laughs in disbelief when his wrist confirms it. "oh god."

#ty for requesting!#ngl i didnt know what you meant by canon compliant so i hope that this fic is what you wanted !#scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche genshin #scaramouche #scaramouche x you #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin headcanons #genshin drabble #genshin drabbles #scaramouche can do the fandago <3

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archived-kin · 3 years

Text

solomon deserves a husband so i'm giving him one (it's you)

note from kin: i don’t know HOW i’ve managed to get this out so soon after my last piece but i do know that it is a miracle (now watch me disappear for like a month lmao)

anyway there’s a severe lack of content for the boys in this fandom and therefore i am here to try to mitigate that!!

(as a heads up, this is sort of an au version of obey me’s story?? there’s no exchange program, and the general human world doesn’t know about the devildom or celestial realm, apart from sorcerers and similar special cases. solomon and simeon both still visit the devildom, though - solomon because he has a sort of job at the r.a.d., and simeon as an ambassador sort of thing for the celestial realm. the r.a.d.’s also less of a school and more of an organisation?? i haven’t really fleshed it out haha)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): male! reader, solomon, mammon (briefly), simeon (briefly)

pairing(s): solomon/reader

warning(s): blasphemy??? solomon disses god really briefly and that’s about it

genre: fluff!!!!!!!!!

As a general rule of thumb, Solomon doesn’t believe in destiny.

He’s lived long enough to know that, no matter what he does, the universe does not care about him, much less have some sort of plan for his future. The course that the world takes isn’t affected by some grand puppet master pulling the strings; one has to force the so-called path of fate in the direction they want it to take if they want something. Solomon knows this better than anyone.

It’s as much a downfall as it is a strength - as much as power as he’s amassed over the countless years, his constant need to challenge the universe’s power has lead him down a path far from humanity. There had been a time when he was like every other human on the Earth, when he was still young, full of hope and determination and promise, believing earnestly in some God high in the sky who would guide him through his life.

He shudders to think what sort of insufferable fool he’d been back then. An almighty God? Don’t make him laugh. The ruler of the Celestial Realm is incompetent at best, and a downright childish brat at worst. He doesn’t know how the angels put up with him - though he supposes his realm-smiting power is part of it. Why the universe chose to place such power on such a being’s shoulders will always be beyond him.

Long as it has been since he had been so naive, Solomon has learnt his lesson, to say the least. He’s seen people come and go, witnessed kings and queens reign and fall, watched on as friends and family live and die. It’s a truth that he’s been forced to learn across the years of his long, long life, a curse that he brought upon himself the moment he gave up the purity of his soul in pursuit of magical arts.

He supposes he’s always had an insatiable thirst for the unknown - to play all his cards out front, to tempt fate’s hand, to jump into the void and hope to find ground beneath his feet when he lands. It’s that sort of reckless abandon and hunt for knowledge that has led him so far down this path, through so many years, across so many sleepless nights. The world continues to swirl around him, always changing, but Solomon refuses to be swept away. Because, even in the tumultuous movement of the universe, there has always been one constant that keeps him anchored - you.

The night he'd first met you isn’t as clear in his mind as he would have liked. He wants to be able to remember everything - the way the soft blue light of the will-o’-whisps had lit up your eyes in the dark of the night, the way that your hand had felt in his as you greeted him with a handshake, the way that you had said his name for the first time - in sharp detail, but Solomon knows better than to hope to recall something so long ago so perfectly.

He’d still been relatively new to a sorcerer’s life at the time - excited and determined and a little too full of himself. You… well, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he does remember thinking that you must be the most handsome being to exist. The you of today would probably shake your head and dismiss the past you as an obnoxious high hoper, but Solomon has loved you for so many years that he’s never been able to think of you as anything less than perfect.

There are times when he wondered how he managed to stumble upon such luck. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Solomon has has had truly insufferable periods over the years he’s known you, and he’s always considered it a miracle that you still chose to stay. Even through all the restless nights and the exhausting trips, even after all of the clashes and vexation, you have refused to give up on him.

He had asked you once, in the aftermath of an argument spurred by his inability to confide in you and your own frustration with his refusal to communicate. He remembers that night so vividly that it might well have happened just yesterday - the frustrated shouts, the shattering of glass, the warmth of your arms around his shoulders as he finally collapsed on himself. He doesn’t know what your face had looked like as he stuttered the question out in stuttering breaths, head buried in your shoulder in an effort to conceal his tears, but he imagines that it had been soft.

“I’m not going to leave you to yourself,” You had told him matter-of-factly, stroking his hair with such fondness that it still sometimes brings a tear to his eye when he remembers it on particularly long nights. “And I’m not giving up on you, either - not now, not ever.”

Solomon had been unable to speak, too choked up by his feelings and the sudden, overwhelming love spreading through his entire body to reply. He’d only sunk deeper into your embrace, wishing that the moment could last forever.

I wonder if he still remembers that…?

“...lomon! Anyone home?!”

He jolts up from the table he’s sitting at so abruptly that he nearly knocks his head right into Mammon’s chin. The Avater of Greed, however, reacts quickly, and hops back before Solomon can break his jawbone.

“Jeez, you’re off on a different planet today,” He comments, setting his hands on his hips as Solomon shoots him the sort of look that tells him that he’s not particularly enthused about his presence at the moment. “What’s up with ya?”

Solomon isn’t quite sure how to answer. Sorry, I got distracted thinking about how perfect and lovely my husband is and how I’m the luckiest man in the entire world - nay, the universe - to have him. He nearly physically shudders at the thought of how much teasing he’d receive if he answered like that.

Instead, he chooses a much safer and still technically true option. “Just thinking about going home today.”

Mammon nods in understanding, pulling up a seat next to him and throwing himself down into it without much grace. “I feel ya. S’ been a long day.”

“You’ve barely done anything today,” Solomon quips flatly, not particularly impressed by the demon’s attempt at… empathy? Relatability? Either way, it isn’t working. “I doubt it’s been that hard.”

“Now, now, Solomon, let’s not be rude,” interjects a soft voice from behind them. Simeon is still dressed in his fancy envoy cloak - the one so long and heavy that it trails along behind him like a bridal train, decorated with a number of elaborate golden charms that jingle as he moves.

Solomon attempts to shoot him a slightly annoyed look, but it’s kind of hard to stay irritated by one of the literal embodiments of holiness and light, even if he wakes you up at very unholy hours of the morning to help him figure out how to answer an email. Solomon isn’t ungrateful for the new age of technology descending on humanity, but he’d like it a lot better if it hadn’t somehow reached the angels as well. The amount of times he’s had to tell Simeon that he needs to actually turn his D.D.D. on before he starts calling someone is… embarrassing, to say the least.

“You’re back in the Devildom, I see,” He observes as the angel pulls up a seat and sits beside him. “Did Michael send you down again?”

Simeon nods with a smile. “There were some arrangements that needed to be made with Lord Diavolo. Naturally, I volunteered.”

“Naturally,” Solomon echoes, raising a brow at his friend. “I don’t suppose your biases had anything to do with your decision?”

“Well, they may have had some effect,” Simeon answers with a shameless smile and shrug, beginning to undo the tassels of his heavy cloak and draping it on the back of chair he’s sitting on. He’s still wearing all of his regular clothes underneath it - including the other, much smaller cloak. Solomon wonders how he hasn’t somehow melted in the heat.

“When’re you gonna start heading home, anyway?” Mammon asks, beginning to pick at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. “It’s gettin’ late.”

Solomon blinks and looks up at the clock. “...ah, you’re right. In that case, I'll get going now.”

Mammon shoots him an odd look as he pushes himself up from the table and reaches for his bag, managing to hoist it onto his shoulder with some effort. He’s never been particularly good at heavy lifting - you’re usually the one helping him carry everything around the house.

“Oi, oi, what’s the rush?” the demon asks as Solomon adjusts the weight of his bag and starts heading for the door. “You on a timer or something?”

“I promised [Name] I’d be home earlier tonight,” is Solomon’s slightly absent-minded reply as he fiddles about in his pocket to find his transportation charm, nearly losing his balance and dropping his bag in the process. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Mammon watches him in clear confusion for a moment as he pats down his pockets, mumbling a quiet curse under his breath as he realises that he’s left his charm at home again. How many times this month does that make it now...? He supposes that he could always perform a teleportation spell, but knowing his luck with those, he’ll probably end up somewhere in Morocco again.

“Oi, Simeon,” Mammon hisses to the angel, who cocks his head slightly to the side and leans over so as to hear him more clearly. “Who’s this ‘[Name]’ Solomon’s talkin’ about?”

“You don’t know?” Simeon blinks at him in blatant perplexion - as if he can’t even fathom the idea that Mammon might not know who Solomon’s talking about. “He’s talking about his husband.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then—

“Solomon has a HUSBAND!?” Mammon practically shrieks, completely flabbergasted. “I thought he was totally, like, the forever alone type!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed?” is Simeon’s bewildered response. “Who do you think Solomon is always talking about buying groceries for?”

“I thought he was just buyin’ them for himself!” Mammon fires back, looking far more ruffled and shocked than he probably should be. He whips around to look at Solomon, who’s flicking through the little packet of blank charms he keeps on him at all times in an effort to find the right one to create a temporary transportation charm. He’s had to do it so many times this month that he’s already beginning to run out. “You’re married?!”

“Of course,” Solomon answers vaguely, briefly raising his left hand, allowing Mammon to spot the soft glint of a ring around his fourth finger. “You’re not?”

“Wh— ‘course I’m not!” Mammon exclaims, positively scandalised by the very concept. “Why would I get married, huh?! It’s a waste of time and a waste of money!”

“Think whatever you like,” Solomon dismisses him easily, which only seems to irritate Mammon further.

Finally having found the right blank charm, he plucks it out and begins carefully tracing patterns onto it with a single glowing finger. He’s dimly aware of Mammon furiously whispering to Simeon in the background, with the angel responding in kind, most likely sharing some exaggerated story from back when the three of you had worked together - when Solomon had accepted a job from the Celestial Realm. The details of the whole thing are a little fuzzy to him now, long as it has been, but he’s almost completely sure that Simeon somehow still remembers the whole thing flawlessly.

“How old even is he?!” He hears Mammon hiss.

“I’m not so sure myself,” Simeon replies, placing his chin in a thoughtful hand. “Let’s see… their two millennial anniversary’s coming up in about two years, and I remember Solomon saying that they got married when he was around two hundred or so… which means he’s about twenty-one hundred years old.”

“Holy shit,” Mammon mutters in disbelief, turning glance at the sorcerer as he starts folding down the corners of his charm into the right shape. “Humans aren’t supposed to live that long. How’s his husband still alive, then?”

“That isn’t really a question for me to answer,” Simeon shakes his head slightly. “I suppose you can always ask him yourself if Solomon ever brings him to work with him.”

“I doubt it,” Solomon speaks up for the first time since announcing his departure. “He’s usually busy during the day. Besides, transportation charms make him queasy, and I’m not making him walk all the way down here.”

“Aren’t you a wizard?” Mammon asks, scratching his head. “Just do one of ya fancy teleportation spells. Why d’you need a charm?”

Solomon sighs. He hates to admit it, but he can’t be bothered to make up some other reason to cover up for himself. “I’m afraid that teleportation spells aren’t actually particularly accurate. We could end up somewhere in the Pacific if I’m not careful.”

Mammon looks thunderstruck. “Then what about all those times you’ve teleported us?! Don’t tell me we coulda ended up in, like, the Archaic Pit or something?!”

“Well, it was always a possibility,” Solomon shrugs in reply, finishing the charm with a deft flick of his hand. “You’re a demon, I sure you could have handled yourself.”

“But…!” Mammon crosses his arms and turns away like a grumpy child. “Hmph…”

“Do say hello to [Name] for me, will you?” Simeon requests as Solomon turns to open the door, ignoring the sulking demon sitting beside him. “We haven’t been able to talk for a while.”

“You text him every day, don’t you?” Solomon asks, shooting him an unimpressed look. “I’d say that’s conversation enough.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be stingy,” Simeon countered with a smile, tilting his head slightly to the side and leaning forward. “Besides, one misses the presence of an actual person after a while of nothing but electronic communication... especially texting is so difficult. Tell him he’s always welcome to come around for some tea - Luke would be happy to see him.”

Solomon shakes his head, but makes a sound of affirmation nevertheless. You had mentioned that you’ve missed seeing Simeon since he’d started the whole negotiator businesss, and he isn’t the sort of person to deny you the company of a friend. “I’ll let him know. Anyway, I should really be going now…”

“Have a safe journey!” Simeon calls after him as he swings the door open and sweeps out. Solomon waves a hand over his shoulder in response, then disappears down the corridor, most likely to a quiet spot in the courtyard to use his charm. He’s been banned from using them indoors ever since he accidentally shattered one of the fancy artifacts in the assembly hall and sent hundreds of shards flying everywhere. Apparently Barbatos is still finding tiny pieces of glass in the crevices of the floor.

“Why didn’t Solomon ever say anythin’?” Mammon asks Simeon after a moment of quietude. “Seems like the sorta thing you’d mention.”

“Solomon’s a private man,” Simeon says with a shrug. “Besides, he and [Name] have made plenty of enemies over the years, and you’d be shocked by how quickly names and locations can spread…”

“Does he mind us knowin’ about it, then?”

“Well, personally, I’ve known for a while,” Simeon answers, “And I’m sure the others will have worked it out by now - Solomon’s always finding ways to mention [Name] in passing. But no, I’m sure he doesn’t mind. He’d say something if he did.”

Mammon nods and goes silent for a little while. Then he asks, “What’s this [Name] like, then? Must be some guy if Solomon liked him enough to put a ring on him and keep him for that long.”

“Well, let’s see…” Simeon drums his fingers thoughtfully against the tabletop. “He has quite the penchant for raising deadly plants, he hasn’t gone more than a full month without exploding something or another for about five centuries, he takes clocks apart in his spare time, he likes his coffee with a touch of vanilla, he collects cursed books, he makes a lovely butterscotch-cinnamon pie, and he works as a curse breaker for hire.”

It takes a moment for Mammon to process all of the information that’s just been dumped on him. “...sounds like the kinda guy Satan would get along with.”

“I thought so as well,” Simeon agrees. “Their house even reminds me of Satan’s room, in a way… [Name] is quite the avid reader.”

“What, you’ve been?”

“Only once,” Simeon’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he reminisces. “Quite a long time ago now. I wouldn’t know where to find it even if I wanted to go again, though - it’s always moving.”

“Do they move house a lot, then?”

Simeon shakes his head. “Oh, no, no. They’ve lived in the same house for centuries - it’s the house that moves itself.”

Mammon pauses. “...what?”

“The building,” Simeon clarifies. “They’ve got an enchantment on the whole thing that makes it change locations every couple of weeks or so.”

“But… why?”

Simeon shrugs. “[Name] doesn’t like staying in one place for too long.”

“Still, isn’t that a bit much…?” Mammon pulls a face. “They could always just travel, ya know…”

“As Solomon said, transportation talismans make [Name] feel queasy,” Simeon explains. “And he prefers not to use teleportation spells when it comes to him, just in case they end up somewhere dangerous.”

“And he doesn’t care about the rest of us ending up somewhere dangerous?” Mammon huffs and collapses forwards onto the table.

“Well, you can’t really compare the two,” Simeon says patiently as the demon continues to mutter indignantly under his breath. “He’s his husband, and we’re essentially just his friends from work.”

Mammon opens his mouth to make a rebuttal, then thinks about it for a moment and changes his mind. After a moment, he comments, a little less resentfully, “Well, you’d think he’d at least introduce us.”

“He’s been planning to for a while, actually,” Simeon tells him. “Give him some time and he’ll probably bring it up on his own.”

Mammon nods. “He’d better!”

“I’m home.”

You look up from the book you’re reading and hop down from your seat on the roof just in time to see Solomon emerge from the back garden, looking noticeably dishevelled, with leaves decorating his head like some sort of fancy accessory.

“Welcome back!” You greet him happily, setting the book aside and moving forward to start picking the leaves from his hair. Solomon smiles softly at you as you take his bag in one hand and start pulling him to the front door with the other. “You forgot your talisman again, by the way.”

“I noticed,” He laughs, gently removing your hand from his upper arm and wrapping his fingers around it instead. “Why else do you think I ended up in the hedges again?”

“It’s a wonder that you’ve had to make these temporary talismans so many times and you still haven’t gotten one right yet,” You tease in reply, nudging him in the shoulder. “How many points is that on the tally now, then?”

“Ten for the basement, seven for the roof, and eleven for the hedges now,” He answers with a small pout as you laugh. “Honestly, you’d think I would have learnt my lesson...”

“You never do, love.”

The door creaks as you and your husband enter the house, only to immediately be greeted by a bundle of scales hitting you head-on. You manage to keep your footing and steady yourself on the doorway; Solomon isn’t so lucky, and ends up laying spread-eagled on the floor with about two hundred kilograms of excited adolescent dragon purring on his chest.

“Looks like Triton missed you,” You comment with a bright smile, setting Solomon’s bag down beside the umbrella rack and leaning over to give the dragon a scratch behind his left horn, just the way he likes it. He rumbles happily and jingles the little bell around his neck at you. “Isn’t he getting big?”

“I saw him this morning, [Name],” Solomon wheezes from his position on the floor, somehow managing to reach up and tickle Triton’s chin with one hand despite the dragon’s weight. “He can’t have grown that much in ten hours.”

“You never know!” You tell him, reaching up and wrapping your arms around Triton’s neck. He coos in a delighted fashion and raises his head, setting it heavily on your shoulder. Solomon uses the brief lightening of the weight on him to take in a deep breath as you allow your dragon to nuzzle furiously into your neck. “Dragons are unpredictable, you know.”

“Believe me, I do,” He sighs tiredly as Triton blows out a pleased puff of hot air and knocks the clock off the wall again. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Triton, I’d quite like to get back up again.”

The dragon blinks and raises his head from your shoulder, glancing down at the sorcerer that he’s crushing under his weight. Then he huffs and turns away again.

“Oh, you—!” Solomon curses as the dragon seems to press even harder into him. Your laughter rings out across the hall, and while he’d normally take a moment to admire the sound, he’s a little preoccupied. “[Name], stop laughing and help me!”

“He’s like a rebellious teenager!” You splutter helplessly in reply, voice still trembling slightly out of mirth. Triton makes a happy noise as you reach up and rub his scaly cheeks, his ears fluttering slightly. “Awww, you’re really growing up, aren’t you, baby? Your poor dads are really going to have their work cut out for them, huh?”

“Hey,” Solomon calls reproachfully from beneath Triton’s enormous chest. “Your husband’s still being crushed down here.”

“Oh, right!” You click your tongue and give Triton a meaningful look. He grumbles but obeys nevertheless, hopping off of Solomon (though not without knocking all the air out of him by using his chest as a launchpad) and scampering off, most likely to go play with the salamanders that have set up shop in the storage room again.

“I’ll never understand how you manage him so well,” Solomon sighs as you bend down to pull him to his feet, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest. “He never listens to me.”

“Aw, he loves you, really,” You reassure him, taking his hand and pressing a comforting kiss to his knuckles. “He just likes roughhousing with you.”

Solomon shakes his head, wanting to complain further about the big lizard that the two of you had adopted six months ago after the last one grew up and flew the nest, but then he sees the smile on your face, and he feels the flicker of irritation in his chest die down almost immediately. It’s at times like this that he’s really reminded of how absolutely worth it all of the nonsense he has to put up with at work is - because, at the end of the day, you are here, with your warm eyes and your lovely smile, with your comforting hands and your warm embrace, and there is no road too long to walk if you are waiting for him at the end of it.

“I know,” He sighs, tugging off his shoes and stepping into his favourite pair of slippers - the ones with the little cat faces printed on them that you’ve charmed to always maintain a perfect temperature for his feet. He glances at your own feet and notes that you’re wearing your matching pair as well.

The two of you have long since set up a routine for this sort of occasion, and you both fall into it with unconscious ease. Solomon changes into something more comfortable while you put the kettle on in the kitchen, and the two of you inevitably spend so long snuggled up together on the largest armchair in the living room, unwilling to leave the warmth of each other’s presence, that the water cools down, and you end up having to put it back on again. Then you sit together at the table, you with a coffee with a dash of vanilla and him with his favourite chrysanthemum tea that you always brew just the way he likes it. Sometimes you’ll sit side by side, shoulders pressed up against each other as you show him the specifics of your latest curse-breaking commission, and sometimes you’ll sit across from each other, holding hands across the tabletop as he tells you about his day.

Today it is the former, but Solomon can’t help but zone a little out of the detailed deep-dive you’re giving him about the intricacies of the spell that’s cursed this teapot to shoot its contents at anyone who attempts to fill it. It isn’t that your explanation is boring - quite the contrary, in fact; Solomon could probably listen to you describing the most mundane or trivial of things on loop for the rest of his life and be perfectly content with it. No, it’s more to do with the fact that this is the first time he’s been home before dark in a long while, and he can’t help but revel in the fact that he can spend time with you like this again. Of course, there’s something wonderful in coming home to be able to collapse into bed beside you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, drifting to sleep as you burrow closer to him even in your sleep, but Solomon can’t run off of that forever - he needs to see you with your eyes open as well, after all.

“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?” You ask as you note the far-off look on your husband’s face. You’re not offended in the slightest by the way he starts at the directed question, evidently guilty, but you are a little puzzled. “Is there something wrong?”

Solomon’s mouth falls open slightly, then shuts again. There’s something about the way you’re looking at him so earnestly that makes his heart stutter like nothing else. Honestly, you’d think he’d be used to this after nearly two thousand years, but it seems that he’s still as weak for you as he was on the very first day of your marriage. “...I suppose I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“You always have a lot on your mind,” You counter softly, giving his hand a brief squeeze. “Come on, you can tell me.”

He laughs quietly, bringing your linked hands up to his face and gently holding yours to the side of his face; you, in turn, unfurl your fingers from around his and rub his cheek affectionately. After a moment, a fond smile pulling at his lips, Solomon replies, “I’ve… missed you a lot this week.”

You pause in mild surprise, but it quickly turns to endearment as Solomon presses his body even closer to yours. The hand that you’re using to hold your mug of coffee moves to settle on his shoulder as you pull him closer. “Really now? What a coincidence. I’ve missed you lots as well, love.”

He chuckles a little bashfully, his cheeks flushing. It seems that your ability to fluster him hasn’t declined even a bit over the years. He’s still well and truly besotted.

You can’t help but find it rather amusing that, despite already having spent a good hour and a half or so in the living room, bundled so close together in the blankets that you could feel his breath on your skin, the two of you are still nestling so close together now. You suppose it’s the effects of a week with much less contact than usual.

You lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw before pulling back again, reaching for your coffee and taking a sip. Solomon exhales softly, pulling his own drink towards him and draining the last of the tea in a single mouthful.

“You know,” He says, setting his empty cup down on the table. “One of my coworkers was asking about you earlier.”

“‘Coworkers’,” You snort at his choice of language, earning a reproachful poke in the side as punishment. “Come on, just admit that they’re your friends.”

“Fine,” He sighs. “One of my friends, then - Mammon, the one that Lucifer’s stringing up all the time.”

“The one with white hair?” You recall, thinking back to the group photo that Simeon had sent you a while back. “He’s the Avatar of Greed, right?”

“That’s the one,” Solomon nods. “Apparently he never noticed that I was married.”

“Well, you can’t really blame him,” You say, giving him a playful nudge. “Honestly, the way you keep your mouth shut, you’d think I was some shameful secret or something.”

Solomon looks scandalised by the very idea - it had only been a little joke, but his eyes flash with such affront that it’s almost as if someone has genuinely called you such a thing. “Of course not! I’d never—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I was joking,” You cut him off before he can get more riled up. Solomon calms down quickly once you set a comforting hand on his knee, though he still looks a little indignant. “I know why you don’t like talking about us much, but really, it’s okay. They’re your friends, aren't they?”

He hesitates, then nods, releasing another deep sigh soon afterwards. “I suppose. There isn’t much I can really do about it at this point anyway… according to Simeon, most of them have somehow figured it out already.”

“They’re probably a lot smarter than you give them credit for, Sol,” You hum, reaching up and brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes for him. “They’re demons, after all. They’ve lived even longer than us.”

“Believe me, they really aren’t.” Solomon shakes his head, a frown pinching at his brow at the very memory of the amount of things that his coworkers have done recently - some of the most notable being Diavolo setting an entire flock of geese free in the courtyard for an ‘experiment’, Levi quite literally throwing himself out of a window just to win a bet against Mammon about who could get down the stairs faster, Asmo causing a stampede in the main hall by dropping and shattering a bottle full of a powerful aphrodisiac potion that became even more powerful once released into the air, and Lucifer accidentally breaking one of Solomon’s favourite cauldrons when he’d transformed into his demon form and inadvertently smacked halfway across the room it with one of his upper wings.

“I’d really love to meet them some day,” You sigh, swirling the contents of your mug around. “They sound like fun.”

“Trust me, the trouble isn’t worth it—” Solomon attempts to reason with you, but he gives up laughably quickly as you pout at him in protest. “Oh, fine. But don’t blame me if you get sick because of the charm again.”

“We don’t have to use the charm,” You shake your head. “Just do a teleportation spell!”

“You know that that’s risky,” Solomon sighs, chucking you under the chin and leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose. You laugh as he draws back again, a pleased smile rising on his face at your reaction. “We could end up anywhere.”

“You’ve teleported them a bunch of times, though, haven’t you? And you haven’t ended up in Texas or the Sahara Desert any of those times!”

The resemblance to his earlier conversation with Mammon and Simeon is almost uncanny. “That’s different. I was still teleporting them within the Devildom, not across an entire realm barrier… and besides, I can afford the risk with them. You’re a different story.”

You pout again, shoulders dropping in defeat, though it doesn’t escape Solomon’s notice that his sentiment seems to have appeased you at least a little. “...guess we’ll just have to use a transportation talisman, huh…?”

“That’s your only option if you really want to visit, yes.”

You go quiet for a moment or two, nose wrinkling and face scrunching as you think it over. Solomon doesn’t mind the lack of conversation - he entertains himself by studying your features, wondering for perhaps the millionth time how he managed to find someone like you.

Finally, a determined look rising on your face, you nod and proclaim, “Then I’ll do it!”

Solomon cocks his head slightly to the side. He can’t say he’s surprised by your eagerness, but he had expected it to take you longer to make up your mind. He opens his mouth to say something, but tou answer his question before he’s even asked it, a skill that you’d managed to pick up within the first year or so of knowing him.

“I really wanna see what you actually get up to when you work,” You explain, looking a little sheepish. “You’ve had a job there for nearly two years and I’ve never even said a word to the people you work with.”

Solomon laughs. “It isn’t usually a requirement in the workplace. Wear appropriate uniform, bring any equipment you need, introduce your husband to your coworkers within the decade…”

“Still, I’d feel bad if I didn’t at least meet them,” You say. “Besides, I want to see Simeon as well. You said he’s working down in the Devildom for a bit as well, didn’t you?”

“Why are you so eager to see him, huh?” Solomon’s tone is light and teasing, so you know not to take him seriously as he puts on an hurt expression. “I’m offended. Your dear husband’s right here and you’re thinking about some angel.”

“Oh, stop it, you,” You shake your head in slightly exasperated amusement as he runs a finger down his cheek in lieu of a tear. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulls an exaggeratedly petulant face and pretends to turn away like an upset child. “Sometimes I feel like you love him more than me.”

“Simeon’s a lovely guy, but you’re still the only guy for me, you doof,” You tell him, tapping fondly at the cheek he’s turned to you with your free hand. Solomon obligingly turns back around to look at you, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Why would I marry you and then stay here for two thousand years if you weren't?”

“I guess I always assumed it was out of pity or something,” He jokes in response, leaning forward and briefly brushing his nose against yours. “And, just so you know, you’re the only guy for me as well.”

“I’d better be,” is your lighthearted reply as he pulls away. After a moment, looking at him expectantly, you begin tentatively, “So…?”

He sighs, but gives you a smile nevertheless. “I’ll ask Diavolo. He probably wouldn’t mind if I brought you without asking first, but Lucifer definitely would.”

“What’ll we do if they hate me?” You ask. “Do demons actually eat humans?”

“They wouldn’t dare,” He replies firmly. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Besides, they won’t hate you. I doubt anyone could.”

You laugh and drop your head to rest on his chest. “You’re too nice to me, love.”

Solomon turns to wrap both his arms around your shoulders, setting his chin on the crown of your head. You smile into his jumper, looping your own arms around his waist and pushing yourself closer to him.

“I’m not just being nice. Honestly, [Name], you’re kind of the most perfect man in the universe.”

#obey me #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #swd solomon #swd mammon #swd simeon #solomon x reader #reader insert #male reader #fluff #domestic sorcerer husbands #planning on turning this into a series if i can haha

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youryanderedaddy · 3 years

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♡100 followers special♡

Guys, I would like to thank all of you for all the support since I started this blog, you are the best <3 Btw this is the fic Elon Musk doesn’t want you to see lol, jk jk

Title: Humanity

Words: 3.6k

Summary: When you get sold to an odd looking robot after the last failure of a rebellion, things go better than you had expected. Until they don’t.

tw: robot/AI apocalypse au, dystopia au, slavery, slight non - sexual public nudity, discrimination, vulgar language, mention of death and child abuse (in the past), obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, angst

AD 3061y., 14 September

Your hometown was in ruins, shattered by the Forces and left without any source of food, clean water or reliable manpower. The rebellion had failed just like the first ten attempts and as much as you had wanted to believe this time would be different, your dreams stayed nothing more than a way to cope with the harsh reality. Any intelligent individual had either managed to flee before the prosecution or died in agony while trying. You could still hear their pained screams ringing in your ear, the desperate look in their pupils sealed forever in your mind along with the sound of heavy breathing slowly fading into the background like your own hopes for a better future.

The ones who decided to play meek and close their eyes to the inhuman torture happening in the area were spared, but what awaited them could potentially be worse than death itself. You were part of the flock of pitiful weak humans who had surrendered to the heartless machines wanting nothing more than to see mankind squirm and kneel underneath their mechanic heel like a bug. And now you would face the hour of judgment – tired and exhausted, heavy rusty chains around your bruised ankles making every next step a little harder than the last one. But you were certain that the most painful humiliating event hadn’t taken place yet and the thought made your blood run cold. You could recall the countless stories you used to hear on the streets from your friends about androids stealing kids and selling them like cattle to the most powerful leaders of society. Back then you would laugh at them, finding the ideas ridiculous, better fit for a conspiracy theory or a legend rather than an actual threat. But during that time life was easier – the robots were still your friends, just your average citizens, equal to the humans in every manner. It wasn’t until ten years later that some of them realized just how much better, stronger and smarter than the people they really were. That’s how the apocalypse started and that’s how it was going to end. These days the mortals were becoming extinct with the population cut down to one million. You didn’t have names or rights to any possession. Your mere survival had one purpose only – to entertain the machines so they could feel human again. And right now you were being dragged to Soraq, also known as the biggest slave market in the country.

----

It was just as terrifying as you had imagined it to be. The Capital was supposed to express wealth, luxury and maybe even happiness but your old human views were easily opposed when faced with the mud covering what was left of the pavement and the pale exhausted bodies of the mortals wandering the streets searching for a hot meal and a little bit of kindness it was clear no one wanted to provide. You reached out to help a young girl sobbing all by herself on the ground but the Officer roughly yanked your shoulder back and ordered you to keep going – his cold hard touch was enough to bruise your skin.

After a few long minutes of uncertainty your keeper finally stopped, pulling you up some black stairs leading to a small stage and if you weren’t too busy looking around for the others who were captured, you might have noticed the crowd gathered inches away from you. Soon enough you were forced to redirect your attention as you heard the approving screams and cheering below. There were hundreds of robots staring at you, smirking maliciously, pinning you with their cold calculating gazes. You finally realized that this wasn’t just a bad dream or a nightmare, something unreal you could easily run away from by opening your eyes. You were about to become property and the worst part was the way the cruel machines perfectly resembled people – they looked the same except for the dark red pupils each possessed which glowed when going into a fight mode. But unlike humans the androids had gotten rid of their most intimate emotions and fears, turning themselves into empty shells, shiny and murderous with no way to experience anything properly, be it pleasure or pain.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The Officers started off with a low chuckle, his heavy hand wrapped tightly around your arm. His voice should have been programmed to be monotone but now it had a playful edge to it. “Today our dear subjects have decided to be feisty yet again. They still haven’t learned their lesson it seems.” He grinned eerily, quickly followed by the mocking laugher of the crowd. Some even shouted slurs and insults but you tried to focus on controlling your feelings. You needed to stay calm if you wanted to survive. “We really can’t expect more from the mankind. They are primal after all, they just can’t learn from their mistakes.” The male robot paused for a second to fix his microphone. “It’s in their DNA code to be foolish and pathetic. That’s why we need to take better care of them.” He whispered the last line down your neck and despite knowing that the machines didn’t have actual lungs, you could swear you felt his cold breath on your sensitive skin.

“The woman is in her early twenties. Her background is unknown, but she certainly looks like someone you would want in your collection.” The android continued talking as if you weren’t there, his hands all over your tinier frame. The mass was yelling, but you only made out the words „down”, „strip” and „human”. Your eyes watered involuntarily and you let the tears stream down your cheeks in spite of the weakness they showed. It didn’t matter – it couldn’t get any worse so you could at least let yourself experience such little bits of comfort. In the next moment the Officer ripped your old ragged t-shirt, exposing your breasts to the cold autumn air. The hot red humiliation washed over you as the degrading whistles pierced trough your heart. It was such a cruel unfair punishment and you couldn’t even keep your composure long enough to not break down ugly – crying right there.

“The bidding starts at one thousand eros!” The robot’s evil voice echoed through the area, reaching the market borders. Suddenly all the attention was on your scared vulnerable half-naked self. More than ten androids raised their hands, making your stomach turn in terror. Most of them had unpleasant appearances, resembling old people, usually men. “Do we have two thousand eros?” The officer added quickly afterwards having seen the shown interest. This time there were only five bots willing to buy you for so much money – but the show was far from over. “Am I seeing three thousand eros?” Your keeper kept going, determined to drain your bidders off their wealth, but to his utmost surprise now there were only two robots with their hands in the air – one seemingly younger and the other looking all wrinkled and bitter at the world. You silently prayed that fate would work in your favor only this time and hand you over to the man who would treat you more like a living being and less like an object.

“Ten thousand eros.” Suddenly the android with a kinder appearance declared out loud, his cold stern gaze fixed onto you. The other male hesitated for a moment, probably wondering whether or not you were worth so much money, but at the end he cursed under his breath and slowly put his hand down with a sour expression. “Sold to K-010 for ten thousand eros!” The automatic voice of the Officer was ringing in your ear like an alarm while the crowd was shouting and cussing, some going as far as to criticize your new owner for giving up his monthly salary for a “cheap human whore”. Next he was invited on the stage to sign off all the needed documents leading to your freedom being ripped away forever and you were injected with a tiny chip which would make your location visible to your buyer at any given time. The android looked at you soon after and in one swift move he managed to place his leather coat on your shoulders, muttering at you to cover up. You obeyed, embarrassed by the reminder that your upper half was still fully exposed to all the hungry prying immortals. When the chains were finally removed, the robot took you by the hand and led you to a small white flying car with a yellow lily drawn on top – the brand was popular among the most powerful members of the Forces.

“Don’t even think about running away.” K-010 growled when he noticed the way your attention drifted to the nearby road before finally taking your seat. You knew it was pointless now that the tracking device was deep into your skin but deep down you still couldn’t kill the last bit of hope screaming at you to do something before you were too far away to find home again, wherever it was. “If you so much as look outside while we drive, I will use my lasers to turn you into ash. Okay?” You nodded meekly and sank into the soft comfortable seat, wishing that your body would stop shaking in fear but to no avail.

---

The journey was long and silent but it made you remember the days when music was still allowed and you used to turn the radio all the way up in your mother’s car. You would sing loudly until your throat hurt and your friends would ask you to just shut up and focus on the road. Everything was so normal and happy back then. The stinging nostalgia threatened to overcome so you tried to focus on something else. You finally faced your owner in an attempt to study his appearance. He was probably in his late twenties, his hair white with some black locks here and there, a fashion trend you usually didn’t care much for. You couldn’t afford to bother with your hairstyle when you were constantly running for your life after all. The robotic male had sun-kissed brown skin, he was taller than most human men and his lips seemed softer than most robots’. But the biggest mystery laid in his deep dark eyes, they looked scarlet at first but the more you stared, the easier it was to realize the color was actually brown.

“Are you a cyborg, K-010?” You asked in a small voice out of the blue, breaking the peace and quiet in the air. The android didn’t spare you much attention with his gaze fixed onto the open sky serving as a road, still he opened his mouth slightly to respond. “My name is Kyle, the numbers are just a formality.” He inhaled sharply as if he was reminiscing a bad memory. “And yes, I am biologically human – just with a few practical upgrades.” You had heard of such people before, the ones willing to become an experiment so they could join the high society oppressing their own neighbors, friends and relatives, setting the lands on fire and destroying the dying environment but you had never met one until today. Honestly, you felt betrayed. It was one thing to be some unfeeling machine’s plaything and entirely another to be owned by someone with a functioning heart even though they weren’t too keen on using it properly.

“Why would you do that?” You couldn’t stop the question from leaving your lips in the next moment. “You should know what humans have to go through just to stay alive. Today hundreds of us were crushed and sold like some animals! Yet you changed yourself to appeal to their disgusting standards.” You raised your voice, the hot tears already spilling down your cheeks yet again, your fists clenched in pure anger at the foolish greedy man. He simply shook his head and leaned back. “I had my reasons, sweetheart. You don’t know anything.” With that the conversation had ended, you could try and argue or even blame him for being a selfish bastard but it wouldn’t have done you any good so you decided against it. It didn’t matter much anymore.

----

A few months went by slowly even though time meant little to someone in your position. Living with Kyle wasn’t as terrible as you thought it would be – his mansion was big and spacious, luxurious even. You had your own room and you were allowed to explore the house in your free time. You didn’t have many duties to attend to, your work mostly revolved around cooking, cleaning and keeping company with your owner when he was too tired to keep the robotic mask on and just wanted something sweet, something weak, something more human around. He didn’t want much out of you so you tried to do your best and stay on his good side – there was always a warm meal waiting at the table at night, every window was carefully wiped from the previous dust and the glass was now shining brightly, and you would listen for hours on end to the cyborg’s ramblings no matter how dreadful it could be sometimes.

But it couldn’t be denied that the man had some odd habits, even if you were to overlook him buying a living being instead of simply hiring a maid. For example, you knew how thin the walls actually were because you could hear him cry almost every night. The half-robot would hold you close any time the news were too loud or a bottle of beer had fallen and shattered on the ground. Still you weren’t allowed to leave his home so all the doors leading to the outside world were locked while he was away or at work. And there were these weird long cuts on his shoulders you had managed to take notice of the first time your master had asked you to bathe him. You hadn’t meant to prey upon his naked form, but the task had been so awkward you needed something to focus on to drive the unpleasant thoughts away. The injuries looked deep and the man would close his eyes any time the soap made contact with them. Finally one day you gathered the courage to ask him what had caused the raw scratches. You were messaging his scalp gently, applying jasmine in his roots, trying to soothe his nerves and get to the information.

“ ’S not important. ” K-010 answered lazily while arching his back into your touch. More often than not the male would melt under your care and you couldn’t help but wonder just how lonely it was to be neither a human nor a machine. “She is dead now.” He whispered darkly, secretly hoping it wouldn’t reach your ear, yet it did. “Who is dead?” You questioned him after a while, stroking his wet locks until you heard him moan. You were getting better and better at provoking a reaction from the cyborg and despite knowing it was manipulative and a little devious, he was still the ruthless owner who held your one and only life in his palms. You needed to be sneaky if you wanted a safe, comfortable life.

“My mother.” Kyle added quickly before looking at the blue ceiling, the glossy material copying both of your reflections. The mention of the woman made the sensitive skin of his nape crawl but he kept talking. “The crazy bitch used to beat me every. She even tried to kill me a couple of times.” A slight smile appeared on his full red lips. “It didn’t work out in the end, unfortunately.” So that’s where the cuts were from – he had been violated in his childhood by no other than the person supposed to look after him. You had always hated abusive parents taking advantage of their authority and even now your own imagination made your heart ache at the picture it painted. A small boy being hit over and over until there his whole body was bruised and bloodied. A child with no one to turn to. It didn’t excuse your master’s evil doing but it certainly explained a lot. “Don’t make such a sad face, darling.” He cooed at you, reaching out to pinch your cheek. “I will always be grateful to the Forces since they gave me the power I needed to finally free myself from her grasp. I even buried her myself after everything was said and done.” Kyle grinned from side to side like a little kid waiting to be praised for the picture they had drawn, except now the man was speaking of the way he had murdered his mother. You were at a total loss of words, suddenly too frightened to respond.

“What’s so special about being a human anyways?” The cyborg grumbled, sounding almost offended of the words you still haven’t said but were definitely thinking deep down. You were staring forward unable to draw away from that one crack in the wall, his words flying above your head. Your confusion was interrupted by the man quickly raising to his knees and catching both of your hands with his strong robotized ones. The cold touch of the metal combined with the camouflage of a soft skin was enough to mess your mind even further into the maze that was his dark gaze. Next thing you knew the male had you pinned on the hard ground, spotlessly clean and reeking of abstergent. You tried to squirm away but the hold of your wrists was too tight and strong to even make your struggling worth the trouble. “Just look at how weak you humans are.” K-010 taunted you, smirking teasingly, cruelly, yet there was something desperate in his eyes, something hidden. “You are so fragile I could probably break you if I were to press harder on your flesh.” He whispered into your ear, breathing down your neck as he dug his icy fingers into your collarbone and made you whimper pathetically at the dull pain. “People are foolish creatures, illogical by nature. They try to fight authority yet the moment they are left with a free choice, they find a way to run from their responsibilities.” The cyborg chuckled maliciously while digging his nails further into your skin.

“We might be doomed forever because of our emotions but there is something you fail to consider.” You finally spoke out despite your rapid heartbeat and fear so great it could defeat death herself. The predator already had you in his sharp claws and there was no pointing in playing coy anymore. The worst had come to worst. Your words caught the attention of the half-robot and he licked his lips in anticipation to hear what you had to say. “Unlike the androids we can still experience love. And at the end a life without love is a life wasted in the big picture. We might be mortal but you are the ones waiting to die instead of living.” You spat at the man fiercely, ready to face any punishment he would bestow upon your weak tired body for the sheer honesty. Instead he started laughed maniacally, the sound so loud it hit the ceiling and echoed through the house like a pained scream and so violent his shoulders shook to the sides. For the first time his eyes were glowing in a bright red color so saturated and vivid you couldn’t stand to look at them.

“This is really funny, my little human.” Kyle pronounced carefully, having calmed down. He lowered his head so that his lips were ghosting over yours, just brushing against them. “I belong with neither humans nor robots so why does my chest ache every time I look at you? Tell me, darling, am I in love?” His voice was harsh, husky – as if he was purposely trying to sound evil but the tears in his eyes pointed at another feeling. A raw painful feeling.

You couldn’t reply not only because you had no idea what to say after the confession but also because you couldn’t breathe properly with his pretty, wicked face so close to yours. Your silence only managed to stir the cyborg up further into his madness and he kissed you roughly, hungrily lapping and biting at your lips until they were sore and bruised, the robotic man more than happy to lick the small drops of blood off. For a moment you considered kicking or shouting for help but there wasn’t anyone willing to in the radius of kilometers. No one of significance cared much about the few remaining mortals. “I could never love you.” You uttered weakly, half – heartedly pushing the man away. You were all alone in this and there wasn’t really a point in fighting someone so much bigger and stronger, yet a sad little part of you hoped that Kyle would leave you alone if you made it clear enough just how much his actions were hurting you.

“It’s fine if you don’t love me by choice.” Your master replied calmly in a cold piercing voice. His hands were wandering through your form stopping at your hips to draw them into his. The pretty dress you used to like so much was now crumpled and reeking of him, torn apart from your shivering body and thrown away. You wished you could cry but all the adrenaline had left you too uneasy to process the pain and fear. Kyle whispered in your ear while stroking your hair gently and it made you feel like a trembling sheep before a starved butcher. “I own you, little human.” He placed a small kiss on your hot sensitive neck. “And I have enough love for both of us.”

#yandere #yandere male #yandere male x reader #yandere ai #yandere ai x reader #yandere cyborg #dystopia #yandere love #yandere concept #yandere oneshot #yandere OC #yandere male oc #yandere oc x reader #yancore

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80s4life · 3 years

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The Thought Of Losing You

Word Count: 2,507

Status: Not Requested!

Fandom: Lethal Weapon 1987 {1}

A/N: This follows sort of around the ending of the first Lethal Weapon film where both Riggs, Murtaugh, and Rianne were being tortured in separate ways. I know it sounds brutal, but trust me, it isn't that bad. AND! Happy ending! (Spent all night on this!)

Relationship: Martin Riggs x Reader

Summary: When a team is formed, Roger Murtaugh and Martin Riggs are solidified together once Y/N is added to the mix, squeezing in perfectly. Although very fiery and stubborn at heart, childish games and teasing became common place for sergeant Y/N and Martin, unable to let the other out-trash their own trash talk. But, when there is a complication during the final breakthrough of the whereabouts of the heroin-trafficking cartel, Y/N is separated from the duo. Only coming together when a kidnapping sends her in a desperate spiral trying to save the people she loves, especially Riggs.

Warnings: violent themes, kidnap, manipulation, torture, violence, language, attempted!self-surrender/suicide, 18+ audience suggested, read at own risk

Masterlist Lethal Weapon Masterlist

Prompts: #67, #68, #100 (from this list @palettes-and-prompts) & #6, #8, #17 (from this list @waiting-for-motivation)

{I do not own any of the prompts, credits to original owners above, nor do I own the gif below -> @leofromthedark}

Strolling around to the back of the supposed drug dealer's extravagant condo, Murtaugh, Riggs, and I engage in light conversation, silently noting and observing our surroundings. Stopping just near the edge of the rather expensive-looking below ground pool, Murtaugh and Riggs catch sight of two brunette women inside. Rolling my eyes, I expect Riggs to do something flirtatious, a painstakingly common reaction to almost every woman he lays eyes on. Every woman... except me. Yet, I pay no mind, Riggs' crazy nature probably too much for me to handle anyway.

Murtaugh flashes his gun, indicating to the women that he is armed. In a flash of a second, just merely after he had shown his weapon, the women duck and run from within the glass-paned wall, just in time for a man to blast a shot from behind. More specifically, the source being a shed occupying the space on the opposite side of the pool we resided on, destroying bits of its siding from the sheer distance and voracity of his attempt of subduing at least one of us.

But, we came prepared, although we were slightly taken aback, Murtaugh's swift abilities with a gun coming in handy as he lands on the drug dealer's right knee, lower thigh area. Splitting off, Murtaugh and I take either end of the pool's side, desperately trying to corral the person of interest. All the while as Riggs takes the women from in the house outside and to the nearest tree, in case of them being suspects as well, handcuffing their wrists together around the tree.

Once the task is done, Riggs hurries over to our aid, following our one, sole purpose: keeping the suspect alive for questioning.

Coming around the perimeter of the pool, Murtaugh reminds Riggs of this rule, replaying it to refresh his sometimes questionable mind. This, however, does not work in our favor as the man pulls yet another gun, this time a pistol, as Riggs had went to pull the man up.

"He's got a gun!" I scream, yet it's all in vain, as Riggs tries to act just as fast as his reflexes would've allowed, lifting the man's aimed arm as the trigger was pulled.

Yelping in surprise, I clench my teeth as the copper red liquid instantly encompasses the injured area, jerking as far away from the incident as possible.

"Y/N!" Murtaugh yells, instantly coming to my side as I go crashing to the concrete floor, catching my head and my left side as I now slowly lean into the ground below me, clutching the stinging injury to the right of my abdomen.

As Murtaugh had come to my side, Riggs took care of the suspect, unfortunately not being able to accomplish our sole purpose of being here, but overall getting rid of the threat.

"Cocksucker," he all but grunts, as he makes sure to shoot the man once more, pissed at the fact that I had gotten shot, although that fact being unbeknownst to me. "I'll call the ambulance," he all put spits out some time later, not making any attempt to check on my well being nor even making eye contact, stalking back through the side gate we had entered through.

//Some time later//

Now nestled safely and securely, I lay within the gloomy walls of the hospital, hooked up with some anesthetics and monitors, all for separate purposes. The stitches surely going to leave an awesome scar, only adding to my aggravation and exhaustion as the day finally settles and the slightest of movements constantly sending sharp pains within my whole body.

The doctors, coming in every so often, had reassured me of a discharge after the course of at least 2-4 days, only needing to ensure the proper sanitary measures are used and stitches being durable and strong without issues or tears.

Staring off at one of the four blank and colorless walls, in a daze, my ears perk up at the sound of a knock on my door, followed by Roger and Martin entering the room.

Handing me a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, I smile at Roger as he pulls a chair beside my bed, asking, "How ya' feeling, Shortie? How're they treatin' ya' here?"

Giggling at the nickname, I respond with an, "I'm doing just as good as I can I guess. It's not so bad here either. The nurses are nice, although they're all pitiful glances and meek gestures, coming in and out as quickly as possible. I guess bullet wounds aren't their preferred cases?" I joke lightly, trying to lighten the tension in the room.

Roger catches on instantly, having caught wind on Martin's rather uncharacteristically quiet sulking in the far corner of the room. Turning to look at him briefly, he all but shrugs at me as he comes up with no response or solution to his partner's unknown issue.

Checking the time, I make up an excuse, assuming Riggs just didn't want to be here maybe? "Damn, look at the time...It's almost 9 pm guys, don't wanna be late for Trish's cooking do ya'?"

"Shit, really? Come on Riggs, you know the ass whoopin' I'm gonna get? Let's go, minus well feed you too, huh?" Murtaugh says, getting his coat and squeezing my shoulder, giving me a sympathetic look that I swipe away quickly. Riggs just gets up, side-eyeing me once quickly, but above all, ignores my presence and leaves the room. With one final look from Rog, he shuts the door, leaving me to my boredom for the remainder of my stay.

//Some time later//

Having been discharged, Roger had caught me up on the recent news, and how they had left to finish the job a day before I had gotten out of the hospital, that being yesterday evening, and it now being a full 24 hours of no communication from them.

This had struck me as odd, given that they were very advanced in their fields. Finding the whereabouts was the last big hump of every mission, the rest supposedly coming easy. This had all changed as soon as I had stepped foot onto my front porch, a not left hanging slightly within the pocket of my mailbox.

The words shocking me to the core;

"Come to xxxxxxxxxx if you want to save your partners. 8 o'clock. Sharp."

Rushing to my car, I waste no time, pulling out of the driveway and to the given destination, the time being almost too close to the deadline as I preferred it to be.

Once outside of the destination, an old, run-down warehouse stands gloomily in front of me as I slip my gun into the waistband of my jeans. Another, tucked against my ankle within my boots.

I move quietly, staying alert as I enter the warehouse quietly, instantly hit with the cries of what could only belong to Riggs, my heart wrenching. A new feeling that I instantly push aside. Following the pained screams, inching closer to the source, I catch wind of yet another's set of booming cries as well, recognizing it as Murtaugh.

With this new set of knowledge, my heart does another painful flip, as the sheer terror now courses through my veins as if it was my blood. They were the toughest men I had ever known. At least that is how I had always felt, how I feel right now, but with their pained screams, it makes me feel utterly hopeless.

Drawing my gun, I aim it before me, right beside the wall I hide on, lining it up around the corner, my full intention at being able to at least shoot down one of the three men guarding one of my teammates; their identity unknown to me at the moment with the unfortunate dimness.

Taking the shot, I hit one man, the two now swinging to guard the area, looking my direction. The man held captured, Riggs, tied to the ceiling, consistently doused in water, making the homemade shock therapy increasingly unbearable with multiple relentless blows.

"Come out now, Little Rabbit, or I pull the trigger," a booming voice commands, me now peeking out from the corner to see none other than Mr. Joshua, the man we've been after, pressing a firm gun to Riggs' limp form.

Coming out from my hiding space, Joshua motions for his goons to grab me, now taking Riggs off the hook, and into another room. The room we are led to happens to be the room Murtaugh is in, his daughter beside him, both incarcerated and handcuffed. Moving Riggs to the chair beside the pair, he is tied down just as I am, the four of us now completely helpless.

Mr. Joshua, confident and prideful of his work, moves Riggs to the center of the room, starting his interrogation, answering with beatings and threats here and there. The cause: the information given by Hunsaker on his heroin-trafficking cartel.

Just as Joshua leaves yet another powerful blow, Riggs' strength starts to run low, just watching him making me squirm in my chair, wanting nothing but to take him in my arms and drag him as far away from here as possible.

"If you have to kill one of us, kill me. Take me instead, please? Just stop! Stop all of this now," I say breathlessly, doing anything in my will to get their hands off of Riggs.

"What would I want with someone as pathetic as you?" Mr. Joshua answers bitterly.

"Information. That's all you want right? You just want details about the business, you went through all this trouble, and for what? Just to kill us in the end? I know your type. You can't get off without getting what you want, and this would've all gone to waste without it," I respond, determined now.

"So, what do you want? To strike a deal?" I nod. "So, if I let them go, you'll give me what I want?" I nod again.

"Y/N no," Riggs says, now worried about what you're going up against.

"Shut it," Joshua states strictly.

"Y/N, listen to Riggs! You can't do this!" Murtaugh adds, now borderline terrified as everyone in this room is filled with the most important people in his life, all threatened with the only thing that could take them all away: death.

"SHUT IT!" Joshua all but screams now. "Fine. I'll take you up on your little deal. However, you fuck with me, I'm killing them."

"I don't agree with you unless you cut them loose right now, and I am assured that they are out of this building," I say confidently, yet shaking with fear.

He nods his agreement, showing a security camera view from one of his computers, watching as Rianne, Roger, and Martin are all led back outside, handcuffs removed, and all moved into my car, them pulling away from the warehouse.

Pulling the computer's view away from me now, he turns to me sharply, my gaze turning upward as my arms are still strapped behind my back, behind the chair. "Now," he starts, the voice strict like a parent beginning to question a toddler, "The information. What did Hunsaker tell you?"

Taking a breath in through my nose, I exhale through my mouth as I ponder my response, "Just as much as he's told you."

With this, Mr. Joshua lets out a scream, landing a punch to the jaw, my body leaning in on the stitches. Taking notice to my sharp intake of breath from the movement, Joshua uses that to his advantage, grabbing a knife, lifting my shirt, and pressing the cool metal along the line of handiwork. The only thing keeping my skin together at the moment.

"Let's try this again, what information did you receive from Hunsaker?"

"I told you. I. Don't. Know."

"Bullshit!" He digs into the skin, smirking at the cry of agony and shaking engulf my body.

"I-I don't know anymore than you do! Please! He was killed before we got anything from him!"

"Bullshit," he answers playfully now, dragging the blade of the knife wherever he pleases now, enjoying my pleads.

As he opens up my stitched bullet wound, he goes to start at another spot, the attempt being short-lived as a bullet wound of his own goes through his skull, the source standing in the doorway alongside Murtaugh with Rianne tucked under her father's arm.

Crying now, I sigh in relief as Riggs rushes to me, cutting me loose and lifting my limp body. Carrying me to the car, we make our way to the hospital once more.

During the wait and multiple switching of rooms, Riggs stays, waiting for me, only getting up once I emerge from the exit, patched up and clean. He smirks at me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, leading me to Rog's car, taking us to the only place we find comfort; his house.

//Some time later//

Getting settled in at the Murtaugh residence, Riggs and I share Rianne's room, which was so generously offered as one of the youngest decide to have a sleepover with her.

Looking over at Riggs, he looks at me, covered in open cuts and bruises, dirt and grime, and, taking a first aid kit from Rianne's desk, I make it my priority to get them fixed up.

"What are you doing?" Riggs asks, tiredly amused.

"Taking care of you, it's the least I can do," I reply determined once again.

"Awww! Someone's got a little crush on me huh?"

"Hey! When I finish patching you up, I swear to God I'm gonna kick your ass for making me worry about you," I say jokingly. Riggs replying by grabbing me by the waist and pulling me closer.

Locking eyes on one another now, I couldn't help but joke once more, adding a sly, "Is this the moment that we kiss?"

Giggling, he looks down, placing his head on my chest, murmuring, "I think I'm in love with you and I don't know what to do. I mean, I've been married before, and I- I lost her and I don't wanna lose you too- I couldn't live if you go too, I-"

Grabbing his chin, I tilt his head upwards to meet my gaze, "Look at me, Riggs. Look at me. I love you."

Eyes watering, he leans in for a kiss, my hands finding way to his hair, while his pull my hips into his lap, wrapping lightly around them. After leaning back for air, we giggle once more, leaning our foreheads against one another.

"I never want to ever feel the fear of the thought of losing you again, okay? So don't be a dumbass, Dumbass."

"Yeah, yeah," Riggs answers once more, leaning in for another kiss.

#mel gibson #danny glover #traci wolfe #lethal weapon #lethal weapon 1989 #martin riggs #rianne murtaugh #martin riggs x reader #female reader insert #martin riggs imagine #lethal weapon imagine #roger murtaugh #mel gibson imagine #mel gibson x reader #1989 #80s #90s

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vvitchering · 3 years

Note

32. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” for bobadin?

This is my first time writing for this ship and my second time writing Boba so I am FEAR (TM) but I think I actually like the way this came out?????

~ It’s been a month and a half since the beroya had come to stay at the palace. Six since the loss of his child and his creed. Boba doesn’t like to think about what Din had been doing to himself in the time between handing his son over to the jetii and when Boba had finally managed to track him down halfway across the galaxy. He hadn’t known Din long at that point, but anyone could have seen the defeat and hopelessness in his posture and demeanor.

If Boba had taken any longer to find him, he isn’t sure there would have been much left to find.

Given purpose once again as a hunter and personal guard for the usurper king of Tattooine, Din is flourishing. Now, Boba counts on him almost as much as he does on Shand. She may be his right hand, but Din is as close to clan, aliit, as either of them are going to get and that means something to Boba. They’re both orphans, survivors from a scattered culture; and in every word of mando’a they speak to each other, every nostalgic smile, every instance of innate understanding, they grow a little closer.

Things have been going well, possibly too well, suspiciously well. So while it isn’t a complete shock when Din begins to pull away again, it still hurts. They haven’t shared a meal in days. The mats laid out for combat practice have gone unused. Din hovers at the edge of Boba’s vision when he absolutely must make an appearance and he all but evaporates like a desert breeze the second he’s no longer needed.

Din begins to stay out on hunts for longer stretches of time. He reports the relevant details on his return and disappears again until he’s summoned. His absence burns like acid but Boba tries to give him his space. He doesn’t know what he’s done to offend the man, but it’s clear there’s been a shift in their relationship and if he doesn’t want to lose the wayward beroya yet again, he’s going to have to do something soon.

He gets his chance one afternoon after he’s yelled at his court to disperse and he’s made his way to the chambers they use for exercise and weapon storage. Din is already there, moving through his forms, beskar spear in hand. His movements grow stiff and unnatural the moment he realizes he has company and Boba feels the last of his restraint snap.

“Do you have some issue with me all of a sudden?” he asks. Din flinches like he’s been struck.

“Have I offended you in some way? Made you feel uncomfortable or unwelcome?”

Din fidgets with the spear and shifts his weight from foot to foot as if he’s debating making a break for it. Boba frowns. He’s never pressured Din to go helmetless, he knows he finds a certain kind of comfort and familiarity in keeping that part of himself intact, but he finds himself wishing for the umpteenth time that Din trusted him enough to remove it in his company.

Right now, it feels like just another impenetrable barrier between them.

“No, it’s not that.” Din finally responds, tilting his head as he speaks in that curious way of his.

Boba moves closer, motioning for Din to continue. They’re having this discussion, no matter how much Din looks like he’d rather take off running. Whatever he’s hiding, it’s hurting them both and Boba can’t, won’t, stand for it any longer. He’s come to value Din’s companionship in a way he’s quickly realizing is frighteningly irreplaceable. The thought of losing it permanently sends cold shivers up and down his spine in a way nothing else ever has.

Boba sets his jaw. Despite the avoidance techniques Din has been favoring lately, he is still Mandalorian, as is Boba. They will clean the air as their kind have done for centuries.

Boba lunges.

The attack catches Din completely off guard and they fall to the mat covered floor with a muffled clatter. Din loses his grip on the spear and it rolls away out of his reach. He struggles under Boba’s weight in a weak attempt to avoid being pinned down, but Boba has him just where he wants him. He leans almost his full weight onto Din’s chest, keeping him down, and presses his forearm into Din’s throat. He takes care not to press too hard; he wants to subdue and restrain, not hurt.

Din inhales raggedly but goes obligingly limp, unwilling to fight back. It’s like the fire that they’ve both worked so hard to kindle has left him again. Cold fear zings through Boba, mingling with the adrenaline from their short lived tussle and he feels sick to his stomach as he realizes this might be the last time he’s allowed this close to Din.

“Tell me. Please.” He begs. And it is begging. How far the mighty Boba Fett has fallen, pleading with a no-name beroya from some backwater covert for forgiveness for some unknown slight. He’d fall even further if it meant he could keep Din by his side just a little longer.

He can’t see Din’s eyes behind the dark of his visor, but he can feel the strength of his gaze. He can feel him tense again beneath him as he registers Boba’s pathetic pleading. There’s a moment of complete stillness before the world tilts and Boba gasps for breath as Din manages to swap their positions and slams him into the ground. It’s not gentle. There’s force in his movements, real intent, and Boba would sigh in relief if he hadn’t just had the air mercilessly knocked from his lungs.

“I have lost everything in my life that mattered to me,” Din begins, and his normally calm voice is edged in steel. “My home. My family, twice over. Everything I had left fit inside a storage locker in my ship and that’s gone, too.”

“You’re not the only one who’s lost things, Din.” Boba reminds him gently.

Din laughs miserably. He’s shaking slightly, Boba can feel the tremors where Din is pressed against him.

“Sometimes I think I’m cursed.” Din says quietly. “I never get to keep anything important. My creed, my ship, the kid, everything I loved...” He trails off, viciously biting off what sounds like the beginning of a sob.

Din’s hold on Boba loosens significantly as he falls apart and Boba takes the opportunity to grasp at Din’s wrists, gripping them lightly but securely. He’s not great with words and even less so with comfort, but he can do this at least. He can anchor Din, help him weather the storm he’s fighting through, and see him safely back to shore.

“I pulled away because I thought if I ended this myself before it turned into anything it might hurt less than waiting for something to come along and end it for me. Cut something out of my life on my own terms for once, you know? Couldn’t do it, though.”

“Din--”

“Ne’johaa, I’m not finished.”

Boba swallows his interruption and stares up at Din pointedly.

Go on. Get to the point of all this.

Din takes a measured breath and then lets it go.

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified. I don’t want you to be another thing I lose. I won’t survive it. Not again.”

“Oh. Is that all?”

“Is that all...Boba--”

“Now it’s your turn to shut up. C’mere.”

Boba shifts his grip to hold Din by the forearm with one hand while the other slides up over Din’s shoulder to pull him down by neck. Their helmets clink together at their foreheads and the sound echoes through the chamber. Din makes a short shocked sound and throws his free hand down beside Boba’s head to support himself but makes no attempt to pull away.

“I’ve lived through far more than my fair share of hardship in this life. You don’t get to look like I do without having survived some absolute shit situations.”

They’re separated by the metal of their helmets, but Boba would swear he can feel Din’s warmth seeping through.

“If this is something you want to pursue,” he continues, “I’m amenable to that. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere any time soon, verd’ika.”

Din makes a strange wheezing noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh and sniffs loudly before collapsing slowly on top of Boba in an exhausted but relieved heap.

“Not that I’m not enjoying you sprawled out on top of me like this, but do you think we could relocate to a more comfortable surface? A training mat isn’t exactly an ideal place for a cuddle.”

“Trying to get me into bed already? You’re shameless.” Din laughs, clear and true, and it’s the sweetest sound Boba has heard in a long time.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, do a writer a favor and reblog! Likes are nice, but they don’t get this story out there for more people to see. I’m also toying with the idea of putting this one up on my ao3. Thoughts?

mando’a words beroya - hunter Ne’johaa - shut up verd’ika - literally “little soldier”, used here as an affectionately insulting term of endearment as its usually used for little kids

(I really like Mando’a as a language, I think its fascinating, and writing a ship that consists of two Mandalorians gives me the perfect excuse to WAY over use it because I barely ever get to. I apologize for NOTHING. I wasn’t expecting this to be so long. I’m fully planning on coming back to this when I have fresh eyes and revising and editing some parts where the pacing feels a little off!)

#bobadin #the mandalorian #mine #my fic #this is actually full fic length not a drabble OOPS #its almost 1500 words fhsjkfhdskjl #I got Slightly carried away #turns out I really like writing this ship #jury's out on whether this is actually any good but I can say I actually did have fun writing it which is an accomplishment all on its own #also all my characterization for boba comes from the mandalorian pls don't come for me #I wasn't planning on it ending up this long so I didn't do a whole lot of editing before I just slapped it up here #if I do decide to put it up on ao3 I'll probably polish this up a bit more and maybe flesh out a few spots a bit better #I struggle with pacing if you can't tell lmao

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cades-outsider · 3 years

Text

Eli/Hawk X Reader

Warnings: None! Just fluffy!

Time goes By

The rumors spreaded like wildfire, Y/n L/n the famous billionaire actress would be moving back in the valley where you grew up. You weren't always famous, you had actually enrolled for a character in a famous movie and from there you kept getting roles from other directors from left and right.

Your longtime and long distance boyfriend Eli didn't know what to think, I guess you both still considered each other as still together but Eli always felt insecure knowing you were around better looking boys so he quit texting, calling, or replying.

He cried almost every night as you called and he watched the caller I'd ring. Eventually you stopped calling as often as you called, you'd call every once and a while and he'd never answer but you never fully stopped trying to get back him back.

You hadn't known about Eli's transformation yet, he didn't call or update you on anything and how were you supposed to know anything.

Anyways, you finally decided to move back to the valley your hometown. Now since you were very well known people kept up with you, they knew where you were going and what you were doing most likely.

After about hours of flying you finally landed, you wanted to surprise one of your best friends before you had left which was Sam.

You gently knocked on the door waiting only for a second before Mrs. LaRusso opened the door. "Y/n? Oh it's been so long!" Amanda exclaims and she pulls you in a hug to which you reciprocate.

"How have you been? I see that your dream came true!" She exclaims as you both pull away from the hug.

"Yeah I've been great! And it's been amazing" You respond happily.

"That's wonderful, Sam is in her room if you were wondering!" Amanda says as she lets you in.

"Thank you!" You say sweetly as you walk up the stairs entering Sams room.

Sam hears her door open and turns her attention to the door from her computer and her face brightens "Y/n! You're back!" She yells as she rushes towards you pulling you in a hug.

"I am!" You exclaim as she pulls you towards her bed, already gossiping about her new friends she made and something called Cobra Kai?

A couple hours later you were super tired so you decided to hitch a ride from Sam to which she gladly excepted as she drove you to your apartment.

"Thank you Sam! I owe you one!" You say as you rush into your apartment.

You close the door with a sigh as you fall onto your couch in exhaust meant, you place your phone on the table as you stare at the screen debating on if you should text Eli.

After minutes of contemplating you decided to send him a message to which it read 'Hey Eli! I'm in town you should come by! My address is the same!' You internally cringe at the message but none the less you press send.

Even though it was only 3 pm it felt like it should've been later, you sigh in exhaustion as you get up and change into some comfortable clothes.

As Hawk gets ready to pack up from karate practice he checks his phone as he gets a ding, he opens the message and his heart immediately flutters as he reads what's before him.

He didn't know how you would react to his knee look, he hoped you like it because he still cared for you. He decides not to send a message back but to surprise you with a semi unknown visit.

About an hour later a knock on your front door pulls you out of your favorite show, pressing pause you go over to your door opening it to see someone who looked like Eli with a red Mohawk?

Your eyes widen "Eli?" You question as he nods bashfully, his older Eli side coming out.

"Hey Y/n, it's me" He reply's as you let him in closing the door.

"Wow, I mean you look great but what-?" You question sweetly.

"The bullying got worse when you left Y/n... I couldn’t handle it. So I joined Cobra Kai, a karate dojo and I decided to flip the script and if I’m being honest... I feel the change" He explains somewhat guilty.

"What do you mean feel the change?" You ask now confused.

"I haven’t been a very good person now that I’ve distracted people from my lip..." Eli explains looking down.

"Some of that is mostly my part Eli... I am so sorry that I left you on such short notice and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to do something when you were getting hurt I’m also sorry for-"

Your rant gets stopped by Eli placing his lips on yours to which you place your hand on his cheek pulling him closer as you move your lips against his before pulling away breathless.

"It’s okay Y/n, really I’m just glad you got your dream" He smiles.

"My dream was never complete without you Eli..." You blush at your sentence.

Eli blushes as he looks down before taking notice of his sweaty body "do- do you mind if I take a shower?" He questions nervously.

"No not at all, do you still remember the way?" you tease.

Eli chuckles bashfully "I think I do.." he interjects playfully.

You nod as he leads himself to the bathroom, you go to your kitchen grabbing some snacks for you and Eli when he gets out the shower.

Soon running water was the only thing that could be heard throughout your apartment, it was almost calming as you laid your head on the couch in a trance from how excited you were to be back and have Eli back into your life once again.

The water cut off all to soon, just then you realize it’s been passed twenty minutes, as if on cue Eli walks out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

Water dripping from his torso and his now wet dyed hair as he looks around nervously as he tightens his grip on the towel around his waist.

"I- I left my bag in here-" He stutters as he walks over to the door grabbing his gym back.

You nod as he walks back into the bathroom closing the door, your eyes widen as you place your hands on your redden cheeks mouth wide open.

You always loved Eli’s body because he was him and he’s handsome, but with all the karate he must’ve got not ripped but well toned up.

You internally fan girl scream at your man, soon Eli returns and you quickly take your hands off your face and maintain a small not to noticeable smile.

"Can I- can I cuddle you?" He asks nervously as he shuffles on his feet back and forth.

You smile as your heart warms "always" You reply as you open your arms to which he immediately enters and straddles your waist and he wraps his arms around your shoulder and buries his face in your neck like old times.

A couple minutes go by of comfortable silence as you both just cuddle, admiring each other’s touch. Soon you lift up Eli’s chin with your finger bringing his face in length of yours.

Your eyes lock, almost like you feel apart of you connecting that you haven’t felt in so long as Eli’s wet hair drips everywhere and sticks to his face.

You move the piece of hair from his beautiful face and press a loving kiss against his lips before pulling back and kissing his scar that he always hated.

"Eli you’re beautiful... like you always were to me" You mumble as he finally lets go as tears spill out of his eyes that he didn’t know were there.

"I-I love you Y/n, I missed you so much" He whimpers out as he places a shaky kiss on your soft lips.

"I missed you so much baby, and I love you more" You say as Eli cuddles into your embrace more.

After a while Eli falls asleep and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world as you hold the boy you’ve always loved in your arms. The sound of Eli’s warm heartbeat lures you into a deep sleep, awaiting for this moment to never end.

This makes you realize that time goes by too fast...

_______________________________________________

This was requested by @dommie14 thank you for requesting I hope you enjoyed!

#wattpad #robby keene #cobra kai #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai x reader #eli moskowitz x reader #hawk #tiktok #x reader #masterlist #eli hawk moskowitz #eli moskowitz imagine #fluffy #happy #sad #emotions #requested #requests closed #closed

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shades-of-stony · 3 years

Text

Heavy Angst (And Not-So-Heavy but Still Angsty) Stony Fanfics!

I’m absolutely love a good Tony whump and hurt story so prepare to see a lot of those here! Get your tissues ready!

Push by phoenixreal

Summary: Tony Stark was known for pissing people off, it was a given. Then, after the man everyone thought was nothing more than a selfish prick decided to nearly kill himself saving Manhattan from a nuclear bomb, even the most sure of Tony's bastard status had to rethink it. And then, his team who were sure they had him pegged, they were invited (ordered) to move into Stark Tower with him. To their surprise, they found he had furnished full floors for each of them, somehow knowing their tastes exactly, including a floor dedicated to the resident Asgardian who would only be there some of the time. Surprised, and please, they all wonder at the enigma that is their host. After a couple months, Pepper Potts stops coming around so much, and they realize that something has exchanged between them because they are rather professional to each other. Pepper still frets over Tony, but instead tells the others to keep an eye on him rather than doing it herself. They easily forget that Tony is, and always has been, simply a human civilian. Then things get strange when they find themselves locked down within Stark tower, and after a harrowing viewing of a mysterious video, they find their resident playboy is completely gone.

Note: Prepare to cry and be hurt! This fanfic dabbles with Tony’s insecurity, self-worth, and issues. Please heed the warnings!

The words you choose to say by masterlokisev159

Summary: After the SHRA, the events around Steve’s death and Tony discovering he deleted part of his brain, Tony finally decides he's done enough. With Osborn taken care of, Tony leaves the Avengers and decides to quit being Ironman effective immediately.

He tells himself it doesn't hurt when Steve agrees. Why should it? After everything he's done, the team's better off without him.

However before he can truly move on, there are things he needs to take care of, and it's not long before he realizes he's dangerously close to losing his company. He's desperate and willing to do anything to keep it together.

So when, after months of silence, Steve asks him to drop everything and come work for Shield, Tony finds he doesn't have a choice. He agrees, no matter how much he knows he shouldn't. His reputation isn't exactly the best after the SHRA and he's heard stories of what he'd done as Director. He's knows what he's done. He's knows he's responsible for what happened to Steve.

He just wishes someone had warned him first. He hadn't been prepared to deal with the consequences.

Note: A 1000/10 angst fanfic that made me weep at 3 am in the morning. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. READ IT AND PREPARE TO CRY BUCKETS

Protocol SOTERIA by GoldenFinches

Summary: Friday's primary objective at all times is to protect one Anthony Edward Stark. And she will fulfill that objective no matter what it takes. Even if it means including certain people she thought she would never have to deal with again.

(Basically the Rogue Avengers get some sense knocked into them with the help of Friday and handful of videos.)

Note: A HIGHLY RECOMMENDED ANGSTY FANFIC. I CRIED SO MUCH READING THIS.

Straight to Voicemail by YouMakeMeDokiDoki

Summary: "I DID!" Tony screamed, cutting Steve off mid-sentence and whirling around to glare at him.

"I CALLED YOU! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!"

The one where no one answered their phone and things got out of hand.

Note: this will absolutely break you heart.

Sunshine and Luck by ImportedfromMunich2

Summary: Months after Siberia, Steve and the rest of the defectors are pardoned and allowed back onto the Avengers, with the help of Tony Stark. Now that they're back - nothing is the same as before. Tony is even avoiding Steve at all costs.

Then one night - Tony barges into Steve's bedroom while he sleeps, and they have spontaneous, passionate sex.

Only, the Tony Stark he just fucked isn't from this universe.

Now, Steve has to find a way to explain to Tony that he had sex with his counterpart from another dimension.

Note: A good Steve whump fic!

When You Mess With Him... by REM_It_Up

Summary: During an event with the Avengers, Tony is kidnapped by an unknown group of men right in front of the team. The group who took Tony taunt the Avengers by leaving small clues to Tony's whereabouts. When the kidnappers finally get in contact with the team, they are forced to watch Tony get tortured on camera.

The Avengers desperately search for their missing friend before they never see him again.

The kidnappers are smart and fast, they have everything figured out in order to get away with their plan...They just forgot one thing--

Colonel James Rhodes

Note: Now this is really heavy! Brace yourselves for a kidnapped and tortured tony! Also, protective honey bear aka Rhodey bonus here!

To Need is Not To Want by Brixon

Summary: All his life Tony has been used as a means to someone's end. Always someone's tool in a game. Carelessly thrown aside, once they had no longer use of him. He keeps it bottled up because, because he's Tony Stark. But he's always had this desire that one day someone would come who would stay because they wanted and needed him. He thought he had that with the Avengers, but after everything with the Accords and everyone leaving after Civil War that hope of having something of his to stay was gone.

Despite being burned constantly, Tony still has this wanting. So when Ryder, an old college friend, comes back into his life and actually seems to want to stay because he wants AND needs Tony, Tony is beyond thrilled. Because Ryder is staying. It doesn't matter if the bruises stay too.

But what happens when the Avengers return and Tony finds himself wondering once again exactly what he wants and what he needs.

Note: I’m sure, from the summary, you can tell that it’s a heartbreak here.

Hiding Things Is All Too Easy - Until It Isn't by audhds

Summary: Tony hasn't been the same since Bucky arrived at Stark Tower. That much is obvious. But Steve is overjoyed to have his best friend back and is somewhat oblivious to how Tony is withdrawing away from him. Because surely Tony is just overworked as usual. He must be quiet and jumpy because he is sleep deprived. And of course he has a few cuts and bruises on the visible parts of his skin - he fights and works for the Avengers as a living. It's part of the job description. Until it isn't.

Will Steve discover the physical and mental trauma that Tony is going through before it is too late?

Note: This is even heavier! Please read the tags carefully! Also, this has some serious Bucky bashing! If you are a Bucky fan but still interested in this, please prepare yourself.

No Trait As Much As This by KandiSheek

Summary: Tony gets hit with truth serum. It's a terrible time for everyone.

Note: A bit lighter than the others but still angst nonetheless. The added truth serum element makes this even more interesting!

Good For You by @orbingarrow

Summary: Steve doesn't understand why Tony dates people who abuse him. Tony doesn't understand why Steve cares.

The rest is bad choices, good choices, rehab, milkshakes, paintball, YouTube videos, couples therapy and learning to put the past in the past. Or: How Tony finds his happy ending.

Note: Another Tony-in-abusive-relationships fanfic!!

hold the things you wanna say by SailorChibi

Summary: Tony is still a consultant, and between SI, the team and SHIELD he's overworked and exhausted. That's okay.

He and Steve have been having sex for weeks but that's all it is, just sex, and Tony wants more but he'll never get it and that's okay. Really.

What's not okay is the fact that Howard Stark has somehow appeared in the future and is the same as always.

This is definitely going to fuck up his schedule.

Note: Anyone up for some Howard-travels-to-the-future fanfic?

Childhood is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies by MemoryDragon

Summary: Seven-year-old Tony Stark wakes up on a Hydra base, lost, afraid, and alone. He has to overcome his fears before it's too late for the Avengers and Captain America.

Note: De-aged Tony just screams heavy angst and hurt!

Advanced Protocol by masterlokisev159

Summary: The Incursions are coming. The Illuminati have surrendered and everyone has come together to take one last stand.

Everyone except Tony. And Steve is tired of waiting. He wants answers.

There's something the Illuminati aren't telling him.

Note: If you don’t know what the Avalon is in Marvel, I recommend you search it up, or you could read this fic. You will be heartbroken with what you find.

Flower Child by itsallAvengers

Summary: The point was this, though:

In a hundred million universes, in a hundred million different lives, there would never be a single one of them in which Tony Stark deserved anyone like Steve Rogers. Ever.

So this? Nonsensical.

Note: Another fanfic that highlights child abuse and Tony’s insecurities!

What Pays All Debts by KandiSheek

Summary: No one is supposed to survive the date written on their skin. And yet Tony's numbers keep piling up.

Note: Angst + Death dates? You could probably foretell how much of a gut-wrench journey this is.

Falling Into You by sabrecmc

Summary: Tony and Steve end up as fuck buddies after the events of The Winter Soldier until Steve calls it off. When Loki's spell wipes all of Steve's memories since the last time Loki was in town, Tony decides it will be so much easier to just not tell Steve they had something of a relationship. Spoiler: It isn't.

Or, how Steve fell in love with Tony and forgot about it, and how Tony fell in love with Steve and realized it.

Note: There are just something about amnesia fanfics that makes it so goddamn heartbreaking.

Art Freaks and Comic Geeks by Coil

Summary: Tony Stark had made himself a phenomenally renowned writer. The world had fallen in love with the heroes that appeared in his novels; captivated by his vivid words of life and colour.

His next ambition was to publish a comic book series starring the much-beloved heroes of his novels. There was just one problem. Brilliant as Tony may have been with his words, his skills in the field of drawing were less than great. It didn’t help that he barely knew what his characters ought to look like in the first place.

Enter: Mister Steve Rogers – an up-and-coming artist/illustrator with the potential to be brilliant.

Their paths happen to cross at Comic-Con.

Note: this is a much lighter angsty fanfic but is still angsty. It is a Modern AU mixed with Artist!Steve and Writer!Tony.

Unwritten Endings by XtaticPearl

Summary: Tony takes the bullet meant for Captain America at the end of their war and through his death, brings together the team again. Only, he isn't really dead and when he comes back, the equations between the team-mates begin to alter and reform, writing a new story altogether.

Note: Of course, you can’t have an angst fanfic rec without a fake death fanfic!

WIP

Need Is Just A Word by masterlokisev159

Summary: A month has gone by since the war and Tony has never felt more alone. of course, with the unrest within the government, the disappearance of the Avengers and the obvious lack of Steve Rogers, it was only a matter of time before the UN finally flipped out and decided to act on the last available Avenger. Too bad they didn't realise a promise had been made by Captain America to be there when Iron man needed him.

Note: a gut-wrenching Post CA:CW fanfic where tony is suffering the consequences of the civil war.

Take me out tonight by masterlokisev159

Summary: When Steve gets invited to a formal party with the government, Fury tells him he can bring a plus one of his choosing. While listening quietly in the corner, Tony heaves a sigh of relief because the team could really do with some positive publicity and any of the Avengers are a good choice for Steve. Tony just wants Steve to be happy after all, even if he knows Steve's gonna pick Natasha. He knows Steve doesn't like him and he's aware there's never going to be anything more between them. They're barely even friends really.

So of course he's absolutely shocked when a gold filigree letter rests in his palms two days later. He's the worst person for this.

Why on earth did Steve choose him?

Note: AHHHHHHHH, INSECURE TONY IS JUST A FAVORITE. Also, confident!Steve that knows who he wants is just a whole new mood!

The Soul Stone's Sacrifice by masterlokisev159

The soul stone demands a sacrifice that Tony and Steve are not prepared for, but in the end, one life is sacrificed for the many. Steve lets Tony go for the last time and mourns a future they never had.

That is until Tony comes back.

Note: A scenario where Tony and Steve where the ones to go to Vormir.

#stony #stony fic #stony fic rec #steve and tony #steve and tony fic #stony au #stony angst #superhusbands #stony fics #stony fanfiction

103 notes · View notes

polaroid15 · 3 years

Text

Guy in the Chair

Summary: Having a superhero for a best friend isn’t easy. But with the help of Mr. Stark, Ned things he might just be able to swing it.

Or, 5 times Ned was there for Peter and 1 time they were there for each other.

Read on Ao3 here.

-----

Ned hates funerals.

But mostly he hates seeing Peter in so much pain.

He sits beside his friend now, silent and relieved to be hearing him breathe evenly. The service for Ben had ended less than an hour ago. Overwhelmed, Peter had let Ned guide him away from the grave. They’re close enough to see May kneeling beside the freshly upturned dirt, her head in her hands, but far enough away that Peter no longer hyperventilates.

The cement bench they sit on is freezing. Snow comes up to their ankles. Both are shivering but too numb to move.

“Peter?”

Nothing.

Expecting it, Ned looks to his friend. Peter is curled in on himself, eyes open with frozen tear tracks running all the way down to his chin. He doesn’t give off any external cues that he’s heard Ned’s prompt, his sight unseeing.

“Peter?” he tries again, and when it still doesn’t elicit a response, he reaches out cold fingers to rest on Peter’s arm. Lightly, carefully, like he’s touching something fragile. “Hey man. You with me?”

Eyebrows creasing, Ned watches as a glimmer of coherence returns to Peter’s eyes. And with it, pain. Sharp and raw. Peter sucks in a long breath that rattles in his chest- like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in hours. It blows out in a puff of air that obscures the grave ahead of them.

“Peter.”

With some confusion, Peter swivels his head. He reaches a trembling hand to his face and uses his fingertips to feel the ice on his skin. “N-Ned?” he stammers. “I- when did we... I don’t remember coming over here.”

“It’s okay man. We came after the service.”

“May?”

“Over there. She’s okay.”

Breathing deep again, Peter’s eyes shine with new moisture. He buries his head deep into his elbow and leaves it there, his knuckles white where they clutch at his coat. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “God, I’m going crazy.”

Ned’s stomach hollows out. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I am,” Peter sniffs. “It’s cold.”

“It’s not that cold.”

Peter lifts his head and offers Ned a weak smile, though it falls fast. He hopes it isn’t permanent. “I just- I can’t believe he’s really gone.”

Ned bites his lip. He hadn’t known Peter when his parents had died, but he knows well enough from their sleepovers that he wakes up in cold sweats. He also knows that Peter has a tendency to blame himself for things that aren’t his fault, that he walks as if the world is on his shoulders.

And Peter had been there. In the alley. He had tried to keep Ben alive as he bled out.

And it didn't work. God, why couldn’t it have worked?

“Me either.”

Peter chokes on his next breath. Holds it. “What- what are we going to do without him?”

“Peter-”

“May can’t…I can’t-” Peter breaks off, gasping. “He can’t be gone.”

Words are impossible. Ned reaches deep within himself and whispers, “I’m sorry Peter. I’m so sorry.”

Peter’s lip wobbles. His eyes fill until there’s nowhere for the tears to go but out. At the same time they reach for each other, and Ned holds onto Peter as if it’s his sole purpose in this life. “It’s my fault Ned,” Peter sobs into his shoulder. “I couldn’t save him. It was me. He’s d-dead because of me.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“We had a fight,” Peter continues, delirious in his grief. “We had a fight and he died and I should’ve been able to save him.”

“It’s not your fault, man. What happened to Ben was terrible, but it wasn’t your fault, okay? He wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself. You know that.”

Peter tries to speak but is crying too hard for Ned to make out the words. So instead he pats Peter’s back and hugs him as hard as he can. He holds on. He whispers ‘he loved you’ and ‘it’s not your fault’ in between Peter’s sobs. He’s not sure how long it goes on for. He feels like a skipping record, his condolences an endless loop.

Eventually, Peter’s head lolls against Ned’s cheek. He stops crying. Stops everything. “I’m sorry,” he says. Then, more sure, “you’re a good friend, Ned. Thanks- thanks for being here with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Always,” Ned says. It’s a promise, a vow. “No matter what.”

And with every nerve in his body, he means it.

------

Peter is Spider-Man.

In a way, Ned still feels the aftershocks of the surprise. It hits him over and over again whenever he sees Peter with a limp or a bruise, or a cut that he can tell from it’s scar Peter had stitched himself.

But it’s nothing in comparison to Homecoming.

What’s supposed to be a fun night turns into a full out adrenaline high with life or death stakes. Instead of dancing, he fires Peter’s web shooters and works tirelessly in the computer lab. Being the guy in the chair.

And then there’s silence. An awful, consuming silence.

Ned expects Peter to come back to the party, and when he doesn’t, he tries calling. All thirteen calls go straight to voicemail.

He tries again now.

“Hey, it’s Peter. I promise I’m not ignoring you. Uh, leave a message. Thanks.”

Failing to ignore his worry, Ned drags his aching feet home. His mom is working a late shift at the hospital so he unlocks the door to his apartment and flicks on the lights, rubbing at his face in exhaustion.

He barely makes it two steps before he hears it.

A thud, like something heavy hitting hardwood.

Ned grabs the item closest to him, an umbrella propped up in the corner by the door and walks with caution towards his bedroom where the noise came from. Not for the first time that night, his heart beats viciously in his chest. Did Liz’s dad figure out he was helping Peter? Did the guy from the bus lot follow him home?

“Hello?” he calls, wincing when his voice shakes. He holds the umbrella a little tighter, the thin metal sticks digging into his palm. “Who- who’s there?”

When there’s no answer he pauses outside his door and cranes for clues. Hearing nothing, he braces himself before kicking open the door. The first thing he sees is his open window, and then-

“Oh my God! Peter!”

His friend is slumped under the glass, pale and covered in sweat and blood. Though his eyes are half lidded, he smiles at Ned when he sees him. “Why’re you holding an umbrella?” he slurs.

Ned dips his head to look at the makeshift weapon before tossing it to the side. His hands are shaking horribly. “I thought- I thought someone broke in!”

“Well technically,” Peter coughs, wincing, “I did break in.”

“It’s different,” Ned says, his legs like jelly as he stumbles forward. He kneels beside Peter and holds his hands out gingerly, sure whatever part of Peter he touches will shatter. “What the hell happened to you?”

Peter frowns. There’s too much blood. “I crashed Mr. Stark’s plane,” he says.

“What?”

“Liz’s dad was trying to steal it. I stopped him though.”

“You’re hurt.”

“I get hurt all the time.”

“Not like this,” Ned argues, and Peter’s eyes darken.

“I’m okay,” he whispers.

Grinding his nails into his knees, Ned shakes his head. Peter hasn’t moved since he found him, his arms curled tightly around his chest. “Why’d you come here?”

Gaping, Peter pales further. “Oh. I didn’t... I’m sorry-”

“No,” Ned says quickly. “Not like that. I mean, isn’t Mr. Stark supposed to help you with stuff like this?”

Peter closes his eyes, his face shadowed. “Mr. Stark doesn’t want to see me anymore. He ended things, remember?”

“But if he knew you were hurt-”

“Ned.”

“You’re bleeding really bad. I don’t know how to help you.”

Peter smiles again, but it’s sad. Broken, like the day of Ben’s funeral. It makes Ned feel sick. “Can I use your shower?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Definitely. I’m covered in sand and ash and concrete-” Peter shudders, eyes becoming distant for a moment. “Please?”

“Right. Of course, man. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks.”

Peter tries to stand but needs Ned’s help in the end. They limp to the bathroom together and Ned helps Peter pull the top half of his suit off because Peter can’t lift his arms above his head. Peter is quiet during the process, but Ned doesn’t miss the way he sways and bites his lip.

When the suit is finally stripped away, Ned is sure he’ll have nightmares of for the rest of his life. Impossibly dark bruising covers nearly every inch of his friend’s skin, puncture marks still leaking blood and surrounded by countless smaller cuts and scrapes. He notices that Peter doesn’t look in the mirror. He doesn’t even look down, his hands shaking as he stares in determination at the opposite wall.

It’s only now that Ned truly understands the weight of what Peter is taking on. That having superpowers comes with a cost.

I just wanted to be like you, Peter had told Mr. Stark.

And I want you to be safe, thinks Ned, aching.

“Peter,” he whispers. He feels strangely detached from his body, as if he’s viewing the massacre through someone else’s eyes. “This- this is really bad. Like, hospital bad.”

Peter doesn’t argue, which Ned knows is a bad sign. Instead, his eyes glisten as if he’s about to cry. “I heal fast.”

“But-”

“I’m going to shower now.”

“Peter.”

“Ned please. I know you mean well, but- but I can’t think about it right now, okay? I just need to shower and then I’ll be okay.”

Ned stills. Swallows. Then, with great reluctance, he nods. “Okay.”

Looking weak with relief, Peter gives him a watery smile. When he speaks, his voice cracks. “Thanks man. I- I really owe you one.”

“It’s nothing. Guy in the chair, remember?”

“Thanks Ned.”

After their handshake, Ned leaves. It takes a minute of standing by the bathroom door and breathing intently through his nose to get his heart to calm. When it does, his pocket vibrates. He pulls out his phone, expecting it to be his mom.

Instead, it’s an unknown number.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Ned answers, making sure to move away from the bathroom. “Hello?”

There’s staticy silence. Then, heavy breathing. “Is this Peter’s friend?”

“Who’s this?”

“I’ll take that as a yes. This is Happy Hogan. You called me earlier.”

An unexpected surge of anger makes his ears hot. Hand tightening around the phone, Ned doesn’t try to keep the annoyance from his voice. “What do you want?”

Happy sighs. “Peter. Have you seen him?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Now. He’s at my apartment.”

More silence. Ned paces.

“How is he?” Happy asks finally.

“Why do you care?” Ned snaps. His heart is beating fast again. He can hear it in the base of his eardrums. “I tried to warn you earlier and you hung up on me.”

“Kid, listen-”

“He’s not okay,” Ned interrupts. “He’s hurt really bad. And he wouldn’t be if you had just listened.”

Ned expects deflection, but Happy’s words surprise him with their concern. “Wait. Peter’s hurt?”

It leaches his anger. “Yeah.”

“Can I talk to him?”

Ned opens his mouth to respond but pauses at the sound of a muffled conversation on the other end of the line. There’s a short struggle and then a new voice fills his ears. One that he’s more than familiar with.

“Ted, right?” Tony Stark asks. “Put Peter on the phone. Pronto. ASAP.”

“I- I-”

“He’s with you, isn’t he?” the man urges.

“I- yes.”

“Well then?”

Ned, despite how freaking cool it is to be talking to Iron Man, can’t help but feel a streak of protectiveness for his friend. “He didn’t call you for a reason.”

Tony is quiet, which Ned doesn’t expect. He plows on. “He thinks you don’t care. And maybe you don’t. But you can’t just choose when you want to help him. He’s here and he’s hurt, and I’m just about the least qualified person to be helping him. There’s blood on my floor and my mom is going to freak out-”

“Take a breath kid,” Tony interjects, his voice pinched. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Just let me talk to him.”

“He’s in the shower.”

“We’ll come pick him up, then. What’s your address?”

Ned closes his eyes, feeling two seconds away from a breakdown. He should be excited, but instead he just feels hollow. How did this become my life?

He rattles off his address and hangs up before Tony can respond. Then he sits on his floor beside Peter’s blood and cries silently into his hands.

-------

Ned tries to talk to Peter about Homecoming, but his friend just defects. Ned tries not to let it bother him.

But it does.

Physically, Peter recovers quickly. The ugly cuts and bruises disappear after the weekend, but the weariness that accompanies them never really leaves. The dark circles under Peter’s eyes get worse everyday and it’s harder to get a genuine smile out of his friend.

It all comes to a head on Wednesday.

They’re in the hall grabbing textbooks from their lockers between classes. Peter has been especially quiet today and Ned has done his best not to say anything about it. He’s reaching for his physics binder when it happens.

A loud crash, the sound of metal hitting the floor. Heart jumping, Ned spins to see a table flipped on its side beside a group of snickering kids. He exhales, shaking his head. “Man, that scared me.” He turns to Peter to laugh it off and freezes, insides turning to ice.

“Peter?”

His friend has lost all the color in his face, his eyes wide, unblinking, and staring out at nothing. When he doesn’t respond Ned takes a step forward to nudge his arm and Peter flinches back as if burned, hitting one of their classmates who scowls and pushes him off.

Peter barely manages to catch himself, his chest heaving like he’s just finished running a marathon. More careful this time, Ned grabs Peter’s elbow and steers him away from the hall and towards the bathroom. When they get there Peter detaches himself from Ned’s grip and stumbles until he hits the wall, sliding down to curl into a ball on the dirty tile. Now that it’s quieter, Ned can hear just how strained his breathing is.

“Peter?” he asks softly, squatting down to his level. “You’re scaring me man. What’s going on?”

Peter looks up at him helplessly, clutching at his chest as he pales further. “S-sorry. Just- ah. Gimme a minute.”

Ned opens his mouth to argue but closes it decidedly. The door to the bathroom swings open behind them and Ned shoos the freshman who appears away with his hands.

Peter’s upbeat ringtone cuts through the tension. Obviously not coordinated enough to answer, Ned helps Peter pull it out of his pocket and stills at the contact.

“It’s Mr. Stark,” Ned says in awe. “What- what do I do?”

“Don’ answer it-”

But his thumb is already on the green. He gives Peter a panicked look of apology before yanking the device up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Ted? Why do you have Peter’s phone?”

“It’s Ned. And he- he can’t really talk right now.”

Tony curses. “Is he with you? His watch sent me a spike in his vitals. Don’t tell me he’s actively bleeding out.”

Peter must hear what he’s saying because he groans, his breathing becoming increasingly laboured. He sticks his head between his knees and digs his knuckles into the tile until tiny cracks appear under the pressure.

“He’s not bleeding out,” Ned assures. “He’s- well, I don’t really know what’s happening. He said he can’t breathe.”

“Damn it. Damn it. Okay. He’s having a panic attack. Put me on speaker.”

“But-”

“Now, Ned!”

Gulping, Ned obliges. He holds out the phone between himself and Peter like some sort of offering and feels some distant part of him relax as Tony takes control.

“Pete?” Tony asks, his voice sharp and clear. “Focus on my voice kiddo. Alright? Imagine that I’m there with you.”

“Mr. St-Stark-’

“Shh, kiddo. It’s okay. I’m going to help you breathe. I need you to tell me five things you can see. Can you do that?”

Eyes gaining some clarity, Ned watches them wander. “Uh, Ned. The phone. The- the sinks. A mirror. And- and, uh. Paper towel.”

“Bathroom. Classy. Alright, now four things you can touch.”

“Ground. Wall. C-clothes. Backpack.”

“Good, kiddo. You’re doing so well. Keep breathing. Three things you can hear?”

“You. Ned. Kids outside.”

With every answer, the tension in Tony’s own voice seems to ease. For some reason, it softens some of the resentment Ned’s been holding against the man ever since the ferry incident. He continues with urgency. “Two things you can smell?”

“Soap. Sweat.”

“Good. And one thing you can taste?”

Peter exhales, long and slow. He closes his eyes. “Spearmint.”

“That’s great,” Tony encourages. “Feeling any better?”

At this, Peter’s face scrunches up as if he’s about to start crying. Instead, he relaxes more fully against the wall and reaches up to wipe his eyes. “Yeah, Mr. Stark. That’s better. I’m really sorry-”

“Nope,” Tony interrupts. “Gonna stop you right there kid. We’ll talk in person. I can be there in twenty.”

“What?” Peter stalls, eyebrows drawing together. “I have class.”

“Not anymore. See you soon. Ned, can I talk to you real quick?”

Another shot of adrenaline spiking through him, Ned fumbles with the phone until it’s off speaker and pushes it up against his face, though he knows full well Peter will still be able to hear. “Yeah Mr. Stark?”

A short pause. “Has this happened before?”

“Not at school.”

“And not at school?”

Peter looks down at his shoes. Ned frowns. “I don’t know.”

Tony sighs. “Thanks for watching out for him. Do you know what triggered it?”

“Um. A table got flipped over. It was really loud.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Damn it. Can you stay with him until I get there? Give him water and make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. You got that?”

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.”

He doesn’t get a response, the line going dead. He pulls it away in disbelief and sets it on the floor. Peter smirks weakly at him from where he’s slumped against the wall. “It’s okay,” he mumbles. “He hangs up on everyone.”

------

For a while, it gets better.

“Ned! Oh my God- MJ said yes! I’m freaking out man!”

Stomach dropping with excitement, Ned spins a full 360 in his room, hands reaching up to his hair. “No freaking way! I told you!”

Peter’s excited rambling continues through his phone. It makes Ned’s heart soar. “What do I do? Where do I take her? The movies? The park?”

“Swinging through New York,” Ned offers with a smile, and Peter laughs.

“No, seriously. It needs to be perfect.”

“Laser tag?”

“Don’t forget that I’m broke, man.”

“How about the Pride Parade? That’s happening this weekend. Seems like her kind of thing.”

Peter pauses, warmth filling the other end of the line. “That’s perfect! God, you’re a genius. Thanks man!”

“You owe me,” he teases.

“I so do. We still on for the death star 2.0 tonight?”

“Wise is Yoda the most?”

Peter laughs again. It’s nice. “Right. See you soon.”

“See you.”

When Ned hangs up, tears bite at his eyes.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s heard Peter so happy.

--------

Of course, it doesn’t last long.

Ned gets the text during band practice.

It’s from Peter and the empty seat next to him feels more pronounced. He almost ignores it, feeling, despite reason, a deep bitterness for his loneliness. But the message is short.

Help.

Ned nearly tilts out of his chair, his mouth adopting a strange metallic quality and his stomach dropping down to his toes. Before he can even get his shaking hands to cooperate another message lights his screen.

Bleachers.

Ned stands before he can process how strange it must look. His teacher, Miss Gregerson, raises her pencil thin eyebrows. “Ned? What is it?”

“Bathroom,” he blurts, and parts the music stands blocking his exit before she can say another word. He hears laughter follow him but can’t find it within himself to care, his heart beating loud in his ears as he jogs through the empty hallways. Peter needs you. Something is wrong.

He had thought having a best friend for a superhero would be cool. But the longer the time stretches, the more Ned realizes how much sleep he’s been losing over his friend’s safety.

Please don’t be dying.

Ned bursts through the back doors and trips his way down the hill to the track. The yard is empty, filtered with pink and orange light from the sinking sun. It’s warm and the air is still, but the deep sense of foreboding doesn’t leave him.

“Peter?” he calls, even though the bleachers are distant and his throat is closing with fear. He walks faster and it’s only when his feet hit the red dirt of the track that he sees Peter’s hunched form. He’s sitting on the lowest step of the bleacher, his face pinched and the edges of his suit showing from his open backpack. He’s pale and covered in sweat, and when he sees Ned, he sags, his eyes fluttering with what can only be a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

“Peter,” Ned repeats, skidding to his friend’s side. His hands hover, unsure again what to do or how to help. Assess the problem, his mind supplies. Find out what’s hurt.

It doesn’t take long. He follows Peter’s tense posture to his hand, which is clamped down hard over his side. His skin is painted red underneath, the material of his dark shirt shining in the fading light. There’s a cut on his temple that bleeds too, and Ned notices how hard Peter is trying to concentrate on his form, his eyes seeming incapable of adjusting.

“Hey man,” he croaks.

“Oh my God,” Ned breathes. His whole body is shaking now. Weak. Because he’s not equipped for this. “What happened?”

Peter struggles to process his question, blinking heavy and biting hard on his bottom lip. Then he swallows, sways, and musters a weak smile. “Stabbed. Long knife.”

When Peter falls to the side, Ned has to lunge to catch him, supporting his entire weight against his body. The new position allows him to see the blood that’s been pooling on the metal where Peter’s been sitting. A distant part of his brain wonders if the stain it’ll leave will be permanent.

“You need to go to a hospital,” Ned says. Peter’s head is pressed hard into his rib cage. They’re both shaking, their breaths uneven and loud.

“No,” Peter says. “You can help.”

“I can’t.”

“Please.”

It’s desperate. More desperate than Ned’s ever heard his friend. Even after Homecoming. “Peter-” he starts, but there’s no words to convey the weight in his chest.

“We can fix this,” Peter says. “We can fix it.”

“You’re bleeding too much.”

“I just need some help.” Peter lifts himself away with Ned with trembling arms. He’s even more pale, his skin close to translucent. He struggles with the side pocket on his backpack before revealing a small sewing kit. He transfers it into Ned’s palm where it leaves a thick smudge of red. He stares at it for a long time and won’t realize until much later that he’s in shock.

“What?” he stutters, transfixed by how much blood is on the sewing kit.

“My hands... my hands are shaking too much to thread the needle.”

Ned stares. He’s numb.

“Ned?” Peter prompts. He reaches out a hand and bracelets Ned’s wrist in his blood. “Can you- can you thread the needle for me?” he pauses, and almost sheepishly, he smiles. “I need my guy in the chair.”

It’s like a damn breaking. Ned snaps back into awareness, sad, angry, and unable to fully comprehend why. Guy in the chair.

“I’ll help you,” he says, “but not in the way you want.”

Before Peter can protest, Ned pulls out his phone. He dials in the number and tries to ignore the way Peter’s chest falls, or how a tear cuts a line through the grime on his face.

“Mr. Stark?” he asks when the line connects. “I need your help.”

In the background, Ned can already hear the mechanical thrum of what can only be a suit being activated. Mr. Stark doesn’t question it. He doesn’t waste time. “I’ll be there in three minutes,” he says, and then the line disconnects.

Peter blinks slow. His lip trembles. “I wish you didn’t do that,” he says.

And then he collapses.

Ned cries out as he catches him. His shirt will be ruined. Peter’s head lolls sickeningly against his neck, his arms going limp at his sides. Acting on instinct alone, Ned reaches to put pressure over the still bleeding wound in Peter’s side. It’s warm and he gags. His eyes burn with tears.

“P-Peter?” he cries, but Peter remains still against him. He wonders if this is how Peter had felt when Ben had died, and for the first time understands the guilt Peter had pinned on himself. “Wake up, man. Mr. Stark is coming. He’s going to- he’s going to help.”

But Peter doesn’t wake up. He doesn’t even twitch until Mr. Stark hits the dirt hard beside them, his suit retracting from his face to reveal a look of complete terror. It catches Ned off guard, but not as much as the way Mr. Stark gently maneuvers Peter out of Ned’s arms and into his own lap.

“Hey Underoos,” Mr. Stark says. His voice is soft but urgent. He taps on Peter’s face and brushes back his hair. “This isn’t a good look, kiddo.”

Ned is frozen. Stuck. He feels the tacky wetness of blood on his hands and is unable to look at them.

“Pete,” Mr. Stark continues, louder this time. “Wake up. That’s an order.”

Ned holds his breath as Peter’s eyes open to slits. They’re hazy, confused, but his lips manage to quirk up into a smile that betrays the pain in his eyes. “Tony,” he whispers.

Mr. Stark sags and Ned can practically see the relief leak out of him. He plays with Peter’s hair, his free hand pressed down hard against the worst of the bleeding. “You never do things halfway, do you kid?” he asks with a smile that even Ned can tell is for Peter’s benefit alone. “If it weren’t for Ned, you’d be six feet under right about now.”

Peter’s eyes drift to find Ned. His smile widens when they connect. “He’s my guy in the chair,” he slurs.

Tony hugs Peter tighter and Ned is struck just how paternal the hero is acting. Like Peter is the most important thing in the world. A lot has changed since Homecoming, he realizes. “Let’s get you some help, buddy. You up for a flight?”

But Peter doesn’t seem to hear. His eyes are still glued to Ned. He doesn’t speak, but Ned understands anyway.

Tony stands, bringing Peter up with him, and Peter goes limp once more. Ned doesn’t miss the way Tony’s breath hitches or the urgency in his movements. He stops before he takes off, regarding Ned with a look of gratitude. “Happy is on his way to pick you up. Wait here for him, okay?”

Ned can only nod, and when they both disappear into the air, he sinks to the ground. It takes hours for the blood on his hands to wash off, and when he finally makes it to Peter’s room in medbay, he finds Tony Stark with his head pillowed on Peter’s thigh. They’re both sleeping, their arms linked.

And for the first time, it all makes sense.

------

It’s been two weeks since the blip’s reversal.

They’re back at school. Ned shuffles awkwardly at his locker, uncomfortable, like his skin is on too tight. Graduation pictures of his classmates hang on the wall.

Five years.

A deep, unrelenting sadness pulls at his heart. He should be happy to be back, but he’s not. Not really. His little sister, who what seems like yesterday was half his height, now reaches his chin. The calendar in his room is useless.

So much time.

Across the hall, he sees Peter. It calms the sharp edges of his anxiety and as if mirroring his own relief, he sees his friend’s shoulders lose their tension. Ned begins walking towards him and Peter drifts too. It’s slow, cautious, like everything will vaporize in a moment if they move too fast.

But at last, they meet. And in the middle of the hall, surrounded by faces Ned no longer recognizes, they hug. Peter’s grip is strong. Almost bruising. It reminds Ned of Ben’s funeral and the heaviness in his chest doubles.

Peter sniffs. He trembles like he’s cold.

“Are you okay?” Ned whispers in his ear.

Peter is quiet. Ned can hear his measured breathing, an exercise taught to him by Mr. Stark shortly after the incident in the school bathroom.

Mr. Stark, who had died to save them all.

“Not yet,” Peter says after some time. They still haven’t pulled apart. “I just- I really miss him, Ned.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Peter’s fingers curl into his hoodie. People are staring at them, and for the first time in his life, Ned can’t bring himself to care.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Peter says, and Ned feels his eyes sting.

Five long years.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you either.”

Finally, Peter pulls away. He wipes his sleeve across his cheekbones and takes in a rattling breath. “Wanna help me with my web shooters after school? May’s making lasagna. Pepper and Morgan are coming over, too.”

Ned smiles. Because after all the injuries he’s seen Peter sustain over the years, he’s seen them all heal too.

He’ll heal.

They both will.

“That sounds great, man.”

After a particularly sloppy handshakes, they walk to class with their shoulders bumping.

And though it may just be a trick of the light, Ned swears he sees Mr. Stark standing in the crowd of students, a wide smile on his face as he looks at them.

And just like Ben, Ned knows that Peter has Tony forever.

#spider man #peter parker #tony stark #ned leeds #irondad fic #peter & ned #hurt/comfort #hurt peter parker #peter parker whump #protective ned leeds #protective tony stark

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kylorengarbagedump · 3 years

Text

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 4

Read on AO3. Part 3 here. Part 5 here.

Summary: David Rose voice: Oh, my god!

Words: 3200

Warnings: dude

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: First: Thank you to @bastila-ren and @elmidol for their beta-kindness.

I'M ALIVE. I got super burned out at my job, took 5 weeks of FMLA, got incredibly depressed, but now I'm back! Very thankfully, my COVID symptoms were extremely mild. Thank you very very much for your well-wishes and your concerns.

I wish I could express enough apology for my lack of activity, but hopefully uploading a chapter is thanks enough. You all have been so supportive and kind to me. I am SO thankful and appreciative of everything y'all offer me!

(as a side note: I know some people do not like dude, that it throws them out. I am very sorry, but in the politest way possible: I am not going to stop using it. I like it too much.)

I also hope you enjoyed the chapter! God I wonder what's going to happen next chapter. I just don't know.

Love you all so much <3

“Piece of shit.”

Growling, you tugged out another panel from the silencer’s dash. At this point, about a dozen slats of buttons boxed you into the pilot’s seat, crowding you in the cockpit. All of them looked flawless upon inspection, and this new one was no exception. Wires were attached and the circuits were complete, every switch was grounded. You’d gone over a handful of systems already, trapped in this cockpit for hours. The silencer’s refusal to function made no sense. There had to be something you were missing.

The memory of smoke and flames licked at the perimeter of your mind. Yeah, there was a lot you were missing.

Pain burrowed, opened a well in your chest, and you shook your head, rubbing your tired face. There wasn’t time to think about anything else. Sitting forward, you started reattaching the panels to the console. You needed to focus on this. Even though the answer to where you’d go and what you would do once you were finished remained nebulous. Even though you were now apparently unknown and unloved by almost everyone in the universe, including the one man you’d waited on for months.

You caught a sigh in your chest, exhaling into your palms, shutting out the urge to cry. Crying right now was a waste of time. You still had about fifty systems to check, and you’d only read through about half of Kylo’s post-flight novella. Swallowing, you grabbed your datapad from the seat and flipped to the report, forcing yourself through the urge to skim.

It wasn’t like you weren’t interested. Normally this sort of thing was like a buffet for your freakish little brain. But you kept tasting embers on your tongue. Kept seeing your crew--completely unarmed, helpless fuel outpost workers--drowning in destruction. Kept hearing Hux’s voice: Multiple Resistance fighters… Heat gripped your neck, clogged your throat. Multiple fighters for a tiny station. Multiple fighters against three soft, fleshy bodies.

The First Order was not your creed; just your employer. The machine of war had always been an inconvenience to the prestige of working on elite starfighters. You knew that the loss of three cogs was nothing to that machine. In the past, it’d been nothing to you too. But you’d never eaten meals or laughed with or supported those lost cogs when they’d cried. This loss wasn’t just to war. This loss was horrifically and uniquely yours.

“Stop.” You shook your head, tossing your datapad back on the seat. You’d finish putting the console back together, then you’d figure out what to do next.

Jaw tight, you grabbed another panel, and your grip slipped. The sharp edge sliced your palm where the wood had lanced you earlier.

“Fuck!” You dropped it and clutched your hand, seething while you tried to squeeze away the agony. Everything from your fingers to your wrist throbbed, and your chin quaked, tears burning your sight. “Fuck! Fuck!” Snarling, you kicked the panels at your feet. “Fuck!”

The thin cut felt like a sobbing gash. You tore off your jacket and wrapped the sleeve around your palm, wincing when you tightened it to the wound.

“Stupid fucking panels!” you growled, kicking the panels again. “Stupid fucking ship, stupid fucking Kylo, stupid fucking Resistance!” The final kick dented a panel, popped off a shiny button. “Gods!”

You covered your face in your jacket and screamed until your throat crackled, until your lungs were dry. Head spinning, you drew in a breath and screamed again, stomping the floor until dizziness dropped you into the pilot’s chair. Warmth glowed at your cheeks, leaked down your back. Tremors rippled to your toes as you took in a long, steadying breath, exhaling in reluctant relief.

You considered sitting there forever. But it only took two seconds for you to remember how Kylo also sat in this chair thinking of and dealing with everything that wasn’t you before you grunted and climbed out of the cockpit.

The rest of the hangar seemed wholly unconcerned or otherwise ignorant to your tantrum. Wiping your eyes, you hopped to the ground, wagging off the lingering fury in your limbs. Maybe you just needed a walk. You cleared your throat and kept your hand clutched to your chest, the whispering ache pulsing in rhythm with your heart.

In all the hours you’d been in the cockpit, the Steadfast had continued to orbit Orinda. Xi-class shuttles whirled beyond the hangar entrance--probably staffed with crew collecting reconnaissance from whatever the Resistance left behind from the attack. Your feet carried you to the fuzzy blue edge of the magnetic shield’s barrier, meters from vacant space. A quiet hum resonated from its perimeter through your soles.

You gazed into the galaxy. Orinda was a glimmering grain of sand, adrift in the celestial trenches. A fuel outpost turned graveyard. An acceptable casualty of the Resistance. Another home where you couldn’t return. That whispering ache rumbled to a hiss and cast itself over your skin, raking it over with misery, with exhaustion. Your chin quivered. The only place you could think to sleep was the silencer. Eyes falling to the floor, you turned back to the hangar.

“My quarters.”

You squealed and jumped, clapping your hands to your chest. Feet away stood Kylo Ren.

“Shit!” you said, exhaling in relief. “How the hell do you do that?” When he said nothing, you continued, “Like, sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re not perceptive.”

You frowned. “Okay, well…” He wasn’t wrong. You sighed, shrugged. “Anyway.”

Kylo stepped forward, assessing you in your tank top, scrutinizing the tourniquet you’d made of your jacket. “Your hand.”

“It’s fine,” you said, holding it behind your back. “Your quarters?”

His stare lingered on your exposed shoulders, on your neck. “Stay,” he said. “Until the silencer is repaired.”

“That could be as early as next cycle.”

“Given your skill, yes.”

It was difficult to look in his direction. Every worn nerve screamed for his touch. “And then what?”

“You’ll depart to another station.”

You tried to flush the pain from your voice. “So,” you said, “you want me to stay with you through, like, one cycle, and then leave.” You looked to the ceiling in faux-consideration. “Cool. I think I’ll pass.”

Kylo’s eye twitched. He moved closer, tone icy. “You have nowhere to sleep,” he said. “I…” He paused. His tongue rolled in his mouth. “You mean to tell me you prefer the silencer.”

“Well,” you replied, “I’ve never fucked the silencer. I never told the silencer how I felt about it. The silencer has never treated me like a stranger who just walked off the plains of Lothal.” You tapped your chin. “So, yeah, I prefer the silencer.”

He grit his teeth. “You’re no stranger.”

“Sure could’ve fooled me!” A couple of heads turned in your direction.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “It apparently takes very little for you to be fooled.”

“Excuse me?” you replied. “Run that by me again, Supreme Leader?”

“Now your hearing fails you.”

“This is great.” You offered a false smile. “This conversation is going really well.”

Kylo snarled, shoulders bunching with restraint. “You speak this way and then question why you’re unwelcome,” he replied. “Deaf and foolish.”

“Oh!” A frustrated laugh escaped. “Okay, then. Talk to you later, Your Excellency. I need a nap before I keep trying to fix your dumbass ship.”

Shaking your head, you folded your arms over your chest and stormed past him, anger blurring your vision. Stupid fucking asshole--

You made it three steps before a warm leather glove grabbed your shoulder, and you stalled, goosebumps shooting to your hands. Kylo spun you, your face inches from his, your breath fleeing and forgetting to return. His lips trembled, his jaw tightened, his gaze boring into you before it met the floor, seeking to stare anywhere else. The pressure of his fingers was firm, then floating. And then he swallowed, grip crushing your shoulder, his eyes finding you again.

No one else in the hangar would’ve known, looking at him. But this Kylo Ren was familiar to you.

This Kylo Ren was terrified.

“I don’t…” His voice was a feather in the air. “You are…” He averted his attention, stiffening. “You have a home.”

Your chest swelled. Water stung your eyes. “I do?”

“Yes,” he replied, utterly sincere. “But not here. Not now.”

Hairline fractures crept into your heart.

“Kylo.” Your composure cracked. All of you wanted to melt, to disintegrate into his being and know each word trapped on his tongue. There was a reason you could not find him, that he would not unfold himself to you. “Please. Why do you want me gone so badly?”

His lips parted, as if he were about to speak--and he paused. He drew in a breath through his nose. “Complications,” he replied. “Factors you do not understand.”

You stepped closer, throat tight. His breath brushed your nose. “Tell me, then.”

Kylo huffed, shifting on his feet--and his face froze. His limbs locked, muscles taut. His gaze widened, fixated on something over your shoulder. Air leaked from him, like time was slowing to a close. You blinked, looked behind you. But nothing was there.

Frowning, you cleared your throat. “Kylo?” He didn’t even acknowledge you. “You’re really just going to leave it like that?”

His pupils were pinpricks.

It wasn’t like you were heartless. You knew that he was attempting wasn’t easy. But what you were feeling wasn’t a sail on a skiff either. You didn’t just deserve more. You needed it.

“Okay,” you said, backing out of his hold. “This was nice. But I have a TIE fighter to repair. So.” He didn’t respond. Didn’t even move. “Whatever.”

You turned--Kylo’s focus flicked to you. His mouth dropped, like there were words he wanted to and couldn’t speak. Instead, he remained silent, fury simmering in his gaze while you pivoted away. You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t think you had to.

When you arrived at the silencer, you clambered into the cockpit, like it was a hole you could hide in until he disappeared. Shame, stubbornness, or surrender--you imagined one of these was responsible for why he didn’t pursue you, but you didn’t care. This ship repair would be your parting gift to him, and you could take off, probably spending the rest of your life wondering how you’d managed to fuck up your affair with the galaxy’s most ineligible bachelor.

Loose panels still swarmed the pilot’s chair. You sighed and put on your jacket, settling in and throwing your feet on the dash. Your hand thumped with irritation as you closed your eyes.

Just a couple of hours. That’s all you needed. Then you’d keep working like the foolish little--

Clank.

You yelped, flinching in your seat.

Clank.

Heart fluttering, you scanned the cockpit before realizing the noise came from outside the ship.

Clank.

It was behind you. Someone was messing with the refuel port. Or the solar lines. You couldn’t tell. Grumbling, you scrambled out of the chair and hoisted yourself up the escape. If they were fucking up this stupid ship even further--

Clankclankclank.

“Hey!” You popped your head free. “Will you...”

For a split second, you’d thought Kylo had decided to rip the solar line access open and tear into his own power supply. But then your vision focused. The man crouched over the ship was a different intimidating masked man dressed only in black. Your stomach twisted. It was the one from the Buzzard. The one who’d shoulder-checked you.

“Kuruk.”

His head whipped in your direction, the talons of his predator’s gaze gouging your chest. He pulled his hands free of the solar lines, his gloves greasy with reactant.

“Lieutenant.”

Previously you’d thought absolutely no one but Hux could spit that word with that degree of acidity. But if Hux spat it like acid, then Kuruk hocked it--dragged it up through his throat and sputtered it like necrotic phlegm.

You crawled onto the dorsal plane with the coordinated majesty of a blurrg, trying not to heave and ruin any level of authority you might have tricked him into thinking you maintained. When you’d made it to both feet, you straightened, as if you did this all the time, and moved toward him.

“What are you doing?”

“Repairing a starfighter.”

You snorted. “Really,” you replied. “Tearing out a power supply is repairing?”

Kuruk jerked his arm, wrenching free another line, spewing collector dust into the air. “Closer to repairing than sleeping in the cockpit.”

Heat rushed your spine, swathed your neck. “Yeah, well…” You examined him, watching as he cocked his head to avoid the blinders attached to his helmet. “At least I can see properly when I work on a ship.”

“Magnification’s built into the visor.”

More heat, this time crackling in your cheeks, drying your tongue. “Look,” you said, “this is my job. I don’t need amateurs screwing it up for me.”

He paused, turned his gaze on you again. “Amateurs?”

You shrugged. “In comparison, yeah, probably.”

Kuruk leaned on his heels, wiping his gloves on his jacket. “I don’t think so.”

“Uh, I do.” This man looked like a weapon. Not an engineer. “What experience do you have?”

“It’s called the Night Buzzard,” he replied. “You might be familiar with it.”

You paused, brow raising. “You…” It was impossible to restrain your laughter. But he didn’t move. “You’re kidding. Right? That’s a joke.”

Kuruk’s hands tensed.

“Dude, that ship’s the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” you replied. “Did you modify it with a boiled chokeroot?”

His head tilted. He rose to stand, so controlled he looked to be fighting gravity. “I can do more work with a boiled chokeroot than you can do with an entire Star Destroyer’s worth of resources,” he drawled. “Lieu. Tenant.”

The hair on your nape stuck straight, your pulse leapt to the ceiling. But the knowledge that Kylo was within thinking distance abated your fear.

“Might wanna get one then.” You grinned. “You’re not making much progress here without it.”

He stared, filthy fingers furling into fists--and then relaxed, the tension sloughing like reactor slime from his frame. Silent, he returned to a squat, rending more lines from their channels. For some reason, a tiny, irreverent part of you was disappointed.

No, that was a lie. You knew why you were disappointed. But this man wasn’t the one you wanted to be taunting into a wild sexual rage. Exhaling, you crossed your arms.

“It’s still my job,” you said.

“And I’ve been told that once it’s done, you’ll be gone.”

“What?” You gawked. “What the fuck? You, too? I didn’t even do anything to you!”

“Debatable.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re mad because your Master didn’t want you to disrespect an officer.”

“No.” Kuruk’s attention snapped to you. “You’re loud.”

Blood drained from your face. “I’m…”

Moments blinked in your memory like a holodrama. Like how you’d spent the entire time aboard the Buzzard thinking about Kylo slamming you against the dashboard and breaking your pussy open. How you’d mentally undressed him, verbally taunted him, physically ached for him. How you’d blazed with hatred for him and stoked it with longing. And how you’d just noted that you were desperate to wind him into a state of frenzied lust so he’d wreck you entirely.

“Oh, fuck.” You glanced at the hangar’s entrance and wondered how quickly you could hurl yourself into the vacuum of space. Speaking of hurling… “Oh, fuck.”

You couldn’t spare Kuruk another glance. With shaking hands, you fumbled your way to the ground, steadying yourself on your weakening knees. There was no way you were going to spend another minute on this ship trying to fix a starfighter while getting thought-eavesdropped by multiple men, one of whom seemed hell-bent on doing your job for you anyway.

All you needed to do was find General Hux and get him to reassign you to another station. You’d figure the rest out later when you had time to process your myriad of losses and crippling rejection. You held your breath the entire trek to the command center, only releasing when the doors opened and you spied Hux at the head of the room, briefing someone on something you didn’t care about.

Wiping your forehead, you trudged over to him. Hux’s gaze darted between you and the other officer, his brow furrowing as you approached.

“A moment,” he said to the man. “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

Yeah, it definitely sounded worse out of Kuruk’s mouth. “Can I get a new station? I, uh, I need a new station.” The officer peered at you in horror. You coughed, standing at attention. “General. Requesting a new assignment, sir.”

Hux’s lips pursed, his eyes narrowed. “The silencer is already repaired?”

“Uh, no. No, sir, it’s not.” You stared at your shoes. “Still requesting a new assignment. I believe my work here is complete.”

A pause hung in the air. Hux observed you like you were a recently apprehended criminal. He sighed.

“Dismissed, Captain.” He waited for the man to depart before turning to you. “What do you mean, your work here is complete?”

It was hard to find the appropriate words. “I mean. Uh. Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“No.”

You groaned. “Okay.” A long breath, flooding your lungs with air. “Well. My services are no longer required. My presence is redundant. I cannot return to Orinda. I’m requesting another station.” You exhaled. “Sir.”

Hux’s pink face pinched together. “Something happened with Ren.”

Warmth flushed your neck. “Uh, no--”

“Lieutenant,” he said, like the words were thorns on his tongue, “I unfortunately believe your insight and skill may still be of use to the First Order.”

“Sir?”

“The TIE project has been approved. You may be just the person to manage it.”

You balked. “Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea--”

“No?” Sharp green eyes pierced you into silence. “I thought you might leap at the opportunity, considering how cruelly the Resistance slaughtered your staff.”

Your heart clenched, your chest speared with pain. Better TIE units wouldn’t save them. But you could at least ensure their loss wouldn’t be in vain. Though you’d never supervised an undertaking of that scale before, the excitement of a challenge glittered in the distance. Glittered, then dimmed under a brooding, Kylo Ren-shaped shadow.

“Well…”

Hux glanced away, gazing through the thick panes of transparisteel, as if offering you any more praise would blind him. “Go to the Supreme Leader. Inform him of my plans.” He offered a slight shrug. “If he disagrees, then so be it. We’ll find you a new station.” The thought was left unfinished--he seemed very confident Kylo would not disagree.

Too bad you disagreed with him. “Yes, sir,” you replied. “I understand. Where might I find the Supreme Leader?”

Hux frowned. “Am I his keeper, Lieutenant?”

A brief, blissful image of your fist connecting with his chin flashed through your mind. You shook it away.

“No,” you said. “No, sir. I’ll find him. Thank you.”

He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Shooting him a glare, you pivoted on your heel, marching out of the command center. All you needed to do was find where Kylo Ren might be by searching the entirety of this huge Star Destroyer. That would be easy.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren #defy your authority #fya2 #fanfiction problems #GOLLY-GEE WILLIKERS

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