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starlightsearches · 4 years

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Could you write something where the reader and Kylo love each other but refuse to admit it because the first order would disapprove of high ranking members being together and then the reader gets hurt or something and Kylo basically says fuck it and admits that he loves her!!! That was a mouth full lmao

Work Something Out

Absolutely! Thank you for your patience, I know you sent this in a while ago!

Requests are open ✨

Pairing: Kylo Ren X Female Reader

Warnings: Language and a blaster wound, enjoy!

“Stay away from the commander today,” you hear one of the officers whisper quietly as you work on rewiring the control panel in front of you, “He’s in a bad mood.” The others chuckle, but you tense, listening more closely as you work.

“Isn’t he always?” One says, rolling his eyes, throwing an exasperated glance your way, and you try to look at ease, smiling back in a way you hope looks natural.

“It’s different today—worse,” the first officer whispers more urgently, “He took out a sentry droid and trashed an interrogation room on one of the upper floors. I was there when a Trooper reported the damage to the general; he was livid.” Shit. You focused on calming your breathing, trying to reason with yourself. There were lots of reasons why Ren would lash out, it didn’t have to be because of you.

“Speak of the devil,” the other officer mumbles, and a pair of shiny, black boots appears on the deck of the bridge in front of you. Shit, shit, shit, fucking shit.

“A word, Lieutenant?” You look up, and see General Hux standing above you, and you can already tell that he’s more irritable than usual. Today is not your day.

“Of course, General.” You add a few finishing touches to the newly-repaired panel, and head to the upper deck of the bridge. As you walk, you try to soothe yourself. He doesn’t know anything, you repeat in your mind, how could he? He just wants you to fix the damage. You approach the general from behind; he’s all clean lines, not a crease or a hair out of place, and you feel a little self-conscious standing next to him, in your simple and not particularly neat jumpsuit. Since your promotion to the head of the maintenance team, you’ve had to deal with increasing amounts of impostor syndrome, even though your new ranking was more than deserved. You worked harder than practically anyone else on the ship, and your team had shown great improvements since you took control. Still, standing next to General Hux, it’s hard not to feel inadequate and unprepared, especially when you’re keeping a secret.

“You’re needed on a repair,” he says, walking down the bridge and you try to keep up with his brisk pace, “I’ve sent the location to your data pad.”

“Of course, sir,” you respond, and you check your data pad to make sure you received the message. The sooner you’re out of his presence the better, but the general makes no move to leave.

“You are still planning on participating in the mission tomorrow?” he asks, and you pause. Had he managed to figure out why Ren was so upset? You know the general is an intelligent man, it’s entirely possible that he had discerned the true reason. Would he fire you? Or move you to some god-forsaken base in the middle of nowhere? A flash of anger passes through you; the whole reason you and Ren had decided on the current situation was so that you could avoid these feelings of guilt, but here they are, and it annoys you immensely.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, aiming for nonchalance, “I am.”

“Make sure the repairs are done before then,” he says without giving anything away, turning back to the bridge and leaving you alone in the hallway.

Upon finding the correct interrogation room, you realize that the other officer had not been exaggerating Ren’s bad mood. You are used to seeing lightsaber damage, but this is … next level, and your mood doesn’t improve as you begin cataloguing the materials you’ll need for the repairs.

Ren’s shadow crosses the floor and the door closes behind you. His hand finds your shoulder, and he runs a finger down your bicep, a shiver tracing its way lazily up your spine despite your anger. When did you become so accustomed to his touch? You’re spiraling into your frustration, and you don’t want to be mad at him, but he can be so difficult.

“What do you want, Ren?” you ask, shrugging away from his hand.

“You are a difficult person to get alone,” he says through his mask.

“Wasn’t that the point?” There’s more anger in your voice than you’d like, but you’re not in the right state of mind to have this conversation, and he knows it.

“Tell the general that you will not be participating in the mission tomorrow.” He delivers it like an order, but you can still hear the emotion behind it, and it takes the edge off your anger.

“What would I say, Ren? He’d find out the truth, and then where would we be?” Ren doesn’t respond, just stares you down, and you’re both trapped in this misery together. It’s not a consolation.

“I know you’re worried about me, but I have to do this. If this mission goes well, it could make a huge difference for me. I could be noticed, promoted again,” you know you’re in private, but you check for watchful eyes out of habit, and then rest your hand on his arm, trying to offer him some comfort.

“I didn’t join the First Order so I could sit back safely and watch everyone else fight. I need you to trust me when I say that I can do this.”

“What if something goes wrong? What if-” he hesitates; even with the mask on, you can read him, know what he’s feeling as intimately as you know your own thoughts, “what if you get hurt?”

“I can’t promise anything. I will do my best to make it back, and when- if I do, we can work something out. I want to be with you. We’ll work something out.” He can’t respond, the raw distress of the moment is too much for him to process, but he brushes one hand into your hair and pulls you close, your forehead meeting with the cool metal of his helmet, and then he’s gone, down the hallway and out of view. You hope you made the right choice.

When the transport lands, you don’t have time to think before the door is opened to the blinding light of the sun outside the headquarters, and you run out into the middle of the action. There’s blasters being fired from both sides, and you try your best to dodge out of the way, hoping that the Trooper assigned to protect you is doing their job.

There’s an entrance twenty yards ahead, and you run for it, your chest pounding from the adrenaline as you race towards your goal. You don’t let your eyes observe the ongoing battle, knowing that if you do, you’ll try to find Ren in the chaos, and that’s a distraction you can’t afford right now. He’s out there, there’s no question of that, and you won’t worry about it. You know he’ll make it.

“Cover me!” You call to the Trooper behind you, careening in through the entrance and taking in your surroundings. It’s dark in the base, and in the moment before your eyes adjust, everything is pitch black. You feel your way through the curved corridor and activate your portable holo-map with the layouts, discerning the correct direction for your destination. The base is quiet, all of the guild members are outside fighting off the First Order, and you walk through the hallways on high-alert.

“Let’s get in and get out as fast as we can,” says ZT-1481, his blaster at the ready. He’s jumpy, pausing at the slightest of sounds, and you ignore him, fully focused on taking the right path. You find the control room unguarded, and get ready to go to work.

Despite his worry, Ren is in his element, so immersed in the fight that for a moment he stops thinking about your safety and concentrates on the task at hand. The bounty hunters guild is woefully unprepared for the attack, and Ren is beginning to believe that both you and he will make it out alive. That’s when he feels it.

It’s like a shockwave when it hits him, pulsing through his entire body and stopping him in place. Something has gone wrong. There’s a crackle of static, and his worst fears are confirmed.

“ZT-1481 in the base, we need backup. Doors are barred but they won’t hold long, the maintenance officer has been shot.” Ren is running before the message has even finished, unable and unwilling to think how this would look from the outside, the questions that will inevitably be asked when he returns to the Finalizer later. He’s crashing through the conflict, indiscriminate in the damage he causes. No one will get in his way.

He reaches the base and races through the hallways. Your presence is near and he doesn’t have to think about where he’s going; he could find you blind. You’re last words to him are playing on repeat in his mind, and he holds on to them desperately, he wants to work something out. He needs you alive to work something out.

The door to the control room has been busted open, but there’s no sign of life, and he walks in, looking for someone he can kill. He sees the bodies first, a few bounty hunters and the Trooper you were with, and then his eyes find you. Your face is twisted in pain, and he stops when he sees the vibroblade blade at your neck, and the blaster wound on your leg. There’s a man holding you to him, gripping at your waist in a way Ren had done so many times before.

“Don’t come any closer-” the man says but Ren doesn’t wait to let him finish, throwing him across the room with the force so powerfully that he can hear the man’s spine snap when he hits the wall. You drop to the floor, unable to stand on your own and Ren runs to you.

“Ren!” your voice is tight when you speak, and you’re crying, thin trails of tears running down your cheeks as you grip at your thigh. The wound is bad, and he can’t look at it too closely, already feeling your pain through the force.

“We need to get you back to the ship,” he says, lifting you gingerly into his arms and you gasp when he moves you.

“No, don’t,” you whisper, but your heart’s not in it, and wrap your arms around his neck. You’re still protesting as he carries you out into the daylight, shielding you from the blaster fire as he runs.

“People will talk,” you whisper, “this won’t end well.” You’re looking up at him with a terrible sadness, so convinced that everything is doomed before it’s even started; but there’s love there, and gratitude too, and he chooses to focus on that instead, allowing himself to feel hopeful only once he reaches the ship. A medic approaches nervously, and he sets you down so that they can work on your leg. He should probably go back, help finish the fight, but he stands over the medic instead. He wants to stay by your side.

“We’ll work something out,” he says to you as they bandage your leg, and you know what he means is I love you.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #my writing #requests

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littleshebear · 7 years

Text

Destiny Fanfiction: ‘A Killing Thing.’

When Jolder and saladin are dispatched to intercept a Warlord’s raiding party, Saladin struggles with what it means to be Risen.

Ao3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11793537/chapters/26598690

You are a dead thing made by a dead power in the shape of the dead. All you will ever do is kill.

-Legend: The Black Garden (Legends and Mysteries)

Jolder and Saladin lie at the crest of a hill, observing a group of soldiers pick their way through a lightly-wooded area below them. Jolder studies the group through a high-magnification scope.

“How many?”

“About a dozen.” Jolder passes her scope to Saladin. “Perun’s sources said there’d be a Lightbearer among them. Any ideas which one it is?”

Saladin studies each of the fighters in turn. They’re lightly armed, a mix of auto-rifles and pistols, nothing too heavy-hitting. Not that they need it. Their target is a small farming settlement, they mean to raid their winter stores. The presence of a Lightbearer would be more than enough to cow their victims into submission.

“Hard to tell from this distance,” he replies. “I don’t see a Ghost anywhere. Might be the one taking point?”

“Maybe.” Jolder chuckles softly. “Kinda stupid, just strolling along the low ground for all to see, like that.”

“Or arrogant. They think they’re untouchable.” He turns to her, smirking. “I mean, who would dare take on a Warlord’s forces?”

Jolder points to Saladin and then herself. “We would.” She grins widely. “You’re talking about us, right?”

“How do you want to play this?” He already knows what her answer will be. Charge. Rush in without a care in the world. Scare Saladin to death.

“We’ve got the element of surprise. I’ll rush them-”

Saladin sighs and doesn’t quite manage to suppress a roll of his eyes.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Jolder chides. “Don’t fuss, you’re like an old hen. I’ll be fine.” She packs away the scope into her utility belt. “As I was saying, I’ll rush them, let them think I’m lone-wolfing it. I’ll draw out the Lightbearer, then you flank him or her. Shut ‘em down. Sound like a plan?”

“It sounds like, ‘you stand back while I hurl myself headlong into danger.’ As usual.”

“Yes.” She shrugs. “What’s your point? I’m faster, you’re a heavy-hitter, it makes sense to do it this way.” She pushes herself up into a kneeling position and puts on her helmet. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll mop up the rabble, you just concentrate on that Lightbearer.”

Saladin follows suit and dons his helm. “Stay in contact, keep your Ghost linked with mine.”

“Yes, Mom.” With that, she readies her gun and sets off at speed.

He watches her run, no, gambol down the hill. She allows herself to slide on the snow, seemingly for the fun of it. There’s so much joy in her gait. If Saladin didn’t know she was hurrying to intercept a raiding party, he could be forgiven for thinking she was rushing to challenge them to a snowball fight. She makes for the footsoldier at the back of the group and she shoulder-charges into him, knocking him into another before they even realise what’s happening. The others take a moment to rally, in which time Jolder has raised her machine gun and begun firing into the group. As much as she worries him, as much as he thinks her reckless, Saladin can’t help but marvel at her. She uses the trees for cover, moving between them with a fluid grace that would give any Hunter pause. The shots she manages to get off while she’s out of cover are precise and never wasted. She keeps the group too off-balance to formulate a decent defensive formation. Not for the first time, Saladin thanks the Traveler that they’re on the same side. If he ever faced her in battle, he’d probably be too transfixed to fight her.

The rumored Light-Bearer in the group finally makes his presence known, yelling at his men to rally to him. He raises a Void shield and the soldiers that haven’t been felled by Jolder scurry towards it. Saladin picks his way along the hill, moving into a flanking position. He stays low, but he needn’t worry, they’re all far too focused on Jolder. Her plan is working. Why does she always have to be right?

Jolder unloads the bulk of her current clip on the shield and the caster stumbles backwards. He’s having trouble maintaining the shield. Saladin feels a stab of pity. This one’s Light isn’t strong; he’s inexperienced, that or his Lord has been remiss with his training. Saladin suspects it’s the latter and deliberately so. Why let your lackeys reach their full potential when you can keep them weak and use them as cannon fodder?

Saladin charges down the hill towards the shield, readying his battle-axe as he goes. He leaps from the base of the hill to within striking distance, smashing the axe on the ground, sending a gout of flame towards the shield. The Ward shatters and many of its denizens scatter to find more reliable cover. Saladin draws himself up to his full height, but doesn’t attack straight away.

“Yield,” Saladin calls out. “No one else needs to die.”

The Light-Bearer draws a gun and snarls. “You’re outnumbered.”

“And you’re outmatched. Don’t be stupid.” His opponent raises his weapon and Saladin leaps out of harm’s way. Stupid it is then, he muses to himself as he lands, making another ground attack with his axe.

“Forge!” Jolder’s voice comes through via his Ghost. “Stop being a bleeding heart, put him down! He won’t hesitate to do the same to you.”

As if to prove Jolder’s point, the Lightbearer hurls a grenade in Saladin’s direction, who rasies a Ward in response. The Light grenade batters uselessly off the shield and the Lightbearer stares in dismay. Saladin takes this unguarded moment as an opportunity to rush him, swinging his axe in a figure eight pattern, not letting his oppontent regain his compsure. The Lightbearer stumbles backwards, until he falls over a tree root and in the next moment, Saladin’s axe falls, caving in his chest.

Saladin steps backwards and steels himself for what he has to do next. This was too easy, he would have felt better if had been more of a fight. Saladin wonders how long this, poor, soon-to-be-permanently-dead lad has been a Lightbearer. Not long, probably. He was woefully unprepared. His Warlord had obviously never given him the chance to hone his Light. He was good enough to intimidate a bunch of farmers but to take on an Iron Lord? There was never any contest. He paces back and forth, warring with himself. It’s a waste. He didn’t stand a chance. But he chose this. He was being used. He’d do the same to you, Jolder’s right.

But it’s such a waste.

He hears the tell-tale whirr of an emerging Ghost and swings his axe. The blade drives the little robot up against the tree its master fell over, before slicing through its shell. Its light fades and it drops to the ground with a sad little clinking sound.

“I’m sorry,” Saladin whispers to the dead shell at his feet. “I wish you’d chosen better.” He yanks his axe free of the tree, shoulders it and begins walking towards where he last saw Jolder. He draws his sidearm when he hears a rustling off to the side. A footsoldier stumbles out from behind the tree,cowering on his knees. He’s young, his skin is chalk-white and his trousers are wet. That could be from falling in the snow, it could be from something else.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, please don’t shoot,” he babbles with one of his hands up. “I’m not armed, I threw my gun away, I didn’t even get off a shot, please…” He scrabbles away from Saladin on his backside.

Saladin stomps towards him catching up easily. He growls wolfishly, deep in his throat. “How old are you?”

The boy just whimpers.

“Speak!”

“Nineteen.”

“Traveler’s Light…” Saladin shakes his head in disbelief. “Nineteen. This your first raiding party?”

The terrified boy nods.

“Is it going to be your last?”

He nods again, vigorously.

“You still have family nearby?”

“My parents.”

“Go home to them. Now, before I change my mind. Don’t let me see you out here again. Run!” The boy scrambles to his feet, and tears off just as soon as he can find purchase on the snow. Saladin waits until he is out of sight before turning to search for Jolder again. He thought she would have caught up with him by now. He expects to see her standing behind him, calling him a bleeing heart again, with a smile and a shake of her head. She’s nowhere to be seen.

“Jolder?” There’s no response. He casts around, listening for any sign of her. He calls after her again, his voice and the soft crunch of his feet in the snow the only sounds breaking the silence. He begins to quarter the ground, half expecting her to leap out from behind a tree any moment, she’ll find his concern amusing, no doubt. She’ll laugh, punch him on the shoulder then go through a routine of gentle admonishments; ‘You worry too much’ and ‘I told you so,’ until she’ll manage to coax a smile from him. His frown deepens. He tells himself she won’t stir him from his mood, not this time.

“Jolder! Jolder, this isn’t funny!” He lengthens his stride, anxious to find her. He glances to his left and right as he goes, checking the bodies scattered around, making sure she isn’t among them. He eventually spots a flash of silver and gold, and discerns a figure lying crumpled on the ground in the distance. He breaks into a run, nearly falling on his face as he loses his footing on the wet snow.

Panicked thoughts run through Saladin’s head as he closes the distance, She’s not moving. Why isn’t her Ghost reviving her? Where’s her Ghost? He slides to a halt next to her prone form and falls to his knees. He pulls off his helmet and tosses it unceremoniously to the side before gently turning Jolder to face him.

“Jolder? Talk to me.” He feels carefully for the seals around her neck and eases her helmet from her head. Her eyes flicker open and she regards him with a glassy stare for a moment, before looking down her right arm. Saladin follows her gaze to see her hand clamped over a gaping wound in her abdomen.

“Y’should see th’other guy.” She draws her bloodstained lips back. It could be a smile, it could be a grimace but if anyone could smile through such an agonising injury, it’s Jolder. Saladin glances over at the nearby corpse of a footsoldier. The knife that probably caused Jolder’s wound is now embedded in the unfortunate attacker’s throat. He should never have been allowed to get that close to her. Saladin should have been with her. “We need to be more careful.” Every trace of anger has gone from his voice, only the worry remains. “From now on, we stick together.” “Oh, don’make those sad puppy eyes at me, I’ll be fine. I just need to…” She reaches awkwardly across her body with her free hand, which is on the opposite side from her sidearm holster. She doesn’t dare take away the hand on the wound to reach for the gun, Saladin suspects it’s the only thing keeping her innards from sliding out. He swallows hard, willing his gorge not to rise. This is the sort of injury that’s certainly fatal but she’d endure hours of pain before expiring, hours of agony before her Ghost could bring her back as fresh as the day the Traveller chose her.

Jolder stifles a sob. She’s twisting herself awkwardly as she tries to reach her gun. Saladin doubts she’d have the dexterity to open the holster even if she could reach it. Her fingers are curling up, her body is shutting down the blood supply to the extremities in a last-ditch survival attempt. Human nervous systems haven’t adapted to the idea of healing through Ghost-via-suicide.

Saladin catches her hand in his and lays it down. “It’s all right. I’ve got it.”

“‘m okay,” she protests in a faint voice. “I can…”

“Jolder. I can do it.” He unclips the holster, takes out the sidearm, checks the ammo and cocks it. He turns his attention back to her, brushing his thumb lightly across her lower lip to catch a drop of blood that threatens to spill onto her chin. She locks her eyes with his. He’s caressing her cheek now, softly running his knuckles back and forth over her skin. He speaks to her, comforting “shh,” sounds, barely audible whispers. The words are less important than the tone, it’s like he’s trying to lull her to sleep.

“Do you trust me?” He says this clearly, this is important. He’s asking her to allow him to oversee her resurrection, to trust him with her Ghost. He could understand if she didn’t, trust is a hard commodity to come by in Warlord territory. The sickening crunch of the Ghost he destroyed earlier is still ringing in his ears. She doesn’t say anything, she just reaches for his wrist and pulls weakly upwards until the gun is level with her head. Saladin takes a deep breath, readies one finger at the trigger and cups the stock with his other hand. He exhales slowly and presses the barrel to her forehead.

“I’ll see you soon,” he tells her earnestly. Jolder finds a smile for him but this time, it isn’t forced. There’s no bravado now, just warmth and faith. She nods once and screws her eyes shut. He pulls the trigger.

Saladin slumps backward as the sound of the shot dies away. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He replays the carnage they unleashed today in his mind and thinks on what it means to be a living weapon, on why the Traveller saw fit to bring back the dead to slaughter the living. When he opens his eyes, that soft smile is still playing on Jolder’s lifeless lips, while the snow is slowly turning into a scarlet pillow beneath her head. As he waits for her Ghost to bring her back to him, he contemplates what it means to live in a world where killing has become an act of love.

#saladin sunday #lord saladin #lady jolder #cw: assisted suicide #cw: violence #cw: puppy #destiny fanfiction #destiny

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