#[ VISAGE ] » i was looking for a breath of life. a little touch of heavenly light. but all the choirs in my head sang no.

[bcck]

a mood

[lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall]

The Spark That Split the Seas - Poseidon x Reader x Thor

(A/N)

Hey guys I’m back! I’ve been grinding hard for a new character that I’d gotten in this game, Genshin Impact, so I’m sorry for the absence! Anyways, as always, I want to thank you all for the support on my past two stories and on my account, I truly appreciate every one of you! On a story-related note, since I’d mentioned on my previous post that I had a lot of Poseidon x Reader x Thor fics written in my drafts, I decided to post one so you guys could also join me in the feels! Any feedback would be appreciated! This was originally shorter than the final story you’re seeing now, as I’d first only written their dialogues, but as usual, I excitedly itched into making a story out of it!

This is for entertainment only. Record of Ragnarok belongs to Shinya Umemura, Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

The Spark That Split the Seas

Poseidon x Reader x Thor

For more than all the millennia the gods and other species alike had known the lonely kingdom of Atlantis, never once did the crashing waves gave way to the chirping of the largest Albatrosses until now. Otherworldly flying creatures joined with the familiar exclusively earthly ones in enjoying the ebb and flow of the ocean, albeit this time, the hungry ocean appeared more satiated and seemed to follow a regular pattern ‘from sudden crash to a long calm, to crash again then back to another lengthy calm;’ life in the sea rejoiced in this odd occurrence.

Beautiful yellow sun rays poured through the stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope pattern on the large interiors of the kingdom ruled by the god of the seas, and catching the reflection of his nonchalant visage. The long, elegant dining table filled with every kind of seafood delectable imaginable also fell victim to the light, along with a figure that sat down opposite, whose invitation was clear.

Hidden from this heavenly atmosphere were the prying eyes of a little messenger bird who stood unobtrusively behind one of the tall pillars near the far end of the room, halting his slide just in time to witness this miracle:

The living bearer of the most fearsome title, the ruler of both this grandiose palace of the most precious gems and coral and all the oceans and waters, the almighty Poseidon, though against all reason and self-proved authority whatsoever, against the epics of Greek poets, was indulged, seemingly willingly, in the pleasure of having another’s company. In the shadows, Hermes’ red eyes shot wide open in shock.

Poseidon, the ever abrupt and rude god who had deemed most beings to be below him, received a guest, a still breathing one at that.

What in the gods’ name?

In a tone of haughty contempt, a grunt escaped from Poseidon’s lips. Finishing chewing the last bite of delicious food in your mouth, you nodded your head in earnest agreement with his point. Your next words were uttered with the firmness of an old sage who had all the answers, your beliefs shaped by the countless lifetimes you had lived.

“Existing is painful.” Your shoulders bobbed with your chuckle.

Although Poseidon felt a small measure of relief−a feeling that by habit had always been easy to brush-off with a condescending thought, his face betrayed nothing as his stoic features remained still. “If you agree, then why not allow me to kill you this instant?” As if to emphasize his strength, the crashing sound of dreadful combat between waves and rocks rang in the air, and you almost wished that a low rumble of thunder accompanied it, finding beauty in its loud peals, and additionally giving a volume of inspiration to Michelangelo below.

Despite your gaze being unrequited, you were sure you had the god’s attention. Since arriving here, Poseidon noted that your expression had always been smoothed into a calm, smiling one. “If you had intended to kill me, we would not be having this conversation right now.”

Poseidon sat rigid and silent.

“It’s a comfortingly tragic drama, my circle of life. I may not have been lucky to acquire a life as long as that of the gods, but I have definitely lived more times than you have.” Your words were so nonchalant, for a second there Poseidon thought you were kidding.

“That is for the simple fact that you mortals are weak, pathetic.” Lips as pink as young petunias touched the clear edge of the wine glass as Poseidon’s eyes closed, content to give over to listen.

“Yes, we are.” You paused. “But because of this frailty, we learned to adapt, evolve.”

“There is no need for evolution if you are perfect from the moment of conception. Hence why gods such as I, will always be above you.”

“You’re correct. Humans will never become gods after all,” Again, Poseidon found himself absorbing your words like a sponge. At the same time, he experienced an occasional sharp prick at the edge of his emotions, as if signaling him to pull back. “The same as gods will never become like humans.”

“Extremely foolish of you to think that trash is worthy of the shiniest Orichalcum. Your race has been created by us, for us, and will therefore always be inferior.”

“Humans are inferior in all aspects, this, is a fact. It is hence no accident that there is a history of rebellion and consequently, a false notion of superiority. But to be able to look beyond this, is to understand that we never truly intended to surpass animals nor the gods themselves. The nature of our desire: everything was meant for either survival or man’s search for meaning.

“We are by nature flawed and inconsistent creatures. And as you have no doubt seen for yourself as well, despite reaching all our goals, achieving our wildest dreams, we have never reached a position where satisfaction is achieved.” Keenness made your words sound almost heroic. There was a twinkle in your eye and a lilt in your voice, and Poseidon found that now he had a much clearer picture of your reputation for an irrepressible desire to see what is beyond your reach as you questioned: “If I may ask, as I have seen the gods share this sentiment of looking for meaning, do you feel an inkling of the same?”

When Poseidon had put the wine glass down, he hesitated a moment, his supposedly closed mind wavering between doubt and certainty. He would never come to understand this, nor admit to feeling this dissonance, but at last, he shook his head at his consideration, trying to reduce the unpleasantness he felt by the same way he had always used to get out of extremely rare difficulties.

“Do not disrespect me, mortal.” He knew himself that it was an empty threat.

“Those were never my intentions.” You bowed with great respect, but there was at the same time apparent in your manner the consciousness that while Poseidon would never in any way confirm your statement, he did not necessarily refute it. Your heart rose in gratitude as you regarded him with a look of affection, believing in your intellectual companionship.

“Lord Poseidon, as the fearsome god of the seas, what is the meaning of life for you?” The god surveyed your reflection in one of the golden plates, and maybe it was because he had acted in a charitable way towards you, but he saw brightness, a refreshing difference, as if there were no heavy shackles to weigh you down.

“My husband has always been in search of a worthy opponent. What about you?”

It was like a pin came dangerously close to the rational bubble of Poseidon’s beliefs. But then your words penetrated his mind, and he berated himself for almost falling prey, yet…

“Perfection.” Poseidon blurted out loud, full of self-indulgence, but uncomfortable with the thought of pity reeking from his pores, a role that was clearly uncharacteristic of him.

Tilting your head, your brows meshed inquisitively upon hearing this. “This presents the conundrum; you are already perfect, as should all the gods. Since you have explained, gods have always been pristine, perfect, the moment you all were born.

“So, if you have already achieved the meaning and purpose of your life, what is there left to live for?” There was something entrancing in your guileless form, and Poseidon was displeased that another should feel such an interest in your wise, unguarded character. “And if gods have already reached perfection, why is there an endeavor still for the dross of earth?”

For the first time in Poseidon’s life, he was receptive of contraries. Not one single time, had he ever been in the position where he listened, much more considered the act of interpretation. What he said goes, but for some frustrating reason, he was coming to terms of mutual respect; whenever he was sitting opposite you, chin in hand, the more he caught the flame.

Quickly, he stopped that train of thought and he seamed his mouth, stoic. Only his eyes betrayed a spark of defiance. “Stop asking ridiculous questions.”

Again, you bowed. “I apologize if I have overstepped such boundaries.”

“You better be.” With a look of eager inquiry, Poseidon asked, “Why are you not afraid of me? Is it because you are confident Thor would protect you?” One thing that distressed him was that the more he was alone with you, the more he saw your hands, always ungloved, noticed the wedding-ring on your finger. That closed circle excluded him, his face registering the insult. “As expected from a repulsive weakling,”

“No. I know he would be there for me whenever I should need him, and also the times when I don’t.” You said still a smile on your mouth.

Although you were unaware of the eagle eyes that were watching your every move, you had the instinct. You did not need all the information, and you had nothing to hide. Your shoulders were loose, back wasn’t ramrod straight and you exuded a carefree attitude. “The sole reason why my fears have dissipated is because perhaps, I enjoy your conversation.”

To say this whole exchange took Hermes by surprise would be an understatement. After the initial expression of shock, he laughed lowly.

You continued, “I have already accepted your beliefs. No one is entitled to those except yourself.

“If I were to die from imparting what my beliefs are, that is simply fate, a tragedy, but nonetheless, fate. Of course, I would try my best to avoid disappearing from this lifetime, seeing as I have made a promise with my husband, to continue to fight for my life, shall needed, until the very end.” Poseidon’s grip tightened the slightest bit.

“I believe that despite our obvious differences, we are simply two being who each have our own unique experiences that shape our views and beliefs. For hundreds of millennia, I’d seen calamity from all angles; mainly conflicts over a universal truth,

“But so long as there are questions, there will never be one solid concrete truth. And I’m okay with that.” You concluded.

Compliments never rolled off Poseidon’s tongue easily, since in his view they were nothing but hollow words. But this time, he could hardly slip a word in bad taste. He thought it pleasant to hear you, but it could not distract him from the uninvited presence in his throne room.

“You’re a heretic.” His usual strong voice beckoned your attention, discerning the sternness on the table of his expression to be forced. No matter, you had just enough of a last glimpse to see his face looking younger in repose.

“I have been labeled as such.” You noticed the unique rhythm of the crashing waves seemed to have settled along the sand grains, and you admitted it was so beautiful and timeless.

“You’re dismissed.” Poseidon believed in being straightforward with affairs. Since the conversation has ended, the final interchange of words was not likely to be a substantive one. Though this was his original reason, the face at the forefront of his mind right now was not yours but Hermes’.

You stood up and curtsied to show your gratitude. “Very well. It was splendid to be in your company this afternoon.”

Blue eyes followed you as you began walking away, and he watched you until you went out of sight when you began to ascend the Skíðblaðnir, a ship so completely reserved only for you by the Kingdom of the Norse. Then Poseidon’s ears turned toward the messenger’s direction.

Hermes quickly dashed to Poseidon and knelt to greet him with such a great respect akin to the expectations all elderly gods have always expected of their younger ones.

“We gods are perfect beings from the very start; therefore, we do not plot schemes nor engage in disagreements.” The implication registered with a jolt, and Hermes felt his mouth open as the real reason for your invitation became clear. He fought the urge to look at where Adamas had died brutally as a lowlife, not failing to recognize that this was the exact opposite of that faded history.

Finding quiet when Hermes immediately left, the god of the seas stared at his dominion, taking deep breaths of the air, not feeling the normal icy sting carried by the ocean. Over again he dwelt upon in his conversations with you, interested to find out if the Norse god of thunder had been able to sustain a similar type of conversation.

The very first quiver of interest sparked through Poseidon and though he did not recognize it nor perceived it, he understood the most important things, the only ones he ever needed to:

You did not seek validation nor attention. You had no fear of death, neither of the hardships of life.

Your depths of wisdom were unparalleled throughout the realms, which he would comment on its wasted potential, however, he knew Hermes already understood that part of it.

And the god of messenger did, as the word got around slowly but surely:

“There would always be those who dare to brave the ocean’s roar, but there was only one who withstood it.”

[babbushka]

Open Heaven’s Gates

Ancient Emperor!Kylo Ren x Goddess!Reader x KOR

3.2k - Content Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy/pregnant!reader; Graphic descriptions of violence and gore against a minor character (mutilation, torture, human sacrifice); NSFW (gangbang, double penetration, blow jobs, hand jobs) 

Dedicated to the very patient @safarigirlsp​, thank you for inspiring this oneshot! 

Available on AO3 

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

It is the darkest hour of night, in your temple.

The window to the heavens has been opened wide, and as Kylo looks up through the marble pillars, as he casts his gaze towards the stars and sees how brightly they shine, he feels a shudder of divinity rush through his body.

Clothed in nothing but jewelry made of gold and precious stones, he opens his blood-slicked palms to the pitch-black sky. It is the darkest hour, and yet the Empire is wide awake, has filled this temple to the brim. The lamps are all lit, flickering flares of warm yellow light cast stark shadows across the walls of your temple, across a thousand faces. Citizens are quiet as they watch, as they bare witness to the events which are about to take place, the sacrifice which must be made.  

They too are watching, they are listening, the Goddesses.

They watch, and they wait. 

Kylo will not disappoint them.

Kylo kneels before the statue made of marble which he has come to worship. As crimson drips down his back from lashes he’s carved himself, he prays – until the touch of your soft fingers brushes across his shoulders, and his eyes snap open.

“I can feel it.” You hum, your hands fully cupping his shoulders, massaging the muscles there. He is so tense, a low hiss of air puffs out of his lungs while you tip his head back to rest against your pregnant stomach. He regards you, beautiful as ever even though you are upside down, as you ask, “Are you ready?”

For a moment, Kylo is lost in your eyes. There is a knowing depth there, something ancient and new all at once, a millennia of knowledge behind fresh irises. Through you and you alone, the Goddesses speak, and through you and you alone, may they be appeased.

“I’m always ready for you.” Kylo bites at his bottom lip, before coming to his full height and facing you. He relishes in the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him, he loves how you love to look at him. Kylo does not break eye contact with you as he raises his blooded fingers to your cheek and shouts loudly so that all may hear, “Bring him in!”

A dozen of the high guard rush the temple, carrying high above their heads a bound and gagged man. They throw him to the floor with little elegance or grace, not that he is deserving of any. This man is one that Kylo recognizes as one of the lower guards. He is of middle age, his eyes an unnerving shade of blue. They are bloodshot red, a sign that he has been crying. Let him cry, Kylo scoffs to himself, a thought that you seem to echo as you appraise him.

“Stand tall, pig.” Kylo’s voice is booming, commanding, deep as it rings through the temple. “Stand before your fellow citizens of my kingdom and hold your chin high, let them see who is to be sacrificed tonight.”

“I – please, your majesty – please -- !” The ex-guard scrambles to his feet to the best of his ability, and though he is tied by ropes and chains, he manages to his feet.

The empire casts judgement down onto him, for they have been told of his crimes, they have been told of his violence and cruelty against the innocent women in this village. They shout and spit from their seats, jeers and boos and hisses, rage restrained only by Kylo’s hand.

They have no sympathy for this man.

Neither do you.

“Begging will do nothing for you now.” You give him your most stone-faced glare, and before the ex-guard can even reply, Kylo has his teeth bared.

“Look upon the scum which walks among us.” He bellows, back bleeding steadily from where he has given himself the ceremonial lashes. The Empire is in a trance at his words, they are bloodthirsty, they seek violence. “Cast your eyes down to him, so that he may be filled with shame for the actions he has committed.”

The shoutsjeersbooshisses only increase in volume, as the citizens play their part for this ritual.

“Kneel!” Kylo procures a long blade from a small table which has been set up for the evening’s events. He slices the back of this sacrifice’s kneecaps, and down he goes with a guttural scream as blood streams from the wounds. “Kneel before the glory of the Goddess who stands before you.”

You are shocked and offended, when the sacrifice turns his gaze towards you. Those eyes are too blue, blue but blank. This is not a man who is sorry for his actions, but rather a man who is fearful of the punishment which comes with getting caught.

“How dare you look at her as if you are worthy of her visage.” Kylo catches him once again, for Kylo did not say he may look at you.

With the very same blade, Kylo carves deep gashes into the man’s skull. His strong thighs hold the man steady as those blue eyes are ripped torn sheared away from the writhing thrashing screaming body below him. The citizens cheer, they applaud and clap their hands, stamp their feet, whistle.

Chest heaving, naked body stained deep red with blood, Kylo holds the eyes out to you for your inspection.

Blue, too blue. You hate them.

“It is time.” You nod.

You kneel underneath the portal to the heavens, that window which has been carved from the roof of your temple. Kylo is slightly behind you, for he never dares to be ahead of you in any way, he is far too reverent, he adores you, worships you too strongly to put himself ahead.

“O heavenly bodies above us, hear our plea,” Your voice is loud and clear, and all silence themselves to hear you. “Take this man as a sign of our devotion, may the blood that spills echo that of our enemies. We offer him to you, one of our own for one of theirs.”

“An eye for an eye.” Kylo gets up then, places the eyes in a small basket on the altar, the statue of you which stretches far up into the air, nearly touches the Goddesses themselves.

He turns back to the blinded man, stabs the blade through his chest and plunges his hand inside the wound, tears out the man’s still beating heart as he screams and screams and screams. You wonder when the shock will kill him, when he will be silenced forever more.

“Pulse for pulse.” Kylo shakes with rage, blood splattered in beautiful arcs across his cheek, spattering up the scar which bisects his face. The heart in his hand stills, and he places the organ in another small basket next to the eyes.

Kylo passes you the blade, and you slit the sacrifice’s throat and wrists. He bleeds out onto the marble tile flooring, hemorrhaging, voids where his eyes should be black and red. It brings you great satisfaction to see him suffer this way, after he put the women of your care, of your Empire through so much suffering himself.

“I invite the people to rip this man limb from limb, a display of our power and a vision of victory! Show the Goddesses what we intend to inflict upon our enemies.” Kylo finally allows the citizens to pour onto the temple floor from their seats. “Come down and steal the last breaths of life from he who I may not give the dignity of calling a man.”

You grin, and with a small golden bowl which has been set on that very same small table, you pool up some of the blood that gushes from the wounds on the sacrifice. Handing the bowl to Kylo, your fingers brush against one another, and you can only smile wider.  

“Follow me.” You whisper.

As if he were in a trance, Kylo walks behind you, hot on your heels, never wanting to be so far from you. You lead him through a back door behind the statue, his hands soaked with crimson, trickling and streaming down his arms, dripping in little spots on the floor. The citizens behind you are in a frenzy, the sound of cracking snapping bones and happy cheers masquerading that of the door closing.

It is like another world in here, in this back room.

Kylo performs many rituals with you here, bloody and clean alike. A thousand candles are lit against the circular wall, the ceremonial bed is freshly made with clean linen sheets. With the door closed this way, the noises from beyond the walls are muffled. You release a deep breath, and Kylo trains his eyes on you, on your magnificence.

Standing in place are the Knights of Ren. Five large men, naked aside from the helmets they wear and jewelry which adorns their body. You do not acknowledge them, though you know they are there, your thighs already clenching because you know why they are there.

And oh, you cannot wait.

“Undress her.” Kylo orders, and softly, slowly, they do as they are told.

You do not wear much, a single layer of fabric draped beautifully, intricately across your shoulders. A belt made of braided gold is unclasped from your waist, and the Knights are reverent, their heads bowed, as they lift the rich purple silk away from you. Their hands are like ghosts, barely there and yet your skin turns to flame in their wake.

Kylo walks around and around you, keeps close to the curved walls. He appraises you, takes your pregnant body in. The harvest ritual had been a success, the Goddesses had blessed you with a child – that had been a success, and Kylo was determined for this to be a success as well.

The Knights caress you, worship you the way Kylo worships you. You smile at him, at Kylo, where you know he is hiding in the shadows of the candles.

“Lie down, beloved.” Kylo instructs, and before you can take so much as one step, the Knights are there with their arms around you.

Lifting you off the floor, they carry your naked body to the bed. Though this is a sacred space, a blessed space, your feet are too precious to touch the floor. You allow yourself to be laid down, the bed soft and comfortable, sheets cool to your overheated skin.

Kylo steps forward then, the golden bowl in his hands. He has a paintbrush, and your thighs quiver, legs falling open for him as he comes closer to the bed.

Even strokes decorate your flesh with the blood, as he writes across your skin.

Kylo is methodical, careful, as he dips the end of the brush into the bowl and soaks the fibers through, smearing it in intricate letters and sigils.

It is a prayer for victory, one that he hopes by adorning your body with, it’ll be even louder heard up in the heavens above.

“My body is their body,” Your eyes slip closed, remaining as still as possible while Kylo decorates you with the calligraphy. Your voice is not barely above a whisper, but it sounds so loud in this small room. “Revere me as you revere them, pleasure me so they may be pleased.”

The brush tickles your arms, the secret parts of your sides, your large round stomach, your soft thighs, the arch of your foot. He spells it out in the languages of old, the ones only you and he and the stars know. You are divine, you are sacred, and he takes his time to get these words right, these sigils must be drawn perfectly, or else this will have been for naught.

“Pleasure me, and be pleased.” You say again, this permission being given to them all, to the Knights.

They are hesitant for just a moment, because they know Kylo will kill them with one wrong move. They may be the most elite warriors and his most trusted guards, but they are replaceable, expendable. Everyone was, everyone aside from you.

With their helmets on, you do not know who is who. One of the men climbs onto the bed, you sit up to make room for him on the narrow mattress. He lifts you so that you straddle his hips, sinking down onto his cock with ease. You had spent the day getting prepared by your husband, he who had made sweet and passionate love to you to warm you up, stretch you pleasantly so that you might take these men with ease.

“Ohh, yes,” You sigh, settling down onto it.

Leaning against the chest of the knight underneath you, a second one climbs onto the bed and moves forward, hooks his arms underneath your knees and bends them up so that he can sink his cock into your pussy alongside his partner.

“Yes – more, I want more.” You moan, your head tipping back and eyes closing. The stretch is unbelievable, and your ribcage expands as he shallowly thrusts himself inside, his cock working alongside that of the knight underneath you.

A third kneels over your chest rubs the head of his cock against your tongue. You take a deep breath through your nose and he pushes his dick down your throat in slow little thrusts that have your throat stretching around him. Kylo’s much bigger, and you’ve swallowed him with ease, you are not so concerned about this man’s.

“Be careful with her.” Kylo demands of the knight down your throat, and you hum around the length which is stuffed in your mouth, hum in thanks.

The final two men each claim one of your breasts into their mouths, guiding your hands to their hard erections to jerk them off as they crowd against you on either side of the mattress.

“Good.” Kylo says, as he watches these men take you.

You know he’ll have his turn with you, he’ll have the final turn, the only turn that matters. But you need to be properly fucked out, blissed out of your mind, overstimulated, and this is the fastest way to accomplish that goal.

It very quickly becomes overwhelming, the pleasure from all sides, all avenues. You drool all over yourself as the cock in your mouth fucks your skull, hard hard hard and fast, tears hot and stinging the corners of your eyes. Your pussy is stretched and hot, wet and slick, so slick that the sound of their dicks rubbing against one another inside of you fills the room loudly.

“Feel this, Goddesses above.” Kylo whispers as he comes to the top of the bed, his hands warm and wet with blood cupping your cheeks where you rest on the shoulder of the knight below you, that shoulder acting as a pillow for your beautiful head. “Feel how full she is, all for you, everything for you.”

Hands are all over you, they’re all over, bending you and moving you in ways that give you more pleasure, give them a deeper better angle so that you might cry out for the Goddesses to hear. Your stomach is rubbed, caressed, the bump which juts out beautifully is lavished with attention. They rub the blood into your skin, smear the sigils and the letters which Kylo so carefully painted – but this is the point, the purpose, and they do their job well.

As do you, your hips widening for the pounding they give you, the muscles under your breasts flexing as your nipples are sucked and pinched and licked, your throat relaxing and tightening as need be. The grunts and groans and sighs and moans above you make your clit throb, and you don’t know how many fingers there are, pressing and rubbing and smacking at it for your body to shake and tremble the way it does.

“Good girl,” Kylo whispers still, hands cupping caressing stroking your cheeks, your jaw, as your mouth is stretched wide to be fucked, “Beautiful girl, bring us to victory.”

Like this you are reduced to nothing more than the sensations of pleasure. Your body sings, chants, begs and pleads for more more more, and they give it to you. Hands and dicks and tongues and teeth are all over you, marking you, giving you what you desire. Your limbs shake and shudder violently as your nerves grow alight, as sparks fly behind your eyelids.

Your back arches and you come with a shattering orgasm, you come so hard that your jaw moves to snap shut, and the knight in your throat must pull out quickly so he isn’t severely injured.

“Ohhh!” You shout, your vocal cords free, gasping in breaths quickly and harshly, your back arched and your toes curled, your entire body trembling as you shout, “Kylo! I want you Kylo.”

At once, the bodies which have surrounded you are pulled away. They are all still hard, no one but you has come yet, just as is intended. They leave the room to give you both privacy, and to take care of themselves alone.

No one is dared allowed to come inside you, no one but Kylo – and even he feels unworthy as he rests you softly, sweetly on your back, pushes his cock inside your aching throbbing drenched pussy.

“I want you to come in me.” You wail, hiccup around his lips as he kisses you, as his tongue wriggles hot and wet against yours.

He holds you steady as he thrusts evenly into you, your legs wracked with tremors as he smears the last of the blood. You are gorgeous, divine, glowing from the inside out, your eyes rolled back into your head, all knowing, all seeing.

And then, just then, as his hand is placed on your stomach, he feels something move inside you. A kick, he thinks, the gentle nudge of life that he himself has helped you to conceive, and before he even knows what’s happening he is doubled over you, collapsing as he comes hard.  

“Thank you,” He whispers, as his cock throbs and tears stream down from his eyes. He does not know to whom he sends his thanks, all he knows is that he hopes they hear him, so he says it again and again, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Your breathing is beginning to even out, even as your body shivers and jolts from pleasure. Kylo’s hand drops to your clit and he swirls little zig-zags and circles, pinches and presses at it, wanting to keep you in bliss, wanting to keep you warm and wet and filled with come.

“Win this war for me.” You say, words slurred from how drunk off the pleasure you are. “Win for me, for our Empire. For our son.”

“It’s a boy?” Kylo wrenches his salt-stung eyes open to stare at you imploringly, pleadingly.

Your eyes are lidded heavily, but you grin wide and that grin is dazzling in the light of the candles. Kylo has not cared one way or the other, he will love this child just the same no matter how they come, but the knowledge of a prince fills him with such joy he cannot help but weep.

“Win, and return to me to find out.” You tuck his sweaty hair behind his ears with a pleasure weak hand, and Kylo hopes beyond hope that what you have done together tonight will be more than enough, to secure such a victory, to open heaven’s gates.

[whirlybirbs]

𝒜.𝑀.   ;   meriggiare   |    a high-society drabble

summary: the very first of many “i love you”s are exchange in the shade of a summer afternoon. 

pairing: arthur morgan/reader (turner placeholder lastname)

listen to: jill’s theme by ennio morricone

a/n: thinking about these two. and how in love they are. part of a companion piece to simpler said aloud. this is a drabble for the collection high-society, which follows the events of that fic. 

You find him resting by the tall, old oak tree by the pasture for the horses — up on that little hill, the outlaw has found himself a particularly nice patch of shade.

The leaves cast dancing shadows across the broad planes of his chest as you near. His hat, dipped low on his head, hides his face from the sun. Arms and ankles crossed, Arthur Morgan is at peace in this little sliver of a heavenly moment. Around him, the green grass sways with the gentle breeze like a sea of fond whispers.

The sun has begun to dip back down, having wrought a true sweltering heat on the camp amidst the afternoon chores. Crickets hum beyond the adored sight of the cowboy in questions, and overhead the birds sing — the world left unaware of the weight with which you revere the sight of the man before you.

The world turns on, and your love for Arthur Morgan grows with every passing moment.

You toe the bottom of his boot, grinning mischievously when he jumps awake from a light doze. His hat falls, landing in his lap and leaving tufts of sun-bleached hair sticking up. Arthur’s face, tanned from the summer sun and warm with a sudden sheepishness, turns up to you as you snicker.

Nearly immediately, it breaks into the sweetest smile you reckon you’ve ever saw.

Hosea, as he watches from the table in the center of camp, reasons Arthur Morgan hasn’t been this happy in years.

The sight alone — of him smiling, of him laughing loud enough that Hosea can almost hear it — reminds Hosea so strongly of the young man he’d nearly raised... In recent months, the boyishness with which the outlaw had been robbed of through trial and tribulation had returned. It was as if the sun had finally parted through ever-present clouds.

Hosea knows love is a hell of a thing. And love has managed to pull Arthur from the depths of whatever sea of self-hatred Mary Linton had drowned him in.

You land in the grass beside him with a smile.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?”

Arthur snickers, corners of his lips turning upwards as he drops his hat back on his head and leans backwards against the trunk of the tree. “I been haulin’ hay all afternoon, Miss Turner, let me have a damn rest. M’ old.”

You hum, tucking your legs beneath your white petticoat and leaning to lift the brim of his hat — just enough that you can see the fond look in his blue eyes.

“I know,” you chirp with a wink, “I was watchin’.”

That musters a scoff out of Arthur. One that makes him shake his head and ignore the mischievous lilt in your voice. “Yer a minx.”

“I s’pose,” it comes out like a sigh as you lean back against the trunk beside him, brushing shoulders, “But, I have my suspicions that you like it, Mr. Morgan.”

A little, gruff laugh greets the idea. He tips his hat back and turns his head — the gesture is lazy, but the look in his eye is filled to the brim with adoration. He reaches and swipes his thumb along your jaw.

Two smiles meet, noses brushing, as a kiss sweet enough to play your heartstrings like a harp steals your breath. You lean, hand moving to splay itself across his heart as the other tangles itself in the grass. His hands are warm — rough and calloused, but so very warm — as they cradle your face.

Another breeze passes through and Arthur pulls away just for a breath.

“Y’ tryna give th’ whole camp a show?” you mutter, lips pulling into a delighted grin when he leans it to peck your smile once again. His own grin mingles against yours. His stubble tickles.

“Nah,” he mutters, “Jus’ showin’ ‘em how much I —”

His words fall short. Suddenly, Arthur goes a bit rigged. It takes you by surprise, and you pull your eyes open with a flutter of lashes. Arthur can see the confusion slip along your face. Your head tilts. Your brow knots itself up.

“... What?”

It was right there. On the tip of his tongue.

That thing he’s been terrified of — that little realization that’s bloomed with the summer months; carefully curated by your touch and care... Love is the word he’s been so damn scared of this whole time.

He clears his throat.

“S’nothin’.”

“Arthur...”

He crosses his arms again. You sigh. He can hear the hurt in your words when you speak again, this time pulling yourself away to fiddle with the delicate lace hem of your skirts.

“You know,” you mutter fingers plucking at the hem, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Arthur grits his jaw. He does. He knows that. But the last damn time he wore his heart on his sleeve, it’d cost him nearly everything he’d thought he had. A love, a future, a to-be-wife.

“I know it’s... It’s a sore spot, but,” you wet your lips and swallow down the nibbling feeling of self-doubt, “I just hope I’m doin’ enough to prove m’ worth it, y’know?”

Arthur’s eyes dart to you; there’s a look of worry on his face. No, no, no. That’s not it. That’s never been it.

“Sweetpea —”

“I mean it,” you insist, face softening, “I... I ain’t gonna force you to say those words, I... I just... If you think I — If you think I’m gonna hurt you...”

“It ain’t that,” he says quickly, sitting up and shaking his head, “It ain’t.”

You sit with that for a moment. When you look back up at him, through with your nervous fiddling, you find he’s got you pinned with a look that’s enough to make your heartache.

“Then what is it?” you ask gently.

“I dunno,” he rumbles as a sigh moves his chest, “Superstition, maybe.”

You hum. He seems to relax when you lean in, hand planted in the grass once more, as your other ghosts along the stubble lining his jaw. Arthur’s eyes slip shut for a second, shoulders sagging.

“Y’ want me to say it first then?”

He realizes, now in this moment, that... well, you’ll be the first to do so if you do. Of all the girls he’s ever been sweet enough on to utter the words? Hell, Arthur remembers the exact ache of not hearin’ those words back immediately. Fresh as the day it happened. It’s been a long time but... He hasn’t forgotten.

He always doubted he ever would.

You make him second guess that, though.

His expression is hard to read — surprise, you think, it the first thing that dashes across his usually hardened look. Then... love.

“Sweetpea.”

“Arthur,” you mimic his waning tone, eyes crinkling as you smile, “I ain’t afraid t’ say it. ‘Cause once I do, s’ gonna come out all th’ time. An’ nothin’s gonna change it.”

You laugh.

“Superstitions be damned.”

He chuckles. It sounds exasperated. It makes you grin even wider.

“Alright, then, go on, if tha’s what y’ want.”

He sits up, face turned towards yours as you lift his chin a bit and steal a lingering kiss. It sends him forward, leaning to catch you in another as you cradle his face. You bump the brim of his hat back and sit up on your knees, taking in the sight of his boyish grin.

There’s a moment before the words slip out, as easy as breathing. A moment where you take in the visage of the man before you. Rugged and tired and kind. To think back on nearly a year ago when you’d hated him and the air he breathed... It’s laughable.

Your thumbs sweep his cheeks.

And you say it.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.”

... Christ, he looks like he might cry. The way it feels... well, Arthur laughs at the relief. The words are heavy with intention and nothin’ about them feel wrong and he wonders for the millionth time in the last handful of weeks if maybe this is the life he could have.

You and him.

“I do believe,” it comes out in a near whisper, “I love you more, Miss Turner.”

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous)

“...Frost...Frost...FrostNova, can you hear me?” A male voice was calling to her. Was this Heaven? So much light…

“Yes?” She blinked. “Where...where am I?”

Instead of the heavenly visages she’d expected, however, a far more familiar face comes into view as the lights dimmed: the Doctor, in civilian clothes, sitting by her side in a hospital room. “Rhodes Island’s Long-Term Recovery Ward.”

“How...my Oripathy-”

“If you were anyone else, we might not have been able to save you. However,” he dangled a vial he wore around his neck, “because of our encounter under the rubble, I was able to collect just enough of a sample to send back to our lab. It was a longshot, but we managed to formulate a compound heating agent and Originum blocker specifically for you. The technique’s being worked on to see if we can apply it to other Infected, but that’s another story-”

FrostNova sat up. “I’m alive because I spared your life.”

“Basically, yes.”

“That’s...” She sighed, settling back against her pillow. “I suppose that means I must fight for Rhodes Island.”

The Doctor shrugged. “When you’re healthy enough, and only if you want to. Your Oripathy has done serious damage to you, so it will be some time before we even consider the idea, and even then, you’re not required to fight. All our Operators are volunteers.”

“Is that so...”

“Like I said, though, it will be some time before we can even think about letting you fight.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “The fact you’re alive is a miracle, FrostNova, and that’s enough for me.”

FrostNova reached for his free hand, which was resting on the edge of the bed. “Doctor, if you could...call me Yelena, please.”

“I can do that.” He took her hand, and with a note of sadness, he realized she was once again cold to the touch.

-

“...And that’s why I never learned to use a material focus.” Yelena explained to the Doctor during one of their nightly talks. “Now, what to ask you...”

As she pondered, he took a forkful of a Blue Poison cake and fed it to her. “Good cake, am I right?”

“Quite good. Can I ask who made it without losing my question?”

“I’ll give you both parts of that for free, yeah.” He smiled. “Blue Poison made this.”

Yelena blinked. “An Operator with the codename ‘poison’ made this cake?”

“There are a lot of rumors, but trust me, she’s harmless off the battlefield.”

“I see.” She leaned a little closer. “And you know that how?”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “She’s been my assistant since my first encounter with Reunion. Are you worried she’d try to harm you?”

“No, I don’t believe she’d try anything...but I’m not worried for me.”

“Okay.” He cocked his head. “Your turn to ask a question.”

Yelena closed her eyes for a moment. “Doctor, do you treat all of the patients at Rhodes Island with this much care?”

“Not by a long shot...I mean, I’m not really in charge of taking care of patients at all - I’m the HR guy - but I knew it would be hard for you to just sit here while you recovered, so I took it on myself.”

“So you’re not a doctor.” She shook her head. “That’s not important.”

The Doctor leaned forward. “Yelena, are you trying to say something without coming out and saying it?”

“I have been. Do you find Blue Poison attractive?”

“I...honestly haven’t thought about that before.” He looked her in the eye. “She’s not as beautiful as you, if that helps.”

Yelena shivered. “It does. I just felt a chill.”

“I can get you some warm water, or some of those candies.”

“Would you hold my hand instead?” She reached it out towards him. “Or maybe...”

The Doctor took her hand. “You’re warm again.”

“Am I? I don’t feel it.”

“Hmm...odd.” He put a hand against her forehead. “You’re not feverish, just...warm.” His hand drifted down the side of her face, resting on her cheek.

She blushed - something she’d never done. “Doctor...”

“Give me one second.” The Doctor pointed at the door; it closed and clicked as it locked.

“You never close the door.” Yelena smiled at him. “Don’t want anyone coming in?”

He smiled back. “I don’t want to process harassment complaints against myself...This bed is kind of small, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps...I thought the closest I would ever get to you was under the rubble at Chernobog.”

“Did you want to be closer?” The Doctor clambered onto the patient-sized bed, mostly resting on top of her. “So warm now...”

She wrapped her arms and legs around him. “Before, bringing people close only meant hurting them as much as myself. I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

‘True. Do you feel any warmer?“

“A little.” Yelena pouted. “And you say I’m so warm...”

He kissed her, an act that felt as natural as breathing. “How about now?”

“Much better.”

[outroshooky]

knee socks | jjk

⇢ genre: drabble (set in the sdapu!universe)

⇢ pairing: jeon jeongguk x unnamed oc

⇢ word count: nearly 2.0k

⇢ warnings: fluff, mild angst, implied drinking, swearing, unknowingly requited love, this is just a painful slow burn that i wrote while listening to jungkook’s spotify playlist and watching a clip of him dancing in the rain. this is set nine months prior to the events of simmer down and pucker up, which can be read here. also loosely inspired by knee socks by the arctic monkeys.

Nine months prior

The rain fell against the windows of her bedroom with a melody known only by nature and those sleepless minds awake at early hours of the morning. As stormy as it was, though, a single block of moonlight fell across the messy sheets of her bed, tousled hair and open hearts framed in the gentle glow. Two figures, legs and arms intertwined, finding solace in the dreamy companionship that’s a little fuzzy at the edges, just out of touch with actuality but real, all at the same time.

His fingertips stroke her jaw, the contrast of his large hands and her small face never failing to amaze him. He cradles her face in his hands as she takes a shuddering breath and he wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, whispering words of reassurance that dissipate in the dim room.

When she whispers, she sounds so fragile. His heart twists. “Jeongguk?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

The only three words she’s managed to force out since he awoke perhaps thirty, forty minutes ago to the sound of her screaming. In all other circumstances, her howling wouldn’t phase him- normally, his fingers and his cock would be the cause of it- but something about this time- bone chilling, blood running cold- made his heart stop in his chest.

He knew about her nightmares. She’d told him about them in the past, warned him in a semi-lighthearted manner that she occasionally woke up crying bloody murder, but it was normal, and he shouldn’t be concerned.

Well, now he was concerned.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Jeongguk murmured, slipping one arm over her shoulder and drawing her into his chest. “He can’t get you. You’re safe.”

“It felt so real-” she wheezed, clutching onto his forearms, burying her face in his chest. “Felt so fucking real, thought I was gonna die-”

“You’re not going to die,” He reassured her. “I’ve got you. He’s not here. He’s nowhere near here, and even if he was, I wouldn’t let him get anywhere close to you. He’d have to get through me first, and I put up a hell of a fight.”

“Jeongguk I can’t-”

“Shhh,” Jeongguk hushed her softly, fingers carding through her hair the way he knew she liked. “You don't have to. Just listen to the sound of my voice, okay?”

Her sniffle served as an adequate reply, and her hands found their way to his chest. His heart twisted like the fabric of his shirt, taunt in her grip, and he wished he could do more to soothe the deep-seated pain in her psyche. A hurt she never deserved, and the perpetrators turning a blind eye to the damage they inflicted. He swore to himself he wasn’t like that, would never be like that. He couldn’t dole out any more pain on her already laden shoulders.

Her cheek glimmered silver in the light that caressed her face, the other half of her visage buried in her pillow. The rain’s monotony was broken by a sharp spear of light piercing the darkness, illuminating the room for a split second before the sky cracked with a resonating boom! and she jerked in surprise.

“Baby,” Jeongguk whispered, drawing her even closer into his chest, feeling the soft strands of her hair against his palm. “Listen to the sound of my voice, okay?”

She nodded, just barely, and he rested his chin on top of her head, completely enveloping her in his warmth. “Okay, baby. Remember back in high school, that summer night when it rained even harder than it’s raining now?”

He took her silence for acceptance, and continued. “I was sleeping over your house. It was the last week of summer before we started senior year, and I somehow managed to convince you to stay up all night even though you had a ten hour shift the next day. You probably regretted it- actually yeah, you did, you gave me an earful for like a week after-”

“Jeongguk, I don’t think I’ve ever had a headache as bad as this one is. Why the actual fuck did we do that?” She complained, rubbing her temple with her fingers.

“Are you telling me it wasn’t worth it?” Jeongguk fired back, arms crossed over his chest, reclining leisurely on her perfectly-made bed. “If I recall, you said that night was one of the best of your life.”

“It’s going to take a literal year for my clothes to dry out. I’ve never been wetter in my life-” She realized what she said, mouth sealing in a firm line.

Too late. Jeongguk was already smirking, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Sorry, was I the reason you were wet?”

“Fuck off!”

“-but either way, it was worth it. We were on your roof, remember? The tiles were really warm because it had been sunny all day, and we were up there for about an hour before it started raining. It wasn’t like one of those normal rains though- it was a summer storm, which meant it was a lot of rain and a lot of lightning really high up, so we weren’t in any danger. It poured and poured, and it was still pretty warm outside, but it wasn’t so warm that it was gross.”

Bare legs on heated roof tiles, empty aluminum cans and a feeling of invulnerability. The world would wait for them even if they didn’t wait for it. A couple of kids from a small town who could, if even for one night, push off the ever-pressing threat that was growing up and adult responsibilities and finding their way out there. Jeongguk, his arms behind his head, raising an eyebrow. “I think I just felt a raindrop.”

“It rained just yesterday, it’s not in the forecast for another few days.”

“Nope, there’s another one.” He finished the contents of his can, crushed it in his hand like it was nothing. “It’s definitely raining.”

“Wanna go inside?” She suggested, sitting upright, elbows on her bent knees.

He rolled his eyes, glancing up at the sky with an unreadable expression on his face. “That’s no fun.”

“Staying dry is fun. As is not getting electrocuted, look- heat lightning.”

“It can’t hurt us.”

“And it came out of nowhere, raining like crazy, all at once. It was pouring and you were soaked, we both were.”

“Jeongguk, we gotta go inside, my mom will kill us!” She wiped water off of her brow, clothes spotting dark as the drops began to fall faster. “She doesn’t even like it if I don’t bring a coat with me when there’s a hint of rain in the forecast-”

“Fuck your mom. Well, actually don’t do that.”

“Fuck you. I’m going inside and getting changed.”

“And I remember looking at you and thinking, last week before senior year, last summer together for sure. We gotta make the most of it.”

Jeongguk shrugged. “Your loss then.”

“What? Jeongguk-”

And just like that he was off, scuttling across the roof to where it met the corner of the house maybe six feet below, dropping carefully before sliding down the tiles now steaming in the rain, coming down faster and faster.

“Jeongguk, get back here!”

He made it to the ground by that time, springing just out of range of landing in the azaleas. “You can either join me or sit on your ass inside while I have fun by myself!”

“You’re such a dick!” Yet she followed suit, edging a similar (albeit less graceful) path down the roof, onto the first level, easing slowly, then all at once to the ground.

“So I took off, and then you complained a little, but you followed me eventually, and we ran into the street. It was deserted, cause it was like two in the morning, and the rain was falling, and the sky was flashing, and it was like our own little world, y’know?”

Laughing. Spinning, arms wide. Jeongguk in a rare moment of uncontrolled happiness, a man, no longer a boy. She paused on the sidewalk, hesitating to break the atmosphere that settled as unexpectedly as the storm did. He was dancing in the rain, the first time he ever danced in front of her, even though she knew he’d been taking lessons for years. Jumping for joy, splashing in the puddles that formed in between cracks in the asphalt. His feet were bare, and the falling rain plus the water he kicked up meant the bottoms of his basketball shorts were drenched beyond repair.

He turned around, hair plastered to his forehead, and the sky crashed above their heads, lightning dancing in and among the gray, roiling cloud bottoms. A bunny smile, so genuine and pure and radiant as the moonlight, beamed bright and wide. In a mere matter of a few strides he crossed the distance to her, reaching out before she could even realize what was happening.

His hands grabbed hers as he dragged her after him, the pebbles and loose gravel in the street digging into the bottoms of her feet. That smile, flashing white like the lightning as he spun her, laughing for the sake of laughing, and she swore she’d never seen him more free than he was at that moment, under the rain and the clouds and the heat of the storm. He shook his head and she spluttered as droplets got into her mouth, sprayed her face. He shouted something that she couldn’t hear, his shout timing perfectly with the thunder crashing overhead, and he turned away from her to look up at the sky.

Something stirred in her chest.

A feeling, swirling peacefully like the tide, growing, broiling, bubbling into a floodwater, a tidal wave that threatened to overtake her in one fell swoop.

She’d tried to ignore it for so long. If she shrugged it off, she could pretend it didn’t exist, run away from it like she ran away from the demons of her past, locking her past in a corner of her mind with heavy chains and iron padlocks. She deemed it forbidden, evil, a waste of time and effort and yet here she was, in the pouring rain facing herself at the least expected moment.

Because he blinks away moisture and looks up at the heavenly turmoil with eyes as big and beautiful as the glassy sea. Because he turns to her and smiles with a grin as whole as the moonbeams that kiss her bedroom floor when it’s late and his face is the only thing that fills her mind. Because for a rare moment in a monotonous day, his true persona breaks forth, a boy so tenderhearted and extra and truly good that she is consumed with the feeling, and she is forced to admit for the first time, even to nobody but herself, that she is deeply, wholeheartedly in love with him.

His fingers slip into hers, and when she looks up, her eyes meeting his own, the tidal wave collides with the shore.

“And then you looked at me this way, and I’ll never forget that as long as I live,” Jeongguk ponders. “I’ve never seen anyone look at me like that.”

The bedroom was still.

“Baby?”

The only response was a quiet breath, a rush of air against his collarbone as she inhaled, exhaled, sleep having overtaken her tired mind, reclaimed its dreamy hold on her consciousness. His hand caressed her shoulder, her back, feeling it rise and fall under the light press of his fingertips.

The barest hint of a smile crosses his face before it slips away, like the two teenagers dancing in the street, the rain pouring fast and hard around their beating hearts and trembling hands. “Just rest, okay?”

His lips find her forehead and just barely, they brush her skin as he whispers.

“I love you.”

And the rain falls against the windows of her bedroom until he, too, is lulled to sleep by the tune.

[vadersheir]

“Don’t make me kill you.”

it had all led to this. this one moment that would change it ALL. 

kylo ren had accepted death with the same breath as he made his vow to be snoke’s apprentice. he didn’t fear it. he didn’t fear fading into the force. but kylo ren was no longer standing here, this was BEN SOLO who she held a saber to. or had it always been ben? the knight’s motivations had always remained true, though his methods got darker, and his morality quickly deformed. his convictions and his actions constantly waging war within his wearied frame. he strained against both sides as claws ripped and dug at his soul—the battle weighed heavy behind his watering eyes. 

his first mistake was lying to himself—because he never allowed himself to consider just how F A R  he was willing to  f a l l. 

every night the dark prince was haunted by the ocean of blood he now wades. an ocean of blood that SCREAMS with the loss of life felt within the force. their voices unrelenting in the darkest hours of the night, the force WEEPs and WAILs echoing their last words as they were cut down RUTHLESSLY and BRUTALLY—for they were needless and their deaths a mere second thought.  

death is necessary in war. he’ll repeat over and over again in his head—meditating on the end instead of the means. lying and lying and lying to himself. and in truth, he’d always been a terrible liar. it made him feel hollow, disgusting, inhuman…MONSTROUS. yes more often he’d sob silently as he accepted what he had become. he never argued against the voices, he never told them to silence or stop. sometimes in his most self deprecating moments, he welcomed them—he egged them on. he quickly learned to fuel all the pain back into himself—to release it whenever he used the force. 

but how much death was too much?

the death of mentor was that the line? the massacre of a jedi temple? the destruction of a planet? the annihilation of an entire planetary system? the holocaust of planetary SYSTEMS? EVERY planetary system? 

WOULD ALL THE COSMOS HAVE TO BURN TO SATIATE  HIS PAIN? yes, in those rare moments he follows all his motives to conclusion he sees himself as he really is—corrupt. he had become the corruption he swore to cleanse form the galaxy. 

 he couldn’t be vader. 

he failed.

his heart not allowing himself the joys of the fall; only the consequences. each defiant beat was another attempt at saving him—each beat sang rey’s name. his mother’s name. his grandmother’s names. his great grandmother’s name. for all of those who still held hope his heart continued to compose such tragic melodies that his soul could no longer ignore. 

he was born to bring balance to the force by finishing what his grandfather—ANAKIN SKYWALKER— had started; bringing an end to the sith AND restoring a republic that was OF the people and FOR the people once again. 

his jaw clenches as he snaps his eyes shut he couldn’t resit the call much longer.

he leans back into the force, only to hear the prayers of those who should have understood---he was nothing but a LOST cause....

IT’S TIME, BEN. LET NOT YOUR PAST DEFINE YOU—BUT YOUR ACTIONS. ONLY A FOOL MAKES THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE. obi-wan pleaded.

let go of the past you must, young solo, but forget the lessons it taught—you must not. master yoda reasoned.

he could feel all their energies around him like a solar flare engulfing him—it was the fire of hope that burned fiercely despite all the dark that gathered possessively around him. he could feel their very life force calling to him to the light...it felt like he was resurfacing even as he struggled against the dark and nefarious waters that threatened to DROWN him if he would not bend to its will. he could feel it’s icy tendrils frantically clinging, grasping, burrowing until….

a single voice broke through the chaos. feminine and resolute—it silenced the cacophony of wills that still fought for claim of his soul. 

gentle as a mother’s touch, he feels a warm hand softly caress his cheek. but he knows that only he can see the angel. she radiated with such heavenly light and beauty…he thought he must’ve already died.

blanketed with serene strength and infallible gentleness, he can sense her amusement but doesn’t understand why—

“ are you... here to save my soul? “ brows knit as he is both confused and awestruck. angels were real, just like luke had told him…

another murmur of bubbly laughter. “ you’re a funny little boy,” she muses, “ just like your grandfather.”

shock hits him full force, his jaw drops in this vision world. “ you…you knew my grandfather?” he’s trembling, unknown tears escape from the dark pools of his eyes, staining his scarred visage with such remorseful tears. he feels unholy and misplaced as he’s cast in her light. his eyes never leaving the ground—he felt unworthy of even looking upon such a beautiful and sacred being. what did he do to deserve such an—

“ Ben, “ PADME interrupts as she bends down to his level, the length of her gown spreading around them on the floor. “ you have to stop all this. you have to put an end to all this suffering, please, I beg you. let democracy resume.”

“ but I-I-I..” his sobs become incoherent as he struggles to stand at the verge of breakthrough—too terrified to make that final & yet first vital step. he cannot see how he can move on from here, with all that he had done, all the suffering and death that he had caused…how could he ever continue on knowing all of this? 

“ ben,” she begins again, one hand squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, the other lifts his chin so he could look into her eyes and absolutely know…

“ I never lost faith in you. None of us did.” As she finishes sharing her truth, she begins to step back into the light, just for his FATHER to walk through, with that same smug grin on his face…it was somehow always there, even when the man wasn’t even smiling—infuriating as it was comforting---he supposed that part charm of the solo brand of charm. 

“ it’s not too late, son,” HAN extends his hand to him, just like he did before on starkiller base, that same hope still twinkled in his eyes, just like they did right before…right before he killed HIM…

ben’s hand hesitates as the dark side uses all it’s remaining strength to summon that exact memory, to plunge him feet first back into the abyss, by reminding him of all his grief, regret, sorrow, shame—desperate attempts to break him like the initial act did before, splintering his soul to to the bone… 

“ i…i can’t. not after what I did to you—dad,” ben falls at his father’s feet completely letting go and breaking down. and suddenly all his darkness it let loose, pouring out of him a river…this time it’s release is welcomed, the pressure of holding the entire galaxy on his buckling shoulders…leaves with every word he speaks. his full emotions finally able to be expressed—the need for closure—his saving grace though even he does not yet fully comprehend. it feels so natural to finally break down and confess. “ how could you ever forgive me? after all i’ve done? after what I allowed myself to become? I murdered you, along with countless THOUSANDS ? I don’t deserve your forgiveness… I-I don’t deserve any—”

“ eh, that’s enough, we get the general picture, “ han chuckles lightly, realizing ben must’ve got his inability to shut up ( especially when it’s good for him ). “ it’s not too late ben, it’s never too late.“  

han crouches beside his son, embracing him completely, he holds ben’s head to his chest. his hands stoke his baby’s hair—hair so like his—and a rough hand worn with age begins to cup his son’s scarred cheek, his calloused fingers lovingly run over the healed mark. he kissed his forehead softly, like he used to when he finally got baby ben to sleep—something that only HE could do. “ now would you please come home already? Your mom and I miss you very much. ” han solo’s eyes crinkle with tears as he continues to hold and rock his son back and forth. and for this one perfect moment…both men have finally found peace. 

ben finally breaks the moment of tranquil silence by looking up at his dad. the last tears of fear falling from his jaw and into the dark mass of his sith robes to be lost in the darkness of it forever where it belongs. 

“ i know what i have to do but i don’t know if I have the strength to do it….” as his own will realigned with his heart instead of the toxicity of his war torn mind---there is a whirlwind of energy and emotion. a final roll of thunder as all the darkness flees from him, fearing the great light.  a single beam of sunlight that broke through his own dark clouds, to shine upon him, illuminate the love he still harbored in his heart, breaking through this moment. he still feels his father with him even if he can’t see him in the blinding haze anymore.

“ —will you help me?”  he lets out a breath he never knew he was holding, it felt like he had been holding it for a thousand lifetimes, releasing it as he surrenders to the will of the force; the sacrifice and ultimately, the forgiveness of his father pulsates throughout ben’s veins bringing him back to life. he can still hear his voice echoing through the force, even as his presence slowly faded away… 

“ I love you, kid.” 

ben smiles, “ I know.“

he can hear the joyous laughter of master yoda bouncing around in his skull. and the cheers of other voices he had yet to be familiar with though one in particular stood out among the rest; one who he would later attribute to anakin skywalker’s force ghost---who watched proudly in the background of all this. 

with that BEN SOLO is snapped back to the present, to the here and now—as he is held by rey and her saber still aimed at his throat. 

 in a sudden succession of movements, he releases his weapon, he drops to his knees, and extends out his wrists—he finally let’s go of the sense control he had erroneously clung to, and was once so desperate to cultivate and maintain. as,  he opens his eyes, he releases a long winded breath—one of release. he looks over his shoulder as if some invisible presence was standing there. he could feel the crooked smile of his dad—beaming proudly at his son.

“ I…I surrender.” 

@sandspeeding

[xxreadersxx]

Tokyo Ghoul AU: Iwaizumi Hajime

{Part 1 of 3 for the Tokyo Ghoul AU that was requested! To be completely honest, I did NOT expect this to turn out so long, but when I write, I kind of imagine the scene and it plays in my mind as I write! So, yeah, sorry about the length! Hope you like it! The rest are on there way!~~ (Post 2) (Post 3)}

This is my favorite time of day. Right after waking up, eyes still puffy from the hours spent resting. Sitting across from my dearest, enjoying a cup of coffee. The only time I feel human. I look into their beautiful eyes. If only I could, I could get lost in them forever. They glance up from their breakfast, to look at me, a smile spreading across their face, and crinkling their eyes.

“Good Morning.” I say, reaching across the table, to brush a few lose strands of their hair out of their face. They blush.

“Good morning.” They say, looking down onto their plate. Ah, how I love their cute side. I lean onto my left palm, and pick up my coffee. I reminisce on how our affair is going, and smile warmly. My stomach, empty, but luckily not making a noise. This happens often, I just can’t bear to leave them in the night. I know how bad this part of town is, but they remain unaware. I intend to keep it that way, until I can get them out. I release a sigh. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I remind them that they have to leave soon. They glance at the clock, and then start to shove food in their mouth, causing a laugh to escape mine. After only ten minutes, they’re out the door and on their way to the café where they work. I make my way several paces behind them. I agreed to let them be independent, but I do not intend to let walk anywhere by unguarded. I scour the ground as I run along the edge of the rooftops of the small alleys, grabbing the ledge with my kagune; its tail like structure making it possible to navigate easily down the small passageways. During this time, I make sure to stay hidden from both the general public, and my dear. If either were to find out about my being a ghoul, I fear our lives would be separated, and that was a simple fact that whittled at my nerves. With my lover safely inside their work, I take off in the direction of the city. My stomach is so empty that I begin to shake. My legs started to give out, but I’m too hungry, and my kagune can no longer withhold my body weight. I walk down the street, making my way to the café I frequent for my meals.

Opening the door, I am greeted by the familiar, and slightly sickening, scent of coffee, and the friendly staff of Anteiku. The girl behind the counter, Touka I believe, looked at me and then told me to follow her. I did so without a fuss, my body just barely holding me up. Walking into the back room, she handed me the usual, and I ate it gratefully. After letting my stomach digest the meat, I thanked her, and paid her what little money I had to offer. She denied the money, and told me it was on the house. Although I didn’t agree with her methods, I accepted. After leaving the café, I made my way to my part-time job with the construction company. I got lucky with this set up, because it turns out my work for the day was on this same street.

Finally, as the sun was setting, I was released from work and made my way over to pick up my partner. Arriving slightly before they were relieved of duty, I leaned against the wall on the store across from their café’s glass windows. When the door’s chimes signaled someone had opened the glass-paned door, I look over just in time to see the last remaining rays of sun reflected off the hair of my love. Reflecting in just a way to make them look like a heavenly spirit. Oh, how we contrasted; the one, branded as a demon, the other, an angel. I chuckled dryly at what this life had given me. I make my way across the street, when their wave broke me free of my thoughts. They stuck their hand out, and offered me a smile and a greeting. Taking their hand, we started our trek down the street as the dim lampposts lit our way.

As we reached the apartment that we share, my senses screamed at me; something was wrong. I took one look at my love, and shuttered, thinking the worst. Just then, only a couple feet in front of us, two men with briefcases approached us. My mind was on edge, but I did not allow it to show on my visage. I took a deep, quiet breath and kept walking with my lover’s hand tight in my own. As we walked closer, my intuition was proven correct as one of the men spoke.

“Stop. Release their hand.” They spoke, their words dripping with hatred. I squeezed their hand tighter, afraid that if I were to let go, I would never again hold it. My poker face breaking bit by bit as I continued surveillance on our guests. My lover’s hand shook in mine.

“What is this about? Who are you guys?” Their voice came out small, helpless even. I glanced at their face and saw nothing but fear. I pulled them closer to me, hoping to relieve them of some of their tension. They looked at me, their eyes now full on concern.

“I said let go of them.” The other man spoke, now, pointing at me with the hand that held the briefcase handle.

“I don’t know who you are, but I don’t intend on letting their hand go.” I finally spoke, my voice clear, and strong. The two men sneered.

“Fine. If you won’t let go, I’ll just cut your hand off.” The first one said, pushing the small activator on the handle of his silver briefcase, effectively releasing his ‘quinque’, as they called it. I stepped into a defensive stance, every nerve in my body on high alert. I grabbed my partners body, and pulled them to rest against my chest. My legs bent to prepare for escape. The man rushed at us, and whipped out to try and strike us. I pushed off the ground with all my strength, holding my lover close in my arms. Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch a glimpse of purple. The world slowed as I was surprised at the sudden onslaught of the second man coming from our right, his quinque already almost touching my arm. There was no time to think of a better strategy. The only words in my mind were, ‘This is where my heaven dies.’ My Kagune whips out to shield our bodies as gravity pulls us back to solid ground.

Upon landing, my bikaku around us like a shield, I stare in disgust at our pursuers. Right now, the only thoughts on my mind are centered around keeping the defenseless person in my arms safe. In my hold, my love shook. I glanced at their face, my heart sinking to rest in my stomach. Their eyes, in which I often found solace, now brought me great pain. Their expression a mixture of surprise, disgust and fear. They looked from my tail, to my eyes, and blinked, their brain surely trying to piece together the events that just took place. Our pursuers laughed.

“He…no IT didn’t tell you? Ha! While the monster tried to play house, he tricked you into thinking he was one of us. Didn’t you ever feel like he was out of place?” The true monster spoke, his words cutting my heart like a razor. I grimaced at his words, my face turning into a snarl towards our aggressors.

“Hajime…w-why didn’t you tell me?” A faint, cracking voice spoke in my ear. The rest of the world was a void, the only other being was my lover as I stared at their small frame. Their face was washed over with pain and anguish. I swallowed nothing; my mouth felt heavy with unspoken words and regret. I closed my eyes, how could I look at something so perfect, and think that I, a cursed beast, could live happily? My body felt cold, our attackers stood and laughed at my existence. Humiliated and angered, I began to release my lost hope, their warmth leaving my side.

And just then, my left check bloomed with the warmth of small fingers, my right following shortly after, I open my eyes. My view flooded with the deep orbs I loved so, and I felt soft lips against my own. They pulled back quickly, and held my face firmly. Awestruck, I stared into their eyes, tears forming in my own. Their face, full of fear, tried to form a smile.

“Hey. Hey! It’s ok. I’m still me. You’re still Iwaizumi Hajime. You’re still you.” Their voice came out strained but loud enough for only me to hear, my sight blurred. As a tear slid down my check, my love wiped it with their thumb, and continued. “Whether you’re a ghoul or a human, I fell in love with you.” A strength, in the form of words, that I had lost all hope in hearing again. My heart returned to my chest with a vengeance, banging at my ribs, my head felt light with love. The corners of my mouth lifted upwards, as my ears caught the sure stomps of footsteps. I turned towards to the onlookers, my strength restored. I leapt into the air a second time as the whip-like quinque cracked at where we once stood. I pushed my kagune off the ground and launched farther into the air. Latching onto the ledge of the building behind us, I launched us higher into the air. My lover’s arms tight around my neck, my arms around their waist. I was not about to lose something so precious again. I didn’t stop running until my back ached and my stomach growled. As the last of my strength left my body, I found a small alleyway. Gently dropping my partner to the ground, I fell beside them. I slide down the wall, as they kneeled in front of me. The last thing I remember before blacking out, was their worried eyes, and the sound of their frightened voice.

My body was covered in a layer of warmth, and a weight at my side as I opened my exhausted eyes, squinting at the sun of the early morning. Looking towards the weight to my left, I found my love curled into a tight ball under my arm. With a smile, I smoothed their hair. They groaned and reluctantly opened their eyes. They looked up at me with half-lidded eyes and smiled.

“Good Morning.” I said, smiling back at them.

“Good Morning.” They responded, wrapping their arms around my waist tightly. Today was going to mark the start of a new, harder relationship. I sigh and lean my head against the hard wall behind us.

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