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prompt post one

+ All comments except fills should be posted anonymously.
+ All prompts should focus on TFA characters. You can't post OT or PT-only prompts.
+ One prompt per comment please.
+ You can request both kink and non-kink content
+ Crossovers, characters from the other media are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 movie in some way.
+ All prompt comments should begin with a pairing tag (eg Rey/Finn) or Gen for no pairing.
+ Use 'Any' when prompting for any pairing at all (eg Kylo/Any or Any/Any)
+ Anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Poe/Other)
+ Warn for common triggers, please
+ NO PROMPTS FEATURING CHARACTERS UNDER 18 IN SEXUAL SITUATIONS.
+ don't hijack other people's prompts.
+ prompts should not exceed ~250 words.
+ also, while this is not really a rule I can enforce, please try to limit yourselves to fewer than 5 prompts per page.
+ reposting prompts is currently not allowed.
+ no prompts based on real life tragic events. e.g: 9/11 au, concentration camp au, etc
+ PLAY NICE

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh, this is perfection! Exciting, in-character, hilarious and so so adorable. :D

-filler here-

Thank you! Wow, I can't believe people loved this story so much. I did consider posting on ff.net or a03 but I thought that it probably wasn't good enough. I guess I should take your advice though, if someone think that it's worth it! I just have to correct some mistakes first, then I'll post the links. Thank you again for your support <3

-filler here-

Thank you, I wanted to be a bit original with the whole issue of Rey's parents and her relationship to Luke. There's so many other possibilities than just Luke + unknown woman = Rey. I also don't like to think about Luke just abandoning his daughter on a planet like Jakku. I had to give a good reason for those 15 years where poor Rey had to grow alone.

As for hoping the story would end differently ... you're not the only one. I got pretty attached to them. I like to imagine that in an AU they didn't die and lived on to become the new generations of Jedi Masters (except for Neya who became Queen of Naboo first, at 21, then came back to the Jedi after her term was over) while Luke guide them proudly. I actually have several headcanons about this AU but I won't bore you with it :D

It had taken some time for Finn to learn how to take. It's a good thing Poe is such a giving person.

And, okay, maybe his reasons hadn't been entirely altruisitic, but Poe is so far beyond caring, shame, anything. He's reduced to a thing that needs Finn.

He had started out on his hands and knees, but it hadn't taken much to make him so loose-limbed and blissed-out he can barely support himself. His thighs are spread wide, hips canted into the way Finn's fucking into him. One of Finn's hands is pressed firmly between Poe's shoulder-blades, pushing his chest into the mattress. The other one has a steady grip on both of Poe's wrists, and Poe might feel embarrassed at how fucking hot he finds that if his brain didn't feel like quicksilver, sparking with liquid pleasure.

Finn is a wall of firm muscle against his back. Poe doesn't have any leverage, couldn't move if he wanted to. (He doesn't, except maybe to press back harder into Finn's hands, into his cock, so he could still feel this tomorrow.)

"Fuck, you're so-" Finn breathes into his ear, distracting himself with a particularly sharp snap of his hips. Poe can't respond with anything more than a wanton moan, one that almost certainly carries through the thin metal walls of his quarters.

His entire body feels keyed-up, nerves singing at every time Finn's strong thighs press into his. The stretch and slide of Finn's dick inside him is slick and sweet, so good he can barely take it. It's like throwing his bird into a tight Immelmann turn, riding the engine at the verge of stalling.

Finn adjusts his angle and Poe's brain whites out for a second. His body tries to twist into the movement, but Finn holds him firmly in place. He can vaguely hear himself making sounds that are closer to sobs than anything, but he's too busy having his world rocked to have any dignity.

Suddenly the world lurches, and Poe finds himself hauled up and backwards. He's standing on his knees, now, leaning back against Finn. He's ever-so-slightly off-balance. Finn's arms are the only thing keeping him from falling forwards, pulling him back even as his hips jerk him forward with every thrust.

One of Finn's arms is wrapped proprietorially around his waist and up to Poe's chest, where his wrists are still clasped together in one hand.

Poe groans and lets his head fall back against Finn's shoulder. He tries to press a kiss into the soft skin of his neck, but mostly he just ends up breathing loudly and messily against it.

"That's it, sweetheart," Finn mutters, and brings his free hand to wrap gently against Poe's throat. There's no pressure - there's barely any weight, but the casual possessiveness of it kicks Poe over the edge.

It's overwhelming and a little chaotic, like pushing a little too hard into an aileron roll, but so so good for exactly the same reasons. Finn keeps fucking him through it, slow and deep. Poe lets himself drift and go boneless, because he knows Finn will be there to take care of him. He's vaguely aware that he's grinning.

"You're so beautiful, how did I get this lucky," Finn's saying, but it sounds rhetorical so Poe doesn't do anything but hum happily against Finn's neck.

Finn's thrusts get a little erratic at that, and soon Poe feels him come with a shudder and a bit-off curse.

Finn guides him down onto the bed so they're on their sides facing each other.

"Okay?" he asks, running a hand up and down the lenght of Poe's side.

"Extremely." Poe feels a little giddy and out of it in that perfect, fucked-out way.

"Good," Finn says, and smiles brighter than any star Poe's ever seen. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay."

"Mm. I'm going to pass out now," Poe replies, and drifts off to the familiar sound of Finn's laughter.

---

Hope this is the kind of thing you wanted! Apologies for any typos or grammar weirdness - I kind of wrote this to take my mind off the dreadful cold I have.

-filler here-

Thank you so much ! Rey as Luke's adopter daughter is pretty much my headcanon so of course I hope that's how it's going to be in canon too. Although I'll probably be ok if she turns out to be his biological daughter, I'd rather they showed some originality there, and I don't think I'm the only one.

I wanted to solve the question of her relationship to Luke while still leaving some mystery about where exactly she came from and I like the idea of their relationship being kind of a happy accident, something that was unexpected but ended up a blessing for the both of them (well for a while at least).

The story was sadly bound to end badly for Luke and his padawans from the beginning, but I like to imagine that Luke's students are all hanging out as invisible Force Ghosts, cheering on the Resistance, whispering in Kylo Ren's ears about the Light side of the Force, and watching benevolently over Luke and Rey.

-filler here-

Thank you! Thank you! I can't believe you all like this so much. I can't believe I already got 8 comments. Thank you for appreciating my story and for taking the time to leave a comment. You're all so nice. It's very making me happy and encouraging me to keep writing <3

She should probably not have slid her arm around Rey’s waist.

And she definitely shouldn’t have said, “Time for me to get you to bed,” loud enough for everyone to hear and she certainly shouldn’t have said it in that particular, husky tone.

But a rescue was a rescue, she told herself.

Snap had been annoyingly handsy with Rey tonight—touching the small of her back, once even tugging at the dark curl that laid across her cheek like some schoolboy—and Poe had been even more obnoxiously charming, drawing a constant stream of laughter out of the girl and ensuring that a wide grin staid plastered across her face. (And wasn’t he supposed to be embroiled in some sort of hot and heavy romance with Finn anyways?)

Rey didn’t even seem to mind the attention and that’s what really drove her to shove a half-empty glass of wine into a service droid’s hand and stalk off into the middle of the fray, leaving Luke staring after her with a gapping mouth.

Poor Rey had probably never even had alcohol before. She was easy prey for the seasoned pilots.

She might do something she’d regret—that is Rey might do something Rey would regret, not something that would drive her, Leia, to mad distraction.

That wine had been aged to perfection.

************************************

She should probably not be gripping Rey’s hand quite so tightly as they make their way down the relatively empty corridor, but Rey hasn’t said a word, is just trialing after her like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like middle-aged Generals drag young, inexperienced Jedi knights in training to their quarters all the time. (When did she decide to turn towards her quarters instead of the hangar where the Falcon was docked?) Then again, most Jedi knights in training didn’t have such fascinatingly sun dappled shoulders and eyes the color of the richest chocolate.

When Rey does finally speak, it’s as she is keying in the code to open Leia’s door, and she asks, “How much did you have to drink tonight?”

“That’s what I was supposed to ask you.” If her words slur a bit, it is only from surprise.

Rey raises an eyebrow and Leia hears herself explaining, “Only a few.” Four or five is only a few.

************************************

Rey’s body is pressed up against hers, walking her backwards into the room until the door hisses shut behind them.

“Did you mean what you said?” Rey asks, tilting her chin so she’s staring straight into her eyes. “That it’s time for you to get me to bed?”

She should not have answered, “Definitely.”

“Good.”

She probably would have stumbled, have fallen back on her bed as soon as the backs of her knees hit its edge—even if she hadn’t been drinking—given the smart little shove Rey gives her and the hungry look in her eyes.

****************************************

She is most definitely spreading her thighs apart as Rey steps between her knees.

Rey says, “Take your hair down,” and her fingers are just as busy unwinding her intricate braids as Rey’s are at finding all the clasps at the front of her robes.

She raises up on her elbows just in time to watch Rey tug off her last boot and stand back to admire her work.

Her hair is a mess and her robes have gotten caught at said elbows and she’s currently bent in a way that isn’t doing her stomach any favors.

“This is how I’ve always wanted you.”

But she hasn’t felt this sexy in a long time.

****************************************

Rey drops to her knees right between her thighs and smiles up at her, and Leia curses at the very sight of what is probably a horrible idea or possibly the best one she’s had in a very long time.

OMG this is PERFECT!

This is completely darling. I'm sitting here grinning like an idiot, just picturing this.

new anon here!. this got pretty long, so, just be prepared. yep. it got away from me a lot, but I can say right now that I tried to include everything but the mpreg. the first is told from leia's "Point of View", the second hux's, and the third kylo ren's. it's all chronological, though, and the sections don't overlap in time.

Leia POV first: 1,478 words. Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Torture.

+++

Leia has never been the type to hesitate when her finger is on the trigger. Death is a fact of life, and to save the galaxy, a few lives can be spared. They have to be. No matter the friendship she’s witness between the stormtrooper still in a coma on the medical level and others, there are too many of them to spare them all. The blaster has to be shot sometimes, and people have to die.

And yet, now, when she sees the trembling, bloody lips of the First Order General in his cell, all she can think is how those lips issues the annihilation of worlds. This man did not hesitate to destroy, to murder, to kill, to show no mercy, for his own cause, and yet she knows how horribly wrong it is. It almost makes her want to start showing mercy to the stormtroopers she herself kills, and those who she orders others to kill. Simple and flexible women and men like Finn, she considers giving a second chance to those she needs to kill, like the First Order, Empire, whatever they call themselves today, never did.

Then, General Hux spits a mouthful of blood onto the ground, and that all goes out the window. He’s too precise. It’s like a droid, but without the personality, without the soul. Every movement he makes would seem calculated if it wasn’t the effortless way he carried them out. He’s mechanical, and he doesn’t care for his own personal safety. She should kill him, this very moment. Honestly, she wants to. He cannot live. The world can’t be with men like this, it can’t--

She shakes her head, collects her thoughts. She is kind. She can kill in battle, like anyone else. But she is kind. He’s still a person, albeit a collection of every poison in the world, just like she began to consider of her father, there must be some good behind those frozen blue eyes.

“Returned to ask about Finalizer plans? Did you talk to your lower officers, ask them what questions to interrogate me with? If you’re not skilled enough to carry out this torture session, you can have someone else perform it. It won’t make any difference, I hope you’re aware.”

She sits down opposite him, letting him run his mouth. He’s been here approximately four days, not including the 16 hours he was too wounded and unconscious to communicate. He’s dealt a nasty wound to the leg, the type that leaves a person nearly unable to walk. They’ve put a brace and a boot on it, but Leia doesn’t expect he’ll be able to walk soon.

(The idea that he can’t run away flitters through her mind, but she pushes it out. There’s no use in being pushed entirely by hatred, especially not with her force sensitivity.)

“I’m here to ask you about my son.” She says, observing how he looks only slightly surprised by the question. Then, there’s a little glint in his eyes, that he’s won, and they’ve given up on asking him about the finalizer information.

“What son? As Commander Ren would say, that boy is dead, and a man has grown strong, tall, and full of hate in his place.” He hisses right back at her, and she can hear it in his voice, and she knows what he’s attempting. He wants to push salt on her wounds, wants to make it hurt even more for her. Wants to drive that knife further into her and twist it.

“You know that’s not true.” Leia replies. That’s the thing to interogattion, always make it seem like you know something more about the information you’re attempting to get. “My husband has told me so, he is not as strong as he wills himself to be.”

“Your husband?” Hux replies. “Oh, come on. You know he stabbed him, right in the front. That he saw his face while he did it. Even if the man is not dead, he still completed the task required of him, that will surely be enough in his master’s eyes.”

She lets all of his words sink in, carefully choosing what to say next herself. She can be calculating too, or she can try. “Tell me more about this master figure.”

She can see it from the look on his face; he slipped up. He should not have mentioned that, or at least he didn’t think that the Resistance was aware of that the Order was not working alone. Of course she knew, no one could expect that she watched her son stolen from beneath her brother without there being some outside influence. Ben was a troublesome child, he claimed to be very independent, but Leia herself knows how often he could barely open a jar of jam by himself, much less get in common conversations with outsiders.
(Reminiscing doesn’t help, she needs to remind herself. That only brings pain, and she doesn’t trust herself with that much pain, not knowing that pain brings anger, and being Luke’s sister, anger is more dangerous to her than most out there.)

“Negative. I refuse.” He responds, but not after a pause.

She replies faster, with barely a breath in-between them. “Then tell me more about Ben. Ren. Whatever you want to call him.”

She’s met with silence by the General.

“We’re not as harsh as your soldiers. We don’t have to kill you, we can feed you and let you live here until the end of your days. Eventually you’re bound to say something.” She recognizes the look in his eyes when she talks. He’s a type of man he’s had too much experience with, the type of man who never expected to live past fifty, the type who has always believed they’d die young for a cause. The idea of living without fulfilling that cause makes the man shudder.

He makes a quick recovery. “You’ll be dead long before that, old woman.” At the insult, she feels the force within her harden and shiver, and then fall back into a lull. It’s not worth getting mad over, especially not when he’s opening his bloody lips to speak again. “I can’t even assure you that your son will live that much longer without me. He’s pathetic on his own, without me, without the master.”

It takes her a second to collect that data. She, as of yet, doesn’t know what it means. At all. She has a few ideas, but jumping to conclusions rarely helps, it only means she hears what she wants to. “Without you?” She finally decides to say.

The General adjusts his neck, sitting up straight in his chair, and attempts to messily wipe the blood from his split lip against the shoulder of his uniform, the only place he can reach with the handcuffs binding his arms behind him. “He is violent, to say the least. Destroys himself and the environment around him. It’s only days before his will to use the force leaves him with wounds he doesn’t know how to disinfect. Or maybe he’ll slash up the life support above the Finalizer,” he gives her a look at that, meaning that he’s not giving away any important details, any ship that size needs multiple life support stations, “and he’ll suffocate in that mask of his.”

Leia can’t even begin to list which of these discoveries worry her most. “The force leaves him with wounds?” She repeats, phrasing it as a question now. She thinks of all the knowledge of the force she has, everything Luke has taught her, all she has read, all his instructions of the younglings (don’t think about those).

“The force, his training, whatever you want to call it.” General Hux replies, doing his best to sound dismissive. He knows something of this, though, Leia can tell. This, at least, was in some degree personal. He knew about this, more than any average stormtrooper might, more than Finn would. “It destroys him from the inside, makes him break himself from the outside, so the mental and physical anger can morph into one singular entity.” He spits the words out, and Leia lets her lips fall open. She has suspected he has a personal connection to it, but this is the first time she’s seen his stoic anger slipping, he’s not just simple and evil, but something more now, more complex.
Hux relaxes his back against the back wall of the cot he’s been given, against the wall of the cot, his perfect posture falling into casualness. “I personally think it’s bullshit, but the wounds are, I can assure you, very real.”

Leia looks around the room, and spotting the behind her, she pulls it over, so it faces Hux, and sits down. “Real in what ways?” She says, and finally, for once, Hux talks.

A+ I feel so dirty but omg just A++

part two, hux's point of view here. it drags on a little in the bigging. there are more hints of kylux, but it stays very pg and shipping light. only a lil gay. still gay tho.

Hux POV: 1455 words. Themes of Eugenics, Natural Selection.

+++

The Resistance ship is warmer than the Finalizer had ever been. Which is surprising, the Finalizer had many, many more bodies, though admittedly there was a often a lot of space between those bodies. It was a big ship. Even if the stormtroopers slept all piled onto one another in hammocks, the ship was too large compared to the amount of soldiers abiding within its pristine walls.

So, of course, there are differences in the Resistance base. For one, it it warm, the life support systems set at a higher degree temperature obviously. A waste of power, but it established the care they had for comfort. They even switched the direction of the bindings of his arms ever so often, so he wouldn’t accidentally dislocate his own shoulder. They cared about the comfort even of their own prisoner. It seemed...stupid. That was it. Stupid. The Resistance was soft, the Rebels were soft, everything before them. They were all too kind, too soft, and that’s why they couldn’t keep power. They mixed with aliens, breeding blood with the soft and asking for things. Too gentle, it would work in temporary, but of course, always in temporary. That’s why the Rebels, Resistance, and the Light would always fail, and the dark would always overtake them. Kindness only works in temporary.

He tries to tell Leia of this, over the past few days. They’ve started to communicate on more familiar terms, as long as he’s talking about Kylo Ren, and not any other portion of his fleet.

He will admit. He worries about that specific Knight of Ren. On that ship alone. The most that he could hope is that the man managed to kill himself in some quick and fast way, and his wounds weren’t festering and leading him to a slow and painful death without Hux there to fix them.

Leia doesn’t believe him. She doesn’t believe that her son would hurt himself like that, that the Dark had seduced him to the point of self-flagellation. She, rather thinks that he’s lying, trying to buy time for his troops to rescue him.

It’s a stupid idea. He has no hope of rescue. He only wishes not to wither away in the dirty, vile base and die without making any semblance of a difference. Making her angry, and possibly leading the force-sensitive cow into anger would be far more a worthy death to him.

They’ve finally left him uncuffed, let him fix his own wounds. He suspects that his leg won’t ever heal right, from the place it’s broken, the knee won’t ever bend right again. The only feeling he has in it is pain, and he find making it move at all as drastically painful.

He had known it was a matter of weeks before they found Kylo, or his body. He’d had his tracking device on him when he was captured. The only thing worth more to him than a map to Luke Skywalker, a map directly to Kylo Ren.

Ren was vital to the process of obliterating the Resistance and gaining complete control of the galaxy. At least, that was what Snoke told him. Kylo Ren was...erratic. He was soft, the biggest product of Resistance breeding. He attempted to escape his softness through meditation and the dark, but he couldn’t wipe it from himself.

His face was soft. The curve of his chin. Hux had...observed it before. How soft the man looked. Not just young, they were virtually the same age, but he somehow looked too foolish, too innocent. A product of the Resistance. But that softness was enticing, it made Hux wish to attempt to keep it there, to keep the slashes in his skin from scarring and becoming harsh gashes in the slim lines of his body. He liked his crunches curves, and feeling the hardness of his musculature below the softness of his skin.

It was a horrible thing to think about while he repaired Kylo’s wounds. There was no reason why Hux should lust after the man, even if they could procreate together, it would be a horrible mixing of pair. Hux’s children would never be born of the Resistance.

He’s lost in those thoughts, hours upon hours spent in that cell with only the sound of blood in his own ears. It’s hard for him to tell exactly how long he’s been there, except for when he starts getting tired, or needs to use the bathroom. He attempts to perform his calisthenics every other night, but it’s difficult. He knows humans settle at a 25-hour sleep schedule without a clock or sunlight, so he attempts to do the math, simply out of boredom.

He knows that it’s too soon to hear the sound at his door, though. The lock is undone, and the clasps of the door stop. Through the door comes Kylo Ren.

Hux is stunned. The man is not-dead. Rather, he is brushing through, outer robes thrown over one arm and falling to the ground haphazardly when he sees Hux slouched on top of the cot against a wall. The two parental figures stand behind the form of their dead son, watching him with troubled expressions as Kylo Ren sweeps through the room, towards Hux. “Brendol.” The man says, voice pure, and only then does Hux notice his face is unadorned by a mask. It’s strange to hear the name, Ren is the only person to have ever called him that, to everyone else, he was Hux, or Junior, when his father was Brendol.

The former-general stands up despite his leg, ignoring the pain when he puts wait on it to stumble towards Ren. He immediately has his hands on the man’s shoulders, and Hux is too easily able to ignore the picture of intimacy they display in front of Ren’s parents.

No, not Ren’s parents. Ben Solo is dead. Ren had no connection to these people, they only thought they still had a connection to Ren, while it had obviously been severed. “How did they acquire you?” Ren, at face value, did not look hurt. He wasn’t limping, his arms seemed to both be functioning. Hux discovers this through prodding the man, checking him like a mother loth-cat obsessing over its young. “Did they give you any wounds?” Hux continues.

Ren shakes his head, drawing attention to his pained face. “I came willingly. They claimed that they hadn’t dealt you any injury.” This, obviously was not true.

Hux was very wounded. It had all been treated, so he wasn’t in danger of death from his wounds, but the injury remained. His face was scratched up minorly, he’d received a blaster to his left leg, and his ribs had been wrapped, though he could still feel the bones displaced and shifted.

Han’s voice pipes up from where him and Leia remain, still half in the doorway of the room. “We said he was okay, not that he was healthy as a varactyl.” The doorway is...small, and the way him and Leia share the same space is painfully intimate, though, with the position Hux is in with Ren, he’s not sure if he can complain.
Hux’s eyes focus back on Ren, and his body. “You are not okay.” He states, simply, he knows it to be true. He recognizes the look on Ren’s face when his bare hands press against the robes on his back, the one he so thoroughly uses a cape to hide. He’s already starting to undo Ren’s robes, letting the fabric fall from his shoulders. “You didn’t attend the Medical Bay on the Finalizer?” Then, to Leia, who he had a better relationship than he did with Solo. “You didn’t bring him to the Medical Bay here?”

They give him a surprised look.

His expression at Leia grows darker, and for the first time, she observes him losing his control. “I’ve told you, I have told you of the things they do to him, the things that he does to himself, the physical price of his failures! You think the way he looks says anything of that? You think he goes unwounded merely because of the way his face looks?” Hux couldn’t believe the woman so stupid. He supposes that he’s grown to trust her too much, this was what this damn Resistance ship did to him. It disgusts him. Did she not care for her own son? It goes against everything he’s ever known of of the Light cause.

Finally, the layers of Ren’s robes slip from his shoulders, and Hux would be embarrassed with just how familiar he is with how to remove the complicated robes if it weren’t for the wounds adorning Ren’s familiar body.

finally, kylo's point of view. if you missed it in part 2, hux's full name is "brendol hux jr," and kylo is basically the only person to call him brendol. hux thinks of himself as hux, kylo thinks of him as brendol, just like hux thinks of kylo ren as "ren" and kylo ren thinks of himself as "kylo." yep. there's more shipping in this one, but i continued to keep it on the down low. still basically pg in terms of sex.

this is the end! the whole fill is five words until 5,000 words in total.

Kylo Ren's POV: 2,062 words. Warnings for blood, treatment of wounds, broken bones, self harm, abuse, torture, and specifically self-flagellation.

+++

Kylo knows that his parents are seeing the worst of it. He’s facing away from them, all of his attention paid unto Hux. The man is only two or three inches shorter than him, but the difference seems all the more with Kylo’s boots heel and Brendol’s injured leg. The rush of adrenaline, of amazement he felt upon hearing that Brendol was alive (or rather, “okay”) hasn’t left his system, powering him to make more steps after others. He’d felt him die, he was sure of it. He felt the power slip away from the Force, felt Brendol’s existence slip from his fingers as the Resistance wrenched him back into their own claws of light. And yet, here the man was, in front of him, his hands back on Kylo’s chest, where they were meant to be.

Then, he feels those hands on his shoulders, stroking down his sides and against the ripped flesh of his back. It’s Brendol checking, feeling the worn and bloody strips of flesh against his back, the way the meat bubbled and welted at the places on his sides where the tails of the whip only just touched.

He hears the woman behind him gasp something to her husband, though he can’t tell if it’s a reaction to the wounds on his back, or the way Brendol touched him so familiarly.

Brendol is getting a different perspective of it all, though. He sees his front, skin and muscles his eyes and hands know all too well. Wounds he’s seen before. They’ve been through this before. Brendol has wrenched the whip from his hands before, told Kylo he must stop injuring himself, nearly screaming at him about how damaging it would all turn out to be. Brendol knows the wounds that Kylo gives himself, he knows the taste of Kylo’s whip and he knows what the man looks like when he kneels over in front of his grandfather’s helmet and slaps the whip over his shoulder until his skin oozes and bleeds.

The wounds on his front are different. These, Kylo receives, and his own hand has no part in. And he knows Brendol knows that. These wounds Brendol has never tried once to stop, if he even can. Brendol is weak. Emotionally, he may be strong, but his power is all in his words and orders. He can’t use the air around him to stop the bolt of a blaster, he can’t choke someone from the opposite end of the room, he can’t feel darkness pouring through his bloodstream. It fascinates Kylo that there are people out there, so many life beings, so many, that can’t feel the Force around them. It’s been a constant in Kylo’s life, something he’s always known, something he’s always felt, a hot anger he can relax into, power that he can embrace into his soul and pour out.

Brendol couldn’t hold back the bite of the Force if he wanted. He can’t fight off invisible feet that leave bruises on his chest and invisible hands that leave handprints on his neck, always covered by his cape. He can’t fend off the way Kylo’s bones break from the inside, the way his ribs are split in half inside his chest, nothing physical leaving the wound.

“Bring me a medical kit.” Brendol spits out to the man and woman who remain behind Kylo in the doorway. “If you do not care enough to fix your sons wounds, I will.”

Then, Kylo feels footsteps behind him through the ground, but no lessening in the Force of the room. The man has left, but the woman remains.

The man he killed. That man he impaled, that it took him all the power and soul in the world to dispel of, but still walks this galaxy. He doesn’t want to see him again, Kylo decides. Looking into his face hurts, remind him of his own failure. Kylo Ren has forgotten how to feel pain, but he feels all of his failures, deep inside his soul. Pain breeds anger, and he can use it for power, but his failures only create...something that hurts much deeper, something that eats him from his interior, thoroughly and completely. Failure tears him apart more than Brendol’s fingers can ever affect him.

Han Solo is a horrible reminder of his failure. He never wants to see him again, he wants to avoid him until the man is really dead, either imploded in space, or deep in the ground of some planet. He wants to see Han Solo as part of the air, he wants to feel his existence completely disappear from the Force. He wants to blow up his planet, blow up his ship. He simply wishes that the man would cease existing. It was simple.

And still, Solo returns, with another person. They both carry big briefcase-like medical boxes, and hand then over to Brendol. Kylo has still not turned around, but he feels Leia Organa’s force, pulsing and hissing behind him. Finally, one of Brendol’s hands push him, farther and back to the cot, willing him to sit down. There, he further removes the robes, so he can hand them to the person accompanying Solo, and they no longer only gather at his hips and hang there. As Kylo is moved, he faces Leia Organa perpendicularly, so he can see her face from the corner of his eye, though he closes his eyes, focusing on the force and Brendol’s hands, trying to meditate.

Brendol fusses over him, massages some sort of balm over his bruises, and then a device that makes them fade. He presses his fingers against Kylo’s torso and chest, and he can feel the general’s attraction to him, minor adoration even, when he finds he broken rib he knows to be there. It’s in a good location for patching up, though wrapping it will be difficult with the wounds on his back.

Speaking of those, then, Brendol turns him around so he can work on the torn skin of his back, and then he faces Leia Organa head on.

He finds that he cannot keep his eyes closed. He can barely breathe, he can’t feel anything but the stuffiness of her Force making the air in the room heavy. It suffocates him, stales him, makes his limbs feel heavy and deep like weights were tied down to his every muscle. He doesn’t know what it is, he has never experienced someone using the Force like this, but somehow he suspects she’s not even doing anything with it, that this is just how her Force is, sick in the air like the fogs of Umbara.

The most worrisome thing is that he can detect no hatred in her Force, no anger. There is some, centered toward Brendol and the way his hands touch her perceived son’s back, but that is it. The lack of anger scares him, the last force user he’s ever seen with so little anger was a child he had slashed to the ground with his saber. Even the girl scavenger with FN-2187, she had contained more anger in her Force than Leia does now.

But it’s still there. He cannot decode her emotions, only knows that they are there. It’s the unfamiliar feeling of calm, of love that deters him, makes him reconsider his own force and the pain he drives his own anger from.

Then, her voice, soft, from the other end of the room. “Ben.” With the single syllable, he’s reminded of why the dark side is so seducing, how useless she is as a person unless if a tool in his race of power.

“You will never call me by that name again.” He states, simply.

She looks at him harder. “Luke had trained me a little, at least. Those mind-tricks do not work on me.”

“I wasn’t using a trick. I was just ordering you never to let that word pass through your lips again in your life.” He says, and he feels some of the skin on his back burn, his lips curling at the feeling. Brendol’s fingers grown more gentle, like as if he touches him too hard, he’ll break. Both of them knows he won’t. He’s sustained more injury in his life than Brendol can count, and Brendol has repaired him just as many times.

“You can’t order me. I’m your mother.” She whines. If there isn’t one thing Kylo hates more than a whiney woman. He wants to slice something apart, wants to rip her limb from limb. It’s not her time, though, Snoke has said.

“Are you really under that silly mode of thought? And I thought the leader of the Resistance would be smarter than that. Your son is dead, you are never getting him back.” He tries to focus on the feeling of Brendol rubbing things on his back, of the wounds sealing themselves and trying to heal, Brendol having to apply it a few times on particularly stubborn gashes. It was not the time for anger yet, not for Leia. He needed to keep her, for some reason, some reason Kylo didn’t know yet.

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” She says, staring him down, and she leans against the doorframe of the room. She wait for him to reply.

He has no idea.

He is here.

But not as their son. There must be some different, something else. He hasn’t come back to them. That’s not what’s going on here. It’s something else, something different. It has to be, that’s not what he meant.

But he’s here.

The realization shocks him. He came willingly, here, to the place where his parents abide, he came to them when requested, he came back. They didn’t bring him back, he came of his own accord. He was there, sitting in a Resistance base, with his wounds getting tended to. He needed to see Brendol alive, that was his whole purpose of coming there. But what he had expect him to do after? That they would just let him leave? He knew he would run into his parents, but he’d been able to block that thought out with focus of getting Brendol back in his arms. And yet. He came back.

He’s deeply troubled by it. The pause that goes on through the room is deep and long, tension slipping.

Finally, Solo speaks out, his voice shocking both Force users from their own meditative thoughts.

“Leia. He’s going to be here for a while. Let’s leave him alone a while.” It’s kind, too kind for this scruff man, the one he stabbed through the middle and still stands.

She, miraculously relents to him, and pushes herself up from the doorframe and makes to leave. “We’ll bring meals and clothes to you two tonight, and speak again tomorrow. Goodnight, Ben.”

Before he can object, the door closes behind her and locks, and those words seem to hang in the air of the small cell. Slowly, the presence of her Force seeps away as she moves away from her room.

He doesn’t know how long it is until Brendol speaks.

“I’m going to need to wrap your rib. Lift your arms up, will you?”

He lifts them, and Brendol begins to wrap it with a sheet of something made specifically for the reason.

“They didn’t kill you.” Kylo finally says.

Brendol makes a sound under his breath, sharp and short, but it sounds almost like a laugh. “I’m as surprised as you are, Ren.”

He turns around, shifting his legs so he can face Brendol. His hair, the color of the red sands of of the Valley of the Dark Lords on Moraband, is messy, as messy as it might be after a passionate session with him under black sheets. He has a bruise on his cheekbone, though, a cheekbone Kylo vividly recalls tracing his fingers over. A split in his lip only recently healed, the type that makes him not want to kiss Brendol or he may break it again.

“It takes immense weakness, really. To look in the face of a General of an opposing army at your mercy and not cut them to the ground. She is a fool.” Brendol says.

Kylo’s eyes shut while he nods before opening up again, one long blink. “She is.”

Not OP, but hoooooly fuck that was amazing. Is it bad that I slightly appreciate your dreadful cold since it led to that?

+2 especially if kylo ren is completely unaware of the whole arrangement

(OP here)
I wouldn't mind femme Kylo but honestly, anything is fine with me

Also not the OP but this is blistering hot! I love the possessive hand on Poe's throat, GAH! I'm sorry you're feeling lousy so hopefully you're getting some rest, just know you've made some people here very happy!

This was gorgeous!

This is superb. These sweet awkward sexy darlings.

"How can you sleep at a time like this?"

Kylo's eyes stayed shut but an eyebrow moved. His lips twisted. "Aren't you used to boredom?"

Rey huffed and plopped down onto the ground beside to him. Stranded on a unknown planet together, she did not wish to think about the why or the how. The grass around them grew in thick blades that brushed past her elbows. The earth was damp beneath her and tall trees stretched high above like giants with their arms reaching out and closing them in. A giant slept beside her too. Not slept but lay still. She could see his pale face and dark hair and black clothes hidden between the blades of grass, a silent predator in wait. Rey could not sit still. She fidgeted. She tested the Force for guidance or any sense of where they might be.

"What do you suggest?" she said.

"How did you like the pass the time?"

"When?"

"In the desert."

She was not used to a personal line of questioning from him that did not involve duress or an ulterior motive (and most times both).

"Why do you care?"

"I don't care. But I know you're used to waiting."

Rey kept fidgeting. "I don't like waiting anymore."

"Then don't."

"Is this some Dark Side teaching?"

"Call it a life lesson."

She snorted.

"Elegant as always, Rey."

She never knew how to feel whenever he called her by name.

"What are you suggesting? Get to the point."

"I can make you come."

Rey went perfectly still. Kylo seemed to take this as a signal to continue; his eyes remained closed.

"You need to relax. I need to release some tension. I'd like to know how you taste. Don't make me move. Take off your robes and—"

"Have you gone mad?"

"Not yet. Trust me. This will help."

"Trust you," she scoffed. She stood up and stretched, staring down at him. Still his eyes were closed.

"What are you waiting for?"

He looked like a ghost, a strange spirit borne of this strange earth, and she knew he was nothing natural or good but his human voice had always affected her. Something stirred in her gut and in the hard-soft spot between her thighs that she had left unexplored and something in her chest that pulsed whenever challenged.

She said nothing and shook off her boots, pulled down her pants and undergarments, and went to move—

"Everything," he said. She yanked her arm wrappings free, almost ripping one apart, and her tunic and her vest and chest bindings. She was naked now. She felt like a strange spirit too. She walked towards him, lost and tired of waiting. She placed a bare foot either side of his head and he opened his eyes so he could see her very center.

"Perfect," he said and she could swear that the breath drifting out of his lungs was heating her. A hand reached out and clasped her ankle. His hand encased the joint and her knees weakened; he guided her down with the Force and his eyes and his thumb that stroked the back of her heel. "I can smell you." She felt unclean. "No, it's not unclean; it's you. All heat and sand—" His mouth took her in as she settled upon him.

"Ah." His tongue spelled out the rest. Hot and wet; that was her as well as him. She leaned back, felt her nipples harden. Something touched them too. His touch seemed to reach her everywhere, though one hand still held her ankle while the other worked over his crotch. His mouth though: oh his mouth. Her head fell back and she saw the tops of the trees, flickers of light between their jealous fingers that would not set them free.

He kissed her center, sucked and licked the tender flesh that felt unfamiliar to her, his voice in her head whispering like a dirty secret.

You taste like salt. Like scrap metal and sweat. You taste like you've been waiting for this.

The tender flesh clenched, a spasm that rippled like it was guided by the Force. She stretched back, felt her pelvis push down against him, felt his hands take her narrow waist between their vast spans and hold her in place. She would not move if rescue came and she was promised the truth of who she was or where she came from because right now she was purely a citizen of Kylo Ren's face.

He smiled against her; she heard his laugh inside her head. You can stay for as long as you want.

"I might grow bored," she said and her body slumped back against him. She turned her head and her cheek brushed something hard beneath rough fabric. She heard the sweet stutter of his breath. Probably not bored, she thought, and reached out to find his belt.

Oh god, this is great above and beyond the kink, it is just a great fic, but also THE KINK IS GOOD TOO, Phasma killed me and I'm crying about Finn.

I will always fill your prompts because they're amazing. Don't hold your breath too much though, it might take me a few days.

idk about the op but it was the kind of thing *I* wanted for SURE

Author anon! that's perfect. (OP here BTW)

You managed to beat Kylo up without whumping him and I feel so so so bad for Han and Leia. :((

Also your Hux voice is amazing.

I know that an author filled this, and another one is writing. But...

I kind of want to write something of it too.

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PROMPT POST #2 - CLOSED

This post is closed to new prompts!

Re: FILL: Strong Loyalty Subprogram

Re: [FILL] The countdown 4/4

Re: [FILL] The countdown 4/4

FILL: Riding the Edge (1/1)

Re: [FILL] The countdown 4/4

Re: [FILL] The countdown 4/4

Fill--Re: Rey/Leia, jealousy

Re: FILL: Magic healing cock (3/3)

Re: FILL: Strong Loyalty Subprogram

Re: Hux/Kylo [FILL] [1/3] - Captured Hux | Tortured? Kylo

Re: FILL: Grandiose (Snoke/Ren, dubcon)

Re: Hux/Kylo [FILL] [2/3] - Captured Hux | Tortured? Kylo

Re: Hux/Kylo [FILL] [3/3] - Captured Hux | Tortured? Kylo

Re: FILL: Riding the Edge (1/1)

Re: Hux/Kylo Ren, Hux is put in charge of Ren's virginity

Re: Hux/Kylo, trans girl Kylo

Re: FILL: Riding the Edge (1/1)

Re: [FILL] Luke/Leia, Luke is a virgin 3/3

Re: Fill: Bawdy Language (Poe/Finn, humiliation kink) | 2/4

fill: ennui

Re: FILL: Hux/Finn, anything goes

Re: Ben Solo raised as a stormtrooper

Re: FILL: Riding the Edge (1/1)

Re: Hux/Kylo [FILL] [3/3] - Captured Hux | Tortured? Kylo

Re: Hux/Kylo - Captured Hux | Tortured? Kylo