Cruel Destiny | Kylo Ren

Tightrope

Flaws. He was he full of them. So brutally touched but the beauty beneath the marks never faded.

The deep cut above his cheekbone was a long, jagged scar that snaked down all the way, right down to his shoulder. I ran my fingertip along it delicately. It had healed so much more since the last time I had seen him. Once a raw, blistering gash, is now only an odd mixture of bright white and light pink. The skin around the scar was also slightly silver, suggesting that it did not heal properly but you could only tell from this close.

Matched by the scars that littered his chest like a thousand needles that never quite penetrated. It was a brutal reminder to Kylo and anyone who saw it to respect the authority of the baron, for he was a fighter and a survivor—these flaws prove his worthy in the First Order more than his lightsaber did, but what did these little imperfections mean to me? The lover in his bed who was draped across his chest more elegantly than his black robes ever could—with a belly full, baring his child, whom he only cared for because of the way he felt about me.

The scars. His coldness. His ability and the raging violence. That is as deep as anyone else could see into him. But for me, Kylo had opened his heart and shown me something much more raw than the wounds and all the nastiness that consumed him—the raw goodness.

He was asleep beneath my touch that lightly brushed down the scars along his chest, tracing the silver lines and patches slowly with the tips of my fingers. I sigh and avert my gaze from his chest and over his shoulder to look out the wide window, stopping my hand just above the steady beat of Kylo's heart.

His long legs were sprawled over and under my own, his chest curling around my stomach. Raven black hair fanned over his eyes and he murmured something in his sleep, but when I look into those dark brown eyes, that shine even in this darkness, I realised he was no longer asleep.

"Keep going," He rasped, his big hand reaching to my own upon his chest and moving it along the scars once more.

I smile beneath the darkness and I know that even if he can't see it, he can sure feel it. When his hand lets go, I dance my fingers around every dent in his perfection.

Beneath his stare I can let go of all the anxiety that consumed me always. I let it float away into obscurity. Solace flowed through my bones when he hums a sigh of pleasure, his hands then curling into my hair and pulling me as close as I could before my stomach caused a barrier; warming my skin like the rays of an early, summer sun.

With every scar beneath my touch, I welcome this magnetic force of a man, to be mine forevermore—flaws or not.

Once, he had lost himself in his own warpath; Forgetting the old him—Ben—on the other-side of the tightrope that he ran across rather than tiptoed. But despite all the cruel marks upon his flesh from the amount of times he had fallen, he was still so incredibly handsome to me. Underneath that damaged skin was the bone structure of a good man and his eyes were the home to his old soul—encouraging me to scaled the tightrope also, only this time to the entrance of his heart.

I love the softness in the tender strokes of my hair, the quiet between us and the sense of rest. My thoughts are as slow as a reversing clock, each tick only resembling a new concoction of emotion to the man who lay beside me.

The love danced all around him in the darkness like ribbons, its colours embracing me and inviting my destiny to a safer place and a dazzling serenity.

His coarse hands frolic through my hair, down my shoulders and continuing over my large stomach. Looking into his eyes once more, I barely see the softness but it's there if I squint enough to witness it.

Looking to those soft, plump lips, I admit to myself that we may be fools for giving into each other so easily. He and I had built our shields up high and carried them strong, though to each other, those walls were just the magnetic tug between us. I can no more avoid it more than the beating of my own heart as it pounds with passion against it's cage of bone and cartilage.