dani-onearth

[dani-onearth]

Merciful & Misnamed [3]

Kylo Ren x fem reader

[Part One] - [Part Two] - Part Three Summary: Each time he saves you, his mask cracks a little more. And now, you really saw him. And he let you. Maybe the memory of who he was wasn't dead like he had insisted, just buried, needing a gentle hand to help him come back up to the surface. Warnings: More angst! Strong language. Word Count: 6.11k Authors note: Thank's for all the love on the first two! Wookipedia is my best friend now.

Is everything changing?

First, he took you out of the firing squad lineup. Then, he brought you to his quarters for a meal and stripped himself of his mask. Then, he cracked open when you showed him a real memory, and it haunted him. Somewhere in between the rage and the restraint, he looked at you like you still meant something to him. Like maybe Ben wasn’t dead.

Now, you’re back in your cell and it’s like none of it ever happened. 

You’re back in your cell and no matter how hard you try, you can't stop seeing his eyes change when he looked at you. 

You’re back in your cell and you want to blame the slab beneath your body for why you can't seem to fall asleep. Your skin itches and it won't stop crawling.

You laugh at yourself bitterly when you begin to fantasize about the hospital sheets like they’re a luxury. Maybe it wasn’t because they were soft and clean, but they made you feel like a person again instead of a captured thing on a foreign ship. 

The hum of the ship had a rhythm to it. It wasn't soothing, but predictable. You could count it. One cycle of the vent, one whir of the hallway lights… Once an hour, on the hour.

But the sound didn’t loop right tonight. Something rattled, and you opened your eyes, head lifting away from the crumpled jacket. It was a small noise—metallic and distant. Could've been pipes. Could've been nothing. You swallowed and laid back down, but something inside you screamed that you should show more concern. 

The air felt warm, unusually so. Maybe it was just you, finally getting used to the uncomfortable thing you have to call a bed. But there was another sound. Heavier this time, and you sit up. There was shouting down the corridor that made you slide to your feet, moving toward the slot in the door, breath fogging the panel. 

And then you heard, clear as day, “The detention wing’s been bombed!” And your mouth went dry. 

The hum of the vents was gone. The air was stale. The room was getting warmer by the second, a bead of sweat clung to your temple and the metal beneath your bare feet was radiating heat. 

Troopers ran to the exit, right past you, and you weren't a thought in their minds. Something glowed in their helmets as you watched.

Fire.

Smoke.

It rose up from the vents and the air inside of your cell was sealed like a coffin. You began beating against the door with your palms. “Hey! Someone! Please!” You could hear others screaming now, chanting the same sentiment, echoing all at once, cell after cell. 

You covered your mouth with your shirt and lifted a hand toward the door, willing it to move, begging the Force to listen to you like it used to.

All those years of training to be steady and focused and balanced were not living in you now. You were just full of desperation and fear, and the edges of your mind were splintering in the growing heat. 

The door groaned, cracking, just barely. You shoved an arm through it, groping at… nothing. There was nothing. 

Stars, your lungs were burning. 

You slid all the way down to the floor, coughing and trembling. You pressed your head to the ground where the air was thinner, tears streaming from the thick smoke that now clouded your vision. They were more than just a sting in your eyes, you were crying. You weren't going to make it out of this one.

You closed your eyes, inhaled ash, felt it fill your lungs and burn your throat. You called onto the Jedi before you, reaching out for help like a final prayer. 

And then, the door caved in violently. The steel clashed open with a shriek and the light poured in like the sun was in the hall. You coughed so hard you choked, hands clawing at the floor before arms wrapped around you.

Opening your eyes through the haze you saw Ben. No helmet. Face slick with sweat and brow pinched with worry. He didn’t say a word, just pulled you up with an arm around your back and ran. 

Your own feet couldn’t keep up and your head was lulling in any direction he pulled. The fire was everywhere and the doors were melting at their hinges, pained screams passing like shadows.

In the cells you saw faces. Hands reaching. Eyes wide.

“Stop—” you jerked his arm with a heavy cough, “Stop… we have to—” Your lungs were giving out, trying to expel everything that had found its way inside of them. 

He kept going.

You couldn’t help them.

He stopped where the smoke cleared, snapped off by a bay door. Ben stumbled through it and dropped to one knee, slowly letting you down, cradling your head so it wouldn't hit the floor. Delicately. His arm stayed wrapped around your shoulders, hand hovering at your waist like he was afraid to let go of you.

You continued to gasp in staggered breaths, eyes fluttering as you rattled a cough. Your hands weakly grasped his arm without thinking, and he didn’t pull away.

He was breathing hard. Shaking as his eyes were locked on your face, watching every wince, every sharp inhale. Your hand trembled against his covered arm, his own reaching up and brushing the soot from your cheek with the back of his fingers, just once, like muscle memory. His fingers twitched like he didn’t mean to do it.

Your breaths were larger now, and watching the rise and fall of your chest, something in him… unclenched. He closed his eyes briefly, lowering his head in some sort of relief. Then, he blinked, jaw tightened, and he stood.

“Medic!” He barked at the trooper that had just rounded the corner, spooking the soldier. “Get her a medic and take her to my quarters.”

The trooper hesitated, “Sir—all medics have been rerouted to the east wing—uh, blast damage, sir—it’s—”

“Get her a medic.” His voice turned slow and venomous. 

The trooper straightened clumsily. “I—I’ll find someone, sir—”

“No, you get her to my quarters now, and you get her there alive.” He stepped closer, towering. “She breathes wrong, you fix it. You get her water, you sit her down, and then you bring her a medic.”

The trooper nodded, stammering, and reached down to get you.

Ben watched your body shift in the trooper's arms and something in his eyes twisted. He didn’t like it. He didn’t trust anyone else to touch you. But he stepped back anyway, slowly, and then he turned. 

“Tell no one of this.”

He pulled his saber from his belt and strode around the corner, into battle. 

The trooper's grip was rougher than Ben’s. Not cruel, but nowhere near as careful. Your ribs ached, your lungs felt as if you were hacking up flames, and your wrist throbbed where the wound had definitely reopened. 

The ship was chaotic. Sirens and orders barked over crackled comms. Troopers marched past with blasters drawn, some dragging others. Blood on the floor. Marks on the wall.

Mercenaries, you had heard someone say. Not the Resistance. Something barbaric.

A body hit the ground behind you, and you didn’t want to look. Your legs were limp, half dragged and half guided through hallways you’d never been through. The trooper grumbled to themselves under their breath. You couldn’t make out any of it.

You were thinking about Ben. About his eyes. Full of concern. Morphing into something you had seen in the past. And his face flickered like it hurt to walk away. Like he wanted to stay beside you instead of running back into battle. The mask hadn’t been there, and he ran straight into the fire without it. 

The trooper stopped in front of a large set of doors. You knew where you were.

They tapped the panel and the door slid open to air that didn't smell like burning wires and rust. The trooper helped you stumble in, and he set you down on a bench with a grunt, legs folding beneath you awkwardly. The trooper stood stiffly nearby, fidgeting, glancing around the room and clearly not knowing if they’re supposed to stick around. 

“I don’t think I need a medic,” you rasped, voice fried from the smoke and dehydration. “I’m fine.”

You couldn’t see their face, but you could feel the blank stare. 

“Uh… Yeah… I’m gonna call one anyway.”

You snorted, which made you cough. Kylo Ren probably put the fear of the Gods in him. 

“Fair.” 

They shuffled on their feet. “So, uh, just… stay put.”

“Not planning a jog.”

With an awkward nod he headed toward the door, but paused like he forgot something. He shuffled over to a wall panel and propped it open; a recessed compartment stocked with large ration packs. He pulled out a clear cup of water with a foil seal stretched over the top. He set it down on the bench next to you.

He stiffly nodded.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

He lingered for a second too long before he turned and stepped out, the door sealing behind him with a quiet hiss.

You stared at the water and peeled back the seal. But when you lifted the cup to your lips, you flinched. Confused, you pulled it back and touched your fingers to the spot. The faintest streak of red painted in your index finger. 

The skin was raw and you hadn’t noticed. Now, it’s like your entire body decided to wake up at once. Your forearm throbbed where your sleeve clung to it, heat rising under the fabric. The pain in your wrist had a dull distracting sting. Your lungs were tight, coated in ash. Your hand was trembling. You could have died.

And not in a dramatic, heroic, noble way. No final words, or rescue mission to save the galaxy. You would have vanished; locked away, choking on your own breath. Just smoke. Fire. Melting. You would have stopped breathing and that would've been it. No one would have known.

But he knew.

He was the only one who knew you were still down there and he came for you.

He saved you.

Again. 

And it felt different this time. The first time was weakness. The second time was a claim. This one didn’t feel like either. 

He ran into fire with no helmet, no mask, just him. His own flesh. Hair curled with sweat, jaw clenched, eyes… worried. Scared. 

When he saw you on that floor with smoke swarming around your body, he went still for half a second. You felt the pull in his breath, the relief when you opened your eyes. He wasn’t a commander dragging a prisoner out because they needed intel, he looked like a man who had something to lose. He was frantic and disarmed. He rescued you like he couldn't help himself. 

You turn your head when the doors open. 

The medic that stepped in didn’t look like the others you’d seen before. A dark grey uniform with a slim utility belt and a medical bag. Their boots made clean and clipped steps as they approached you a little hesitantly, glancing around the room.

“You’re just a prisoner?”

You nodded once. It was true, but no one could really figure out what that meant in your case anymore. 

She crouched beside the bench, setting down a compact medical case that clicked open with one press, revealing rows of compartments with neatly arranged supplies, then quickly pulling out a scanner with one hand and typing notes with the other.

“Vitals unstable. Minor burns to the face, mild to the left forearm. Open laceration on the right wrist. Dehydration. Light smoke inhalation.” A neutral and practiced tone that felt uncomfortable. Their eyes flicked up towards the bedroom; to the sealed door. 

What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.

They didn’t say it, but they were thinking it.

They applied some sort of solution to the burn and it sealed the top layer. “It’ll help reduce nerve damage,” she said, “you’ll feel tightness and some heat.” The cool spray was jarring when it hit your arm and you winced. The area was covered with a dermapatch, warm and pulsing as it began regeneration. 

Next, your wrist. She peeled back the bloodied fabric to show that the cut was deeper than you remembered, enough to make the medic click their tongue. Without a word, they injected you with anesthetic, the sharp pinch made you turn away. Then, they applied a second skin. A transparent and flexible band that began to weave new tissue under it.

“This will scar. Try not to use that hand too much.” They packed up their things, leaving a few bandages and sprays with you before she stood. 

She tucked the datapad under her arm. Not leaving, just staring.

You looked up at her. “...Is that it?”

They didn’t answer, at least not right away. They watched you with a sort of calculation that made you shift in place. You felt like she was measuring you with professional unease. Evaluation. 

“Does he plan to keep you here?”

You blinked. “What?”

They didn’t repeat themselves as she slowly made her way towards the door. “I only ask because there are officers aboard who might not consider this kind of… exception rational for the Order.” One final glance and she was gone.

Her words clung to the air… you knew what she meant. You weren’t supposed to be there. Not in his room. Not alive. And the thought barely settled before the door hissed open again. 

It was Ben, no mask, breathless, ripped cloak, sweat-damp hair and a bloody, stark streak beneath his ribs. The adrenaline had worn off and he wasn’t walking cleanly. Slow steps, almost limping.

He stared at you, half curled on the bench. And you stared at the blood. 

“You’re hurt,” you almost stand.

He trudges closer now. 

“Are your burns bad?” His eyes rake over your bandaged body.

“Treated.” You’re focused on his giant wound. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He said, frowning.

You scoff. “And you obviously didn’t pass a mirror on your way here.” He said nothing. “Sit before you fall.”

He gave you a look and hesitated, but dropped down beside you like a bag of rocks, wincing with his whole face. You grabbed the medics leftover cloth and bactaspray from the corner.

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I said—”

“I heard you.”

You didn’t back away and he didn’t want to give in. There was a beat of silence before you spoke. 

“Lift it. Or I’ll tear it.” Your own commanding voice surprised you. 

He exhaled through his nose and reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up halfway. 

The wound was shallow, but it was angry, leaking onto his exposed skin and staining the black material of his shirt into a darker shade somehow. You dabbed some of it away as best you could, he flinched in a way that told you he wasn’t used to being treated so gently. You pressed the cloth more carefully the second time, cleaning the edges first. Your hand moved with delicate ease, but your chest didn’t. Something about how close you were made your breath feel shallow. He was letting you clean his open wound and you could hear the subtle shift of his breath at every touch. He was holding himself perfectly still. Bleeding, scorched, tired and all… he felt peaceful. 

You caught yourself gazing at the curve of his stomach, the freckles on his ribcage, the sharp line of his waist. 

You weren’t trying to look, but it was impossible not to see him.

“Should I remind you that I’m the enemy?” He asked slowly, like he was testing you.

You blinked hard and focused on the wound. “Yeah? Well, you’re doing a terrible job at it.”

And you caught it. Just barely. A small twitch at the corner of his mouth—the threat of a smile. 

He didn't laugh, but he almost did. 

You didn’t say anything about it, just continued cleaning him up like he was fragile. Of course he wasn’t, he was anything but. You hadn't meant to be so gentle until the silence made it obvious to you. 

“You’ve done this before.” 

You glanced up at his shuttered sentence.

“Yeah…” You shrugged. “Resistance members need to know the basics. We’re not exactly swimming in medics—” 

“No, no, I mean… to me.” He looked down into your eyes, pulling a memory from somewhere in his mind. “Temple courtyard, we were thirteen, maybe.” And he looked away. “I cut my hand open during a drill trying to catch a training saber. Probably trying to show off.” For you. He didn't say it, but a faint scoff escaped him and he got really quiet. You could tell his mind was somewhere else. “You were the only one that didn’t laugh at me.”

You remembered. Only bits and pieces, but you remembered. 

“But, later that night, you looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘If you were trying to impress me, you should have at least bowed.’” And he held back the chuckle a little less than he did the first time. 

And you smiled a little more than you meant to.

“Sounds like me.” You said quietly.

He huffed and looked at you again, just as softly as you pressed the bandage into place, lowering his shirt back over his torso. You didn’t move far, just slid onto the bench next to him, close enough that your knees nearly touched.

His gaze lingered on your profile longer than it should have. 

 “Everyone else saw what they wanted… the future Jedi, the legacy, the danger… but not you.” He said it like he wasn't sure if he meant it as a confession or not. “You always saw right through me. Even back then.” 

You didn’t look away. And you really looked. His voice was different now. More familiar. 

The moment stretched. 

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

And yet, somehow, you had gotten closer.

His leg brushed yours, arms touching now as they rested on the bench. No one was reaching, it was just a shift in gravity.

You weren't sure who leaned in first, but for a second you thought he might kiss you. And he thought you might let him. 

But then he blinked. Sharply. Suddenly. Like something yanked him away from the moment. 

“I have to,” his voice faltered, he cleared his throat, “I have to meet with Command. About the mercenaries. The attack.” Like he just remembered there had been an invasion at all.

He stood abruptly and looked down, stepping back without meeting your eyes when he grabbed his cloak. 

“Get comfortable.” He said, pulling his helmet on.

He just walked out. 

And you stayed where you were, your heart still pounding in your throat. You swallowed thickly and wondered how it managed to go as far as it did. 

What would have happened if he hadn’t remembered?

He should have stayed… Ben told himself that three times on his way to the meeting room, wondering what would happen if he just pivoted back and forgot his responsibilities entirely. 

The mask was back on; gloss black, voice filtered, impassive. No one could see the red in his eyes or how hard he was clenching his jaw. 

He was late, generals already seated around the long table with glowing datapads and reports flashing across projection screens.

Eyes flickered toward him as the door shut behind him. He just straightened his posture as he moved to his seat and stared at the blue light bleeding across the table. He tried to remember what they were discussing.

The Gaunt Division… coaxium theft… breached from the portside…

Every word they said strung together into a rumble in his ears because he wasn’t all there. He wasn’t there at all.

He was still back in that room… your knees touching… eyes wide… lashes dropping into a slow-lidded stare…

He felt like an idiot.

For needing to save you and running into a fire like a man possessed.

For wishing he had stayed for one more second. 

He should’ve just—said something. Anything. He should have touched you first. Let himself at least feel your lips before remembering who he’s supposed to be.

“Seems they bombed the detention wing because that's where most of our troopers are assigned. As you’ll see from the security footage—Commander Ren?”

A dozen heads turn. 

“Your evaluation of the breach?”

He paused.

“Yes.” He straightened. “I’ll review the surveillance and submit a revised assessment.” Not really an answer. He didn't care.

None of them mattered.

He was so distracted he didn’t see the gaze of General Hux, curious and calculating. Tracking every twitch of his hand, every moment he stared at nothing at all.

He noticed how Ben stood too fast when the meeting ended, the legs of the chair scraping angrily and impatiently. 

“You seem distracted, Commander.” Hux said, keeping his eyes on the documents in front of him.

Kylo stopped just before the door, everyone else filing out past his statued stance. 

“No doubt the chaos in the detention wing took a toll.” Hux’s voice was dry, almost bored. “So many troopers lost. So many prisoners.” He looks up. “How… unfortunate.”

Ben turned his head just slightly.

“Curious, though, if one were to survive. Well, That’d be a rather unique situation. Wouldn’t it, Commander Ren?”

Ben said nothing, face stiffening under the mask.

Hux gathered his things and stood. “It’s only a hypothetical.” Hux stops before passing him, only glancing at him as he says, “you seem awfully tense.”

The doors to his quarters opened and you looked up quickly. 

Helmet on and shoulders rigid, Ben streaked in. You straightened on the bench, smoothing a blanket over on your lap. You were still dirty, but washing up felt like an invasion somehow. As if you weren’t alone in his quarters. By his request. You’d taken one of his pillows, and that had felt sneaky enough when you slipped it from his bed. It had felt like you were snooping—which you totally could've—but didn’t for some reason. 

“Hey,” you said in a fragile voice. He didn’t answer. Just walked in, stood there, like he didn't know why he came back. “I didn’t take the bed… figured that might be…” You made a face to suggest a word you couldn’t place. An attempt at humor.

Still, nothing. And the silence pressed.

His back was turned, facing somewhere across the room. 

“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He muttered, more to himself than anything, but you heard it scrape your ears like a blade. 

“What?”

“This was a mistake.”

You let out a bitter and incredulous laugh. “Uh, okay.” You stood, letting the blanket fall off your legs. “You spare me, and fight for me, and literally run into a fire to save me, and you look at me—like, like I'm not just some disposable memory from your past—like I matter to you, and now you come in here? Saying that shit?” He didn’t move. “What is wrong with you?”

He still didn't look at you. His mask made him worse. Made him a wall.

“You won’t even say what happened.” He mumbled.

“Fine. Alright.” You crossed your arms, staring at the back of his stupid helmet. “We almost kissed.”

His shoulder ticked, but he still gave you nothing. 

You continued, breath tight. “I wanted to. And you wanted it too, I know you did, so don’t act like I imagined that.”

He finally reached up and removed the helmet, setting it down on a surface next to him. He turned slowly, face pale, ash smeared across his skin, dried blood at his hairline. His eyes, tired and red. 

“I don't know what I’m doing.” He admitted, voice raw and trembling. 

Your expression softened. “You think I do?”

He exhaled, eyes falling shut. “You scare me.”

“Why?” The statement shocked you.

There was a pause. He looked at his shoes and shrugged, a small movement. “I don't know, I… I don't want you to look away.” He said it so sadly.

You stared into his eyes. Into Ben Solo’s eyes. Not the commander or the weapon. He’s just a man. And he looked wrecked and vulnerable and exhausted.

There was a terrible hope in his voice. 

Tears pricked your eyes, emotion got caught in your throat. 

You stepped forward. Close. Feet just a few inches from each other. 

Your fingers reached for his hands—gloved and clenched in a tight, tense fist. You brought your hands to his wrist but he was stiff.

“Let me see you,” you said softly, a slight wobble in your voice. 

He didn’t pull away, just watched your face as you unfastened the edge of the glove. Slowly, and carefully, your thumb brushed along the bone of his wrist, tracing a path all the way down to the end of his fingers as you pulled the leather down.

His hands were scarred and rough with callouses. 

You took the second glove off, and he let you. You pulled it free, discarding both garments on the floor without care or caution. 

You looked down at his bare hands, running your fingertips down the back of his knuckles to his fingernails, flipping them over and tracing something on his palm. 

“Do you even remember what you look like under all this armour?” You whispered.

His eyes were soft, brows knit like he couldn’t believe it. 

You were so close you felt his breath fan your face, to see the flecks of color in his eyes, how they were glossed over and affectionate. 

“You’re not gone.”

His lips parted like he might say something, but he didn’t.

And you leaned in. Centimeters away from him… and stopped… and waited.

Waited to see if he would run. If he’d flinch. If the impenetrable wall would come back up. 

But it didn’t. Because he leaned in too, so carefully. 

Your parted lips breathed into each other’s mouths, testing intentions. It was like your bodies were weighing the options. Just dancing around the moment, dancing around the question of if you should even close the gap. 

But then he kissed you. 

Gentle and searching. He was stiff and soft and weary.

But, his eyes closed, and he let the breath that was sitting on his chest out through his nose. 

And he kissed you. 

Like he needed you.

His hands left yours to touch your face. His bare fingertips grazed your cheek and he didn’t know something so soft could ever come onto a ship so brutal and cold. He didn’t know he could still want this. 

His thumb pressed against your jaw. It wasn’t rushed, it was deep, and personal. It was like he could breathe again.

You pulled away, but not all at once. Just an inch. And his forehead leaned against yours, fingers grasping at the back of your neck, needing the closeness to stay for only a little longer. 

He opened his eyes slowly and he saw yours. Looking into him, like you forgot you were ever apart. 

The memory of the mask flickered through his mind like broken static. The moment couldn’t hold forever.

“We shouldn’t have—”

“We did.” You breathed.

He exhaled shakily, hands roaming down to your waist just to hold you there. He didn’t want to let you go. You grab them and entangle your fingers loosely. You both lingered in the quiet, breath mingling.

The moment had frayed but not broken. You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes scanning the smudges of soot along his jaw. You smear it away with your own dirty thumb. “You should go get cleaned up. You look like you were dragged through a furnace.” A crooked smile found your lips. “You smell like it too.”

He huffed through his nose and then—blink and you’d miss it—a smile. Small and reluctant, but still there. He didn’t even try to hide it. 

You lifted your head slightly, delighted. 

“Go,” you urged, “I’ll still be here.”

He didn’t move. Just stood there like he wanted to remember this. The look on your face, the sound of your voice, the absence of fear. 

“You first.” He said. Quiet, but certain.

You peel away slowly, shyly looking down at your feet before you turn away toward the sealed door. Barefoot, bruised, swallowed in clothes that were ripped and seared.

His mouth twitched, and it stayed that way for a second before his throat worked a swallow. He watched every step. The swivel of your waist. The way your hand opened the door of the refresher. 

You looked back. “Hate to ask, but… do you have anything I could change into?”

He nodded once. “I’ll leave something by the door.”

“Thanks,” and you couldn’t help but tease him, “try not to give me something with a cape.”

Another one. Another glitch in his stoic face. Not quite a smile, but almost one.

You almost close the door, but you’re pulled to ask him for one more favor. “Don’t disappear again.” No wit or humor. Just a request.

“I won’t.”

And you believe him. 

You turn to close the door, but the buzz from the entrance makes you jump. Ben’s head lifts immediately and he notices your worried expression. 

“Stay in there, and don’t come out until I tell you to.” His voice was low and urgent.

You nodded silently and slipped out of view. 

He looked back to make sure you were really hidden before opening the door. 

“General Hux.”

Hux stepped in with hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable beside the faint amusement in his cheeks. 

“Ren.” He said evenly. “I trust you weren’t resting. Not after an attack of this caliber.” His eyes swept the room, lingering on the pillow and the blanket, but didn’t point it out. He didn’t need to. 

Ben straightened. “I was just about to use the fresher.”

“Hm.” His eyes ticked toward the open door quickly. “Well. A name has come up from the temple records. There has been chatter from intelligence command… said she was one of the padawans there when it fell. Would have been in your same year. Maybe a year behind.” His eyes wandered lazily around the room. “She was one of our prisoners. The same one that you questionably spared before the firing line?”

Ben didn’t move. “I thought she might still be useful. The force is unpredictable.”

“Useful…” Hux turned back toward the door. “Well, in other news, the Resistance outpost at Nakorr has been confirmed. Command has authorized a full eradication. No survivors.” A beat. “They won’t stand a chance.” His eyes flicked once more toward the blanket and pillow behind Ben. “Thought you’d like to know.” Then, a slight smirk. “Unless, of course, your priorities have shifted… Have they, Commander?”

Ben clenched his jaw but he couldn’t help the way his glare cut straight through the General. It burned with something dangerously close to guilt. He couldn’t respond. So he didn’t.

Hux’s smirk persisted. He wasn’t done. “Remind me again, how did we deal with the Resistance outpost in Mardona?”

Ben shifted his gaze downward and gulped, dry and subtly. “It was underground.”

“Civilians mixed in.” Hux interrupts. “Not unlike Nakorr, now.”

Ben glanced sideways. “We collapsed the tunnels. No way out. Buried them.” Voice flat and cold. A performance. 

Hux raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Efficient.” And he turned, satisfied as he took a step toward the door. “Do get some rest.” A final glance, like he knew. “You look like you’ve been through fire.”

And then he was gone behind the sealed door.

Ben hadn’t moved.

Hands clenched tightly.

He didn’t hear you round the corner and step back into the room like a shadow. 

“Buried them?” Your voice was cracked and trembling.

He flinched and his head snapped up. Tears left shining streaks down your cheeks, painted over the ash and soot.

He steps toward you instinctively.

“Don’t,” You bit, stepping back. “Don’t come near me.”

He froze, hands becoming stiff as they lowered back to his sides. 

“Nakorr… That’s the plan now? Another outpost full of communities—families—you’re going to wipe them out? Eradicate them?” 

He clenched his jaw, but he couldn’t lie. “You don’t understand what I’ve done.” 

“No, no I do.” And you snapped. “I knew people there, Ben, they were just people living simple lives. Hard working. Kind. Generous. They gave me food when I was hungry, gave me shelter and necklaces and… there were children. Mothers. Fathers.”

He looked stricken, like you had pierced him in the chest. 

“Did you hear them scream when you collapsed those tunnels?” You stepped closer. “Did you even think about it?”

Ben exhaled sharply. He was drowning. 

“This isn’t what you want to fight for, I know it’s not.”

“You think I get to choose?” He shouted, chest beginning to heave. “I lead armies, I build Weapons, I’ve slaughtered—”

“Then stop!” You begged, striding closer to him, so he’d look you in the eye. “Come with me. Right now. We’ll leave. There are ships on the lower dock, I can get us to the Outer Rim. No one would question you if you brought me down there. You and I—We can make it before anyone notices.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and wrecked. “You don’t want this war. Come with me.”

He pinched his face together and looked away. “They won’t want me.”

“What?” You blink.

He shook his head. “The Resistance. After everything I’ve done? They’d only see what I am—”

“—They’ll see what I see.”

You made him pause. And you reached for him again, slower this time. Your fingers brushed his chest, you rested your palm there, just over his heart. His breath caught and you both looked at each other. Glossy eyes. 

“I still see you.” You whispered. You stepped closer until the warmth from his body pressed against yours. Until he could feel your breath again. Your other hand curled lightly around the side of his neck, brushing his hair through your fingers. “You don’t have to keep pretending he’s gone.”

He exhaled a slow and aching sound, leaning into your touch, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“Yes. I do.”

Your fingers curled just slightly against his chest as you felt his heartbeat quicken. Your nose brushed his, a nervous but steady breath, his hand lifting to your waist—grasping at it a little rougher than he probably meant to. Your eyes flicker up to see his eyes hooded, focused on your lips. 

I know you’re still in there, Ben.

He looked up at the echo of your thought, hearing it in his own head. And he gave you a look, into you, one that said everything you had wanted to hear.

Yes, I am.

And you kissed him.

He pulled you closer, his other hand holding your cheek, fingers trembling like he was afraid you’d disappear. He needed to feel your skin. His thumb rubbed at the bone at your hip and he held you tightly. But you held him tighter. Wordless longing.

Your hand snaked all the way around the back of his neck, leaving no room between your bodies to question how much you believed him.

His lips were cracked and rough and unloved for years, but so real. And here you were, tasting them for the second time today, showing him how much more he deserved. 

All this power never gave him something that mattered. Nothing he wanted to hold close like this. Nothing he could get lost in this. It’s like this moment had lived inside of him for years without realizing it. You had been there, in the back of his head, at every decision, regret, every ache he felt and shoved down deeper. 

It was a kiss. Something he wasn’t meant to have, but he took it gladly. He was showing himself to you, letting his emotions take over his body, allowing himself to act in desperation for closeness. 

When he pulled back, it was gentle, his forehead resting against yours with closed eyes, memorizing the feeling once more. 

He opened them gently, and they were clear. It was just a whisper, like he was scared for anyone else to hear him. 

“I’ll go with you.” 

Said like it broke him.

But he said it anyway.

Note: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I appreciate any interaction, or even just you reading and enjoying it silently. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read my stuff, I'm excited to write the next part!

[dani-onearth]

Andor makes me want to write a Star Wars fanfiction but it's so scary. What if I write "Glup Shitto was sitting on the balcony, drinking coffee and reading his favourite book", but someone comments "didn't you mean he was drinking glop-goppy and reading a holo-journal? 🤨" so I open wookiepedia to check it out and it turns out that they also never invented balconies in the star wars universe and Glup Shitto can't read because of the freak accident he suffered in the episode 10 of the 2024 show "Jar-Jar and Babu Frik". What then.

[dani-onearth]

Star Wars - Harrison Ford , Carrie Fisher, and Mark Hamill

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Obi-Wan being sexy as hell during lightsaber duels ( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و ♡

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Harrison Ford as Han Solo in The Empire Strikes Back

[dani-onearth]

Masterlist

Kylo Ren

Merciful and Misnamed: You're his prisoner now, and he doesn't know how to look at you without becoming someone he swore he killed. You're still here and he thinks he saved you but the silence between you is thick with old affection and love. How do you mourn someone that's standing right there?

Merciful and Misnamed: [Part Two]: Power was supposed to erase you from his mind, but you're still here, looking at him like the boy he used to be. You were supposed to hate him enough that he could live with it, but you whispered his name like you never stopped saying it. And he can't stop hearing it. Merciful and Misnamed: [Part Three]: Each time he saves you, his mask cracks a little more. And now, you really saw him. And he let you. Maybe the memory of who he was wasn't dead like he had insisted, just buried, needing a gentle hand to help him come back up to the surface.

[dani-onearth]

How Bad Do You Want Me? - Kylo Ren x ResistancePilot!Reader

Kylo Ren x ResistancePilot!Reader

Warnings: NSFW (PIV Sex, unprotected sex, crying during sex lol), Banter, sassy Kylo Ren, sassy Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Before Kylo Ren was Kylo Ren, he was a padawan with you. Before you were a Resistance Pilot, you were a padawan with Kylo Ren. Now, several years later, you've found yourself in the clutches of the First Order, and, of course, Kylo himself.

A/N: May the Fourth be with you! I decided to celebrate my lifelong love for this series by writing some smut lol, as one does. In case you missed it, I created a sideblog (@rainbow-gelpen) so if you wanna see some non-writing shenanigans from me, head on over there for some fun. Otherwise, enjoy the oneshot <3

The room is cold, that is the first thing you note as you come to your senses. When you open your eyes, everything begins to come together in choppy, drawn-out scenes. 

The village, full and dark. The people, afraid and yelling. 

Lor San Tekka, with his small smirk.

Kylo Ren, lightsaber in hand. 

You startle at the image of him and jerk against the restraints on the interrogation chair. You look around the room. No Stormtroopers are in-sight, and you know immediately that this must be intentional. Stormtroopers are so small-minded, so easily manipulated . . . And, after all, Kylo Ren knows that you are a Force-user. 

Yes, he knows you could have Forced your way through Stormtroopers and escaped out of the base with, most likely, very little effort. Your fists clench at the knowledge, already beginning to feel angry with him. You wonder briefly, foolishly, if generals and officers will be sent in soon to try and force the information out of you. And then, you remember who you are dealing with. 

Kylo Ren will want to get it out of you himself. As, of course, a testament to the fact that he simply can. As proof that he knew you once and knows you still. If you know a person long ago – knew every part of them – that does not necessarily fade with time, does it? Perhaps bits and pieces go, but not whole parts. Kylo Ren is still Ben Solo. Ben Solo is still Kylo Ren. 

You stare at the door, willing it to open, daring it to open. You can feel his energy. It is getting closer. He’s so angry, so sad. You can sense it. Gods, you feel sick knowing just how infected he is. You wonder now, just as you have wondered everyday since he burned down the Temple you once shared, if there was ever anything to be done for him, and if you could have been the one to save him from himself. 

You shake your head. He didn’t want saving, he wanted power, and power is what he received. If it meant losing you, he didn’t care, did he?

. . . Did he?

Footsteps come pounding towards you. You still recognize the cadence even after all this time, after all these changes. You know who it is, and you set your eyes on the door again. The durasteel door slides open with a soft hiss, and there he is. Your jaw clenches, standing tall as the door slams down shut again. Kylo stands there for a moment. 

“It is really you,” he says. You glare at him. Anger swells in your chest, that very same anger that you carried with you all that time ago as you watched the Jedi Temple burn down. You remember looking for him, clawing through pieces of wreckage as you searched and called for him. And then there it was, his hand on your shoulder, and you can still remember how the relief felt when it coursed through you.

And yes, you can still remember the betrayal you felt when you realized what he had done. 

You hate that he still has this hold over you, this grip on your heart, your mind. Has nothing changed? Has time not cast its spell? Here he is in his dark clothes – a leather tunic, leather trousers, boots, a cape, a mask, gloves – and still a part of you feels like it has finally come home. 

“I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on-board,” Kylo speaks again. You don’t stop glaring. If this is the last thing you’ll ever do, you won’t go down easily. You’ll fight him, you’ll shame him, you’ll combat every remark. You owe him nothing, he owes you everything. 

You could have killed him, afterall. After you’d seen exactly what he had done to the Temple, to your fellow Padawans. People were yelling for you to stop him, to trap him, and you . . . Just let him go. You wonder sometimes, even now, how everything may have played out if you had sliced his leg or stalled him or whipped out your own lightsaber. 

There could be peace across the galaxy today if you had not loved him more than the future of your fellow civilians. 

He looks so strong, so powerful. You remember when he was younger, when his muscles weren’t quite so large and his shoulders weren’t so broad. You wonder what he looks like. Is he scarred? Mutilated beyond recognition? Is that why he wears this mask?

“You’re a coward,” you snarl suddenly, unable to stop yourself. Kylo crouches. You can sense the peculiar look on his face from beneath the mask. “Hiding behind a mask. You don’t even have the guts to look at me with your eyes . . . Do you?”

Hesitation. You sense it from him. How odd. 

Then, his hands are lifting and settling at the sides of the mask. He presses buttons at the side, and it hisses as the facepiece unlocks and lifts. Kylo pulls the mask off as he stands once more. He sets it aside, then looks upon you. 

Oh. 

Oh.

This is the face of someone worth losing everything over.

His eyes are angry. His brows are thick. His nose is prominent, his lips are plush. Moles and freckles dot his pale skin. His hair is longer now than it was years ago, but still wavy. Still curled at the ends. It takes everything in you not to let the emotions swell. Perhaps this will prove to be more difficult than you thought. 

Kylo steps forward, and you don’t dare look away. 

“I know the old man gave it to you,” Kylo says. “The map. Tell me where it is.”

You shake your head. 

“You of all people should know that I’m not that easy,” you tell him. The corner of his mouth twitches. You remember the summer you spent with him, drunk in love under the bright stars. Oh, the smiles he’d give you. This is nothing in comparison. 

“Don’t make me fight for it,” Kylo says. He steps forward again. “We both know I’m stronger. I can take whatever I want.”

Your faces are so close. Your hands are clenched into fists, still. You are aching to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. You look at him and wonder how exactly he plans to take this information from you. The truth is that the map is far away from here by now, and on its way to the Resistance with your BB unit. 

You have nothing for him. Even if he finds out about the droid, Kylo and his people will never beat it to the base. Perhaps you are to die tonight at the hands of Kylo Ren. What a heroic way to go. What a beautiful last face to see. 

Kylo brings a large, gloved hand up to the side of your face, not touching you but nearly doing so. The Force hums, then. You grunt as you throw up your mental walls, fighting to keep him out. 

“You don’t h-have to do this,” you breathe softly, straining against the pain. Kylo says nothing, instead pushing harder. You look away from him, and because you do this, you miss the way his bottom lip quivers briefly. He feels it – everything you’ve carried with you all this time.

“You’re so angry,” he says quietly, almost to himself. You shake your head. 

“I-I’ve been captured by your s-slaves,” you quip.

“No,” comes his firm voice. “You’re angry because of what I did at the Temple. Even now, it’s in here.”

“You sound surprised,” you grunt, glaring at him again. His eyes meet yours. “I loved you.”

“You loved what I stood for.”

“I. Loved. You,” you snarl. You shake against the restraints. “Let me out of this wretched thing, face me properly. Or are you too afraid of what I can do?”

Kylo pulls out of your mind. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as he stares at you momentarily. Then, he reaches forward and undoes the cuffs of the interrogation chair. You lunge at him immediately, shoving him so hard that he stumbles back.

You raise your hand to smack him, and he catches your wrists in both of his hands. You knee him in the crotch instead. Kylo grunts, then spins you around and pins you against the wall with his entire firm body pressed against yours. You struggle. 

“Get off of me.”

“I told you you were angry,” Kylo says, as if to prove a point.

“Get off.”

“Where is the map?”

“I don’t know.”

Kylo adjusts your wrists so that he’s holding them both in one hand, then brings his other hand up to rest on your throat. Your breath catches. 

“Where . . . is it?”

“I don’t know,” You say again, softly this time. Kylo hums, and you feel the energy shifting. Your heart begins to pound. Kylo’s body is hot against yours. You tip your head back to rest against his shoulder. An olive branch. A dove. An offer. His hand slides down from your throat to your left breast. You nearly moan at the feeling – how long have you waited for this? How many nights have you laid awake thinking of this exact scenario? Wondering how how hands would feel on your chest, on your hips, on your–

“You want this,” Kylo says as he squeezes your breast. You sigh. 

“I never said I didn’t,” you remark. He leans forward and presses his face against your shoulder, then inhales your scent deeply. 

“If you’re gonna take me, then do it,” you say breathily. 

“Have you no patience?”

“Clearly not,” you tell him. You feel his erection pressing against you, and you chuckle. “Clearly you don’t, either.”

Kylo turns you around so that he can look at you. You reach up to touch him, running your hand along his cheek. He seems to lean into your touch, and this brings you an odd sense of satisfaction. He still wants you, still wants this.

“Take all this shit off,” you tell him firmly, tugging at his tunic. He says your name, and you shake your head. “I don’t care. Take it off. If you’re gonna kill me over this map, I want to see you one last time.”

You’ve always held your head high, but the truth is that Kylo Ren has haunted you from the moment he left the Temple, lightsaber in-hand. Life is . . . Life is a waiting game now. Wondering how much time you have left, how much time you’ve wasted. But now, here? You know how it could end, and Kylo Ren is taking off his cape and his tunic and his undershirt, and you surge forward to grab a handful of his hair and kiss him. 

He gasps against your lips but you only press against him harder. The Force seems to hum around the two of you. Two powerhouses together only means ultimate power, and as Kylo pulls your body forward and yanks at your clothes, you begin to realize that perhaps you should have joined him all those years ago. 

It certainly would’ve made life much easier for you.

Kylo shreds your shirt and throws its remnants aside before reaching around to unclip your undergarment. You let him. He kisses you again, and you feel it again – The Force’s strong presence. 

You lean back against the wall, and Kylo tugs down your pants eagerly, lips parted and cheeks flushed. What an incredible privilege it is to see him in this way again. You wonder how long it has been for him.

You run your hands along his strong arms – which are much larger than they were the last time you had him like this – and then meet his eyes. 

“Please,” you breathe. Kylo nods, reaching down to pull his erection free from his trousers. 

“I know,” he says. The emotion from earlier, you feel it finally. Tears fill your eyes as you part your legs for him, bringing one of them up to hook around his hip. Kylo holds the side of your face as a tear escapes you. 

You cling to him, wrapping your arms around him in an attempt to bring yourself even closer yet. He enters you, and you moan as he fills you up. Your grip on him tightens. You’ve missed this – you’ve needed it for Gods know how long. Kylo begins to piston his hips, fucking into you, and you groan as he holds you up against the wall. 

“Fuck,” he grunts. You moan. 

“Faster,” you sob, holding onto his hair, his shoulder. “F-Faster.”

“I’m trying,” Kylo says, rocking his hips back and forth. You sigh as he pleases you. His cock feels magical, like something that was made for you and only for you. You imagine Kylo at brothels and inns with random women, and it makes you hate him. How dare he be with anyone but you. How dare he even consider it.

“Tell me again,” Kylo says. “W-What you said earlier.”

You moan, mind foggy with lust. 

“Which thing?” you ask. 

“You know.”

You ponder for a moment, then it clicks. You moan. 

“I loved you,” you breathe, a lump in your throat. “I did. I-I swear it.”

Kylo nods, his eyes meeting yours. 

“I know,” he breathes. You yank on his hair. 

“I hate you, now.”

“I know that, too.”

Your chest is hot and filled with unsaid words of affection. Kylo isn’t ready for them, you know that. He may never be. He’s so angry, so full of hate. You can hardly believe he’s doing this with you at all. How will he be when it is over? What will he do to you?

“I hate you for leaving me,” you breathe. Your orgasm is swelling within you, and you know that Kylo is close, too. 

“You should have joined me,” Kylo says. You cry out. 

“Shut up,” you tell him. He says your name as if it’s a prayer. You shake your head. “Don’t. Don’t. Just make me cum.”

Kylo nods. For once, he has nothing to say, nothing to add. He knows that your time – yours and his – has passed. Destinies have been selected for each of you on opposite sides of this war, and when he is finished with this, he will have to act as if none of it meant anything at all. You’re so angry with him, and he’s so loyal to Snoke – none of it would ever work even if you tried.

But at least you have this. At least you have now.

“I’m close,” Kylo breathes. You nod.

“Me, too,” you say. He pounds into you once, twice, three more times, and he’s moaning your name against your shoulder. You groan at the sound of it. You revel in it, in his desperation, his neediness. You shall never have it again. 

He fills you up just like he used to, and you sigh softly as you reach your own peak. His gloved hand travels down to rub your throbbing clit, and when he does, you moan and buck your hips. 

“F-Fuck . . .” you sigh. Kylo takes you through it, and when it’s all over, he pulls out slowly. You lower your leg and reach for your pants. Kylo takes a small step back, looking at you momentarily before redressing. You let out a soft, shaky breath as you do the same. 

Kylo looks at you once he’s fully clothed, watching you finish getting dressed. 

“Tell me where the map is so I can let you go,” he says. You look at him as you tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. Your heart breaks in your chest. His does, too. You both know that this is not the ending that you wanted. 

“I can’t,” you say. He says your name. You shake your head. “I made promises, Kylo.” Feeling weak and foolish, Kylo rebinds you to the interrogation chair. You don’t fight him. He opens his mouth to speak, then reaches for his mask and leaves without another word.

Tagging my Star Wars-loving besties: @mrs-gucci @safarigirlsp @babbushka

(Dividers by saradika-graphics)

rynwritesstuff, 2025

[dani-onearth]

Mark Hamill and Peter Mayhew

[dani-onearth]

Two months.

It had been exactly two months since you fled the First Order, leaving behind your life as Apprentice beneath Commander Ren.

You left without any trace or explanation. Ren assumed you left because you didn’t think anyone would care; that they could track down another dark side loving Force-user with ease. He worried that maybe, you thought you were disposable.

It’s not like the lingering glances or touches between you and your Master meant anything anyway — it was all just business. Neither of you had time for feelings or any of that soft shit.

He assumed you’d think he wouldn’t care if you left. That if anything, he’d probably be relieved. That he could find someone older, stronger, more serious about being in one of the most sought after positions in the galaxy.

Kylo was losing his fucking mind, actually.

The worst part was that he could feel you. Everywhere. Not just in the Force signature you’d left behind that lingered in the cold, metal hallways of the Supremacy, or in your former quarters (the same quarters he now only visits once a day, sometimes twice), but he could feel you, out there, running about.

Driving him utterly insane.

He replayed every little conversation in his head, every moment you’d spent together: training sessions, meditations, meal times, quiet moments in cockpits during missions. Trying to piece together every memory, trying to figure out exactly when and how he screwed up.

What he did — or didn’t do — to keep you.

Losing you made Kylo realize how deeply he actually felt about you. The sound of your voice that he felt soothed by, the way your black clothes hugged your body in a manner that would make his pants feel uncomfortably tight, how graceful and calculative your combat skills looked, both in training and actual fights.

He missed the warmth of your scent. The softness of your hair. Those beautiful fucking eyes. Your little quirks, your sense of humor, your confidence, your occasional stubbornness, your persistence.

Gods, he missed you. You haunted his dreams, interrupted his meditation sessions, caused a tightness in his chest that hasn’t disappeared since the day you were suddenly gone.

As if you were never here to begin with.

Kylo’s lip trembled, tears pricking at his hazel eyes as he sat in his quarters after a particularly rough day of training with the Knights. He shook his head, shoving his feelings aside, including the everlasting urge to go sit in your old quarters across the hall and try to smell the barely-there scent of your perfume. He still hasn’t let the cleaning droids come near that room.

Was he….grieving you?

Should he go looking for you? Maybe he could coax you back-

“Why is everyone being a dick to me today?”

Your voice suddenly filled his quarters, pulling him from his daze, the metal door sliding shut behind you. Kylo blinked, tense as ever, quickly rising from his seat and adjusting himself. His eyes were wide, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted.

“I get it, I took a little leave to visit my family, but I really needed it, and I’m glad I did it. Two months without my datapad was really refreshing too. It’s not my fault everyone else here is married to their job.”

Kylo cleared his throat, confused as all hell.

“Apprentice-“

“Especially Hux! He looked at me like I was a ghost. I get that we aren’t on the greatest terms, but he could’ve at least acknowledged me with a nicety.”

“APPRENTICE.”

Your lips snapped shut, eyes widening at your Master’s stern, husky voice. The extra deep version that you only heard when he was at his breaking point.

“What, Kylo?”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“…On vacation? I sent everyone notice like three weeks before I left. And the night before…?”

“Nobody knew you went on vacation.”

“But Officer Mitaka told me to have fun before I left.”

A beat of silence. A creak of leather in Kylo’s gloved hands, now squeezing into big fists. Tight, trembling fists.

“Which database did you forward the notice to?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Eleven. I usually message in eleven.”

“Highest ranking officials message in database thirteen, Apprentice.”

Your pupils dilate, lips parting. “Fuck, is that why none of you guys reacted to the pictures I sent?”

Kylo didn’t know whether he wanted to kill you, or take you right then and there. Irritation and relief pulsed through his body simultaneously as he took in slow breaths of frustration. He was fucking pissed.

And so, so fucking happy.

You were here.

You never really left.

Kylo pulled his lips into his mouth, eyes darkening before he responded. “Medbay. Now. Let’s go.”

“Why?”

“I’m getting you tagged, Apprentice.”

[dani-onearth]

Dog he’s so boyfriend 😭😭😭

Kylo is the type to let you fall asleep on him wherever he is. Usually, you find yourself most comfortable in his quarters.

Between the hum of the ship and his deep voice as he discusses plans and problems, you find yourself drifting quickly.

You rest of your head on his comforter, blinking slowly at him as he paces around his bedroom.

When he notices you, he's quick to sit down beside you on the bed, gently lifting your head to let you rest in his lap before you're completely passed out.

"Keep talking..." you mumble tiredly, reaching for one of his gloved hands to bring to the top of your head.

He does as you say – going into the details of issues and plans he has as he strokes his hand over your hair, stopping to scratch at your scalp and massage the base of your neck.

You let out little hums ever so often before sleep overtakes you completely.

Kylo stays there until you wake up.

[dani-onearth]

Merciful & Misnamed [2]

Kylo Ren x fem reader

[Part One] - Part Two - [Part Three] Summary: Power was supposed to erase you from his mind, but you're still here, looking at him like the boy he used to be. You were supposed to hate him enough that he could live with it, but you whispered his name like you never stopped saying it. And he can't stop hearing it. Warnings: More angst! Strong language. Word Count: 4.37k Authors note: Read part one for context! I think you could read this (or part one) as a standalone fic, but reading them together would make for a much more nuanced story. Thank you to everyone who read my first one, and thank you to everyone who is here now. This has been so much fun. I'm glad I'm writing again!

The metal slab in your cell was starting to create a kink in your neck. You’d been using your jacket as a pillow and you think you would rather have a rock. If only you had appreciated those nights on the Resistance ship when you drew the short straw to sleep in the booth. No one would trade with you, not even for half of a dinner ration. It was lumpy and old, itchy and stained... but what you wouldn’t give for a booth right now.

This slab was too cold. The air was too dry. You were too thirsty. 

Just as you found a comfortable position and your mind was drifting off, the loud buzz from the door had you sit up. There stood a stormtrooper with restraints. He didn’t seem the type to respond well if you asked him for five more minutes. So you dragged your feet over to him and held out your hands. A real model prisoner. 

You didn’t even ask where you were going as you stepped down the same sterile hallway with humming lights. Your breath hitched as you passed the execution hall, even after you’d been taken past it. 

You approach familiar doors. You’d been brought here on your first day for interrogation. They slide open the same way and the room is as sterile as you remember it. Empty, save for the single restraint chair bolted to the middle of the floor and a figure standing just beyond it, cloaked in black.

Kylo Ren doesn’t move when the guards bring you in and seal you into the magnetic cuffs. The guards leave promptly, like they had been warned not to stick around. 

“You’re late.” He spoke, like you had a choice. 

You rolled your eyes. “Traffic.”

He turns, slowly approaching you. His steps echo, but he stays far enough.

“I was told you were uncooperative when they brought you in.”

You can only sneer. “I didn’t realize you were looking for cooperation, I thought this was a kidnapping.”

He takes a couple steps forward. “Your squad was larger than our intel suggested. I’m looking for information.”

You laugh at him, letting it cut a little louder than it really needed to. “Why? Planning to wipe out another outpost so you can sleep better in your giant sad-boy helmet?”

“They’ll die either way. You can spare them unnecessary pain. Or not. It makes no difference to me.”

“I think it does make a difference.” You lean forward as far as the restraints will let you, shoulders tense against the hold. “Because if it didn’t, I wouldn’t be here locked up in your little torture recliner. Have you run out of prisoners?”

His helmet shifts. “I requested you.”

“You asked for me personally. That’s cute.” You lay back, looking away from him in indifference, pushing a dry laugh from your throat.

But he steps close. Too controlled. His boots dragged across the floor. “You talk like you know me.” His words slide across your skin.

“I did.”

A pause, and the air flickered. “He’s dead.”

You don’t flinch. You watch his reflection in the steel wall instead of the void where his face should be. “Don’t act like I don’t know what's under all that metal. I think you forgot… I can feel you.”

He stills.

“Not the way people on this ship can. I’m not one of your soldiers who trip over themselves trying to avoid eye contact. I can really feel you. Through whatever’s still tethered between us.” His shoulder ticks and the room gets smaller. He’s quiet. And you look directly at him now. “I know why I’m here, and it’s not because I have intel you don’t already know. I still take up space in your head. I still feel like something you never managed to bury.” He moves again, circling like a predator. “You’re not here for answers, Kylo. You’re trying to shove me in a box to label me as your enemy so you can pretend I was never more than that.”

His gloved hands curl at his side. “You were never more than that.”

The words felt like a slap to the face, but you didnt let it show. You shake your head. “I didn’t think of you as a liar.”

He crosses the last few feet in long, quick, dangerous strides. He loomed over you now and the shadow of him swallowed your chair and most of your breath with it. “Don’t confuse my patience for affection. You are here because I allowed it. You aren’t tethered to me—you’re restrained to a chair. You think you’re clever but I could tear your mind apart with one breath.” He leans down, his voice just a rattling mechanical whisper in your ear. “I’m going to get what I need from you.”

You raised your head up, getting as close to his mask as you could without touching it. “No.”

You could feel his breath through the vents of his mask. "You think you're strong enough to resist me? I’ll take what I want.” A quiet rage in every syllable. 

“You can try.”

His gloved hand raises and he takes a single step back; you brace yourself. It hovered just in front of your temple, the air between you buzzed. The pressure coiled around your mind, starting behind your eyes and scratching at your thoughts like claws. You grit your teeth, jaw clenched against the invasion. 

Flashes, names, your squad, your missions, the maps, the meetings… All of it shoved to the front of your brain against your will and your whole body tensed. But you shoved it back behind a locked door and wrapped barbed wire around them. 

He faltered, stumbled. Then, he grunted, deep and low, and reached even harder as he tried to break the dam. Your head rang as you screamed out, arms shaking in the restraints. 

“Tell me what I want to know.” 

“You think this proves you’re stronger?” You gasped out the words, voice cracking in restraint. “You're not looking for answers. You just want to win.”

His fingers twitched. “I already have.” You locked eyes with him and your anger twisted sharply into grief. “You’re here. In my chains. In my hands.”

You held the line as best you could. Your face contorted. You could feel him digging and pulling at every thread and it was then you decided to let go. 

Just a single thread. One disobedient memory you would allow to unspool.

The large hand that held yours was clammy in this humidity, but you felt the coolness of the lake nearby. You were almost there. Your stifled giggles meshed with his, running across roots and hills, quickly looking behind you in case you two were seen running off like school children. You two slipped through the shadows, feeling electric, barefoot across damp grass. He kept his pace beside you, too tall for stealth, shoulders brushing as you dipped under branches and vaulted over logs.

The lake broke through the trees; the secret spot was entirely still until you got closer. It glowed from beneath. A cool cyan light rippled under the surface. Veins in glass. Thin lily-like flowers floated along the shore. You both stopped, gasping for air, cheeks flushed and skin dewy with sweat.

Ben's hand yanked yours before you could even think about it, running straight for the water.

You weren’t supposed to. It was freezing, but you didn’t care and neither did he. His grin turned boyish as he splashed you, chased you in circles, and you yelped when he pulled you in. You played and let your mind go blank. Jedi didn’t get to be children and you had forgotten how good it felt to be weightless.

You laughed when he dove under, his dark hair plastered to his face when he came back up. You smiled with your whole face and he thought—Stars, I’m done for.

When you both collapsed on the mossy bank, soaked and breathless, your arms touched. Neither of you moved. He listened to your breathing and you pretended not to watch his lips. The moonlight caught the curve of his jaw and slivered across his cheek. His soaked tunic clung to his chest. His rapid pulse was visible in his neck. This wasn’t in the training. Not meditation or sparring or study… you weren't supposed to feel this. You weren’t supposed to crave the closeness of somebody... but he was so warm and all you could think about was how his hands pulled at your waist underwater.

Ben made you dizzy.

He shifted first. Just a few inches, but your heart tried not to leap out of your chest. The Force had always hummed softly between you two, but now it was swelling. It was thick and charged and it pulled at you. It was tangling, feeding off the proximity. It was changing. Even the brush of his fingers against yours felt like static. He watched your eyes, your mouth, the rise and fall of your chest. You made him nervous.

You, of all people. Someone who had always looked at him like he was just a person—not Solo’s kid, not a Skywalker, not a name in someone else's brooding shadow.

And over the rustle of trees, the chirps of the forest, the rhythm of the water reaching the shore, there was a low whisper. His voice barely audible, like he was telling you a secret.

“I’m in love.”

You didn’t ask with who.

You didn’t have to.

The moss beneath your back turned to cold metal. The warmth faded and the night vanished. The stars. The glow. His voice. You blinked at the tall ceilings of the enclosed room, the memory still clinging to your skin so much you would swear your clothes were still damp.

But Kylo Ren was standing much further away then you remember—rigid and silent, like a statue carved to represent fury. So you didn’t look at him. It would make it harder to pretend like showing him that didn’t gut you.

Then, something in the air snapped. He moved so fast that the force shuddered around him. The chair behind him rattled and sparks flew from wires in the wall. “You think that was funny?”

You didn’t answer.

“I should kill you for that.” He said, keeping more of a distance than before. A more intimidating stance took over his posture.

Your voice faltered, but your eyes were sharp, even if they were lined with tears. “But you won't.”

The room pulsed with power. For a moment, you thought he’d crush the walls in on you both. 

“GUARDS.” The word cracked like thunder and the doors opened quickly, boots stomped in but he wouldn’t take his eyes off of you. “Get her out of my sight.”

They unclipped your restraints and dragged you toward the door, but you caught a final glimpse at him—shoulders back, shaking, and something ugly that was burning his posture—and then the door shut. Behind it; a crash. Metal tearing. Something shattering.

Kylo Ren shattering.

The moment the cell door closes, all that's left with you is the dim hum of the ship and a hollow ache in your ribs. You sink down on the metal slab and don’t even think about the stiffness of it. The cold doesn’t faze you. You barely notice it right now. 

The restraints had left a ring around your wrists—raw and pink. An open wound hand formed by the knuckle of your wrists, right where the bone juts out beneath the skin. The angry gash has blood already crusted under the torn seam of your sleeve, and you peel the fabric back just enough to look at it.

Hours drag by in silence, each one stretching longer than the last. Your nightly ration clatters through the slot, breaking the monotony with the hollow wrinkle of the wrapping. You stare at it, untouched, for what could be another hour, maybe more. 

You’re hungry, you just don't want to move. You’re tired, but you refuse to close your eyes. Not if it means seeing him behind your eyelids. Ben… the boy who once told you he was in love while his fingers tangled with yours. 

So what if you're feeling sorry for yourself? You’ve got nothing but time. 

The lights above you hum, and somewhere far off, you know it's him. He’s getting closer to you. Confirmed when the cell door slides open and he walks in like he owns the place.

No helmet. 

Ben Solo stands in your cell, shoulders tense and assertive. He was here to prove a point. 

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His voice is low and poisonous. “You had no right showing me that.” 

He looked down on you as you still lay flat on the slab. “You should've stayed out of my head, then.”

He steps closer, now standing above you, nostrils flaring. “That night wasn’t yours to use against me.”

“That night was ours.”

He turns away, pacing a sharp line. His hands curled so sharply the leather moaned. “You think I wanted to see that again? You think I wanted to remember something that never should've happened?”

“No, but I think you needed to.” You sat up quickly, watching him unravel as the heat rolled off of him in waves of anger. Maybe it was confusion. Either way, he was boiling under this memory, footsteps tracking tension in his march.

“Don’t pretend this was for me.”

“You were the one who came into my head looking for something.” You tutted forward, antagonizing him.

“You weaponized it. You used it. Something real—something I—” But he doesn't finish the sentence. His eyes just flash, his jaw tightens, his pacing stops and his stance faces you. “Ben is dead.”

“Yeah.” You murmur. “You mentioned that.”

His breath shifts like the air around you and you feel a spark of that barely-contained Force power again. It was humming in your sternum like a second heartbeat; you felt the instinct clawing up his throat. 

“Stop acting like you know what I am,” he snaps. “You have no idea anymore. I didn't mean it. I never meant it"

"You can't just say that and make it true."

"Stop telling me how to feel." He almost screamed.

“I can't make you feel anything.” You say quieter, taking one step toward him. “That part’s on you, Ben.” You spit the name out, like you didn't want it to go to waste. 

He moves fast. Too fast for a regular man, until he lands right in front of you. Instinctively, you stumble back a step or two, but hold your ground nonetheless. With his breath on your face, eyes looming down into yours, you feel the rage shake through him, pulsing under all that armor. You don’t know what he wants to say, it’s caught in his throat. And the silence stretches. Your pulse thuds in your ears.

And when he finally speaks, it sounds too bare, too sudden, slipping out of a whisper he couldn’t hold back. “I hate what you do to me.”

Your breath catches and you watch his eyes lighten for a second. The force between you is a wire now—taut, soaked in heat and resistance, pulling you in ways you don’t understand anymore. You can feel his regret. His shame. How hard he’s fighting not to shut it all off.

But if nothing else, Ben is stubborn. So he steps back, leaving you to realize how cold the room feels again. His eyes flickered down and he sees your wrist. The broken skin split open and beginning to scab

“What is that?” His voice cut through the silent tension. “From earlier? You didn’t say anything.”

You look away. “Didn’t realize you were offering prisoners medical courtesy.”

He was still staring at it and his brows furrowed. His anger doesn’t vanish, but instead mutates into sourness. You expect him to turn away, storm off with his cape treading behind him with the slam of the cell door—but he takes a step back, looking at you like you had hit him. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, suddenly exhausted.

He doesn't answer, but you feel it. The part of him that he swears is dead, and he’s terrified that he was wrong. It made you want to cry.

Your mouth opens, but you didn’t even know what you were about to say. Something cruel, something soft… which side of you is even winning anymore? Your throat tightens before anything comes out and he turns away.

Without a word, without a final threat, he’s gone. Silence and a sharp closing door, leaving you with just the sound of your own breathing. But something of him remains locked in there with you as you stare at the spot where he stood moments ago, still braced for the next blow, the next sharp word, the next crack in his voice that makes you question who you’re really fighting. 

You sink back slowly down the cold wall, but not because you’re tired—though you are— but you are just so unsteady. Everything inside you is making you feel claustrophobic, like you need to tear the skin right off your body. You press the palms of your hands to the cool floor to ground yourself, but your bleeding hand trembles. It stings, and you close your eyes and tip your head back, swallowing the sound rising in your chest. It stings that you saw him. Ben. The furious boy you once knew to place a flower behind your ear. You mourned him and hated that you wished he was mourning you too.

You don’t even know what you were trying to accomplish when you spoke to him the way you did. To hurt him? Reach him? Prove you could still get under his skin? It felt like yours had been peeled back and exposed in front of him. Maybe it was all of it at once, mixed up in a muddy concoction. You’re unsure of where your defiance ends and where your grief begins and your knees curl in, the motion attempting to protect you against everything that’s happened.

Then the doors open. It’s not him.

It’s a medic, eyes glued to their tablet and the fresh blood on your wrist. They help you stand and you follow without a word, body aching with exhaustion. You’re led to the medbay in silence.

It smelled sterile, but there are sheets on this cot. Cushioned under a fluorescent light, and you were allowed to lie down on it. They fix your wrist, take your vitals, and offer you water. You drink and even thank them. Before they are finished with you, your eyes had gotten heavy.

The bandage is snug around your wrist. The medic says something, maybe about your vitals, or dosage, but it just swims past your ears and you sink into the cots padding. The hum of the medbay is steady, like breathing. The brightness of the lights behind your lids are replaced by something softer... moonlight. You can almost hear it. The bubbles of laughter in your head bleeds into an echo of another sound. Water lapping against your torso.

In the cold corridor, just outside, polished boots slow to a stop. He doesn't ask for a report. The medic steps out and see’s him already standing there, still in all black, no mask. 

“Her wound has been taken care of.” The medic says. “We will return her to her cell immediately, sir.”

“No,” he says calmly, maybe even softly before he fixes his tone. “She needs to be well rested before further interrogation.”

That didn't make sense and he knew it. What kind of prisoner gets treated in the enemies clinic for a cut? Allowed a pillow and time to sleep on it?

“Of course, sir.” The medic excuses themselves anyway, leaving Kylo with the steady pulse of the machinery next to the slow rhythm of your resting breath. 

He’s just inside, far, but just far enough that he can see your face clearly. Your brows relaxed in your sleep, lashes places against your cheeks. The cot is too small and the light was too harsh and the bandage was too fresh. 

He should leave. 

There’s no logic in staying.

But his feet won’t move.

You shift slightly, his eyes following each flicker of movement—studying the curve of your shoulder, the softness of your hand, the bruise along your collarbone where the restraints had caught you too roughly. He had put those there.

She’s a liability. A threat to his power. A living part of his past he has to silence.

But standing there, unmasked, silent, and lonely, the truth scrapes at his bones. Because… you're not a threat—he is. 

The echo of the memory sat on his chest. He can still see you in that lake, feel the ghost of your laughter in his ribs. Your fingers in his. Your voice when you whispered to him.

And his jaw clenches, he looks down at his gloved hands like they don’t belong to him. He’s killed for far less than what he’s feeling now. But he still doesn’t leave.

His eyes scan you again, more carefully this time. Your fingertips twitch in your sleep and your lips part slightly. Your chest rises and falls in a human rhythm.

You were never more than that, he said to you, bitterly. But of course you were. More.

He takes a step closer, stopping before it becomes betrayal toward himself. 

Your mouth stirs with a sound… his name, broken and quiet. He almost reaches for your hand. He almost brushes a strand of hair back from your cheek. He almost forgets who he has become. 

He can only watch you for one more breath, maybe two, maybe three, four, until it hurts to stay. Until it hurts to leave. But he turns, silently and carefully, just slipping out into the hallway. One more shadow in a ship that’s full of them.

He stepped inside his quarters—the tomb he built for himself. Barren and silent. He stripped himself of his cloak, letting it fall, forgotten on the floor. Each movement was automatic as he shed the diseased items. But the real armor was stitched into his skin now, and he had to sleep in it. 

He sat on the edge of his bed that was too wide for just one person. His heart was dull, thick, aching. He wished you had just screamed at him, fought him, spit at him in a way he could ignore and prove himself mighty. He wished he could have let you die. Years ago. Yesterday. Today. He wished could just follow his prerogative and cut ties with all this worldly emotion. 

He was a killer. He was a monster.

If Ben is dead, then who is he when she’s living in his mind? 

Of all things, you showed him that. That night, still impossibly carved in his head in some distant corner he shoved away. A warm feeling he thought he had obliterated. A version of their hands laced together, you looking at him like the galaxy wasn’t trying to kill you both. 

He leaned back, spine pressed against the thick blanket until he was staring at the windowed ceiling. The stars reminded him of the lake that night and his hand twitched at his side, remembering the phantom of your own hand resting there once. 

“I’m in love,” he had said. Soft and boyish. Exposed in how it sounded.

And you smiled at him. “Me too.”

He swore the world bent in your direction in that moment and his mind empties at just the way you were hangin on his every movement. His mind went quiet, maybe for the first time in his life, all the noise just stopped. Everything went away and it felt like wet clothes and a warm shoulder so close to his body he shuddered.

The wind slowed even the glowing water seemed to dim and still itself, kneeling to you and him, opening its rippling mouth to say 'look at her... she's yours... take her...'

The pull in his chest was so deep it almost hurt. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else ever had, and he was sure nothing else ever would. He was just Ben, and he felt special under your gaze.

You reached out, fingers brushing inside his wrist, a soft entanglement. He felt the touch like a torch, a promise of something too good to deserve. His cheek pressed to the moss, nose almost brushing yours. His heart slammed against his body, loud in the quiet hum between you. The Force was no longer just connecting you, it wanted you together. It was begging him to close the distance.

How could he not love someone like you? Soft, bright, kind, dangerous in the way you made him feel selfish things. Made him crave this sort of collision against everything the Jedi warned against. Maybe with you, there was a life where he didn't have to apologize for who he was.

And right now, with your eyes half lidded and your lips jarring slightly, you weren't pushing him away. If anything, you were pulling him closer with patience and comfort. And he wanted nothing else but you.

His hand shifted ever the moss, not realizing it until his fingers touched your jaw. His thumb brushed against your cheekbone.

And you leaned in.

And he leaned in, too.

He could feel your breath, warm and steady.

Closer now, enough to make his lips part.

Enough to make his eyes slip shut. 

And then—

Nothing.

Just his eyes opening to the glass ceiling of his quarters. Empty. Solemn. Years later.

The lake was gone.

You weren't there.

He stayed still, staring blankly. His body still buzzing from the memory of his back against the moss, his hand wrapped in yours. Slowly, he raised his fingers to his mouth, just to see if there was warmth there that had lingered from all those years ago. Just to see if he could remember.

But it was gone. 

You were gone. 

Ben is dead.

That’s the only thing he had to try and remember. 

[Part Three] Note: Yeah, so what I love a slow burn? So what I love angst? Thanks for those who read my first part of this, I'm enjoying myself so much. Writing is so personal and relaxing, I'm glad I'm making time for it again. Thanks for reading!

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Star Wars - Episode IV A New Hope | 1977 Dir. George Lucas

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Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi 1983, dir. Richard Marquand

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STAR WARS: RETURN OF THE JEDI (1983) dir. Richard Marquand

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Leia flushes, averting her eyes.  She's not exactly fighting to get  free.  But, of course, Han blows it... The anger rises in Leia.

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Filming the circuitry bay scene in The Empire Strikes Back