mysticfluffyness

[mysticfluffyness]

Dream Studies—YuYu Art

[mysticfluffyness]

[mysticfluffyness]

ah, the Endless. how i've missed you all

[mysticfluffyness]

Working it Out

When you get brought into Dept Q. by Moira from Inverness, you didn't expect your boss to be such a prick. You and Carl, alongside Rose and Akram must work together to discover the truth, though that is easier said than done. Enemies to lovers (ish...how far can I go saying that when Carl hates everyone?) trauma bondy fic with my classic longing glances and fleeting touches.

A/N:

EEEEK! My first ever chapter fic, and sort of first ever angsty fic!!!! :))) I'm obsessed with Carl Morck and this started off as a hurt/comfort one shot but I found myself unable to stop. As always, open to advice and lots of love. I hope you love reading this as much as I love(d) writing it! Words: 2,023

Chapter 1 – first impressions

Living in Edinburgh for the past week had been a dream. You’d secured a flat on the grassmarket, with a view of the castle – if you squinted from the attic window – with two floors, and you hadn’t had to sell your soul for rent, which was shockingly rare in the capital. It was a beautiful period property with built in mahogany bookcases and huge windows, a place which you’d already made your own, covering every surface in books and candles, warm lamps and collected trinkets. Over the week, with the exception of your first night in the flat, being sleepless, tossing and turning over whether you’d made the correct decision to uproot your life to Edinburgh, you’d had a thoroughly peaceful time. Hiking up Cockburn street in the early January frost to get to your new favourite coffee spot, reading in the waterstones café overlooking the castle, and wandering around the museums, your fears had been quelled, slipping gently and comfortably into a new routine, learning your way around the city.

This morning you’d woken early, filled with anticipation for your first day at work, slicing open the heavy velvet curtains of your bedroom across the frosty window. It was still dark, but the lights of the cafes and businesses on the grassmarket below told you it was time to get ready. You’d taken a steaming, long shower, washing your hair and doing a twenty step skincare routine to kill some time, blow dried and styled your hair, and meticulously ironed your outfit. Everything you previously wore to work at Inverness had been brought with you, assuming the office dress code was the same across the country for the police. Moira had of course sent you a long, winding memo, which you’d dutifully skimmed on your journey from the north on the train, your life in suitcases on the seats beside you. 

Finally slipping into a sky-blue shirt and wide-leg charcoal trousers, you took a look at yourself in the mirror. You’d put on your everyday makeup, and added the final touches to your outfit, tucked your shirt into your trousers and buckled your belt, clasped your heeled mary janes tightly onto your feet, and wrapped your woolen trench around yourself, bracing for the cold. By the door, you’d grabbed your work bag and threw a scarf around your neck, then headed towards HQ, taking in one last deep breath.

Before long, you were sat opposite Moira at her desk, being briefed on what your role here in Edinburgh would be. You’d been told, both via email and by your old boss, that Moira had requested you specifically, but no real detail had been given, which both terrified and intrigued you. You knew it was a new, government funded department, but the specifics on what precisely it was had eluded you until now. The woman in front of you filled you in about the cold cases, and the need for better public perception of the police, mentioning that bringing in a new Detective like yourself from another region would demonstrate real action and funds being pumped into the department. She had, however, immediately remarked upon the bright blue of your shirt being marred by the large coffee stain dripping all the way from your collarbone to belt, which you’d quickly explained was not your fault, and that you’d truly hoped to make a better impression. Moira laughed, saying she’d seen the collision outside of the lift as it happened, muttering something about ‘Morck’ and then sent you on your merry way, instructing you to press the bottom button on the lift. 

You had been distracted, fair enough, searching through your bag to find directions to Moira’s office after stepping out of the lift into the concrete and glass-lined space, which ended in you colliding with a large, bearded Englishman, spilling each of your respective coffees mainly down your shirt. The only way you knew he was English was through the barrage of insults that were thrown your way as he continued walking without so much as a look at you. 

Getting in the lift opposite her office, you had a distinct feeling of doom, a pit in your stomach that wasn’t just from the long descent. 

Eventually the doors cracked open, and as you made your way down the stairs of the supposed office, you saw three faces staring back at you. 

‘So you’re our new recruit?’ A girl with tight, red curls darted to your side, her broad accent relaxing you, not to mention her enthusiasm. ‘I’m Rose.’ She extended her hand out to you.

‘Wow. Firm.’ You chuckled, flexing your hand after her crushing grip. Stating your name and rank, her eyebrows shot up at your mention of DCI. 

Rose made her way back to her desk, nodding towards a vaguely familiar man across from you. ‘Carl’s not going to like having an equal on the team.’ She was partially kidding, you could tell, but it didn’t exactly settle your nerves. 

‘What am I not going to like, Rose?’ His British drawl teleported you back to your meeting this morning;  a suppressed groan fought its way out of your mouth, which had Carl’s lazy gaze sloping towards you. He’d looked at who’d entered the room but without much interest, going back to intently studying the collage on the board in the corner. Now though, he was piercing you, looking intently at you. You felt as though he could see right through you with that look, secrets and all.

You reiterated your name and rank, catching his eyebrow and mouth quirk at your rank, confirming Rose’s suspicions. His eyes darted down to your coffee-stained blouse. 

‘Nice shirt.’ 

‘Thanks, it’s your handywork, DCI…?’ 

‘Carl Morck. So you’re the one who wasn’t looking where they were going earlier.’ He huffed, sounding more irate than you thought he had right to be, being the only one unscathed by your prior meeting. 

‘I could say the same to you.’ The two of you shared a glance, fire in your eyes, jaws locked, when finally a moustachioed, sharply dressed man decided to step in. 

‘I am Akram Salim, nice to meet you, madam.’ His deep brown eyes were friendly and inviting, and between he and Rose, you should’ve been quite relieved to be part of this team, but something about Carl set you on edge.

As you greeted Akram, you beamed widely, being more at ease than you had been all morning, and with your attention so rapt as he handed you his copy of the case file to flick through, you missed Carl’s gulp at your face cracked with a smile, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly in his throat.

The three of them filled you in on the case, how far along they were with it, and you and Akram spent the remainder of the day running through the files together, and moves to make next. You’d been sitting next to Akram all day, working diligently at his desk side by side, so by the time you attempted to set up for tomorrow, it was only you and Carl in the office, working in silence. You began packing your personal items up, and grabbed things you wanted to remain in the office to organise your desk before realising there wasn’t one set up for you. 

Looking in a couple of closets, scaring the living daylights out of yourself in the dimly lit riot gear cupboard, you finally found a desk, but it weighed approximately as much as a bungalow. Dragging it from near the showers, you huffed and puffed, struggling to gain any traction with the combination of a tiled bathroom floor and your heels. Carl, you realised from his own swift breathing, was irritated, and it didn’t take long for him to make it clear, whipping his head around to see what on earth you could be doing to make so much noise. 

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ He had a hint of mirth in his voice, mocking and cold. 

‘Trying to move this desk away from the showers, but apparently it was made to withstand the Blitz.’ You stopped dragging the heap of damned metal across the room, planting your hands on your hips, wondering if you could use one of those riot shields as leverage and trying to catch your breath.

Carl sauntered over to you, hands in pockets, a smirk threatening the corners of his mouth. ‘At least stop making such a fucking racket.’ 

‘You shouldn’t even be here to be hearing me make ‘such a fucking racket’,’ you made quotation signs with your fingers, ‘it’s seven pm. Don’t you have a home to go to?’ You kicked off your shoes, making a mental note to wear flat shoes from now on, and craned your neck up to look back at Carl who had moved to the opposite side of the desk, hands gripping the edge, bent towards you. 

He just quirked an eyebrow in response, and silently swivelled around to the heaviest end of the desk, helping you shove it opposite his own, huffing as he gave it a final kick into place. 

‘See you tomorrow.’ He grunted as he grabbed his own case file from his desk and jogged up the stairs, not taking a look at you for the second time today. 

The following morning you were late, your alarm having failed to go off, and you knew Carl was going to give you a bollocking for it, already irritated by your presence which you could feel he felt unnecessary. When you made your way into the basement to see Rose wasn’t there, and Carl was taking a nap in his chair, feet on his desk, you felt a lot more anxious, having to spend more time alone with him, who obviously preferred anyone else’s company to your own, though you guessed he’d have preferred to work alone.

You moved quietly, putting your bag and coat on your desk, and crept up to Carl’s. Giving his trainers a mighty smack, he woke up unceremoniously in a shout, looking madly across the room until his eyes focused on you, sitting on his desk. 

‘Morning, Carl.’ He ignored you, rolled his eyes and got up to go to the board. 

‘You’re late.’ You followed him, standing beside him with folded arms. 

‘You were having a nap.’ Carl took a sidelong glance at you, raising an eyebrow. 

He turned to face you, his height in your flat shoes intimidating you slightly, especially with his dark eyes focused completely on your own. ‘You and I,’ he gestured between the two of you with his long, wiry index finger, ‘are going to Mòhr.’ His tight-lipped smile pissed you off.

‘What? Now?’ 

‘Yes. Rose is already on her way there.’ 

You knitted your eyebrows together, wishing he’d given you some time to prepare. ‘Why didn’t we all just go together?’ 

Carl pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘God, you do ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’ 

‘Well if anybody fucking told me anything, I wouldn’t have to. Just tell me what we’re doing.’

Carl told you that Rose had gone early this morning to catch the first ferry, and to speak to Colin ahead of time. The three of you were going to spend a couple of nights on the island to scope it out, and hopefully coax some more information out of the locals, namely their police department and Merritt’s father. Akram would be mercifully joining you but only for the day, as ever the dutiful parent, though he’d be keeping in touch, and working from the office while you were away. 

You stroked your hand across your forehead, soothing your irritation at the last-second plans. ‘If you’d have told me this last night, rather than letting me faff around with that bloody desk, I could’ve packed some stuff, Carl.’ 

‘We only decided this morning. Just go home and grab what you need, and I’ll pick you up in an hour.’ 

With that, you were darting up the stairs and mentally packing your bags as Carl watched you retreat into the lift. 

[mysticfluffyness]

✶ fucking freezing — carl morck

cw : gn!reader, detective!reader, hurt/comfort, awkward fluff, nightmare, panic attack, arguing, swearing, one bed trope, reader implied to be scottish through dialect but absolutely no physical descriptions, poorly edited, 3.5K words.

"oh, fuck me," carl groans. this phrase leaves his mouth so frequently that you don't even blink at it—you just throw a glance back towards the car to double check that he hasn't parked too horribly. maybe he's swearing because the wallpaper is horrendous or something of that sort.

"think i'd rather die," you grumble, the response more reflex than anything else. your gaze snags on the coastline for a moment too long and you fail to notice that carl has stopped dead in his tracks until you walk right into him. "the fuck?" you complain, your head whipping back around as he grunts in annoyance. you back up so fast that you nearly trip down the back porch stairs.

"watch where you're fucking walking," he growls, somehow sounding even more annoyed than usual. it's an impressive feat, honestly.

"you watch it," you frown, "why the fuck did you stop? go on, then." his jaw tightens, but he doesn't move. you raise your brows and motion towards the inn room that you can't even see with his tall frame blocking the doorway.

"are you sure this is the only place to stay here?" he asks through gritted teeth, "is your— is your fucking phone working?"

"jesus christ, what the hell are you on about? yeah, i'm sure! go!" you roll your eyes, then mutter, "fuckin' hell," before decidedly pushing past him and into the room. that's when you are stopped in your own pitiful tracks. "you're joking," you deadpan, "you've got to be kidding me. absolutely the fuck not. there's not even a fucking sofa."

you whip around to face him and find that you're once again much closer than expected. he leans against the doorway with a look that says i-fucking-told-you-so and it makes you want to have a go at him. and at the discovery of only one bed in the only room in the only inn throughout all of tiny little mhòr, you are too livid to back away from him to argue at a proper distance.

"i already wanted to fucking vomit at the thought of sharing a room with you, but this is ridiculous. you didnae even think to check?" you accuse. he booked the room while you spoke to the second inn keeper, checking their logs for any possible missed paper trail that could point back to merritt. you found nothing, of course, except the fact that the inn only keeps one room now. you blanched at the poor old man, but he just waved it off with no mention of a single king sized bed.

"well you found the fucking place! and you think i want to share a room with you? fuck's sake, i argued with her for nearly five minutes straight!" as always, he meets your fire with his own.

"there was no other place to find!" you counter, "this is the only place on mhòr and the ferry does nae cross again til the morning."

"so it doesn't even fucking matter whether i checked about the bed because there's fucking nowhere else to sleep!" he shouts.

you grit your teeth and decide to be the bigger man. "i'm going to ask if they have a spare cot." you push past him again, making sure to dig into his arm with your shoulder as you pass. you're too fast to let him get another word in.

your begging with the inn keeper that carl spoke with does not go well. there's no spare cots, certainly nowhere else to sleep, and the inn's only spare comforter that you would gladly lay on the floor and sleep atop of is soaking wet in the wash. she apologizes sweetly enough, but you're frustrated and fuming as you stalk back to the room.

"nothing?" he asks shortly when you return empty handed.

"no," you say through gritted teeth. you shut the door much harder than you intend to. or maybe not. he stands by the window, unmoving, both of your overnight bags still sitting by the door. "i need a fuckin' shower," you grunt, sweeping up your bag and crossing the room to the bath.

"no, hey! hold on, we need to fucking sort this," he argues, pushing up from where he leans against the wall.

"there is no sorting this," you groan, turning back to face him in time with the roll of your eyes. "i'll sleep in the car, for fuck's sake, just let me have a shower."

he raises his brows. "you are not sleeping in the car, are you fucking stupid? christ, who let you be a copper?"

"it's not like you fucking care whether i sleep in the car or not," you sigh, throwing up your unoccupied hand, "there's no way in hell that i'm sharing a bed with you."

"you're right. i don't give a shit where you sleep," he shrugs, talking as if this is a casual conversation, "but i do fucking care to have another dead cop on my hands and there's no way i'm letting you do something as stupid as sleeping in a car in the place someone was kidnapped and murdered. or maybe you forgot our investigation, with a mind like yours?"

his comment about another dead cop on his hand gives you pause for just a moment. then he insults you again and you're back to gritting your teeth and holding back from saying something that you really shouldn't. instead, you take a deep breath and let yourself think for another moment.

"anderson wasn't your fault," you say quietly before quickly skipping over the subject, "let me take the comforter, i'll sleep on the floor. you use the spare blanket." you despise receding the bed to him, but you know he'd never give it up to you and you'd rather have a hot shower and a touch of sleep over more pointless arguing.

but of course, since carl just loves arguing, this solution isn't enough for him. "it's fucking freezing in here," he shakes his head.

"fuck's sake!" you have to close your eyes for a moment to stay relatively put together, "i just offered you the whole bed and it's still not enough for you! would you like me to freeze on the hard wood floor then? disnae count as your fault if i freeze to death, is that it?"

"no!" he shouts, the jump in volume abrupt enough that it almost startles you, "just—" he stops for a deep breath that probably doesn't do much for his anger, "just… let's not. it's, uh— fuck, it's a large bed." he motions vaguely and defeatedly towards the bed, pretending like he's not avoiding looking you in the eye.

you blink twice before you can say anything. when you open your mouth you intend to gawp and and scoff and absolutely refuse what he implies. or at least tease him for being the first one to suggest it.

"right…" you mutter, a noncommittal shrug on your shoulders, "it's— it's a pretty big bed." your eyes flick around the room in their own attempt of steering clear of his gaze. "i'm going to shower."

"yep," he says, suddenly awkward as he half turns to the door before realizing there's no reason for him to head in that direction at all. so he just stands there and you hum in some vague acknowledgement of who knows what before turning on your heel and making your way to the bathroom with the single-minded focus of avoiding carl. and taking a shower, of course.

── ✶

for a number of reasons, you try very hard not to think about carl while he showers. there's professionalism, of course, the mortifying fact that you'll be sharing a bed with him, and the self-loathing which stems from the utter horror that you'd want to think about him.

in an effort to distract yourself, you sit on the edge of the bed with your favorite notepad, the edges gone soft from being shoved into bags without care. you recount your conversation with the constable through pen and paper, seeing if it might jog any new ideas or theories. but you're too distracted from your supposed distraction to think of anything new, and then he's out of the bathroom, messily drying his damp hair with a dusty blue hand towel that nearly matches the shade of his crew neck sweatshirt.

you rip your gaze away before he can make eye contact. he doesn't say anything as he turns off the light in the corner, then the lamp on his bedside. your own lamp remains on, revealing the way he hesitates before sitting on his side of the bed. it doesn't seem worth it to bother with your notepad anymore, so you discard it and the pen on the night stand and switch off the light so that it's harder for the both of you to be perceived.

neither of you move at all for a long moment, then you break the silence with the rustling of sheets and blankets as you lay down, back adamantly facing his side of the bed. he clears his throat as he follows suit and it is unimaginably strange to feel the comforter and the bed shift with his movements.

then you're both settled and the room is so quiet that it is truly unnerving. the radiator doesn't rattle—it must be broken, hence the frigid temperature—and the night beyond your room stretches out in silence. it is not a soft kind of quiet, but one instead filled with awkward tension, unstable footing, and raging reluctance.

carl's voice is rough even when slightly hushed. "if you hoard the blankets or kick me in your sleep i will fucking kill you."

"likewise," you reply in as cutting a voice you can muster, very unused to the way he sounds from across a shared bed. he sounds different like this, even if he still talks with gruff, biting remarks. "so shut the fuck up and let me sleep," you tack on because you're unsure if you can listening to his voice without thinking something startling about him. like that he has a nice voice or broad shoulders or just that he isn't all that bad.

"you shut the fuck up," he grumbles, and you fight the urge to swing your arm over and whack him in the face. you'd love to give him a nosebleed, but you just sigh and close your eyes.

it takes ages to fall asleep. you're too on edge because of his nearness to properly relax, so in the end, it's just exhaustion that takes you. but the whole while that you lay awake, you are painfully convinced that he is too, his breathing never changing or slowing while his body stays impressively still. you resist fully tossing and turning, but you shift uncomfortably until you fall into a restless sleep. at least he doesn't tell you to shut up when you make noise, though you're sure he wants to.

he hears you squirming in bed even after he takes note of your soft, slowed breathing. it's frankly annoying, and he lays there with a curled lip and blue eyes staring up at the dark, blank ceiling. carl takes even longer to fall asleep, uncomfortable with your presence, the way it makes him feel, and the prospect of nightmares. but sleep does claim him, maybe only thanks to that certain sort of tiredness that follows travel.

── ✶

it's not as if you should've expected anything better than a rude awakening for one reason or another, but the frigid cold at three in the morning is worse than you expected. you wake with your whole body exposed by a sudden movement that rips the blanket from you and puts your sleepy mind into a particularly confused state. it's much colder than it was when you fell asleep; if the radiator wasn't broken before, it is now. you groan and blindly reach behind you, your fingertips grazing over something much more solid than the blanket you're searching for.

this brings you pause, which stops your sluggish squirming and the accompanying rustle of cotton sheets. however, you are not greeted with the same silence you fell asleep to, but quick wheezing breaths. you scramble to turn and sit up at the same time, your mind jumping to worst case scenarios. a medical emergency would be horrible in such a secluded town.

"carl?" you rasp out. eyes not yet adjusted to the dark, you can only make out the vague mass of his figure lurching towards the edge of the bed. you cross the bed almost as clumsily as he does, reaching out in fear that he'll tumble to the floor. "carl? what's wrong?" he only manages to gasp in response as your hands meet the broad expanse of his back. you barely make it to his side before he tries to stand, fingers gripping his shoulders to keep him sitting.

"hold on," you murmur, voice gone soft as you realize what's happening. he shakes under your firm, but unexpectedly kind touch. "just stay sitting, carl. you're alright. you can try putting your head between your knees, if it helps you breathe. all you have to do is breathe."

he doesn't move to tuck his head, but when one of your hands drifts down his arm, almost absentminded in your efforts to comfort him, he grasps your fingers. carl doesn't notice that he now has your hand clasped in his, still stuck in a state of mild panic thanks to a vivid nightmare, but he settles just a bit with the sound of your steady voice. he's has heard this tone of voice from you before, but not often and never directed at him.

apparently, within his panic, he still has the ability to think that it's sort of nice. that thought effectively cuts through the flashes of violent memories purely due to its shock factor—why the hell would carl find that gentle, caring murmur of yours nice? lovely, even, and certainly comforting. suddenly, he finds himself wanting you to never stop talking. usually, he's wishing for you to shut that goddamn mouth of yours.

you can feel it when his thoughts cross over from nightmares to something much more pleasant. of course, you have no idea that he's using your voice like a lifeline and liking it, but you can hear the rasp leave his quick breaths and feel the tension between his shoulder blades begin to ease under your hand.

"that's it," you say, hoping he doesn't find it condescending. however much you dislike him, you think he deserves kindness in moments like this. you can go back to being an arsehole to him tomorrow morning, as he will. and maybe he's not the absolute worst all of the time. just usually.

"just keep breathing. this is normal. people have panic attacks all of the time," you say, sincere in your hope that he won't be embarrassed and therefore extra prickly about it once he's fully able to calm down.

"i'm fine," he huffs out. there's still an attempt at a biting edge to the words, but he mostly just sounds tired.

"i know," you nod, for once making no effort to match his fighting words. your hand smooths up and down his back, and now that you're sure he'll be alright, you're once again struck with how cold it is. you're used to this sort of weather, but its a touch warmer in edinburgh and carl didn't exactly warn you that you'd be spending the night in mhòr until you got in to work this morning. but he knows you keep a change of clothes at the station, because, for some reason, he tends to remember little things about you.

however lucky you are that you were able to bring along a sleep-able shirt and pair of pants, you were not lucky enough to have a sweatshirt on hand as well and you are not inclined to wearing your work blazer to bed.

you bear the cold as you wait for carl's breathing to truly even out, until all you hear are soft puffs leaving his nose every few moments. your hands don't leave him and you think he still hasn't realized that he has your hand trapped in his.

the hand on his back slips away as you tuck it against your stomach, fingers almost painfully cold. his body heat is plentiful, that much you can feel quite nicely sitting so close to him, but you've started to shiver and your hand was too exposed while sitting over his spine.

he clears his throat, then gives a soft grunt, signaling that he's done letting you sit with him like this. it's regretful, only given that your right side, tucked up against him, is much warmer than your left. but you acquiesce without any complaint. unthinking, you give his hand a squeeze before you begin to slip your fingers from him.

you're right that he never even noticed the way he's clutching you; when it's wordlessly brought to his attention, he startles a bit, pulling sharply away from you with an awkward cough.

"alright," you say, standing just as abruptly and walking without purpose to your bag. it's even colder once you fully leave the bed. you give a futile search of the clothes you wore into work today, cursing the fact that nothing you have would be comfortable or practical in any way. you glance over at the dark blue sweatshirt that carl wore under his jacket, then quickly return your gaze to your bag, shutting it and hoping carl isn't watching you.

you walk back to the bed where carl still sits, grumbling as you go, "it's fuckin' freezing. might not even have to kick me outta the bed at this point."

he doesn't really respond, just gives another one of his noncommittal grunts. when you sit, back on your side of the bed, he stands. you huff quietly, then curl back up under the blanket. facing the wall, miserably cold and tired, you listen as carl walks to the bathroom and fills himself a glass of water. you feel a bit bad; it would've been nice for you to get one for him yourself, but you've can't really bring yourself to care too much now that he's gone and done it. it's not like he needs to be coddled. you stop paying attention to the sounds he makes walking around the room, letting your thoughts drift. you're sleepy, but unfortunately too cold to fall asleep that fast.

or maybe that's for the best because being jolted from distracted thought is marginally better than having your sleep interrupted. a surprised complaint is muffled between your pillow and the unexpected mass of fabric that's tossed from across the tiny room and right over your head. sitting up with a sluggish groan, you snatch at the thick cotton and tug it off your face. you open your mouth, ready to pick a fight with carl for throwing something at you, having no remaining regards to the panic attack he just had, until you actually process what you're holding in your lap.

carl stands next to his neatly stacked pile of the clothes he wore before bed, hands shoved into his pockets as if he can separate himself from the action of flinging his sweatshirt at you. your fingers curl into the soft, navy blue fabric as you realize he's offering it to you to borrow for the rest of the night. the sweatshirt's fabric is still cooled by the air of the room after being separated from carl's body heat, but you feel your face grow a bit warm with its presence.

"wear that," he says, voice purposefully disinterested, "it is unreasonably cold and if you steal the blankets in your sleep i'll kick you out the bed."

"how kind," you mutter, failing to hold back your sarcasm despite the fact that you actually are grateful for the gesture. you're already tugging it on, desperate for a bit more warmth. as you settle the hood over your head, you amend your tone for something a bit more sincere and soft. "thank you, carl."

he doesn't seem to know how to respond to that, so he just makes a low sound of acknowledgement. you take it as a nice thing that he doesn't saying anything scathing.

a soft and needless hum leaves your lips, the air of the room growing awkward and unsure. carl still stands on the opposite end of the room and you sit unmoving in the bed, all for no reason. it's quiet again, but the quiet isn't so harsh anymore. it's just a bit hesitant and unsure, like something has shifted and neither of you know what to make of it.

he shrinks back to the bed only once you've looked away from him and lay back down. when the rustling of sheets stops, you whisper, "good night, carl."

his voice is quite possibly almost affectionate when he grumbles back, "good night."

[mysticfluffyness]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro loved when people did things for him.

He loved when fans gave him gifts. He loved getting gifts during holidays. And he especially loved getting free samples from food establishments—he thinks the samples were deliberately put out for his enjoyment.

"How did you know I love raspberries?" Toji would smirk, winking at the innocent cafe worker before grabbing one three more samples and walking away.

But Boxer!Toji Fushiguro did not like doing things for other people. The only people he's ever willingly helped in his life was his mother, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Doing things for people meant you were below them and they were above you and that was not Toji's way of life.

Doing things for people showed you cared—which shows vulnerability which then gives the other person the impression that you like them and Toji does not like people.

Especially if he's not getting anything out of it.

So why, you ask, was Boxer!Toji Fushiguro following you around Tokyo, carrying your shopping bags as you shopped to your hearts desire?

On his card, of course.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro blames himself for this, honestly.

when he asked if you were single, your hand slowly raised, preparing to land a harsh smack to his cheek.

"Wait, wait, wait, okay hold on," He pleaded.

"Look, I'm-" he runs a hand through his hair before sighing.

"I'm sorry, okay? I was being an asshole, let's- let's restart okay? Hi, I'm Toji," he said as he put a hesitant hand out.

But before you got a chance to give him your two cents, fans came crowding asking for autographs and pictures, which was when you put the dots together and realized he was famous.

You smirked, and patiently waited until the crowd cleared out, watching the way Toji switched from sad puppy to ladies man in a matter of seconds.

"You want to make it up to me?" You question, crossing your arms.

Toji nods.

"You have officially been graduated to my personal butler for the day," you give his a sweet smile, dubbing him with a banana on each shoulder before turning and making your way to the register.

so now Toji is here, bags from various clothing and shoe stores adorning his arms as he follows you around Tokyo like a lost puppy.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro was the best butler you could ask for.

He carried your bags, gave his opinion on the different blouses and jeans you picked out, and he paid for everything.

"What do you think about these jeans? Do they make my butt look big?" You say as you exit the dressing room, turning in the mirror to examine the fit.

Toji huffs, not looking up, "they're fine."

"You're not even looking," you pout.

He huffs louder, forcing his eyes away from his phone to focus on you. Well—your ass.

He takes a goooood second, admiring the way the jeans hug your ass perfectly.

"They look good, ma" he finally says.

You raise your eyebrow at the nickname before turning to go back in the dressing room.

"Oh!" You say, poking your head from behind the curtain.

"They're thirty six thousand yen, is that okay?" You ask in a honeyed tone.

"Thirty six thou- wait hold on-" Toji says stunned before you cut him off.

"Kay, great!"

He huffs, slouching in his chair, wondering why he even agreed to this.

Even though he's spent almost all his money on a person he just met, he enjoyed the time you guys have been spending together over the course of 3 hours.

You talked, had a cute little date at a secluded cafe after you practically dragged him inside when you saw they were selling cat shaped cakes.

He told you more about his boxing career and you told him about how life has been after moving to Japan. You both talked about everything and nothing, and Toji wished that moment could never end.

Until it did.

Because you saw a pair of shoes you wanted and he lost another 200 dollars.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro let out a sigh of relief when you got a call from your neighbor, informing you that your pet chickens, marlo and bean, escaped into her backyard again, meaning your little shopping spree had to be cut short.

"I think I'm broke now," Toji grumbles.

"You'll manage," you say, giving him an affectionate pat on the arm.

"Well, I should get going now. You can just put those in the trunk," you gesture towards your car before walking past Toji and getting inside.

He just stands there, mouth gaped in disbelief, yet again.

But for some reason he found himself complying. Which he hated himself for.

When he finished he made his way towards the driver side, crouching to meet your gaze.

"So, apology accepted?" He asked hopefully.

"Hmmm..." you ponder, tapping a finger on your chin while playfully smirking at him.

"I guess," you conclude.

"Can I at least get your number then? I mean I deserve a reward after chasing you around all day," Toji dramatically huffs.

You laugh at his antics, pulling your phone out and handing it to him.

"As long as you promise to respond," you say.

"I'll always respond, doll," Toji says once he finished putting his number in, handing you your phone back.

"Y'know you're real sweet once you get your way."

You roll your eyes and laugh before turning on your car

"I'll see you?" Toji asks.

"Mhm," you nod

"Good," he says in a low tone, bringing your chin between his pointer finger and his thumb and pressing a barely there kiss on your forehead.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro had never met anyone like you.

You were so nice yet you never hesitated to speak your mind.

You didnt care what people thought, stating that "we're all going to die anyway. Why waste life on worrying about what some rando on the street thinks?"

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro thinks that was the moment he folded.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro texts you later that night, planning to win back his pride and peace of mind after losing it all in the span of 4 hours by a single person.

His slap on the face was already trending on twitter, Shiu had been busting his chops, calling and texting him non-stop—to which he ignored every one, and Toji decided that he needed to show you why every man across the nation feared him, and why every woman wanted to fuck him.

He is Toji Fushiguro.

Rich Boxer Dude 🥊💴 4:24 pm - you save your chickens? Read

Mamacita 😛 (you) 4:30 pm - yup they're safe in my back yard now 😭

Rich Boxer Dude 🥊💴 4:32 pm - cool cool 4:33 pm - so wyd now

If you couldnt already tell, Toji is struggling to execute his plan "to win back his pride and peace of mind".

Mamacita 😛 4:37 pm - also I didnt say it earlier but Ty for today 4:37 pm - you could have said no, i was js rlly pissed off 😭

Rich Boxer Dude 🥊💴 4:40 pm - nah dw abt it 4:41 pm - I wanted to 4:41 pm -even if I'm broke now

Mamacita 😛 4:45 pm - okayy 4:46 pm - how about I treat you to lunch as a thank you? 4:46 - I'll wine and dine you nd treat you reeeealll nice 😌

That was suppose to be his line.

Rich Boxer Dude 🥊💴 4:50 pm - isnt that suppose to be my line?

eventually, after tedious planning and excessive flirting on your end, you guys planned a date at the park after Toji's upcoming boxing match on Sunday.

You both agreed that you would bring lunch and he would bring dessert, where he suggested he just bring himself if he's bringing dessert.

Mamacita 😛 5:23 pm - what? Why would you do that? then we wouldn't have any dessert 5:24 pm - Just bring cake from that cafe we went to today 5:26 pm - I love cake

The joke completely flew over your head.

It's safe to say Toji left that conversation with an even more damaged pride (of whatever was left of it) and failed flirting attempts.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

A/n: pookie is in such high demand 😭 and two fics back to back WHO IS HERRR

also 36,000 yen is equivalent to about 250 usd and 376 aud. Dont ask me why a person would drop 250 on some jeans I would

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @moncher-ire @sugarphoric @blitziwitch @starmapz @astrasworldsblog @yamadramallamaqueen @emi311 @cam-ilaaaa @naammiii @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @saitamaswifey @xylov @suckkuna @gringardsreagent @coralbae @makeitrainonsomehoes @onecrafterr @cccccccccccleo @kentoslvr @p1nkfl0wers @aldebrana @aiicpansion @seulbeomie @a1zennn @posttraumaticscribblez @aldebrana @satorupied @shigamiryuk @nanamisbbygirl @summrriot

@indiewritesxoxo @blueemochii @gojoswaterbottle @pelicanpizza @shinrjj @leave-rae-alone @simp-for-wanderer @quinny23 @flowerpot113 @universal-s1ut @ifiwereabug @luluminati @blobbyblogsdraws @s-1-xx @firesgod @candy-s72 @hypomaniac-oneirataxia @spam-and-eggs @tojiscvmdumpster @g3n3v13v33 @amp-444

@ll0rona @kailovsun @aksqui

[mysticfluffyness]

bbno$ cosplaying Doc Ock ⚙️

[mysticfluffyness]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro did not do relationships.

"Can I stay the night? I-" the brunette he was 8 inches deep in just a few moments ago would say.

Toji didn't even know her name. He just let out a mocking chuckle and told her to get out as he did pushups on the floor next to the bed.

"I'll call you an uber," he would say.

She would look at him in disbelief before scoffing and storming out with disheveled hair and clothes.

This was clockwork.

His routine consisted of boxing, flirting, fucking, and then more boxing.

He wasn't going to change that for some girl.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro didn't go on dates, he didn't even look the woman in the eyes while fucking.

He has 3 strict rules for him and his hookups: No talking, no eye contact, and no kissing on the lips. (And always use condoms because the last thing Toji wanted was a child).

Toji doesn't think his rules are extreme, but others around him like to think so.

He's not a dick kinda, he just didn't like relationships. Whether that was romantic, or platonic.

They made him too vulnerable, and Toji didn't like let people get too close in fear of them taking advantage of him.

That's why he loved boxing. He didn't have to play on a team, which meant he didn't have to get along with anyone. People feared him, they kissed the floor he walked on—and he got to punch people so it was a win-win.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro was content with living life in solitude.

But his desire for peace and eternal loneliness didn't make him some kind of humble, down to earth man.

No, Toji thrived off praise. He got off on people telling him how much they loved him, how much they worshipped him.

He loved going out in public in broad daylight where everyone could see the amazing Toji Fushiguro, even though Shiu, his manager, told him not to.

He loved the way people would crowd him, asking for pictures and autographs. He loved when girls would pull down the collar of their shirts so he could sign their upper boob and later get it tattooed.

"I'm not a perv," Toji would say defensively.

"But you are..." Shiu would reply, giving him an accusatory look.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro loved attention.

So, you could imagine his surprise when he sees a cute girl at the grocery store, taking time out of his day to come up to you, willfully giving you the God-given opportunity to meet THE Toji Fushiguro, just for you to give him a look of annoyance and walk away.

Come again???

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro was pissed the fuck off.

But, since he's such a good person, he let that one slide and decided to give you a second chance.

"C'mon doll, you really gonna do me like that?" He purrs.

"Do you like what, exactly?" You sigh, not even looking at him, instead continuing to inspect which peaches to buy, afraid they would instantly go bad the moment you walk out the store.

"Playing hard to get?" He takes the peach out of your hand and brings it up to his lips, taking a large bite—making it wayyy more sexual than it needed to be—letting the juice drip down his wrist before bringing his head down and licking it all up.

"Gross, you know how many people touched that?" You say with a look of disgust.

He decided to ignore your comment because 1.) You are progressively bruising his ego with every breath you take, and 2.) He just ate an unwashed peach from the grocery store that may or may not have an undiscovered bacteria on it which may or may not kill him.

"Look, you dont need to act all uninterested to 'impress me'. I'll sign your tits and leave."

Now you were the one pissed off because who does he think he is?

This hot, muscly, meat sack walks in here like he owns the place, tries to flirt with you like some creep, and then has the audacity to offer to sign your tits?

What do you do?

You slap him.

"Who do you even think you are?" You snapped.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro doesn't hit women. His mother always taught him that no matter how angry he got, no matter how much someone pushed him, to never lay his hands on a girl. Because that's the gentlemanly thing to do.

Sure, his mom taught him dozens of other 'gentlemanly' acts. Most of which he threw out the window, stomped on, and set on fire. But that one always stuck.

Except for right now.

Right now, Toji wanted to strangle you because you just slapped him.

Do you even know who he is?

Obviously fucking not because you just asked him, and that pissed Toji off even more.

Also the fact that you just publicly humiliated him, in front of at least 20 people recording, which would then end up on the entire internet for everyone to see 'The Girl Who Slapped Toji Fushiguro, The Most Feared Boxer in All of Japan.'

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say because he's never been in such a situation.

People always shriveled up and hid out of fear when he entered a room. Toji's presence alone makes children scream and hide behind their parents.

But you didn't do that.

You slapped him.

And it kinda turned him on.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro studied your angry expression. The way your eyebrows furrowed, how your nostrils flaired with every heavy breath you took, your anger radiating off of you, making those around you—even Toji—nervous.

His cheek tingled, not because the slap hurt, it was pretty weak in his opinion, but because your hands were so soft and Toji wondered how they would feel caressing his face as he made you fall apart under him.

This feeling you gave him was foreign, and he craved for more.

He craved you.

"Are you single?" He suddenly asks.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro flinches, preparing for another slap from you when he sees your expression go blank. Unreadable.

Getting killed by a pretty girl wouldn't be such a bad way to go out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

A/n: Idk what beef I have with Toji rn but hes kinda an asshole in this AU. I SWEAR THERE WILL BE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT reader is gna change Toji for the better ☺️👍🏼

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @moncher-ire @sugarphoric @blitziwitch @starmapz @astrasworldsblog @yamadramallamaqueen @emi311 @cam-ilaaaa @naammiii @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @saitamaswifey @xylov @suckkuna @gringardsreagent @coralbae @makeitrainonsomehoes @onecrafterr @cccccccccccleo @kentoslvr @p1nkfl0wers @aldebrana @aiicpansion @seulbeomie @a1zennn @posttraumaticscribblez @aldebrana @satorupied @shigamiryuk

@indiewritesxoxo @blueemochii @gojoswaterbottle @pelicanpizza @shinrjj @leave-rae-alone @simp-for-wanderer @quinny23 @flowerpot113 @universal-s1ut @ifiwereabug @luluminati @blobbyblogsdraws @s-1-xx @firesgod @candy-s72 @hypomaniac-oneirataxia @spam-and-eggs @tojiscvmdumpster @g3n3v13v33 @amp-444

@ll0rona @kailovsun @aksqui @criimsonmoth @mysticfluffyness @wisepeachwitch @bowlofshleep @sharkubi @bol0-de-morang0 @takuma-talkz @riahlynn-102 @fushiguroooozzz @ehcilhc @colorcode

@mimiluvzu2 @tojisblkwife @bokotarou @nana1344 @idleviewer @itsinherited @yourfavgurls-blog @shibataimu @erenspersonalwh0re @zzbloody-animezz @emoedgylord @zzz-auds @shigamiryuk

[mysticfluffyness]

16: hope | kylo ren x reader

part 16 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: explicit language, vague sexual imagery, smoking (cigarettes), alcohol consumption. word count: 7.5k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: 7.5k chapter in around 2 days, have you guys noticed a pattern? let's all thank my ADHD for these random-ass bursts of energy. anyway, not proofread, so please let me know what you think and enjoy!

You toy with the frayed edge of your seatbelt, smoothing the nylon down with the tips of your shivering digits. Your other palm shelters your phone, squeezing the sides like they hold the answers to your tumultuous unease.

Kylo, 10:34 AM I couldn’t stay.

And that’s it. No apologies, explanations, or calls; just a single, half-assed text you’ve been mulling over for hours, even now as Rey tries to entertain you with guessing games and karaoke-worthy songs on the radio. Still, you refuse to bite.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard now, typing furious, glum, or otherwise apathetic answers before inevitably deleting each one. Nothing felt right to say in this situation, and you knew he wouldn’t answer another call from you, either. Or perhaps you were feeding yourself these lies to avoid facing a proper confrontation. After all, god knows this entire crisis has made you the royal fool, obsessing over a guy who touched you once and never again.

You had gotten the text back at the laundromat this morning, the vibration shaking your pocket just as Rey had finally managed to drag you out of your slump. How lucky he was, you think, to find the exact moment to shove you back in without as much as a ‘hello, thank you for trusting me with your feelings and making me cum.’

“You nervous?” Rey pipes up suddenly, swerving the car smoothly down the road ahead. The sun hangs high on its blue backdrop, creating flat shadows under nearby trees. You mindlessly count each row as you pass, hoping it’ll be enough to soothe your troubles.

“I can’t tell,” you reply in honesty. With Rey in the know, you were finally free to express all your complaints with minimal discomfort. “It’s like I’m fine mentally, but my body’s doing its thing.”

“You’ve always been very fidgety,” she chuckles, never once taking her gaze off the road. Living in New York City, you rarely drove, but on the unfortunate occasion you couldn’t rely on public transport, it was Rey who took the literal wheel. You always thought she was a good driver, focused and reliable, and nothing like you. It’s not that you were a bad driver per se; you just found the whole experience stressful and unnecessary.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, typing an incoherent jumble into the blank message box, just for the sake of occupying your hands. “Only when I’m thinking.”

Rey hums in acknowledgment, taking the briefest glance at your screen. You’ve positioned yourself sideways enough to avoid her glimpsing the contact info. Yet, the gesture makes you queasy regardless, and in this moment of clarity, you toss the device into the duffel bag at your feet.

“I’m not gonna ask because I know you probably don’t wanna talk about it right now, but…” she trails quickly, like speaking for too long would offend you. You appreciate the gesture, even if you feel bad for making her step on eggshells around you. It’s the last thing you’d expect Rey to do. “Are you okay?”

The car swerves smoothly onto a parallel lane, the concrete curving to the left. The trees you’ve been counting previously suddenly overwhelm you with their sheer amount, lush foliage cutting the sunlight into little leaf-shaped prisms. With much less traffic here, Rey rolls her window down, and you follow suit. Air shifts through the gap with a low hum, lapping at your face in warm waves and making you inhale deeply.

“Yeah, thanks, I’m fine,” you finally speak, the curtness of your tone betraying your words. But Rey doesn’t press, and you’re good with letting things settle that way. “I’m good.”

The fresh breeze ruffles your hair and fills the space between you, bringing in sweet, floral smells and something strangely tangy. As you drive down the road, it narrows, carrying you out of the treeline and winding forward again. Over Rey’s outstretched arm and just for a fleeting second, you catch a broad, blue sky towering over dark, foamy waters.

“Where exactly do your parents live?” you ask, the sound of gulls making you perk up immediately. You’ve always loved the ocean. If luck were on your side, you’d ask for a quick visit to the beach.

She smiles at your sudden interest, gazing at you briefly. “Sea Cliff. You know it?”

You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue, watching the narrowing road ahead with keen interest. “Never heard.”

“It’s by NYIT,” Rey replies with a halfhearted shrug, driving the car through another alley of trees. “I applied there once, but got rejected pretty much immediately.”

The idea stumps you. If Rey had gone to another college, you’re certain you would’ve never met. On the other hand, that’d mean you’d never know Kylo, either. And as nice as that thought sounds in theory after everything that’s gone down, imagining the fact makes your stomach clench with something you wish it didn’t know.

“I know you’d be closer to your parents that way, but,” you trail through clenched teeth, sending her an easy smile—or as easy as you can get it, “selfishly, thank god they rejected you.”

“Right?” Rey chuckles, giving your thigh a quick, amused tap. “I’m much better off with you, anyway. My parents are clean freaks.”

“So am I,” you counter with a wagging finger, making your friend chuckle.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she nods through a lingering smile, quickly checking her phone for the time. She never used a GPS. “You’ll fit right in.”

Her words settle in your aching heart as you drive the rest of your way toward the destination. Soft jazz fills the car, mingling with birdsong and windswept oak as you enter the threshold of town. Despite the distraction, you feel yourself glancing at your bag more than once, thinking about Kylo’s reply and whether or not it deserves a response.

“You’re moping again,” Rey says smoothly, pushing you out of your trance. One of her elbows sits comfortably atop the open window, soaking up sunshine as she smiles. It’s a big day, after all, and perhaps dwelling on a broken romance isn’t in place.

“Sorry,” you sigh, extending your arm to mirror hers. Your fingertips extend, catching sharp gusts of air in the hollow spaces, wrestling with your palm like a living being. Houses with red rooftops and large yards line up on either side, some fenceless, some overgrown with weeds and lush gardens. “Did you grow up here?”

“Yeah,” she nods, taking an expectant pause as if reminiscing on this ‘growing up.’ “We both did.”

You know who she means. And despite your shaking palms, something warmer takes place in your chest. You imagine little Rey pouncing around the gardens of a beautiful, vast home, picking up bugs and pulling out grass with her pudgy fingers. You imagine her laughing, then scraping her knee. In this fantasy, she runs to a boy much taller than her, but still slight and innocent in the way he watches her. He stands over the young girl, patching her wound with uncertain hands and glazed-over eyes as he checks his plastic watch. The home is quiet from within, desolate and fearsome and lacking the warmth it had before they received the call.

“Hey,” Rey—the grown one—mutters, urging you to blink the thought away along with an unanticipated film of tears.

You turn toward her with a confused hum, her face now shifted into a wide grin. Her eyes briefly catch yours, bright and hopeful, before she nods you toward the windshield.

“We’re here.”

Green envelops everything around you, swaying trees and vibrant bushes sheltering a dirt-paved driveway harboring a cactus-green pickup and a black sedan. It’s a garden similar to the one you imagined, but not nearly as colorful. Some flowers peek out from the fencing, white and pink and barely sprouted, crowded by an overgrown lawn and stray weeds.

You feel the car decelerate as you approach the pickup’s flank. Rey undoes her seatbelt before she’s even parked, switching the gear with a skillful tug before reaching toward your legs for the duffel bag.

“Hey—Hey, I can handle that!” You exclaim, slowly reaching for your buckle as Rey promptly ignores your pleas, grabbing the handle with apt strength before shoving the car open.

“Come on,” she replies, half of her encouragement already muffled by the door slamming shut. You sigh, undoing your own seatbelt as your friend works the trunk with equal excitement. You can’t help but smile.

As you exit the car, you feel your muscles cramping from the ride. The smooth, suburban air hits your nose while you stretch, but Rey is by your side before you can even finish your routine. She’s a little out of breath from fiddling with the luggage, both arms occupied as she grazes your side on her way forward. Naturally, she calls your name expectantly, and you have no choice but to tag along.

The house stands at three stories tall, clad in a hipped roof and heather-blue sideboards, intermittent with a curved tower that tapers at the top. Large and small windows give you just a glimpse of the inside, lit with a flickering warmth and inching shadows.

“It’s gorgeous here,” you murmur as you follow Rey up the porch, taking in the vast, decorative arch sprawling above you.

“You think?” She questions frankly, dropping the luggage off with a sharp exhale as you reach the entrance. The doorway itself is a warm brown, spanning wide with its stained glass transom. “It’s a lot smaller on the inside.”

You nod wordlessly, tracing your gaze over the waxy plants decorating the sides as Rey finally knocks. Your body jolts at the dull sound, even more so once you hear a muffled voice from within and steadily approaching footsteps.

The slight panic sets in, and your gaze flies toward Rey. Someone unlocks the door from the inside with a soft ‘click.’ “Rey, I—”

“Honey!” comes a raspy, melodic voice, peeking out the doorway before it opens fully. You’re caught mid-sentence as you watch a short, middle-aged lady appear from within, clad in a loose, off-white blouse and patterned trousers. Her feet don a pair of rattan slippers, shimmying them back and forth as she walks into view.

Rey flies into her arms before you can even utter a smile, cradling the woman tightly as her weathered, delicate hands rub down your friend’s back. “Mom, how are you?”

“Stronger every day,” she coughs through the tight embrace, eyes peering open to cast you a wink and pat her daughter’s shoulder. “We have that in common, her and I.”

You’re smiling now. Not politely, but in testament to the sudden pang of zeal you feel at the heartwarming view. The two women eventually part, and suddenly, the knot in your stomach doesn’t seem so treacherous anymore. “Leia.”

“This must be your friend,” the woman says kindly, her mascara-rimmed eyes shining with an impressive fervor.

Your lips part again, and you utter your name. It’s soft and not quite confident, but Rey seems satisfied regardless. She takes your side and pats your back, grinning like she’s showing off her most-prized possession.

“She’s my savior, actually,” Rey counters with faux graveness, pulling you into her by the shoulder. “If it weren’t for her, we’d be stuck in traffic for another hour at least.”

“Hey, I was just reading off the GPS,” you chuckle, not quite confident enough to roll your eyes as you poke Rey’s side. “You’re the Schumacher here.”

“Look how modest she is,” Rey counters, reaching to pinch your cheek. You flail and try to push her affections away, yet the laugh bubbling in your throat is impossible to keep at bay. “And so cute! Isn’t she cute?”

“Oh my god,” you wheeze in embarrassment, keeping your gaze low as Leia laughs not at you, but with you. With your head ducked, Rey beams with pride as she retakes hold of the luggage, stepping over the curb as her mom ushers you inside with a gentle authority.

The hallway opens into a foyer clad in shades of green and beige, a grand staircase curving just to your left. Coats thread the wall above the console table, a variety of shoes lining the floor just on the verge of a patterned carpet. Beyond the hallway, you catch a spacious, sunlit living room, and a tall shadow looming just beyond the wall.

“Don’t tell me they’re here already!” A loud, booming voice comes from ahead, followed by a sharp clang as something heavy hits a tiled floor. The three of you wince at the sudden commotion, treading forward carefully until you pass an arched, plastered entrance into the kitchen.

A spatula-clad man appears in front of you, tall and domineering despite the ruffled apron tied around his waist. His greyed hair cascades wildly over his tanned forehead, hooded eyes housing a gaze worthy of a hawk as he questions his wife with a single arched brow.

There’s a silence, the space between you four filled with a weighted strain perpetuated by the man’s scowl. He exudes a similar authority to Leia, yet much more fiery and enough to make your ears ring.

He drops the spatula off on the kitchen island before sighing a long, tired exhale. His gaze meets Rey. Then, you watch as he signals her with a large hand, arms expanding to either side. “C’mere, kid.”

You exhale in relief as she comes in for a hug, muttering quiet curses at her father for playing around; the kind of words only a daughter can get away with. Meanwhile, your eyes scan the countertop, taking in the gorgeous sight of various grilled meats and a richly-colored salad. “You’re the worst.”

“Oh, you love it,” Han reprimands, pulling her in tighter and ruffling her hair with a calloused hand.

He finally releases her, letting her smooth down any flyaways while his gaze turns to you. His dark eyes pin you in place, and all you can muster is a light, haphazard wave.

“You must be her,” Han says, cocking his head slightly to look you over. It’s not unfriendly, but appraising, like he’s trying to place you as safe, or dangerous, good or bad. “The roommate.”

“Han,” Leia reprimands from the sidelines, expression soft yet firm, but it doesn’t bother you. In a moment of fleeting confidence, you step forward, extending your hand for a greeting.

“Nice to meet you,” you nod, giving the man a firm yet honest smile. When he grabs your hand, it’s warm and rough, with small, healed scars lining his fingers in stripes and just slightly oil-slick from playing around in the kitchen. “Thanks for having me.”

“Welcome to hell, kid.” He announces with just a hint of humor, eyes scanning you precisely as his grip tightens. “You drink?”

“Oh my god, Dad,” Rey groans like an embarrassed tween, but you’re already grinning at his mischief. The hot weather and scent of roasting herbs have certainly amplified your thirst, and with your head a mess, nothing sounds better than a generous offer like this.

“Sure do.”

୨ৎ

“I feel like I should’ve brought pearls or something,” you mutter, pinching your pierced earlobes with a thoughtful frown.

You’re sitting at Rey’s old, handmade vanity, shimmying nervously in the chair as you withdraw a blush compact from your makeup bag. It’s a little battered and probably expired, but it’s been a while since you’ve actually had an excuse to doll up; life’s been getting in the way of things, and you never stopped to realize how much you missed playing around with such commodities.

“You look great,” she calls from the closet, her voice muffled as she tugs something off a wooden hanger. “Seriously. I think pearls would’ve been overkill. You’re not eighty.”

You scoff softly and brush some warmth over your cheeks with the pads of your digits, inspecting the result in the mirror. Some old notes and drawings still hang from the rim, mostly indecipherable but still overwhelmingly cute. “I just don’t want to look like I stumbled in from a college bar.”

“You don’t,” Rey emerges with a dress slung over her arm, already dressed down in a mismatching pair of undergarments, her hair half-up with messy strands curled around her freshly-moisturized face. “When’s the last time we’ve been to a bar, anyway?”

“Finn’s birthday,” you reply promptly, trying your best to hide the grimace that threatens to emerge on your face. In retrospect, picking a dive bar was a massive lapse in judgment, but at the very least, you could still all laugh about it.

“Ugh,” she replies, tossing the dress on the hilt of your chair and scrambling into bed. “Don’t remind me, I beg of you.”

You chuckle. The room buzzes with the low thrum of an old playlist playing from Rey’s cracked speaker on the windowsill, accompanied by little half-dried succulents and stray pieces of jewelry. It’s some dreamy, synth-wave indie track from the early 2010s; you struggle to put a title on it, but it’s familiar.

“I’m serious, though,” Rey asserts, and you catch her legs dangling off the mattress in the mirror. The smell of warm body lotion and cheap perfume fills your nose, like a resurrected teen girl. “You look great.”

“Shut up,” you mutter through a smile, but the compliment lands. You smooth your dress where it hugs your thighs, heart ticking a little faster as you move to curling your lashes.

The track fades into Madonna, then Daft Punk. You catch yourself mouthing the lyrics from time to time as you apply extra layers of glitter and powders to your face. Rey lights a candle, meanwhile, muttering to herself about ‘skintone tights having no purpose.’ You laugh in agreement, settling into a peaceful rhythm you never thought you’d go back to in your adult life.

“Hey, by the way,” you pipe up, dabbing some concealer under your eyes. Rey doesn’t turn toward you, too busy braiding her ponytail in the small, standing mirror on her bedside table. Still, you hear her hum in acknowledgment, muffled over the hair tie stuck between her lips. “Why didn’t you invite them?”

She turns to you just slightly, her eyes half-lidded with amusement when she quirks an eyebrow. She picks the hair tie with her fingers, dropping it into her lap as she twirls the braid over itself. “What, Finn and Poe?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, watching her aptly tack the hairstyle in place with little bobby pins. “Your parents know them, right? Didn’t you have Finn over one weekend when you two—”

“Do not talk to me about that,” she interrupts, and immediately, you’re not sure how serious she’s being, as the laughter that leaves her lips is strained and nervous. “I can’t believe I agreed to that at all.”

“I think it was a nice thing to do,” you shrug again, tapping some fine glitter onto your eyelids. “And I mean… You made it pretty clear it was just a friendly meeting, so there’s no way he could keep tormenting you about it.”

Rey snorts, finally turning toward you. You spot her reflection in the vanity mirror, smiling and wincing all at once. “You make it sound so bad.”

“Wasn’t it?” You chuckle, and she shakes her head as it lowers.

“He’s a sweet guy.” She admits through a bitten lip, toying with a laser-green tube of mascara. “Just can’t take a damn hint, I guess.”

You nod, eyeing her through the mirror with a wide smile. As badly as Finn took the rejection, you were glad to see your friend group pick up the pieces and carry on, perhaps stronger than you’ve ever been before.

“Anyway, I did ask them to come,” she continues, shoving her accessories into a clear makeup bag littered with little illustrations of Hello Kitty. Your eyebrow raises.

“And?”

Rey sighs, leaning her elbow against the pillow as she glances sideways at you.

“They’re away this weekend,” she says, voice muffled by her palm. “Some aeronautics conference Finn begged Poe to go to with him. He’s been planning it for months, apparently.”

You twist your body around, brush in hand, eyeing Rey’s figure in mild disbelief. “Wait, seriously?”

She nods with a halfhearted shrug. “Yeah. Said it’s a ‘game-changing opportunity for young pilots,’ or whatever. You know how I feel about these… job conventions.”

You snort, turning back toward the vanity and applying a light layer of clear powder to your face. The brush glides across your cheeks and nose, making you shudder slightly. “That’s so Finn.”

“Right?” your friend laughs, scrambling to sit up. “Poe texted me last night like, ‘I’m being held hostage in a hotel bathroom. If I disappear, tell—’, and then it just cuts off. How dramatic is that? I didn’t even reply in the end, I was so pissed off.”

You burst into a fit of laughter, nearly smudging your hard work in the process. You get rid of the dark streak with a quick, gentle wipe to your under-eye. “Tragic. Though I can’t believe they didn’t say a word about it to either of us.”

“I know,” Rey nods, tapping her cheek thoughtfully. When she turns toward you again, her face is stone-cold serious. “You think it’s a date?”

“Damn,” you grin at the thought. “It’d definitely make things easier for all of us if they just got together.”

“Easier?” She counters, plopping her makeup bag onto the floor. “I seriously doubt it. These two are insufferable enough as friends.”

“Touche.”

“Anyway,” Rey sighs after a beat, “I told them to come over after they get back, in case we’re still around. Maybe for dinner or something.”

You hum in acknowledgment, fishing around in your bag for a lip tint. Your fingers brush past the usual chaos of receipts, hair ties, and a crumpled mint wrapper that still smells like the real thing, until your thumb finds the edge of your phone instead. And despite the material and spiritual comforts of Rey’s old room, your palm tightens, then withdraws the thing whole.

You hesitate for a second, but no longer.

It’s minutes before seven, and the text from earlier still sits there, taunting you with its simplicity. Or apathy, you think for a moment. With no follow-up for hours, you’ve given up on a reply yourself.

Yet you still reread it, lips moving in silence as your fist tightens against the fabric of your dress. You feel like ruminating on it enough will offer a solution or unpack the mystery, but the message sits there idly, reminding you of your own sickening emotions instead.

With a scoff, you lock your phone again and toss it back into the depths of your purse. Rey doesn’t notice, thankfully, too busy making horrible faces at her reflection, fighting with an earring.

“We should go,” you murmur, rising from the vanity chair and smoothing down your dress again, then grabbing your bag with the hesitation of a criminal. Rey nods, a little dazed, but approaches nonetheless, linking her arm through yours once she’s found her shoes; you settle on a pair of kitten heels she insisted on lending you earlier.

“Time to kiss babies and thank the universe that mom’s healthy,” she huffs, turning off the speaker and clicking the light switch, leaving the room in darkness. You catch the subtle, dark blue light of a skyline out the window before you’re out the door again, chest tight and nervous.

The hallway is dim and warm, the scent of spiced and grilled food trailing up from the kitchen. You pass a gallery wall filled with old family photos, your heels clicking softly on the wood as you try to spot a certain head of dark hair; yet you find nothing. Rey leads you down the staircase with a whispered ‘don’t trip, one’s a little crooked,’ and you both stifle giggles like you’re sixteen again.

As you reach the second floor, you begin hearing the soft murmur of conversation, laughter, and music from downstairs. It only grows louder as you pursue the last and final staircase, your elbow locked tightly with Rey’s, like you’re afraid to fall.

“Holy shit you’re strong,” Rey chokes out with a soft laugh, shaken by the force of your grip. You finally exhale, loosening your clutch on her arm while adjusting the clasp of your purse with trembling fingers.

“Relax,” she soothes, smiling. “I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

“I know,” you murmur as you descend toward the foyer. The soft hum of overlapping conversations grows louder: laughter, the clinking of glasses, and a distant scrape of chairs. But here, in the dim hallway leading toward the living room, you’re still safe. “I know, I just…”

Rey stops walking. She gently unhooks her arm from yours and takes your hands instead, brows pulled tightly together as she tilts her head at you. “What’s wrong?”

You open your mouth, but your voice catches. You try again, the words falling like quiet, desolate droplets.

“I just…” You try again, breath hitching. Something tugs at your heart. “I feel so… scattered. I didn’t even remember to get your mom a gift, or—or write a card, or anything, and I keep thinking about…” You don’t admit it directly, but judging from the somber expression painting Rey’s face, she knows. You suddenly feel guilty not just for your lack of decorum, but for your lies about the entire situation: hiding your romance with your best friend’s very own brother, pretending things are fine while you make yourself comfortable in her home. “And I wanted to be—good, you know? Polished and…together. I wanted to make a good impression.”

For a second, you don’t know if you’re talking about Leia and Han or something—someone—else entirely. She exhales a soft, knowing sigh and squeezes your ringed fingers. The world blurs with a thin veil of tears. “You already have.”

“But—”

“You’ve done more for me in the past few years than anyone,” she says firmly. “My mom’s obsessed with you already, and dad… he just pretends to be difficult. Trust me, the bar is low. Just don’t knock over a wine glass and you’ll be golden, okay?”

You let out a laugh that starts brittle, but ends more steadily as Rey pulls you closer into a gentle hug. Her voice lowers by your ear as you stand there, swaying to the distant music.

“Listen, you being here really means something to me. My mom. And whether your dumb mystery guy calls you back or not,” her voice tightens just slightly, fingers clenching against your dress, “you don’t owe him anything tonight.”

You nod into her shoulder, swallowing back the nerves. In your best attempt to stay selfless, you’ve only drawn attention. That realisation alone is enough to sober you up, inhaling your friend’s perfume sharply and praying it’ll ground you just enough to celebrate somebody else tonight.

“Okay.”

She holds you close for another moment, squeezing tight like you like it best. Her nose is against your temple, humming something softly.

“Good,” she says, stepping back and straightening the hem of your dress with an approving nod and a smile only you could consider somber. “Now let’s go hunt some cougars.”

“Oh my god,” you choke, gently patting away your tears and praying your mascara survived that brief moment of weakness. “You can’t be serious.”

“Aren’t I?” Rey replies as she hooks her elbow into yours again. “I thought you liked the maturity.”

“Enough.”

The two of you round the corner and step into the warmth of the living room. Golden light spills from sconces and strings of fairy bulbs overhead, music weaving between the sound of chatter and bursts of laughter. There’s a celebratory, cozy energy in the air, enveloping your body with the briefest glimmer of confidence, just enough for you to keep the fidgeting at bay.

You scan the crowd, eyes flitting across unfamiliar faces. For a second, you spot Leia in the corner of the kitchen, nursing a tall flute of champagne as she speaks to a group of well-dressed women. Han, on the other hand, stands just by the couch, gripping a frost-clad tumbler of whiskey and tapping his foot to the song playing overhead, completely at ease in his solitude. When he catches you passing by, he discharges a cordial yet intimidating nod, almost knowing.

“Rey?” You question, tapping her arm in case she didn’t hear you over the din of the party. She hums in return, half-distracted as she takes in the atmosphere. The warmth of the room begins getting to you, sticking to your skin like thick syrup and making your dress feel tighter than before. “I think I need a drink.”

Rey nods toward the kitchen with a satisfied groan, linking your arms tighter. “Read my mind.”

You manage a tight laugh and let her guide you through the sea of jewels. The scent of expensive perfume, smoked meat, and something sweet hangs in the air, making you realise just how prestigious most of the guests look. You knew Leia was a bit of a hotshot, but the opulence still exceeds your wildest expectations.

You’re at the kitchen counter before you know it, met with a rich array of cheeses, jams, and a variety of crunchy snacks in all shapes and sizes. You reach for a salted cracker just to have something to chew on while Rey rummages through a glass drawer, picking out a cream-labelled wine from the lower shelves.

“Looks expensive,” you comment mid-chew, earning a brief shrug from your friend as she struggles with the opener.

“Yeah,” she confirms with a brief eye-roll, straining against the bottle until the cork finally pops. “And that’s the only expensive part about it.”

You chuckle while nibbling the corner of your treat, stomach too tight for any semblance of real hunger. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the marble counter as you gaze over the living room again, listening to tidbits of nearby chatter while Rey withdraws two glasses and begins pouring. You catch glimpses of silk dresses and tailored suits, people talking with the kind of ease that only comes from old money or old friendships, though you think it might be a healthy mix of both.

“It’s sweet,” Rey comments as she recorks the bottle, “but not too sweet. You’ll like it.”

You take the glass and nod, swirling the liquid with a quick rotation of your palm. “Thanks.”

She sips first, studying you over the rim. The wine, indeed, tastes of spiced cherries when you dip your lips, lapping it up languidly while everything around you unfolds. You figure you might want to mingle at some point, just to be polite, yet this quiet corner of the party provides a comfort you can’t quite bring yourself to abandon. Yet.

“You okay?” Rey suddenly questions, and you forge a convincing smile with the remnants of your emotional energy.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly, “it’s just surreal. Everyone here looks like they stepped out of a gala.”

Rey snorts gently, swirling her poison, too, as she moves closer to you, both of you leaning comfortably against the marble counter with one arm crossed. “They might have. Mom used to be a pretty big deal before she got sick.”

“I think she’s still a pretty big deal.”

Your friend shrugs, donning a self-satisfied smile at your compliment. “Touché.”

The drink begins to taste warm and smooth on your tongue, but it does little to calm the twist still brewing low in your belly. Something about tonight has got you on edge, even after Rey’s kind reassurance and a sip of alcohol. You think it’s the air, or just a change in pressure before rainfall. You’ve always been pretty sensitive to—

Your breath hitches.

He’s turned slightly away, shoulder toward you and half-shadowed in the soft, warm glare overhead. In the confines of that well-fitted outfit, you barely recognise him; except you do, like you’d do anywhere else in the world, at any other time. His broad, dark frame takes up space like a cloud of thunder and rain, and despite the warm tingle of alcohol lining your stomach, your heart seizes to beat properly.

Everything falls into place. The alleged meeting, his departure, his absence—the goddamn sedan parked out in the driveway.

“Rey,” you whisper sharply, wine glass tipping slightly in the palm of your hand.

“What—”

She follows your stare, and her mouth closes wordlessly.

He stands near the fireplace, tall and quiet in a navy dress shirt and dark trousers, speaking to someone you unsurprisingly don’t recognise. A refined older woman with her pearls and practiced laughter grasps his hand, saying something flirtatious enough to make him smile. That smile. You feel it in your bones, gravity sinking into your ribcage like river stones.

The world falters with his conversation, lips slowing until they grow stiff against his pale face.

And when he looks up, all hell breaks loose.

Right there and then, across the room, he sees you. Really, really sees you, dressed up and glowing, nursing a glass of wine in your hand as your body stands unguarded for him to gaze upon.

And he doesn’t move, or smile, or do anything at all. Because you know he wasn’t expecting you, either. Something in his jaw tightens, and it’s enough to send your mind reeling with everything and nothing all at once, making you feel like an intruder in this beautiful house he calls home.

“You didn’t tell me he’d—”

“I didn’t know.” Rey cuts off, sending a shard of ice down your spine, unable to look away from his lowered gaze even as your breath falters.

You’re the first to blink. It feels like ripping something vital from your chest, but you drag your gaze away, pressing your lips into a line as the bile burns on its way down.

“I need—” you cough, grasping your glass tight even if your stomach feels too knotted to drink anymore. “I need air.”

Rey doesn’t stop you, yet the subtle touch on your arm is evidence enough that she doesn’t need to. Your heels click harshly against tile, then hardwood, as you move through the back hallway and toward the glass-paned doors leading out to the garden, your wine long-forgotten on a console table.

The cold greets you like an old friend, sharp and blessedly quiet like you need it most. The noise of the party dulls just enough to be an afterthought as you shut the door behind you, hissing softly like a serpent.

You step out onto the dark lawn. The delicate luster of lanterns strung through the trees makes the stone walkway gleam, neatly trimmed hedges lining the path forward where flower beds lie dormant in preparation for summer.

You walk until the stones curve toward a small, wooden structure in the shadows. An old, unused swing set stands before you, its paint chipped and halfheartedly covered in ivy vines.

You approach slowly, arms wrapped around your shoulders to shield yourself from the evening breeze. And without thinking, you sit. The wooden seat creaks softly under your weight, fingers enveloping the fraying rope as you slowly begin rocking back and forth into a semi-comfortable rhythm.

The garden is still around you. Distant birdsong echoes like a lullaby, disappearing under the approaching cover of night to be replaced by crickets and other nighttime crawlies.

You breathe and try to ground yourself, but the silence of your safe haven doesn’t last long.

A familiar presence enters the perimeter like an unwelcome tide. You feel it before you hear the heavy weight of quiet movement across the uncut lawn, crunching leaves, and the shadow that meets you without a single greeting or announcement.

You don’t look up, but when the sounds finally come to a sinister close, you unmistakably feel his gaze creeping up your back.

Kylo says nothing, and neither do you.

For a moment, it’s like standing in the eye of a storm. The party carries on behind you, but here, it’s just the two of you again, like it always seems to be, no matter how far apart you drift. It’s not a realisation you accept easily.

You keep your eyes closed, gently swinging to keep your body warm. Your head hangs low, lips curled into an angry frown even when you know he can’t see it. There’s a soft, metallic click behind you, then a sharp, ragged inhale. Your nose wrinkles as the crisp, night air fills with an acrid whiff of cigarette smoke.

“You ever gonna quit?” you mutter despite yourself, quiet yet unmistakably venomous.

There’s a beat of silence, long enough to make you consider storming off. You think you’d be better off that way, somewhere far from his looming shadow.

When he finally speaks, it feels like signing your demise.

“You ever gonna stop asking?” His voice is low and rough like sandpaper, but not unkind. In a way, you wish it were. You wish he were mean and rude and horrible, so you could finally excuse his actions and stop blaming yourself for the withdrawal and whatever led to it; you can’t quite remember.

But for now, you’re quiet. You stop your swinging, anchoring your feet into the ground, and muttering just loud enough for you and the dew around you to hear. “Guess not.”

There’s silence between you again. A puff of grey smoke trails upward, then fades into the dark like a sigh or exhale of your patience, wearing thin like a burning wick.

“You disappeared,” he comments matter-of-factly, taking your flank like it’s an ambush.

You bite your glossed lip hard enough to draw blood. It coats your tongue with the sharp taste of iron, lulling you into the somber state between hate and affection. Even if he was gone for days, a part of you wants to ask how he’s feeling, how he’s been, if he’s missed you. But you’re scared it’ll scare him, so for now, you settle for simplicity. For bitterness.

“You disappeared first.”

But an answer never comes. He stands behind you, puffing his cigarette in deep silence as you fight the tears in your eyes from falling onto your cheeks. Not from disappointment, you foolishly hope, but indifference.

You sit there, staring down at your borrowed shoes, letting the cool air braid its fingers through your hair. You wish the evening you shared in silence weren’t this beautiful.

Then, without as much as a warning, the swing beside you creaks under the weight of a foreign body. You own stiffens, shoulders curling slightly inward as you grip the rope tighter, letting it dig painfully into your thumbs.

He leans back a little, cigarette dangling from his fingers, gaze fixed on the moon-drenched garden ahead. You don’t move or speak, and soon enough, you find out you don’t have to.

“You know,” he begins, voice so low and hesitant you almost look. “I once got stuck up in that tree.”

Your eyebrows knit in complete confusion, staring down at the overgrown grass like it’ll offer you an explanation, a guide.

“What?”

He jerks his chin toward a crooked old elm near the edge of the garden. Its limbs stretch high and thin into the dark, still sprouting greenery in the chill of the season.

“Branches were higher when I was a kid. I was maybe eight—or nine? Thought I’d climb to the top and jump off. Thought I could fly.” His mouth tugs into something halfway between a smirk and a grimace, matching your own ambiguity. “Didn’t get very far, obviously. The branch snapped right under me, though I didn’t fall. I just… hung there. One leg caught, upside down, and screaming bloody murder. Scared the hell out of my mom.”

You blink again, then once more. The image comes to mind so vividly, you almost want to laugh through your tears.

“She came running out in those funny, woven slippers she still wears,” he continues, shaking his head. You remember them clearly from earlier today. “Nightgown, curlers in her hair, yelling at me like I’d tried to burn the whole place down. Dad stood there laughing so hard he had to hunch over, so you know it was good. Old man’s got some serious back pain.”

There’s a strange, unfamiliar fondness in his voice. You glance at him briefly, just a flicker of your gaze. He’s not smiling, but there’s a softness in his half-lidded eyes you thought you’d forgotten the existence of.

You turn back to the elm, studying its curved lines and spreading roots. You’ve never been one to carry a grudge for long, even when people hurt you hard. It was a vice, most agreed, but there were rare moments where your forgiveness forged hope. And now, stuck under the naked sky with Kylo Ren—Ben Solo—you think hope is what you need the most.

You tap your under-eyes, satisfied with the lack of moisture. The only thing that could make this evening any worse is admitting defeat with bitter, regretful tears. “Bet you tried it again the next day.”

He hums, and though you don’t look back, you see him looking at you in your peripheral vision. His eyes are dark and glittering even from where you sit, holding your image like he’s trying to place every feature.

“Three times.”

You huff softly through your nose, but it’s not exactly a laugh in your books yet. Still, it eases something deep in your chest, just enough for your shoulders to lower from their defensive hunch; just enough to let the memory of him settle back into place like it never left.

The ember of his cigarette glows faintly before he stubs it out against the thick sole of his boot. Then, there’s nothing but the hush of the night and the distant murmur of jazz trickling through the glass. Crickets come just moments later, harmonizing with the saxophone like they’ve heard it all before.

“I missed this,” Kylo says, barely using up a single breath.

Your fingers freeze around the hem of your coat. It’s so soft you almost think you imagined it, or the wind whispered it through the branches above. But no. It’s a voice, and unmistakably his. You know the shape of it by now, and further still, you know he meant every single word.

He missed you, and despite the ache of regret, you know you’ve missed him too.

The swing beneath him creaks harshly as he shifts, turning toward you. When you look, hastily, one of his arms drapes lazily over the back of it, fingers brushing the edge of the seat like they’re considering reaching toward you.

“Can I show you something?”

You blink the weight of your confusion away. The question is simple, yet it settles in your chest like a stainless anchor, dragging your heart down in the best and most sinful way; you can’t quite decide. A fragility enters the air around you like a truce, tentative and trembling against the ache left in your ribs, telling you to run, stay, breathe him in.

It’s not just a singular shard anymore—your entire being wants to sit up and follow, if only to satiate a selfish curiosity; know and understand why he’s been holding back, his story, his complicated mind, and hands so soft you crave to reach out and hold onto dear life. So you sit with the question and let it sprawl across your mind, hoping it’ll breathe purpose into you.

Except swinging there, in that very moment, you realise that there is nothing out there rushing to your savior; nobody out there to pave your path but you.

Hesitantly, you glance over, meeting his eyes for the first time like you meant to since the beginning. They’re tired, yes, but clearer than ever, docked to something barely wild or distant like before.

Something flickers in your chest. And hope wins.

“Okay.”

Your voice is quiet and honest, leaving your throat like a final prayer. He smiles. It’s enough for him to stand without a word, one hand in his coat pocket, while the other one reaches down toward you without a single beat of reluctance.

With a sharp breath, you feel his skin on yours. It’s dry and calloused by so unbelievably warm, trickling through your palm just like you remember, just like you’ve been craving.

You push off the swing, knees stiff from sitting, his tight grip steady and aiding your balance. Your heart beats fast when your gazes meet. You’re ready to face anything, no matter the outcome, just for a chance to make things right again.

With a brief, solid nod, he leads you back toward the house, the light, the life. The earth under your feet feels steadier now, and briefly, you realise this isn’t a coincidence.

This is a reckoning.

[mysticfluffyness]

15: kindred kind | kylo ren x reader

part 15 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: explicit language, mentions of chronic disease. word count: 3.1k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: am in class posting on phone y'all i've missed ya. some might call this chapter filler, but i beg to differ (^_-)

Now Playing: Let Me Know - Baba Stiltz, Okay Kaya

“You got a quarter?”

You glance up from your phone, bleary-eyed and over-caffeinated, as Rey stands in front of the vending machine, repeatedly banging up the side and making the coins inside rattle. Normally, you think you’d laugh, but today your throat and vocal cords betray you.

“Depends,” you murmur, voice scratchy and used from your sleepless, breathless night.

“Yeah?” Her curious gaze meets yours, lips curled at the corner like you’re about to say something funny. And you try. 

“You plan on changing my life with that?” you retort smoothly, returning her smile just partially. The soggy paper cup between your lips tastes of coffee remains and something inexplicably saccharine, but the mindless chewing is all that’s keeping you together right now.

She snorts without missing a beat, turning to give you a playful sneer. “I was aiming for a Snickers, but sure. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

You dig into your pocket anyway, fishing out two quarters and tossing them her way. One bounces off the side of the machine with a dull clank, while the other she catches midair with a soft, strained gasp. Then, she gets to work punching in some digits.

The laundromat you sit in is half-empty, hums and clicks, and the periodic ‘ka-chunk’ of a dryer flipping over someone’s forgotten load. Even if Sade plays from the overhead speakers, nobody else is around, giving you the impression of a despondent 90s gig. ‘It’d be very conceptual, having a club inside a laundromat,’ you had told Rey previously. ‘Sort of avant-garde,’ she had replied.

You’ve been sitting side-by-side in those godawful molded chairs, creaky plastic digging into your ass and making you contemplate the floor as an alternative. Yet you feel like this was exactly what you needed to break away from your slump: not a sensory nightmare, but someone sane to talk to about normal, non-sex or love-related things.

There’s a long beat before Rey settles beside you, peeling open the candy bar and nudging half of it into your hand without asking. You take it. Not because you’re hungry, but because that’s the sort of gesture that makes you feel like you’re healing, even as the chocolate coating melts a little against the warmth of your fingers.

“Hey,” you begin through a mouthful of nougat, nudging her softly as you both melt into your chairs. “Do you think they ever refill these machines, or am I eating something made in 1985?”

“Hard to say,” she shrugs, chewing on her own bar just as thoughtfully, “it's a good year, though.”

You snort softly, swallowing another piece without chewing enough. Despite your theory, the chocolate sits on your tongue sickengly sweet, nearly nauseating with the aftertaste of dark roast. You know the cornershop you got the cup from doesn’t exactly put emphasis on quality, but the price is enough to convince you to ponder a refill.

You both shimmy a little as you watch the laundry spin into greens and browns on one side, and just whites in the other. Your mindless chatter slowly melts into quiet and sticky chewing.

“So,” she starts muffled around a bite, turning toward you just slightly, “did you get hit by a truck on your way here?”

You snort again, but your humor is inevitably met with a drawn silence. When your eyes flicker over Rey’s face, her quirked brow causes your heart to pump harder. 

It’s been five days and five nights of no contact with Kylo. After your shameful night spent together and that embarrassing morning after, he had gone to his ‘meeting’ and never came back. You figured it was a cover, sure, but could you expect him to just… vanish into thin air?

You tried calling. The signal beeps carried into what felt like infinity, and finally, punctuated with his voice. He was simple and to the point, like you’d expect of him.

‘Kylo Ren. Leave a message.’

So husky and void of warmth. The first few days, you’d call again, just to hear that two-second voicemail and lull yourself to a dreamless sleep, then rinse and repeat in the morning. By day three, you were spent and tearless.

Rey had given you the news that day, and you had to pretend like it didn’t matter at all. Kylo had gone ‘away’ to an undisclosed location for an unrevealed amount of time. ‘He’ll be back,’ she had said. His luggage was still by the TV, his toothbrush still lying idly under the bathroom mirror and taunting you with its ignorance to your pain.

Your heart pounded with regret and confusion, but relief took a close third. At the very least, you could rest assured that he was safe, somewhere far; somewhere without you.

You knew you had to tell Rey eventually. She squinted at your red-rimmed, puffy eyes every morning at breakfast, but stayed silent like she was trying to give you grace. It wasn’t as bad as pity, but still stung your gut. Nobody really talked about the less glamorous symptoms of heartbreak (like indigestion and headaches) and how hard it was to heal when it’s kept hidden from your closest friends, even when they try their hardest to inquire.

Finn and Poe knew nothing about the harsh downfall of your situation, either. Some small, prideful part of your heart felt like telling them your woes would just cement the end of it; the end of you and him. You struggled to speak his name anymore, even when the duo barraged you with question after question of ‘did it finally happen?’ and ‘how big is he? Oh, don’t tell me, it’ll ruin the mystery.’

“Excuse me,” you faux-scoff, voice weakening as Rey’s eyes burn into the side of your face, “try a lorry.”

“Right,” she snorts, popping the edge of the candy bar into her mouth and chewing slowly. You do the same while watching her squeeze and toy with the leftover wrapper, as if she were nursing some sort of anxiety you’re impartial to. You both knew what was coming, and you braced for it like armorless soldiers. “Sorry.”

You glance at her sideways, tongue pressing to the inside of your cheek. The scent of warm fabric softener hangs in the air, melting into the otherwise stale air. And Rey doesn’t press, even as you stall to infinity. She just kicks her foot a little where it dangles off the edge of the chair, waiting you out like she’s done this for years, and she has.

And maybe that’s the only reason you’re prompted to talk, the words leaving your lips like a dry cough of air.

“I don’t know,” you say eventually, watching the light flicker overhead. Rey turns toward you fully now, trying to edge her body within the confines of her plastic chair. You glance her over just briefly, and inexplicably, it makes it easier to confess. Not fully, but enough to soothe her worries—and your own, hopefully—for a while.

“I thought he was different.”

Rey tilts her head mid-chew, cheeks pudgy when she turns to you. “What?”

“Like, not in a dramatic, Nicholas Sparks kind of way. Just… quiet, I guess. Intelligent but not, pretentious.” You continue, chewing a caramel-coated peanut as Rey grabs your forearm. When you turn to face her, she’s looking at you like you’re transparent, or worse, knowing exactly what you’re talking about.

She shakes her head wordlessly for a while, lips parted like she’s trying to conjure the right question. “Who?”

You freeze. The warm confessional haze evaporates instantly, replaced by full-body regret and the urge to lie your way out like you’ve done so expertly the past week. Months, if you consider your hopeless, slowly blooming feelings.

“Just… a guy,” you wave, swallowing thickly and feeling the residual sweetness in your throat. “At work.”

Rey’s face scrunches. You watch haphazardly as she tosses the wrapper on the floor, not purposefully, just caught in the moment of your half-assed confession. “A guy?”

You nod too quickly, and your lips tighten. Her gaze penetrates, so you opt for watching the wrapper instead, struggling to backpedal. “New guy. Or, a new customer.”

It’s not a lie, exactly, but Rey’s quiet. That long, judgmental quiet she does when she’s deciding how much of your crap to tolerate before inevitably calling you out on it, and due to that fact alone, you refuse to meet her eyes. The wrapper dances on the tiled floor, propelled by the AC. How wonderful that would feel right now, you think, to be a weightless, inconspicuous object free of consequences, smelling sweet and never once crying over a mediocre guy.

“I just,” you sigh, crossing your legs to toy with the yellowed shoelace. Rey stays quiet and unjudgmental, letting you take the pace you need. You know you’ll have to confess one way or another, and you aim for the latter; details were optional, and all you had to convey was your frustration. “It was stupid. And brief, and… I clearly read way too much into it. As always.”

She doesn’t push, which is somewhat worse; just leans back in her creaky plastic chair and offers, “Well, stupid and brief flings are still flings. You’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

You nod, but it’s the kind of nod people give when they’ve just benched themselves emotionally. And you have, too. There’s a lull among you, only the click-clack of someone’s chunky sandals as they pace behind the windows, children laughing.

“Okay, so,” Rey leans her shoulder gently into yours, and you finally get the courage to look up. She’s smiling, a sad half-smile that makes you shiver. “Tell me about him. This guy.”

You suck in a breath and sit back, staring at the whirring machines like they’ll offer a script for your woes. As hard as it was to drown in abandon after he left, you think talking about it might take the cake after all.

“He was just…” You fumble, words slurring slightly with a tingle in your throat. You clear it, then again. “He was intense. And really, really passive at the same time. But never boring, like he was thinking about something He actually looked at me, even watched me closely even if I wasn't doing or saying anything particular. And—and not in a creepy way, but in a way that made me feel like… I wasn’t just background noise for once. I don’t know.”

Rey’s brows raise slightly, but she says nothing. And you keep going, because now it’s all unspooling, bitter and sweet and maybe it was just what you needed all along.

“He’d say the smallest things and they’d feel like goddamn revelations to me, even if he teased me about it. He wasn’t nice, but when he was, it felt…real. So, so real and…and he touched me like I, we, were real, too. And I thought—” Your voice cracks just a hair, but you don’t continue. Instead, you try to stop your lip from quivering as Rey puts a reassuring palm atop your thigh.

“What happened?” She questions without softness. It’s not unkind, but the edges of her words are determined and nearly frayed.

You blink away your dry tears, the lump in your throat expanding enough to make it hard to swallow.

“He left.”

The radio stutters with static. Your laundry stops spinning with a sharp beep. Then, silence. None of you move to unload it.

“He left like none of it mattered. Like, I imagined the whole damn thing, you know? The whole damn thing,” you trail, feeling Rey’s thumb caressing your jeans. “He said he…I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter after all, because he lied about it. He lied about it all and then he walked out.”

You rub at your eyes angrily, trying to push the burn back in. Kylo’s at the forefront of your mind now, boring into your eyelids like a ghost tirelessly haunting your waking days.

“I still smell like him. Fuck, I haven’t even changed my sheets yet,” you let out an ugly little laugh, half-choking through the tightness of your body. “God, Rey. I feel deranged.”

Rey nods slowly, like she’s filing away a hundred questions she’s not ready to ask yet. You, on the other hand, ride that brief wave of anger, taking hurried rein and choking out another pained laugh.

“You know the last thing he said to me before he walked out?” You ask incredulously, looking at Rey with your head shaking in disbelief. She nods in encouragement, but you’ve already fallen quiet. The machines clunk and hum around you, oblivious to your pain. The turmoil.

“Lock the door behind me,” you repeat, settling on every word and individual vowel. You’re careful with your enunciation, even when he wasn’t. His words were quick like lightning and hurt just as much, like he just had to slam a dozen nails into your coffin before leaving you trapped with the memory of his touch in a crypt of his own making.

After a beat, with her hand still caressing your thigh, Rey says gently, “You don’t have to pretend it didn’t hurt. You’re allowed to be wrecked, you know?”

You sniffle, realising you’ve been holding onto the last bite of your candy bar. It sits between your fingertips, melted into the pads of your digits. You pop it in on your tongue for a lack of anything better to do, speaking somberly as you chew. It’s not as sweet anymore, and you think you taste the cheap coffee again. “What if I never stop being wrecked?”

Rey sighs, her gaze firm and holding you at bay. She grabs your hand, chocolate stains and all, and squeezes hard enough for it to ache.

“You will,” she presses, bobbing her head with the weight of the words. Her eyes don’t smile with her lips, but she still chuckles. “Probably by Wednesday.”

You snort joylessly, and your heart thumps with a slither of hope. Maybe, despite the chuckles and smiles, Rey is right. It was a fling, and flings tend to be quick, hard, and explosive—they find you excitable and leave you the same way. That’s one advantage you figure you might have; you were quick to kiss and fuck, and will probably be quick to forget all about it, too.

And suddenly, you don’t feel so wretched. Ruined and angry, yes, but you think that sometime soon you might stop missing him.

“So, hey,” Rey suddenly pipes up, her voice a little stronger now. She must have noticed your big, relieved exhale, as she smiles fully now. “My mom’s throwing a thing. Like, a thing thing. Her remission party.”

You glance up, eyes a little wide as your tonghe digs a peanut from between your teeth. Your selfish worry turns into a pang of curiosity, then floods into question. “She okay?”

Rey nods through that same smile. 

“Yeah. They caught it early this time. She’s feeling good. She’s, uh…” she trails slightly, biting her bottom lip to stop a grin. She’s happy. Hopeful, even. “She’s making casseroles. So. Really good.”

Despite the bad blood simmering in your gut, you feel like you can breathe a little easier now. You’ve known about Leia’s situation before, but due to the effect it had on Rey, you respected her grieving and never pushed too hard. 

You smile now, too, then catch her hand in yours, squeezing as tight as she did just moments ago. “That’s amazing, Rey.”

“She’d love to see you,” Rey adds quickly, a little too loud to be casual. Her free hand lands on your shoulder, eyes wide and hopeful like she’d just realised something important. “You should come. It’s just family and friends, good wine. Maybe some semi-intentional emotional terrorism via political discourse, but you know.”

“That’s just another Sunday for us,” you chuckle easily, and she joins you promptly with her own.

Her head tilts a little, giving you a playful quirk of her eyebrow. “Especially with Kylo around, right?”

You laugh a little, while inside, your stomach drops. There’s nausea, and terror, and a brief hiccup of air, but then you smooth it out. After all, Rey had remained oblivious to the toughest part of your predicament, but for now, you knew you’d keep it under lock and key.

“I’ll think about it,” you nod, gently withdrawing your hand from hers to let the trickling anxiety settle.

“Cool,” she says, her grin toothy and excitable. She shrugs suddenly, standing from her chair with a loud, painful creak and smoothing down her pants. “I was gonna guilt you into it anyway.”

“I appreciate the honesty,” you roll your eyes despite the hollow in your chest, standing up slowly and grabbing your laundry basket.

“It’s what makes me charming,” she shrugs, grabbing her own and crouching by the washers.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

She gives a mock bow within the confines of her position, extending an arm just enough for you to catch her intention. "Sharp tongue. I see heartbreak hasn’t dulled your edge."

"Yeah, well," you murmur, glancing at the non-churning machines, "edges are all I’ve got left."

Rey laughs, and you watch with a bitter smile as she tugs at the washing machine’s handle. When it doesn’t give, she looks toward you with wide eyes.

"Holy shit—" she huffs, tugging another peg harder as you approach with a strained giggle. “It’s stuck. It’s actually stuck.”

“No, no, no,” you shake your head, stepping forward and shooing her away with a brief wave. “Let me try.”

“Dude, all my work clothes are in there,” she laments, dead-serious and approaching panic as you strain against the plastic handle. Indeed, it stays shut. “If I have to go into office in that fuck-ass onesie again, I’ll—”

You bark out a laugh, so hard you get startled by it. The sound feels foreign in your mouth, left behind like your hope for something more, something real; but it’s warm, and that’s enough to make Rey grin.

“There she is,” she teases, clearly pleased with her own witty quips as you keep tugging. You roll your eyes again, but it’s less malicious this time, paired with bright eyes and warm cheeks. 

“Come on, help me out here before I start crying, too.”

And the two of you wrestle the stubborn washed door together, laughing and swearing under your breaths until, with an ungodly squeal of rusted metal, it finally gives. After, you gather your laundry and bicker about who really got the round door to budge, neither of you willing to admit defeat.

For the first time in days, things feel normal again. Your lungs expand with fresh breath, laughing about everything and nothing at all while your phone buzzes with an inflow of texts, forgotten like they ought to be.

[mysticfluffyness]

14: dry down | kylo ren x reader

part 14 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: explicit language, smut (cunnilingus, fingering), mild angst word count: 3.8k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: shorter chapter today, y'all. enjoy me being horrible and pulling the rug again, hehe

Now Playing: Girl - Men I Trust

Morning rolls in like a soft, white dove, swirling into your room with a warm wind smelling of pollen.

Your eyes flutter open to your sheer curtains, flailing through the space like a ghost of last night. Light pours in warm, and you wrap the covers tighter as the soreness between your thighs settles in like a small blessing.

And when you spot him there, arms snaked tightly around your nude waist, you think you might have died and gone to a blashpemous heaven.

Kylo’s body is a furnace behind you, arms heavy around your middle, the coarse hair on his forearms brushing your tender skin. He shifts slightly, his nose burying into the crown of your head with a soft, content hum. You sigh with him, lips curling into a wide smile that you hide into the softness of your pillow.

You feel him shift against you, a soft groan fleeting his lips just beyond the shell of your ear. You know he’s awake before he even utters.

“Morning, sunshine,” comes a groggy, barely audible din, shuddering down your spine. You feel his face nuzzle your neck, nose poking against the base of your skull.

“Ugh,” you reply through a bleary-eyed joy, stretching your legs and letting them smooth against his. “I kind of hate that.”

He hums out the shadow of a chuckle, sighing out with sleep as his arms wrap tighter around your waist. Birdsong fills the room in tandem with his sigh. “Morning, asshole.”

You match his amusement with your own laughter, letting it soak into your pillow as he drums a soft, rhythmless beat against your belly. It doesn’t dawn on you like you thought it would, this intimacy. His touches are gentle and kind, and instead of pulling away, you feel sucked in. Worst of all, you don’t even attempt to resist.

“Much better, weirdly.”

He laughs again, this time loud enough for you to hear. His fingers dig into your skin again, soft but demanding, and you catch the hint immediately. With a tired groan you shift your body, rolling in his arms until you catch sight of a dark mess of locks and plush, sleep or kiss-bitten lips. His eyes are closed, dark eyelashes brushing the speckle of his cheeks when a smile erupts on your face unsolicited.

Your silent admiration is promptly interrupted by the rumble of Kylo’s chest, speaking blasphemy through a crackless mein. “You snore, by the way.”

You grin even though he’s not looking. “Liar.”

“Swear on my life,” his eyebrows lift, cheek smushing into the pillow you’ve apparently been sharing all night. “Full-on chainsaw. I actually woke up in a sweat.”

You chuckle, placing your hands against his pecs. The skin is smooth there, lined with those same freckles that start at his temple. “How?”

“From fear, obviously,” he shrugs through the constraint of sheets, popping one eye open just a smidge. “And that’s not all.”

You lift an inquisitive eyebrow, watching him study your face for a beat through that little crack of his eyelid. You press your chest into his on instinct, suddenly aware of the nudity you don.

“You drool.”

Your jaw hangs with shock at the proclamation, but the man’s gaze is nowhere to be found again. He shoves his face into the crook of your arm, yet you feel the curl of a smile as it presses into your skin.

“Excuse me?” you counter through a faux scowl, pushing at his chest. “That’s impossible.”

“You do. Little puddle, right here on my arm,” he elaborates into your elbow before shifting to face you again. You watch patiently as his eyes crack open, both this time, glazed with sleep yet unmistakenly staring through you. He’s still smiling, nearly grinning now. “I’m honestly traumatized.”

You scoff, eyes rolling in attempt to hide the giddiness rising through your chest. “You’re dramatic.”

He arches an eyebrow like a dare, then moves in one fluid motion, all muscle and menace combined. Before you can squeal out a protest of any kind, he rolls, flipping you onto your back and pinning your wrists to the mattress on either side of your head. His weight hovers just enough not to crush you, but certainly enough to make your breath hitch with the dominance.

“Oh my god—get off me!” you wail, squirming just a bit as breathy, giddy laughter fills the air between you.

Kylo’s hair is a mess, black waves cascading over his cheekbones, revealing that pair of dark eyes that glare down at you in full alert now.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“Never!” you spit back, eyes as wide as your smile when you spot how blown-out his pupils are above you.

Kylo clicks his tongue in reply, dipping down just slightly to let a gust of breath graze against your face. “Then I’ll be forced to carry out a punishment.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smirk, but you can see it now—that feral little glitter of his eyes that promies chaos more often than not.

“Yeah?” he murmurs again, voice dropping thick with menace.

Before you can bite back with something familiarly snarky, he moves.

Kylo lets go of your wrists, only to trail one large hand down your arm, your side, until it hooks beneath your knee and hitches your leg up over his hip. The weight of him shifts with it, pressing you down into the mattress with no way to run. Your breath stalls, simmering.

He dips down, brushing the tip of his nose along your jaw, then lower still to the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. His mouth follows promptly, lips warm and lazy as they press into your skin.

“Oh, I dare,” he says, voice muffled by the softness of your skin.

You shiver, and he hums smugly at your willingness. His kisses drift lower down, teeth grazing any skin he can, and just enough to make you jolt in anticipation.

“Kylo—” you half-laugh, half-gasp, letting your fingers threat through the unruly curtain of his hair.

“What?” he says innocently, even as he sucks a mark into your collarbone to dispute his tone in an instant. “This is just part of what I promised. You did slander my good name.”

“You don’t have a good name,” you mutter, but it comes out far too breathy to even remotely land as an insult. You’re barely trying anymore, it’s out of habit more than anything. Kylo laughs low and throaty, vibrating against your chest.

His lips are flushed when he lifts his head, cheeks tinged with a soft pink that mirrors your own distraught state. His gaze flickers over your chest, marvelling at your softness, but ultimately he focuses on your face. Your eyes.

“You’re lucky I’m merciful,” he says.

You raise a brow, raking one hand through his hair absentmindedly. You already feel drunk off his affection, and as much as it should scare you, the feeling is too large to escape as you face it head on. “That’s what you call mercy?”

He leans in again, this time pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “You don’t want to see what unforgiving looks like.”

You shoot him a half-daring look, tilting your head in slight challenge even as something primal tugs at your gut. It’s been minutes since you’ve awoken, and yet that deeply-rooted fire from last night still sparks down your thighs.

“I might.”

Kylo inhales sharply, something untamed flashing through his half-lidded eyes. Immediately, you know you’ve lit a fuse, and now, it was just a matter of fanning the flame into completion.

“Careful,” he warns lowly, holding your gaze as he lowers to plant a slow kiss against your lips. “It’s still early.”

You hum against his mouth, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, your lips parting in slow invitation. He tastes warm, sleep-sweet, with just the slightest hint of last night. It makes your stomach flutter with anticipation and something else entirely.

Then, with a devil-may-care glint in your eyes, you slide your hand down the plane of his chest. Slow fingers trace every dip and ridge like you’re mapping out a coastline, down hillsides and ravines.

“Early?” you echo, voice dulcet-soft as your palm flattens against his abdomen, just above the waistband of his briefs.

He exhales hard through his nose, muscles going taunt against your palm with a sudden flex. Your free hand rises, cradling the back of his head and dragging him in close. Your fingers thread into the thick mess of his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his throat.

He kisses you with his whole body, mouth urgent and chest pressed flush to yours, hips twitching forward like he’s chasing your touch without even meaning to. One of his hands slips under your thigh again, squeezing, while the other roams up your side, dragging the sheet with it and letting the material bunch at your waist.

“You’re not getting what you want,” he mutters between kisses, voice gravel-rough and vibrating against you.

You smile, breathlessly tipping your head back as his lips begin their slow descent down your jaw and across your neck. His teeth graze a particularly sensitive spot just below your pulse, and your hips jolt into his involuntarily.

He chuckles against your skin, teeth flashing into a crooked grin before he kisses his way lower, grazing your collarbone again. “Still not sorry?”

You look down with lust-drunk eyes, matching his smile with your own. “Not even a little bit.”

His grip tightens around your thigh, holding eye-contact as he slides his mouth up the hill of your breast.

“Good.”

He latches on, tongue swirling against the perked peak of your nipple and making you release a deep, suffocated moan into the air between you, smelling of sex and spring. His hand drops from your thigh, urging up your waist and settling atop your other, lonesome breast. He palms the flesh, squeezing and pinching while his teeth graze your areola.

“Ah, shit—” you hiss, bunching your fists into the pillow. Kylo responds promptly, nearly impatiently, releasing the mound with a soft ‘pop’ before beginning his assault on your sternum. The saliva-slick spot cools rapidly in the air as he traces down your midsection, holding his grasp tight while he descends further down your belly. Your head tilts back and you close your eyes, letting his peppering kisses lull you into oblivion.

“Sleepy?” he rumbles against your hipbone, making you groan at your own stupidity. You’ve allowed yourself to succumb to Kylo’s antics, and once again he’d be the one calling the shots while all you could do was squirm and call him names.

On second thought, that didn’t sound so bad.

“Thought this was supposed to be a punishment,” you manage to tease, voice grasping air as he kisses the dip toward your thigh.

“It is,” he growls. “And I’m taking my damn time with it.”

Sunlight streams through the curtains, painting golden stripes over the tangled sheets and limbs as he inches toward your folds. His breath is hot over your clit, a soft, concentrated stream of air making you flinch at the surprising sensitivity that jolts up your spine.

“What are you—”

His mouth sinks against your pussy, warm and hungry. You lift your arm over your face, biting down on your forearm to stifle the sudden outburst of moans that leave you unsolicited.

It’s a repeat of last night in terms of pleasure, yet his pace is anything but. There’s languidity in place of fervor, passion in place of desire—his hands wrapping tightly around your thighs, holding you in place as he licks a slow, wide strip up your slit. The feeling is electric, and makes you whimper softly.

“Oh,” you mewl, arching your back slightly as he catches your clit. His movement is stable and consistent, alternating smoothly between soft licks, then suckling again. “Oh, Ben.”

He squeezes your legs tighter at that, but the ministrations never pick up pace. He lies between your thighs, worshipping your pussy so softly and gracefully, giving you everything just to hear you call his name into the walls of your home.

You’re relaxed and at complete ease. For a second, as he settles into an even rhythm, you think you might fall back asleep.

But then you feel his arm leave your right left thigh. Before you can check understand, something slender smooths down your entrance, and your eyes widen at the newfound sensation. You look down at your dark-haired lover, his half-lidded gaze stuck hard to yours as he prods not one, but two fingers against your pussy.

He searches your face for permission and you nod vehemently, lip caught between your teeth.

“Oh, fuck,” you sigh as he slides in with ease, digits squelching with slick upon entry. A soft, trickling wave of pleasure washes over you like a precursor, making you sink into the mattress with a dazed sigh.

“Feel good?” Kylo questions between the gentle flicks of his tongue, letting his digits curl inside you almost instantly and when you choke out a strained moan in reply, he begins to move. You feel a pressure against the soft ridge of your canal, cascading through your belly and thighs in a wave of deep, pulsating ecstasy as he continues his assault on your clit.

It’s good. It’s painfully, unbearably wonderful, and you’re sure he knows it. It feels like hours when it must’ve been just minutes, yet his slow, slow affections leave you melted into a dopamine-stuffed puddle, body taut with an impending orgasm that never really peaks, keeping you at the delicious precipice until you’re left begging.

“Kylo,” you trail languidly, less like a warning and more like a quiet plea. You look down, the sight of his dark eyelashes as he stays latched onto you making you groan out pathetically. “Kylo, I can’t—”

His gaze finally lifts to meet yours, his half-lidded eyes watching your glowing, sweat-slick face with complete, soft amusement.

“Mhm,” he hums in acknowledgment, the vibration filling your belly with another wave of pulsating pleasure. His fingers keep working, too, pressing against your sensitive spot without missing a single beat even as your hips begin bucking into it.

“Hey,” you mewl again, this time firmly enough to catch his attention. His tongue slows just a bit, licking up your slick folds with a final stripe. You shudder, locking a palm around the arm holding your thigh down. “Come here.”

When you thought he’d acquiesce, you see him hesitate. Something glitters in his eyes, and his lips leave your pussy without as much as a ceremony, the two digits stirring within you coming to a sudden stop. He watches you for a beat, then two, and when you finally moan out in protest of his passiveness, it’s tight and pathetic.

“Ben, please.”

His body rises. Within seconds, he’s got you pressed against the bed again, the weight of his body balanced on one elbow while his other palm holds still against your pussy. Something burns in his eyes, and this time, it stays long enough for your heart to stutter.

Your mouth parts slightly, his hot breath mingling with yours as you exchange wordless, meaningful stares. “I—”

His lips crash against yours before you get to finish, making you whimper. He tastes sweet and lactic, his tongue prodding against yours before you can think anything at all, your breasts pressing into his strong chest.

And then his digits move again, pushing deeper and hitting an angle you never thought possible.

It’s devastating, and you make it known with a guttural groan against his lips. Yet that only urges him to hum, the swirling within you continuing in small, concentrated presses that knock the breath from your lungs. Your hands snake up his back, around his neck, holding him tight and close as if the heat of his body alone was enough to make the rubber band within you snap into bits.

“Oh, Ben,” you sigh against his lips, letting him take the lead on your animalistic, saliva-slick kiss when you feel your resolve crumbling with the pulsating pleasure of his palm on your clit. “Ben, baby, I—”

You feel him drop your kiss with a sharp inhale, his fingers picking up pace just as your eyes dart open.

He’s looking at you through a thick band of lashes, lips plush and wet with your slick, eyes darting across your face with something like madness. You realise you could have no other name for the wild, delirious splay of his pupils, the arm holding his balance snaking under your back to press you even closer together.

It’s the proximity of his body that breaks you.

“Fuck,” you whine, your hands sliding to either side of his face. You grasp him tightly, feverishly, holding him close as you feel yourself approaching the precipice, once and for all. “Fuck, fuck—Kylo, Ben, I’m cumming, I’m—”

You see his throat bob tightly, lips pressed into a line as his gaze penetrates your very soul. You hear him mutter something under his breath, something insignificant, probably, but the gust of his breath on your cheek combined with the devilish speed of his digits against your sweet spot makes the bundle in your belly uncoil in a wild, uninhibited burst.

You squeeze your eyes shut and cum hard, his forehead pressed to yours as a stray tear rolls down your climax-heated cheek. The pleasure flows through your muscles, your heart, brain, and when you breathe out a cry, Kylo catches it with a hot kiss that sears your soul.

He lets you ride your high out on his fingers, pressing ever so gently as your breath heaves with his. He withdraws one finger when your eyes open, then another.

The world fitlers back in slowly with distant birdsong and the soft creak of the mattress beneath you as Kylo shifts his weight. His fingers, slick with your unraveling, trail idly along your thigh before he wipes them on the sheet absentmindedly. Something about that gesture stirs your gut.

You’re still catching your breath, lips parted and eyes hazy when he speaks again.

“You alright?” he asks, voice rasped and thick with sleep, or something else. You think it might be the latter with how red his cheeks burn.

“Better,” you hum, nodding lazily, still stuck somewhere between Earth and Cloud 9. A faint smile tugs at your lips, curling on one side. “You’re kind of annoyingly good at that.”

Kylo huffs a low and pleased laugh, yet no smile lines his features. There’s something else there, but it flickers in and out, running out of reach before you can even think to catch it.

“Yeah, well. You’re a really good motivator.”

You both laugh softly, the air warm and sweet between you. He doesn’t move yet, hovering close with his eyes fixed on you with a look that borders on something dangerous. But maybe it’s just softness, and you’re not yet used to it.

You think it might be the afterglow, or the fact you’re sharing this quiet morning together, his thumb tracing circles into your hip like he’s done it dozens times before. Or maybe it’s just your anxiety, rising to your throat unfiltered but undeniably delicate, spilling out before you can think to stop.

“I’ve never felt this way with anyone.”

But you don’t even realise the weight of your confession before the air between you stills.

Kylo blinks. The tenderness in his face doesn’t vanish, but it tightens, freezing before your very eyes like cracked glass. And you get stuck with him, eyes searching for something explanatory that never comes.

He shifts off of you first, face flat but ruminating as the sheet slips from his waist. He sits on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand to rub over his face, dragging his fingers down like he’s trying to scrub something away. Then he exhales through his nose. It’s sharp and quick, and with a growing knot in your chest, you watch as he stands, half-naked in the early light.

“What’s wrong?” you ask quietly as he reacher for the clothes he left in a pile on your bedroom chair. You’re propped on one elbow, sheet wrapped around your body like armor, even though you’re sure you’re already bleeding beneath it.

Kylo steps into his trousers, pulling them back on with his broad back to you. “Nothing. Nothing, I just… forgot I had a meeting.”

You blink as a frown settles on your face. “A meeting?”

He nods once, still not looking at you as he throws his shirt on next. Instinctively, you reach for your phone on the nightstand, checking the time.

5:43 AM.

There’s a handful of missed calls from Rey, timestamped between yesterday evening. Your brow knits, realising most of your night was spent in bed, tangled in a world that was now threatening to collapse in front of your very eyes.

“It’s not even six,” you plead, voice gentler than you’d planned.

Kylo rakes a hand through his already-tousled hair, nodding once again. Your gut suddenly bubbles with a familiar rage, listening to his threadbare excuse without a single instinct to face you head-on. You’ve kept it harbored somewhere deep for the night, blinded by his effortless affections. Briefly, you realise you should have known better.

“Okay,” you muster a brittle little smile, and offer it to no one but yourself. He’s still looking away, after all, stood in the doorway, hand on the frame. You can see his fingers tremble even at a distance.

Still, for a second, hope flares stupidly in your chest. You think he might turn around. All it’d take is a second, a word, a smile, absolutely anything to seize the endless spiral of chaos barging through your brain, harmonizing in a helpless song of: what did I do wrong?

And you hope he might feel your desperation, that strong, pleading pull. Because before he leaves, he looks back over his shoulder, his dark eyes piercing you with that same tenderness you saw as he touched your body and soul.

“Lock the door behind me,” he says.

His footsteps echo down the hallway steadily, and then a bit uneven. You stare at the open door as the silence swells around it like heavy bloating, still holding onto that thread of hope, of the possibility that—

The front door shuts with a click.

Your throat closes in tandem, bleary eyes flooding with wetness. The tears slide down your cheeks before you can think to stop them, slipping hot and quiet in one blink. Then comes the rest. You curl into the mattress and palm at the pillow and sheets where he just lied. You think they might hold some vague shape of his arms or face, but they don’t. Not at all.

You muffle your sobs against the corner, every exhale shaking your ribs like a living, breathing creature clawing at your ribs. There’s no dignity or grace in it, just a raw, fresh grief that blooms too fast and stupid to contain.

You fall back asleep in a pool of your own grief, wild-pine clinging to your skin that bruises with the memory of his lips.

[mysticfluffyness]

13: animalica | kylo ren x reader

part 13 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: explicit language and smut (hickeys, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, kinda hate sex but then it gets fluffy) word count: 7.7k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: *hands you chapter 13* this is filthy and NOT proofread. *crashes tf out*

Now Playing: A New Life - Zeke Bleu

The long trek through the Upper West Side proved the toughest. The city blurred past in a kaleidoscope of headlights and neon, the rush of bodies shoving against you as you weaved through the crowded sidewalks.

Thick beads of sweat slick your skin, sticking to your tank top. Your thighs and calves burn. Someone shouted obscenities when you elbowed your way out of the subway car earlier.

As you book it through your neighborhood, your heaving draws the attention of a few pacing kids and their parents out on an afternoon stroll. Some of them, you recognize. They issue you worried glances and awkward stares that you quickly wave away with a wild smile.

When you finally reach your building, your hands tremble as you fumble with the gate. A soft tremor settles into your palm as you sort through your collection of decorative keychains, searching for the right key. Your eyes skim over the time.

Then, bingo.

Your pulse is a wild drumbeat in your ears, breath ragged as you try and shove the keys in. It takes you exactly three tries and four breathy curses to finally unlock it. You take a few long paces toward the entrance, quickly inputting the 4-digit code you know by heart. Once the heavy door clicks open, you push onto it with your whole weight, hopping the steps two at a time once you reach the staircase.

The adrenaline drumming through your body makes the three floors feel like a brisk walk. Your bated breath echoes through the dim hallway as you finally approach your apartment, leaning against the doorway and beginning to knock fervently.

“Kylo!” you gasp, voice cracking from exertion as the sound of pounded wood booms through the space around you.

Silence.

Your stomach knots painfully as you check the time again.

You fish your keys out once more, quickly finding the largest and shoving it in one try. The lock clicks open, urging you to barge inside. You hope your poor neighbors aren’t suspecting a break-in with all the commotion you’re making, but regardless, it’s something you’d have to deal with later.

You march inside, chest still heaving as you drop your belongings onto the couch; Kylo’s bed. It sits there serenely, stagnant in the silence of the apartment as you haphazardly kick your shoes off.

“Kylo?” You call out again, leaning your weight against the headrest. With your muscles stagnant again, the adrenaline coursing your veins drops dramatically. Your diaphragm contracts, making you gasp and sigh in over-exertion.

The kitchen is in mild disarray, piled with a few mugs and glasses. Something in the air smells vaguely of coffee, meaning he must have been here recently.

“Damn it,” you huff, the sweat on your back beginning to cool uncomfortably. With a swift, albeit awkward move, you hitch your hoodie off your head with a loud, carrying yell.

“Fucking—Ben Solo!”

Then, from the hallway, you hear a doorway click closed. You throw your discarded clothing on the couch alongside your bag, biting your lip as you listen in. Your ears ring.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Your head snaps toward the baritone, sweat-slick hair whipping wildly as you face the hallway.

And there he is.

Fresh out of the shower, damp curls falling in thick waves over his forehead and a towel slung around his neck. His charcoal-grey shirt clings to his chest in places, damp in others, as evidence that he barely finished toweling off before you came crashing through the door like a fucking lunatic.

His brows furrow as he steps closer. You freeze.

You knew you had to see him, and that notion alone has fuelled you thus far. Except now, the sight of him makes you realize you didn’t account for the remorse that begins to creep up your spine.

Kylo’s gaze quickly flits over your blush-stricken face, lowering toward your dampened tank top. You cross your arms, protecting the thin material from the peering.

When his eyes meet yours again, you’re astonished to spot a glint of amusement.

“Did you—” he croaks, flattening his lips to stop a smirk from emerging, “did you run here?”

You blink, still gulping for air, hands flexing at your sides as you gauge his physique. Even in a crisis, you find yourself struggling to look away from his strong arms and star-speckled nose.

“I—”

The sight of him is too much.

Your body is still alight with adrenaline, mind reeling with every revelation from the balcony, the cafe, and Sienna’s words. The boy he was, the man he became; standing in front of you now, looking at you like you never meant him any harm.

“I thought you had a meeting,” you manage, voice softer now, like you’re suddenly aware of how desperate you sound.

His expression shifts, confusion knitting his brow. “They canceled it.” His eyes sweep over you. “Why are you—?”

But you don’t let him finish. Because in this moment, nothing else matters: not the kiss, not the argument, and not even Rey.

You just needed him to know.

“I know about your mom,” you breathe.

The words leave your lips before you can stop them, and for a moment, time slows around you.

Kylo’s expression shifts. It’s quick, like the smallest flicker vulnerability, before his face settles into a blank, characteristic mask of the man he forced himself to be for years before you even knew his name.

You watch the way his throat bobs, fingers twitching where they clutch the towel.

Silence stretches between you like a taut, suffocating thread.

He clears his throat, whipping the cotton fabric off his neck. He walks back, hitching the towel against the headrest of a chair. “What did you just say?”

The heat in your limbs hasn’t dissipated, but a different kind of tension creeps in now. The sharp, dagger-like sensation flows through your bones, urging you a step forward.

You square your shoulders, refusing to shrink beneath the weight of his stare when he finally looks.

“Sienna told me.”

That flicker returns, like a crack in his armor.

“You—” he trails lowly, eyes flickering with confusion while yours widen. “You talked to her?”

To pick up the pieces, you quickly shake your head, your arms flailing wildly in denial. You’re afraid that even context won’t save your dignity in this situation, but it’ll have to do for now. After all, words are all you have now.

“No! No, no—” you object, rubbing at your face with both hands to calm the redness threatening to rise. Then, with a short exhale, you face him with a pointed glare. “I was around the block getting coffee, and she just… I don’t know, she just happened to be there. I didn’t even recognize her at first until she…”

The memory of her saccharine laugh carries through your skull, making you wince. You take a short, ragged breath before continuing.

“I know it sounds bat-shit insane and you can kick my ass for this later, but—” you swallow thickly, facing him with guilt in your eyes. “We spoke.”

The hum he emits is rough, edged with something like impatience. You catch his body turn slightly like he’s about to walk away, but you step forward before he has the chance.

“She told me about the way you grew up.” You press on, voice steadier and stronger now that your anxiety has settled. “About your father. About Rey.”

That stops him. Something shifts in his mein, tightening his jaw as he turns toward you. His back is tense, heaving with the weight of his steady breath as you step even closer.

Kylo scoffs quietly, running a hand through his damp curls as he watches the floor with a sudden, keen interest. “Of course she did.”

“I— Kylo, I had no idea,” you say softly, being severely mindful of your tone. It carries through the air uninterrupted, reaching him in a flinch. “You should’ve told me.”

He exhales slowly, eyes flicking away from you. His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring, and you recognize the battle playing out inside him like clockwork. He towers in front of you like a wild beast waiting to be tamed. A man wanting to be broken-in by a soft, guiding hand.

A hand you desperately want to offer.

“Why would I?” he finally says, voice edged with little venom. You’re not sure if he’s tired or if the aftermath of your kiss has finally shoved him into an unfortunate, fatal resignation. “What difference would it make?”

You swallow hard, fingers flexing at your sides.

You knew his reasoning. You knew he held things in until they festered into pain and morphed into something impossible to unweave. And you knew that, at the end of the day, it wasn’t his fault.

“Because I wouldn’t have left.”

His gaze snaps back to you, a fleeting twilight flashing behind his eyes. His lips part, and for a second, you think he might say something true. Something fundamentally life-changing to you both.

But then, despite your deepest hopes, the mask drops back down.

“I didn’t need you to stay,” he huffs lowly, facing you with a certain flicker of sorrow in his eyes. “You made your choice.”

A muscle in your jaw jumps, but your heart beats steadily.

After your winded conversation with Sienna, something about Kylo clicked to you. It’s like the veil slipped and allowed you to see his wrangle for what it truly was, and that alone has melted all semblance of rage brewing in your body.

You knew he was shutting down and deflecting, pretending it doesn’t matter and, more significantly, pretending you don’t matter. Acting like you haven’t spent every night in this damned apartment orbiting each other like you were bound to collide.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. "Bullshit."

Kylo scoffs, rubbing his face with both hands. His damp curls fall even messier over his forehead, clinging to his skin like wild tendrils.

“You don’t get to say that,” he mutters, voice low and sharp.

But you’re exhausted, too. And more than that, you’re fucking frantic.

“Why?” you snap, stepping closer. “Because it makes you uncomfortable? Because you don’t want to talk about it?” you trail, arms flailing in the small space between you. “Because you think that if you just sit in your own misery long enough, no one will even dare to try and understand you?”

Kylo’s brows furrow, and something in his expression once again cracks just a fraction.

‘Good,’ you think through a stubborn scowl. ‘Let it fall apart.’

“Just say it,” you push, stepping even closer now, toe to toe with your sorrowful giant. “Tell me this means nothing.”

His lips part, but nothing comes out. Because you know that, in good faith, he can’t speak a lie this large and significant.

His hands flex at his sides, chest rising and falling fast, and fuck, you’re close enough to see the way his pupils swallow up those dark, glassy eyes of his like thundering seas.

"I—I know this has been difficult, but… but I just feel like I finally get you, okay? And, despite your shitty witticisms and… and your general… disdain for my existance," You laugh bitterly, shaking your head to steady your quivering voice before you finally face him. "I know that… that at the end of the day, you’re more than that. I know you don’t want to be alone."

Your voice wavers on the last word, heart splintering with an ache though you know it should be angry instead. Every step forward felt like two steps backward, even after you’ve pushed every threshold there was to push. You knew that now, it was all up to him to decide your fate.

You swallow, eyes flitting over his tensed-up facade and taking in the sheer, resonant ache in those dark eyes of his. The eyes you’ve taken in with frustration, when you should have noticed the shame. The same ones that now flit with something that makes your chest rumble.

“Ben,” you begin again, breaking the taut silence with your soft lilt. He darts over your features in microscopic movements, lips tight when he swallows at your proximity.

The air between you is razor-thin, weighted with a suffocating, agonizing vehemence.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Kylo doesn’t move. He blinks once, painstakingly slow. Then, his jaw tightens.

His breath is measured when he finally exhales, long and slow as it darts across your cheeks.

“You already know why,” he says lowly, and the softness that lines his lilt makes you want to come undone where you stand.

“No,” you shake your head, stepping close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off his body and catch the damp scent of his shampoo in the stagnant air between you. “I don’t.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. He looks away for a fraction of a second before his gaze is on you again, burning into your soul like little embers. You see them in his eyes, exploding with pure, uninhibited fervor. It’s as passionate as he’ll let himself be, yet you want to press for more.

“You—” He huffs in exasperation, fingers twitching at his sides. “You’re—”

“I’m what?” you force ahead, urging him into a corner. His back collides with the hallway wall, emitting a soft, dull thud.

Kylo’s nostrils flare. His hands finally move, pushing through the damp curls at his temples with a slight, barely-there tremor.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he grits out, but you’re already beyond his excuses to let it slide.

“Try me.”

His eyes flicker over your face, searching for something you so desperately want to offer.

“You think I push you away on purpose?” he suddenly murmurs, his voice edged with a strange ascerbity that you greedily welcome.

You flatten your lips, licking the bottom half as you still in place.

“I think you—”

“No.” He counters with a bite, lifting his gaze to meet yours. When your lips part, you struggle to emit more than a quiet stutter. Kylo, on the other hand, picks up where you left off, straightening his posture to successfully dwarf you. “Listen to me.”

His breath is unsteady. His eyes are sharp, burning through you like you love it most.

“You think I don’t want this?” Kylo asks low and rough, the result of it pressing hard against your ribs. “You think I don’t want you?”

You swallow hard with a quiet tick, watching him ascribe like he’s the only one you’d ever allow. His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, head shaking in short, staggering motions.

“That’s not it,” he says, voice softer now but still tight, like admitting it cost him a piece of his heart. “That’s never been it.”

You bite your bottom lip, worrying it there til it draws a trickle of blood. Your stomach clenches at the silent furrow of his eyebrows, like he’s at war with no one but himself.

And then it dawns on you.

He wants you, too.

The realization hits you like a thunderclap, spinning the air around you like a powerful current.

“Then what is it?” you ask quietly.

Kylo exhales sharply, his jaw tightening as he sizes you up. The sheer feeling of his eyes penetrating you urges a quiet, fleeting gasp from your lips, spreading into the dormant air between you like a guilty prayer.

“I…” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper as his eyes flit across your face, down to your reddened cheeks and bitten lips. “I don’t know how.” He trails off, jaw clenched tight. And when his eyes shut, you think they might just stay that way.

His nose flares with a deep inhale, letting the breath settle into his lungs slowly, almost tenaciously. You watch in silent awe, taking in the marvelous sight of his plush lips silently testing the words before he even utters.

When his eyes flutter open again, your breath catches.

“I don’t know how to let you in without ruining it.”

There it is. The real reason. The thing he’s been too fearful to say was finally seeing the dim light of day. The dawn of your judgment.

Kylo Ren, for all his intensity, coldness, and strength, was afraid of this tether between you and what it would mean if he let himself succumb to it.

And it’s that culmination, that vulnerable truth, that finally lets you advance.

Your hands lift before you can think better of it, fingers grazing his jaw, thumbs pressing into the heat of his cheekbones. Kylo stills instantly, dark eyes flickering, his entire frame tense as if waiting for the inevitable impact that is you.

“Ben,” you whisper, and you feel the way he exhales, the name alone knocking the breath from his lungs. You know it does.

And so, with all the certainty you can muster, you lean into his shoulder and take cover in the safety of it. The familiar, all-encompassing scent of pine envelops you like holy fire, your hand tracing the lobe of his reddened ear.

Your breath falls hot on his neck.

“Let me try.”

And when his chest shudders, you know you’ve signed your demise.

His hands surge forward, grasping your face haphazardly and enveloping you in a tight, devoted warmth that reels your body inward. Your chests collide.

When his lips meet yours, it’s not careful or slow.

It’s painfully, disastrously anguished.

You crash together in a symphony of gasps, his teeth grazing your lip and making you mewl at the nipping pain it exudes.

Kylo reacts accordingly, his mouth curling against yours with a sharp, humorous exhale. His fingers dig into the sides of your face, keeping you close as he swallows your breath like it belongs to him and no one else.

And this time?

You let it happen.

His hands slide down, anchoring at your hips for a beat only to pull you flush against him. Your chest squishes against muscle, urging a quiet moan from your throat.

Fuck, you feel filthy.

Your teeth clack a little with the next kiss. You can’t help but roll your eyes at his uninhibited craving, yet the notion surges a wave of heat through your thighs.

You tug at his shirt with clumsy hands, half-blind with want, and he groans when your fingers accidentally scratch down his stomach. He’s laughing breathlessly now, dragging you backwards down the hallway in short stumbles.

You barely make it through the frame before he’s got you pressed against the wall, your back colliding with a dull thud.

“You better not bruise,” he whispers into your mouth.

You snort, your lips brushing his again with a matching smile. "You worried about me?"

"I’m not," he lies, biting at your bottom lip with a strained smirk. "I just don’t want you whining later."

You gasp dramatically and swat his shoulder. He catches your wrist in mid-air and pins it to the wall with a wicked grin, chasing your gaze like a madman.

"You’re such an asshole," you breathe, but you're already tilting your head to kiss him again.

Kylo leans back, keeping a safe distance as you mewl for contact. "You like me that way."

He looks down at you through dark lashes, his starved gaze raking down your sweat-slick body like he plans on devouring you whole. You pray he will.

You scoff through bitten lips, licking off the rawness he left behind. You can’t help but size him up, taking in the soft, cruel need painting his gaze as you stand beneath him with little agency.

"I tolerate you."

He grins, wanton and boyish. The sight knocks a shiver straight down your core, making your thighs clench with a pleasant itch.

"Liar."

He lifts you like it’s second nature, stumbling the two of you into your room and kicking the door shut behind him with a sharp clunk.

As you move forward, Kylo stumbles over something on the floor with a quiet hiss. He catches his balance just in time, grasping you tightly to prevent you from slipping off.

“Your room’s fucking filthy,” Kylo mutters as he deposits you unceremoniously on the bed, crawling over you in one swift motion.

“You’ll survive,” you pant quietly, writhing under him as he drags his mouth down your throat, nipping until he feels you shudder.

“Barely.”

Your laugh turns into a gasp as he drags your shirt up over your ribs and dips his head, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of your throat. He shifts back for a moment, breaking the kiss.

“Fuck—Oh, c’mon,” you sigh dramatically, frustrated with the sudden lack of contact as he surveys your exposed upper-half.

You watch his eyes glaze over with craving, flitting over your bra-clad chest and glowing skin.

His mouth parts like he’s trying to say something, but no sound comes out besides a quiet, ragged exhale. He runs a hand through his curls, then plants his palm flat beside your head, staring down at you with a tensed jaw.

You take this time to exhale slowly, shifting your shoulders against the pillow below. When your gaze connects with his, a wanton, teasing smirk creeps to your face like the ghost of your anticipation.

“What?” you challenge, breathless and sweat-slick from your earlier marathon. “Never seen a girl before?”

He huffs with a halfhearted scoff, his hand reaching for the strap of your bra. You watch with bated breath as he snaps it lightly before dragging one knuckle along the curve of your clothed breast.

“Not one like you,” he mutters, and you think you might jump him right here and now.

But he doesn’t give you time to answer or do anything for that matter as his mouth presses hot kisses down your collarbone, sucking gently yet not enough to leave a mark.

You arch into him, and he chuckles darkly against your skin.

“God, you’re obsessed with me,” you hiss through a grin, holding onto any semblance of control you have left, though you know your resources are steadily depleting with every kiss and nip.

He lifts his head, eyes blazing into your skin.

“Yeah?” he says, breath hitching as he unclasps your bra with a single, practiced flick that sends goosebumps down your arms. You barely stop yourself from gasping. "Don't flatter yourself."

You toy your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him with a lazy, licentious smile. “Too late.”

His mouth twitches, eyes dragging down your body with shameless hunger.

In a snap, he shoves the bra down your arms with all the reverence. His palms curve beneath your breasts, rough thumbs grazing across your nipples as soon as they come into view.

You jolt under him, trying hard not to moan at the ridiculous display of experience.

“What?” he murmurs, leaning in close and letting his lips ghost against your jaw. “You were begging for this five minutes ago.”

“I was yelling at you five minutes ago,” you snap, heat flaring through your core despite yourself.

Kylo whistles with a haphazard shrug, leaning his weight onto one elbow as he rakes over your body again.

“Same thing,” he mutters, before dipping his head and sucking a mark into the skin just above your heart. Your back arches involuntarily, head dipping back to grant him easier access even if you know you’ll spend an hour in the bathroom later trying to cover the indecency up.

His voice is gravel when he speaks again, still pressed against your skin.

“You gonna keep talking?”

He bites again, lower this time, and your hands shoot to his hair, clawing at his curls like you can’t decide whether to shove him off or pull him closer: your endless predicament.

“C’mon,” he looks up at you with a wild gleam in his eyes, “say something.”

You pant, drunk on the closeness and the vicious burn in your blood, but there’s little you can say without making a mess of yourself, so you opt for a tense silence instead.

“Want me to stop?” he growls against the valley of your breasts, breath warm and moist as it hovers over your nipples.

“Kylo,” you finally croak.

He looks up at you with dark, expectant eyes, and how could he not? You’re so soft under him. So vulnerable and easy to mould.

You swallow thickly, panting into the hot air between you. When his hand gives your hip a tight, reassuring squeeze, you feel the remnants of your willpower shatter into unconsolable pieces.

“More.”

And just like that, the space between you is obliterated.

He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and sweatpants, dragging them both down with a single, brutal pull that leaves you bare and panting. He watches you, mouth parted like a starving dog as your thighs squeeze together in a sudden burst of embarrassment.

When your hands reach to cover your nudity, Kylo catches them in mid-air with a loud scoff.

“Don’t you dare,” he mutters low and sharp, his fingers wrapping tight around your wrists. “You think I dragged you all the way here just to let you hide all this?”

Your breath stutters, your spine arching against the bed. His grip tightens for just a second, not to restrain you, but to ground you in place.

You finally acquiesce, letting him move your hands away in a slow, controlled movement. A warm breeze suddenly swirls into your bedroom, rolling down your body and causing your nipples to go taut with the temperature change.

“Look at you,” he breathes, almost to himself. His eyes drag down the line of your body, delirious and worshipful at your softness. “Fuck, I’ll never get over this.”

You squirm, thighs trying to press shut again, but he shuffles down between them with a predatory patience. Then, with a low, throaty growl, he spreads you open and drags his mouth down your stomach, teeth grazing at your hipbone before he licks a slow, calculated stripe up your heated skin.

Every muscle in your body tenses, a pathetic sound catching in your throat.

His broad shoulders settle between your legs, glancing up through thick lashes, eyes blown wide and glittering in the soft, evening light pouring in through your parted window.

When you feel the heat of his breath against your clit, you choke out a weak warning.

“Ben—”

His hands grip your hips, dragging you flush against his mouth before you can protest.

You gasp loudly into the air, your head whipping back in a sudden barrage of ecstasy as his hot tongue presses up against your pussy. Your hand flies down the next beat, nestling into his thick, dark locks, still moist from his earlier shower.

“Say that again,” he growls against your clit, sending ripples of pleasure through your core, “and I’ll keep you here all damn night.”

Kylo eats you like his life depends on it. He groans against your slick pussy, shameless, his fingers bruising into the skin of your thighs as he pulls you deeper. The rhythm is torturous, perfect, and when your hips buck, he pins them down hard.

You’re shaking, chest heaving, just barely able to utter your mewls of pleasure. You try for wit or something equally flippant to his efforts, but it all ends in vain as he continues his fingerless ministrations.

You’re already a mess, clinging to his hair with trembling fingers, his name pouring from your lips like damnation. Something red-hot curls in your belly, spreading through your core and thighs, prefacing the steady approach of something much larger than you can handle.

“K-Kylo—fuck, please—”

He hums against you almost purposefully, the vibration making you cry out into the flesh of your folded arm. Feeling like you’re already on the precipice of a climax, you tug at his locks in short, staggering motions. This urges him to halt his torture for a second, pulling back just long enough to meet your eyes. His chin glistens with your wetness, smirk downright cruel in its mockery.

“Please what?” He murmurs, and your breath catches for a beat. You’re thoroughly speechless, staring down at him with a creased forehead and parted lips that he mercilessly rejects with a soft shrug.

He begins to lower again, unaffected by your fervent mewls of protest. When his tongue twirls against your entrance, you tug at his hair again, hard.

“Use your words,” he only growls, never leaving your pussy as his eyes burn into yours. The sight is dirty enough to make you toss your head back with a ragged moan, cheeks flushed with the ache of an impending orgasm.

“Don’t be a dick—”

“Say it.” His voice is deeper now, ragged and close to breaking before he licks a long, languid strip up your entire core. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck—” you gasp, body jerking when he flicks his nose against your clit. “I don’t— I don’t wanna cum yet.”

He relaxes slightly, letting you shift your leg out of the confines of his grip and bend it at the knee.

Kylo moves away from you painstakingly slow, letting his breath hover over your mound for a beat longer before he settles his cheek against your thigh. You watch as he kisses a stripe down your leg, holding you close with a balanced grip.

“Tell me,” he whispers again, eyes flitting across your face impatiently. “Just tell me what you need.”

You withdraw your hand from his hair, watching his lips twitch at the loss of contact. But you’re already one step ahead, needy fingers trailing down his cheekbone and planting against the softness of his speckled cheek.

“Ben,” you sigh softly, urging the man’s breath to catch. He looks at you needily, pressing a final kiss to your thigh before you’re gasping your desires.

“I need you inside me.”

And that seems to wreck whatever control he had left.

Kylo growls your name, and the next thing you know, he’s moving up your body, mouth crashing against yours like he can’t stand another second without it. You taste yourself on his lips, sweet and animalic, and whimper into the kiss, fingers dragging down his back in white lines.

“Fuck,” you breathe between kisses, your legs wrapping around his hips like a woman gone mad. “Stop teasing.”

His mouth ghosts against your jaw and down the column of your throat. Once he locates the thick muscle, he bites down with a ragged groan.

You yelp, half-laughing as you slap at his shoulder in shock of the savage display of his affections.

“Ouch—you asshole!”

“Mm.” He doesn’t sound sorry, and naturally, you doubt he is. His voice dips, low and warm against your skin as he kisses the bite mark with pertinent accuracy. “Don’t you like it when I’m mean?”

“No,” you lie, tilting your head back as he sucks another bruise into your neck. This one feels softer, yet the adrenaline pumping your veins makes it sizzle with heat. “I like it when you shut up and—”

“Say please.” He grins against your throat, boyish, wolfish, and entirely maddening to witness.

“Please,” you whisper, too breathless to sound smug about it or even try to deny him the satisfaction like you usually would. It’s unlike you, but agreeing to fuck him in general was starting to feel quite uncouth for your situation.

Hence, as you stumble along the precipice of your morals, you suddenly figure that you might as well just leap in.

“God, Ben, please—”

The second you say his name again, it’s like a fuse gets lit.

He shifts away from you, sitting on his knees. His eyes rake over your face, and he grins wildly, keeping furious eye contact as his fingers trace over the hem of his t-shirt. He takes it off in a swift, practiced motion, shooting you a sly wink once he spots you watching.

“Slut,” you force through a tight grin, making him snort humorously.

“Careful,” he warns as the top gets tossed on a pile with yours, his gaze half-lidded when he begins toying with the hem of his sweatpants. “You’ll wanna be nice to me going forward.”

His fingers twirl around the knotted thread, loosening it with a pull. Immediately, the melange fabric slides down his hipbone, revealing a neat line of dark hair leading to a cloth-obscured mound.

You look up at him with bated breath, his gaze searing into yours like fire.

His jaw tightens at the sight of your fluster, hooking a thumb into the waistband. Slowly, tentatively, he forces it down his hips, revealing the base of his length.

You chew your lip with a soft mewl, propping your body on your elbows to get closer. The sweatpants ride down his thighs, and finally, the whole girth of his cock springs free.

You can’t help the lewd moan that escapes your lips at the sight, gaze flitting over the thick head and slick pre-cum.

Kylo wastes no time, wrapping his fist tight and giving the breadth an experimental pump.

You hear him hiss something insignificant under his breath as the stickiness coats his knuckles, making your mouth inexplicably water. And, naturally, he notices.

“Keep looking.”

You scoff at his half-hearted mockery, shoving his thigh with the ball of your foot.

But instead of arguing, he swiftly mounts you again with a growl of your name. The sound reverberates through your pleasure-deprived body like thunder, his mouth finding yours within seconds of the assault.

You whimper into the kiss, pushed back into the pillow as he works at his cock. His tongue slips past your lips, wrestling with your own in a battle never fit in your favor.

You hear the soft pumps grow increasingly slicker, and suddenly, something grazes the inner flesh of your thigh. You don’t need to break the kiss and look down to realize just how hard he’s gotten, the fact alone sending a crisp jolt down your spine.

“You’re shivering,” he mutters against your skin, tracing his tongue down the thin veil of goosebumps emerging on your shoulder. “You excited?”

You try to scoff, but it comes out breathless. His cock smooths along the skin of your thigh, inching closer toward your impatient folds.

“You were practically drooling.” He counters smoothly, his hand slipping under your knee almost inconspicuously. “Might start charging you for the view.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Yeah?” he drawls, voice dark and low. His hand wraps around your thigh, dragging it higher. “What’s this all about, then?”

He takes a firm hold of your knees, spreading you wide and open before planting the length of his cock between your slick folds. You choke out a sharp, tight gasp when he begins to move, thick shaft inching against the entire height of your needy pussy.

Your lips part to answer, but all that comes out is a strained, suffocated moan.

He chuckles lowly at your torture, hastily gripping the base of his cock and letting it slap against your clit in quick succession. The reverberating pleasure hits you like a rolling tide, urging you to hiss a staggered profanity and inch your hand toward his abs.

His hand moves down in response, guiding himself against your entrance with a shaky breath.

“That’s what I thought.”

He slides in devastatingly slow, pulling a guttural sound straight from your lungs as your channel pulls to accommodate him.

As he slowly bottoms out, the engorged head of his cock presses against your cervix, urging you to gasp raggedly. Your back arches instinctively, eyes rolling shut with the stretch of him. He’s thick and hot and throbbing inside you, and the way your body flutters helplessly around him draws a guttural curse from his chest.

“Oh, fuck—” Kylo lets his head drop to your shoulder, whispering your name into the dew-covered skin like a prayer. “Shit—you're tight—” he pants, voice cracking as he slowly pulls out, then bangs back in. Your cry echoes against the walls, strained against his neck.

“Oh my God,” you choke out, clawing at his shoulder blades with trembling hands as he presses his body against you.

He wastes no time setting a punishing pace, snapping his hips into yours with bruising thrusts that make your toes curl and your brain short-circuit in their intensity.

“You feel that?” he grits through clenched teeth, driving into you harder each time your moans turn into strained mewls. “That’s what happens when you tease me.”

You can barely speak, voice caught somewhere between a sob and a moan as your muscles tighten with the delicious intrusion. “I—I didn’t even—”

His hand catches the back of your thigh, hiking your leg up further around his waist, getting impossibly deeper.

Your hands fumble at his shoulders, nails dragging across sweat-slick skin as his hips settle between yours. You’re flushed, throbbing, and trembling, but it’s the hungry look in his eyes that really undoes you in the end.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you whisper, voice wrecked and shaky as he plows into you. “You’re such a— f-fucking asshole.”

His breath hitches in something close to a laugh, but it’s not amused or mocking anymore.

“Yeah? You think I haven’t imagined it?” he growls, cock twitching inside you with every motion. “You—shit—under me. Moaning m-my name while you swear you fuckin’ hate me.”

You swallow hard. Your body’s trembling under his, nerves buzzing with adrenaline and something white-hot bubbling in your tummy.

“I still— I still h-hate you,” you breathe raggedly, words slurring into nothing as Kylo leans in.

He grins, lowering his lips just inches from yours but denying you closure.

“Liar.”

His pace picks up into a ragged pounding, stretching you inch by inch and watching your mouth fall open in a silent gasp. You claw at his back, mumbling quiet obscenities into the crook of his neck.

“I-I think I’ll—”

“I know, baby. I know.” He groans low, forehead pressed to yours. “God, you feel better than I dreamt—”

You gasp, hands raking through his dark locks as you let out a short, disbelieving laugh into the tantric air between you.

“You’ve dreamt about this, you sick fuck?”

His pace stills just long enough for him to breathe, lips curled into a wolfish smirk when his dark eyes meet yours in a moment of pure rapture.

“Every goddamn night.”

And then his lips are on yours again. He captures you in a sloppy, needy kiss, your whole body seizing at his filthy confession, cunt clenching tight around his cock with a sudden, aching spasm.

Kylo lets out a strained cry into your mouth, parting just enough to husk out a quiet praise.

“That’s it.” His hand slithers between your bodies, inching down your belly with a torturous gait. “Just like that.”

His thumb meets your clit, circling firmly around the precipice and sending a surge of warmth through your entire body. The combined sensation of his ministrations and the steady pumping of his cock makes you wail, loud and pathetic.

He chuckles haphazardly, catching a steady rhythm with his digit. The space between you fills with loud, filthy slaps as he bottoms out with every pump.

“Good girl.”

Your breath catches with a broken moan.

“Say it again,” you whisper, dazed and confused and so painfully close to cumming you think you might pass out before you part the threshold.

“My good girl,” he repeats, shamelessly biting down on your shoulder and urging your walls to contract once more.

He responds accordingly, bucking hard into you with a strained laugh. “Fuck, you are, aren’t you?”

You nod, barely. Your mind’s already floating, the pain and pleasure mixing too sweetly to try and separate.

“You gonna cum for me?” he pants, voice dipping with a sudden stutter of his hips.

You’re shaking, crying out, clinging to him like your life depends on it while he watches you with bated breath.

“Kylo—fuck, Ben—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” he laughs saccharinely, drawing his thumb away from your clit. The loss of pressure, however devastating, is quickly replaced by something much warmer and more welcome: his palm against your cheek, holding you close as you steadily approach your expiration. “C’mon. Wanna feel you ‘round me.”

“Shit,” you breathe, the thread of your impending pleasure threatening to break with every thrust. You’re soaked now, the excess of slick letting him slide into you with agonizing ease. “F-Fuck—fuck!”

You writhe under him, gasping into the crook of his neck as he curses under his breath, burying himself to the very hilt. You feel him grow tired now, each movement less regular than the last, while all you can do is call his name.

“God, I’m so fuckin’ close—” he hisses against you, bringing his face back to let your gazes fall in tandem. The wicked, lust-filled swirl of his eyes makes your lips twitch with a smile, looking into him like a fearing reverend. “I’m—I’m gonna cum. Jesus Christ—”

And amidst your unholy duet, you don’t believe the words that flee your mouth next.

“I—I’m safe—just—”

“Fuck—shit,” he moans, face morphing into pure, uninhibited perversion at your words, his thrusts slowing now as he knocks close to completion. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” you wail in response, heart fluttering at his wolfish grin once he hears your explicit permission to do what you felt was unthinkable. “Yes, just— I’m fuckin’ yours, just—”

“God.” Kylo’s forehead connects with yours, voice low and delirious as his pace picks up again. When you cry out, he swallows it with a kiss, hips rolling into you in short, punishing strokes that leave you little time to think. “I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

Your release slams into you like a devastating collision, blooming in your belly and legs. You arch beneath him with a cry, shaking and coming undone in his strong arms as your cunt pulses steadily around his thick length.

With a string of half-formed curses, he buries himself deep with a stab of his hips against yours. The impact of his cock against your womb accelerates your orgasm into pure ecstasy, making you cling onto him for dear life.

With a guttural call of your name, Kylo spills into you, his hips stuttering to deliver a series of conclusive, powerful thrusts that your spent pussy welcomes greedily.

Amidst a symphony of cries and moans, you both lie there in complete bliss, chests heaving as he collapses onto you with a ragged breath. He’s heavy but warm, so solid and real you snake your arms around his neck to keep the feelings close to your heart.

Minutes pass before his hand eventually drags up your side with surprising gentleness, trailing lazy circles along your ribs and waist.

You exhale shakily, staring at the ceiling with a half-smile.

“I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Kylo snorts softly against your shoulder, nuzzling into your sweat-slick skin. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Letting you fuck me,” you elaborate half-heartedly, unsure how authentic your words are anymore as your fingers graze the hair on the nape of his neck. “You’re insatiable.”

He hums, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and rolling you both to the side, making sure his cock never slips out of you even now as it’s softened. You mewl at the sensation, looking up at him with tired eyes.

“Mm,” he mutters, dark gaze flicking over your face with residual hunger. “Didn’t hear any complaints until now.”

“Uh-huh,” you scoff softly, nestling your hands against his chest. “If I can’t walk tomorrow morning, I’m suing.”

He smirks, leaning in to string soft kisses against your hairline. “Except you’re not walking anywhere. This is a hostage situation.”

You close your eyes and let out a long, defeated sigh, tangling your sore legs with his. “You’re actually the worst person I’ve ever met.”

He looks at you again, quirking an eyebrow in near-authentic offense.

“Yeah,” he agrees haphazardly, brushing your nose with his. “But you let this horrible guy hit raw, so what does that say about you, then?”

You feel uncharacteristically stumped, unable to muster a witty retort as you spot his plush, bitten lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. You return it absentmindedly, letting the rare, sweet moment linger as long as it wants to.

For a moment, the air between you stills.

There’s no heat or panting desperation, just the quiet weight of his body and the subtle warmth of his fingers ghosting lazy lines along your waist. You let your face fall into the crook of his neck, quietly breathing his scent in.

“You okay?” he asks softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The affection makes your eyes inexplicably glaze over.

You let a soft sigh of affirmation escape your lips as your eyes start to flutter closed.

“Yeah,” you murmur into his skin, holding there to escape his gaze. Somehow, you don’t think you’d be able to face him right now without shedding tears. “Just tired.”

He hums, tilting his head so that his temple rests against yours, breath warm where it hits your heated, oversensitive skin.

“Sleep. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You exhale a chuckle, turning your face into the crook of his neck, lulled by the steady beat of his breathing beneath your cheek. As the aftermath of your wild deed lowers to a simmer, something much more visceral slithers between your lungs.

Your lashes brush his neck, lips parted with a soft exhale of your anxiety.

“Will you stay?”

There’s a pause. You can’t see his face, but you feel him stiffen slightly. His fingers curl a little tighter around your hip, anchoring himself to you while you wonder if it hurts him to answer.

When he does, you hear the haphazard humor lacing his tone like an escape from the pains of reality.

“Maybe.”

It’s not a promise, and though you yearned for something genuine, you don’t ask again. You know he wouldn’t be able to answer you in earnest, even if you pleaded on your knees.

And though your body still sings his praises as he curls a protective arm around your waist, your mind’s already running with a million questions: wondering what version of him you’ll wake up to tomorrow and whether anything that felt this good could ever survive the fallout.

Your breathing slows, limbs going soft beneath his as you fall asleep to the steady rhythm of your hearts intertwined, if only for one night.

[mysticfluffyness]

12: terroir | kylo ren x reader

part 12 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: mentions of chronic disease (cancer). word count: 4.8k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: lord, have i been at an impasse. sorry for the late update y'all, writer's block has been kicking my ass this past month. chapter 12 was gonna be much longer than 4k, but i realized that the scene ended pretty perfectly as is so i just split it. ngl, i'm not super proud of this one but hey.

Now Playing: Crust - Flying Lotus

Steam loops behind the bar, rolling in thick waves toward the wooden cabinets above. Soft, vaguely distinguishable music hums through an unplaceable speaker, harmonizing with the whirr of an automatic grinder.

Your nostrils fill with the robust, all-encompassing scent of roasted beans. As you tilt your speckled mug in chase of a sip, the hot liquid rolls down your tongue in a thin, aromatic stream.

But all you can taste is cigarettes.

The memory comes to you easily, sharp and visceral in its clarity. His soft mouth on yours, the heat of his palm against your cheek, and the low, guttural noise he made when you kissed him back. How his hands skimmed over you like he was relearning something he'd known in another life; how your thighs clenched and burned at the gentle peppering of bites against your neck, and his hips pressing into—

No.

You shake it off, swallow, and press your fingertips to your eyelids, trying to will the images away. You fled your apartment to escape these unorthodox thoughts, yet they seemed to follow you everywhere, even to the quaint cafe off West 120th.

The plan? Find a quiet, Kylo-less place, and occupy your sex-addled mind with something productive, like your poor, neglected thesis. Once you have produced four pages and had your plain bagel, you could continue masterminding your next steps in Operation “Kylo”.

Because those would inevitably change the course of your entire life.

When you rushed off the balcony with bitten lips this afternoon, Kylo didn’t chase. He persevered in awe-inspiring silence, letting you gather your laptop, bag, and keys and slam the door before you could change your mind.

In retrospect, you appreciated the distance. With every form of regret and confusion plaguing your body, taking your flame-ridden makeout further might have backed you into an agonizingly regretable corner. Even if that makeout is all you crave now.

But for now, you needed the distance. This, and the time to figure out whether you’d just made a massive mistake or were already too far gone to stop.

Because the problem wasn’t just Kylo.

It was Rey.

Naturally, you had considered telling her about your predicament. The burden of heartache was much easier to handle with a shoulder to cry on, yet with every suitable moment that emerged, things didn’t go your way. Whether it was a sudden intrusion from Kylo or your own uncertainty, Rey was ultimately living in blissful ignorance of your passions as you desperately felt your way through the darkness, alone.

And, even if she did know, would you be stupid enough to pursue her brother?

Kylo wasn’t made for relationships, and neither were you—at least not with someone like him, you thought. Not when he was still tangled up in his past, his pain, and all the things that made his shell so tough to crack. Meanwhile, you barely got the crumbs.

You check your phone again, taking in the broad expanse of your wallpaper and the few unimportant notifications from apps you’ve long forgotten—still, there's nothing you’re looking for there.

As your fingers tighten around ceramic, something thick and heavy begins bubbling in your chest.

He could’ve at least texted, right?

Even if it was just some dry, shitty quip, at least then you wouldn’t be stuck here, stewing in this uncertainty over a mug of overpriced coffee.

You exhale sharply, shoving it onto the table and flexing your fingers over your laptop. The bright screen greets you with a Google Doc, mocking you with its white void.

“Fuck me,” you huff, toying with the spacebar like it’ll give you something.

Your thesis is due in less than three months, and you haven’t even started on a conclusion. You were a proficient writer, and assignments like these usually came to you with ease. This time, you had the misfortune of harboring a massive, gorgeous distraction wherever you went.

You type out a few placeholders to break the silence, worrying your lip between your teeth as they fill the page.

The copper doorbell hanging over the entryway rings in your ears, rustled by the front door opening. It comes in tandem with a low, saccharine laugh and the clatter of heels against wood.

You’re not sure what prompts you to look up.

A pair of office workers stands in line by the counter, clad in pristinely fitted grey and blue; a man and a woman. You think they might be a couple.

Maybe it’s a strike of boredom or the air of luxury surrounding them, but your eyes can’t help but persevere. You watch them quietly, taking in the playful touches and lingering gazes. Their professional mein makes them stand out like sore, overdressed thumbs amidst a sea of regular people.

The red-haired man grins in a proud showcase of his pearly whites, urging the woman to lash her head back with a hearty giggle.

Your breath catches as the sound envelops your brain with painful familiarity.

Your hands go clammy, throat tight with disbelief. It takes a breath for you to weigh down on reality, but with a severe, verifying squint of your eyes, her silhouette quickly becomes unmistakable.

Sienna.

The sight of her lands somewhere deep in your gut, a slow-spreading, molten thing that burns down your throat. You doubt she’d recognize you, but somehow the mere possibility of that, the thought of her walking around completely unknowing to the damage she left behind, unreels your temper and stiffens your limbs.

The woman smooths her shiny, flaxen locks with her palm. When her hip shifts against the counter, you catch a glimpse of her bright, emerald orbs squinting with fervor.

Yours burn with loathing. It’s indescribeable, unfound, and completely inappropriate, but the sensation is powerful enough to prickle your digits. You tell yourself it’s a natural reaction to an unjust act, but deep down, something softer tugs at the strings of your hammering heart.

For him.

She doesn’t look haunted. She doesn’t seem like she regrets a thing.

And if you were completely off your rockers, you’d confront her. With a loud, accusatory lilt, you’d size her up and with an uncouth pain in your voice finally ask: ‘Why?’

Why did she feel entitled to break something so readily fragile?

But it wasn’t your place to ask. It wasn’t your place to seek closure for wounds that weren’t even yours to begin with. And yet.

The burning in your chest should have been enough to keep you rooted to your seat, to make you stay the hell out of it and mind your business until they left. But just as it starts to flicker and die, something else takes its place—something colder and sharper, engulfing your body with prickles of frost.

A terrible, impossible thought.

You weren’t sure how to feel about fate. But Sienna, standing there like a ghost in broad daylight, broke through all the odds of the universe merely to offer you this chance.

A chance to make you understand.

Not the infidelity or the aftermath. Not why Kylo hadn’t sought another relationship, or why he had kept you at arm’s length for so long. You wanted to understand him. His walls, his silences, the way he carried himself like a man who had spent his whole life waiting to be abandoned times again.

And that alone is what makes you stand up.

Your chair scrapes against the wooden floor, loud enough to earn a few half-curious glances from nearby tables, but you don’t notice. Your legs feel unsteady, like your body is questioning its own decision, and yet you never stop moving.

You weave through the maze of chairs and low conversation, your pulse hammering.

Sienna doesn’t see you coming. She’s too caught up in her conversation, leaning toward her companion with an effortless, masterful smile, her fingers curling lightly around the strap of her designer bag.

But you’ve been unlucky all day, and finally, fate has decided to turn the tables. The queue steps forward, urging the red-headed man to turn away and begin his order.

Separated, Sienna steps away toward an empty table. Then, as if sensing the weight of your stare, she turns.

For a brief, electric moment, her expression flickers to something visceral before she smooths it away with a sharp inhale.

She remembers you. And yet, she says nothing.

Your stomach knots, but you push past it, stopping just short of the table she occupies.

“Sienna?”

It’s not a greeting. It’s a challenge.

The woman blinks, then exhales a quiet sigh, adjusting the hem of her blouse. She doesn’t feign ignorance or plead silence. Instead, she waits, meeting your gaze with soft daggers.

Your fingers curl against your palm, pressing into the soft flesh as your breath becomes steady again.

“Got a minute?”

You catch her hesitate. Her eyes flicker toward her companion, then the barista preparing their drinks. You think she’s calculating an escape plan.

Then, with a barely-there sigh, she nods. “Alright.”

She quickly saunters toward the bar again, leaning against the redhead’s ear and whispering something incoherent. The two of them briefly turn toward you in tandem, sizing you with sharp, piercing eyes. You don’t smile. The man’s lips flatten, and he nods.

And just like that, you have her.

Sienna gives you a simple nod, like she’s been approved to conduct an interview or, more grimly, subject herself to an interrogation. Without a word, you motion toward your table: a quiet, tucked-away spot near the window. She follows.

Your pulse is a hammer in your chest.

She moves toward the table with deft grace, heels clicking softly against the wood. You follow, feeling more and more like you’re striding into something you could never live down. The consequence of your choice suddenly dawns on you, moistening your forehead.

She sits first, crossing her toned legs, her posture straight and immaculate. It’s a little on the nose, but you believe she could be a model in her spare time. Up close, it’s easy to admire her glowy skin and effortless confidence without looking too hard. She’s beautiful, and you think any man or woman could fall for her with ease. Pitifully, Kylo had to be her chosen.

You slide into the chair across from her, suddenly feeling smaller than you’d like as you shut your laptop with unplanned stringency.

Sienna exhales through her nose and rests an elbow on the table, fingers grazing her jaw like she’s short on time or simply bored with your antics before you even utter.

She speaks your name, letting it trickle off her tongue with strange benevolence. “What do you want to know?”

Right to the point, yet maintaining a semblance of civility. You imagine her sitting at a meeting, charming her coworkers with that very elegance. This was a woman who got exactly what she wanted, you could tell.

“You know my name?” you question simply, maintaining a neutral, nearly professional mein.

This question, after all, was a product of genuine curiosity. In your head, there was no way to reason her knowledge without considering Kylo as part of the equation. When you consider his mentioning you in conversation, it makes your heart flutter. You could only hope it was in a positive—or at the very least neutral—light.

“And naturally,” Sienna shrugs, “you know mine.”

She tilts her head in survey of your form. Her gaze rakes curiously over your upper half, and suddenly, you regret wearing your simple, rag-tag sweatsuit while she dons fine silks. Seriously, you wouldn’t even be surprised if that blouse was pure silk.

Your gaze catches a head of fiery locks moving toward a table, sporting two steaming cups. He sets it down, swiftly adjusting the spoons to sit straight against the plates.

Sienna’s brows furrow at your drifting attention.

“That man you’re with,” you trail, the woman’s head twisting to briefly spot her companion. “Is that—”

“Armitage,” she interrupts promptly, leaning back into her chair. She must have spotted the query in your eyes when her lips twist into a simple, non-threatening smile. “Friend from the office.”

You have no choice but to believe her. Even if you were right in your fears, and this ‘Armitage’ was her lover, you’d have nothing more to say. Arresting your crush’s ex for questioning was one thing—critiquing her current relationships was another.

“Right.”

Satisfied with your simple, dry reaction, Sienna sighs deeply. Her body moves forward, hands clasping against the table.

“Look,” she starts flatly, catching your gaze with a half-hearted scowl. “I know why you stopped me.”

You raise an eyebrow, pursing your lips when you lean forward, too. At this proximity, you catch a waft of her floral perfume. “Elucidate me.”

She sighs again, measuring your expression with a slow, languid look.

“It’s about Ben, right?”

With that simple word alone, your skin sets ablaze. Nails dig into your palms, shoulders heaving once with the weight of your breath.

How dare she use his name like that? So casually, so negligently—without a single care for what she’s caused and what it’s done.

You poke the inside of your cheek, eyes narrowed with scorn. The words fall from your lips like a mild poison.

“Why’d you do it?”

Sienna’s eyebrow lifts, eyeing you with measured confusion. You’re unsure if it’s aimed at your question or the sneer you now don.

“Why I cheated?” she asks, her lips tilted into a dubious smirk.

You nod, swallowing thickly when her expression turns flat. You couldn’t dig for her feelings if you tried, and you’re not sure you’d even like to considering the possible blight of what you’d find.

She raises her forearms, chin cradled. You watch her eyes flicker up, then sideways.

“For the same reason anyone cheats,” she answers after a beat, connecting your gazes. When you stay silent, she exhales slowly, taking it as a signal to elaborate.

“Ben and I were strung together by nothing but a shared apartment and some good memories,” she continues, eyes flickering away into nothing. “He was never there when I needed him most. Everything with him was shallow, even—and maybe especially, once we got engaged.”

You scrunch your nose, head shaking in disbelief. How could she be so lax about all of this?

“You had a choice.”

“I did,” she promptly nods, voice low and calculated. When her chin flicks up again, you catch the slightest glimmer of authenticity in the green of her eyes. “And I regret mine every day.”

Your heart thrums with something visceral.

“Then why?”

Sienna purses her lips, eyes flitting across your heated face.

“Listen, I don’t hold some… grand revelation to your problems, if that’s what you’re looking for.” She shakes her head, nostrils flaring when your forehead sinks. “Ben Solo is a broken man. He—”

“How can you say that?” you breathe, flailing your hand. “How can you—”

“Do you love him?”

The question hits you like a truck. A sharp, electricity-filled chill runs down your body as Sienna’s voice echoes through your skull like a lost prayer. Did you?

Did you love Kylo Ren?

“My advice?” The woman begins before you get the chance to spiral, her sharp vocals cutting through your haze. “Move on before it’s too late.”

Your lips hang ajar, hoping for a retort that never comes.

“You think you can fix him, but it’ll just cause you a world of pain,” the woman continues, taking your silence as an opportunity. Her eyes narrow, but there’s little scorn. If anything, her tone is laced with something resembling sympathy. Or pity. “In the end, you might find yourself in a repeat of what I did.”

Your brows knit low on your forehead, lip sneering with a scoff. “I could never.”

“Right.” She shakes her head, a joyless smile painting her features when she spots your hostility. Her eyes linger on you like that for a beat, absorbing your energy like it’s fuel. “I know you hate me.”

Your mouth opens again, a gasp stuck in your throat. You hated her actions, yes, but could you take it any further than that? You thought you hated Kylo, and it turned out to be a convoluted synonym for something else entirely. In truth, you didn’t know how you felt at all. That was your greatest vice.

“I don’t—”

“I know what hatred looks like,” she chuckles sardonically, toying with her perfectly manicured fingernail—the first sign of discomfort you’ve seen from her, ever. However things ended between her and Kylo, the contempt seems to linger till today. “You need to understand that I might have hurt him, yes, but I didn’t… I didn’t make him this way.”

You stay silent, letting her elaborate while thinking of something—anything to say for yourself. Nothing comes, and Sienna’s forehead creases further.

“Ben and his sister come from a difficult family,” Sienna carries, flexing her fists against the table. She shakes her head, leaning in forward once she senses your curiosity. “Did he tell you what happened with their mother?”

You flatten your lips, urging a whispered ‘no’ from your lips.

She scoffs through a bittersweet smile, tilting her head at you as if pitiful. “Of course not.”

You want to feel offended at her feigned superiority, but can’t. Sienna was the woman Kylo confided in at the end of the day, the one who knew his deepest, darkest secrets and greatest fears—and you? You were a stranger in comparison.

“Please don’t give me that look,” she suddenly sighs, eyes rolling lazily. “I almost feel bad for you.”

“Almost?” you chuckle saccharinely, unable to hide the bite in your tone.

Sienna bites her bottom lip, head tilted as she worries over an idea. You watch her silently, taking in another waft of her perfume. It’s such a stark contrast to Kylo’s: sweet, light, and powdery with something like cloves as the heart.

“I’ll tell you,” Sienna speaks suddenly, urging you out of your daze.

You watch her eyes, but catch nothing malicious. As far as you can tell, she’s serious.

“What?”

“I’ll tell you about him,” she elaborates quietly, smoothing down a few stray locks, “but I have one condition.”

You look at her skeptically, raising an eyebrow at the authenticity of her tone. It’s a strange trade-off, but it’s been a strange day altogether. You think you can handle whatever fate has in store for you at this point, and maybe more.

“Alright,” you nod, clasping your hands against the table.

Sienna watches you, gazing calmly and indistinctly. When you expect it least, she exhales sharply through her nose and shakes her head.

“Be smart about this,” she says, almost like a weak warning.

Your hands lower, nails digging into your lap. “I don’t understand.”

She tilts her head, expression softening; not with kindness, but something bordering pity. It makes your stomach twist in all the worst ways.

“It means let it go,” she says flatly, toying with a charm on her silver bangle. “For your own sake.”

Your throat tightens as you watch the silver streak with light. “Why?”

Sienna sighs. She glances toward the counter, where Armitage is still waiting for their drinks, then back at you. You wonder if she’s become impatient with your little rendezvous.

“I told you,” she murmurs, sizing you up with a narrowed gaze. “You can’t handle it.”

You shake your head, frustration mounting. What made her turn so hostile out of nowhere?

“You don’t know that.”

Sienna arches a brow, unimpressed. “Don’t I?”

The words settle like lead in your stomach.

She’s testing you. She knows exactly how deep you’ve gone, and exactly how much deeper you’re willing to go.

You swallow thickly, tracing circles against your pants. It takes a few tension-filled moments, but eventually, you manage to face her with some semblance of composure.

“Tell me about his mother.”

For a moment, Sienna merely looks at you. Her bright eyes darken with something like disappointment, tracing your face with little interest.

Then, she sighs, smoothing a hand down her thigh before speaking.

“Leia got sick when he was sixteen,” she begins slowly, straightening her posture. “Really sick.”

She doesn’t say cancer, but it hangs in the air between you. You vaguely recall Rey leaving town for weeks at a time, calling it a ‘family emergency. ’ You asked back then but never got a clear answer—Until now.

“Han took on every job he could to pay for the treatments. Late nights, weekends, side gigs… whatever,” the woman trails, looking downward. “So, naturally, he was never home.”

Your stomach twists.

“So little Ben had to step up. You know, raise Rey on his own. Make her meals, help her with homework, pick her up from school. Meanwhile, Leia was in and out of hospitals, and Han was…” she shakes her head lightly, looking at you blankly like she’s recalling an unpleasant memory. “Gone.”

You bite your lip, worrying it between your teeth until it feels raw.

“How is she now?” you croak nervously, urging a bittersweet smile onto Sienna’s face.

“Fine. Better, at least,” she sighs, furrowing her brows. “But it’s chronic. She’s gone through remission once before this.”

You nod once in polite acknowledgment, fidgeting with your hands. Sienna watches you quietly, pacing her answers with the utmost care.

“He doesn’t hate them,” she says after a moment, reading your expression. “But he resents them.”

Something tight kinks in your chest. You don’t realize you’re gripping your coffee cup too hard until the raw ceramic creaks beneath your fingers.

“And, weirdly,” the woman trails, her expression melting into something entirely undecipherable. “I guess he resents himself for it, too.”

The woman sits back, and your mind begins to reel through the silence.

Perhaps you’ve thought about it too simply. After all, Rey never revealed this fact to you, either, and strangely, you couldn’t blame her like you do Kylo.

He never told you. Not once—not even when you shrunk at his feet, begging for answers. And for the first time, you feel like your ire for him is somewhat justified.

“I’ve tried,” she murmurs, lips twitching with something sad. “To break down his walls. To fix him.”

Sienna watches you for a moment longer, then shakes her head with a joyless laugh. You’re certain now that all she feels for you is pity.

But her meaning is clear. You can’t save him. And briefly, you wonder if he ever wanted to be saved in the first place.

“My point is, I didn’t break him,” she sighs, pursing her lips with a slight shrug. Her nonchalance makes you feel like the entire point of telling this miserable story was to establish herself as guiltless, and for a second, you think you’re right. Somehow, that’s what chafes you. “I found him broken, and—”

“Broke him even more,” you cut off, asserting your tone with a sharp rasp that doesn’t go unnoticed by the woman. She stares at you for a beat, assessing you through narrowed eyes in the probable hope of getting you to back off. You don’t.

“I told you I regretted it,” she finally acquiesces lowly, softening her gaze and tilting her head. “If I could take it all back, I would. I’d keep him close. We’d get married and live a sub-par life together, eating our meals in silence and sleeping in separate bedrooms.”

Something about her words makes you feel uneasy. This whole time, you’ve felt like her advice was simply a thinly veiled threat aimed toward you and your predicament, but now? You think there might be more to it.

Sienna drops her gaze, toying with something on her hand. Once your eyes plunge with hers, you realize she’s tracing a thin, silvery band lining her ring finger.

You swallow thickly, taking in the delicate jewels lining the rim. You had noticed this band at the party before, but it’s now, up close, that your suspicions are proven right.

“Can I ask you something?”

Sienna studies you carefully, waiting to see if you’ll absorb her words or spit them back at her.

You sigh against the weight in your throat, collecting your frayed nerves enough to pose yourself as comfortable. The woman studies you closely, flitting across your face as if trying to spot a weakness.

“Why do you call him Ben?”

Her expression doesn’t change, but something in her shoulders tightens. She stops toying with her ring, letting that fist squeeze until her knuckles go white.

“Because that’s who he is.” She says it like it’s obvious, her voice bordering on a scoff. “Kylo’s just a name he hides behind.”

You furrow your brows, taking in the uncommon wistfullness of her tone. “He introduces himself as Kylo.”

She nods, almost to herself. A smile curls on her lips, but it vanishes before you can gauge its authenticity. “Yeah. I guess he does.”

When she looks at you, you feel your cheeks drain of color.

The woman’s eyes blaze brilliantly, flickering with a full pallette of conflicting emotions. They flit across you blankly, like she’s committing your picture to memory for simple safekeeping and nothing more. It’s robotic but raw and makes the hairs on your neck stand on end.

But before you can press further, Sienna exhales sharply and stands, smoothing the front of her blouse. You realize your ears have been ringing.

“Well, this was fun,” she says softly, though there’s no real humor in it. Her expression bounces back to her usual state of professionalism, adjusting the strap of her bag with a soft hum when she faces you. “Good luck, then.”

You blink up at her, startled at the bizarre pacing. “That’s it?”

She shrugs, dusting off her pencil skirt. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this conversation meant nothing to her. The tremor in her hands betrays this notion.

“I told you what you wanted to know.”

Your eardrums pulse with the soft din of nearby conversation. A beat passes, and your gaze still dwells on hers.

Then, without thinking, you say, “And what if I don’t listen?”

For the first time since she sat down, Sienna really looks at you. She leans in just slightly, two pools of green pinning you with a definite zeal.

“Then I hope you know what you’re doing.”

With that, she turns on her heel and walks toward the counter. You vaguely catch her plucking her drink from the redhead’s hand without a word, looking up at him with a smile entirely alien to you.

He glances between you two, brows furrowing briefly, but before you catch his lips move, Sienna is already making her way toward the door.

She never looks back. And somehow, your body crawls with the bizarre, involuntary notion that this was the first and last conversation you’d ever share.

You sit there, heart pounding, fingers curled tight around your lukewarm coffee. You feel the divots of the handle under your fingers, tracing them absentmindedly as if that alone could anchor you in place.

You’ve obtained another puzzle piece. As you watch Armitage nod at you in goodbye, the connection you make with it hits you like a cold tidal wave.

This was never Kylo’s fault.

Every time he pulled away, every time he chose silence over honesty, it wasn’t because he wasn’t enough—It wasn’t because you weren’t enough, or because you hadn’t chipped away at his walls hard enough, valued him well enough, or wanted him enough.

It was because he never learned how to let people stay.

And how could he?

For the first time, you picture him young. A boy with dark eyes and quiet steps, barely old enough to carry his sister, yet old enough to know he had to. You imagine him setting a small plate on the table for Rey, smoothing her hair like his mother used to, whispering promises that he was too young to keep.

You think of him staring at the front door, waiting. For his mother to get better. For his father to come home.

For something in his world to change.

And then, years later, he’s still waiting. Waiting for something—someone to prove him right.

Your breath catches, and before you can think, before you can process, your body moves.

The chair screeches against the floor as you push it back. Coffee sloshes as you shove it aside. Your laptop is barely zipped into your bag before you’re slinging it over your shoulder and running.

Your pulse is frantic, your feet unsteady, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

You need to see him.

The door bursts open against the weight of your urgency, and then you’re outside, the city air slapping against your face with the sound of that little copper bell.

You don’t catch it over the sound of Ben’s name on your lips.

[mysticfluffyness]

11: super silver haze | kylo ren x reader

part 11 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: TONS of explicit language, loud arguments, smoking (weed) (like, a lot). word count: 6.6k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: holy shit you guys. this was a doozy, but we're finally climbing the precipice and inching toward the long-awaited CLIMAX. literally kicked my feet and giggled writing this, so ya'll. i pray i did this scene the justice it deserves. please let me know what you think, and as always, thank you so much for reading and supporting me ♥

Now Playing: Sunday Sermon - Booker T. & the M.G.'s

The room rolls with warmth, heavy with the scent of grape juice and resin. As you exhale, a thin stream of smoke flows through the dimness, rippling with technicolor.

“And what?” Poe utters lazily as you hand him the joint, his dark waves kept neat with a headband. “ He said no?”

“Dude, are you even listening?” Finn reprimands from the kitchen, shaking a pot against the stove. The smell of artificial butter fills the room, making your mouth water. “He said—”

“Not like this.” you cut your friend off, sinking into your velvet beanbag with an exasperated sigh as you recall those forbidden words. You’re uncertain if it’s sentiment or just the high, but the pit in your stomach makes you nauseated the second you’re reminded of the party.

You flip your head to the side, lazily meeting Poe’s gaze. His lips curl into that usual, half-hearted smile while he ponders your predicament.

“Such a romantic,” he finally shrugs, and you can’t quite tell if he’s being serious or not. His smile drops, and he looks at you in question. “Can I say that?”

You roll your eyes and tug at the strings of your sweatshirt. The broad hood contracts, trapping your scowling face within. “Whatever.”

“Whatever?” Finn echoes as he reenters the living room, holding a fresh bowl of popcorn. He sets it down on the low coffee table before joining you and Poe on the ground. When you peek your nose out to eye the men’s curious faces, you realize you’re not hungry anymore.

“I think I’m over it,” you finally sigh, leaning back against the beanbag as your friends begin shoveling into the kernels.

Poe snorts, chewing thoughtfully as you withdraw from your hood. “You’re absolutely not over it.”

“Uh-huh,” you scoff at his denial, mindlessly taking the joint from Finn’s hand when he passes it your way. Only a charred nub is left, but you bring it to your lips, anyway. As you inhale, you cringe at the heightened burn settling in your throat. “I want to be.”

The man quirks a brow, picking unpopped kernels from his palm and flicking them into the plastic trashcan. “Do you?”

The question settles into your swirling gut like a weight, making you groan in displeasure—because, after all, you don’t know the answer.

After finding out the story behind Sienna, you thought you had it all figured out. Kylo’s arrival, his inexplicable moods, and why he refused to be anything but a massive pain in your ass.

Except you knew that wasn’t all. This innocent crush you developed on your best friend’s older brother eventually blossomed into something completely untameable, and now? You felt stuck between a rock and a hard place.

You craved the lingering gazes, the teasing, his bold touches. You wanted to be around him, become the object of his attention. But you didn’t love him. It was a strong, terrifying word that neither of you were ready for.

But you did hate him.

You hated how he’d treat you like a confidant, only to pull away just as you found joy in the position. How he smiled so wide, then scowled with twice the force.

You hated how he made you feel wanted, just to choose the other woman.

“When is he moving out, by the way?” Finn pipes up, knocking you out of your rumination. When you turn toward him, he gives you a raised brow. You must have been scowling.

“I don’t know,” you utter quietly, relaxing your expression to calm any suspicion. “He’s not made any progress.”

“Wait,” Poe shakes his head in confusion, leaning over the coffee table to reach for the rolling papers. “Remind me why he’s crashing at yours in the first place?”

You sigh, toying with the beanbag’s loose threads as your friend fills his plastic grinder. “He’s moving. Or, he wants to move.”

“Can’t blame him one bit,” Finn groans, leaning back against the front of the couch. “Can you imagine living with your ex after finding out they cheated? Seeing them every day?”

“It’s so much worse than that,” you explain, earning looks from your two friends. You bite your bottom lip, gaze dropping to your lap. “He walked in on them.”

Finn stops mid-chew, while Poe’s jaw drops in shock. He quirks a brow at you as if disbelieving in the disrespect. “Dude.”

“Yeah, dude,” you laugh joylessly, crossing your arms. The image of Kylo’s sunken features plagues your mind, replaying that same conversation like a hellish mantra. You’re unsure if the pit in your stomach comes from anger or sympathy.

“But, I mean…” Finn trails, scooping another handful of popcorn. “In their own bedroom, too?”

Your lips flatten, glimpsing into the distance mournfully as you nod. The two men shake their heads in joined disbelief.

“Christ,” Poe mutters, continuing with his new joint. “No wonder the guy’s such a jackass.”

“Poe,” Finn reprimands, making his friend raise his hands defensively.

“Sorry, but it’s true!” he utters dramatically, gesturing toward you with bud-stained digits. “No matter how bad you’ve had it, you don’t just… You don’t just get to shove your grief onto other people. That’s not how it works.”

A silence follows, filled only by the muffled sound of 90’s hip-hop emitting from a small JBL speaker.

You want to be mad, but inexplicably, you’re not. The pit in your stomach expands, blooming into something soft around the edges and gooey in the center. You know it’s not hatred.

“Oh, god,” Poe gasps dramatically, making you meet his gaze with confusion. “You don’t blame him.”

Your eyes widen, matching the frustrated scowl lining your features. You shake your head in denial, but it comes a second too late for authenticity. “Poe—”

“I think you might even be empathizing with that motherfucker,” he trails loudly, watching your lips tighten once more. You’ve got nothing to say in defense, and your friend catches onto that immediately with the emerging curl of his mouth. “Holy shit, don’t tell me—”

“Stop,” you groan, rubbing your face into the meat of your palms. “I’m serious, Poe, I can’t handle this shit ri—”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to make any progress,” Finn cuts you off, making the two of you stop your bickering and face him with quirked brows.

You sigh, curbing your frustration before speaking again. “Go on.”

“I think he means that—”

“What I mean,” Finn gruffs out, shooting a sharp scowl toward Poe, “is he wants to stay.”

The latter nods severely, eyes wide as he speaks through a mouthful of kernels. “With you.”

You scoff, head shaking as you scan their expressions. Somehow, the conversation has sobered you up enough to realize they’re not fucking with you.

“Nonsense, I mean—that makes no sense.” you chuckle sardonically, hands twitching at your sides. “Right?”

The two men look at each other knowingly, then you.

“I don’t know,” Finn shrugs, tapping to the rhythm of the song that plays. “He’s hot and stacked. I don’t see how he’d have an issue finding something suitable.”

Poe scoffs, licking the joint shut at last. “I couldn’t couch surf for this long.”

Just as you’re about to speak, Finn cuts him off with a burst of disbelieving chuckles.

“Dude, except you have,” he reprimands. “Remember your Eurotrip? Berlin?”

Poe sucks his cheeks in with a hum, thinking for a moment before facing his friend with a pointed finger. “Don’t talk to me about Berlin.”

You sigh, leaning into your beanbag once more. Your friends’ conversation melts into the background, letting you clear your mind.

“He rejected me,” you finally shrug, voice low. “Plain and simple.”

“In his defence,” Finn purses his lips, placing the plastic bowl to the side. You watch him shift onto the couch, hands locked. “You could interpret those words in a dozen different ways.”

“I haven’t seen him since the party,” you sigh in exasperation, flailing a hand in the air. “He’s completely MIA.”

Poe nods in acknowledgment, placing the filter between his lips and palming the floor for his lighter. The other man focuses on you, eyeing the nervous way you drum your thigh.

“Does Rey know?” he finally questions, making you knit your brows. As if.

“He doesn’t tell Rey anything. When he leaves, it’s a compl—”

“No, I mean,” Finn cuts you off softly, swallowing thickly as he ponders over an appropriate way to address the concern. Poe watches him curiously, burning the tip of the rolling paper off.

“Does Rey know about your…” The man on the couch begins anew, fiddling with his digits. “Problem?”

Poe scoffs between inhales, motioning toward you lazily.

“It’s not a problem, she’s just horny.”

“Ugh,” you scowl, feigning nonchalance as your cheeks burn red at the bold statement. If only it weren’t true. “Stop saying that.”

“What?” he taunts, bloodshot eyes narrowed as he curls his lips into a devilish smirk. “Horny?”

“Alright,” you raise your palms defensively, quickly rocking your way out of the beanbag. As you stand, the two men glance up at you with worry. “I’m out.”

“Hey, I was kidding!” Poe cries out, shuffling to stand up. He does so haphazardly, swearing under his breath as he loses balance and stumbles into Finn’s knee.

“It’s not that,” you explain quietly, the weight of your anxiety knocking all humor out of the situation. “I promised Rey I’d take her suit to dry cleaning. She’s got some company event next week.”

While spending quality time with friends was generally a great way to get over a dumb crush, you suddenly dreaded needing to answer more pressing questions. You needed air, stat.

“Is she out of town?” Finn questions, his sudden interest making you smile joylessly.

“For a few days,” you nod with a shrug. “Seeing family again.”

Poe mutters something under his breath as he finally stumbles upwards, meeting you with a wild grin. “So it’s just you and Kylo at ho—”

“Zip it,” you warn smoothly, pointing a digit his way. “I’m so serious.”

“Alright, alright!” the man raises his hands in a dramatic display of defeat, sighing to steady his posture. His face shifts into something more sympathetic, dark eyebrows high on his forehead. “Want me to drive you?”

“You’d be a health hazard in your current state.” Finn scoffs from the couch, earning a lazy eye roll from his friend.

“At least I have a license.”

“I’ll take the subway,” you reassure with a polite smile, approaching the foyer to grab your jacket from the hangers before another argument erupts. “It’s chill.”

Poe trails after you, one hand in his pocket while the other wields the joint. “Suit yourself, baby.”

You whip your head toward him with furrowed brows and a smile, head tilted as you slide your shoes on. Even in the most off-beat moments, you’re reminded of Kylo Ren. “Is that a Jersey thing?”

Poe quirks a brow, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to interpret a foreign language. “I’m not Jersey.”

You shake your head with a tart chuckle, reaching to pat your friend’s stubble-riddled cheek. You lean back, issuing Finn a quick wave. “See you.”

You hitch your bag on your shoulder and walk out the door, hearing Finn snickering from inside. “Stay safe, you two!”

“Don’t make me come back in there!” you yell back half-heartedly, earning another fit of giggles from the two men before the door finally slams shut.

As you descend the staircase, your smile shifts into a deep frown.

୨ৎ

You watch the pristinely ironed pantsuit with narrowed eyes, peeking at you behind a thin layer of protective plastic. It hangs from the curtain rod, swaying in the soft breeze like a business-casual ghost as you lean your back against the balcony railing.

You inhale the bittersweet resin, letting it warm your lungs before hurling it into a swirl of smoke. The Meters play softly from inside the apartment, elevating your approaching high.

If it were any other circumstances, you’d reprimand yourself for choosing another joint over sobriety. But today was special.

You were mourning the death of your fixation.

On your treacherous way home on the subway, you thought about facing Kylo again. It was there, squeezed between two other passengers at rush hour, that you had reached an epiphany.

Even now, it makes your throat burn with acid as you strain your eyes against the doorway of your home.

While you haven’t seen Kylo in over twenty-four hours, something primal made you feel like the meeting was approaching steadily. Then, once it was time, you’d finally tell him your feelings.

You’d tell Kylo Ren you hated his guts.

You twist around, resting your elbows against the cold balustrade. Your quaint neighborhood lies just below, humming with occasional passersby. In the distance lies the heart of the city, looming brightly over the watercolor-stained horizon.

As you puff smoke through your teeth, the front door clicks open.

Your jaw tightens, eyes wide when you realize you’re left no time to prepare. The sun has just begun to set, meaning he shouldn’t be home for another few hours. You bite worry your lip between your teeth. This wasn’t at all according to—

You hear the rustle of keys being tossed onto the console in the foyer, followed by the deep sigh of a man shedding the weight of the day. He starts with his shoes, shoving them off by the wall. Then comes the hefty leather jacket, tossed haphazardly against the couch’s headrest.

Your eyebrows furrow, fingers curling tightly around the joint as you lift it back to your chapped lips.

Soft, measured footsteps come from the living room.

You exhale, watching the smoke billow into the air against a backdrop of blue and orange. The next breath, you hold.

The footsteps stop at the balcony doorway, replaced by a single, quiet hum. It’s all too familiar, and while you’re severely tempted to face him, you know it’d be a bluff. So you persevere.

“Good evening,” he calls smoothly. You’ve barely gone a day in its absence, yet the sudden reappearance of his hoarse baritone is enough to send a crisp jolt down your spine.

You extend your stiff arms against the balustrade, trying to remain natural in your silence. You think he’ll keep going and make a nasty comment about your half-hearted outfit or your drug habit, but he doesn’t.

Kylo stands there in silence, looming. You imagine he’s leaning against the doorframe with a hellish smirk, awaiting your next move.

But you’re so, so tired of the games. And this time, you want him to know.

“When’d you get so stuck up?” you bark out, head shaking to amp up the hostility.

Naturally, Kylo chuckles at your antics. The low, reverberating sound heats your skin and boils your blood, until you realize what you had planned to do.

Just as you’re about to twist toward him, the footsteps pick up again. You still in place, breath quickened as you feel his presence loom over your flank in a few, short strides.

You force your head forward, deliberately dodging his gaze when he arrives in your peripheral. Despite the blurry image, your heart thrums at the umber silhouette framing his porcelain mein.

Your nostrils flare as he leans against the balustrade, matching your position while maintaining an appropriate distance. Somehow, that very fact makes you all the more frustrated with him.

Pine fills your nose, and you clench your jaw. Instantly, your fog-addled brain is flooded by visions of the sidewalk, a half-finished bottle of whiskey, and Kylo’s lips so achingly close to yours.

And then comes the aftermath, with Sienna’s vixen smile and Kylo’s dreadful rejection. For a moment, you think you might hurl. That ought to prove a point, at least.

Then, you feel something brush against your knuckles. The movement is brief, and before you can turn to look, Kylo’s picking the joint from your fingers.

You whip your head toward him, breath catching in your throat at the sight.

The joint hangs loosely from his plush lips, trapped behind a bittersweet smile. The ember glows as he inhales, cheeks hollowing to drag the smoke out. His eyes remain locked on yours like two dark pools of oblivion, flickering over your face before he exhales. The scent of burnt resin and pine tar lingers in your nose, its warmth hitting you like a sly taunt.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “I don’t remember offering.”

Kylo hums, tipping his head back.

“Are you avoiding me?” Kylo questions instead, his tone low and devoid of substance. Your eyes roll at the implication, already exhausted at having the blame pinned on you. If you knew better, you’d tear the joint from his hand, tell him to fuck off, and storm off—but instead, you dig your nails into your palms with a labored huff.

“Avoiding you?” you scoff as a trickling burn settles in your chest. “Some nerve you’ve got.”

He takes another long drag before passing the joint back to you. You take it from his hand slowly, prudent enough to keep a distance.

As you place the filter between your lips, you realize it’s still moist. You know you shouldn’t lose your mind over such a meaningless, juvenile thing, but the sensation makes you tense your abs with something indescribable.

“So you aren’t?” the man continues, and you sigh. Even if he’s just asking to torment you, you know that the quickest way out is through.

“No,” you mumble lowly, settling your gaze into the distance without a particle focus. “I’m not.”

Your answer is stern and simple, but seems to satisfy Kylo just enough for him to hum in acknowledgment. You feel him shuffle at your side, shifting his weight deeper against the balustrade.

“Are you upset with me?”

“You sound like a needy child,” you scoff again, but his question gets you thinking. While you wouldn’t use that particular word to describe your severely complex feelings toward Kylo, it’s a good place to start. “I’m always upset with you.”

He hums again, craning his neck to look at you. “Why?”

His voice is flat but not as empty as before. The lack of his usual dry humor lacing the edges makes you feel like there’s a semblance of authenticity to the question, yet you can’t bring yourself to give him that same courtesy.

Your eyes flicker toward him, taking in his lazy smile and lax eyebrows. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

He scoffs this time, nostrils flaring. “I think you like it.”

The accusation, albeit frivolous, carries stones into your stomach. You inhale sharply and turn away again, fists clenched tight as you brace to lie your way out.

“Then you’re wrong.”

Yet again, Kylo doesn’t trail on. The silence stretches taut, pressing against your ribs like a tightening vice. You feel his gaze on you, but he offers little else—no quip, lazy smirks, or lazy provocation. Something in your chest caves at that.

Your jaw clenches, and before you can stop yourself from turning the conversation petty, the words tumble out like sand. “How was it?”

Kylo’s fingers flex against the railing, lips parting slightly before pressing into a thin line.

“The party,” you elaborate, pressing harsh emphasis on the words. You can’t hide the bitterness in your voice, no matter how hard you try to fight it. And he notices.

“Why are you asking?” he shifts toward you.

Your stomach shifts at his bellicose nonchalance, voice snappy when it comes. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, head steady as he fervently chases your gaze. You don’t give in, so he continues. “Maybe because you enjoy torturing yourself.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, finally shifting your attention toward him. As usual, there’s little for you to go off besides the occasional twitch of his lips. “Just drop the games.”

He huffs, inching his gaze away momentarily. You watch his lips tighten, and he finally faces you with a frown. “Is this about—”

“Why’d you say that?” you cut off, but the regret settles in almost immediately. Your nails dig into your palms, eyes narrowed as you curse yourself for following your curiosity. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“What?” he questions quietly, slowly, like he’s giving you a way out. And despite everything you’ve sworn yourself to abandon, the next words fall from your lips unprompted.

“On the curb,” you croak, feeling your throat run dry. You’re unsure if it’s the weed or the bubbling whine threatening to rise to your mouth. “Why’d you say that?”

His breath is shallow like he’s just taken a hit to the ribs. His knuckles are white where they grip the railing, and for a second, you think you see something split behind his eyes. But it’s gone in a blink, swallowed up by that same infuriating restraint he’s been showcasing since the dawn of his arrival.

Your chest rises and falls, your own breath just as unsteady. The night air feels suffocating now, dense with the buzz of tension that’s been meandering between you for far too long.

"Say something," you demand, voice sharp and crackling.

Kylo shakes his head, bringing a palm up to rub his face. His eyebrows furrow microscopically, leaving small divots in his pale forehead.

“You were drunk.”

Your throat tightens, a bitter smile emerging at the curve of your lips. “And you weren’t?”

He doesn’t need to answer. Kylo had been drinking, sure, but not like you—not in a way that made his actions foggy or excusable. He had been coherent, steady, and calculating as always; whatever happened that night hadn’t been a mistake of impulse. There was no convenient excuse, no haze of intoxication for him to hide behind like you have.

And the worst part? He didn’t owe you anything. He never had.

“Not like you,” he mutters. His chin drops, gaze flickering downward like he can’t fully bring himself to look at you, as if facing your expression might be worse than whatever this is simmering between you.

A shaky breath flutters past your lips as you stare at him, blinking against the strain plowing through your chest.

In some perfect, utopian world, this would be comfortable. You’d get a clean rejection—a firm: ‘No, it meant nothing’, and that would be that. You’d nod, finish your joint on the balcony, then disappear into your room to cry for a reasonable amount of time for someone grieving their heartbreak. Kylo wouldn’t follow.

Things would settle—return to normal.

Or at least, as normal as they were before any of this ever saw the light of day.

But as you watch him now, your stomach knots with something sharp and agonizing curling beneath your ribs. Your eyes track over the little scar beneath his eyebrow, the dim smudge of stubble along his jaw, and the way his hair falls in reckless waves you want to touch, if only to see if they’re as soft as you’ve always imagined.

This is your moment. Your chance to let it die here and pretend none of it ever mattered.

And yet your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to move like it did. The words slip out before you can stop them.

“And if I wasn’t drunk?”

Kylo turns toward you, his expression breaking open with the first raw reaction you’ve seen from him all evening. His brows twitch upward, eyes widening just slightly at the bluntness of your words.

“What?”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, inhaling deeply. The joint in your fingers has nearly burned itself out, forgotten in the poundage of your conversation. A trim loss in the grand scheme of things, you think.

“If I wasn’t drunk that night,” you repeat, voice enduring despite the wildfire bursting in your stomach. Every syllable is carefully weighed before you release it into the air between you, smoke curling from your lips as you watch Kylo’s countenance flicker between flippant, indistinguishable emotions. “Would you have done it?”

Finally, you’d learn whether Kylo Ren’s glances, touches, and his infuriating, insufferable behavior toward you had ever held any merit. If you’re particularly unlucky, he’ll return your advances. You’re unsure of what happens, then.

You stare into each other silently, breaths mingling. Anxiety prickles your stomach, coursing through your veins like a silent harbinger of doom.

Kylo’s eyes darken, filling with something you can’t fully interpret, before they inexplicably narrow with scorn. You taste bile.

“Don’t be stupid.”

Your stomach drops.

You think it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Kylo’s always been a bastard with cruel words, knowing exactly where to stick the knife to make it bleed the longest; yet something about this particular dismissal feels like a death toll.

The pang in your chest weaves through your lungs, squeezing and tugging like a serpent. A scoff tumbles past your lips before you can stop it. You lower your head, shielding your eyes before they can betray your falsified mein. “Right.”

You hear the sharp exhale he lets out at your tone, stepping from one foot to the other. When you finally glance up, his face is turned toward the horizon, the ascending evening sky casting its glow over his features. Warm, golden hues spill across the sharp planes of his face, bathing him in the coming of spring. Your heart swells.

And somehow, it’s that quiet pang of adoration that sets you off most.

Without another word, you pluck the spent joint from your fingers, flicking it into the plastic cup on the table.

“Is it because of her?” you ask steadily, watching the ember fizzle out in the shallow pool of water.

Kylo stiffens at the sharp edge in your voice, his jaw tightening as he angles his head toward the sky. You watch the muscles in his throat shift as he swallows thickly, face cast in light and shadow.

“No,” he finally croaks out, voice low and treacherous as your heart threatens to give out. “No—No, I was—”

“Then why?” You cut him off impatiently, voice breaking under the heavy weight of his ignorance. Pulled in too many directions at once, your chest aches with the pressure pulse of a frenzied drum against your ribs. “Why do you keep doing this?”

Kylo inhales sharply through his nose, fingers clenching into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze locked somewhere in the distance, and judging by the way his nostrils flare, you know he’s just as furious as you are.

“It’s complicated.”

A bitter, disbelieving laugh bubbles up from your throat at the banal excuse. “Why? It doesn’t have—”

“But it is.” his voice is unyielding now, laced with a cold that prickles your skin.

You watch him with parted lips, his eyes flickering over your features with something you pray isn’t contempt.

He huffs, leaning his stiff shoulders against the railing.

“You don’t fucking know me.”

The words punch the air from your lungs, making you inhale sharply. You swallow, trying to fight the emerging sting behind your eyes as the self-pity within you shifts into a trembling fire of disdain.

"I just want the truth,” you mumble, voice flattening with impatience.

He looks at you with curiosity, but the tone of his reply simmers with an undeniable edge of contempt. "I gave you the truth."

"No,” you reply through a joyless chuckle, head shaking at his apparent stupor, “you gave me scraps. You gave me riddles and half-answers and the bare fucking minimum."

You watch his lips press together, eyes unmoving as a looming shadow. His secrecy has always driven you mad, but now? It feels like you’re at your wit’s end.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his dark curls. They cascade down his neck, a stray lock falling into his face to frame the acerbity of his mein. "I told you it's complicated."

Your stomach twists, urging you to push harder. He wouldn’t get to play with you like that without a proper explanation, even if it meant the end of your non-friendship.

"Bullshit!” you hiss, voice laced with venom and an essence of doubt. You pause for a beat, surveying him through half-lidded eyes and taking in the lackluster expression painting his face. Your forehead pulsates. “You’re a coward, Ren."

His eyes snap to yours, dark and perilous at your daring proclamation. He scavenges your body from head to toe, sizing you up like a predator does his prey.

"Careful."

"Or what?" you spit through a scoff, pushing off the balustrade and raising your arms in a losing battle. "You’ll push me away?”

His jaw clenches. You catch his nostrils flare, fingers twitching.

“Because news flash, Kylo.” you trail bitterly, voice edging toward a strained yell. He watches you with surprising patience, dark pupils mirroring the brilliant sky. “You already fucking did."

His throat bobs as he swallows, body going wooden like he’s pushing himself to keep still. His fingers twitch again—like he wants to grab you, shake you, do something to break this damned tension once and for all.

Instead, he lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You act like I had a choice.”

Your jaw tightens, watching him with utter incredulity. While your belly rumbles with anger, you know that to a certain extent, you can’t deny his words. You don’t know much beyond the fact that he was cheated on and forced to live with his estranged sister. You’ve never known the details of his situation, or what keeps him coming back to the woman who irrevocably betrayed his trust.

He’s right.

You don’t know him.

Yet, that can’t keep you from probing for answers.

“Didn’t you?” you utter breathlessly, making his lip curl just enough to infuriate you further. He shakes his head, shooting you a cold scowl.

“Right, of course,” he scoffs, folding his arms as he faces you, “You know everything.”

You exhale in disbelief, planting your fists against your hips. “I know enough to know you’re being a fucking idiot about this.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, looking off to the side like he’s trying to physically restrain himself from saying something much worse. “Sure you do.”

“Oh, fuck off, Kylo,” your laugh is sharp and humorless when it leaves your lips. “You love talking in circles, don’t you? Like if you’re vague enough, you can get away with whatever the fuck you want.”

He finally turns back to you, empty expression betraying his otherwise razor-sharp tone. “God, why do you have to make everything about yourself?!”

Your arms drop to your sides as a sore chuckle escapes your throat. “Right. Because this has nothing to do with me.”

He shakes his head wildly, regurgitating a strained, joyless chuckle amidst the spread of his arms. “No! It really doesn’t!”

Your mouth cracks open at his careless expression, tone dropping an octave in a challenge. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he continues asceribly, shifting side to side. “You’re always so fucking dramatic. Not everything is about you and yours! And—and if you’d just—”

“Oh, I’m dramatic?” Your voice pitches higher as you gesture wildly between the two of you. “You’re the one who starts shit and then gets pissed when I have the nerve to bite back!”

Kylo’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his patience wearing thin with every word you utter. You hear him mumble something before facing you with a strained gust. His sudden calmness scares you more than the initial storm.

“I start shit?”

Kylo takes a step forward, and instinctively, you take one back. You can feel the cool metal of the balcony railing pressing into your lower back, but you refuse to let that stop you. You wouldn’t back down from this, even if it meant getting your ass handed to you.

You cross your arms over your chest, chin lifting defiantly. “Yes, Kylo. You do.”

His eyes flicker over your stance, his lips twitching slightly like he’s resisting the urge to smirk—like this is all just some fucking game to him, while you’re over the precipice of losing your mind.

“You always do.”

He cocks his head, expression flat but demanding. The sardonic smirk emerging at the corners of his lips is hilariously ironic, like he’s proving your point without trying.

“Anything else?” he huffs with fabricated lethargy, striking you with a sharp glare.

Oh, fuck no.

Your breath shudders as the turmoil bubbles over, burning your throat as the words spill out.

“Yeah.” You exhale sharply, hands clenching into tight fists, though you’ve got nothing. Your body trembles with adrenaline, urging you to spit acid in any way you can. “Would it kill you to treat me with human decency?”

Kylo scoffs loudly, tilting his head back like the idea alone is too much for him to entertain.

“Right.” He takes another step closer, eyes hooded. “Because you’re such a sweet, innocent angel.”

Despite the venom lacing his tone, his choice of words makes your thighs squeeze. It’s an instinctive reaction that makes you shake your head, lips parting in utter disbelief.

“At least I try.” Your voice is sharp, eyes burning into his. You push forward, ignoring the heat rising in your body. “But—but every time I want to be a friend, you—”

“God—Will you fucking stop that for once?” Kylo snaps, cutting you off with harsh, unfriendly laughter.

Your brows knit together, lips hanging ajar at his hasty defiance. Your eyes scan across his features, taking in the odd glint in his eyes. Everything around you simmers with heat.

“What?”

He shakes his head incredulously, raking a hand through his hair again. When he speaks, his voice is tighter than ever, loud and final like a stray bullet.

“Trying—trying to act like we’re fucking friends.” He gestures vaguely between you, devoid of tenderness. He meets your gaze, eyebrows low on his forehead as he hisses your name. “We’re not friends. Never will be. At best, we tolerate each other, and even that comes with its shitty fucking surprises.”

Your heart slams in your chest, pulsating in your ears. Your mouth moves before your brain has the chance to catch up, filling the buzz of your sermon with unforgiving bite.

“God forbid someone gives a shit about you.”

Kylo’s expression blackens. His whole body stiffens a margin, towering above you like a rage-filled statue splayed in hues of orange and red. His scowl says it all. You know you’ve hit a nerve before he even utters.

But then he leans in, barking through gritted teeth and a labored breath:

“I don’t fucking need you to.”

Your breath catches harshly, scraping your vocal cords. You force yourself to hold his gaze. Heat and electricity simmer between you, raising the thin hairs at the back of your neck.

You moisten your lips, meeting the man’s gaze with half-lidded eyes. Pressure builds within your chest, fluttering through your arms and legs like a powerful, undeniable current.

“Good,” you start quietly, toying an ill-tempered smile against your lips, “Because I don’t.”

You take a step forward, straightening your back and sizing him up. He watches keenly, nostrils flaring as you poke a digit into the firm plane of his ribs. Kylo’s breath stutters, his chest rising and falling in quick, erratic beats.

You lean in, your voice faint, razor-thin, and laced with a fatal malignancy.

“I fucking hate you, Ben.”

Birds cry into the setting sun, cars honking in the distance while Shuggie Otis croons through the speakers inside. A soft spring breeze blows through the balcony, tousling Kylo’s dark locks as he peeks at you through dark lashes.

A bitter smile curves at the edge of his mouth, taunting you as always.

“Say it again.” He murmurs, unhurried and nearly cruel.

Your pulse slams against your ribs, matching the beat of percussion. His eyes are locked onto yours, dark and penetrating with this simple, impossible dare.

You swallow thickly, shifting your digit into a full palm. It lingers against his chest, sinking into the rhythmic thrum as you furrow your brows, bearing a fearless step closer.

You flare your nostrils, pushing up slightly onto your toes.

“Kylo,” you trail quietly, his breath hot and moist on your cheeks. You part your lips, trembling, preparing to nail the coffin shut forever under the slow, percolating flicker of his eyes as they survey your eyes, cheeks, the parting of your lips.

He hums. Your heart roars beneath your ribs, pleading in agony.

“I hate y—”

Kylo’s lips crash hungrily onto yours.

His hands gently clamp around your jaw, fingers threading into your scalp as his mouth slants over yours for easier access. The air between you vanishes, swallowed by the sharp, heady collision of lips and teeth scraping in a desperate dance.

The taste of him floods your senses with resin, smoke, and something hauntingly sweet and tender that you lap up with discomfiting greed. He nips at your bottom lip, pulling and kissing.

Your fingers curl into the soft fabric of his shirt instinctively, nails scraping against his chest as you push up against him—desperate and thoroughly enraged at the audacity of his measures.

A groan tumbles deep within his throat, low and sultry as it vibrates against your tongue. His grip tightens, pulling and all-consuming, like he wants nothing more than to brand you with his touch.

And for a moment, you think you’ll let him.

“Kylo,” you mewl, feeling his large hands roam over your cheek and neck. It snakes to your waist, inching under your tank top and splaying over the small of your back.

“Shh,” he hushes, his mouth sloppily ghosting along your jaw, then down the column of your throat. His teeth graze against your skin, lips chasing the mark with something almost worshipful. His palm slides higher beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing your ribcage, coaxing a shudder from your body as he holds you tightly against the railing.

You whimper softly, throwing an arm around his neck and leaning your head back to grant him access.

You should stop this, you think—push him away. But instead, your fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, greedily wanting to feel more of him.

Until something shifts.

You’re caught up with his hold on you; like a porcelain doll, delicate and too precious to allow a break. His breath stutters when his lips brush over your pulse like he’s breathing new life, unraveling something irrevocably powerful.

It feels like giving in.

And suddenly, your resolve crumbles into nothing. Your body washes over with palpitating regret, urging your breath to catch at his tender nipping as he bucks his hips into yours.

Your hands flatten against his chest. “Kylo—”

He slows, lips lingering near your collarbone. His breath is heavy and warm against your skin as you give him a push, eliciting a soft moan from his plush lips.

A second passes. Then another.

He pulls back, dark eyes searching yours, obscured by something mildly animalistic. His grip loosens, sliding away from your body like he’s afraid of what he might do if he lingers.

The space between you stretches with a crackling silence. The city beyond hums with life, but all you can hear are your heavy breaths intermingling, lingering with the taste of each other.

You take a step back. Your throat tightens with the thousand things you want to say.

“I can’t,” is all you can utter, the whisper barely audible over the pounding in your ears.

Kylo exhales sharply, running a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. His lips are swollen with the semblance of your kiss, eyes burning with a plunging, living fire that penetrates your heart like hot daggers.

He calls your name. The word is sweet and languid on his tongue, lined with the kind of softness you’ve never been the fortunate prey of. His hand tenses mid-air, fingers flexing at the devastating sight of your gaze sinking away from his.

And then, without another word, you turn and slip inside, leaving him alone in the woeful finale of your favorite song.

[mysticfluffyness]

10: birthday girl | kylo ren x reader

part 10 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: explicit language, vague sexual imagery, alcohol consumption, smoking (cigarettes), mild poe dameron x reader. word count: 9.5k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: why do my mc's always get drunk? is it time to explore other coping methods eckhem, plot devices? anyway, this chapter gave me a damn mf hard time because of its emotional weight but i really wanted to get it out by saturday. it's not proofread, so please let me know if it flows alright!

Now Playing: Veridis Quo - Daft Punk

“Happy Birthday!” carries through the tiled hallway as two men pass the curb of your apartment. Their shoes scrape against the welcome mat in tandem before being kicked off onto a sizeable stack of heels and boots in the corner.

You’re leaning against the junction of the foyer and kitchen, nursing a fizzy drink you don’t know the name of. For now you stay hidden, obscured by the shadows as wishes get exchanged.

“You guys!” Rey croons as her manicured hands clasp together, watching in awe as one of the men retrieves a small, wrapped gift from his jacket. She gasps, retrieving the package and giving it a soft shake near her ear where a faux gem dangles. “Finn, you didn’t have to.”

“Hey, hold up!” Poe pipes up with a wagging finger, eyes wide as he nods at the little parcel. “It’s from us both.”

You catch Finn rolling his eyes through a stiff smile, which tells you enough about Poe’s actual involvement in the thought-process. Maybe a little more. Watching Finn’s longing gaze trickling down Rey’s fitted pant-suit, you think it’s the latter.

Still, the birthday girl seems satisfied. Her body shifts to embrace them both in a warm, albeit awkward hug while they shove their coats off.

Rey gushes against the junction of their shoulders, making the two chuckle in tandem.

“Alright, alright,” Poe shoos her off through a wide grin, shrugging off his padded jean jacket to reveal a fitted, cornflower-blue button-up. It creases at his shoulders, ivory-buttons popped near the top to reveal a groomed chest. “I’m loving the excitement, but I just got this dry-cleaned.”

“Dude, you didn’t,” Finn sighs, making Poe shake his head, arms extended dramatically.

“I thought about it.”

“Right,” he chuckles, though his eyes focus on Rey. He gives her a quick size-up before smiling politely. “How’s the birthday girl feeling?”

Rey shrugs softly, retrieving her drink from the cupboard.

“Tired,” she says, her voice tight with a smile. She turns around, motioning for the two men to follow he through the foyer. “Midterms next week.”

“Ouch,” Finn hisses sympathetically, just as you approach the kitchen counter to inconspicously pour yourself another drink. “Well, let’s not think about that tonight.”

As the trio enters the living room, you turn to watch. Poe and Finn exchange dab-ups and smiles with the other guests as Rey retreats to her room. Despite yourself, you scan the crowded room for a familiar head of raven and as usual, you find him resting against the balcony balustrade.

It’s been a strange weekend. After your shopping rendezvous with Kylo and way too many close calls, you came home with guilt weighing down on your heart. While lusting after him had its ups, at the end of the day it was mostly downs. Sure, touching yourself to the thought of someone you shouldn’t want was fun until you realized the risks that came with it.

You told yourself from the get-go that this was a harmless, casual crush. There was something about this asshole that grinded your gears just right—just enough to make you want him inside of you. And you didn’t want a slow, passionate lovemaking session either; you wanted to be pounded against the wall and called something you’d normally get pissed with him about. At least once, just to scratch that itch.

You told yourself it was a natural, evolutionary reaction. Until the daydreaming started. Not just the usual, dirty fantasy, but… domesticity. When he drove you home after work, you thought about his hand on your thigh. When he made himself coffee in the mornings, you imagined him coming behind to kiss your neck and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

So you decided to end it. The flirtationship, that is. Starting today, you were a hardheaded woman who easily recognized that all Kylo Ren was is a shameless flirt and a pain in your ass. I mean, he wasn’t even all that.

As your eyes scan over his profile, your heart thrums in your ears. You needed this drink, badly.

“There she is!” a familiar voice brings you back to Earth, making your eyes blink back into focus. Poe stands in front of you with a wide grin, Finn by his side.

“What’s got you scowling?” the latter questions, hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks.

Your eyebrows rise at the question, and your eyes quickly dart toward the full-length mirror at the far end of the living room. Surely enough, your reflection stares back at you blankly, its painted lips twisted into a deep frown.

“I—” you trail, eyeing the colorful liquid sloshing in your glass. There was no way in hell you’d tell these two about your dumbass problem, but you knew how nosy they could get with a poorly crafted lie. “I don’t like tequila.”

Poe deadpans at you, chin lowering. “You’re joking.”

“I kind of concur,” Finn shrugs through a self-satisfied smile that you quickly return, relieved at how easily you managed to drag their attention away from your soured mood.

“You’re both off your rockers,” Poe concludes, swiftly stealing your glass and taking a hefty sip. You don’t protest.

His eyes graze down your figure, taking in your outfit over the rim of the glass. You had been meticulous with picking every element out, just in case it made a difference at the end of the night.

Poe nods at you, lips curled and wet with the stolen cocktail.

“Cute outfit.”

“Thanks,” you smile, doing a half-spin to demonstrate the sparkles lining your dress before taking their own ensembles in. While Poe kept on-brand with his sexy, semi-formal attire, Finn’s turtleneck makes him appear classy and professional. “You two clean up nicely.”

“You clean up nicer,” Poe quickly corrects, his enunciation making you match his chuckle.

Whilst you’ve known the two since highschool, you had never considered either of them to be suitable partner material. While Finn spent his days lusting over poor Rey, Poe’s extreme advances made him infamously unserious and undateable. While the flirting was fun on occasion, tonight is the first time you feel emboldened enough to reciprocate. Maybe it’s your poor mood, or the alcohol in your system.

Most likely, it’s the man smoking on the balcony.

“Uh huh,” you quirk a brow, head tilting in a silent challenge. “Lay it off, Dameron.”

He shrugs, giving you a boyish smirk. “It’s worth a try.”

The comment doesn’t make your stomach flip, but works just enough to give you a small, pleasant headrush. Maybe this is exactly what you needed to get over your stupid crush on Kylo—a rebound.

Before you can overthink the repercussions of hitting on your friend, you shoot him a foxy smile. “Then keep at it.”

He grins back like you’ve wordlessly permitted him to misbehave. “Oh, I don’t think you want that.”

“He’s right,” Finn groans beside you, eyes rolling. “You don’t want this.”

His friend faces him with a wide grin, pushing a finger against his chest that only makes Finn groan louder. “Jealous?”

“You wish.”

“Yeah,” Poe sighs, faking exasperation as you watch the two with a lazy smile. “I do.”

Behind their shoulders, you catch a glimpse of the birthday girl strutting out of the hallway. She spots your gaze, and quickly pushes through the small crowd of guests.

“Here you are,” you greet just as she straightens at your side. Her lips are parted to let more air in, hands smoothing fervently down her dress to keep it tidy.

“About time,” Finn utters through a relieved smile, his chest puffing up just slightly. To the untrained eye, it meant nothing; but you’ve known the man for long enough to spy his intentions. “Please save me from these two.”

“Love you too, bud,” Poe coos, and you grin with a nod.

“You two are impossible,” Rey shakes her head, making each of you turn with quirked brows.

“Me and him,” Poe points toward Finn, then pivots to you. “Or me and her?”

The woman shrugs with a soft smile. “Go figure.”

“Hey, regardless, I take offense to that,” he utters, pressing a theatrical hand to his chest. “I’ve been nothing but a gentleman all evening.”

“Uh huh,” you mutter quietly, urging Poe’s attention. He can’t help the smirk riding his features, eyes twinkling with challenge.

“You don’t think so?”

You shrug, mildly regretting putting yourself in this situation. The flirting was fun, but something in your stomach threatened to lunge every time you let yourself loose.

“Alright gentlemen, if I may,” Rey jumps in, placing a knowing hand against your nude shoulderblade. You feel yourself tense at first, before dropping your arms with relief. “I think Temmin and Jess were looking for you two.”

Poe perks up at that, his smirk widening. “Oh, yeah? Bet good ole’ Snap is gonna try to hustle me at Rummy again.” He nudges at Finn, interrupting the man’s brief daydreaming spell.

“Uh, yeah. Right,” he nods before eyeing you and Rey, giving each of you a cordial nod. His gaze lingers on the latter as Poe begins pulling at his arm. “I’ll see you later.”

As the two merge into the crowd, you briefly catch sound of Finn’s groaning about ‘wasting time on a rigged game’ before they’re completely out of earshot.

The booming speakers shift to a mellow rap tune you don’t recognize as Rey invades your space, moving you both toward the wall. She sighs, arms crossed and looking down at her strappy heels as your lips shift into a foxy grin.

When she looks up again, you’re on the verge of a chuckle.

“Don’t,” she utters firmly, brows knitted as if your look alone told her all she needed to know about your intentions.

“Rey.” you push, head tilting in encouragement as your hand lands on her arm.

“Please spare me the embarrassment.”

You stop for a beat, lips tight with an unspoken tease as her gaze bores into nothing. When you let out a sharp exhale to soothe the laugh bubbling in your throat, she finally looks at you.

“He’s still into you.”

“I know.” Rey groans, barely letting you finish your thought. Her dramatic reaction makes you chuckle, but it quickly shifts into a smile of sympathy.

“We can drop it if you like,” you shrug as she chews on her bottom lip. “I just thought it was sweet.”

“No, no,” she shakes her head, rubbing one hand against her temple. “It’s okay. It is sweet, I just… I actually wanted to tell you something.”

You quirk a curious brow, head tilted as you give her a nod. Rey watches you with a scrunched nose, exhaling softly in preparation for confession.

“Okay,” she trails nervously, fidgeting with the gems lining her bodice. With a final exhale, she begins her admission. “I think I met—”

“Birthday girl!” comes a melodic voice, widening your eyes slightly. Rey, on the other hand, jumps at the sudden invasion, her fingers jittering as a hand emerges on her waist.

The figure dips from the shadows, her confident stature crowding Rey’s space as you take a moment to make sense of everything.

“Maya,” your roommate utters through a wide smile, shifting just enough to hug the stranger tightly. When they withdraw, Maya’s eyes drift to yours.

She speaks your name, and you give her a pleasant smile. As your arm extends, she catches it in an impressively firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you,” you nod, taking in the woman’s visage before shifting your gaze to Rey. You think she catches your knowing smile when her arm rests on the newcomer’s shoulder.

“Maya works in my division,” she explains, her eyes flickering toward the woman’s effortlessly put-together outfit. “We met at a company event.”

Maya hums in acknowledgment, her eyes warm as she glances toward Rey. “Not just met,” she corrects with an easy smirk. “She saved my ass in front of our regional director. If it weren’t for her, I’d be out of a job.”

Rey shakes her head, waving off the compliment. “That’s not true, you just needed someone to—”

“Translate my rambling into something coherent?” Maya interjects playfully.

You watch the exchange with growing amusement, noting the way Rey’s ears turn a shade darker under the club’s dim lighting. The air between them hums with something soft, charged. It’s a different kind of tension than the one you share with Poe—less teasing, more… shy, genuine.

“Anyway,” Maya says, her fingers brushing briefly over Rey’s arm, “I wanted to talk to you about something work-related. Nothing urgent, just running some numbers—whenever you’ve got a moment.”

Rey nods, perhaps a little too quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

Her eyes meet yours knowingly, and you give her a quick, encouraging nod. Rey seems to grin back at you in thanks, reaching her coworker’s gaze. You know exactly what ‘running numbers’ actually meant.

“Want to go over it now?”

“I’d like that.” Maya smiles, her arm planting around Rey’s shoulder as she nods toward you. “Sorry for stealing her away.”

You shake your head with a relaxed grin, waving your hand in denial. “Nonsense, I think she’d appreciate the change of pace.”

The two women’s smiles widen, eyes glittering with appreciation. You feel like you’ve been asked for a marriage blessing.

“Well, then,” Maya trails, “Nice meeting you.”

“Likewise.”

As the two of them drift deeper into the kitchen you linger behind, exhaling softly as you take in the scene around you.

The party hasn’t come into full swing yet, clusters of guests lining the walls and chatting happily. The music has settled into something slow and rhythmic, the bass thrumming low in your chest as you enjoy a brief moment of solitude.

With little to focus on, your mind is forced to acknowledge the dryness in your throat. Your eyes pivot toward the kitchen counter, and before you can rethink your decision, you’re already strutting toward the makeshift bar you helped set up earlier.

A dark red cloth lines the marble, lined with an array of alcohols; wines, affordable liquors, and mixers to wash it down with. You smile pridefully at your work, hand mindlessly landing over one of the amber bottles.

“You know, I was kinda hoping you’d have that diner get-up on.”

Your expression turns stony at the familiar voice, head held low as you uncork the half-empty whiskey bottle. You promised yourself minimal contact, and you’d hone that with whatever it took.

“What’s up with you and that uniform?” you reply flatly as you tilt the nozzle against your glass.

There’s a beat of silence, and momentarily you hope your dryness has shoved him away. But you still feel his presence, looming over your side like an evil shadow.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah?” you ask half-heartedly, completing your drink with a hefty dash of coke. You place the bottle back down, satisfied.

You feel him shift, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter. “It’s hot.”

A shiver runs down your neck, making it snap toward him. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him tonight, but it’s certainly the first time it steals your breath.

Kylo stands next to you, half-illuminated by the blue moodlight. He dons a pair of loose slacks and his usual arrangement of trim bracelets and a silver watch. His black button-up is neatly undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal his forearms. His hair rolls in soft waves, framing his smiling face.

“Shut up.” you snap after a beat, shooting daggers at the man who stares at you point-blank, smelling too delicious for you to focus.

You expect him to chuckle, but he doesn’t. Instead, the smile on his face stays ever-evident as he reiterates his point. “No, seriously.”

His gaze feels inviting, but you force your eyes away. For a beat, you let yourself dip your lips into the glass, swallowing up the umber liquid in thick streams. Maybe if you ignored him for long enough, he’d let you be.

But even as the silence stretches into discomfort, he perseveres by your side. You inch your gaze up again, watching as his face contorts into something solemn.

His lips part as he surveys your figure, but this time it’s not predatory; his gaze is soft, tracing your curves and taking in your aura like it’s something to behold. “You look good tonight.”

Your lips flatten into a line, eyes briefly flickering over his legs. “You, too.”

“I know,” he retorts, and you know he means it. Somehow, despite the contempt you vowed to feel for him, the statement makes your lips curl into an unwanted smirk.

“Ass.”

Yet again, he doesn’t chuckle. You watch him still there for a moment, chest heaving slowly as the music plays on between you. People weave in and out, carrying drinks and laughing while you wonder why Kylo chose to talk to you tonight.

“Was Rey happy with her present?” you finally utter, taking another sip of your drink.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, making you look at him again. His lips are slightly parted as he motions toward the living room with an easy nod.

You follow his line of sight, glancing over your shoulder. It takes you a moment to find them in the crowd, but eventually spot two women sitting on the edge of your couch, grazing hands and laughing.

“She’s been busy oggling her coworker. Cute, right?”

“Oh god,” you chuckle, watching your roommate trace Maya’s shoulder before deeming it too inappropriate to keep staring. Your gaze turns back to Kylo. “So I’m not crazy after all.”

“You might be,” he corrects through a shrug, “just not about this.”

You scoff, twisting your body to let your back rest against the counter. “Charming.”

Kylo chuckles, matching your position. You stand side by side, watching the din of the party pick up. You don’t feel a strain between you, but it’s not exactly comfortable, either. A part of you wants to break the ice and act like a mature adult, even though you know Kylo won’t be able to give you that same treatment.

“That’s the worst coke-to-rum ratio I’ve ever seen,” he comments, making your eyes roll through your next sip.

“First of all, this is whiskey,” you correct, raising your glass as if to demonstrate. Kylo doesn’t look particularly impressed by your schooling, but he listens, anyway. “And second of all, what’s your fucking problem?”

He laughs at that, head shaking in awe of your aggression. As usual, he doesn’t seem to take your edge too seriously.

“You getting sloshed tonight?”

“Sloshed?” you repeat, laughing sardonically at his choice of vocabulary. “God, you’re old.”

Kylo smirks treacherously, sizing you up for a moment. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing,” you counter, tilting your head at him. “You probably grew up calling it ‘booze’ and saying shit like ‘paint the town red.’”

“I don’t think I’ve ever said that in my life.”

“But you could,” you press, jabbing a finger in his direction. “And that’s the point.”

Kylo exhales another laugh, his gaze flicking over you with that same infuriating ease. “You’re in rare form tonight.”

“I’m delightful,” you deadpan, taking another sip. “And to answer your question, I might. Depending on how things go tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, downing the rest of your drink and setting it down on the counter. Your throat burns with the aftermath of your desperation. “Just don’t count on anything.”

He shakes his head, watching your frustrated expression with pointed curiosity. “I really wasn’t.”

“Good,” you snap, crossing your arms now that you have nothing else to do. “Now please back off, you reek.”

His brows lift. “Do I?”

“Like cigarettes,” you say pointedly, though it’s a lie. He does smell like cigarettes, but it’s not exactly bad. Your brain pegs it as warm and familiar, though it’s not something you’re about to let yourself feel while pretending to be mad at him.

Kylo, of course, sees right through you. “You don’t mind that.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

You huff. “I do when it’s coming off of you.”

That makes him grin. He leans in just barely, enough to test your wavering determination. “That so?”

You steel yourself, tipping your chin up to match his dark gaze.

“Yes. So please,” you trail, puffing out your chest to stand just a bit taller. You could never match his physical stature, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try. “Is there anything else?”

His gaze drags over you once again, eyes dark and filled with a certain mockery. It’s not unusual, yet your stomach tingles regardless.

“Actually, yeah,” he speaks, voice dipping an octave.

You swallow thickly, nails digging into your palms as you endure his stare. “Then spit it out.”

His gaze flickers over your face, lips parting on the edge of a sentence. You watch him carefully, your knitted brows briefly relaxing under the weight of your curiosity. Despite yourself, you hope for something big. Something life-altering.

Before you get the chance to find out, he stills. Kylo’s gaze peeks over your shoulder, his form stiffening. Your ears drone when you match his line of sight.

A woman stands in the foyer of your apartment, clad in a luxurious fur coat. Her freshly-bleached hair shines in the lowlight, contrasting with her glowy complexion as she shrugs her outerwear off. Her thin, toned shoulders don the straps of a beautiful dress, the satiny fabric falling over her figure in rich cascades.

“Sienna,” he whispers, and your spine shudders with something deep-rooted. Your eyes stay glued to her form, watching as she enters the living room with a cunning smile painting her sharp features.

When you force your gaze back to your roommate, his forehead is slick with a film of sweat. You don’t recognize the expression boring into his eyes, but it feels visceral enough to make your eyebrows knit with worry.

“Kylo—”

“Give me a second,” he utters lowly, never meeting your gaze as he rushes past you and quickly disappears into the room in pursuit of the mysterious woman.

You’re once again left alone, arm hanging mid-air while your heart hammers against your ribcage and into your ears. A slow, trickling unease settles into your stomach, and you wonder if it’s because you haven’t eaten or something much harder to digest.

You’ve only seen her in pictures, and yet even those failed to capture the sheer elegance Sienna exuded stepping into your apartment—your home. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she fit right in.

Except no conceivable explanation could align with that thought. If she was really an ex—Kylo’s ex, no less—why would she be invited? Why would she strut in like she owns the place; owns Kylo Ren?

A quiet, insistent voice at the back of your mind utters whispers of a possibility that makes your stomach churn.

Maybe she wasn’t an ex anymore?

Before you can dwell on that surprisingly agonizing thought, you feel a gentle hand graze your shoulderblade. When you turn, wide-eyed and hopeful, you’re met with Finn’s smile.

“Hey,” he greets, positioning himself by your side. You nod at him, urging the softest, saddest smile out in acknowledgment of his presence.

Poe rushes into your circle seconds later, pink and fresh-faced as he shoots you a wild grin.

“God, you won’t believe who—” he trails until he catches your perturbed expression, making his smile drop. His gaze lowers to match yours, looking at you beneath his bushy brows. “Hey doll, you alright?”

You shake your head through a nervous smile, trying to urge their worries away. As relieved as you feel with them around, you don’t think it’s the right moment to dissect your feelings.

“I’m okay,” you chuckle sardonically, placing your hands on their backs in reassurance. They match your smile with their own. “Just feeling a little overwhelmed. With the crowd.”

Neither of them look convinced. Poe’s dark eyes scan your face, brows furrowing. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing out a light chuckle. “I mean, it’s Rey’s birthday. Not really the time for—”

And then you catch them.

Through the narrow glass doors leading to the balcony, Kylo and Sienna stand facing each other. She’s laughing at something, delicate, manicured fingers brushing the sleeve of his leather jacket. His head is tilted down, face out of sight, but you can tell he’s listening; engaged in whatever she’s saying.

Your stomach clenches again, and you realize it’s not something you can hide anymore.

“Do you guys know that girl?” you ask suddenly, voice a little too sharp as you turn back to your friends.

They follow your gaze curiously, and Finn immediately sighs. Poe, on the other hand, grabs your arm and shakes you like a rattle. “This is exactly what we were coming to tell you about!”

“Where’s Rey?” Finn questions, urging his friend to groan.

“Dude. This crush is really getting out of hand.”

Finn rolls his eyes, rubbing at his temple. “No, no. I mean, does she even know about this?”

“What?” you utter, eyebrows low on your face as you try to make sense of their banter. The two men look toward you, their excitable expressions dropping to something more sympathetic.

"It’s Sienna," Poe utters like it’s obvious, his eyes flickering across your face for a trace of understanding. And you don’t.

Before you can question them, you catch a familiar glimmer in your peripheral. Rey’s voice catches you off-guard before you even comprehend her outrage. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” you reiterate, eyes blinking quickly as you scramble for an ounce of information.

“Her,” Rey points toward the balcony, finger jittering. As your gaze finally meets her face, you realize just how enraged she looks; eyebrows knitted, lip pursed, and absolutely no sign of her arm candy.

“Wait, hold up—” you continue flailing as Rey brings all of you closer to vent her frustrations.

“Who the fuck invited her?”

Finn sighs, head shaking in disbelief. “Who do you think invited her?”

Rey’s eyes narrow, her attention pivoting toward the man. “Do not sass me right now, Finn,”

“I-I’m not, I’m just—”

“Who is she?!” You hiss desperately, bile rising to your throat as your friends face you with curious glances.

“What?” Rey tilts her head, brow furrowed.

You exhale slowly, fingers sinking into the fabric of your dress as you calm your nerves. “Who is she?”

Poe and Finn exchange looks, their faces somber and confused at your sudden uproar. Rey purses her lips. And as hard as it is, you try your damn best to keep your attention away from the balcony.

“It’s Sienna.” Poe finally utters, his tone uncharacteristically flat.

“I know it’s Sienna, I just—” you groan, rubbing at your shoulder. “Who is she?”

“You…” Finn speaks, his voice low and careful as he matches your gaze. “You don’t know?”

“How the fuck would I know?” you reply with more exasperation than anger, eyes flickering between the two men. “How do you two know?”

Poe and Finn look at each other, then Rey. Your gaze moves to the woman who eyes you with confusion and an unusual semblance of guilt.

When she speaks, her voice is soft. “I told them.”

You inch your hand toward the counter, leaning against it to combat the sudden dizziness. You really should have eaten before drinking.

You meet her gaze with narrowed eyes, but you’re not angry. If anything, you want to understand and get this shit-show over with so you can go back to pretending you don’t give a damn about Kylo and his romantic life. “Okay, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

Rey’s lips purse, eyes flickering over nothing as she makes sense of it all.

“I thought that…” she trails, her face shifting into a strange sneer. “I thought Kylo would tell you.”

You can’t help but scoff, more at the possibility of Kylo trusting you with such information than anything. Your nostrils flare, fists unclenching as your gaze lowers to your shoes.

“We’re not friends, Rey,” you explain lowly, avoiding your friends’ sharp, inquisitive gazes. Your breath hitches, and as you look at your roommate again, your lips shift into a sardonic smile. “We’re nothing.”

The moment that follows is charged with electricity. Your ears drum with blood and hip hop as the four of you adjust to whatever the hell just happened.

Finn and Rey exchange glances while Poe frowns at you with confusion. Your agitation probably makes no sense to them without the context of your internal turmoil, but you’re not ready to talk about it. Yet, or ever. If things went according to plan, you’d never have to; Kylo would eventually move out, your juvenile crush would vanish, and things would eventually go back to normal.

But for now, you wanted answers.

“Now,” you sigh, clasping your hands together as a grin emerges on your face, “please fill me in.”

Your friends look at you with trepidation and something akin to curiosity. You can only pray you’ve pulled off the nonchalant persona you’ve been crafting all evening, at least for the time being.

“Who’s Sienna?” you repeat, softer this time around.

Finn is the first to perk up at your change in mein, clearing his throat before facing you head-on. "His ex."

You knew that already, but they don’t know that. There was no way in hell you’d confess to rummaging through Kylo’s phone, so another lie was unfortunately due. "Ex?"

"Yep," your friend continues, his arms crossing. "The Ex. Capital E."

You catch Poe straightening his posture, the worried glint in his eyes returning to playfulness again. "They were together for a while. They broke up, got back together. Broke up again, got back together again—"

"It was a whole thing," Rey suddenly interrupts, her unease taking center stage. When everyone goes quiet, she speaks after a prolonged sigh. "They met during their Master’s.”

“Moved in after a year,” Poe nods with knitted brows, his lip turned into a sneer. “Can you believe that? I mean, you gotta wait at least—”

“Poe!” Rey hisses, making the man stop in his tracks. His gaze flickers between each of you before he clears his throat, waving apologetically.

“Sorry. Carry on.”

Rey exasperates, but as she shifts her weight, her train of thought seems to bounce back.

“She seemed good for him,” she states, looking down at the floor, “Took him out to network, helped him out with his thesis. Just… got him to open up a little.” She snorts suddenly, her eyes rolling. “God, he even brought her to Thanksgiving once. What a doozy.”

You try your best to contain the surprise in your eyes. Kylo Ren bringing a girl to meet the parents? It seemed strange, but at this point you wouldn’t put anything beyond that man.

“What happened next?”

Rey sighs, stilling for a moment as she recounts the events. You’re sure the whole story is much longer than she leads on, but for now, you’re satisfied to just be in the know.

“He proposed,” she mutters, and your heart drops despite hearing it all before. Somehow, you weren’t sure Kylo was even telling the truth, but now that you got a third-party verification, it begins to sink in and leave a bitter aftertaste.

“I mean, I don’t think he was ready,” Rey trails, waving her hands around. “He called me one day and asked what he should do, which, I mean—he never calls me. Ever.”

Your brows furrow in tandem with Rey’s, her lip catching between her teeth. She worries it for a while, gaze still dropped low. “I told him that if he had to ask, maybe he already knew the answer.”

“And?” your voice comes out tighter than you’d wished, the trio’s gaze reaching yours.

“And he did it anyway.” Rey mumbles, her eyes narrowing with something on the verge of anger. “Picked out a ring, found a semi-decent location, and popped the question.”

It’s all beyond you. You can’t even begin to imagine a ring stuffing his expensive jeans, Kylo on his knee with a soft smile painting his features as this beautiful, ephemeral woman jumps in his arms with a strained, tearful ‘yes’.

“But…” you trail slightly breathlessly, swallowing before you continue. “They didn’t get married?”

“Thankfully,” Poe mutters, his eyes rolling half-heartedly.

You turn to Rey with a raised brow, lips parted as you scan her face for clues. Thankfully?

Her nose scrunches, hand coming to rub at her forearm. You watch carefully, just at the precipice, your eyes briefly flickering to the pair on the balcony.

“She cheated.”

Your eyes widen, heart thumping in tandem with the bass of the speakers.

“What?” you utter dryly, body stiffening.

Rey sighs once again, her tone growing increasingly strained with the memories. “Some guy from her office.”

You think your fists clench. Somehow, you can’t seem to drag your gaze away from the flaxen-haired woman, her red lips sweet with laughter. Sienna traces Kylo’s bicep, and her slim finger glimmers.

“Oh my god.”

Finn and Poe exchange pitiful looks, sympathizing with your reaction. The former nods, lips flattened. “Yeah.”

You forcefully glance away from the window, blinking repeatedly to let the barrage of information sink in.

He tried committing, and it blew up in his face. He tried making a meaningful connection, and his life fell apart. Momentarily, you think it all makes sense. You can’t justify his behavior toward you, but at least this context has allowed you to understand it.

But what tugs at your heartstrings now is not sympathy, but pity. Frustration.

“Why is she here?” you mutter tightly.

Finn shakes his head. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

Poe groans, his arm flying around Rey’s shoulder. She raises a brow at him, and he shoots her a wild grin. “Let’s kick her out.”

“And cause a scene?” Finn scoffs in return, head shaking as Rey lets out a long, defeated exhale.

“She’ll leave soon enough,” the woman says, gaze briefly flickering toward you. You’re not sure why, but it feels knowing. “As long as she gets what she wants.”

Your gaze flickers toward the balcony again. Inexplicably, the pair seems closer.

“And…” you trail treacherously, eyebrows winding, “what does she want?”

The woman traces Kylo’s chest, her arms cocooning around his neck. It’s hard to tell from this distance, but you doubt he flinches. His broad shoulders stay fixed as his ex-fiance leans against his ear, lips curled into a hellish smile as her eyes fix on you.

Icicles burrow into your chest, trickling down your sides and making you still. Your eyes are wide, lips parted as your friends try to reach you, and fail.

“Excuse me for a second,” you mutter dryly, quickly turning on your heel and booking it out of the kitchen. On your way, you haphazardly grab one of the bottles lining the counter.

Rey calls your name. Then Poe, then Finn. Their voices melt into a cacophony of white noise as you march your heated body through the sea of guests and out the door.

୨ৎ

The pavement is cold beneath you as the party carries on upstairs. The distant thrum of bass echoes through the walls, chilling your spine and making your hand clasp tighter around the stolen bottle.

Every swig you take helps soothe the chill in your gut. The amber liquid burns down your throat, making your eyes prickle with tears that glow faintly under the warm streetlights above. A car passes every once in a while, swirling a gust of wind against your nude forearms.

It’s a beautiful evening in March. The skyline spills into shades of black and blue, speckled with faraway constellations that blink and hum at you in their indifference. You envy their apathy, and curse your heart for swelling over something you vowed to renounce.

You sigh, tipping the bottle against your lips again. You feel positively mellow by now, though not quite adequately to bypass your anxieties.

You hear dull footsteps emerge behind you, making you sigh in exasperation. You wipe the wetness from your cheeks with the back of your hand, careful to keep your makeup mostly intact, and brace for conversation.

“Easy tiger,” the voice taunts, making your body stiffen at its familiar gravel. “Leave some for me.”

The figure hovers behind you for a second, rustling and rummaging as you take deep breaths to calm your hammering heart. The coincidence couldn’t be any more unfortunate for you, but there was nowhere to run anymore; this curb was your only safe haven, and now it was being invaded.

“You wouldn’t want it,” you croak out, keeping your gaze straight as the man emerges in your peripheral. “It’s got my saliva all over the top.”

You hear him chuckle, but the sound is muffled.

“What are we, twelve?” he retorts, his lilt teasing but light. You think his nonchalance should upset you, but with the knowledge you’ve acquired tonight, you’re not sure anymore.

You inhale deeply, letting the cool air coat your lungs before you settle the bottle in your lap. Like ripping a bandaid off, you turn toward the figure in one, swift movement.

Kylo Ren stands at your side, clad in his worn, leather jacket. His gaze is narrowed as it roams over your hunched-over body, toying with the pale smoke nestled between his lips.

You lick the dryness off your lips, eyebrows furrowed as you finally speak. “Why are you here?”

Kylo stays silent, hand fishing into his pocket to withdraw a small carton. He flicks the top open with his thumb, extending the parcel toward you with a raised brow.

Your eyes flicker between the last cigarette lodged within and the man’s curious gaze. After a beat of squeezing your lips together, you shake your head. “No, thanks.”

He only shrugs, tucking the box back into his jacket and withdrawing a lighter instead. The clear, red-tinted plastic catches your eye. It quickly disappears from your line of sight as Kylo shields it from the breeze, flicking the metal wheel and taking his first drag. The soft firelight casts his face in warmth, contouring his nose and the divot of his brows.

“Your loss.”

You watch him quietly as he exhales a thin cloud of grey smoke, letting it twirl against the dark setting. When he finally captures your gaze, your nostrils flare. “Shouldn’t you be inside?”

He quirks a brow, eyeing your underdressed form. In your short panic, you prioritized liquor over a warm coat or sweater, so now you were left to fend for yourself in your dress and stockings alone.

“Shouldn’t you?”

You break away from his taunting gaze, focusing instead on the tips of your kitten heels. You swing them back and forth, mesmerized by the glittering crystals lining the toe box. “I needed air.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, nodding toward your lap, “and half a bottle of whiskey?”

You meet his gaze slowly, eyes narrowing. There’s little taunt in his tone and no mocking smile painting his lips, but the memory of those hands grasping your waist the same way they did Sienna’s makes your throat run dry.

“You don’t get to judge me, Ren.”

His eyes soften, lips curling into a frown as he exhales another puff. “I’m not.”

You linger on him for a moment before finally shifting your focus toward the stars. The city skyline isn’t visible from where you sit, but you still spot the expansive light pollution just beyond the brownstones.

Kylo watches with you, head tilted to let his locks cascade down the back of his neck. His long, dark lashes brush over his pale cheekbones, breaking up the cigarette smoke as it ascends. Over this backdrop of light he looks beautiful. And that makes you spiral.

“How’s Sienna?” you suddenly ask, the words cutting through the silence like a hot blade. You don’t mean to be snarky, but your tone is laced with a venom you hope he won’t notice.

Kylo turns, taking a long stride toward you. You don’t watch his face, but imagine he’s not showing a single trace of astonishment at your question.

“Did they tell you, or did you figure it out yourself?” he questions, voice smooth and lacklustre. You think he expected this conversation at one point or another.

You chew your bottom lip, heel tapping against the rough concrete. “Little bit of both.”

Kylo exhales sharply, and when you turn to catch a smile, he’s scowling instead. “Figures.”

You watch him fidget with the hem of his sleeve, sucking the filter with extra might as he looks over the horizon. Perhaps purposefully, he’s inched his face away from yours.

Something tells you he’s hurting despite the serenity of his mein. And while you don’t consider yourself the best shoulder for him to cry on, it’d be wrong to turn him away. Even if you know this conversation will sting, and it’ll be hard to keep your anger and frustration at bay.

An audible sigh escapes your lips as you place the bottle on the curb. You twist your body toward the man while a soft, bittersweet smile paints your features. "You gonna tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"

He turns toward you, eyes subdued but glassy. He grips his half-finished cigarette tightly, smoothly turning toward the curbside trashcan to snuff it out. "You already know the gist."

You shrug as he tosses the filter. "I wanna hear it from you."

He watches you curiously, taking in your half-baked expression and the goosebumps lining your skin. If he scowled and turned heel right now, you wouldn’t be surprised or even blame him.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, you watch with bated breath as he approaches you, hovering by your side and dwarfing your shrunken figure for a beat. His nostrils flare and his jaw tightens at the hinges. Your lips part to speak, but he’s already nodding. Before you can change your mind, Kylo Ren slumps by your side with an exhale.

Your eyes flicker over his face, taking in the solemnity of his features. If it were any other circumstance, you think you’d find comfort in counting the moles lining his skin.

"We met at university,” he finally mutters, bending his legs at the knee. You match his pose, and let your lips purse.

"I know."

Kylo snorts, flickering his gaze toward you. At this proximity, the gesture makes your heart jump. "Of course you do."

You return his sardonic smirk with something more encouraging, doing your best to ignore your arms brushing at the small junction of your elbows. Still, neither of you is brave or smart enough to move away.

“She was… nice,” he starts again, tracing his gaze over the road ahead. “Charismatic. Not always this…”

“Cruel?” you mutter, cursing at yourself for butting in. You can’t help the frustration boiling in your gut at the thought of that beautiful, horrible woman, and Kylo seems to share that sentiment when you catch him exhale again.

“Yeah. Cruel.”

When he’s silent for a beat, you allow your legs to extend toward the street. The stretch makes you hum softly, eyes narrowed as you click your shoes together. “Was she good to you?”

It’s a simple question, but makes Kylo stiffen nonetheless. You feel his shoulder tighten against yours, muscles flexing just to relax a second after.

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, finally parting your limbs when he leans back. “At first.”

Without second thought, you match his position again. You’re not touching anymore, but the angle lets you study his expression better.

“She was sharp and knew exactly what she wanted,” Kylo continues, letting one knee fall to the side. After a beat, he chuckles, letting his subsequent words materialize as a half-whisper. “So, naturally, she thought I was a mess.”

You quirk a brow at him, hanging onto any pretense of laughter like a lifeline. “You are a mess.”

His chuckle shifts into an amalgamation of snorts and giggles, eyes briefly catching yours. You bite your lip at the guile within his pupils, dark and perilous as they bore into yours.

“Yeah, well, she liked that about me,” he huffs, tilting his head back. “Said I was intense. Thought it made me interesting.”

The words don’t sit right with you, but you abstain from commenting this time. Judging by the wistful, misplaced look daubing his face, you think the memories are at least partially fond.

You swallow thickly, watching the small space between your palms.

“Did you love her?”

Kylo straightens at that, looking blankly into the sky before he sits up again. His face is, once again, stolen away from your thoughtful regard, the distance between you growing within milliseconds.

“I wanted to,” he says plainly, his broad back flexing in front of your eyes. “I think I did.”

It’s not a clear answer, but you think it’s honest. You’ve loved before, only to let those feelings fall on deaf ears and emerge as something completely foreign. Love wasn’t easy to define that way, and you think Kylo felt the same.

“She always needed attention,” he utters again, head shaking slowly, “more than I could give.”

You stay back this time, granting him space to think.

“I worked late. I was… I was stressed all the time, and she just hated that. Hated that I’d shut down and get antsy instead of just talking to her,” the man trails, his voice shifting into something entirely alien to your trained ears. “I told her about my family. My upbringing, how it… made me this way, or whatever,” he shifts his arms forward, making his back droop and shrink. “But that wasn’t enough. There was always something wrong, and…”

He twists his neck to look at you, and the rest of this story becomes immediately apparent with the sorrow in his eyes.

“I walked in on them.”

Your eyebrows knit tightly, grimacing as you inch forward. Instinctively, you let your hand settle between his shoulderblades, and shiver when he doesn’t pull away. “Christ, Kylo.”

“We were gonna go to dinner that night,” he elaborates tightly as you shift your body closer, letting your thigh press against his. “Talk about everything and—”

"Kylo,” you try to assure, eyes narrowing in pity as his own glaze over.

"I dropped my studies for her,” he suddenly barks with laughter, teeth baring with a scathing grin. “I thought that it’d make her happy.” His lip trembles, making your heart sink. “That if I just had more time, I could fix things."

He shifts his face away, but you catch the tremble of his lip just in time.

You move before you can think.

Your hands shoot up from your lap, framing his head and swiftly settling on either cheek. The warmth tugs at your soul as you forcefully pivot him to face you.

His face is solemn, lips plush and trembling while his eyes glaze with withheld tears. They flicker over your face in inquiry, interest, dark pupils wide and expectant.

"She fucked up," you breathe strongly, scarcely pressing his cheeks as you chastise him. Your tone is strained, mingling with distant music as the words threaten to lodge in your throat at the warmth of his breath. "Not you."

His tear-slick gaze flickers over your face in search of something, before you catch his lips curl into an unreadable smile.

"Then why does it feel like I’m the idiot?"

His strained, tight words caress your heart, lips pursing at the pure, uninhibited vulnerability banding his expression. You know it’s wrong to think this way in such a pivotal moment, and perhaps in general, but between the relentless storm of your thoughts you suppose you’d love to kiss him.

"Because you are," you mutter quietly, tone soft and detached as you sort the flooding thwarting of your system.

And instead of furrowing his brow or standing up to leave you in the cold like you deserve, he does the unthinkable.

Kylo Ren escapes the confines of your palms and laughs.

The sound carries through the night like a lost prayer, enveloping your body like a velvety, warm sheet. Your lips part with forgotten apologies, eyes wide as you greedily lap up the misguided bliss of your arch-rival.

When he calms enough to speak, the vulnerability is gone from his eyes. If it hadn’t made you so agitated, you’d question if it was even there in the first place.

"Is that so?” Kylo tilts his head, letting dark tresses tumble over his forehead.

You’re dazed and confused, eyeing him like a lunatic. Between the uncertainty of your feelings and his agonizingly prompt switch up, little makes sense to you anymore.

“I say it how I see it,” you urge quietly, squeezing your palms into the soft material of your dress. With the culmination of your discussion, you finally sense the heat creeping into your face, contrasting with the goosebumps lining your arms.

He chuckles softly at your reply, but withholds any further taunting. Instead, you watch him rest his elbows on either knee, eyes closed as he takes in the evening breeze.

And although this isn’t about you, you don’t feel satiated.

Besides the awful, deep-rooted jealousy you try to sweep away, there’s a hint of concern. It’s slim and likely insignificant had you decided it to be, but instead, you pursue it.

“Why is she here?”

Kylo opens his eyes, turning toward you with more curiosity than frustration.

“I think she’s trying to make things right,” he explains lowly, eyes rolling haphazardly as he continues. “As always.”

The ambiguous answer settles into your chest like a drum, urging your heart to hammer at the uncertainty of Kylo’s admission. Making things right could mean anything. If you really wanted to know, you could ask him to clarify and satiate that selfish, irrational part of you that wants to scream at the sheer chance of them being back together after everything she—

“Are you—”

“No.” Kylo cuts off, his tone dark and definite as you flatten your lips in embarrassment. He eyes you with curiosity, eyebrows low on his face.

You flatten your lips, pinching and tugging at the little crystals lining your skirt. When you speak again, your voice is strained. “Right. Okay.”

He shifts in place, letting his knee collide with your thigh. You wince at the sensation, eyes widening when you catch the boyish smirk painting his lips.

“Why?” he questions, shining eyes betraying his flat tone.

You drop your gaze, inhaling slowly to calm the beating in your ears. Kylo watches you carefully, his steady breath mingling with yours.

“I just…” you begin, gaze flickering toward the mark your legs connect at. “I just don’t want you to make the same mistake twice.”

He huffs quietly, but you don’t let it go unnoticed. When you look at him again, his brow is quirked high. “Uh-huh.”

You frown, toying with your nailbeds as Kylo eyes you down. “I mean it.”

“Sure.”

You scoff, eyes rolling at your own, stupid curiosity and how easily Kylo managed to see right through you. “God, stop that.”

He shifts forward, resting against his elbows as he levels his gaze with yours. “You care.”

“I don’t,” you reply abruptly, wincing at your own whiney tone.

He extends a finger toward your leg, poking it gently. You shiver, but stay put. “You do.”

“I do not.”

“You so do.”

You scoff again, but there’s little bite behind it. Staying silent would mean admitting defeat, but it was the lesser evil compared to actually admitting the truth—admitting that yes, perhaps you do care and you’re way too stubborn to let him know that.

But a part of you thinks he already does. When you look at him, his gaze settles over your shoulders, flickering along the nude skin with knitted brows.

“You cold?”

“No,” you quickly deny, though the sharp goosebumps lining your arms barely help your already weak case.

Kylo huffs, shifting back to ease out of his jacket. “You’re a bad liar.”

“You need to stop giving me your clothes,” you quickly retort as his arms withdraw from the sleeves. He quirks a brow at you, smirking boyishly as he settles the jacket in his lap.

“Why?” he questions, trapping you with his teasing gaze as yours flickers between him and the jacket. As a particularly cold breeze swirls over your body, you finally capitulate with a groan.

You tug the jacket off his lap, swiftly tossing it over your back. The soft, cotton padding is warm with his body and fresh with his scent, enveloping you with a comfort you quietly appreciate.

As you shimmy deeper into the sensation, you catch Kylo eyeing you with glimmering, patient eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looks… prideful.

“Cause I might start thinking you actually tolerate me,” you finally mutter, subtly rubbing your cheek against the smooth, leather collar.

The man’s smile sinks slightly, eyes narrowing an inch when they finally settle on your face.

“I tolerate you,” he speaks, tone so low and serious you have to squeeze your thighs together.

Your gaze rises to meet his, his confession heavy on your chest. You mindlessly pivot your body toward him, leaning in just slightly.

“Then maybe you should say that more instead of throwing your shit at me.”

He chuckles calmly, placing his palm on his thigh just at the threshold of your knee. Despite the cautiousness, you periodically feel his digits ghosting over your thin stockings.

His head angles, and your breath snags. He’s close now, lashes resting low on his cheeks.

“It’s not my fault you look good in it.”

“Shut up,” you snap quietly, but your resolve crumbles under the unyielding weight of his gaze. Kylo snickers at you, plush lips parted as he moistens them.

You squeeze your core around nothing, cheeks tinted rouge as you watch his blown-out pupils scan your face for the key to his predicament.

His breath ghosts over your lips, warm and thick with tobacco. Your heart hammers in your chest, your ears, your panties. Your eyelids flutter shut.

You’re ready. You’re so desperately ready to throw caution into the winds of this beautiful, horrible March evening and—

He says your name.

Your eyes inch loose with the frailness of his vocals, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

His hand trails up your arm, elbow, and finally rests against your trembling shoulder. When his lips part, you hover over the precipice of devastation.

Kylo’s alert, looking at you with sympathy. And nothing more.

"Not like this."

Your stomach twists with liquor and loathing. You think you might hurl the way he holds you so tenderly yet keeps you at arms length, still smiling even as your eyes sting with confused tears.

Your jaw clenches, nostrils flaring with the tremble of your lip.

"Okay."

The moment shatters like glass, piercing your lungs and depriving you of even breath.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head before pulling his jacket tighter around yourself. For now, the leather feels more familiar than the flesh-and-bone.

He leans back, gaze flicking away toward the brownstones. You watch painstakingly as he shifts his thigh away from yours. And just like that, everything between you slips away into the night.

Silence stretches between you again, heavy and stagnant like grief over something that never happened.

Kylo runs a hand through his thick locks, exhaling through his nose before speaking lowly. You wonder if he’s cold. “You should go inside.”

You hesitate as your eyebrows furrow with simmering anger. It’s not fair, you think.

But ultimately, despite the feverish tightening of your trembling lip, you nod.

“Yeah.”

You awkwardly push yourself to your feet, careful to keep the jacket nestled onto your form. Your legs threaten to give in under the sudden weight in your chest and stomach, but you persevere. Somehow, you feel like Kylo wouldn’t save you this time around.

You breathe out, hesitating for a strained beat before glancing toward the man at your feet. “Are you?”

His gaze lifts to meet yours, eyes darker than ever before. There’s little to read in his expression, but despite the apathy, you’d have this over his meaningless, beautiful smile any day.

“Eventually.”

You nod once, lingering for half a breath longer than you should. Kylo’s jaw tightens and you hope he’ll speak. You hope he’ll part his lips and urge you to come back, explain, stay.

He nods at you haphazardly before turning back toward the road.

Your belly wrings, but wordlessly, you turn heel. The weight of his jacket presses against your skin like an embrace as you head back toward the apartment.

As the door slams shut behind you, you feel your rosy cheeks cool with stray tears as you utter a desperate sob into the twisting staircase.

The darkness cries back, echoing the culmination of your heart’s anguished psalm for a man who could never love you back.

[mysticfluffyness]

9: eighty-six | kylo ren x reader

part 9 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: explicit language, vague sexual imagery. word count: 6.2k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: howdy, we're back after a small break! i've been thinking about the pacing of this story a lot recently. if any of you feel like the enemies to lovers trope isn't shining through anymore, don't worry, because we're still yet to enter the dreaded ANGST ARC. anyway. thank you for reading and enjoy! x

Now Playing: I Heard It Through The Grapevine - Marvin Gaye

It’s been a week since your unfortunate night spent on the couch with Kylo; a week since you’ve been teetering on the edge of insanity.

During the day, you struggle to look him in the eye. He tries, of course—to talk to you, catch your attention, even urge you to spend time together. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he’s been more cordial. Sweet, even.

But you can’t face him; not when you’re aware of the leverage he dangles over your head after you’ve shown him that brief moment of vulnerability that cost you your all. It wasn’t a joke anymore, or a matter of personal interpretation.

The nighttimes are sleepless and lonely. The little physicality he gave you during your movie night seemed enough to drive you half-mad, but part of you knew it wasn’t just about that. You miss the heat of his body. You miss his digits smoothing your flyaways like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You miss the warmth. If only it didn’t come off as pity.

If only you weren’t falling for Kylo fucking Ren.

“Order up!” you hear a man’s voice call from the steaming kitchen, just above the din of the chaos that lies beyond. When you turn your attention to the service window, his dark eyebrow is furrowed in confusion. “C’mon, if we get these out in time you’ll get to clock out sooner.”

You realize you’ve been leaning against the drink fridge, one arm rubbing circles on your thigh while the other mindlessly clicks a pen. When your gaze falls to your chef de partie, he clicks his tongue impatiently. You shake yourself out of the daze and quickly approach the plates with an apologetic look on your face. “Sorry, Samuel.”

He nods toward you sternly, but there’s a semblance of sympathy in the way his lip twitches. You sigh, giving him a tight-lipped smile before swiping the dishes off the counter and turning on your heel toward the dining room. The smell of buttered pancakes fills your nose.

It’s been a particularly long workday and you’re feeling exhausted. You haven’t checked the time in a hot minute, but judging by the sun shining steadily overhead through the windows, you think your shift might come to a close soon.

The diner hums with life as usual around noon. Silverware clatters against ceramic, and people fill the room with joyful chatter. The air is thick with the scent of coffee, bacon grease, and syrup, weaving together into something both comforting and nauseating after hours on your feet.

Your sneakers scuff against the tiled floor as you weave through tables, past a group of retirees, a father trying to clean up his sticky toddler, and a table of construction workers loudly debating something about a baseball game. You didn’t really like baseball, but one of the gentlemen was always adamant on asking your opinion on recent matches. Needless to say, you eventually came around.

The hum of the milkshake machine rattles faintly behind the counter. The radio croons some classic rock song you’ve heard a thousand times; you think it might be Nina Simone.

You set the plates down in front of an elderly couple and muster a tired smile. “Pancakes and eggs. Can I get you anything else, guys?”

The woman smiles up at you with her red-painted lips and cat-eye glasses. “We’re okay. Thank you, dear.”

You nod with a bright smile and pivot back toward the counter, stretching the kinks in your shoulders as you go. The long shift has settled into your bones, pressing heavily against your spine, your calves, and the aching balls of your feet. You’ve been here since before sunrise, and despite how much you’ve tried to stay busy, keep your hands moving, and keep your mind off him, the hours have crawled at a snail’s pace.

Contrary to your first few weeks under Kylo’s reign, you’ve been sleeping like a baby recently. Every time the rain picks up at night, you’re reminded of his digits against your scalp, or, more improperly, your thighs around his waist.

With a frustrated sigh, you turn back toward the table. As you step forward, the bell above the diner door chimes. You look up instinctively, plastering on your best customer-service smile. “Morning, welcome t—”

It drops immediately when your next client walks in. For a second, you just stare and blink, hoping the apparition will dissolve into thin air.

He’s clad in dark jeans, sneakers, and a matching knitted sweater. When you squint, you realize it’s the same one you donned during your movie night. Somehow it’s only now, seeing it draped over his broad frame, that you realize how… domestic the gesture was. Your cheeks fill with warmth at the fact.

Then his dark eyes settle on you.

And his mouth—his sharp, stupid, smug mouth—quirks just for a second. God. It’s moments like this that you weren’t sure if your infatuation wasn’t just some glorified instance of hatred. Could you be irked by someone and desperately want to fuck them at the same time?

You force yourself to step forward, but it feels awkward, like you’re a baby deer trying to take its first steps. You brace yourself against a nearby wall with your palm, and size the man up with a sharp, confused glare. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Kylo exhales dramatically, trudging toward you. He leans against that same wall, broad arms bracing against the laminate as he levels you with a meddling look. You mindlessly inspect the freckles lining his cheeks.

“Good morning to you, too,” he deadpans, right before you feel his eyes flick over your figure. It’d be mildly riveting if you didn’t remember what you’re wearing.

Scalding heat rises to your cheeks as he rakes over your snuggly-fit dress, matching knee socks, and your frilly fucking apron. If you didn’t feel ridiculous the two years you’ve worked here, you sure do now; why would they ever think to put a grown woman in this get-up?!

“Don’t.”

“Cute outfit,” he murmurs, lips curling at the edges. His finger gyrates in the air as he nods toward your dress. “Is this like a roleplay thing, or—”

“I work here, jackass,” you scowl, taking a step away. “It’s a diner.”

“Right. Obviously.” He gestures vaguely to your apron, then tilts his head. “What’s with the little bows, though?”

You cross your arms like a shield, but his eyes roam nevertheless. “It’s a uniform.”

“Uh huh, “ he hums with clear trepidation, head tilted when his eyes finally meet yours. “Do you ever wear it afterhours?”

“What?” you quirk an eyebrow, wondering if he’s even been listening to you.

He shrugs casually, quickly shifting out of his leather jacket. Your eyes hungrily run down the smoothness of his forearms before he speaks again.

“You look good.”

Your stomach tightens. Heat flares at the base of your spine, creeping up the back of your neck like an ambush while your attacker quirks a smile your way.

“Kylo,” you warn, voice tight.

“What?” His smirk is infuriating, his tone all faux innocence as he sizes you up again. “It’s a look. Cute, flattering.” He pauses for a beat like he’s savoring the thought, inching his gaze toward your skirt. “Short.”

You hate the way your heartbeat fills your panties at that, pussy squeezing around nothing. He laps up your figure with glittering eyes, and suddenly you feel in the nude, unsure if his gaze is teasing or judgmental.

He watches for a reaction, and you eventually roll your eyes, snatching a menu from the counter and slipping it under your arm. You wouldn’t let yourself fall for his flirting at work of all places, even as your loins burn with hellfire.

“Alright, no loitering,” you sigh, nodding at him to follow you down the crowded dining room. “If you’re here, you gotta order something.”

Kylo’s brow lifts, but he plays along, walking a few steps behind you until you reach an empty booth near the large windows. Outside, the street is busy with chattering passersby as they enjoy their Saturday afternoon in the soft sunlight.

Kylo slides onto the leather seat wordlessly, taking the menu card between his fingers when you hand it to him. He flips it open lazily, scanning the pages with mild disinterest that irks you more than you would’ve liked. You sometimes realized that the line between frustration and arousal was as thin as a rake.

“What do you recommend?” he asks dully, like being treated to a meal was offending his pride.

You try to contain the scowl rising to your face by flipping open your little notepad. In your peripheral, you catch the couple you were serving before Kylo arrived. The woman smiles at you with mirth when your gazes meet, and while the gesture is sweet, you wonder why she’d be staring so intently.

When you look at Kylo again, he’s drumming his fingers against the table and looking at you curiously. The smile you had previously put on for the nice lady drops, and you scoff audibly. “Whatever will get you out of here the fastest.”

He chuckles lowly, and you clear your throat as you click the sleek pen open. You wanted to get this done as fast as possible and finish up your shift for today, just so you could go home, take a long shower, and hopefully knock this stupid crush out of your head.

“I’ll take a coffee, then.”

You jot ‘coffee’ down in your notepad, eyebrow furrowed as you glance over at him. “Anything else?”

His eyes brighten at the query, gaze flickering down to your uniform again. When you feel his keen gaze down your stocking-clad legs, your thighs squeeze. Suddenly, you kind of hated your boss for making you wear this ridiculous thing; but you hated Kylo even more for objectifying you so blatantly. If he wanted to joke about it, he had better make it funny.

“I’m good,” he finally shrugs, closing the menu and shoving it toward the far-end of the table. “Thanks.”

His sudden properness catches you off guard, but you don’t let yourself stall. Instead, you pocket your notebook and pen, shoot Kylo a quick glare and turn toward the beverage station. You hear him chuckle from behind you as you approach the laminated counter, his rumble disappearing under the din of chatter.

You grab one of the mugs with a sigh, then the glass coffee pot. You’re not sure what it is, but your fingertips tingle against the ceramic at the thought of turning around. The brief annoyance you felt at Kylo’s sudden appearance has finally vanished and made way to something a lot more visceral. You knew that facing him again would regurgitate all those inappropriate thoughts you’ve been having about him, and it might not be something you’re ready to deal with now—or ever, actually.

But again, the quicker you’d get this done, the quicker you could deal with your predicament from the privacy of your room. With a deep inhale, you put on your best deadpan expression and spin on your heel.

Your tongue goes dry, mouth parched. The echoing chirp of conversation and soft rock fades into static as your eyes spot two people hovering by Kylo’s booth. The elderly couple from before.

“Fuck,” you mouth as your legs carry you forward, holding onto the coffee pot and mug like they’re your only lifeline.

As you close-in on the trio, you spot Kylo relaxing his arm against the faux-leather of the backrest. He’s nodding along to something the woman is saying with a wide, toothy grin plastered on his speckled face. God, fuck! If you weren’t already jittering with confusion, the sight of his creased eyes and curled lips sends your body into overdrive.

And then he spots you. His dark, smiling eyes find yours, and suddenly you want nothing more than to rip this stupid, frilly apron off and call it quits forever.

Kylo calls your name as you stand by the couple’s side. They’re smiling wide, even as their attention turns to you.

“Martha, Don,” you greet them with a nod, voice saccharine to mask the grit of your frustration. When you notice the shake of your digits, you slowly set the mug and pot on the empty table.

“Oh, honey,” the woman speaks, reaching out to pat your shoulder. “We were just about to leave, but, well…”

“We’ve been coming here for what, ten years now?” Don pipes up, nudging his wife with a scrawny elbow. “Never seen you bring a fella before.”

Your stomach drops, eyes wide with shock when they flicker to Kylo. His wide grin has shifted to a smirk, eyeing your pallid face like he’s found the perfect opportunity to strike.

“She’s been keeping me a secret, huh?”

Your eyebrows shoot up toward your frazzled hairline, nostrils flaring as you plant your arms on your hips. “No, wait, we’re— I’m not—”

“Oh, don’t be shy!” Martha scoffs, waving a wrinkled, jewelry-clad hand around. “He’s positively gorgeous.”

You try your best to hold back the scoff growing in your throat when you catch Kylo preening. He tilts his head at you, like he’s saying: ‘indeed, take notes.’ You don’t necessarily think they’re wrong, he just doesn’t deserve to hear it.

“He is quite handsome, ain’t he?” Don chuckles warmly, placing a firm hand on Kylo’s shoulder. “Got that old-Hollywood look going on. Very romantic.”

“I try to be,” Kylo sighs, shrugging.

“Oh, just how lucky you are, lady!” Martha coos, giving you a pleasant smile. The two men follow suit, and suddenly, you feel like you’re about to be interrogated.

Your jaw clenches tight, but eventually you manage to croak out a weak: “Uh, yeah.”

Kylo’s brow lifts in mock surprise, smirk evident as he urges you on. “Yeah?”

And in that moment, you think you could murder him in cold blood. If you were to pounce on him, he’d certainly deserve it. Still, when you catch the couple’s beaming smiles and glittering eyes, you feel like you’re being put in check again. Despite yourself, you quickly school your expression into something a little more pleasant.

“Yeah,” you repeat a little smoother this time around, meeting the pair’s gaze with a tight-lipped smile. “We, um—yeah.”

Genius, you think. Such sophisticated language.

“Yeah,” Kylo reiterates, his voice mocking but only to your own sensitized ears.

But to Martha and Don, your mild approval seems enough to make them burst into warm chuckles and approbates.

“Young love.”

“How long have you been together?” Martha questions, turning her attention to Kylo. You’re almost stunned at how easily he seemed to have won their sympathy while being such an insufferable ass to you. Yet again, sometimes all it took was a cute smile and hot forearms—a fact older ladies seemed to appreciate just the same.

“We actually moved in together just recently,” Kylo utters smoothly, and you want to yell at the audacity of faking fondness with his buttery tone and glazed-over eyes.

“Oh, how wonderful. That’s such a big step!” Martha gasps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Yeah,” you say tightly, fingernails pressing into your palms, “Massive.”

Don gives Kylo a knowing nod, crossing his arms like he’s interviewing his own son on his newest romantic conquest. “Bet it takes some adjusting, huh?”

Your roommate exhales, eyes flickering toward yours. Despite it all being a wonderful act, the softness of his gaze makes your heart wrench.

“You have no idea.”

“Oh, you poor little thing,” the woman sighs, clasping her hands while Kylo positively bathes in the lights of this stupid pity party. Poor thing? As if.

“No, no, it’s been great,” he chuckles softly, catching your attention. He looks down at his feet and snorts like he had just remembered something. “Except one thing.”

“No,” you say immediately, voice edging with harshness.

Martha and Don lean in, somehow utterly delighted at the instance of gossip. For a beat you think to excuse yourself to the kitchen, but leaving these three alone would nearly guarantee a disaster. You had to persevere until the end of your shift, and perhaps longer.

“She has this thing,” Kylo starts, drawling the sentence out like he’s pretending to give a shit about considering your decorum. “Things, even. Plural.”

“I do not have ‘things’,” you counter, but he’s already grinning and you just hope he makes up something mild.

“Oh, she does,” he insists, tilting his chin and squinting his eyes like he’s recalling a specific memory. “She loves to argue, for instance.”

Don hums in approval, as if it was some sort of universal truth about girlfriends and wives—except you were neither of those things, and it’d be hard to fix the damage with how deep Kylo has dragged the both of you.

“Like for example, yesterday she almost bit my head off for using the last of her plant milk.”

“You put the empty carton back in the fridge!” you snap in defence, making the elderly couple coo and sigh with sympathy, seemingly unaware of the venom in your tone.

“See?” he braces himself with raised palms, “And that’s not all!”

You scoff, arms crossing tightly with your clients’ attention turned toward the shameless drama devil.

“And don’t even get me started on the shampoo situation,” he drawls, and your ears prickle with heat. His gaze catches yours, pulling you in with that strange mirth. “She swore up and down she doesn’t use it, yet every time she leaves the shower she smells like me.”

You’re brought back to that day, standing face to face with Kylo as he leaned in against the doorframe of your shared bathroom; the rolling moisture of the chamber, his gaze, and the fresh aroma of pine that you longed to chase the times he was away.

“Don, isn’t that so poetic?” Martha gasps, tugging on her husband’s corduroy sleeve.

You’re fuming with embarrassment now, eyes narrowed as your fists bunch against your front. “It’s nice shampoo.”

“It’s expensive.”

“It was just one time—”

“And,” he cuts you off, running a hand through his dark locks as he tilts his head upward, “she loves having her hair played with.”

“Kylo—”

“Seriously, she’s so needy about it, too,” he elaborates with infuriating enthusiasm, motioning dramatically like he’s recalling your one night of piece. “We’ll be watching a movie and she’ll just throw her head in my lap, purring and sighing like a kitty.”

He grins at you, while your own lips shift into a frown. Besides the bellowing of your heart there’s not much keeping you grounded. When you meet his gaze again, your eyes are glazed with defeat and nearly pleading for him to stop this madness. “You can be real insufferable sometimes, you know.”

Martha, for the first time since Kylo’s storytime, turns toward you. Her eyes shift between you and Kylo, gleaming with sympathy and something strangely akin to pride. You can’t fathom what else that glint could be, boring into you like she’s bringing back something from the depths of her memory.

“Oh, honey,” she finally speaks, going to grab her husband’s hand. Despite the feverish droning in your ears, you can’t help but smile at the sweet affection. “You’ve got yourself a real fine gem.”

Your eyes flicker to his on instinct. Kylo tilts his head at you, your smile not going unnoticed. “Yeah, honey. You really do.”

If the prickling in your feet wasn’t bad enough already, his sudden mockery sends you leaning against the booth, mouth agape in shock. The trio watches you, smiling from ear to ear at how obviously affected you are, albeit not in the way they think.

Except this time, you don’t feel so angry. Kylo’s antics would normally send you half-insane, especially something of this caliber. But now? The usual blanket of rage is embroidered with a soft, silver lining, enveloping your beating heart and making you shiver with something velvety.

“Yeah,” you croak quietly before a thick swallow, urging yourself toward a good posture again. You force a sweet smile for the couple that they quickly reciprocate. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” Martha nods sympathetically, smoothing your forearm before she turns toward her husband. “Well, then. Let’s not get in their way.”

“Indeed,” Don clears his throat, reaching to adjust his flat cap before locking his arm with Martha’s. He turns toward Kylo, leaning down just enough to meet his gaze. “Treat her well, Ben.”

You tighten your lips. Besides Senna, this is the first time you’ve seen anyone call Kylo by his birthname. The sound feels strangely unfamiliar, but equally gratifying. You wondered why he’d feel comfortable sharing this part of himself with strangers, but not you. Sometimes you felt like Kylo and Ben were two people, differing in personalities but sharing a soul.

So much feels obvious once you catch Kylo’s eyes soften. Instead of looking at Don when he answers, his gaze turns toward you. “I will.”

A shock of electricity shoots down your spine. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he sounded genuine—but you do; you know that your arousal-addled mind is to blame for your moments of vulnerability and softness, just how it seeks out the same qualities in Kylo when all he means to do is poke and prod.

The elderly couple turns to leave, Don’s hand briefly finding your shoulder as they walk past you. “Atta girl.”

They give you a fond grin before muttering something between each other as the bell rings. A soft breeze rolls into the diner and musses your cheeks, so you close your eyes to let it cool you down. It does little to sweep off the frustration, but perhaps you’re better off just riding the wave at this point.

When your eyes flutter open again, Kylo’s already turned his head to toward the window. As you wordlessly match his gaze, you spot Martha and Don exchanging a chaste kiss on the far end of the sidewalk.

“What a sweet couple,” Kylo mutters, though his features don’t betray a smile. When his eyes flicker to yours, they’re glittering with something unfamiliar. If it wasn’t for the twitch of his lips, you’d think he was about to cry.

You sigh slowly, straightening out your frilly apron.

“They are,” you nod, taking a step closer and reaching for the coffee pot, “You, on the other hand…”

He quirks a brow at you and half-smirks, leaning into the table against his forearms. “Me?”

“You’re a douche, Kylo,” you spit, gaze sharply pinpointing the mug to avoid watching his self-satisfied expression. “What the hell was that just now?”

Kylo chuckles softly, his fingers drumming idly against the table as he watches you pour. “What was what?”

You hum, tilting the pot and giving him a brief glare. “I’m pouring hot liquid right now. Consider your next words carefully.”

“I’m serious.”

You scoff, placing the pot back on the table with a little extra force. The liquid inside sloshes around while Kylo retrieves his filled mug. “That little performance you put on,” you mutter, still pointedly avoiding his gaze. “You didn’t have to drag me into that shit.”

He stays silent for a beat to take a sip of coffee. You can’t help but watch his expression for a moment, as if the quality of your diner’s brew somehow defined you as a person. Nevertheless, he seems relatively satisfied.

“I spoke the truth.”

“The truth?” you chuckle joylessly, leaning against the table again to size him up. “Yeah. Sure. Except the part about us dating, you jackass!”

“You wound me,” he sighs melodramatically, grinning subtly over the rim. “I just gave Martha and Don what they wanted to hear.”

“Do not say their names like that,” you groan, pressing a hand to your temple. Just from this one instance, you knew Kylo was an old-lady whisperer, you just weren’t sure if that was a red flag or not yet.

“Why not?”

“Kylo,” you begin once more, forcing your voice to soften as your gaze levels with his. For once, his eyes narrow like he’s actually listening to your pleas. “They’re regulars. I won’t hear the end of it until I quit, or get fired for strangling you on the job.”

His smirk deepens, like the idea is actually amusing. Maybe he’s become immune to your threats, or maybe you’ve just gotten soft. Either way, when he places his mug down, you can’t help but bite your lip at the slickness of his mouth.

“I’ll make sure to keep this lie up by showing up regularly,” he shrugs, and you immediately roll your eyes at the suggestion. Even if he’s joking, the thought makes you grow warm.

“Yeah, no,” you sigh, grabbing the coffee pot and readying yourself to leave. When his lip twitches at the corner, a certain realization suddenly dawns on you. You never told him about your workplace, just that you waitered.

“How did you find me?”

He scoffs, taking another languid sip. “You make it sound so dramatic.”

“You know what I mean,” you scoff, and Kylo shrugs half-heartedly in return.

“I asked Rey.”

Obviously. It feels like this isn’t the first time his sister has meddled in your demise, and probably not the last. Sometimes it felt like they were in kahoots, but most likely Rey was just cleverly juggling both playing fields.

“Okay,” you trail, eyebrows furrowing. Your grip flexes around the handle before you speak again. “Why?”

Kylo drops his gaze smoothly, rapping his fingers around the ledge of the table before chuckling. You meet the sound with a hum of confusion, eyeing him like he’s gone mad. After a beat, he straightens out to meet your gaze again.

“You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“Probably,” you shrug with pursed lips, and the giggle he emits makes your lips quiver. You hate how your body reacts to these things without your consent, like it’s plotting against your better judgment.

Kylo sighs loudly, placing a hand around the mug. His porcelain skin covers the circumference with much ease, dwarfing the dish with its size. You swallow thickly.

“I locked my keys in.”

Your eyebrows lower significantly, head tilting in confusion. “You… okay. At home?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

You stay silent for a beat, drinking in your unwanted feelings. Somehow, the idea of Kylo deliberately finding your workplace to see you feels a lot more desirable now that it turns out to be untrue. Your stomach twists, and you wrench your free fist into your skirts.

“I need my keys,” you explain dryly, angrier than you’d planned.

Kylo nods, blowing a raspberry before taking a long sip of his coffee. You watch him tap fingers against the mug for a while before he turns to you again. “When does your shift end?”

No. God, no.

It’s like he had sensed your confused arousal and decision to stay away, because now you’re faced with a choice. You could lie and stay working longer, or spend some extra time with him and leave your shift as planned.

The unfortunate object of your desires makes the choice easier than you’d like.

“In five minutes.”

Kylo’s eyes widen slightly at the perfect coincidence, downing the rest of his coffee with a quick swig. You try not to focus on the way his Adam’s apple bobs with every swallow. Why did it look so… dirty?

He sighs once he’s done, placing the mug on the table and tilting his head at you. “Go on, then.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

His eyes roll haphazardly, but there’s no real malice to it. You think he expended it all when you framed you as his girlfriend. “I came by car, I’ll drive us.”

You hesitate, rolling your lips together. The pot in your hand begins straining your muscles. “You don’t have to.”

Kylo raises an eyebrow, nearly offended at your unwillingness to take the free ride. “I know I don’t have to, but what’s the alternative? Squeezing into a packed metro? Going on foot?”

You look down at your frilly socks, fiddling your lip between your teeth. “I like the metro.”

“Yeah, you’re a true New Yorker,” he mocks, leaning his arm against the backrest like he’s ready to leave. “C’mon, get changed and let’s get out of here.”

You sigh, eyebrows furrowing for a beat before you meet his gaze again.

“Fine,” you agree quietly, making Kylo slide out of the booth. When he stands to his full height, you’re somehow intimidated not only by his size but the closeness. If he wanted to, he could carry you out of here with ease. The thought, unbeknownst to you, makes your thighs squeeze. “But.”

“Uh huh,” he replies flatly, somehow impatient at your hesitance. Still, you size him up properly, sticking out a finger against his chest.

“If you come here again, you’re gonna explain yourself.”

Kylo quirks an eyebrow. “To whom?”

“Martha and Don,” you elaborate, eyes narrowing. “Tell them you were joking around.”

He scoffs, tilting his head like you just asked him to commit a crime in your name. “You want me to what— retract my statement?”

You cross your arms, resting the pot in your palm. The glass bottom is hot against your skin, but you persevere.

“Yes.”

He shakes his head with a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Not happening.”

You glare harder, shifting your weight from one foot to another. Kylo catches your discomfort, eyeing the pot sitting awkwardly in your arm. “Then you’re paying for my emotional damages.”

His lips twitch, but he bites the smile back. “Emotional damages?”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “You just lied to two very chatty regulars about a relationship that does not exist. Do you understand what this entails?”

Kylo doesn’t look ashamed. If anything, the thought of your suffering keeps his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Fine,” he suddenly relents, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. “Name your price.”

You blink, a little thrown off at the ease of his agreement. “What?”

He shrugs, tipping back and forth on his feet. “You want compensation, yeah? What’ll it be?”

You stare at him with your jaw hanging slack, brain scrambling to come up with something suitably ridiculous to make a point, but as usual, he beats you to it.

“Want me to buy you a coffee? A real one, I mean.” His voice dips slightly, just enough to make your stomach flutter with something irritatingly warm and palpable. “Not this sad diner brew.”

Your nose scrunches and you do your best to avoid the subtext of his offer. If you agreed, it wouldn’t be a date because that’s not what he means. It’s a… peace offering. From Kylo Ren.

“It’s not sad,” you croak quietly, trying to avoid the subject.

“It is.”

You huff, rolling your eyes again. As usual, it was better to ride the wave than try to fight it. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” he replies flatly, taking a step away from you. Without a warning, he reaches out and takes the coffee pot from your hands. His fingers barely brush yours, but the contact is still enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Go get changed.”

You narrow your eyes at him, rubbing at your straining muscles. “I don’t need you to—”

“You were about to drop it.” He deadpans, tilting his head. “Or throw it at me, maybe.”

That… that was a possibility, yes. Still, with a final, suspicious glance you exhale sharply and spin on your heel, marching toward the kitchen. Kylo follows you quietly, pivoting toward the beverage station where he sets down the coffee pot.

As you push through the swinging door, you hear the familiar, gravelly voice of the cook from behind the counter as you untie your apron on your way to the staff room.

“That your boyfriend, chula?”

“Samuel, for god’s sake!” You groan loudly, earning an echoing, guttural laughter from Kylo.

When you enter the bathroom to freshen up, your reflection stares back at you with a smile.

୨ৎ

You’re sitting in the passenger seat of Kylo’s lacquered sedan, bunching your fists in your lap and wondering how you got there. The beige, leather seat is plush against your strained spine, letting you lean back and enjoy the view of the city as you swerve through—it’s what you’ve been doing since Kylo got the engine started; turning your body toward the passenger-seat window and trying your best not to think about the minimal distance between you.

As March slowly came to a close, you began witnessing the first signs of spring. Tiny, pink buds sprouted from decorative trees lining the promenade, swaying softly in the warm wind. Each passerby was dressed quite minimally, occasionally donning a thin sweater or hoodie. It was the perfect weather for a quiet drive with your unwanted crush.

“What are you getting Rey for her birthday?” you suddenly utter as the car reaches a red light.

There’s a strange beat of silence from Kylo, the air between you filled with the mellow vocals of Marvin Gaye pouring from the car speakers.

“It’s her birthday?”

Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide when they meet his profile. Kylo’s hands lay lax on the steering wheel, digits tapping to the rhythm of “I Heard It Through The Grapevine”. His lips move subtly, silently mouthing the lyrics until he catches your disapproving gaze in his peripheral.

“What?” he raises an eyebrow, like your reaction wasn’t warranted.

You gape at him, your lips curling into a disbelieving smirk. Despite yourself, you let your knees lean toward the gearbox. “Did you forget?”

He exhales slowly, voice dropping an octave like he’s dreading your inevitable lecture; and inevitable it is.

“I didn’t forget.”

“You literally just asked if it’s her birthday.”

“Yeah,” he drawls lowly, shifting the gear to one when the light turns green. As the car accelerates, you can’t help but lap up the sight of his relaxed posture, one hand on the gearbox while the other expertly maneuvers the wheel.

“…And?” you taunt, eyebrow furrowed at his uncharacteristic silence.

His eyes fix on the road ahead as he ponders your query, tongue licking languidly over his bottom lip. You try not to stare, and fail.

“I wasn’t sure if it’s this weekend or the next—”

“Oh my god,” you cut him off with a sardonic chuckle, leaning your head back in disbelief. Kylo’s gaze briefly flickers to you, taking in your horror and smirking at it sadistically.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” you mimic, turning to face him fully again and throwing an accusatory hand in the air. “She’s your sister, Kylo.”

He hums with a shrug, smoothly switching lanes as James Brown begins to croon through the speakers. In passing, you deduce that Kylo is a big fan of soul.

“I was gonna get her something,” he finally replies, resting a free hand in his lap. You’ve never seen him this defeated, and despite it being a fantastic opportunity to torment him, you don’t find yourself rooting for his failure. For once.

“What, a gift card?” You roll your eyes, lips stiffened into a bittersweet smile. “A handshake?”

Kylo chuckles deeply, the sound reverberating through your chest and stomach. You let your bottom lip catch between your teeth when his smiling eyes briefly reach yours. “Do you really think so little of me?”

Despite yourself, you withhold a snarky retort with a deep exhale. The situation was dire, even if he didn’t seem to deem it as such. Sometimes you thought he got off on seeing you stress.

“What I think,” you trail, slowing your speech to showcase the gravity of this situation, “is you’re lucky I asked. Otherwise, you’d be showing up empty-handed.”

He mulls your words over as the car rolls toward another red light. His lips flicker at the corner, jaw clenching like he’s withholding another smile. He switches the gear and turns toward you.

“You gonna help me, then?”

The question catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you issue him a lazy shrug and sigh dramatically.

“I guess,” you drawl slowly, feeling his gaze scan down your body. Your ears drone with the sound of your heartbeat. “But you owe me. Big time.”

Kylo’s eyes hesitantly drag to yours, lips curled into a smirk. “Yeah?”

Your throat runs dry at his honeyed tone, so you swallow thickly before nodding.

“Yeah.”

Satisfied, he slowly moves his attention back to the road, like that wasn’t a shameless innuendo. You try to remove any subtext you’ve imagined in his request by toying with your fingernails, telling yourself it’s all an unfortunate fantasy.

“Turn right,” you utter as the traffic light flickers yellow.

“What?” Kylo quirks an eyebrow in your peripheral, but you just cross your arms.

“You heard me,” you say, not looking at him. “Turn right. We’re going shopping.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as he flicks the turn signal. “Unbelievable.”

You allow yourself the tiniest smirk of victory as the car glides into the next lane.

[mysticfluffyness]

8: thunder dome | kylo ren x reader

part 8 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: portrayal of phobias, explicit language, vague sexual imagery. word count: 9.6k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: when i first said these chapters will be short i was obviously lying because we almost hit 10k with this one. what can i say, that's the (un)fortunate nature of slow burn. have you seen 'how to lose a guy in 10 days'? i ADORE it. also, foreshadowing. cheers my friends.

Now Playing: Blasphémie - Soko

It’s been exactly a month since Kylo moved into your apartment, and a week since he had first made you question his intentions. I mean, genuinely question them.

In the beginning, you were convinced he was just a sexually constipated manchild with little regard for the opposite gender, but now? You didn’t have to try hard to bring back that feeling in the dining room—your nauseated belly, his calf against yours, and the symphony of his laughter as it carried through the din of music.

Some days, you wondered how much longer it’d take for the spell to wear off. The evening you had shared nursing a homemade meal was the closest you had gotten to seeing any semblance of Kylo’s soul. For the longest time, you doubted its existence. Now, beside trusting in it, you found yourself yearning to dig deeper.

But it was only a matter of time until Kylo had to go into the pale yonder and leave this—whatever it was— behind.

The few conversations you shared on the subject of his stay were strained, frustrating, and barely explained anything; so, at the end of the day, you were left in the dark more than before.

But what really held your curiosity was the individual puzzle pieces you acquired over the past month: you knew about Sienna, his ex, and what could have driven him to leave his old, perfect life behind in favor of sleeping on his sister’s couch.

The small instances you’d catch were enough to keep you sated in the hope of gaining a deeper understanding of the man’s tender psyche. It was little, but it kept you inquisitive enough to push further.

But the bottom line? Neither of you knew when judgment day would come for Kylo. And sometimes, it felt like neither did he.

Tonight, the air smells ozonic. You can feel the storm coming from a mile away, breathing in the static and squeezing your palms in expectation of the inevitable.

Rey took a flight to see her parents this morning, while Kylo stayed behind to attend a late-night meeting in the city center. You had grilled him about the details for a while, and eventually, he obliged to explain once he got home, albeit mocking you for your interest.

But for now, you were alone in the vastness of your apartment.

You sit at your usual spot at the dining table, typing away on your laptop. You’ve let the windows parted to let in the fresh air while the TV plays a show in the background. When you peek through the curtains, you catch the distant, soundless flash of light lingering in the sky; it’s enough to make your hair stand on end, risen with static.

It’s almost peaceful. Until it isn’t.

When the first crack of thunder falls from the sky, your noise-canceling headphones don’t placate you. The sound reverberates through the ground and your tense body, making you jolt in your chair with a loud squeak.

You exhale sharply, pressing a hand to your chest as if that alone could ever steady the frenzied thrum of your heart. It’s stupid. And yet, the sheer force of the thunder rattling through your apartment has your nerves standing on edge, fingers trembling slightly over your shallow laptop keys.

Another flash of lightning ignites the sky. You brace yourself, knuckles white as they bunch in your lap.

The boom follows a second later, louder and closer, like the sky itself was being ripped apart by its sheer power. You jolt again, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip.

You shove your headphones off, swallowing the dry lump in your throat. The storm isn’t even that bad. It’s just a little rain, some distant rumbles, and a bit of—

CRACK.

The next one is violent enough to rattle the rain-stained windows. A startled gasp escapes before you can stop it, and your laptop nearly slips from your lap as you grip the edge of the table in shock.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breathing, the soft hum of the TV, and the familiar weight of your favorite shirt on your shoulders. You grasp the sleek form of your lukewarm mug, looking for some semblance of heat to soothe your nerves.

A muffled rattling rises from the mudroom, barely carrying over the din of the rainfall; but with your overactive senses, you catch it easily.

A few low, echoing grumbles, before the front door clicks open.

Your head snaps up, every nerve in your body going rigid as Kylo steps inside. He shakes out his coat, clearly having walked through the rain, his dark hair damp and curling at the ends where it meets his neck. He looks… good. Effortlessly, unfairly good, even as he kicks off his shoes with a frustrated sigh.

You’re frozen in place, one leg tucked under your butt as you watch him rake a hand through his locks. With a single, dim lamp illuminating the space, you almost hope he doesn’t notice your trembling form in the kitchen, eyeing him down like a deer in the headlights.

And that’s when his gaze meets yours. Fuck.

Kylo blinks at you slowly, like he wasn’t expecting you to still be awake at this hour. His expression is neutral as it surveys you, maybe a little tired, but his eyes definitely linger as you finally raise a brow in question of his silence.

“Hey,” he says finally, voice rough from the cold night air. Unbeknownst to you, the sound makes your spine chill with a shiver. Maybe it’s the sheer presence of another human in the room with you, but you feel your fists unclench just slightly.

You swallow, shifting in your seat. “Hey.”

There’s a beat of silence, filled only by the distant rumble of thunder and the steady drip of rain against the windows. He watches you from the foyer, head tilted slightly as you clear your throat, forcing casualness into your tone.

“How was the meeting?”

Kylo exhales, rolling his shoulders as he steps further inside. You were at work when he left, so it’s the first time you catch sight of the crisp, white button-up wrapping around his toned body. It’s such a stark contrast to his usual choice of t-shirts and hoodies, and mindlessly, your lip catches between your teeth as you ogle him for a second. You think the sophistication suits him well, even if it doesn’t match his personality.

“Long,” his hand comes up to rub at his jaw, brushing over the dark stubble emerging there. “Boring.”

You huff a quiet laugh, pretending your fingers aren’t still curled around the fabric of your sweatpants in preparation for the next strike. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, riveting,” he drawls, heading toward the kitchen. His voice dips lower as he moves past you, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. “I just love sitting in a room full of idiots.”

You smirk, the corners of your mouth twitching despite yourself. “Must’ve been real humbling for you.”

Kylo huffs, but you catch the way his lip quirks as he eyes you briefly. The contact is enough to send a pleasant chill down your legs, just as he turns to face the counter. You hear him turn the sink on, water tapping against the metal bowl below as he prepares himself a tall glass of refreshment.

You take a slow breath as he fills it, using the moment to steady yourself—and it proves fruitless. Instead of focusing on the bright flashes outside, your mind teeters toward the broad expanse of his shoulders, eyeing the pristinely fitted cotton as it drapes over his trap muscles. Even the subtlest movements are enough for them to roll, flexing and unflexing and making you stare in uninhibited awe.

When another streak of lightning hits just outside your window, you do well in swallowing down your gasp. The thunder rolls like a war drum just seconds later, so you force your attention back to Kylo in hopes of quelling the panic settling into your stomach.

You sit perfectly still, pressing your lips together as you watch him turn toward you and take a sip from his glass. His plush lips part, and you watch through the thickness of your fluttering lashes as he drinks his fill.

It’s moments like this that you understand your brief lapse of judgment the night when you gasped his name as your hand flew down your panties. In his own, particular way, he was quite attractive.

He sets his glass down with a soft clink, tilting his head slightly in your direction.

“You’re quiet,” he muses, wiping his wet lip with the backside of his hand. “That’s new.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. Nevermind your previous comment; the dude was an ass. “I’m always quiet when I’m not talking.”

Kylo snorts, shaking his head as he leans back against the counter. His arms rise to the small button on his wrist, undoing it on either hand before he rolls the bulk of his sleeve up to his elbow. Then, as he repeats the action with his other arm, you catch his gaze flicker toward you. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

Your eyes briefly flash to the tender, speckled flesh of his forearms as he crosses them over his chest. God. Either you were desperate, or he knew exactly what he was doing with that confident, domineering stance of his. Asshole.

You open your mouth to retort, but the sky splits open again. A vicious clap of thunder shakes the air around you, making your eyes widen and glitter with fear.

And Kylo notices, just when you hoped he wouldn’t.

His gaze flits down to your tightened hands, then back to your face. A beat of silence passes, and his face shows no trace of anything. You’d think your fear would be a prime opportunity for him to tease you about it, but instead, his lips part with a softer lilt.

“You scared?”

You scoff immediately, out of habit. “No.”

Kylo hums with a lazy nod as he surveys your body again. There’s little left for you to say without revealing too much weakness to him. He was still your rival, even if he looked good enough to eat in that get-up.

“Sure,” he says, lifting the glass from the counter again.

You glare at him. “I’m not.”

“Okay.”

Another boom of thunder rattles through the space. You inhale sharply through your nose, snapping your hand to the top of your laptop and shutting it close.

“I’m gonna—”

“Sit.”

His command carries through your head like a winding bell, knocking the air out of your lungs and making your eyebrows furrow with confusion. How could he be toying with you right now, while you were so vulnerable?

“Excuse me?”

His lips show no trace of mockery, eyes glittering with something akin to mirth as he nods toward the couch. You follow his gaze briefly, but the subtle motion only exuberates the confusion within you.

“Sit,” he repeats, softer this time as he places his empty glass in the sink, “over there.”

When you realize your immediate reaction to his suggestion is to bark back, you curb it. With your lips pressed into a tight line, you look up at him with a softer kind of curiosity as he pushes himself off the counter.

“Just trust me,” he sighs through a dry laugh, making the corner of your lips curve downwards.

“Trust you?” you echo incredulously, inching to stand from your chair as he makes a beeline for the hallway. “Well, isn’t that just so rich—”

He calls out your name. In reality, it’s no louder than the patter of rain, but you catch it just fine as it rings through your skull like a prayer. You catch his gaze with a tightened jaw, his eyes on you before you can utter. “I’ll be right back.”

And then, you silently watch as he disappears down the hall. Within moments, you hear the familiar creak of the bathroom door opening before it clicks shut against the hinges, followed by rain again.

You don’t move for a long moment, fingers gripping the edge of your closed laptop as if debating whether to just take it and leave for your room. There you’d at least be safe from Kylo’s sinister plans and pissy remarks.

But there’s something about the way his voice softened that keeps you rooted to the spot. It’s naive, but maybe you wouldn’t have to brave the storm alone tonight.

So, with a quiet breath, you exhale the tension from your shoulders and move toward the couch.

The cushions are soft beneath you, albeit a little cool from disuse. You curl your legs up, tucking them beneath you as the storm rages beyond the windows. The rain streaks down in uneven rivulets, illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning, and though you try not to, you still brace for the thunder that follows. You don’t remember the last time you sat here, alone.

When it finally cracks, you flinch just a little, but it’s enough to make you grateful Kylo isn’t there to see it. For now.

A few minutes pass. The sound of water running in the distance fades into the background, overtaken by the rhythmic tapping of rain again. You focus on that instead: that familiar, steady pattern. You’ve always liked rain in its purest form; it’s her bellowing brother that you feared.

By the time you hear footsteps again, you’re already tucked in one corner of the couch, cradling a pillow between your legs as you mindlessly scroll your phone.

You glance toward the hall just as Kylo emerges, dressed in fresh clothes, his damp hair pushed back haphazardly. The faint scent of soap follows him as he steps into the room, rubbing a towel along the back of his neck before tossing it over the arm of the chair you sat on earlier.

You don’t know what you were expecting. Maybe a smirk, or some kind of teasing remark—but he just looks at you for a moment, taking in your smaller frame curled up on the couch. You don’t have time to take in his new outfit because, without a word, he moves past you and toward a pile of luggage. You place your phone on the armrest to observe.

When Kylo first moved in, he brought along very little. Perhaps he wasn’t planning on staying as long as he did, but the matching pair of a suitcase and duffel bag now permanently resided by your TV console.

You watch with cautious curiosity as he opens it, rummaging inside before pulling out something thick and dark.

Before you can ask what he’s doing, he tosses it toward you. It lands unceremoniously in your lap, the warmth it absorbed from sitting in the depths of his laundry clinging to your palms as you study it.

“Put it on,” he says simply.

You frown, picking it up between your fingers and letting gravity cascade. The knit sleeves are long and loose, its thick collar stretched just enough that it would probably slouch over your shoulder if you wore it. In a fleeting moment of clarity, you realize it’s his. He handed you his sweater, knowing damn well your room lied just a few meters down the hallway. Why?

“I’m not cold,” you murmur, even as your fingertips absentmindedly rub against the soft fabric. Just like most of his clothes, this sweater felt luxurious to the touch, albeit slightly worn.

He huffs, and for a fleeting moment, you feel like you’re being ungrateful. That is until you realize it’s Kylo Ren you’re trying to pity—the very king of ingratitude.

But he doesn’t elaborate or argue with you, just steps around the couch and lowers himself onto the other side. His form shifts the cushions slightly, but he stays at a respectable distance, slouching against the headrest with a sigh. From this close, you catch how tired he looks.

Something flickers on the screen in front of you. The closing credits of the show you picked out for background noise flicker away, quickly replaced by the entry sequence of a Hollywood motion picture. The dark screen flickers to the image of a mountain, accompanied by an upbeat, 90s-style guitar riff. You glance at him, puzzled.

“What’s going on?”

He ignores you, instead opting to cross his arms loosely and slump into the soft cushions below. You watch him with a raised brow, the contours of his profile illuminated by the glare of the screen ahead.

When you look at the TV again, a series of colorful, slightly out-of-date magazine covers flashes across. The music picks up with vocals, and finally, a blonde woman parades through her on-screen apartment, tugging on an armchair. Your confused frown disappears.

“Are you serious?” you question through an emerging smirk, finally catching Kylo’s attention. He doesn’t look your way, but the subtle shrug of his shoulders is evidence enough.

“What?”

You sigh, half-heartedly watching the next scene. A bright red car emerges from the left, housing the heroine who dons a matching crimson sweater and a pair of tinted spectacles.

“How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?”

“It’s a classic,” he replies smoothly, mindlessly toying with the hem of a cushion as he watches the movie.

A dry laugh escapes your throat before you can stop it. “Oh, please.”

Kylo shrugs, gaze still on the screen. “It is.”

It’s one of your favorites, though you doubt he knew that when he put it on. Still, a soft flush emerges on your face, making you look down at the sweater you’ve been cradling onto.

“I love this movie,” you speak softly, feeling your shoulders relax as the title sequence flashes across the screen.

Somehow, your words are just enough to finally catch Kylo’s curiosity. He eyes you briefly, though you never meet his gaze. When his voice finally comes, you feel your body enveloped in a warm, cascading wave.

“I know.”

You feel your heart beat against your ribs, threatening to pounce out. Your throat constricts with tension, so you swallow thickly and curl deeper into your corner of the couch, still clutching his sweater. How could he know?

“I do, too,” he continues before you can begin your interrogation, and something within your belly tightens at his confession.

You’re not sure why you thought this was all an elaborate joke at first, because as your resolve crumbles, you feel something akin to tenderness when you finally meet Kylo’s profile.

He doesn’t witness the soft smile painting your lips as you finally pull the sweater over your head, letting the fabric drape your body with warmth. Absentmindedly, you take a deep inhale, humming with satisfaction as the familiar scent of pine fills your nose. You hug yourself, bottom lip caught between your teeth when you realize the grandeur of the gesture. Despite the rain still hammering against the windows, the storm outside doesn’t feel quite as loud anymore.

Minutes pass. You steal a glance at him every now and then, taking in the way he sinks into the cushions, one long leg stretched out while the other remains bent. His fingers tap idly against his clothed thigh, and though his expression remains illegible, you think you catch the slightest twitch of his lips at certain scenes—the same scenes you’ve always found humorous.

“Does it scare you?”

His words catch you off guard, making you turn to meet his gaze. For the first time since sitting down, you’re both looking at each other.

Your breath catches, and you think it’s the weight of his stare. His gaze flickers to your body, taking in the sight of your new apparel. You catch his jaw tightening, and swallow.

“What?”

Kylo tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes never leaving yours. You don’t know why, but for a second you think he’s talking about something entirely different.

“The storm,” he clarifies. “Does it scare you?”

Yet again, you hesitate. Your natural reaction to Kylo’s questioning would be a loud scoff or a bark of sardonic laughter, but for reasons unknown, this time you catch yourself biting it all back. You clear the dryness from your throat and tighten your lips before speaking.

“Maybe,” you half-admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Kylo doesn’t smirk or tease. He watches you reflectively as the storm rumbles again, distant though still potent enough to send a faint tremor through the walls of your apartment. You tense instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater. He notices within a beat.

And then, without thinking, he shifts. It’s a subtle motion, but impossible to miss as his body edges to the side. You watch in silence as his knee emerges on the couch, matching the sprawl of his arm across the headrest. If you were any closer, you knew you could lean into it.

Your fingers flex against the thick knit of his sweater, the warmth of it now seeping into the cool skin of your palms. Kylo doesn’t say anything, letting you settle into this new position and watching you closely, looking for discomfort or something else entirely. You don’t give him anything.

The movie plays on, the brief instances of conversation filling your headspace and blurring into a haphazard buzz at the back of your head. The room smells like pine, ozone, and fresh laundry, and something inside you loosens just enough to part your lips.

“It’s stupid,” you explain, and he tilts his head at you.

“Probably,” he responds, the ghost of his smirk instantly making you shoot daggers his way. “Tell me, anyway.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, torn between rolling your eyes and sinking further into the couch. Although there was little consequence of telling Kylo your life story, a part of you worried he’d find a way to turn it on you when you least expected it. You’ve seen the kindness in him before, but was it really enough to make you confess?

You chew on the inside of your cheek before finally murmuring, “My brother shut me outside during a storm once. When I was a kid.”

Kylo doesn’t react immediately. He just watches you, waiting for an elaboration as Matthew McConaughey appears on screen in your peripheral.

“It wasn’t anything crazy,” you continue, shifting your weight slightly. “Just… I was alone. Our parents were away for the weekend, and he was supposed to be taking care of me, but I guess we… got into a fight along the way. Or something.” You pause to take in a slow breath, weighing your words carefully. “The thunder was so loud, and the wind knocked out the power at some point. We lived in a pretty isolated house back then, far away from any neighbors, and… It was pitch black, and I just stood there. Frozen, alone.”

You swallow thickly, catching your breath for a second before continuing. You wonder if Kylo is still listening.

“I remember thinking: what if no one even realizes I’m out here? What if my parents don’t come home in time, and a bear eats my sorry ass before I can give my brother a piece of my mind?” You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “I guess that feeling never really left.”

You catch his eyebrow quirk, and your eyes widen as you quickly correct yourself.

“—Not the bear part, just… just the fear,” you bite your lip, looking down at the hem of your—Kylo’s—sweater.

For a moment, he says nothing. You can’t bring yourself to look at him through the embarrassment of your confession and the absurdity of your fear, now that you have justified it out loud.

“How old were you?” he asks suddenly. You catch how soft his voice sounds, but momentarily boil it down to a lack of focus. You worry that if he weren’t listening, you wouldn’t blame him for it.

You blink, a little caught off guard. “I don’t know. Seven, maybe?”

“And your brother?”

You hum, extending your fingers as you count the age difference on each digit. “Thirteen—fourteen? Yeah. Something like that.”

Even though the memory extends far beyond the capabilities of your brain, the feeling of that night still lingers on your skin. Even though both of you are well into your young adulthood today, a part of you still holds him accountable for all those ‘harmless’ pranks and practical jokes, and how that might have impacted your trust in people as you reached maturity.

“I used to love thunderstorms,” you murmur hazily, looking into nothing as the familiar pang of sentiment picks at your insides.

Kylo exhales through his nose, looking away briefly. His fingers tap idly against the couch as if working through something in his head. Then, just as you’re about to ask, he utters.

“It’s not stupid.”

You glance at him. He’s still staring ahead, his expression blank, but the consequence of his words lingers between you, tugging at your lungs and making your exhale stutter.

“You were just a girl,” he murmurs lowly, looking at the floor. “He should have known better at that age.”

You catch his jaw clenching when he elaborates, voice stern but laced with an unfamiliar warmth that you greedily lap up. The heat in your cheeks has extended toward your neck and shoulders, making you feel hot and agitated. Despite that, you clutch onto his sweater as if Kylo himself could feel the pressure and heat of your arms as you hug yourself.

“It was long ago,” you shrug despite yourself, toying with the few loose threads that hang from the sleeves. “I don’t blame him anymore.”

Kylo scoffs under his breath, his fingers still tapping against his thigh. “Maybe you should.”

The statement catches you off guard, making you turn to him with a furrowed brow. His words are harsh, but they contrast with his satiny lilt. Somehow, you don’t think he’s angry, or even trying to argue with you. “It was years ago.”

He finally looks at you, dark eyes gleaming with something distant and glittering. “Do you think time makes it okay?”

“I think time makes it irrelevant.”

His jaw shifts, a muscle twitching near the hinge. He doesn’t seem convinced. You’re not sure why it matters so much to him, but it’s clear that something in your story resonated enough to throw him for a loop.

For a moment, the only sound is the rain against the windows and the low hum of the movie playing between you. The thunder perseveres, but it’s rare and mellow, pounding in the distance. On-screen, Andie and Ben cut open lobster claws.

Then, Kylo exhales. His gaze flickers back toward the television. “I think you’re not as indifferent as you pretend to be.”

Your stomach twists, something defensive rising in your chest when you reply. “And what, you think you know me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I think I know what it’s like to pretend something doesn’t matter when it does.”

Your breath catches when your gazes meet. The determination in your eyes mirrors his, but there’s something else in there, too. You think it might be the glare of the TV, but his hazel eyes look glazed over when they flicker to your trembling digits.

You swallow thickly, curling your fingers around the thick fabric of his sleeve. Then, you lift your chin slightly, eyes narrowing as you lean forward. Your knees brush, and he eyes that small space between you as you put on a soft smile. It’ll be your courtesy to distract him now, whether he likes it or not.

“My turn,” you murmur.

Kylo’s gaze flicks back to you, lips parted and head tilted as he studies your expression. You know he’s confused, and you take the burden of asking off his shoulders by elaborating through a weak grin.

“You owe me a secret.”

Kylo’s expression remains unreadable. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, and doesn’t even seem to breathe for a second.

Then, slowly, his brows pull together. “A secret?”

You nod. “That’s how this works, isn’t it?” You loosen your grip on his sleeve, though your fingertips still brush the wool. “You get one from me, I get one from you. It’s only fair.”

For a second, you think your query might have urged him into a dark place. You’ve gathered enough about Kylo this past month to know that his frustrating secrecy has some sort of merit, and you worried to poke at it too hard knowing how it ended last time.

A slow exhale leaves him. His fingers drum against his knee once, twice, then still.

“I smoke.”

Your brows furrow, lips twitching into a half-smirk. “I know that.”

He huffs out something resembling a laugh, his head lolling to the side. “Yeah, genius, but you don’t know why.”

Something in his tone makes you pause. You settle further into the couch, watching him closely. His jaw works like he’s grinding his teeth, looking down at his feet like he’s recalling something unpleasant.

“My dad used to smoke,” he murmurs. “All the time. I fucking hated it.” A short chuckle follows, dry and bitter when he faces away from you. “But it was the only time we ever talked.”

He leans his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling now. You keep quiet, letting your knee rest against his as he sprawls out. “He’d step outside a few times a day, and I’d always follow. I didn’t care about the cigarettes at first—I just… wanted to be there. I guess. Around him.”

Your chest tightens in tandem with the squeeze of your knuckles against your sweatpants.

Kylo exhales slowly. “I think I picked it up because… I thought maybe if I did, he’d have more reason to talk to me. Or, just… be around me in general. Both of my—our parents are busy people. Less so now that they’re older, but still.”

You blink, lips parting slightly. It makes more sense to you now why Kylo passed on visiting his parents with Rey today.

“Did it work?” you ask, voice barely above the hum of the rain.

He moves his head to take you in, eyes soft like a wounded animal’s. He shakes his head. “Not really. By the time I started, he was already on to other things.”

You don’t ask. Something within you tells you it’d be a mistake to prod further.

The words settle between you, stout as the brewing storm outside. You watch as he rubs his fingers together absently. Something aches deep in your ribs.

“Did you ever try to quit?” you ask.

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. His eyes still flicker over the ceiling, and for a moment, you crane your neck to look, too. “No.”

The soft, cascading light from the window sprawls above you, echoing the dim shape of droplets as they rivet down the glass. It reminds you of a waterfall. “Why not?”

Despite the magnificence of the scenery above you, you feel your head mindlessly pivot on the soft headrest. When your eyes meet Kylo’s profile, his lips are pressed into a tight line, the soft torrent of his dark locks flowing down the edge of the couch.

“Because then it’s really over.”

A silence stretches between you. There’s the soft crackle of the TV and an occasional roll of thunder outside, but for a second, the pounding heartbeat in your ears tunes it all out. Your lungs ache for breath, and your fingers tremble as they extend. All for Kylo.

Your touch is light and uncertain. You teeter between wanting to comfort him and needing to push further to see just how far he’d let you, just for the sake of your own satisfaction—or something more. You hope it’s not the latter.

When your palm meets his thigh, his whole body tenses. You notice the brief hitch in his breath, fingers pausing mid-motion before curling into a loose fist in his lap.

Kylo doesn’t move. His gaze lingers on your hand, dark lashes low against his mole-speckled cheekbones. When he finally exhales, it’s slow and strained. You wonder if it’s your touch or the lingering memory clouding his brain.

“She hated it, too,” he says through the thrum, so softly you almost miss it. It’s the latter.

Your fingers twitch against the softness of his sweatpants. For a second, logically, you think you should withdraw.

“She?”

He swallows. A humorless smirk tugs at his lips. “My ex.”

Your heart gives a dull, reluctant thud. It’s the conversation you’ve been curious to have for weeks, yet now that it peers its ugly head at you, you realize your stomach fills with dread at the prospect.

“She thought it was disgusting. Said she didn’t want to kiss me if I smelled like an ashtray.” A humorless smirk tugs at his lips, and your own fall into a scowl at the sight of it. It’s wrong to be peering at his plush lips now, but you can’t help it.

“She must’ve been important to you,” you murmur.

Kylo exhales through his nose slowly, his fingers uncurling just slightly as the smirk painting his lips loses mirth.

“She was,” he finally admits. “For a long time.”

Your breath catches as you take in his tone. There’s apprehension there, paired with something raw just beneath the surface.

The muscles in his throat shift with a slow swallow. You think he’s done with the conversation for a second, and you ready your hand to recoil when, almost offhandedly, he utters.

“We were engaged.”

Your fingers twitch with the skip of your pulse. For a moment, everything in you stills as the word echoes in your skull, bouncing between the ridges of your ribs like a stray bullet. You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t that, even for a man of his caliber.

Your lips part slightly, but the words never come. You want to ask what happened, why it ended, why he’s here now with you instead of… her. Sienna. But Kylo doesn’t give you the chance.

His head turns just slightly, enough that the dim, flickering glow from the television casts sharp shadows across his features. He eyes you languidly.

He’s grinning again.

“You look like you’re about to start crying.”

Your brows knit together, lips pressing into a tight line as you glare back. “I’m not.”

He hums with amusement, mouth twitching at the corners. For a second, that dear iteration of vulnerable Kylo disappears, making way for a version you’re much more familiar—and cross—with. “No? You’re giving me the most tragic look right now.”

“Because it is tragic,” you argue, nudging his thigh slightly. Your palm is still there, warm and definite against the melange fabric of his sweatpants. He doesn’t seem to mind, or at least he doesn’t show it. “Are you really gonna sit here and tell me you were engaged and then just… just change the subject?” With that fuck-ass grin, too?

Kylo hums, his grin dropping to a comfortable smirk. His eyes never leave yours, but you feel the pressure of his knee against yours as he inches closer.

“Would you rather I tell you some heart-wrenching sob story of why it ended?”

You look at him through your lashes, eyes narrowed and sharp. You almost miss that defenselessness he showed you now as it slips through your fingertips. “I’d rather you not be a coward about it.”

Kylo scoffs, rolling his eyes, but something in them softens. His hand moves then, fingers uncurling as they reach toward your wrist. The touch is light, perhaps accidental, but it makes your breath hitch nonetheless.

His voice dips into a lower register like he’s trying to warn you. “I don’t feel like talking about it anymore.”

And with his gaze skimming your face, lips curled into that frustrating smirk, you want to push more than ever. It’s the first time you get a go at cracking Kylo’s hard exterior, and suddenly you decide you won’t let go so easily.

But if amity wasn’t doing the trick, perhaps another strategy was due instead.

“You’re sadistic,” you mutter, tilting your head at him.

Kylo breathes a quiet laugh, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he turns to face you completely. “And you’re nosy.”

“You brought it up.”

“You asked for a secret.”

You huff, shifting slightly where you sit, just enough that your fingers skim against his thigh. The movement is barely anything, but it’s enough for him to still.

Your head tilts, studying him. Despite the hammering of your heart, you let your fingertips graze along the bend of his leg, trailing up his thigh and leaving little patterns in its wake.

He reacts accordingly, eyes half-lidded with confusion and something tender as he follows your movements.

Breathlessly, you utter.

“Are you nervous?”

He scoffs, but his voice is just as weak and breathy as yours. When you gaze up at him, he looks toward the TV. On-screen, McCounaghey’s character plays a soft, soulful tune for his co-star. “You wish.”

His throatiness gives you the edge you need to keep pulling his strings. With a slow exhale, you let your trembling fingers teeter around his resting palm, brushing against his pinky ever so slightly. “You don’t seem so sure.”

His throat bobs with a swallow. His dark eyes flick to yours, searching for an out, but you refuse to give up so easily. It’s the first time you’re reigning supreme in this battle of wits between you and Kylo, and stepping down is not in your plans just yet.

“Do you always have to push my buttons?” His voice is low, rough, and teasing like he’s trying to deflect. It’s his last resort of regaining control.

You shrug softly, expertly feigning innocence. Your fingertips brush over his knuckles as the TV speakers rumble with soft sounds of sighs and kisses. “Only when it’s fun.”

And that finally earns you something. Kylo’s otherwise stoic face flashes with something sharp and treacherous beneath the semblance of his usually safeguarded amusement.

“Careful,” he murmurs, curving his fist under your touch. Your hand flinches away for a moment when you feel the bones of his knuckles flex. “Something tells me you don’t know fun just yet.”

The unabashed dare sends something thrumming through your gut, landing in the junction of your thighs. You squeeze your core in an investigation of the peculiar feeling.

You lean in just slightly, heartbeat pounding in your ears when you hear his labored breath through a brief moment of quiet on-screen. “Maybe I’d like to.”

A flicker of suspense cinches between you. Your breaths are heavy as they intermingle, fingers twitching and skin rubbing at the wrist. There’s a beat, and you feel the remains of your determination melt with the warmth of his hand. He’s so close, broad shoulders threatening to box you in.

And then he smirks. It’s crooked on one side, and torturously slow as it emerges. Divots emerge on his cheeks, but you’re too taken aback by the bright glint dancing within his sable eyes.

His hand suddenly withdraws from yours. The loss of contact feels devastating for a beat, and your fingers flex in confusion.

He tilts his head at you, eyebrows resting flat on his forehead as he lowers his voice to a whisper like you’re sharing a raunchy secret. “Are you jealous?”

Your breath catches in your lungs, fingers freezing mid-air as you swiftly withdraw from his leg. When you utter a reply, it comes out as a croak that matches the dumbfounded expression on your face. “What?”

The shift in his expression is barely noticeable—just a faint, smug glint in his eye, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at your resolution faltering so easily. There’s not a hint of apprehension in him anymore, decisively overshadowed by total devilishness.

“You want me to propose to you instead?”

Your heart drops to your stomach, suiting the rhythmic pounding between your legs. When your lips come ajar, all you can utter is a small, rasping noise at the back of your throat.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” he drawls with a saccharine tone, grinning at you through the dimness. “You’re the one prying into my past relationships like a jealous lover.”

Your lips part, outrage flaring in your chest. He’s wrong. He’s so fucking wrong! He’s the one who insisted on cramming this knowledge down your throat, he’s the one—

“I am not—”

His fingers ghost over your wrist in a slow, languid touch. When your eyes flicker down, you catch his large hand hovering over your thigh; he’s the one to invade your space now.

“You are, though.” His voice dips into a slow purr, brushing over your pulse point like he’s verifying his cruel tricks are working. “Want to slip a ring on my finger, hm?” His touch moves to your digits, “Make me an honest man?”

You scoff loudly as a penetrating heat rises to your face and neck. You break eye contact, taking in a slow, labored inhale. He lets you. It’s almost like he wants you to bite back. Is this all barbarity, or an intricate game meant to satisfy some perversion?

You squeeze your fist under his touch. “You’d be a nightmare to be married to.”

He hums lowly, tilting his head as if considering your precious critique. You stare at his bicep draped over the couch, watching it flex and unflex.

“Maybe,” he nods, lips pursed before his eyes meet yours again. You can’t tell if the sparkle you find within them is delight, a tease, or something far more destructive. “But I think you’d like it.”

Your pulse stumbles again. His words are honeyed compared to your parched vocals. “Excuse me?”

He shifts on the couch slowly, and you wonder if he’s always sat this close.

“You like a challenge, don’t you?” he speaks quietly, just as the floor shakes with the faraway rumbling of thunder.

You never thought of it that way, but Kylo Ren exuded a fascinating authority. Despite his puerile teasing and juvenile jokes, you now realized that he’d devour you whole had he liked. You couldn’t win. He was an apex predator, and you were his personally appointed prey.

You feel your core beat at the thought.

“Yeah?” you urge, looking at him through the thickness of your lashes. “And what would you bring to the table, exactly?”

You tilt your chin, narrowing your eyes. You’re too deep now, and what’s a lamb got against a wolf but her wits?

“Please,” Kylo exhales a quiet laugh, tongue running over his bottom lip as he studies you. For a second, you feel the risk fade away and give course to clarity. But it doesn’t last long. “I’d be a wonderful husband.”

You scoff, taking your chance to pounce. “Enlighten me.”

Your plans turn futile when you watch him lean in. It’s careful and measured, but close enough that you feel his breath tickling your cheeks, heat licking at your skin.

“For one, I’d keep you entertained.”

The low purr of his argument makes your thighs squeeze again, a fruitless attempt at curbing the slow pulsating of your cunt.

You hum, but your voice threatens to waver with how deliberately his eyes flicker over your face. Your hand moves forward, palm up so you can take gentle hold of his own wrist. “And how exactly would you do that?”

His smirk widens. It’s filthy now, unrestrained, like he’s decided to throw away any remains of being appropriate with you out the window.

When everything goes silent for a beat, you hear the droplets of rain patter harder against the glass. You swallow thickly when his plush lips part.

“Oh, I think you already know.”

You’re stuck in place, awaiting your inevitable doom as your entire body goes warm and he edges closer. You’re left with nowhere to go and little to do. Your hand trembles against his, and he stunts it with a tight squeeze over your palm.

You watch his lashes flutter, mirroring yours. The scent of pine and soap fills your nose, making your head spin as he mutters your name.

Thunder crashes, loud and sharp. The walls shake and the window rattles, briefly illuminating Kylo’s rouge-struck face.

And you move before you can think.

Your fingers tighten against his wrist, and before you can register the motion, you’re already lunging forward with a loud, uninhibited yelp.

Kylo barely has time to react before your weight crashes into him, sending both of you sprawling back onto the couch. His hands snap to your waist on instinct, steadying you as your knees press into the cushions on either side of his hips, your palms braced against the firm plane of his chest.

For a split second, everything is still. You’re straddling him awkwardly, uncomfortably, and his elbow props his upper body up like he was mid-fall.

You’re breathing heavily, and so is he. His lips part slightly to allow for more drag, eyes widened slightly as you tower over him with pursed lips and sizzling-hot cheeks. His lips curl into a grin.

And then, he laughs.

I mean, actually, properly laughs.

It’s not just a chuckle. Not some restrained, breathy scoff through his nose, no—this is loud, unfiltered, and so fucking genuine.

His chest shakes beneath your trembling palms, his head tilting back against the couch as the sound rumbles through him like the crack of thunder that had just scared you shitless.

Except this feels… nice. Comfortable. You revel in these vibrations, fingers tensing as you draw slightly along his pecs.

It’s not until you realize why he’s laughing that your stomach drops.

“Oh my God,” Kylo wheezes, fingers flexing against your waist. “You—” He can barely get the words out, another burst of giggles breaking through his breath. If you weren’t the laughing stock right now, you think you’d enjoy the sound a lot more. “You should’ve seen yourself.”

Heat burns up your neck, shame curling hot and tight in your chest.

“Shut up,” you grit out, nails digging into his white shirt.

But he doesn’t. If anything, it just makes him laugh harder.

“You jumped on me.” His eyes shine with unrestrained amusement, his grin wide and wicked. “What happened with all that bravado, huh? ”

Your glare sharpens, weight shifting against him as you fight for dignity. “I panicked, you asshole.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” His smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, he’s enjoying this to a sickening extent. “All that tough talk and then boom—you’re clinging to me like a damn kitten, aren’t you, pussycat?”

You scowl through the grit of your teeth, shoving at his chest, but he barely budges. Your chest swells with ache.

“God, I wish I had that recorded,” he goes on, dragging it out like he’s savoring it. “I’d set it as my screensaver. Or, even better, we could—”

“Kylo.”

Your voice is sharper with the rawness of your throat. You feel it tingle with something distasteful, and you bite your lip to stop the sudden tremble of it.

When his eyes flicker back to yours, he sees something that makes his grin fade and the teasing seize.

Your lashes are damp with just the faintest sheen, glittering in the glow of the TV screen. You’re still breathing too fast, setting you on a beeline toward a full-blown hiccuping fit.

“Hey,” he murmurs just above a whisper, his voice impossibly soft as he props himself up with another elbow. “Hey.”

You swallow thickly, blinking fast. “It just—” You clear your throat, shifting against him again to avoid the intensity of his gaze. Your chest burns hot with shame. “It just caught me off guard.”

There’s a certain edge of humiliation clinging to your words, brows drawn tight like you’re demoralized by your easy display of vulnerability. For the first time, you’ve wordlessly admitted defeat to his antics. But this was a low blow, and you think even Kylo realizes it.

His grip on your waist loosens so he can run both palms along your sides. Under any other circumstance, the gesture would make you wince, but now? You lap up the comfort it fills your tummy with and curse at the wetness still forming in your panties. It’s so uncouth in contrast to your lingering fear.

“Didn’t mean to freak you out,” he drawls again, his eyes haphazardly flicking toward the junction of your thighs—just where they meet his waist. “Just—y’know. Thought it was funny.”

You scoff lightly, but there’s no real bite to it. You’ve expended your anger reserves when the thunder scared you half to death.

“Yeah, hilarious,” you mutter, toying with the material of his shirt. You’re too distracted by the weight on your heart to realize the compromised position you’ve put him in, held between your thighs and at your very mercy.

Kylo hesitates for a beat. Then, without really thinking, his fingers shift, smoothing along the fabric of the sweater you don in a way that’s almost heartening. His lips part and you think he’s about to comment on your attire before his eyes shift back to your flushed face.

“You good?”

Your breath shudders once before you square your shoulders, tilting your chin like you’re forcing yourself to snap out of the haze.

“Of course I’m good.” Your voice is stronger now, and before he can say anything else, you claw against his shirt again. Your lips are drawn tight as you watch his throat bob with a thick swallow. You catch that flicker of his eyes again, taking in the sight of your body like he’s worried he’ll never see you from this angle again if he doesn’t commit it to memory.

And when your eyes finally dry, they give way to panic blooming in your chest as your mind finally floods with clarity. With a soft exhale you clear your throat and tense your thighs to get off.

Kylo’s smirk is lazy when he notices your movements. His hands don’t move from where they rest at your waist, palms broad and warm against your waist as he holds you in place.

His voice is satiny when he utters, laced with his usual teasing lilt. “Are we in a hurry?”

Your fingers curl against his shirt and you throw a scoff at him. You refuse to acknowledge the way your body still feels like it’s buzzing from the adrenaline and the way it makes your breath hitch.

“Move over,” you croak out, silently reveling in the pressure of his large hands on your body.

He tilts his head just enough for a strand of black hair to fall over his brow. His fingers flex deliberately against your waist, smoothing up and down the sweater as his lips twist into a boyish smirk. “Is it the position?”

Your stomach drops.

You swear you feel the moment your body betrays you as the well of warmth within your lower tummy twists into something primal. Unknowingly, your hips buck against him. It’s a subtle motion but serves enough to put some pressure on your aching clit.

You’re not sure he notices, but his breath hitches all the same.

“You—” Your breath catches in your throat as the realization crawls up your spine, all hot and humiliating, and Kylo Ren is utterly basking in the sight of it all—the eroticism of your thighs bracketing his waist, hands fisting the cotton of his shirt.

“What’s wrong?” he drawls sweetly, eyes gleaming in the pale light. His hands gradually inch down your sides, anchoring firmly on the junction between your hips and thighs. “Don’t like being on top?”

Your stomach plummets as he squeezes at your love handles. A mighty heat flares across your cheeks and you immediately slap at his chest.

You do like it. But it’s not like he’ll ever get to find out.

“Watch the movie.”

Kylo huffs a low laugh but finally loosens his grip on your body. As you scramble off him, the warmth of his body vanishes the second your thighs disentangle from his waist. It’s a small loss, but one you’re willing to grieve nonetheless as you sink back into the couch beside him. You yank the dark sweater tighter around you and inch your legs deeper into the cushions.

Meanwhile, Kylo straightens up with a soft groan. The sound preceded so closely by your unfortunate entanglement makes you bite your lower lip, eyes half-lidded as you mindlessly stare at the TV. The room fills with the booming sound of a basketball game airing in a buffet kitchen.

You try to settle into the corner of the couch in peace while Kylo hums beside you. You watch as his long forearm drapes against the backrest again, inching just behind your head. Did he choose to sit this close to you, or was it all involuntary? Some part of you worried that the closeness was a direct result of pity, but would Kylo-fucking-Ren really pity you of all things?

You grumble in the depths of your throat and force yourself to focus on the movie again. You’re not sure how long it’s been running in the background, but the onscreen couple is now donning a matching set of outfits as they exchange a hesitant kiss. Fuck the irony of that, you think.

Kylo shifts beside you, stretching out his long legs, one knee knocking into yours before settling into the cushions. You pretend not to notice how your limb instinctively bends away, but he does.

“You’re so quiet,” he muses, his voice low but lacking that characteristically teasing lilt.

You don’t respond, eyes glued to the TV. You’re not even paying attention to the dialogue anymore, and you don’t really need to. The actors’ voices merge into one buzz, your mind stuck on the way Kylo begins to chuckle.

“You’re actually the fucking worst, Ren,” you finally mutter.

His smirk is lazy when he turns toward the TV. “You love it.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you join him in turning your attention to the screen, pretending your mind isn’t betraying you with thoughts of what it might feel like to straddle his hips this time and interlock fingers. You’ve heard the stories of how blunt men usually packed less, but you bet that beneath all those layers he was thick and—

When you catch his gaze again, his lips are painted into a wide, wolfish grin.

“God, what else—” You cut yourself off, shoving at his arm.

He doesn’t budge, only huffs another laugh. “I’m just trying to help you process!”

“Process what?”

He shrugs, lips pursed. “The moment.”

You gape at him. “There was no moment.”

Kylo hums, feigning consideration. “No?” He shifts just slightly, angling his body toward you. His brows raise on his speckled forehead, gaze flicking to your scowling lips. “You sure you don’t need to relive it?”

Your breath catches.

He’s kidding. No, he has to be kidding.

But his voice is so smooth, his stare so intent, and suddenly your mind is betraying you; flashing back to the heat of his body beneath yours, the way his hands fit against your waist.

You wrench your gaze away with some force. His fingers drum rhythmically against the backrest.

“Eat shit.”

Kylo withdraws a soft chuckle, shifting so his arm scarcely brushes your hair. You feel his fingers ghosting against your scalp, and despite yourself, the sensation is enough to make you exhale a soft sigh of pleasure.

“I’m just kidding,” he pipes up, drawing out the last vowel. You feel his digits sprawl against your head, scratching there for a beat. The sensation makes you giggle at first before you slap his thigh with a sharp glare.

He hisses in mock pain, but the grin on his lips is ever evident. Soon enough, you can’t help but mirror it as your head leans against the headrest again.

“There’s that smile again.”

“It’s not for you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

Kylo only smirks, head tilted lazily as he tests with his digits again. “Okay.”

You shake your head, settling back against the couch. It would be so easy for either of you to pull away and let the moment pass.

Instead, his touch lingers, fingertips grazing along your hairline almost thoughtlessly. You mindlessly lean into his touch, savoring the solace.

Then, his fingers dip lower, twirling a loose strand of your hair between them. You don’t stop him, even when the action draws a soft exhale from your lips.

You sink just a little deeper into the cushions, feigning interest in the screen while his hand plays lazily with your strands. His touch drags from root to tip, smoothing down flyaways before twirling another section around his knuckles. It’s lazy, self-indulgent, but not entirely unwelcome.

“Comfortable?” he teases, voice smug.

You huff but never grace him with a look. You’re afraid any wrong move would halt the soft scritches and scare him away. “Shut up.”

“It’s just,” he hums in amusement, locking his hand against your scalp and rubbing again. The sensation makes you shudder slightly, your throat buzzing with pleasure, “you purr like a cat when you’re being pampered.”

You snap your head toward him, cheeks rouged. “I do not.”

He grins, pivoting his palm to smooth down the crown of your head. “You kinda do.”

Your glare is searing, but Kylo looks delighted with himself, rubbing your scalp again to prove a non-existent point. You swat half-heartedly at his arm again, but the damage is done; he’s grinning now, wide and agonizing.

Before you can properly retort, he’s turning his gaze to the screen again. You follow suit, soothing your frustrations with a long exhale. The soft scratches continue, digits twisting in your hair and eventually, you find yourself leaning into it with an unwanted smile.

And, judging by the pleased little breath he exhales, the strange bliss isn’t yours alone to bear.