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cowboygenesis · 2 months ago

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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.

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