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cowboygenesis · 3 months ago

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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.

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cowboygenesis · 3 months ago

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um i'm back to fixating on him again

new nsfw post up on p@treon +18 // Geralt 🐺

#reblog #the witcher #fanart

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cowboygenesis · 3 months ago

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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.

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cowboygenesis · 3 months ago

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hey everyone long time no see! chapter 15 of "bump it, cool it" is out on ao3 for now, tumblr will get a matching post once im home. thanks for your patience with me, and i hope you enjoy the continuation!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62750470/chapters/170065558

#announcement #bump it cool it #kylo ren x reader #star wars

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cowboygenesis · 3 months ago

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stop earning advanced degrees i need you to finish your fanfiction

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cowboygenesis · 3 months ago

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bae any update on the bump it cool it?

bae, indeed, the next chapter is brewing. a pivotal moment. think coins and laundry and denial.

(but fr though i've been a little busy these past few weeks, academic year ends mid-june so i'm hoping to go back to a regular posting schedule by then. tysm for keeping up with my fics, i seriously can't get over the fact people actually read what i put out)

#ask #bump it cool it

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cowboygenesis · 3 months ago

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i'm a slave to elaborate, non-linear lore

#reblog

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cowboygenesis · 3 months ago

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little chapter 9 preview for "brown eyes" cause i feel bad to keep y'all waiting ;; i'm just about halfway done with this chapter, but it's gonna be a long one so prepare for a doozy

#brown eyes #preview #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #star wars

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cowboygenesis · 3 months ago

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hello! sorry for a lack of updates, i need to submit my thesis by mid-june so it's been pretty hectic recently. thanks for all the lovely feedback on the recent posts ♥ hope you're doing well!

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cowboygenesis · 4 months ago

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this is crazy

#reblog #star wars #fanart

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cowboygenesis · 4 months ago

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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.

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cowboygenesis · 4 months ago

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8: good side | din djarin x reader

part 8 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist | buy me a coffee?

pairing: din djarin x reader chapter warnings: none. word count: 5.7k series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible. notes: squeezing this in at 3am, hope y'all enjoy the rebirth of this fic and some new friends joining the roster!

The rain is much gentler this morning.

It drums against the roof of your small cottage like fingers tapping thoughtfully on a table, not thunderous like last week’s storm, but steady and promising of lush greenery come evening.

You stand by the rustic window with your arms crossed, watching the mist rise off the fertile earth, fields blurred into watercolor by the curtain of rain. Your fingers wrap tightly around ceramic, letting the warmth of it seep into your bones.

Din sits near the hearth, a half-cleaned rifle resting against his knee. You hear it clatter every so often, and when you turn to look, you’re met with the gorgeous sight of the Mandalorian’s broad back clad with nothing but an earthy shade of linen. His trap muscles flex and unflex with every tug of the rag, hypnotizing you with the gentle rhythm.

It’s come to your selfishly satisfied attention that, gradually, he had begun settling into the comforts of your home. First it was a pauldron, then a cuisse, and eventually he shed it all like a bear in summertime.

The spare pieces of beskar lie in the corner, nearly piled atop each other in a shiny stack. You spot Grogu curled up in a woven basket nearby, tiny snores barely audible above the pattering rain.

You turn slightly, gaze flicking toward Din. The silence has been comfortable, yet you know it’s been hours, and the void never did your overthinking any favors.

“Poiko’s back in town,” you announce softly, prepping your face with a smile.

Din doesn’t look up right away, but you see the way his shoulders shift with the sudden presence of your voice. You hope you didn’t startle him, though you doubt much did at this point.

“The merchant?” he questions smoothly.

“Head merchant,” you gently correct, turning toward the dining table and placing your half-finished mug with a soft thud. “You can make your trip to the capital, if you’re still after that.”

There’s a pause as he leans forward, flames licking up his helmet like a sunlit creature. His elbows press into his knees, visor tilted toward the ground as rain drums against the roof above, steady and soft like a lullaby you’d love to listen to forever.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “I’ll need to.”

Something briefly unsteady in his voice makes you glance back at him, tightening the shawl around your shoulders, the small tassels tickling your forearms. “Looking for something?”

His fingers flex slightly where they rest on his knees, and for a second, you think he might brush the question off entirely. You wouldn’t blame him.

“Just tying up a few loose ends,” he says, voice consciously neutral.

You narrow your eyes a little, not out of suspicion, but curiosity. The few months you’ve known Din weren’t nearly enough to actually know him, but you never saw that as a flaw. All either of you needed was some quiet company and a shared meal, and the rest could come later, if at all.

Still, his past sometimes tugged at your curiosity. Despite your earthly comforts, the open galaxy still found sneaky ways of tempting you back in, and Din’s mysterious past happened to be just one of those things.

“You mean... from before you got here?”

Din raises his helmet, his hands tightening around the rifle. “Something like that.”

The soft pattering and infrequent coos fill the space between you. You think of all the things he’s never told you: how he found Grogu, what he does when he’s not in town, why he carries enough armor to start a war —and you know better than to pry. But it still lingers on your tongue.

“Are you taking him with you?” you ask, trying to sound casual as you nod toward the tranquil crib.

Grogu’s tiny body shifts with a sleepy sigh, curled up like a stone tucked beneath moss, utterly unaware of the tension hanging in the air between the three of you.

Din keeps his gaze on the weapon in his lap, hands flexing slightly around the stock. You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the question weigh down on his shoulders as they dip. Something about your query broke his usually calm demeanor, and you couldn’t help but boil it down to your endless curiosity.

“Yeah,” he says after a pause, placing the rifle down before the fire.

You blink, slowly approaching the crib and smiling as soon as you catch the slight outline of Grogu’s large ears peeking from under his quilt. The small, intricately woven dandelion in the corner makes your heart swell. You had embroidered it during one of their stays, being meticulous with each individual leaf.

“Really?” you question, gently smoothing the feather-light fur on the baby’s head with your digits. “I figured you’d want to travel light.”

When no response comes, you glance toward the man. He’s still seated against the hearth, coiled into a tense bundle as he contemplates your words, silently.

“Let me guess,” you press gently, attempting to inject some levity into the situation. “You need him to find a properly fitted crib. I mean, have you seen this one? All scratched and worn—little guy deserves an upgrade.”

Din doesn’t rise to the joke, you realise that when he reaches for the pile of beskar in the corner.

“Oh! Or maybe he’s outgrown that old sack of his and—” you lean back slightly, eyes narrowing when you spot him dressing. He spares you a single, fleeting glance, through which your smile drops. “You’re… you’re serious.”

He grumbles something incoherent within his helmet, crouching against your loveseat. “I am.”

You study him for a long beat, watching in silence as he shifts his beautifully tanned hands back into the gauntlets. You frown, realising you took the moment of vulnerability for granted. A part of you worries it might be your last time seeing them like that.

“It’s not just a supply run, is it?”

You don’t look at him when you ask. You keep your eyes on Grogu’s basket, watching the rise and fall of his tiny chest, the way his ears twitch every now and then with some dream you’ll never know about. Din shifts slightly in his seat, weighing your question or just ignoring you altogether.

And you know much better than to push. You’ve learned that he doesn’t offer unless he chooses to, yet you can’t let him go without at least a slither of information.

Because something cold and gritty tugs at your heartstrings the moment he settles into his beskar again, making your lip quiver in the warmth of the hearth. You make a soft noise, like clearing your throat to get the pitiful phlegm out of fear’s way.

“Are you coming back?” you croak, quiet yet determined, and your voice carries through the din of rain like a desperate prayer, round near the edges as if you tried to plead but couldn’t muster the courage to.

He looks at you then. Not moving much, but enough that you feel the weight of his gaze. You hate how much your heart sinks at that silence between you. His helmet shifts between you and elsewhere entirely, reflecting shades of brown and green.

“I can’t leave him,” he says quietly, nodding toward Grogu. You don’t follow his gaze, yet something about the confession urges his child to coo happily from the safety of his crib. He must have awoken, feeling the palpable tension in the air of your home. You knew he was particularly attuned to that, and it’s something you had in common. Sometimes you pitied yourself for it, and the baby by proxy.

The Mandalorian shifted uncomfortably on the woven carpet, stiffly leaning his back against the plush loveseat. You watch as he slowly rises to his full height, hesitating for a moment before taking a few steps toward the crib. His gloved hand reaches for his kid, a three-fingered nub grabbing his knuckle with a squeal of delight. The baby babbles out, stringing words that nearly sound coherent.

And then Din turns toward you with a hum, as if broken through a shared revelation. If you weren’t impartial to fantasy, you’d think Grogu told him something vital.

“Or you.”

You blink. The room feels smaller all of a sudden, or maybe just warmer with the steady pumping of blood to your face.

“What?” you question quietly, non-accusatorily, hands fiddling the hem of your sleeves.

“I—” he stutters, and you’re quick to note the absolute miracle of the fact before he clears loudly his throat. “I can’t leave you.”

You squeeze your lips tight, holding back a wide, selfish grin when you catch Grogu reaching out toward you. The pumping spreads through your skull, ringing your ears and making your eyes widen with awe-struck glitter.

“You’ve been good to us,” Din elaborates suddenly, his voice losing that unusual edge and stiffening back to business. “It’d be irrational to move on now, just as the kid has gotten comfortable.”

Your hands clutch the backrest of a dining chair, exhaling your giddiness and replacing it with a sympathetic, nearly grateful smile.

“I’m glad you’re comfortable here, Din.” You nod, smoothing a flyaway.

His visor levels on you with an acknowledging nod, letting the sudden silence settle over you like a warm blanket. A gust of wind picks up outside, whistling through the trees and knocking fat pellets against your windows.

You sigh deeply, pushing the chair into the table and moving toward the kitchen. You feel Din’s eyes tracing your movements, helmet tilting when you stand on your tip-toes to withdraw a large wicker basket from the wall-mounted cupboard, settling it on the counter with a soft thud.

“What are you doing?” he questions as you withdraw a paper-wrapped hunk of cheese from your fridge, a small bunch of Shiir fruit, and a flour-dusted bread loaf.

“I’m packing sustenance,” you reply simply, tapping your cheek for a beat before finally deciding on loading the basket with a jar of preserves and a small knife to go with it. “For the road.”

The Mandalorian stays silent for a moment, letting you pack the rest of the basket in comfortable silence interrupted only by your quiet whistling. Once you secure the produce with a checkered cloth, you hum in satisfaction and turn toward the man with a smile.

“You don’t have to do that,” he comments stiffly, arms lax at his sides. He must have gotten closer while you were packing, because your ears finally manage to pick up the slow gust of his breath.

“I want to,” you say with a shrug, heaving the basket up and groaning slightly at its added weight when you drop it on the dining room table. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you eat something that isn’t freeze-dried.”

You think you catch the man’s shoulders bouncing with a chuckle, but the fantasy is quickly intercepted by a loud sigh carrying through his modulator.

“I’m saying you don’t have to go,” he stiffens his palm in the air through the explanation, lingering on every word like it’s hurting him to utter. “You shouldn’t.”

You poke the inside of your cheek at that, tracing a fingernail down a coiled length of hardened twine before it weaves with the rest of the basket.

“Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replies promptly, and suddenly you realise that he’s not trying to scare you off. If anything, any doubt of your being a burden slowly trickles away the longer he takes to satisfy your curiosity. “There’s always a chance for something going wrong.”

“All the more reason for me to go,” you bite your lip, eyes wide with kindness and reassurance, when he rubs a glove up the length of his helmet. “Who’ll take care of your kid when you’re off catching criminals?”

The Mandalorian groans in exasperation, planting his fists on his hips. “It’s not a bounty this time. I—”

“So you are a bounty hunter!” you intercept, painting your investigative revelation with a wide grin that you’re certain Din isn’t mirroring. He stares at you in silence, stiff and stonelike save for the brief tensing of his fingers. It’s not like you minded, anyway. Bad people were capable of good, and it took but one glance for you to decide that Din was the very opposite of that. You knew his profession didn’t define him, but you’d reassure him another time.

You sigh, dropping your jolliness in favor of a serious-ish smile.

“I’ll stay out of your way,” you explain, softer this time. The man’s head tilts at that, shoulders dropping just an inch. You approach him slowly but certainly, matching the square of his shoulders with your own. “Promise.”

Another stretch of silence twists taut between you, and it’s only now you’ve realised the rain has come to a slow, quiet drum. You imagine the clouds passing overhead, disappearing down the horizon and giving way to light again.

Din sighs, his shoulders visibly heaving under the weight of his breath. “You’re so stubborn.”

You can’t help the smile that pops on your face at the tired but rarely tender words, squeezing your fists with excitement as your companion shakes his head.

“Does that mean I’ve convinced you?” you wiggle a brow humorously, but the man rejects it with a common flatness.

He stands then, straightening slowly with that quiet, intimidating ease that always makes the room feel smaller. Despite his hesitant mein, you know that deep down he’s already made his choice. You beam at that before he even gives you an outright answer.

“All right,” he finally succumbs, his body going lax like clockwork while yours tenses with a happy giggle. He watches you flatly, his gaze briefly flickering toward Grogu who has once again fallen into a deep slumber. “You’re the only other person he listens to, anyway.”

You feel your breath catch slightly, emitting with a barely audible hitch. Not because of the words themselves, but because of how easily he said them.

You smile faintly, boldly poking a finger against his chestplate and having your reflection smirk back at you. “Is that Mandalorian for I don’t trust anyone else to take care of my kid ?”

Din grunts, slowly pivoting toward the hearth again to collect his weapon while you make sure your basket is neatly tucked in.

“It’s Mandalorian for don’t let him eat worms again .”

You chuckle, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chill of rain against the windows.

୨ৎ

The rain has quietly settled into the remnants of a soft drizzle by the time you reach the outer limits of town. The dirt path to Poiko’s home winds through mossy lowlands and old stone walls, water dripping from broad leaves and shivering grass as you press through dampened earth.

Grogu coos softly against your chest, bundled in your makeshift baby sling that you insisted on using, leaving the floating crib abandoned as it floats by Din’s side. He walks just behind you, footfalls steady and quiet like a metal-clad ghost as you duck under a particularly broad shrub.

“Mando?” you ask in a mild croak, vocal cords cramped from walking in comfortable silence for so long.

“Hm?” he hums in acknowledgment, keeping his visor on the road ahead as it dips downhill. His hand flexes, keeping your provisions steady in one hand while the other grips his own pack. The sight of such a great, fearless mercenary donning a ribbon-tied basket makes your heart both jump and swell at the contrast.

You pucker your lips, angling your body backward as the decline becomes steep. The ground had yet to dry, so you place a palm over Grogu’s back in case you’re unfortunate enough to slip and land on your ass.

“Why don’t we just take the Crest?”

Din gives you a once-over, making your eyebrows crease with sudden worry. You hope you’re not coming off as ungrateful for letting you tag along on his mission with the absolute minimum of training and combat knowledge—not like you’ll need it, but still. It makes you feel like a burden on some level.

“It’s more hassle than it’s worth,” the man explains calmly, briefly eyeing his son. His ears twitch softly through a dreamful sleep, lulled by the warmth of your body. “A speeder is much more subtle and harder to track.”

You hum, trying your best to ignore the latter part of his answer. Part of you wants to believe Mando simply favored practicality and safety at all times despite the actual threat level, yet you couldn’t help but worry your lip between your teeth for a beat as your stomach sank just an inch.

“Right,” you nod quietly, your lips curling into a bittersweet smile as you try to insert some levity into the situation, “and parking is absolutely ridiculous in the city.”

He looks at you for a long moment, visor unreadable, yet his shoulders jolt briefly with something like a dry chuckle. You smile.

As you walk on, you pass by a moss-hugged, rundown shed darkened by years of rain and memory, its roof half-collapsed from the sheer force of the elements. You watch the overgrown path toward the doorway with mild curiosity, wondering if the shed had always been there.

“Can I ask you something else?”

The Mandalorian keeps walking, never turning his helmet, but still gracing you with a visible nod. “I have a feeling you’ll ask regardless of my permission.”

You flash your teeth just before he inches his visor toward you, sending him a wild, mischievous smile you wish you could see him return. Over the few months you’ve spent getting to know Din, you’ve learned to puzzle together his expression purely based on the way his body reacted, or the small sounds that left his modulator. A sigh meant a scowl, one shrug a frown, and two meant laughter. But a smile? You’d never know unless he spoke.

“What will you do once we reach the city?” you ask with more confidence than you’d warranted, your body jolting when you realise the weight of your question.

Din stiffens, his pace jittering for a beat before it picks up again. You frown at his poor reaction, cradling Grogu as you rush to catch up.

“You don’t have to tell me the details if you don’t want to,” you elaborate softly, adjusting your shawl once it briefly slips off your hair, “but I promise I’ll be understanding. Whatever it is.”

He carries on through the soft drizzle, squeezing his gloved fists as you round a wooden signpost. Needless of a single glance, you know you’re getting close to your destination.

“It’s not just about me,” he speaks, voice low and rough through the dryness of the modulator. You blink, surprised at the admission, and glance over at him properly now. “It’s about the kid.”

Your gaze softens, instinctively cradling Grogu a little tighter against your breast.

“There’s an informant passing through Mon Kilim, on their way toward the Inner Rim.” Din explains carefully, nitpicking his every word and even their individual annunciation. You flatten your lips at the detailing. “It’s not guaranteed, but they might… know something I need.”

You open your mouth to ask more, but something about the way he holds himself back—even physically—makes you recoil, too. Your voice is low and hoarse when it finally comes.

“For him?” you question, gazing down at the grey tuft lying upon a canvas of green. Grogu snores softly against you, his eyes shut tight and making your heart ache at the purity of this very view. You think that if you were in Din’s position, you’d also move mountains just to see his little giggles. You wondered if his dad felt the same way.

The Mandalorian follows your eyes, his helmet tilting just slightly in your peripheral.

“For him.”

There’s an indescribable force pushing through his words, tugging at your nerves like thunder. For a second, it feels like the brewing electricity flickering through the air, making your breath hitch and ultimately stay silent. It’s all you need to know, and much more than you’d ever expect your companion to say.

Your boots squelch against the wet dirt, and stray patches of grass as you walk on, settling into the silence like clockwork. As the trees thin out, you catch sight of the familiar fork in the road, and beyond it, Poiko’s home perched on the outskirts of your town like a stubborn old tree root clinging to the hillside. The stone house leans slightly eastward from years of wind and rain, but its wooden beams are still strong, and the plumes of smoke curling from the chimney are a welcome sight as always.

You pick up your pace slightly, the shawl clinging damply to your shoulders, and grogu stirs with a soft coo in your arms. As you catch the soft, cascading waves rolling through the lake beyond, Din catches up to your side with a tilted helmet.

“You trust Poiko?” he asks lowly, yet you can’t help but linger on the slight underbelly of warning lacing the edges of his tone.

“With my life,” you say without hesitation, adjusting your hold on Grogu as you huff a loose strand of hair from your face.

Maybe it’s the way Poiko used to sneak you treats from his merchant stands when you had just arrived, or the countless times he saved you broken bits of machinery from his trips to the city without asking for a credit in return. Or maybe it’s simply because he chose to stay by your side when most others turned their back.

Din doesn’t respond immediately, but you sense his acceptance in the way his gait loosens a fraction.

The mist rolling off the lake carries the subtle scent of wet stone and pine as you close the distance, worn path crunching underfoot as you step onto the crooked walkway leading up to the house. A sputtering lantern swings above the front door, casting long, dappled shadows against the mossy stone like a beacon of hope amongst the grey.

You shift Grogu higher and lift your hand to knock. Before your knuckles can touch wood, the heavy door creaks open with a drawn-out groan, revealing a familiar figure as it bustles forward. Poiko, wrapped in a patchwork cloak stitched from dozens of mismatched fabrics, a wide grin splitting his broad, weathered face.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he rumbles, voice warm as fresh bread. His deep-set, gold-flecked eyes crinkle at the edges as he sweeps you into a firm, sturdy hug, urging a muffled laugh as you smush against his chest.

“Stars above, look at you!” Poiko pulls back just enough to take in the sight of you, his rough palms cupping your face for a moment before he catches sight of the green bundle in your arms.

“And what’s this?” His voice shifts immediately to a softer, cooing register, his large hands hovering awkwardly over the sash as if unsure whether to touch or just admire from afar. His eyes briefly shift toward Din, before looking you in the eye again.

“This,” you say, stepping back with a smile, “is Grogu. And…” you gesture toward Din, who stands a few paces behind you with one hand resting lightly near his belt, every inch the wary protector. “This is Mando. A friend, and this little guy’s dad.”

Poiko’s sharp eyes flicker over Din, lingering a beat longer than necessary on the armor and weapons. His expression turns politely guarded, though not exactly unfriendly. For now, you think.

“A Mandalorian,” he muses, scratching at his scruffy jaw. “Maker. You need the speeder, don’t you?”

You offer him an apologetic smile, clasping your hands against the mound of your sash. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Poiko huffs something between a laugh and a sigh, eyeing you down with cat-like irises. “Trouble follows you like a shadow, girl.”

Your eyebrows furrow with worry, but before you can try to beg your case, he turns, waving you both after him with a casual flick of his wrist. “Come on, come on. She’s out back.”

You offer Din a reassuring glance before trailing behind Poiko, Grogu nestling deeper into your arms as the wind picks up again, carrying the rich scent of wet earth straight into your nostrils. Din’s boots are steady behind you, his gaze sweeping the surrounding landscapes like he’s on the lookout for danger. You’d normally think him silly, yet knowing of his reserved nature and dangerous profession, you instead opt for careful.

The old boards of the back porch creak underfoot as Poiko leads you through. Beyond, the lake glimmers like a stretched mirror, flowing reeds lining the shore where a worn chair sits, propping up a makeshift fishing rod.

But your attention is already on the speeder. It sags into the ground like a patched-up beauty, rough but loved for years and years. Poiko gestures broadly toward it, showcasing his own pride with a palm over his heart.

“That’s the speeder?” Din voices lowly, surveying the battered vehicle parked under the lean-to. The rain slicks off its mismatched panels, some still bearing the faintest trace of an old insignia that had been sanded down to near oblivion.

The taller, lankier man crosses his thick arms, giving the mercenary a snort. His amber eyes gleam under his heavy brow, a faint smile curling the edges of his broad, leathery mouth. “You think there’s a hangar somewhere behind me? Of course that’s the speeder.”

Din approaches it warily, one gloved hand brushing along the frame. His head tilts as he notes the strange construction, making you bite your lip in slight insecurity.

“It doesn’t look Imperial.”

Poiko lets out another snort, this one almost fond as he approaches the speeder on the other side. His hand moves toward the windshield, smoothing along the top with a long finger.

“It was,” he explains smoothly, sending you a silent wink. “Before we got to work on it.”

Din follows Poiko’s line of sight, meeting you with the T of his visor. You suddenly feel hot, tugging at your shawl to let it fall over the nape of your neck and reveal your forehead to the soft, warm droplets of rain.

“She’s not much to look at, but she’s solid,” you shrug, giving the two men a kind smile. “And most importantly, she’s the only speeder this village owns.”

Din steps toward the front for inspection, his gloved hands running over the bodywork and tapping lightly on the sleek hood to test its frame. You watch him for a moment, noting the care of his movements as Poiko takes your side, leaning in to just barely match your height.

"He don’t talk much, does he?"

You suppress a grin, hiding it in the curve of your palm as you whisper back. "Not if he can help it."

Poiko chuckles under his breath, straightening back to his full height and shaking your shoulder playfully. His meaty fingers dig into the soft linen of your dress, familiar and warm when they squeeze. "Figures you'd end up finding someone even quieter than you."

You nudge him lightly with your elbow, trying to ignore the way your chest warms at the idea. “It’s not like that.”

Your friend opens his mouth, but before you can keep pestering you with remarks, Din returns to your side, giving a short, approving nod.

"It'll do."

You and Poiko nod in return as you walk forward, spotting your luggage and Grogu’s crib tucked into a small compartment behind the two leather seats. You figure Din must have loaded up while you were talking, meaning you could sit back and take a nap with the baby as soon as you hit the road.

Poiko eyes the Mandalorian for a beat before turning back to you with a sly, almost knowing smile. He withdraws something from the pocket of his overalls, hooking his finger into a small, silver ring.

“Care to do the honors?” he asks, jingling the ignition fob in his palm.

You blink at him in surprise, yet the smile painting your lips is palpable. “You know I don’t drive.”

He shrugs, a mischievous twinkle lighting up his weathered face. “Got the intuition for it, if you’d just trust yourself a little more.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but tuck his words away somewhere quiet and warm inside you. You knew he meant more by it, always seeing you just a little clearer than most until recently.

Din watches the exchange in silence, then steps forward to relieve Poiko of the keys. His glove's fingers brush briefly against yours as he passes you to get to the speeder, and for some reason, the small contact leaves your heart beating a little unevenly against Grogu’s little body. He lets out a soft coo against your chest, and you smile down at him, brushing your fingers gently over his ears.

Poiko leans against one of the porch beams, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches Din climb into the pilot seat. His gaze flicks back to you, more serious now as you settle into the passenger seat, sighing at the unexpected ergonomics of it.

“Take care of yourself, kid. Roads are rougher than they used to be,” he speaks, waving two fingers your way, and you return the gesture with a reassuring smile.

“Should be back by sundown tomorrow,” You nod, feeling a weight of excitement settle low in your stomach. “We’ll be careful.”

Poiko nods, pushing himself off the wooden beam and approaching you with a glint of slyness in his bright eyes. He leans against the speeder’s side, his elbow poking into the door as he lowers his face to your ear.

“And if that helmeted fella gives you any grief,” he adds in a stage whisper, with a sideways smirk, “you tell him he’ll answer to me.”

You snort, biting back a grin as you playfully slap at his arm. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

Din settles into the seat beside you with a low grunt. The old engine rattles to life with a familiar whine, coughing up a small cloud of smoke before smoothing into a steady purr.

Poiko stands at the edge of the path now, arms crossed over his wide chest, squinting against the misty rain as it drizzles over the four of you. He lifts a thick hand in farewell as you ease the speeder forward, tires splashing through puddles as you start down the muddy road.

You lean out the side slightly, waving back with a grin so wide it makes your cheeks ache.

“See you soon, Poiko!” you call over the hum of the engine.

Poiko only shakes his head and lifts his hand higher, his rough face softening with something like affection as he watches you go.

The speeder bumps along the rutted path, the countryside unfolding around you in rolling swaths of gray and green. Rain dapples the worn windshield, the wipers barely keeping up as you pick up speed, the mist curling like breath around the edges of the road and along the muddy trail, throwing up small sprays of rainwater from its worn repulsorlift pads. You lean back against the cracked seat, feeling the mist dampen your hair as the rain thins into a lazy drizzle.

Grogu snoozes quietly against your chest, tucked snugly in the folds of your shawl, his little hand curled into your tunic as you enjoy the flickering wind.

Din shifts beside you, glancing back over his shoulder at the shrinking figure of Poiko’s house. His armor clinks softly with the movement. When he twists forward again, you catch the low grumble from his modulator.

“He doesn’t like me,” he says.

You hide a grin behind your hand, casting him a sideways glance. “Poiko doesn’t like anyone,” you whisper back, voice warm with amusement.

Din’s helmet tilts slightly, surprisingly considering your words. “He likes you.”

You grin openly now, your eyes crinkling with mischief.

“That’s different. I fixed his broken repulsorlift once and never charged him for it,” you explain softly, leaning your head back to let the thinning droplets settle over your bare face. “He’s been trying to adopt me ever since.”

Din shifts again, the leather of his gloves creaking as he adjusts his grip on the controls. He glances once more toward the fading outline of Poiko’s home.

“He looks like he could break me in half,” he mutters.

“He probably could,” you reply in a mock-serious tone, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “So you better stay on his good side.”

Din huffs under his breath, almost a chuckle, and his helmet tilts as if he’s throwing you a look you wish you could see. “And how do I do that?”

You smile, brushing a thumb gently over Grogu’s soft ear and feeling your cheeks warm with a comfortable heat, even under the chill of the elements.

“Be nice to me.”

Din’s voice lowers almost teasingly, one arm shifting against the back of your headrest. You’re not sure why or how, but the small gesture makes you swoon.

“I am nice to you.”

You turn your head toward him, catching the faint glint of his visor through the misty air, and for a heartbeat, the world feels simple, with just the three of you in the soft gray rain as you admire your companion's wonderful, steely profile.

“Yeah," you murmur, voice thick with something you don't dare name. "You are."

The speeder rattles steadily beneath you, the worn old machine pushing onward through the misty countryside. Fields roll by, waterlogged and golden-green, trees dripping in the last threads of rain. Somewhere far off, a low river sings against the rocks.

You adjust Grogu carefully in your arms, smoothing a hand over his head before glancing back at Din, a mischievous twinkle returning to your eye.

“You know, if you smile really nicely, Poiko might even let you call him ‘dad.’”

Din presses a little more firmly on the throttle, the speeder lifting off the muddy ground, skimming just a breath above the earth.

“I’ll take my chances,” the man replies, voice stiff yet so full of life you’ve longed to discover, and now? You think you might have the chance to.

You match his gruff with a soul-filled laughter, letting it carry between you like bells in clean, damp air. And with the stutter of daylight, you set off toward Mon Kilim, leaving the cozy hearthlight of Poiko’s house flickering like a beacon behind you as your eyes slowly glaze over with sleep, the gentle elements lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

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