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kylowritten · 1 year

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If the Slipper Fits

Pairings: Kylo Ren x ForceSensitive!Reader

Summary: Nobody wants to be the woman whose foot fits that slipper.

Warnings: MATURE, 18+; dubious consent, oral sex (male receiving), hair pulling, no aftercare but yet kind of aftercare

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Please accept my apology about updating Part Eight late in the form of this smut😂 Also, I’ve been laughing to myself about posting this Easter weekend. But if God didn’t want me to write filthy fanfiction then why make Kylo so damn fine??

Part Nine

“On your knees.”

Kylo pushes his chair back from the table, giving you ample room to kneel before him. You obey. His tone hardly suggests any other option. The stone floor bites into your skin through the thin material of your dress.

It’s been awhile since you’ve prayed — the districts all had different beliefs and you never found any worth pursuing. Perhaps, you think, it’s because they had been honoring heroes and gods and now you knelt before the devil himself and realized that you would worship him as long as he allowed you to, if only to surrender yourself to him and gaze upon his divinity.

He gazes at you like he knows this, like you are the disciple that he has been waiting for.

“Don’t make me ask you again.”

You know what he wants. But, instead, you snatch a cloth napkin from the table and begin dabbing at the front of his pants. You start at the inside of his muscular thighs, purposefully lingering. He shifts in his chair as you work your way up. As you press the cloth, you feel his cock grow hard beneath you, straining against the fabric of his pants.

A gasp tears from your throat as he suddenly grabs a fistful of hair near your scalp and yanks you back. “Enough,” he growls. “With your mouth.”

You drop the napkin. Still ensnared in his grip, pain prickles across your scalp. He holds you in place while he fumbles for the buckle on his belt, capturing your rapt attention as he finally works it free. The sound of the belt falling open echoes through the feast hall.

The breath catches in your lungs.

His cock springs forward, liberated from his pants, and slaps against his stomach. A groan forms in his chest as the cool air greets him, and in the dim lighting, he resembles every painting and sculpture you’ve seen of fallen heroes, of angels, of devils. He is your religion.

And you are more than willing to receive your sacrament.

He pushes his pants down his hips and thighs so that they pool at his feet. His cock curves upward, threaded by veins that you ache to trace with your tongue. He uses his opposite hand to spread the bead of pre-cum along the smooth surface of his head, and then uses his large hand to fist the base of his cock.

A deep, greedy hunger opens in your stomach.

“What are you waiting for?” He asks.

While transfixed by your arousal, you manage to keep a clear mind. There’s still a part of you that wants to rebel, to ignore his commands.

You put your lips to the expanse of his thigh now exposed to you. The sweet, heady taste of wine dances across your tongue, eliciting a primal response from you — the combination of his skin and the wine are almost too much. Your head swims with delight.

You swipe your tongue along his thigh under the pretense of lapping up the spilled wine, your lips sticky and swollen, then move to his next thigh. Kylo strokes himself lazily while he watches. He hums in approval as you ghost over his balls, taking each into your mouth briefly before settling between his legs. Why delay the main course while sampling on appetizers?

Your mouth closes over his cock. Keeping only his head in your mouth, you lick along the underside of it and swirl your tongue around it’s impressive girth. You’re eager to take him fully but first you must enjoy every moment.

Kylo’s head falls back, dark hair like raven wings falling to the sides and revealing the column of his throat, which bobs as you slowly accept more of him.

It strikes you as unfair that you can’t press your mouth against his throat, his jaw, the hollow beneath his ear — you want to touch him everywhere at once. But you’re afraid that if you disobey him that he will remove himself and you’re desperate to take whatever you can get.

His cock disappears as you guide it down your throat, gagging slightly as your mouth reaches his base. You hollow your cheeks and apply pressure. He moans, and the guttural response from him elicits a fiery heat in you, and you copy the same motion again, faster. More fervently.

“There’s no rush, little mouse,” he breathes. His hand tightens around the fistful of your hair again, hindering you momentarily.

You blink up at him, mouth slick and coated with a mixture of spit and maroon colored wine.

Impatient, you reach out with your hands to take him again and he jerks your head. “Just your mouth,” he orders.

“Yes,” you reply, breathless.

You cry out once more as he yanks your hair. Pain explodes across your scalp. “Is that the way for you to address your prince?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” you amend.

When he does not pull your hair again, you take this as a sign to resume your worship, and you put your lips to him. Up and down, up and down. You obey him, however reluctant you are, and linger with each stroke. His cock slides so nicely in and out of your mouth. The back of your throat begins to ache but you ignore it, the way that you suppose a drowning man would gulp water, uncaring of the discomfort, desperate to quench the thirst. Again and again you pleasure him.

Instead of signaling you to quicken your pace, he forces you down on his cock. A strangled noise leaves you as he begins to control the frequency of your strokes, until he is effectively using you as just a mouth. Just a mouth to enable him. Tears spring to your eyes.

“You’ll remember this,” he pants. A look of deranged passion has possessed him, tainted with anger and resentment. “You’ll remember this the next time that you don’t listen. The next time that you open this smart mouth.”

You choke out a reply.

You’ve never been used so forcefully before, any consideration for your enjoyment vanishing so quickly. Perhaps you were a fool for believing that his punishments would lack substance, that you held any power. You were just a lowly follower, after all — a rat. And what were the opinions of rats in the company of the devil?

It disturbs you that the nature of his behavior has done nothing to dampen the heat between your own thighs.

Suddenly and without care, he pulls his cock from your throat. An incensed expression crosses his face, still achingly beautiful in its fit of rage. His stroke is much faster now, his hand sliding with ease from the wetness of your mouth. Drool rolls down your chin but you don’t dare reach for it. You couldn’t anyway, enraptured by the sight of Kylo pumping his engorged cock. A stream of whispered expletives drop from his lips and, despite the aching in your throat, in your chest — in your mind — you press your fingers to your swollen clit through your dress.

Kylo’s lips curl with effort as he nears his climax, body trembling. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” He asks. “Do not make me delay my own pleasure in order to teach you another lesson in obedience.”

You moan in protest. The pressure, the arousal you feel is almost unbearable.

Without giving you time to concede, he shoves his cock back into your mouth, making you sputter and gasp. His body coils with tension. Weeping, you cry out with him as he finally reaches his orgasm and his cum hits the back of your throat, warm and rich and salty. You gag but he keeps your head in place as he comes so you have no choice but to swallow his expense.

Kylo stills. He keeps his cock in your mouth until it begins to soften, maintaining eye contact, and only then does he remove it. He replaces it with his thumb, however, pressing down on your tongue as he grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him. He inspects you.

He has throughly ruined you, and you can only imagine what he sees — your hair, escaped from its delicate styling, drool and cum coating your mouth and chin. Tears rolling down your face.

He releases your chin forcefully, pushing you aside.

You slump down. Legs trembling, your own hand flutters to your mouth. With tired, half-lidded eyes, you watch as he stands and adjusts himself, his pants starkly contrasted against his pale skin.

Ashamed, your gaze falls to the ground.

“You cannot excuse me againof not teaching you,” he says evenly. “Maybe now you will listen.”

His footsteps ring out as he turns from you and leaves. You’re not sure that you will ever be able to drink wine again.

An undecided amount of time passes while you sit, defeated, on the floor. A small part of you hopes that Kylo has returned when you hear more footsteps, but you realize — with unearned disappointment — that it is just a servant. It’s the man who served you the food from before, and he struggles to look you in the eye.

“Your Highness,” he says. “The prince has asked that I fetch you. He requests your presence.”

Your Highness. You realize then that by marrying Kylo you have also gained such a title. Garnering as much dignity as possible, you meet the gaze of the servant. “Then he shall retrieve me himself.”

How dare he think that he could dispose of you so carelessly and then you would run to him.

The servant shifts his weight. “He asked me, Your Highness. I am not in the position to deny him.”

“No, I don’t suppose anyone is,” you mutter. You bring yourself to your feet. “If you must, then bring me to my husband.”

Strangely enough, the servant, who goes by the name Sa’iak, brings you to the room that Lyssa had only hours before. Your brows knit in confusion.

“I thought you were bringing me to Kylo’s room.”

Sa’iak gestures towards the door. “I did.”

Your stomach twists. Lyssa brought you to Kylo’s room? It made sense, somewhat, that she would bring you to your husband’s room. It strikes you as strange now, though, that you had inhabited Kylo’s bedroom without knowing, without his knowledge. Recovering quickly, you thank Sa’iak then push your way through the door.

On the far side is a floor to ceiling window overlooking the forest. Kylo stands before it, hands at his side, back to you, his silhouette backlit by the last remnants of sunlight. You don’t say anything, just let the door click shut behind you.

“I can feel your anger,” he says without turning. “Do not blame the servant for the grievances you have with me.”

You clench your jaw. “His name is Sa’iak.”

Kylo’s flicker of annoyance resonates in you through your bond but he dismisses it.

“Sit down on the bed.”

You hesitate, then, thinking better of it, you cross the room and perch at the edge of the bed. You had slept in that bed, the same one that Kylo did every night. You shiver.

Kylo faces you then finally. He approaches the bed and to your surprise, sinks to the floor. His fingers are calloused. He gently removes your shoes and sets them to the side. You hold your body stiffly as he begins to undress you, slowly.

Carefully.

You whisper, “What are you doing?”

Kylo doesn’t respond, just continues his silent work. He slides the straps of your dress down your arms. You don’t find any point in asking again, so you lift your arms when he indicates, and step out of the dress. He takes you by the hand and you step, naked, away from the bed and towards the bathroom.

You’re too tired to argue. Unlike the bedroom, the bathroom is small and personal, white, with marble counters and an immaculate-looking tub near the center.

Kylo moves behind you. You can’t see him, but his presence overwhelms you to the point that you have to fight for every breath. He gently nudges your hair to the side, lips brushing over your shoulder as his hands move to your side and to the bandage still there.

He peels off the bandage and discards it. You protest, but he guides you into the tub and you slip down. Surprisingly, the water doesn’t bother your wound. In fact, it feels wonderful, enveloping your body and surrounding you in warmth.

Kylo rolls his sleeves to his elbows. He crouches besides the bath with a towel and wets it. His movements are slow and deliberate as he begins to wash your body. He takes care to wipe your face, around your mouth — he’s so close to you, and you try to implore him with your eyes but he pointedly avoids your gaze.

Is he trying to apologize? There’s no remorse that you can sense, but rather a soft determination.

You wonder if his actions will ever make sense.

Once he’s satisfied, he guides you to sit on the side of the tub. He leaves your sight for a moment then returns with a canister. You recognize it — it’s a disinfectant spray, one that only the wealthy can afford. He makes a show of popping off the cap, as if to give you a chance to realize what he’s doing.

You hiss as the disinfectant spray hits your side.

“Almost done,” Kylo says.

The wound feels cold, and is cool to the touch. Kylo replaces the bandage with a much smaller one, constructed from fabric that quickens the healing process. His fingers ghost over it.

“Thank you,” you softly say.

His dark eyes meet yours. There’s an unspoken emotion there, churning, like the depths of the ocean. His mouth twitches.

“You need to rest,” he replies.

You let your body go limp as one of his arms goes around your back and the other scoops you from under your knees. He lifts you effortlessly. You’ve never cared to be picked up but this time it’s not panic-inducing. He moves smoothly, confidently, as if he’s not even carrying any added weight at all. He lays you down on the bed.

You crawl beneath the covers, the plush comforter sliding over your bare skin.

“Are you going to rest, too?” You ask. You’re not thinking clearly. Already, you feel yourself drifting. Although you’re now warm and clean and, surprisingly, pampered, you can’t forget what happened in the feast hall. But you’re too tired to sort out those feelings now.

It’s dark in the room now. Kylo’s face is obscured in shadows as he lingers beside the bed. “No,” he says. “I have a matter that needs addressing.”

At one point in the night you think that Kylo might’ve joined you in the bed. He’s not there in the morning, however, and if he ever was you don’t remember him touching you. The opposite side of the bed is made nicely, unbothered. You sit up, holding the comforter to your chest.

You venture, “Kylo?”

No response.

Laying on the armchair across from the bed is an outfit — dark pants and a long, plum-colored tunic. Did Kylo pick this out for you? Eager to get dressed before someone sees you, you tiptoe to the armchair and slip on the clothes. They’re comfortable, much more so then the dresses that you usually are expected to wear.

After experiencing the confusing tunnels in the cave, the layout of the palace feels simple. You don’t know where Kylo is and, frankly, you’re not sure if you want to see him. The back of your throat aches with each swallow, your knees chapped from the prolonged time on the ground. And yet, as you creep into the feast hall looking for breakfast, you can’t help but look immediately where you had been and feel a rush of pleasure wash over you.

“Your Highness!” Lyssa bustles out of the kitchen, holding a tray. She motions for you to sit down. “My apologies, breakfast was already served but the prince ordered us to let you sleep. I saved this for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, watching as she unloads a plate brimming with food. You do your best to appear nonchalant. “Where is Kylo?”

“He’s not here.”

Your body tenses. You whip around, a strange sensation settling over you.

A man enters the feast hall with his hands clasped behind his back. His face is lined with wrinkles and you catch a glimpse of grey hair beneath his cap. He strides into the feast hall, and Lyssa immediately scurries away.

You get the sense that this man is not someone you want to be alone with.

“Where is he?” You ask again, tone hardened.

The man sniffs, “I’ve sent him away.” He rounds the table and takes a seat across from you. “I was rather hoping to get a word with you.”

“And you are?”

A wicked, sickly smile crosses his face. “I am your husband — and now your — Royal Advisor. My name is Sheev Palpatine.”

(Bonus A/N: At one point in “Friends”, Rachel tries her hand at writing smut. I can’t remember the exact line but she starts off with something like “liberating himself from his pants” and now I include it in all of my smut scenes😂)

Part Ten

Kylo’s POV

- - -

@juniperwoodwell

@eternal-mikrokosmos

@judypahtootee

#cinderella #fanfic #force sensitive #forced marriage #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo x reader #kylo x you #one thousand and one nights #star wars #smut

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ao3feed--reylo · 1 year

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Behind the Tall Trees

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/oxfIH51

by cuorebianco

Rey Niima decides to invite her friend and long-time crush to join her for a swim at the lake near her house, but something comes up and Poe can’t hang out with her anymore. Against her better judgment, she decides to go alone.

Words: 3359, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Categories: F/M

Characters: Rey (Star Wars), Ben Solo | Kylo Ren

Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Dry Humping, Rey is 14, Ben is 40, Sorry Not Sorry, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, 1990's, pervert Ben Solo, Grooming, Ambiguous/Open Ending

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/oxfIH51

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Star Wars #Star Wars Sequel Trilogy #Reylo #Rey #Ben Solo #Kylo Ren #AO3 #ne

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brooklynislandgirl · 2 years

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@kylo-wrecked {{xx}}

She doesn’t remember how she got…here, or where here really is. The sense of smell so sharp in her is dulled like an overused knife by the congestion in her head and in her lungs, which in turn saps her strength. It is familiar enough though that she doesn’t fight it even if she’d rather be in her own bed. Everything is too cold and her body shivers; it is the heat trying to burn away illness that spikes her core temperature. Andy was of no help to her, hovering just at the edge of her perception, not wanting to catch whatever’s going around but not wholly capable of letting her languish without him, but half the time he doesn’t seem to hear her. She drifts on the tides of the dream-sea. The sky above her is so full of unfamiliar stars to navigate by though once in a while she gathers as much power as she can muster to reach for them; the way they would navigate in the olden days, with fixed stars that created maps handed down in old songs and between fingers. Fingers. Her own that feel disembodied and floating in front of her, seeking for anything that will help keep her earth-bound. What they find is his wrist and she latches on to the lifeline of him to feel the beat of his heart until a wracking shudder robs her of any willpower and she has no choice to let go. She has no idea how long it takes for her to fall back onto soft lumps of cloud. There’s a word for them but not that she can remember just then. Perhaps the word was lost when Andy becomes Ben becomes a jackal god come to guide her to halls of judgement, which would be very odd, that’s not a part of her paradigm. Sebehy er rut ta desehert Iw iyin s n kekw Em Seshet’w djuu senefu

Crying out from the Red Land, came a man of darkness, with evil bloody secrets. But that’s ridiculous. Ben doesn’t bleed. Certainly no longer and not for her. She does not thirst for it to sluice down her throat, hot and full of life. A flash of an image in her mind though is alluring; the palness of his skin beneath her lips. Her breath haltingly whispers a borderline sweet sigh, but the gaze slanted his way is verdant delirium shining like dawn through trees that haven’t grown on Tatooine in any memory, living or dead. But her slim dark brows a moment later attempt to morph together around the confused ridges. Ben is haunted by old ghosts. They crowd in around him and breath icily upon his neck but never manifest distinctly. They simply sweep through and around him leaving behind things that seem to swim in the depths of his eyes, so dark now they are moonless nights guarded by the gates of his lashes, but she swears she can feel them just the same. She doesn’t want to see them any more than he likely does, and closes her eyes. It takes its toll on her and she swallows down the desire to be sick. He bathes her brow though, fighting Pele’s fires back with the grace of Nāmaka and she tries to murmur her gratitude at the feeling of Mother’s kiss on sweat laden skin. She can’t though, because of the vibrations. They begin in her bones. Pure sound, tremulous and too full of grief. Comes from somewhere deep in his chest, buried under the weight of everything he holds back with each transition of the Twin Suns. It comes from very far away. The resonance is inside of her chest. The effect is as mad as Orpheus’ flight. She offers him the lyrics he leaves off, thinking perhaps she’s succumbed to the sleep she so desperately needs. Whether it’s delirium or that way she talks…so often responding to things he’s said or asked with what seems like nonsense, because she genuinely has no idea that she’s garbled words in the nebulous space between her ears and her brain, or not caught the nuance of the twist of his lips…only he can judge. “....Is s-s-stealin’....da dimes….”

#kylo-wrecked #Stardust|Ben Solo #Parallel Lines|Ben and Beth #Rusty Cage|ExCon verse #Cruisin' Mos Espa|A Place Called Tatooine

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readingreylo · 2 years

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Summer Reylo Fics

I know, I know, I know -- Summer is almost over 🙃

that green light, i want it by SecretReyloTrash | @lyresandlasers | Explicit | 9.8k | Two shot | PWP | Modern AU | Summer Vibes: Unbearable heat | Strangers | Random hook up | Public Sex | Public Transportation | Communting | ch 1 Ben POV | ch 2 Rey POV | "Maybe it’s being baked alive inside public transport, but there’s something dreamy about her, unreal. Or too real, in a time that he paid little attention to the people around him, just music or a book or staring at the streets out the window. He accepts the impulse. The closeness of her, her bare shoulders, the way her clothes fit over her skin. He tries to prevent his legs from brushing hers, but it’s the fit of the tiny seat and his large body. But she doesn’t glare at him when it happens, like some women do. She doesn’t flinch away, like she’s been burned. Ben has a long commute home. Rey enjoys the ride."

The Long Summer by deedreamer | @deedreamer | Explicit | 13k | Complete | Modern AU | Summer Vibes: School Vacation, Sticky heat, Skinny dipping, Sunburn | Older brother's best friend | Sexting | Sexual Tension | College students | Garage Band | Multi POV | "He’s Rey's older brother's best friend. He watched her grow up and still teases her mercilessly. It's summer break, and the heat finally gets to Rey as she works up the nerve to flirt with Ben Solo -- the boy she grew up with who's quite suddenly become a man. Soon, she's skinny dipping, swapping secret dirty texts, and thinking all kinds of insane thoughts. And then one day, Ben sends Rey a picture of his perfect, huge... Whoa. Damn, boy. DAMN! Now, Rey can think of nothing else but getting her mouth on him. EVERYWHERE."

💖 between two lives by neonheartbeat | Explicit | 31k | complete | Modern AU | Summer vibes: Scorching heat, Bonfire, Outdoor sex | Strangers to lovers | Fashion Model!Rey | Mechanic!Ben Solo | PTSD | military backstory | sexual disfunction | psychological trauma | Rey POV | Rey Niima, a model driving from Chicago to New York, finds herself broken down in the middle of nowhere, Indiana, without any way to fix her rented car. Ben Solo, the big, silent, resident jack-of-all-trades in Kirby, a town with almost two hundred people, happens to come across her on the road, and offers her a place to wait for a tow, but Ben has a secret he's not willing to share, and Rey is determined to find out what it is...

Enjoy!

☀️🌊🍉🌴⛱️🍦

#reylo #reylo fic rec #reylo fanfiction #reylo au #reylo fic #jess made something #moodboard

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unexpectedreylo · 3 years

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Adam Driver's Appeal...Explained!

Chances are if you're reading this, you're probably a Reylo or at least a rat* and you already find Adam Driver attractive.

But with another Adam Driver Season upon us with not one or two but three movies coming between now and Turkey Day as well as the ad campaign for Burberry's Hero, again will arise the question...why do those people find him hot? You know the drill. "He's not good looking." "He always plays problematic characters." "He's weird."

Well, keep this little essay handy to answer the naysayers and the befuddled. These things are always subjective and not everybody appeals to everyone. We're all particular creatures. In fact, I did not find Adam hot until his Kylo Ren years and it took until the second film for me to admit it. But there's an explanation though for why we just can't resist fantasies of rubbing that fake tummy he has on the set of his new movie or why the internet exploded with those HOT new pics from his fragrance ad.

1. Sexual magnetism

Marlon Brando had it. Mick Jagger has it. And Adam has it in SPADES. It's one of those things you can't manufacture. You either have it or you don't (though it can take time to become comfortable with it). The best way to articulate it is that such a man exudes a bit of danger, a bit of mystery, a bit of vulnerability but can take control whenever you need him or want him to, a whole lot of confidence, and passion. He can break down your guard, cross your boundaries, and get you to do all kinds of things you never would ordinarily. And such men have the ladies in the palm of their hands. In Adam's case, his big meaty hands. Yet he only has eyes for the missus, at least as far as we know, and a proud dad which paradoxically makes him even more attractive. A sexy man who can have anyone but commits? Yes, please.

It doesn't have anything at all to do with looks. You don't have to be an Adonis. But as long as we're on the subject...

2. He's actually quite handsome

You know what they say...he's "weird looking." But is he? Granted, he seems to have grown into his looks from his mid-20s to the present and as my mom says, money makes you beautiful. Still, he has expressive eyes, kissable full lips, a gorgeous head of hair the envy of men and women alike, an interesting profile, and a great body.

3. Yet his attractiveness is accessible

Look at your typical Hollywood hunk and unless you're a model or actress, you think, "I'd have no chance with that guy." But Adam looks and behaves like somebody you'd know, just with a little more polish. Someone who lived your street, went to your school or church, worked with you at your first job. We get a kick out of his goofy pre-fame photos or seeing him wear the same stuff over and over because those things make him relatable. His many freckles and moles show that you don't have to have a plain porcelain skin to be attractive. Other actors might have pinned back their ears or capped their teeth to fit a Hollywood mold of perfection. But not our guy. The ears are cute and we love his toothy smile. The "elites" might dig him but he is a sex symbol for the people.

4. He's complex

Who is this guy???

He's odd, goofy, and socially awkward but can command a stage or a set like nobody's business. He can be just as convincing in comedy as in drama or tragedy. He tells dad jokes and geeks out over medieval art one day, blows cigarette smoke at a camera on live t.v. like a bad boy rock star on another. He can be at home in Star Wars or just as at home singing from an actress's hoo-hah. He's arty and still proud of his service as a Marine. His star grows brighter yet he remains fiercely private, not even having a social media account. He'll turn into a centaur in a fragrance ad and swim with gators just for a photo shoot. He will also play baseball with little Baby Driver.

He will eat all of the cereal in your home and once feasted upon an entire rotisserie chicken every day for lunch.

His brand is that he has no brand. You can't really figure him out.

5. He's great at what he does

Everyone loves talent, skill, determination, and drive. You don't have to like everything he's in but you'd have to be a dedicated anti to think he's not one of the best working today and Kylo Ren/Ben Solo wouldn't be as beloved without him. His work ethic and professionalism are undeniable. He sucks at skiing by his own admission but he took it upon himself to learn enough to be able to shoot scenes for House of Gucci without having to use a double. He got a bus license and drove routes for Paterson. He even learned how to bang out morse code for his small role in Lincoln though it was unnecessary. Even for this Burberry ad, he swam like an Olympic champion. He brings his A game every time and delivers ever time and doesn't rest until it's right. Which leads to my next point...

6. He plays vulnerable characters who are still recognizably masculine

Someone on a FB group posted a remark her boyfriend made while watching Marriage Story or something about why women like Adam, and that was he plays emotionally available men. It's clear he does not like playing two dimensional characters. He always looks for what's human about them and regardless of how good, bad, or powerful they are, he exposes their soft underbelly. As one critic put it, he understands the difference between vulnerable and weak. I think this is a big part of why Kylo/Ben became so popular. Old Hollywood might have had a lot of "strong silent" types but if you pay close attention, the movies were really about punching through that mystique in a way that was acceptable to audiences at the time. Now audiences are a lot more open to "sensitive" guys but it has also kind of swung to characterizing men as wimpy, immature, incompetent, or too much in touch with their "feminine" side. Adam's characters though still behave like men. Whether he’s playing a hero, an antihero, a sweet husband, or a total jerk, I never get the impression I have more testosterone than he does.

7. He's funny

For all of his famed intensity, he can be very disarming with his sense of humor. It's dry without being so dry you don't get he's being facetious and definitely without being mean. He can definitely laugh at himself and that’s always attractive.

Bonus:

His sex scenes don’t hurt either. Tumblr won’t let me post them. Sorry.

*= Twitter nickname for Adam's stans/fans/devotees. It either came from "r*tlo" or his Law And Order episode where he flips out over the improper feeding of lab rats, maybe both. Comparable to Lady Gaga's Little Monsters, Swifties, Rhianna's navy, or whatever.

#adam driver #reylo #kylo ren #ben solo

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friendlyneighborhooddolan · 2 years

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Little Wing

warnings: This story has some descriptive stuff. Age gap (7 years). Sexual and graphic things, alcohol and drug use. Trigger warning for this part: drug and alcohol abuse

pairing: Kylo Ren x reader

summary: In which one gets a live concert

word count: 1.8K

Masterlist

The new masterlist link – it's a masterlist just for this fic. It includes a bit of a summary for the next part and it also has links for spotify playlists – one for Kylo, one for Angel, one for the whole fic.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Chapter eight

A few days have passed, and Kylo didn’t hear from Y/N. He started to worry, but one evening his phone notified him of a message from the girl.

His car read it out slowly.

“Are you home”

no.

be there in ten.

“Okay see you then”

Kylo was confused, but he hit the gas pedal. Whatever she needed, it was obviously urgent.

Not even five minutes after he entered his home, Y/N knocked on his door.

“Hi, Kylo,” she greeted him, a polite smile drawn on her face.

“Darling, come in.” Kylo gestured towards the inside of his home, and Y/N tried not to blush at the new nickname. No, she’s here for a reason.

They were sitting on the bench in his backyard, drinking her favorite soda and looking at the sunset. It was warm outside, and Kylo wanted to swim most of all – but he stayed, wanting to be close to her.

“You needed to talk?” He broke the silence, drinking from the bottle.

The girl played with the straw he put in her drink. She looked at him, studying his face.

“Your freckles look like cocoa powder,” she blurted out, her words coming out of her mouth before she registered them in her mind.

Kylo laughed, “Why, thank you,” he replied.

“Your nails look like celery. It’s the perfect color match.”

“Did them today.” She looked down at her hands that were holding the bottle. They were indeed the shade of green that really fucking looked like celery.

He did really analyze every single thing on everyone. He always saw the little details she never could. She inhaled softly.

“Kylo, we need to talk.”

Kylo nodded, knowing this conversation could go two ways, and he was nervous, so he just said: “Yes?”

“We would be better off as friends,” she muttered out, and it took Kylo a few seconds to register those words.

Y/N was still learning how to be a grown-up. She pays her bills, does her own laundry, cooks her own dinner. Tries not to cry at her own words.

He furrowed his eyebrows, looking at her while putting the glass bottle on the bench.

“What?”

“Kylo, I–” She didn’t really know what to say, “Don’t look at me like that.” tumbled on Kylo instead.

“A beast can never be as cruel as a human being, so artistically, so picturesquely cruel,” he answered. He looked at her again. He didn’t look mad and it reminded her of those times when her mother would look at her all disappointed when she was a child.

“Did you just quote Dostoevsky?” She was exasperated. How was she cruel? Kylo created his own world in his imagination where, magically, they would live together, forever. It wasn’t like that. Kylo should have known better.

“So it meant nothing to you? The kiss, the letter? I– I don’t know what to say.” Kylo’s eyes fell upon his hands.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, “ Of course it meant something, Kylo. It means something. I just– I am focusing on my education. I can’t really be with a man who does something you do for a living, y’know? And the fact that my father–”

“So this is what it’s about? Your father again? I thought you have forgiven me, Y/N,” Kylo boomed, an ironic laugh coming after his words. He looked like he was about to cry.

“I never said I have forgiven you, Kylo! My father is still dead!” The girl stood up abruptly. Kylo stayed put.

“So, look me in the eyes. Tell me you never thought of me like I think of you. Tell me I meant nothing to you. Tell me this was a lie,” his words sounded harsher than intended, but the girl still turned her back to him, keeping quiet.

He laughed bitterly while looking at her walking away.

That evening, Kylo felt particularly self-destructive, so when Cardo invited the man out, he accepted.

It was fun. Kylo had fun for the first time in a while, and after the whiskey came snow and after them came whiskey and Kylo finally let himself relax, dancing the pain away. He forgot about her. But when a woman threw herself at him, he almost felt disgusted.

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” He boomed over the loud music.

“Your dream,” the woman replied softly, and Kylo’s face showed disgust.

“Ma’am, respectfully, get the fuck off of me,” he replied, almost pushing the woman away. She looked annoyed, realizing the man she wanted was not in the mood.

“Fuck you, Kylo Ren,” she spat, straightening her dress.

“You wish, miss,” he replied with a smirk.

At four in the morning, Kylo Ren was dropped off in front of his house, Cardo not letting him drive under influence. He stumbled, laughing at nothing really, and he found himself under Y/N’s window.

–

What the fuck, or rather, who, was making this much noise?

She heard her name being called, followed by a few nicknames, as she rubbed sleep from her eyes.

The girl laughed, going to the window to see Kylo Ren, drunk, calling her name for, what, the sixth time?

“Angel, please,” he slurred, yelling a bit, “Angel, open the door.”

Y/N ignored him, not wanting him to notice she’s awake now. Kylo couldn’t see her standing on the window, the darkness of the room hiding his girl.

“I’ll start singing, Y/N. Be prepared, baby, I’m gonna win you back!”

The girl chuckled softly, her heart constricting a bit in need to help him. She didn’t dare to move.

“Well she’s walking through the clouds,” he started, and her heart fluttered again. She hummed along to the melody, “Through the clouds, with a circus mind that’s running wild.”

He was off key, but it still warmed her heart.

Kylo sang again, and then he really started dancing in front of Y/N’s window. The girl full on laughed. He sang the guitar solo, and she knew the melody by heart. She really wanted to flung the window open, to tell him it’s okay, they’ll talk tomorrow, he’ll wake the whole neighborhood, everyone’s gonna be pissed.

The light on the ground floor flooded her vision, and the girl cringed because Kylo just woke up Jade, and Jade gets really pissy when someone wakes her up if they have classes in a few hours.

“This song is not for you ma’am. It’s for my girl,” he boomed, interrupting his own concert. Y/N snickered when she heard Jade opening the window and calling him names, laughed when he flipped her off.

This version of Kylo wasn’t expected, but something about it was so endearing. He was acting like a child, and she really wanted to go downstairs and kiss him breathless now.

He looked up at her window, sending a kiss, and stumbling back with a peace sign, his left hand up in the air, singing the lyrics to the song again.

Oh, Kylo, what are you doing?

She went back to sleep, smiling and – did she really feel butterflies now?

If you don’t know where you’re going, grab a compass and hold it to a magnet, watch the needle spin in circles.

Here is a truth about the universe: your GPS is not infallible and once or twice it will tell you to drive into a lake instead of your grandparents’ house. You are intelligent enough not to be the first four minutes of a horror movie and drive down that creepy road that looks like it could out-creep Candyman.

Here is a truth about the universe: your parents have no idea what the fuck they are doing and they’re basically just trying to get by with their children in one piece. For proof, ask your mother to drive you to your best friend’s house and smile when she asks you where is it again? even though she’s been there a little bit over a hundred times.

Here is a truth about the universe: we all take a wrong turn sometimes – we go left when we’re supposed to go right and it ends up being the best choice we ever made in our life. Maybe you’ll meet a crazy man with cool sneakers preaching about our environment, and maybe someone ends up dead.

Will the people forgive you for taking a wrong turn?

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eddiesfaerie · 4 years

Text

Pet

Summary: You accompany the Supreme Leader to one of his meetings. Unsurprisingly, you become desperate for attention. (2.2k words) ao3 link here

Warnings: NSFW, noncon/implied noncon, f!reader, exhibitionism, memories of sex lol, thigh riding, canon typical violence, violence against reader??, Kylo Ren is not nice, choking, slapping, mentions of blood, bondage i guess (let me know if i missed anything!)

@elmidol: Kylo + “Tell them to fuck off.” okay so maybe i went off with this request... i literally couldn't help myself so i hope you enjoy!!!

The transparisteel of the throne room is always cold beneath your knees, you flinch anytime your thighs come into contact with it if you shift your position too much. It often left you with purpling bruises on your kneecaps, ones that never seem to fade anymore.

You accompany the Supreme Leader in any and every meeting he wants you in, which as of late, has been to every single one. If he asks for you, you’re there. At this point, you assume it’s just some form of punishment; because as much as you’re expected not to speak, you’re expected to stay awake and attentive.

Half the time you let your mind wander off into some fantasy. Sometimes it involves the Supreme Leader, remembering how he fucked you the night before, wondering if he’d do that thing with the Force again.

Other times it was about escaping. You were punished by him for both sorts of daydreams. Now you just try to keep your mind as blank as possible. Sometimes you almost manage to reach a meditative state if the meetings are long enough.

The air of his throne room is cold. Everyone else is dressed normally, of course. You don’t doubt that you’re the only one shivering in your own flesh. The thinnest scrap of useless silk cascades down your body, completely see-through and hides nothing of your body for anyone who dares sneak a glance in your direction.

Besides the scrap of material you think someone referred to as a dress once, the only other thing you wear is your collar and chain - a heavy, thick metal, one they definitely use on the ships and TIE fighters, you’ve concluded. It’s sturdy and basically indestructible to anyone who wasn’t Force sensitive.

The metal was branded ungraciously with anything but fancy letters or delicate swooping and curling. No, your Supreme Leader didn’t care to spoil you with niceties. Thick capital letters branded on to the front of the collar spelt out R-E-N.

Ren.

You're his. His thing, his object. Whatever he wants you to be, you became that. You belong to him. And you’ve long since accepted that. Once you stopped struggling, it became easier and at times… enjoyable.

You also think that the Supreme Leader’s become more comfortable around you as time has passed. He’s not as harsh with you anymore, not nearly as cruel as your first few weeks with him. He was nowhere near easy, or nice, or kind, or loving. He was none of that, but you were starting to like how sharp his edges were, how cold he could be.

It became a little game of yours; seeing how long it could take for you to crack him on certain nights, how long until he let you massage his shoulders, his arms, his thighs or let you suck his cock on your own accord. It’s rare but it actually works sometimes. Sometimes he lets you in.

If he’s tired enough, fucked out enough, or just had enough, he’ll let you do as you please, like a little fish cleaning up after the shark’s mess; he’ll let you have some scraps.

Sometimes, he hand feeds you the scraps. Like right now.

Your head is resting on his thigh as he sits back extremely reclined, leisurely, unbothered yet so, so bored. And his hand is on your skull, fingers scritching at your scalp.

It was intoxicating, he was intoxicating. You could fall asleep just like this -

But you can’t. The rule. The rule! You have to stay awake even though he’s visibly slacking right now, probably dozing off to some fantasy as he mindlessly scratches at your head.

You sneak a peek up in his direction only to find his eyes already on you. You nearly squeak as you look away, back at the people congregating in his throne room for whatever ‘important’ reason.

His eyes burn like suns, they welt and blister your skin and you try to clear your mind, making it a place of disinterest to him so he doesn’t feel the urge to go swimming in and around your thoughts as he so often does.

A quiet murmur resonates throughout the room, coming from no direction in particular, it’s just simply there. It’s the incoming of his voice through the Force, you know this now, you’ve become accustomed to it. It ripples towards you like tiny waves in a pond before you hear his voice clear and deep in your head.

“Come.”

His hand steadily leaves your scalp, coming to rest gently on his thigh; his way of asking you to come sit on his lap. He’s never asked this of you while in a meeting before, he never really cares to give you that much attention, fearing it'll give you an ego, make you think you're special or something.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, uselessly debating over something you have no say in.

Having already wasted enough of his energy on asking you politely, the Supreme Leader pulls on your chain, sending you hurling up off the ground and straight into his lap. You make an ugly noise, one of surprise and fear as you fall into him almost gracefully thanks to the tiny invisible touches of the Force along your skin.

He steadies you against him with one hand on your waist and the other pulling your chain tight, pinning your back to his wide chest. You straddle only one of his enormous thighs - bare cunt pressed flushed to the rough material of his pants - and he keeps you there, holds you still while you try to regain your breath from being moved so quickly yet so effortlessly.

You keep your eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out the several pairs of eyes that are taking in the scene before them, trying to tame your nerves and swallow down your shame and embarrassment. You're so visibly flustered, no doubt the Supreme Leader's getting a kick out of this.

You hear more rippling murmurs approaching you. Then a smooth leathered hand on your thigh, squeezing the flesh tight in his crushing grip.

“Eyes open, pet.”

You hesitate too long, still trying to regain your breath. That same hand on your thigh comes down hard, smacking your skin and letting the sound of slapped flesh and your wanton cry float through the room.

You try to curl towards him, to hide yourself in his broad frame but he holds you and your chain tight. His voice fills your head.

“You do as I say.”

You begin to answer him with a nod of your head but he cuts off your attempt.

“Out loud.”

You close your eyes and take in a deep, shuddering breath. Nothing could have prepared you for this unique type of degradation today. “Yes, sir.”

Only a few heads turn, no one daring to stare at you for too long. Like he had called you, you were his pet, that granted you some level of security.

The Supreme Leader makes some sort of contented sound with his throat. Whoever was speaking continues on with their speech while you finally manage to come down from such an overwhelming ordeal.

His hand stays on your thigh, tenderly massaging the flesh where he had hit you, emphasizing the sweet sting and letting it resonate throughout your body until it finds its way to your clit. The little pearl buzzes, needy for attention but you refrain from begging for mercy, for him to finish you off.

It's too easy for him to get you worked up. He must have been experimenting on you or something, like Pavlov's dogs or whatever. Anytime he touches you, even in the slightest, it sends you reeling for more, it turns you into some desperate whore, needy for whatever he would give you, whatever he deems you worthy of. Whether it was his spit or his flaccid cock in your mouth, you take it and accept it eagerly-

“Quiet.”

His sudden booming voice fills your head and sends you squeaking a silent apology back to him, your hips involuntarily jerking on his thigh. He pulls on your chain again, your back becoming flush with his chest, the length of your pussy dragging along his thigh leaving an embarrassingly sticky trail in its wake. You keen at the sensation, wondering if he was doing this to you on purpose.

“Doing what?”

You huff out a non-response, telling yourself you would roll your eyes right now if it wouldn’t get you-

“Punished.”

You audibly groan, rocking your hips onto his thigh on purpose this time. Fuck, he was so infuriating, so difficult to deal with. You’re thankful you’re just his plaything, not someone who has to deal with him professionally. He’s impossible.

You ignore the heads that turn in your direction this time and focus on the unsatisfying clench of your pussy around nothing. You know he feels it, feels the way your pussy is throbbing with its own heartbeat for him right now. He knows how desperate you are, he must…

Silence.

No response from him.

Maker, you could cry right now. He's usually so easy to rile up. So easy to frustrate, to annoy, to anger.

Yet he gave you no bruising grip on your thigh or waist, no warning for you to stop. Nothing.

His hand retreated from your thigh and now lounged on the armrest of his giant throne. His other hand doing the same. You feel the warmth radiating off of his chest leave you as he leans back against the throne. He was spreading himself out so wide and so far away from you.

You know he must still be wandering around in your mind, he has to be. There was no way he wasn’t doing this on purpose.

So you project.

You imagine all the ways he’s taken you, all the places and surfaces he’s bent you over just to relieve his tension, his anger, not caring if you came or not. You often did but it was never with any special care from him, just the pure shock and intensity of his fat cock, impaling you over and over again until you couldn’t help but cum all over him and sob from overstimulation, begging for more despite the pain, despite the blood-

The lights in the room flicker and whoever’s speaking stutters at the sudden distraction, but then continues on discussing… whatever it was they’re discussing.

You continue as well, remembering all the different way he’s punished you: for accidentally chanting his name as if in prayer when you’ve become so cock drunk and fucked out that it was the only thing that you could possibly think of.

Kylo, Kylo, Kylo.

You remember how he’s slapped you, hit you with the unforgiving and weighted metal of his lightsaber hilt. How he’s bruised you, burned you, marked you with his teeth, his lips, his weapon. You remember it all and you shamelessly rut yourself against his thigh, the building pressure in your clit making your mind blank to anything else except getting yourself off on him.

Fuck, you need him. You need him so badly, need him like the moons need their planet, like a planet needs their all devouring sun, a celestial body to rotate around or else they become meaningless, drifting off into space without a serving purpose.

Your body withers against his, your back threatening to arch off his chest if it weren’t for the death grip he’s got on your chain right now, keeping you in place like an obedient dog.

The lights continue to flicker. The muruming waves return and you scramble for what’s about to come next.

“Tell them to leave.”

His voice is steady yet it crackles with hopeful embers threatening to combust into something fiery and deadly.

What?

The lights in the room buzz loud and shine brighter than they ever have, like the stars in the sky before something magnificent happens. They shriek with strain until they burst, sending shards of glass flying throughout the room as they burn out, no doubt cutting people in the process.

A figment flies by your cheek and slivers your skin. You hiss at the contact, feeling something hot and thick roll down your cheek in its wake.

“Tell them," his voice booms, "to fuck off.”

“L-leave.” You speak, voice small, unsure and terrified. You’re not certain if anyone even heard you based on the minimal reaction you got. A few heads turn, surprised to hear the timid voice of the Supreme Leader’s pet.

Yet no one budges.

Your Supreme Leader’s hand snakes its way up to your throat, resting above your thick metal collar and crushes your windpipe in warning. You try again, this time, like he asked.

“F-fuck off.”

Someone, an idiot, dares to speak up with a voice quivering worse than your own, “S-Supreme Leader?”

“You heard her.” It’s the first time he’s spoken in hours. His voice is terrifyingly calm and sickeningly deep, you feel it resonate throughout your entire body, landing in the depths of your belly. You whimper pathetically, anticipating whatever storm is about to come.

Everyone stands, chair scraping against the floor and they file out through the giant throne room doors, letting the thick and heavy material seal you two away until your Supreme Leader is through with you.

#ummm why am i really happy with how this turned out #kylo ren x reader #reader insert #smut #kylo ren smut #kylo ren x you #kylo ren #my writing #request #elmidol

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babbushka · 3 years

Note

I am SO sorry if requests are closed, I wasn’t sure! I just wanted to request hearing about the first time Mob Boss Kylo held hands with his honey. I’m so soft for him!

1.5k cw: Jewish!reader, kylo & reader as teenagers (childhood best friends to eventual lovers when they grow up but just friends as of right now lol) fluff, mild angst (the mortifying ordeal of being a teenager and going through puberty)

His palms are sweating, because of course they are. It’s your bat mitzvah, and he wants nothing more than to ask you to dance, but dammit, you’re too pretty and it’s making him sweat and why the fuck would you want to dance with a guy with sweaty hands? So he stalks around the outskirts of the ballroom, watching and lurking like a creep as your school friends take turns twirling you around, your laugh bursting out of your mouth, your braces glinting in the sunlight from the way that you’re grinning so wide.

Good, he thinks, Kylo wants you to be happy. He’s gone through a great deal of bullshit to make sure that you’re happy but…but dammit he wishes he were the one making you smile that like. Catching Uncle Luke’s eye for a moment, Kylo ducks his head and blushes, because Uncle Luke raises a brow and nods his head in your direction, and shit there go his palms again.

Why was this so mortifying? He’s your bodyguard, he’s spent more time with you than anyone. You were the closest thing to a best friend to him, if he allowed himself to think about it like that. So why was he shaking in his fucking dress shoes, rubbing his hands against his nice pressed trousers? He’s ready to bolt, ready to call the whole damn thing off – when he feels a hand on his arm.

“Everything okay?” You ask him, startling him so much that he nearly bumps over an entire display of pretty champagne glasses. The tips of his ears that poke out from under his yarmulke go bright red as he rights himself, but your eyes are only sparkling with laughter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“Yes – I mean no – I mean.” He stumbles, not yet used to his long limbs, his growth spurt finally hit and hitting hard. Kylo clears his throat and speaks in his newly deepened voice, “Everything’s okay.”

You don’t buy it for one second, he can tell. You’re a walking talking lie detector, have been ever since your family started asking you to sit in on meetings a few years ago. Unlike the unlucky schmucks that you interrogate though, you don’t have an interest in pressing the issue with Kylo.

“Do you like my dress?” You ask instead, giving a showy spin, the tulle skirt flowing and making you look like the princess everyone in the tri-state area knew you were. There was even a tiara poised on your head, and Kylo can only think of how correct that image is, thinks how you should be wearing one every day. You spin again and smile, “I know you were there when we picked it out but, does it still look okay?”

“You look…” He tries not to be weird, tries not to be gross, he’s a couple years older than you, you’re like a sister to him – no wait, that wasn’t right, he can’t stand his fucking sister. He doesn’t know what you are. But he doesn’t want to weird you out so he winces as he lamely replies, “Great.”

“Thanks.” You laugh at his awkward compliment, and dammit the tips of his ears are burning. He wishes he could grow his hair out one day to hide them, especially when you go serious all of a sudden and demand to know, “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.” Kylo lies, and you raise a brow, your arms crossing over your chest, catching him in it. He tries to cover, “I’m just, uh, keeping a lookout. You know. For danger.”

Kylo winces again, because the idea that you could possibly be in danger tonight is absolutely comical. The entire underground crime world has shown up for your bat mitzvah, some coming from Jersey, others from Philly, and some even all the way from Chicago. There were more guards and guys with guns in the ballroom than there were at the Pentagon tonight, and you both know it.

“Are you having fun?” Kylo asks, scratching the back of his neck, wishing he had some soda or something to drink. His own bar mitzvah wasn’t even this stressful for fuck’s sake.

“Not really.” You shrug one shoulder, and all of Kylo’s attention panics, zeroing in.

“What? Why not?” He stands up straighter, squares his shoulder, wondering what could be the problem, kicking himself for being so caught up in his complicated feelings to not notice that something had gone wrong.

“My favorite boy hasn’t asked me to dance all night. No matter how hard I keep hoping that he will.”

“Who? I swear to god I’ll find him (Y/N) – ” Kylo’s vision goes red, and he bares his crooked teeth just a little, hands balling into fists as his short fuse flares, but you’re laughing.

And then, miraculously, somehow, your hand is in his.

His anger melts away instantly, replaced by something he can’t name. He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but it’s terrifying, it’s sickening. Is he going to throw up? He can’t tell – why is his heart beating so fast?

“Kylo you’re such an idiot.” You throw a smile over your shoulder at him, leading him by the hand to the dance floor, where a soft and sweet slow song has begun to play.

He can’t get over it, the feeling of your hand in his. You didn’t even cringe when it almost slips out of your grip from how clammy it’s become, and Kylo thinks maybe there was danger, and he was killed in the crossfire, because with all the lights so bright and the air cloudy with cigarette smoke, he’s pretty sure this must be Heaven.

But it’s very real, because you’re looking at him expectantly, and he realizes he has to move his feet. Dancing. Shit. He didn’t…if he’s honest with himself he didn’t think he’d get this far. He didn’t really realize that he doesn’t know how to dance, and now everyone is watching – he can see Uncle Luke grinning behind his big grey beard off to the side – and he has to move his feet. Sensing his distress, you lead the dance, and that should be humiliating, but you haven’t pulled your hand away from his yet, and he’s still so floored that he’s even here to care.

“I’m your favorite?” He asks, trying to process that monumental statement.

“Duh.” You roll your eyes fondly at him, and Kylo has to clench his jaw tight or else he’ll say something stupid, something that’ll ruin everything.

When he calms down enough, and more people join the dance floor, Kylo’s buried dancing lessons come back to the forefront of his brain, and he takes the lead once again. With a pleased sigh, you tuck yourself close to him, resting your head on his chest. He’s too tall now for you to lean it against his shoulder, but that’s okay, you’re happy just the same.

“Thank you for being here with me.” You whisper to him, gently enough so that only Kylo can hear, “I know…I know Snoke is keeping you busy.”

“Hey,” Kylo frowns at the bitterness in your voice when you mention is name, and unthinkingly, Kylo pinches your chin between your fingers and tips your face up. Your gaze has clouded with something dark at the thought of his boss, and Kylo can’t have that, so he assures you, “You’re my number one priority. Always. Snoke couldn’t keep me busy enough to miss something like this.”

You’re not so sure you’re satisfied with that answer, he can tell in the way your eyes swim, but eventually you sigh, tucking yourself back underneath his chin, asking, “When do you go away again?”

“Not for two more weeks.” Kylo hopes that’ll be enough time for you to not feel sad. It’s your birthday, he doesn’t want you to feel sad, it goes against everything he works for.

“Do you think we could go up to the Catskills?” You whisper, like it’s a secret, like you don’t go up to the Catskills for a couple weeks every so often.

“Whatever you want.” Kylo nods, and you’re appeased then, and he takes advantage of that by spinning you and dipping you, reveling in the way you clutch to him with a laugh as your stomach swoops from being nearly upside down.

And then, it strikes him that one day, maybe, maybe if he’s lucky, one day when you’re older, maybe you’ll be in love, and maybe you’ll marry him, and maybe he’ll get to dance with you like this, have your hand in his like this. That’s lightyears away, he knows, anything could happen between now and then, he knows.

But it’s enough to have this moment, however brief it may be, with his best friend, and for the first time all evening, he’s not petrified. Not when you’re smiling at him, your favorite boy.

---------------------------

Taggin some Kylo lovin' friends! No pressure to read, I know that this isn't everyone's jam! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @lovinghufflepuffgirl @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @kylo-ren-is-alive @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren fluff #mob au #each eye AU #my writing #travel queue

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maybe-your-left · 3 years

Note

OOH. CAN I GET A KYLO POV OF YOUR FAVORITE SCENE FROM HAPPILY EVER AFTER FOR THE ASK THINGY

well hello @trashpandagamer this has been in my inbox for a while but i think i finally have a solution that everyone can be happy with... enjoy this kylo pov of coming to our house to get back together!

welcome to the beginning!

Is she going to be home?

She’s usually out with her roommates on Fridays…

I saw her hanging out with one of the guys on the swim team last week at the gym, maybe she’s rolling around with him learning how to hold her breath?

No, she’s gonna be home. Stop being nervous, Kylo.

She has to be.

Kylo’s grip tightened on his steering wheel, clearing his throat to interrupt the voices in his head that were swarming with doubt. This would be fine, he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just driving by your house, after a few months of not speaking…

And running out in a flurry of sweat and nerves, leaving you on the couch streaked in tears. Whimpering for him to come back, while he fucked off to drown his feelings in hordes of Alpha Xi’s.

Maybe, he should bring a gift?

Something you can’t hit him with, flowers?

No, he’s seen you weaponize thorns before and he can’t handle another scar on his face. Wine? He cringed at the memory of you accidentally knocking him with a 2-liter bottle last spring break, he had to get stitches from the glass shards. Chocolate? That would be a good idea, but what if you assume he thinks you need the candy to forgive him?

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling into the neighborhood by your house. He was almost there, no turning back with his tail tucked between his legs. He woke up today knowing he missed you, and he wasn’t going to cower away like he had the other hundred times. Kylo needed to swallow his pride, listen to you chew him out, and then crawl into your arms as he had for the past two years.

Simple as that, and it’s not like you could be that angry with him. Right?

Kylo quickly turned left, stalling halfway on your front lawn and driveway. Your green Subaru was in its normal spot, he was blocking your exit if you tried to run away. But hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that, he was back, and that is what you wanted! All your messages when he ran off were begging for him and he was just giving you what you wanted, just two months later…

After chain-smoking two cigarettes, he worked up the nerve to step up to your porch. Peeking inside the front windows a little to see if you and your other roommates were watching bad TV. Kylo wasn’t looking forward to seeing them, especially Rose. She would throw something at him for sure, she did in their Philosophy class the week after you split.

And that hydro flask left a fucking bruise.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

Kylo heard stomping feet and muffled swearing coming from inside, his gut rolling over and over itself as the noises came closer to the door. He looked over his shoulder, debating if it was worth it to just book it to his car and forget about it, it’s not like you will want to see him.

No, this was a bad fucking idea.

He needed to-

“What the fuck-” you paused once the door flew open.

And so did he, because fuck.

Kylo missed your face, even though it was scrunched up in anger and your nose had those sweet little wrinkles when you were pissed off. Your eyes narrowed as you sized him up, Kylos’ upset stomach instantly melted away. Replaced now by that oh-so-familiar urge to wrap you in his arms and drag you away from everything else in the world.

Like he had so many times before, Kylo cleared his throat, “Hey.”

-------

you wanna know what happens next? here is the link to Happily Ever After on my College Kylo Ren Masterlist.

-------

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads @onlykyloscenes @candycanes19 @historyandfandoms50 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @ghoulian13 @mrs-kylo-ren @millenialcatlady @relationshipwithmybed @dancingmicrobes @wayward-rose @contesa-lui-alucard @daydreamsofren @insufferablelust @ohdamnadamm @mariesackler @caillea @safarigirlsp @jalexunderthestars @shesakillerkween @glassythoughts @zimmermansbrat @not-the-teen-witch @jynzandtonic @roanniom @celestiasin @glassbxttles @cornmousequeen @driversmutbucket @fathersonandhouseofgucci @reyloaddict55 @emeritusemeritus @livi-s @eagerforhoney @xxgarden @emi11ie

#adam driver #adamdriver #kylo ren #modern kylo ren #college au #college kylo ren #my writing #happily ever after #HEA

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solohux · 3 years

Text

On the island of Arkanis, there is a legend of a red-haired, gold tailed mermaid. It’s said to have harvested jewels and treasures from passers by, some gems given willingly to it by the men and women enchanted by its beauty. No one has ever seen it fully, only it’s red hair peeking out from the sea’s surface and a glimpse of a shining gold tail as it swims away.

Pirate King Kylo Ren has sought the creature for years, wanting its treasure for himself and to capture it and sell it for a marvellous price. Its golden tail is said to shine brighter than the precious rubies of old pirate Vader himself. Merchants and royalty alike would throw coins at his feet for just a glimpse of his captured prey.

Kylo is damn certain that he won’t be lured into an enchantment by the mermaid’s beauty. He’s a pirate; he only cares for his own gain.

He’s wrong, of course. The red-haired mermaid of legend is a merman, with porcelain skin and emerald coloured eyes and such an eloquent way with words that Kylo almost forgets his quest to steal and capture the creature.

Armitage is a descendant of mermaid royalty but he now roams these waters alone. He’s given up on finding companionship and now plays tricks on sailors and pirates so they hand over their treasure to him.

Armitage is lonely. Pirate King Kylo Ren knows how it feels.

The two start to see each other more often as Kylo’s ship sails around the island of Arkanis in ‘search’ of the mermaid, with his crew knowing nothing of their captain’s nightly meetings with their supposed prey.

Things go terribly wrong one night when Kylo is waiting for Armitage to show up and he hears a lot of commotion from the deck. He goes up to find that his men have caught Armitage and have him trapped like a wriggling fish in a big net, hoisting it out of the water as the mer thrashes and panics.

“I trusted you!” Armitage shouts at Kylo as the two make eye contact across the deck of the ship. He’s clearly angry and heartbroken, fingers clutching onto the netting for dear life. “I loved you.”

Kylo has a decision to make. Sail back to Arkanis and become a legend himself for catching the red-haired, golden tailed mer or set Armitage free and be known as the failed pirate king. He wants the treasure and the fame and the fortune...but he also wants his love to be free.

Kylo must hurry. Mers can’t be away from the water for too long...

#kylux #mermaid hux #mermaid au #pirate king kylo Ren #I got carried away

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waatermelon-sugaar · 3 years

Text

Under My Skin: Chapter 5

Words = 9k

Summary = You’ve been kidnapped by the First Order and Poe wants needs you back

Warnings = No fun warnings I’m sorry! There is a happy ending, but before we get there it’s, kidnapping, forced drugging, aftermath of that, general pain, hurt/comfort, violence, hospital setting. I think that’s everything? Please, please, please let me know if I’ve missed anything - this got a lot darker than I intended (if you have any questions before you read, just shoot me a message and I’ll let you know!)

A/N = Sorry this chapter took so long - i think it might have actually killed me. But we’re at the end! Just wanted to say thanks to everyone who’s read this far, and stuck with the story, I love you all!

Also special thanks to @michaelperry who beta’d this like a month ago and gave me some really good advice!

Posted to AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

***

When you wake, it’s cold. You're in a chair, hands strapped to the arms. It takes you a long time to open your eyes; your head is pounding and the bright lights shining on you are complicating matters.

The room swims slowly into focus as you blink, feeling like there’s glue on your lash line each time you try and open your eyes.

The room is a bright white, smelling faintly of chemicals and you keep blinking, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. You move your head slightly, trying to think. There’s something just floating outside of your consciousness, something important you should be remembering, but every time you grab for it, it floats away.

You don’t know how long you sit like this, drifting in and out of consciousness, with little to no perception of what’s around you.

When there’s a loud slam, your whole body jerks forward in shock, but there’s nowhere to go. You’ve begun to lose most of the feeling in your arms, but your mind is beginning to feel clearer. Now you can hear a whirring beneath you, the slight vibration letting you know you’re on a ship, and it’s already in flight. How long have you been traveling for? You’re still cold, goosebumps up and down your arms as your teeth chatter slightly.

You focus on the person standing behind you, not bothering to turn your head. “It’ssnot polite … to … to slam t’door, y’know,” You're shocked when your voice comes out more slurred than you meant it to.

The figure behind you just laughs, and it sends shivers down your spine. They walk forwards slowly, a cloak wrapped around their body, hood off. He seems a little familiar to you but you’re not sure why.

The room is coming more and more into focus, like someone’s turned up the intensity of your vision, and you can see that there are cupboards lining the wall in front of you, various tables and medical equipment visible.

The man had pale skin, ginger hair, although he was starting to lose it, his hairline creeping back in a subtle widow’s peak. He smiles, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh dear. Struggling to talk?” His tone is mocking as he leans towards you.

Your mouth feels dry, like it’s been stuffed of cotton wool and you can’t think. You can’t remember … anything. How did you end up here? Who is this horrible man in front of you? Why does he look familiar?

You try to talk again. “Wha’ve’oou givenee?”

It’s a struggle to manipulate your mouth fast enough to separate your words, your tongue clumsy in your mouth, but you try. “Wha’ve you givenee? Given? Given. Me?”

“It’s wearing off, good good. Don’t worry sweetheart, you’ll be able to talk properly in around …” he looks at his wrist, considering. “Maybe 15 minutes?”

Sweetheart.

That feels familiar - why?

The man takes a seat, a much comfier looking one than the one you’re sat on, looking prepared to wait. He’s calm, shuffling through papers and clattering objects around. You try and pull it together, closing your eyes in an attempt to concentrate. You have 15 minutes before something’s going to happen. He wants you to be able to talk … so … so … so why can’t you think?

He wants you to tell him about the resistance.

Of course. The resistance. He needs information … and suddenly fear shoots down your spine.

Except obviously you won’t give him what he wants. So he’s waiting because…?

Why can’t you think?!

Someone else used to call you sweetheart.

And suddenly there’s a tan face in your memory, grinning at you and calling you sweetheart. And you can remember feeling frustration, but it’s different. This memory-frustration, it’s like a warm bubble inside you, rising and bursting as you call the man an idiot.

His hair is amazing.

You know his name. You know you do. It’s right there on the tip of your tongue - …

The man in the chair coughs, and the face flies out of your head, leaving a sharp pain in your chest instead. Why?

And gradually, you’re also becoming aware of a throbbing pain in your head. You don’t know what the cause is, whether you hit your head, or if it’s something as simple as dehydration.

There’s a high-pitched beep and the man sits up in his chair.

Poe.

You nearly gasp his name out, stopping yourself at the last second. But why does thinking about him hurt?

The man doesn’t seem to realise your inner conflict, or if he does, he doesn’t care, instead scraping his chair across to sit in front of you. “So sweetheart, let’s run through some basics. I’ll ask you a couple of questions to test where you are, then we’ll see what you know.”

You can smell his breath. It’s minty, matching his too-white teeth, and you hate it. You hate him. You already know you won’t answer a single one of his questions.

“Name?”

You nearly laugh, they don’t know your name?

“Sweetheart tell me what your name is, so I know that the drug is out of your system.”

You just blink at him, in that split second deciding on your tactic. Absolute silence.

You don’t get a reaction from him, however, instead he moves onto the next question.

“Date of birth?”

It takes an effort to not automatically respond, but you don’t change your expression.

The man just sighs again.

“Do you know who I am?”

You don’t, but you don’t reply.

“My name is General Hux and I am to deliver you and Poe Dameron to Kylo Ren.”

General Hux. And suddenly you remember Poe telling you something.

You laugh, unable to stop yourself. “You mean General Hugs? Aww you’re my favourite, I’m flattered that you of all people in the First Order would come to find me.”

You get the first flicker of annoyance crossing the man’s face. Then it resolves itself, and he grins. “So you can talk clearly now,” he stands, scraping the chair over the floor. “Good, good.” Opening one of the cupboards he pulls out some clear liquid in a large jar and a couple of bags, placing them onto a small table with a clatter, which he pushes towards you.

And all at once, with a heavy thud in your chest as the memory flashes across your eyes, you remember what you said to Poe. And that after, you walked into the forest-

You love him.

Fuuu-

Your line of thought is interrupted by the man saying your name. You clench your fists, suddenly aware of how cold your fingers are. You’re an idiot.

“You better start answering my questions now.” The man sits back in front of you, pulling the table next to him. And now you can see what’s in the bags. Absolutely enormous needles attached to syringes.

Your throat goes dry.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuck!

You try to squash the fear, instead baring your teeth in a grin. “Why? Will General Hugs be cross?”

For good measure, you add a pout in, and maker, you’ve never been so glad to be a piece of work.

“I will. And you won’t like me when I’m cross.”

You ignore the flash of fear you feel, instead concentrating on moving your feet inside your shoes in a futile attempt to warm them up. Your laugh is cold. “Oh I think I’ll be ok.”

He picks up a syringe, carefully unwrapping it, before drawing some clear liquid into it. You continue, ignoring his attempts to intimidate you. “After all, I don’t like you very much now, so I can’t even imagine what you could do to me to make me hate you more.”

He ignores you, tapping the syringe and watching a bubble float to the top. “Do you know what this is?”

Be annoying.

“Well if it’s the same thing as the first one you gave me, I wouldn’t recommend it because then I’ll just pass out again and you won’t get a coherent answer out of me, will you?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, those people had nothing to do with the First Order. They just needed the money.”

“So the First Order don’t even have the manpower to come and get me yourself?” You tut. “Standards are slipping.”

“Mouthy bitch, aren’t you?” He’s still playing with the syringe, and you can’t help but eye the needle warily. “No, this is different. Lowers your inhibitions, your perceptions. You’ll tell me things you don’t even realise.”

“Ahhhh so you see, you’ve made a mistake there.” You’re talking rubbish, but you can’t seem to stop yourself, in full flow now. “I don’t have any inhibitions, anyone will tell you that I’m utterly shameless so I just, I really, really don’t think it’ll worth giving it to me, it just won’t work, and who knows how much the drug cost and what a waste, I really don’t think you, the great General Hugs would be hap-”

Your steady stream of consciousness is stopped when he slaps you with a resounding crack, your head flying to one side.

Pain immediately blooms on the side of your face, and you have to blink away a few tears from the impact.

“Don’t talk about what you don’t know, silly girl, I need to find out where Poe Dameron is and-”

You interrupt with another laugh, and maybe that first injection addled your brain more than you thought it did, because that truly was a stupid thing to do. You’ve never acted like this before, and yet there’s a small voice in the back of your head telling you that Poe would be proud, so you keep going.

“You don’t know? So it’s pure luck that you found me - no wait, that I was delivered to you! Maker I love being right, standards really are slippi-”

The second slap hurts more than the first.

You sit there for a second in dumb shock, blood pooling in your mouth from the blunt force.

When Hugs rips your sleeve up your left forearm, holding the needle against your skin, you start to twist your wrist in it’s cuff, desperate to get away. You can see your wrist turning red, and your hand is starting to hurt from the force you’re using.

Hugs doesn’t waste any time though, using one cold hand to hold your wrist above the cuff still, gripping it tightly, he plunges the needle in with the other. When the needle pierces your skin, it hurts, you can feel the liquid soaking into your muscles and traveling up your arm.

The effect of this drug isn’t immediate, and so you sit there for a moment, arm aching, determined not to show how much this hurts. You turn your head to the other side and spit out the blood in your mouth, the red a bright contrast on the sparkling floor.

A mix of saliva and blood trails from your lips, and you explore your mouth with your tongue, finding the area where your teeth cut the inside of your cheek. You remove your tongue immediately upon finding it, not needing to add further pain to another area of your body.

Stars but the needle hurts.

“Do you-?” You nod towards your arm, naively hoping that Hugs will remove the needle. “Do you mind removing the needle, I mean-”

You stop talking when you move your fingers by accident and a stab of pain shoots up your arm.

Fuck the needle is massive too.

Hugs just grins, and the movement looks unnatural as he stretches stiff facial muscles, leaning back into his chair, tidying up the instruments on the table. “Maybe you’ll learn some manners,” is all he says.

“I thought - … I thought you wanted me to talk?” Your body is starting to hurt now, and it’s starting to be a struggle to speak again.

Except now you can feel the drug’s effect. It’s hardly noticeable at first, but gradually, gradually, the pain is receding. And the effect of this drug is different to the last, it’s lifting you up, making everything dream-like and fuzzy.

Everything thankfully stays in your mind, although you can’t help but giggle. Something’s funny.

“Tell me about General Dameron.” Hug’s voice is stern as he leans towards you and all you can do is let out another giggle.

General. He’s just Poe. Your Poe.

“I don’t know anything about him.” You’re such a bad liar. You’re trying to keep your face innocent and blank, but giggles keep rising up, and you’re sure it’s ruining the effect.

“I think you do.”

You giggle again. Maker this is good fun. Dimly, you register that your arm doesn’t hurt anymore and you stare as you wiggle your fingers, only feeling a faint thrum through your arm.

“Well you think wrong.” Are you singing? Singing sounds like fun.

“Can you confirm he stole kyber crystals alongside you a cycle ago?”

Fuck and you remember that mission so well. It was such a disaster. But as funny as this situation is, it remains in your mind that the man in front of you is a very bad man, and you can’t tell him anything.

“Answer me.” The command is sharp and stern, and you don’t like it. Hugs is mean. With a name like Hugs, he should really be nicer. You’d think he would be cuddlier, like a teddy bear. Instead he’s all sharp angles and words.

You pout. “No.” He’s so rude. Why should you answer him anyway? “Don’t you know? Me and Dameron hate each other - I know nothing about him.”

The phrase feels so familiar on your tongue, yet something about it is clunky, old-fashioned. The denial is an old friend of yours, and maybe you should have pushed down your feelings for him in the same way, and maybe you would already be feeling better. This pain in your chest is too much.

I don’t love Poe Dameron.

Even in your head it sounds flat.

Another slap to your face twists your head the opposite way. This one doesn’t hurt, you only notice it from the movement of your head.

“Answer me.” The commanding tone breaks through your dreamy haze. You have no idea what the question was, but you can feel a liquid pooling at the corner of your mouth. You blow out slightly, feeling a bubble forming.

The safe option is a petulant “No.”

“You will.”

“I will not.”

This is actually quite a fun game - the more you refuse, the more visibly annoyed Hugs gets. He’s trying so hard to stay calm, to stay in control, but you can see it in the twitch of his fingers. It kind of reminds you how Poe used to fight his annoyance towards you, the only difference being that Poe never moved to hurt you.

The questions continue for what feels like hours and hours. You have no perception of time, or how long has passed, only that you’re hungry and thirsty, and Hugs keep giving you more of this drug. You can’t remember what you say in response to the questions, but the one thing you keep in mind is not to tell them anything.

And one by one, each of your friends appears tauntingly in front of you, Rey chasing her head around the room, Rose uncontrollably floating above you like a balloon, Poe looking suspiciously normal, although with heavier eyebrows than usual, causing him to frown more. He upsets you first, telling you he’s glad you’re not friends, before saying that he hates you, he always has, he was just taking pity on you, that sleeping together was just stress relief. And then he sprouts wings, turning into an eagle, flying around the ceiling, where Rose was minutes before, except now you’re sobbing.

You’re aware that you’re hallucinating, each of them have a suspiciously shiny quality to them, a shimmer at their edges. But the idea of Poe telling you he hates you, that you never meant anything to him … it hurts.

Gradually, gradually, you can feel a tug of darkness at the edges of your mind, and everything inexplicably hurts, so you let it take you, if only so you won’t hurt anymore.

***

Back at base, Poe had never felt so out of control before. He’d always struggled with impulse management, the answer usually so clear in his mind. Suit up, jump into his x-wing, blow the problem up.

He couldn’t blow this problem up.

Everyone was moving so fast around him, yet they didn’t seem to be doing anything. You weren’t back, so they couldn’t be. Poe felt almost detached, looking down on his body surrounded by everyone who was working hard to find you.

He made his way to his x-wing, though he didn’t remember getting there. He was holding his flight suit, and some part of him was aware that he had to put it on if he wanted to fly.

“Poe.” The voice was familiar behind him.

Turning, he saw Leia standing behind him, a look of pity on her face. “Droids have tracked the lieutenant through the forest where she was joined by two others, identity unknown as of yet.”

Poe nodded. Numbness was spreading through him, he could hardly move, the idea of speaking was laughable.

“There were signs of a struggle, but we’ll find her Poe.”

What if she doesn’t want to come back? She’s not my friend.

“Poe.” There was a hand on his shoulder. It takes a great deal of effort for him to focus on Leia in front of him. Her hand was touching him, and it felt so familiar to yours, and yet so different, in almost every way that felt like it mattered. “It’ll be ok.”

“I’ve got to go.�� He was going to get you back, hell or high water.

In fact, it didn't even matter if you didn’t want to come back with him.

Poe shakes his head, “We’re not friends!” still ringing in his mind.

You were going to come back to the base if Poe had to drag you, if only so he could have a proper conversation with you before you left for good.

He hadn’t even realised he’d been flirting with the recruit until you’d turned up, and then suddenly you’d commanded his whole world view. How competent and confident you’d looked, hitting the target with each of your shots, before he’d come to the conclusion that you were jealous.

By that point, you’d already stalked away, shoulders tight with a scowl on your face. He had been able to see your lie, that you really were jealous, as soon as the words had left your mouth, your denial too strong, too protective.

But why? Why didn’t you want him to know you were jealous? As far as Poe was concerned, it was kind of hot.

You couldn’t run away, or die before Poe got the answers.

You couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow it.

He stooped to pull the flight suit on, shrugging off Leia’s hand.

“Poe I’m not letting you chase after her.”

Poe ignored her, instead bending slightly and concentrating on doing up the buttons and various zips.

“Poe listen!”

General Organa was speaking now, not Leia, and it made Poe stop, straightening automatically.

“I am not giving you permission to leave base. Rey and Finn have already left.”

Poe steps towards Leia, and stars he feels angry.

“I am the best flyer in the resistance and you’re grounding me?”

He ignores the way his head spins when he remembers the look on your face that night you’d told him he was the best flyer, how you’d said his mum would be proud of him, how-

He shakes his head, not wanting the memory right now, blinking hard as tears well in his eyes.

“Yes.” His fingers flex at his side at Leia’s calmness.

“Why not?” He doesn’t want to snap at Leia but he had to get you back. He was going to murder those bastards who took you … if they had hurt you … “I can’t lose her, Leia, I can’t.”

“You’re not in the right headspace right now, and I can’t risk-”

Poe laughs, cutting Leia off and it’s not nice. It’s a little loose and a little mad, louder than it needs to be. “You can’t risk what? Losing me?” He bends again, this time tightening the harness straps around his legs and they’re tight, too tight. “I can’t risk losing her, Leia.” He takes a deep breath, shaking fingers attempting to loosen the straps, attempting to take back control. “I c-an’t.”

Leia’s heart broke as Poe’s voice cracked. For the first time in a long time, she saw the young boy who had come to the Resistance as soon as he was able, desperate to prove himself and throw himself into the middle of the fight.

So she steps forwards and hugs him. “I know, I know.” Leia can feel Poe trembling. “But you charging off with half a brain isn’t going to fix anything.”

Poe allows himself to be held, head empty for a moment. He feels exhausted, yet every nerve within him is wired up to go, although he doesn’t know where. An indeterminate amount of time passes before Poe realises that Leia is probably doing all she can to stall him.

When this thought trickles down into his mind, he steps back. Perhaps because Leia can read him like a book, or perhaps because she really does want to help, she offers a small smile. “Come with me.”

Poe doesn’t have much chance to reply before Leia’s steering him by his elbow, keeping a tight grip on him. He’s led to comms, a room he’s aware of, but has never been in before.

Rose is sitting, hovering over a comm worker who Poe’s unfamiliar with. They’re sitting at a messy workstation with a number of small screens, a mess of wires cascading out of the back. The comms worker has an earphone in one ear, while the big centre screen is turned on, showing what appears to be Rey and Finn’s position.

There’s a pain in Poe’s chest as he looks at the other, empty, workstations. This is what you're worth to the Resistance. One comms worker and a friend.

Rose stands, flinging her arms around him. She’s talking, but there's a buzzing in Poe’s ears and he’s missing some. “... she’ll be alright.”

Rose has drawn back, and it’s like the bubble has popped around Poe, bringing him back to the present. He nods, suddenly aware of how hard Leia is still holding onto his arm, and briefly wondering if he’ll have bruises.

Poe picks up his own set of earphones and moves to power up the next screen over, clicking through to Rey’s comms, mind clearing as he and the comms worker start to talk through it.

After all, Poe’s always been good under pressure, blocking out all distractions, including Leia’s instructions to the droid by the door not to let Commander Dameron leave until the Lieutenant was back.

***

When you wake, you’re alone. The drug, whatever they gave you has worn off, and your headache has returned. You’re shaking, covered in sweat. When you try and make a fist with your good arm, you can barely apply enough pressure to close your hand.

You’re still strapped to the chair and unable to move your arms. When you glance down at your left arm, the blood makes your stomach turn. Everything seems sharper than it did before, more pronounced edges, yet the surfaces have lost their colour, looking duller.

Your mouth is dry and you know that if you could have some more of the drug, just a little, you’d feel better. But there are more pressing concerns; you need to get out of here.

Your feet are on the floor, good. Your head itches, and your ribs ache like you’ve been hit around the stomach. There’s something dried on your chin, irritating your skin, tightening it.

It’s hard to think, it’s so cold in here, like the ice is numbing your brain. Your headache is pounding behind your eyes and doesn’t help. But you try to stand, thinking you’ll attempt a turtle-like shuffle to the door.

Except you can’t.

You try again, bracing your feet against the floor and trying to stand. It takes you longer than it should to realise that it’s not working because you’re pressing down with your arms too.

You slump back into the chair with enough force to cause it to move, trying to catch your strength, panting heavily and not sure what else to do.

It takes you longer than it should for you to realise what that means, the thought barely trickling down into your mind.

Ok.

With a lot of careful angling and heavy slumps, you manage to twist the chair so it’s facing the door. It’s made of the same material as the walls, barely distinguishable apart from a keypad and metal grille.

Which Rey and Finn are looking at you through.

You sigh. Great. That’s what you need right now, more hallucinations. They look shocked, faces slack, until Rey disappears and Finn smiles reassuringly at you.

Briefly you wonder if Rey’s gone because her head fell off again. Then you consider if your hallucinations can get any weirder.

The next thing you know the door is swinging open, creaking slightly on its hinges and Finn’s rushing over to you, Rey poking around behind you.

“Can you stand?” Finn’s asking, looking down at you, brow furrowed. You can only nod in response, although you’re not confident in your answer. Your limbs are stiff, and even now you can move, it’s a struggle.

There’s a brief pain flickering in your left arm, and you focus on not looking at it, remembering the amount of blood. It takes Finn’s arm around you to help you stand, and you can’t help the gasp of pain that escapes you. Your vision goes dark for a second, before returning, duller than ever.

***

Finn knew what the First Order was capable of, especially when they wanted information from someone, but it was never any easier to see. Especially when it was someone he cared about.

He watched you struggle to coordinate your legs, having been kept in the same position for hours. Rey moves ahead, drawing her lightsaber in anticipation while Finn half carries you down the hallway.

He’s worried at the amount of blood you’ve lost from your arm, but your face is swollen and bruised, with dried blood at the corner of your mouth, and staining the collar of your shirt. You’re still conscious, just about, but your eyes don’t seem to be focusing.

The three of you pass the bodies of the two stormtroopers who were unlucky enough to be guarding your corridor, before sneaking out. Ducking into alcoves, they attempt not to be caught, although it’s hard to stop you from making noise.

If it’s not moans of pain, you’re commenting on something under your breath, and what little Finn can hear doesn’t seem to make sense. The look on Rey’s face tells him that she doesn’t get it either.

And they’re so close, nearly back to the hangar, when a pair of troopers spot them. Rey is already swinging as Finn rushes to put you down before he can draw his lightsaber and help. The fight is desperate, but brief. Thankfully no alarms seem to be going off, although that thought flies from Finn’s head when he looks back at you.

You’ve slumped against the wall where Finn had placed you, and you’re shaking as you try and stay sat upright. You’re no longer looking at them, instead your brow is furrowed, concentrating on something only you can see in front of you.

Finn isn’t entirely sure how they managed to make it onboard, but he wasn’t about to complain, carefully strapping you to help keep you upright if you faint. He uses the small med-kit to wipe away the blood from your face and arm as best as he can, applying bacta patches where he can see injuries, the familiar sweet smell soon filling the small ship.

Rey is quickly in hyperspace, comming back to base with their status. “Blue-10 with the Lieutenant, medical attention will be needed on arrival.”

Both Rey and Finn jolt with surprise at the familiar voice crackling through the comms in response. “Received and understood Blue-10.”

“Poe?” Finn mouths, and Rey just shrugs. A second later, Poe’s switched to a private channel, his voice quiet.

“How is she?”

Rey and Finn look at each other, unsure how much Poe needs to know. They don’t want to lie, but how can they tell the truth? Rey clicks the private channel open, hesitating before she replies. “She’s stable Poe.”

***

Waking up hurts.

You’re lying down, and although your body hurts, you feel calmer. There’s a steady noise matching the beat of your heart, slow and steady, although the noise speeds up as you blink at the ceiling.

You’re not sure if you’ve got a plan, but you know you need to get free. Something is holding you down, becoming more and more tangled around you, and your whole body hurts.

And then, suddenly the weight is pulled off you, and you feel like you can breathe again, big gasps failing to get more oxygen into your lungs. You struggle to control your breathing, not feeling ready to face whatever new terror the First Order have concocted for you.

It’s Rose. Holding a brown blanket.

You push yourself into a sitting position, ignoring the flare of pain in your arm, waiting for a second, hardly daring to breathe as you wait for her to change in front of your eyes.

When she doesn’t, you can feel some of the panic recede, although you can’t seem to force yourself to relax. Rose folds the blanket, placing it at the foot of your bed, and you watch her carefully, still wary.

When she meets your eyes, you attempt a smile, pain pulling at your mouth and cheek as you do so. You can tell it’s not convincing by the way she smiles back, tears flooding her eyes.

You look away, blinking heavily to stop your own tears.

Your head and shoulders are raised slightly, and when you look down, you’re wearing a paper-thin hospital gown. It’s scratchy against your skin, feeling like bugs burrowing into you. Rose is sitting next to you, tinkering with something she’s placed on your bedside table, hands hovering just above her lap, like she wants to help, but doesn’t want to overstep.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft. “How are you feeling?”

You nod, not sure what you’re feeling, exactly, just that your hands are shaking when you try and put them on top of the covers, that you’re shivering, and your stomach is rolling.

You open your mouth to tell Rose so, and you throw up.

It’s warm, and liquidy and the smell makes you throw up again, and again. Rose has jumped back, and you don’t blame her, rolling your body to your side so you can spit the rising bile out of your mouth onto the floor instead of onto the mess on your bed.

By the time you’ve stopped being sick, Rose is standing at the end of your bed with a pair of nurse-droids, who escort you to a bath, cleaning you up, and then to a different bed, this time with a bowl in reaching distance. You don’t say anything, hot shame creeping up your neck and face, and hoping, praying, that maybe you’ll pass out again, and you won’t remember this.

No such thing happens, and you’re left to be looked after by the droids. Rose never leaves you, although for the period of time you’re covered in sick, she does keep her distance, only returning when you’re clean in bed again, this time wearing a softer t-shirt and shorts.

It’s only when one of the nurse-droid’s returns, arms full that you notice it. It’s carrying a vase of flowers, which Rose later tells you is from your squadron, and, in it’s other hand, carries a familiar datapad, with a piece of paper on top and a chocolate pudding.

Poe’s been here?

You can’t stop the way your heart stutters in your chest at the thought, and although you want to smell the chocolate, you think that’s probably a good thing you can’t with the state of your stomach at the moment.

The nurse-droid hooks you up to various machines this time, inserting a drip into your non-injured arm, along with a heart monitor, and a couple of other machines you don’t know the purpose of.

Your head still hurts, and you’re shaking, but you try your best to listen to the doctor who checks your vitals are normal and tells you that you’re going to get worse before you get better. The drug they gave you is an addictive one, and the next 5 days are going to hurt.

She keeps telling you things, but you start to zone out as black spots appear in your vision. Rose is nodding in understanding at your side, so you don’t feel too bad, concentrating on just staying awake.

All you can think about is the drug and how light it made you feel, how quickly it made time pass. Every movement hurts, like you fell 50 foot out of an x-wing, but aside from your arm, you can’t see any physical damage.

You fall in and out of sleep, Rose a constant presence at your side. She’s tinkering with something the first few times you wake, and she explains what it is, and what’s wrong with it to distract you from the pain. You ask the occasional question, enjoying the steady sound of her voice, while yours is croaky and hoarse.

When you wake with a clearer head, the lights are dimmed to a soft yellow, and Poe is asleep, head resting on the foot of your bed. Rose is gone and you’re glad; you don’t know how long you’ve been in bed, and you hope she’s getting some rest or proper food.

His flight suit is wrapped around his waist, top half covered by a dark t-shirt. If you bend your head to a certain angle, the light catches on his necklace around his neck. Poe looks exhausted, his body twisted at a weird angle, thick stubble growing on his face, and eyes red-rimmed, even as he sleeps.

Trying not to jostle him, you reach out to the datapad and unfold the note Poe left on top, avoiding the chocolate pudding like the plague.

Enjoy the chocolate pudding, Finn is bullying me to get some rest.

I’ve downloaded a couple of holovids, see you soon Poe x

You’ve never seen his handwriting before, and it’s easier to read than you’d imagined, thinking he’d be the type to write in a messy scrawl, his hand unable to keep up with his thoughts.

It’s short, but something about it makes a warmth flare inside you. You read it until you know it off by heart, before folding it back up and placing it on the datapad.

You still feel tired, and you watch Poe sleep, the room silent except for the steady beeping of the machines at your side. You’re not sure how much time passes, the world around your bed feeling hazy as you half doze, not wanting to tear your eyes away from Poe, hardly daring to believe he’s real.

You jolt awake when he does, his arm reaching across your legs as he grasps your calves in a panic. One of the machines beeps increases with your heart rate, but you ignore it, you and Poe staring at each other, wide-eyed, as though a quick movement will make the other bolt.

His hands are still holding your legs, warm and grounding.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is hoarse as he slowly releases his hands.

You nod, and you hadn’t noticed it before, but your neck is stiff. “Good, I guess.”

Poe nods too, and where did this tension come from? He takes a breath as you look down at the hem of your blanket, idly wondering why the medbay would buy such a horrendous shade of brown.

Maybe it’s to hide stains.

You immediately wish you hadn’t thought that, the implications freaking you out a little, upsetting your sensitive stomach.

“I … I wanted to apologise.” Poe’s voice thankfully breaks through your increasingly worrying train of thought. His hand fly’s up to touch his ring. “I clearly crossed a boundary - I thought we were friends and -”

You interrupt him when you throw up, thankfully into the bowl the nurse-droid left this time, but it’s no less embarrassing as bile stings the back of your throat. Poe immediately moves up closer to you, hand reaching to rub your back as you try and hide in vain from him.

His hand is warm and comforting, moving slowly up and down your back as you continue to heave. When you finish retching, Poe silently hands you a glass of water, which you use to swill your mouth out, moving to place the now semi-full bowl to the other side of you when Poe takes it from you.

You can hardly bear to look at it, let alone smell it, and Poe is carrying it like it’s nothing, taking for the nurse-droids to dispose of. When he returns, he’s wiping his hands with a disinfectant and you wince.

“Poe I’m so sorry.” You decide to risk a sip of water, trying to get rid of the sick taste still in your mouth. “I’ve been sick all day and I’m sorry.” You’re ready to keep apologising but Poe just hands you a towel, which you use to wipe your mouth.

“It’s ok.” He reaches down for the blanket, and you let him tuck you in, suddenly aware that you’re shivering again. He reaches for his datapad, opening it and beginning to talk. He’s reading a children’s story, one you recognise as being from Yavin IV, a sweet story about a frog learning of the perils of the jungle.

Your eyes get heavier, and Poe’s voice fades into the background, the last you hear is the frog swimming in freshwater, unaware of the danger around the corner before you fall asleep.

***

When you wake, he’s gone, but you don’t get much chance to think about it before the nurse-droids are back, along with the doctor. She’s a nice woman, chattering away, telling you her name (Dr Alloso Karga), about her children (she’s got lots), and the trouble they get into (almost constant).

You don’t say much, still feeling the after-effects of the drug, but Dr Karga doesn't seem to need much additional input. You’re glad of her stories, they give you something else to think about while she hooks you up to an IV drip, and takes measurements from all the machines beeping at your side.

She unwraps the bandage around your left arm, revealing a thin scar running alongside one of your veins. “I’ll give you a cream to rub on every morning and night, and it’ll fade.” Her voice is kind as she watches your face, but you don’t react, numbness spreading through you like ice as you look at the scar.

All you can think is how small it is, when you remember the pain it caused, and the blood you lost from it … and now you’re left with this tiny, almost pathetic scratch. Dr Karga places the cream on your side table, next to Poe’s datapad and his note, and you already know you won’t use it.

Thankfully she doesn’t push the topic, leaving soon after.

With not a lot else to do, you fall back asleep, despite the bright light shining in through the window opposite you.

Days pass like this. Rose and Poe are frequent visitors, with Rey and Finn dropping in occasionally, as does Kare, and Jannah. No one seems to expect much of you, which is nice, allowing you to fall asleep at random intervals when the mood strikes you.

***

When you wake again you’re not sure how many days you’ve been in the medbay for. You don’t feel sick at all anymore, your stomach’s rumbling beneath the covers. Your head still hurts, and your body still feels bruised and achy, but your mind feels clearer than it has in days.

You’re still hooked up to a couple of machines, but only by a clip to your finger, wires extending down past the edge of your bed. It’s easy to take off, and you figure it’ll be easy to put back on again.

The chocolate pudding left by Poe has disappeared, and you suspect one of the nurses has binned it, which was probably a good idea. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you pause when a rush of cool air hits your bare legs.

You pad barefoot over the cold medbay floor, praying that it’s clean. There’s no one else in any of the other beds in your room, and when you look out, there doesn’t seem to be anyone next door either. A couple of hundred meters to your left, through the glass in a pair of double doors, you can see the busy reception. Meanwhile, to your right the corridor extends.

You shiver a little. You’re not wearing much, just shorts and a thin t-shirt. With no one around, you don’t feel too exposed, but you would quite like to get back to bed. You choose to go right, figuring you’d quite like to eat alone and save yourself any embarrassment if your stomach decides to reject food again and wander casually in quiet curiosity.

You peek through the windows of various spare rooms, some with people in bacta tubes, others with droids chittering away. And, it’s only when you turn the corner, that you see the food sign over the door to a small storeroom.

Letting out a happy little sigh at all the food lining the wall, you fumble for the light switch, the door closing and quickly engulfing you in the darkness.

Moving forwards you aim for the chocolate which has immediately caught your eye, letting out a shriek of panic when a hand lands on your shoulder.

Twisting around in panic, your bare foot catches on the corner of a shelf and you let out a howl of pain. You’re falling, and you’re gonna land on your injured arm when the stranger’s hands grab hold of your shoulders, righting you enough that you can catch yourself.

Muttering breathless ow’s of pain, you look up to see none other than Poe in front of you, his lips twisted in amusement.

“You alright?” He asks.

You can only nod, and before you feel any doubt about what you want to do, you fling your arms around his neck and hug him. He’s so sturdy, and here, and you finally feel semi-normal, and all you want is to be grounded.

Poe doesn’t say anything, just lets out a long-suffering sigh, wrapping his arms around you in response. It’s not until you feel his chest catch on a breath, that you unwind slightly, pulling back so you can see him.

He’s crying.

“Poe, Poe, it’s ok.” You wrap him back in your arms and let him cry. He just holds you tight, like he can’t believe you’re really here standing in front of him. Both too soon, and too late, he pulls back, wiping at his eyes.

“Why are you in here?”

It’s a genuine question, but you marvel at him for a second. “Why are you in here?”

Poe looks like he would quite like to say something he thinks is funny, but eventually lands on on a serious response. “I wanted to see what you were up to. You looked very shady.”

“Oh.” You shrug. “I woke up, and I was starving.”

Poe stands next to you as you grab whatever looks good off the shelves, mainly chocolate, but also juice, and some sandwiches. “You should look after yourself.” His voice is gentle.

“I am!” You protest. “I need to eat.”

“You couldn’t have asked for help?”

You raise an eyebrow at him as the two of you move to the door. Poe follows you as you try to explain yourself. “No, I-”

You stop talking as you open the door by a crack, your eyes widening. Rose is stood in the room opposite, slightly blurred from the glass door, running her hand up and down Jannah’s arm, while the other is in a sling.

You gasp as you watch Rose lean forwards, placing a kiss on her lips, hushing Poe behind you. “Poe, Poe, Poe, look at this, are you watching?”

Your whisper is loud and you grin, bouncing on the balls of your feet, momentarily forgetting your aches, before quickly closing the door as Rose and Jannah move closer to kiss. You don’t want to invade their privacy too much.

When you turn, Poe’s grin grows as he takes in your face. “I knew it!” You dump the contents of your arms onto the floor, settling in for a while. “I knew they liked each other!”

He’s managed to get his leather jacket back from Finn, and he takes it off, laying it on the floor for you to sit on. You tuck your feet under you, glad to get them off the cold floor.

The two of you eat together, and you gain confidence as more time passes and your stomach seems to have settled, branching out to more flavourful foods.

Afterwards, he walks you back to your bed, carrying some spare food for you, with his leather jacket hanging off your shoulders. Poe calls a nurse-droid over to hook you back up to your machines and you pout at him in complaint. You’re starting to shake and sweat again but Poe stays for as long as he can, until he has to go to a meeting, promising he’ll be back soon.

He’s not gone for long, and you’re just starting to get bored, when Rose pokes her head around the door.

“Where have you been?”

You can’t help yourself; you grin like a cheshire cat.

“Where have I been? I think I should be asking you that!”

And there’s a definite blush rising on Rose’s neck, tinting her cheeks a faint pink. She still tries to deny though. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” you draw it out, “I just so happened to be walking around earlier and was surprised to see that Jannah had managed to injure herself.”

Rose sighs and it’s long-suffering. And then she slumps into her chair, opens her mouth and tells you everything.

How she and Jannah had started to spend more time together, but they’d been friends for so long. How hugs for comfort turned into something more. How they’d kissed for the first time when Jannah had asked her out. And now, how it was turning into something more and, Rose’s voice went quiet here, she thought she might be in love.

“Oh Rose,” you sigh, your heart filling for your friend. “Are you gonna tell her?”

When she nods, it takes all your self-control not to jump up and hug her, instead settling for clasping her hands in yours. “I’m sorry.” Rose whispers. “Will you forgive me?”

Your heart stops, brief panic flickering in you. “What for?”

“That I didn’t tell you sooner.” A heavy sense of guilt starts to weigh down your chest, especially as Rose looks so distraught.

“No! It’s fine,” you try and convince her. “You wanted to wait until you were sure.”

Rose nods, but still looks upset, and you know what will cheer her up. “Besides, I'm not going to be cross. I kissed Poe.”

You wince at Rose’s shout. “What!” She stands, bending to give you a hug, and you breathe in the familiar scent of her shampoo. You grin, much more naturally now, glad she’s happy. You tell her everything in much the same way she told you, the first time you’d slept together, and then the next time, how you’d argued, what had happened in the store cupboard.

“Is he coming back?” Rose asks.

You shrug. “I don’t know. He said he would, but I don’t know when.”

Rose settles properly into her chair, resting her feet on the edge of your bed frame, looking smug. You last all of two seconds. “What?”

Rose just closes her eyes, looking more and more pleased with herself by the second. “I just love being right.”

You attempt to kick her, but there’s no malice behind it. You spend the rest of the time discussing the latest topic of interest on base (Snap and Kare’s wedding), and what a recruit had apparently said to Leia, laughing the whole time.

***

When Poe returns, he’s carrying two plates. Rose had left a while ago, and you were idly poking through Poe’s datapad, seeing which holovids he’d downloaded.

The two of you eat your dinner quietly, Poe finishing before you. “Can I ask you something?” He looks nervous in a way that you’re not sure you’ve ever seen on him before, eyes shifting down, while his fingers dance nervously in his lap.

You nod, still chewing, not wanting to rush your dinner and unsure how to make Poe feel more at ease. You have a feeling you know what he’s going to ask, and -

“Can we be friends?”

Oh.

You swallow faster than you should, letting out a small cough. You place what’s left of your dinner to one side, and put your hands over his. “I shouldn’t have said that.” You start.

Poe opens his mouth to respond, but you shake your head before he can. “No, don’t - don’t say anything, just listen.”

Deep breath, in and out.

“What I meant was … friends don’t sleep together, Poe. And I know we never talked about it, but I didn’t realise how much I liked you and,” You take another deep breath and when you speak again, your voice is smaller than normal. “I didn’t like the way you flirted with that recruit.”

Poe grins with his teeth. “So you were jealous?”

You look away, not quite ready for that conversation. “Poe.” His name is a warning, and you’re tired.

So Poe lifts your hands, enveloping them in his and gently kisses them. “Sorry.” It’s a murmur. “When we realised you were gone, I’ve … I’ve never been so frightened. I begged Leia to go and find you but she wouldn’t let me.”

You look back at his face. “Good.” His smile is gentle now, and at this moment, you prefer it. “And I’m fine now, Rey and Finn found me …”

Poe rolls his eyes. “You are not fine, you’re in the medbay.”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat, fiddling with the hem of your sheet, and just when you think he won’t say anything else, he speaks again, his voice quiet and sure.

“I like you too. A lot. And I would quite like it if we could go on a date?”

You don’t reply immediately, letting a slow smile open up your face, nodding, suddenly shy. You want Poe closer, moving to the far edge of the bed and opening the sheet in a clear invitation. “C’mon, get up here.”

It says a lot, you later think, how keen he was to climb in next to you. His body is so warm and reassuring next to yours, a solid presence of real proof, that someone cares about you so much that it doesn’t matter how gross you are when you’re ill, they’ll stay for as long as they can.

You wait until he’s tucked in next to you, desperately ignoring how the machine behind you starts beeping faster. “I would love to go on a date.”

And then you groan. “This is so embarrassing.”

Poe laughs, his body shaking next to you. “You have to finally admit you fancied me all along.”

“Well so do you.”

You’re looking at Poe as you say it, and you don’t miss how his breath hitches a little. His face moves closer to yours, and your tongue darts out to wet your lips as your mouth suddenly feels dry.

Your heart rate speeds up again behind you, but you’re ignoring it, wanting Poe to kiss you. You’re disappointed when he speaks instead. “I like this monitor.”

His eyes are smiling, and stars he’s cute, even if he is being annoying.

“What?” You’re confused, your eyes had been half-closed in preparation, and it takes a lot of effort to open them again.

“It tells me what you think.” You don’t stop looking at Poe’s lips as he talks.

“Yeah?” You’re breathless. “And what am I thinking right now?”

“That you like me this close.”

You hum, half-amused, half-annoyed. “Anything else?”

“I think you want to kiss me.”

You pretend to think about it, smiling back at him. “Do you?”

“Yes.” He’s so keen. “Do you?”

“I thought you knew the answer to that.” You’re teasing him, and he knows it. Your faces are closer than ever, breath mingling.

And Poe’s just looking at you like he could eat you, and it takes mere seconds before you crack. “Poe will you kiss me?”

“I was going to.”

You huff. “When?”

His hand cradles your jaw, thumb on your chin, and you bend into it, kissing his palm without breaking eye contact. “It won’t hurt you?”

You smile at him, reassured. “No.”

You can tell he’s still hesitant, so you kiss his hand again. “I’ll tell you if it hurts Poe.”

He inches closer and closer, so slowly, until his lips are touching yours. It’s soft, and gentle, like he’s kissing you for the first time. His hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, as you open your mouth, deepening the kiss.

The date is a success, with the worst part enduring Rose’s teasing, and your promise to never doubt her again.

***

Everything taglist:

@fantasticcopeaglepasta @sarahjkl82-blog

Series taglist

@lady-sigyn @foxilayde @afootnoteinyourhappiness @tellthemall-i-saidhi @wasicskosgirl @seninjakitey @zoriis @zazzysseoul @studentville-struggles

Thanks for reading! Reblog and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

Aaaaah I’ve finally finished! This has been such a blast to write (but not chapter 5 lmao) and I’ve learned so much about my writing style and what i struggle with (plot I’m looking at you). This series started as a short one-shot which was going to be divided into 4 sections, detailing how reader and Poe’s relationship changed, and what I’ve ended up with is so so so different - my original outline had no kidnapping and was wildly different honestly, but I’m really proud of this - back in June/July i hardly had the patience/concentration to sit and finish a one-shot, let alone a whole series! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story, I love you all!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe x reader #Star Wars #lol will anyone remember this story?#its complete now though!

77 notes · View notes

coffeeinallcaps · 3 years

Note

wip/rip meme: sw poe panic attacks

(Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!) In which Poe is FINE, he’s JUST FINE, GUYS, NO PROBLEMS HERE.

Two weeks after the Battle of Starkiller Base, Poe wakes up without a headache for the first time since Jakku. Sitting up doesn’t make him feel sick, and the lights don’t set off stabs of pain behind his eyes. There’s no wave of dizziness when he gets to his feet.

Sweet, he thinks before making his way to the refresher.

BB-8 is running preflight diagnostics when Poe gets to the hangar. The others are already there. Bastian is walking around his ship, checking the underside of the hull. Jessika waves at Poe from where she’s talking to one of the ground technicians, her helmet tucked under her other arm. Poe waves back.

“Morning, sunshine,” Iolo says, slapping Poe on the shoulder as Karé says, “All right, boss?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, and he means it. He feels good, well rested in a way he hasn’t felt since, well.

The feeling lasts until they’re about to take off.

One moment he’s fine. The next the canopy is coming down, closing in around him, and he panics.

The feeling doesn’t register as panic right away. It’s—it’s something primal, a sudden visceral overwhelming sense of wrong, something is wrong, he needs to get out of here—

“Stop,” he says, “BB-8, stop, abort,” and BB-8 overrides the control system, beeps inquisitively. Poe can’t answer the question, because he’s breathing too fast and too loud—heart beating wildly in his chest, throat, ears—and he’s already strapped in but he needs to get out, he’s stuck and the cockpit is way too small, there’s not enough room, not enough air, he can’t think, can’t breathe.

That’s when he realizes, I’m panicking.

It’s like his consciousness has split in two. He’s right here, gasping for air and ineffectually tugging at the buckles of his harness, but another part of him is divorced from all this, hovering somewhere in the back of his own mind thinking What. The. Hell.

What the hell are you doing, Dameron. Calm the fuck down. Get your shit together. You’re being irrational.

And yes, he knows, he knows that, knows it doesn’t make sense, but he needs to get out.

The buckles finally give way, and he’s moving, scrambling out of the cockpit, down the ladder that hasn’t been retracted yet. His foot slips on the last rung. He stumbles backward until his back is pressed up against something.

He still can’t breathe, still feels trapped—he reaches for his helmet, it takes him three tries to undo the chin strap, he manages to wrench the helmet off his head and lets it drop to the floor.

He’s sweating. His chest is heaving under his flak vest. It feels like he’s being punched in the diaphragm over and over again, like he’s going to be coughing up blood any second from now. Like Kylo Ren—

The vest needs to come off, too, but his hands keep slipping on it.

People are standing around him. He can see the scuffed toes of their boots, the dirty orange and olive green legs of their flight suits. “Take it off,” he hears himself say, between gasps, “take it off, take it off,” and they help him out of the vest, pull open the collar of his flight suit.

The part of Poe’s mind that is hanging back notes that this is embarrassing. A deeply humiliating experience. The part of Poe’s mind that’s panicking is unable to register it as such. The observation emerges behind an impenetrable transparisteel panel. It’s right there, he can see it, but he can’t reach it and it can’t reach him.

Someone—Jess?—says, sharply, “Step back, guys, give him some fucking space,” and someone else says, “No, I think—” and Poe closes his eyes, thinks, Yes, space, I need space, give me space and then two arms are winding tight around him. No, let go, he thinks, eyes still closed, Let me go I need and then Finn? but it can’t be Finn, Finn is still in the med bay, still in a coma, Finn is—

He struggles, half-heartedly. It’s a relief to have something physical to struggle against, instead of just the awful sense of terror ballooning in his chest, clawing at his windpipe. It gives him something to focus on. His panicking self and his observing self merge. The transparisteel panel between them drops away, and shame comes rushing in.

He takes a gulping breath and goes limp.

It’s Bastian who’s holding him. He’s trapped again, trapped between the wall and Bastian’s body, but Bastian’s body is warm and familiar and hiding him from view so it’s not too bad, really, to be trapped here. When he looks straight ahead, he can see the vast expanse of the hangar. The rectangle of sunlight at the end is a comforting sight.

This whole thing can’t have lasted longer than, what, five minutes? ten minutes? but Poe is fucking exhausted. He’s shaking, he realizes.

“Hey,” Jess says. “Poe.”

It’s just her and Bastian now. The others are gone.

Another hot, nauseating rush of shame washes over him.

“Poe. Look at me.” Jess is dabbing Poe’s face with her sleeve. It comes away soaked, he sees. Her other hand brushes against his cheek. “You with us?”

Poe nods. He’s still catching his breath. He doesn’t think he can speak. He thinks that if Bastian let go of him, he’d crumble to his knees.

Bastian doesn’t let go. He takes a small step back, but keeps his hands on Poe’s shoulders.

We’re late, Poe thinks. We need to leave. He wants to say it out loud, but the thought of getting back into his ship makes his throat close up again and a fresh layer of sweat break out on his forehead.

Jess wipes it away. She and Bastian are talking with their eyes. Poe appreciates the fact that neither of them is asking him what the hell just happened. He also appreciates the fact that neither of them is asking him if he’s okay.

The moment stretches on.

They’re late. They need to leave.

He can’t fucking get it past his teeth.

“You guys should go,” Poe says eventually, the words scraping at the dry inside of his throat. His voice sounds raw, wrecked.

Jess lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good,” she says. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

It’s the only right thing to say. He’d be putting all of them in danger if he tried to fly, let alone lead a mission, in this condition. He takes a breath. Still that pressure in his chest, like there’s a wet cloth lodged between his lungs and his ribcage. It’s like trying to breathe in deeply on a hot and humid planet. Like trying to breathe when Ren—

Poe swallows, shakes his head, says, “We have to...”

“Snap’s on his way down here,” Jess says. “We’ll be all right. I’ll take it from here. The only thing you have to do is go see Dr. Kalonia.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Bastian offers, and Poe wants to say no, wants to tell them to get out of here, it’s fine, he’ll be fine, but then he realizes one of his hands is fisted into Bastian’s flight suit, clenched so tight his fingers have gone numb. It hurts to let go.

One of Bastian’s hands stays on Poe’s lower back, barely there, as they walk. Poe doesn’t stop at the med bay. Bastian wordlessly keeps up with him.

“Thanks, buddy,” Poe says when they get to his quarters.

“Anytime,” Bastian says, with a small, soft smile that makes Poe want to sink through the floor.

He lies back on his bed with his arms folded over his face. They’re trembling. His whole body is trembling. He closes his eyes and tries to block out his thoughts.

He doesn’t move until the doors slide open.

“Poe,” Dr. Kalonia’s voice says.

Poe says, “Doctor.”

His head doesn’t swim when he pushes himself up on his hands. It doesn’t quite feel like the victory it did this morning. The familiar sour taste at the back of his throat is back, but he guesses it has little to do with a lingering concussion and more to do with what happened in the hangar just now.

Kalonia doesn’t start off by asking him questions, which—again—Poe appreciates. She sits down next to him on the bed. Her fingertips are light on his cheek when she checks his pupil response. She listens to his heart and lungs, takes his pulse.

“Headaches been bothering you?” she asks.

Poe shakes his head.

“Dizzy spells?”

“Not anymore.”

“When did your symptoms go away?” After a pause, during which she puts her flashlight back into her pocket and loops her stethoscope around her neck again, she adds, “I’m assuming they went away, because you never did come back for a final check-up.”

“Um,” Poe says, scratching the back of his neck. Dr. Kalonia reminds him of his grandmother sometimes; there are very few people in the galaxy who can inspire this amount of guilt in him this quickly. “I felt pretty good this morning?” He can’t help but add, “And in my defense, we’ve all been pretty busy.”

“From what my droids tell me, it seems you are perfectly capable of finding the time to stop by the med center for other reasons.”

Finn.

“Well, I mean, all’s fair in love and war, right?” Poe says. And then, “I am sorry, Doc.”

She smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, I would’ve known where to find you if I needed to.”

“That sounds vaguely threatening, Doc.”

“Good.” She sits back. “Look, Poe, I could run some more tests, but as far as I can tell there’s nothing physically wrong with you right now.”

“Clean bill of health, then,” Poe jokes.

“Not quite, I’m afraid.”

The doors slide open again.

“Oh,” Rey says, looking at Dr. Kalonia. “I’ll go.” She doesn’t move.

“It’s fine,” Poe says.

“I can wait.”

“It’s fine.”

Rey shrugs, then crosses the room and perches on the windowsill with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. There’s dirt under her fingernails. She smiles at Poe.

He smiles back at her.

“I don’t think there’s anything physically wrong with you,” Dr. Kalonia says. “I think you had a panic attack. A severe one.”

(MORE TALKING)

(KALONIA LEAVES)

Poe throws one arm over his eyes again. “Come over here?” he says, flinging out his other arm in Rey’s direction, palm upward.

It’s a suggestion, not a request. He and Rey have been thrust together through their mutual connection with Finn. They’ve been spending a lot of time at his bedside together. Poe still hasn’t figured Rey out, not entirely, and he’s pretty sure Rey still hasn’t figured him out, either. Rey is still figuring herself out, life on the Resistance base seeming both exciting and overwhelming to her.

The mattress dips under Rey’s weight. She leaves some space between their bodies, but she puts her hand on his stomach, pillows her head on his arm. He can hear her breathe, soft and calm.

“Are you okay?” she says eventually, cautiously. There’s something about the way she asks the question that briefly makes Poe’s chest feel like it’s caving in.

He clears his throat, says, “Yeah.”

He doesn’t sound very convincing. She doesn’t call him out on it.

“Wanna go outside?” she says. “It’s sunny. There’s fresh air, and trees.”

“Really,” Poe says.

She shoves him.

“Careful,” he says reflexively. “Don’t damage the goods.”

Rey says, unimpressed, “Seriously?”

Poe’s chest still hurts. He lets his arm slide off his face, presses the heel of his palm against his ribs. It doesn’t help.

“You know what, fresh air sounds pretty good,” he says, sitting up.

“Good call,” Rey says.

#coffee chats #star wars #scribbles #1k of poe angst for you my friend

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sithsecrets · 4 years

Text

A Matter of Expediency - Part XIV

2.9 k After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

---

Part 14

2.9k words

Mentions: family drama, crying, pregnancy, pregnant!reader, dead loved ones

---

Though it is your intention to deal with your family swiftly, your plans are pushed aside for a time.

In the wake of over twenty executions spanning across numerous planets and entire star systems, there’s much to be done. You spend days poring over work histories and background checks, working diligently to replace lost personnel. There are four positions that need filling on the Board of Charitable Affairs alone, though Hux is at your side to vet candidates. And then of course there’s spying to do, for several Valderan mineral companies are replacing key players in their operations. Canto Bight’s casino owners are kissing major ass, stolen funds need redistributing to various charities, several small insurrections must be crushed…

It’s like you blink and nearly a month’s gone by, days passing in a haze of paperwork, meetings, and formal appearances. You and Kylo are pulled here and there, always busy, always doing something, and the whole ordeal is more exhausting than you ever imagined it could be. Sleep becomes a luxury, and not for the first time do you find yourself marveling at the Chancellor’s ability to go without it. Still, the sacrifice is worth the reward, and you’re happy to see things straightening out amongst the Order’s possessions.

Finally, all is well, and you’re able to relax again. Handling your uncle and his children sits at the forefront of your mind, but you’re smart enough to know that you need rest before launching into yet another confrontation. Still, even after several days of decent sleep, you’re dragging your feet at midday, drowsiness clouding your mind and dulling your senses. More than once do you find the notion of taking a nap irresistible, and you sleep the sleep of the dead each time you lie down.

Miriam notices the change in your behavior immediately, though she says nothing as she helps you fix your hair and set your clothes straight each afternoon. Kylo is more vocal with his concerns, more insistent that you seek medical attention. He corners you one afternoon in your shared quarters, catching you just as you’ve awoken from another one of your naps.

“I fear someone or something has made you ill,” your husband presses, pushing back against your flippant view of the matter. You turn away from your vanity, amused as you take in your husband’s furrowed brow and tense posture.

“Kylo,” you say, voice dripping honey, “I’m just a little tired. I’m not dying.”

Your husband rushes to your side, taking your face in his hands as he becomes more desperate than you’ve ever seen him before. “My love, I am begging you—”

“And I,” you cut gently, turning to kiss the inside of his wrist, “am begging you to not worry about this.”

Kylo’s exasperation heightens, though you don’t let him go on.

“I’m fine, darling” you insist, fussing with the cuff of your husband’s sleeve. “I’ve never been better.”

---

Returning to the palace is almost surreal, everything just as you left it all those months ago. You hadn’t expected anything to change, not really, but the sameness of it all still makes your chest clench in the strangest way. Every rug, every tapestry, every artifact and decoration… each one reminds you of a time that was not long ago, though you can hardly recognize that version of yourself now.

Two Knights of Ren flank you on either side as you glide into the receiving room you know all too well, your only protection on your home planet. Kylo was insistent for a while there, demanded that you be attended by stormtroopers and Reds and a number of other personnel, but you managed to talk him out of it. Ap’lek and Vicrul are more valuable than fifty imperial guards put together, and besides, you are adored here— the chance of you being harmed is slim to none.

Your uncle’s throne still sits on its dais in the center of the room, this fixture too unchanged. You approach it cautiously, mildly afraid to be caught near the thing on principle. It was the cardinal rule of your childhood— do not sit on Uncle’s throne, not under any circumstances. How many tongue lashings had you received for climbing up here as a child? Ten? Twenty? You can’t be sure after all these years.

What you do know, however, is that your uncle’s throne is even more comfortable now than it was in your childhood.

As if on cue, the patriarch of your remaining family comes striding into the room, mid-conversation with one of his attendants. His entire body shudders when he lays eyes on you, no doubt surprised to see you, or anyone else, for that matter, in this room. Arriving unannounced was a key element in your plan, and, if your uncle’s wide-eyed, horrified gaze is anything to go by, it’s already having the desired effect.

You let your uncle splutter stupidly on the floor for a moment, let him go through aborted versions of your name, your old title, and your new one before he finally blurts, “What are you doing here?”

It’s by no means a respectful way to address his Empress, but you’re too pleased with the way he cringes at his own words to care.

Setting your expression carefully, you gesture about the room with one lofty hand. “I’m here for a visit, Uncle. I wanted to check on the state of things here.” Your voice drops, becomes less pleasant. “The state of our people.”

Your uncle looks as if he’s going to vomit. This pleases you.

Mila is the first to come before you, startled like her father was upon seeing your face. She has the decency to kneel though, to show you respect as she waits for her brothers to arrive. And they do after several minutes, the both of them looking ruffled and perturbed as they shuffle into the room.

“You do not kneel before you Empress?” Ap’lek snaps, incensed by the way Sebastian and Tensin make no move to join their father and sister on the floor.

Sebastian, the smart-mouthed little shit that he is, opens his mouth at once, no doubt about to spit something acidic and defiant in Ap’lek’s face. But your uncle stops his son before he can do something stupid, yanking the eldest boy down onto his knees.

“Shut up and kneel down,” the King hisses. “Both of you.”

Sebastian and Tensin need no further prompting after that, though they obviously aren’t happy about being forced to show fealty to you. Mila, however, looks almost afraid, refusing to meet your eyes even as she says, “To what do we owe this honor, Empress?”

You like this change in your cousin’s demeanor, like the way she addresses you with humility and respect. So, you answer her question calmly, though you can feel rage coming to a boil in your chest.

“I am here, Princess, to tell your father that I know what he’s been doing with his people’s money.”

At this, your uncle pales, shifting uncomfortably on his knees. He, too, now will not look you in the eye, an indirect but still very overt admission of his guilt. You can’t believe him, so shameless and yet so cowardly at the same time.

Your uncle drops his head, voice subdued as he speaks. “Empress, I think you’ve misunderstood—”

Something in your snaps then, for how dare he treat your like you’re stupid, like you haven’t been paying attention?

“Oh no, Uncle, it is you who has misunderstood,” you snap, rising from his throne. Venom drips from your every word, Ap’lek and Vicrul your dark, dangerous shadows as you stalk closer and closer to your family. “You misunderstand the purpose of your tax dollars; you misunderstand the needs of your people. They suffer under the financial burden you’ve placed upon them while you snort spice and fuck whores.”

“Do not speak to my father like that!” Sebastian shouts, jumping to his feet in front of you. His eyes are wild, but you are equally as enraged, getting in his face, daring him to so much as touch you.

“Harm me or my child and it will be the last thing you do, you insolent little fuck.”

All eyes land on you, the members of your family stunned into silence by the implications of what you’ve just said. Mila is the only one brave enough to speak, eyeing you from the floor with a look of utter shock slapped across her face. “You’re pregnant?”

Remembering yourself, you take a breath and set your hands on the almost imperceptible swell of your stomach. “Yes, I am pregnant,” you affirm, speaking softly as you think of all your days spent in bed and the way Kylo cried when you told him what you knew. It was the one reason he was so insistent that you come here armed to the teeth.

Your family looks upon you as if you’re a live explosive then, falling all over themselves to widen the distance between all of you. You crowd right back in, however, undeterred and unafraid. “All of you must understand, then, why I came to do this before my condition progresses any farther.”

Tensin decides to be bold. “And what would this be?”

Cutting your eyes away from him, you look squarely at the King. “I’ve come to take your father’s crown.”

The noise that comes out of Sebastian is indignant and angry. Mila gasps, eyes wide and terrified. Tensin turns white as a sheet. And your uncle? All he does is stare up at your stupidly, mouth opening and closing on what appears to be its own accord for several seconds.

“You can’t— You can’t do that,” he stammers, looking from you, to his throne, and back again. “You can’t— Who will rule in my place? You?”

“I have the galaxy, Uncle,” you state, voice even and calm. “I don’t need this planet.”

The King looks at his eldest son and then back at you, a silent question swimming behind his eyes. You refuse to answer it, simply holding out your hand and eyeing the crown that glitters before you.

“Take that ridiculous thing off your head.”

Your uncle hesitates for a moment, a look of utter heartbreak coming across his face as he finally reaches up and out, handing you his crown as instructed. You hold the thing in your hands for a moment, studying the craftsmanship, the fine jewels that glint so beautifully in the light…

And then you throw it at Mila’s feet.

The clang of metal against marble bounces off the walls of the room again and again, the sound almost painfully loud in your ears until Mila’s able to get her hands on her father’s crown— or, rather, her crown. You see tears in her eyes as she studies it, looking at the gold and gilding as if she can’t believe it’s real.

Your uncle is clearly bewildered, shaking his head as he asks, “Why?”

“Because she’s smarter and more capable than both of your sons put together.” You lean down, really get in his face so that he can feel your anger properly. “And to think that you were going to sell her to the highest bidder.”

These words suck all other protests from your uncle’s mouth, and you can see now that this is over.

“You and the Princes will leave this palace immediately,” you declare. “You are not allowed to return for a year.”

Tensin looks distressed. “This is our home!”

You eye him coolly. “Not anymore. I can’t have you poisoning Mila’s reign with your childish partying and idiotic ideas. Now leave me and your Queen alone, all of you.”

Your uncle and his sons stumble out of the room, dazed and humiliated. Mila finally rises to her feet once they’re gone still weakly clutching her crown in one hand. Tears stream down her face. She looks like she’s been punched in the gut.

“Don’t waste it,” you say simply, tossing your head towards the throne in the center of the room. “I can take it from you just as easily as I took it from him.”

“I won’t,” Mila whispers. You believe her.

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

And then you’re walking out of the room, your guards trailing behind you without a word.

Mila calls out after a moment, calls you by your title and then by your real name.

You turn to her. “Yes?”

“I—” Your cousin is distraught, eyes darting as she pants for breath. “I’ve been do awful to you. I treated you like dirt, I— You could have let Father sell me to that old man, and I would have been miserable. Why would you give me this instead?”

You stare her down for a moment, considering what to say. “I’m not like you, Mila. I’m not cruel.”

Mila shudders like she’s been slapped, and you turn to leave the room.

---

Ap’lek and Vicrul fly you out into the countryside after the lot of you make your exit from the palace, cruising at a comfortable speed as you take in the rush of scenery bellow you. This part of your planet feels as though it belongs somewhere else entirely, underdeveloped and free from the crowding of urban sprawl.

Your mother’s house, like the palace you just came from, is exactly as you remember it. The landscaping, the front steps, the courtyards— there’s not a blade of grass out of place, and the joy you feel because of this makes you want to weep.

Stepping inside is like stepping back inside, for you haven’t been to this place since you were a girl. Servants and small droids bustle about, putting on the finishing touches for your arrival. You’d asked to have the place opened up a couple of weeks ago, wanted to spend some time here after you finished dethroning your uncle. But now that you know you’re pregnant, you have other plans for this home.

Shooing Ap’lek and Vicrul away, you go exploring, halfway surprised that you still remember your way around. But no, you haven’t forgotten the layout of this house you love so much, these halls and rooms you played in as a baby.

You peek in your old bedroom, delighted to see that no one’s changed the colors on the walls. The same furniture that looked so big in your eyes then only looks average now— small, even. Your little window even faces the same flowers, the same fields, the same sunshine. At once, you decide that your child will know all these things too, just as you did.

Crossing the threshold in your mother’s room feels almost like stepping into a tomb, though the sensation is not one of dread or gloom like you thought it would be. Her bed and furniture are, like everything else in this house, just as they were when she was alive, though the vanity looks strange without her things strewn across it. You can remember your mother sitting there before the mirror, a tube of lipstick in her hand, a bottle of perfume close by. All little children think that their mothers are beautiful, and you were no different back then. Now, though, you realize that your mother really was a gorgeous woman, buxom and bright and so, so pretty. She would have you help her sometimes before she left for a party, would let you pick out her earrings or ask you which scent you liked better that night. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you reach up and unclip your own jewelry, laying the pieces out carefully on the vanity as your first action as this house’s new mistress.

The covers on the bed aren’t the ones your mother slept under, but you still feel like you’re crawling in bed beside her as you lie down. A length of time passes in silence after that, how much you can’t be sure, but you’re brought back to reality when you hear heavy boots in the hallway. Kylo appears in the doorway not one second later, quiet as he pauses to study you for a moment. And then he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and unlacing his boots, he’s lying down beside you. The two of your clasp hands, tangling your feet together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“How did it go?” Kylo asks, though you’re sure he already knows.

“Mila will be coronated this afternoon.”

Kylo nods, unfazed. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you say softly, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Kylo turns to kiss your palm, gentle in the same way he’s been gentle since he found out about the baby.

“This is a very beautiful house,” Kylo declares, leaving the topic of your uncle and his children behind. “Why are we here?”

“This is where I grew up,” you explain, fingers in his hair now. “I was born in this room.”

Kylo almost-smiles. “What a lovely place for a child. I see why your mother chose it for you.”

It’s your turn to nod. “I know. I… I want to be pregnant here. I want to give birth here, like my mother did. The baby needs to feel the sun on his face, needs to breathe real air when he takes his first breath.”

Kylo pulls you closer, kisses the top of your head. “I’ve always thought space was too cold for an infant.”

And just like that, the matter’s settled.

Everything’s settled.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #ame #my writing #tw: pregnancy #cw: pregnancy #pregnant!reader

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