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cowboygenesis · 6 days ago

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6: aisle 7 | kylo ren x reader

part 6 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | buy me a coffee?

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: explicit language, vague sexual imagery. word count: 4.3k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: here comes the internal conflict. have you ever considered why the line between hatred and love is so thin? i don't really understand that saying, so please don't ask me! i just love the feeling of yearning. any yearners? lovers? surely..... btw, have you guys seen adam driver in 'burn this'? where he's wearing that leather jacket? yes. YES, that is exactly how i imagine him in this chapter. enjoy!

Now Playing: Für Hildegard von Bingen - Devendra Banhart

The cool LEDs burn into your retinas, urging you to sigh in exasperation as a quiet pop song plays from the overhead speakers. You think you wouldn’t be so overstimulated if it were Destiny’s Child or TLC instead of Nelly Furtado—there was something viscerally wrong about playing ‘Maneater’ at a busy supermarket on a Friday evening.

“What else do we need?” Rey pipes up, her hands resting against the handle of your shopping cart. She looks along the shelves as you walk through the baked goods section, humming quietly.

“Coffee,” a deep voice announces in that usual, flat lilt, making you roll your eyes before your eyes even meet his silhouette. Kylo walks to Rey’s left, donning a black leather jacket and equally filmy eye bags.

Ever since you found out about Sienna, you’ve kept yourself at a distance. You had no concrete evidence to suggest she was his ex until you heard him barking at someone through the phone one night. You were sneaking off into the bathroom when you heard her name fall from his lips. You’d like to say it was filled with resignation, but there was something else there, too. If you didn’t know any better, you might have called it longing.

The phone calls kept coming for a few days. Sometimes, while the three of you happened to share a meal together, you’d watch Kylo’s phone vibrate against the table repeatedly until he’d excuse himself with a low growl. You and Rey would exchange glances, but you never probed her about it. You were still too preoccupied with the glances he had started sending you since your awkward bathroom encounter, a memory that had caused you to avoid him whenever possible.

But it proved to be a challenge when you noticed that he stayed around the apartment more frequently. No more early morning errands or late night escapes, save for the few times he’d visit a cafe to work on his laptop. Besides that, you caught him typing away on his couch every other day, which is also when the stares would occur most. It was much more tolerable while Rey was around to distract you with her jokes or work drama, but when she left, you prayed for salvation.

Another point of confusion was his sudden onset of silence. It was rare for you to speak to each other, and when a conversation did occur, he was annoyingly cordial. His stare probed your form, and his lips curled into that usual smirk as you tried to make sense of your newfound reality. Sometimes, you thought his frontal lobe had finally finished cooking, meaning he was done arguing with you over menial matters.

Sometimes you worried his passiveness came from something much more sinister. You often thought back to that one night you touched yourself thinking of his body, and how you cried his name into your pillow. Part of you believed he might have heard you, albeit foolishly. The chances of that were close to zero, yet not quite—just enough to make you go red whenever you’d lie in bed, awake, thinking of your sinful deed.

A sinful deed you knew never to repeat.

“Are we doing takeout tonight?” you question, popping a bubble with your gum. The minty taste had long disappeared, but you nevertheless enjoyed it for the sake of satiating your oral fixation.

“No,” Rey replies with a sigh, stopping the cart by a shelf of baguettes. “We already did takeout yesterday. Once a week, remember?”

You huff, stuffing your fingers into the back pockets of your jeans—your favorite pair you had grabbed from a charity shop one weekend. It made your ass look good, and that's usually all you could ask for from pants. “I wasn’t even there.”

Rey brushes your question off with a shrug, never turning your way as she searches for the perfect loaf of bread. Meanwhile, you catch Kylo’s gaze rising from his phone screen. You hadn’t even noticed him take it out. “If you pay, then I’m sold.”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes, forcefully moving your gaze away. “Nevermind, then.”

Your fingers mindlessly tap an unpacked stack of hot dog bun boxes when he snorts. When your eyes reluctantly meet his, he’s looking at his phone again with a ghost of a smirk. “Spoiled.”

“ I’m spoiled?” you echo incredulously, tapping your chest while your eyes widen. His mouth opens through a grin, but just as he’s about to retort, Rey turns to you with two baguettes in her hand.

“Can we do our groceries in peace?” she pleads quietly, placing the bread in your cart before returning to the handle. She pushes it ahead, and you continue walking by her side. “You two can argue all you like once we’re done.”

“I didn’t wanna be like that,” you sigh, lips quirking into a tiny smile, ��but he started it.”

He turns to you mid-walk, nose scrunched as he returns his phone to his back pocket. “What are we, twelve?”

“One of us might be.”

“Oh my god,” Rey quips, her face deadpan as you turn toward the fresh produce aisle. “One more word from either of you and I’m out.”

“You heard her,” Kylo nods toward you lazily, and you huff in return. You wrap your fingers around the ledge of the cart, glancing at the array of fruits and vegetables that line the alley. The store must have gone through a restock, as most crates are filled to the brim.

“What do you guys fancy?” Rey pipes up, stopping the cart again to peruse the selection of berries packed in plastic boxes. She tilts her head, tracing her fingers over a bright green plaque. “Maybe we’ll try the bananas? They’re half-off today.”

“Pass,” you hear Kylo murmur, his voice quiet enough to nearly drown under the thrum of chatter and background music—but you catch it.

“What was that?” you question flatly, turning to him as you approach a crate filled with unique, imported produce. You run your finger down the skin of a dragonfruit, feeling out the triangular divots.

He meets your gaze with a deadpan expression, skimming over your face for a second before crossing his arms. “Nothing.”

Your head tilts, and you give him a look. Your eyebrow rises high, poking at him with a certain trepidation. Unknowingly, the corner of your mouth curls. “Too pedestrian for your delicate palate, Ren?”

“He’s picky,” Rey chimes in, keeping her attention on the produce. You wonder if she’s trying to give you an explanation or support your cause of teasing her brother.

“You’re pushing it,” Kylo hums, his tone stern when his gaze meets Rey’s. It’s devoid of mirth, like the tease has gone over his head completely.

“Am I wrong?” She retorts while you reach for one of the fruit. Its deep, wine-red color attracts your hand, wrapping your hands around the girth.

“How about,” you begin, extending your arm toward Kylo. The fruit sits in your palm, making the man stare down at you with a raised brow as you give him a wild grin, “a pomegranate?”

His expression turns deadpan. You watch his hand extend toward yours, grabbing the sphere from your hand and tossing it back in its crate. “That’s a beet.”

The tiny ‘oh’ that leaves your lips seems to go unnoticed as Rey turns to you both with a head of broccoli in each hand. “Oh my god, can we just get apples and go?”

“I’ve been saying,” You exhale sharply, shrugging off any semblance of mischief you’ve been feeling before you reach for the bag of apples. Their waxy surface shines from beneath the yellow net as you place them in your cart, briefly eyeing the rest of the produce. You’ve made little progress, and it’s been half an hour already.

The three of you keep trailing down the sleek, white tile, passively loading the cart with various products. Tea, coffee, biscuits, and a nice bottle of wine to suit your evening food regimen. Kylo had insisted on a red, but you and Rey teamed up to overthrow his decision, settling on a pinot grigio.

As you place the wine into your cart, Rey folds her arms over her chest and purses her lips.

“By the way,” she begins, toying with the hem of her sleeve. Kylo is still eyeing the selection of liqueur, fingers grazing over bottles you hadn’t ever dreamed of buying. Sometimes you forget the guy was (probably) loaded. “I was thinking we switch up the regimen today.”

At that, you and Kylo turn to Rey with raised brows. While you clashed frequently, the one thing you could both agree on is keeping things in line.

“How about we cook together?” Rey finally offers, her hands clasping together as if she knew she’d have to plead with you.

Kylo is the first to utter, his face deadpan when he meets his sister’s gaze. “Absolutely not.”

“Over my dead body,” you add flatly, struggling not to throw a glare at Kylo. While you didn’t hate the idea, something within you stirred when he disagreed so promptly. All you could do now is follow the narrative and hope that you could avoid another argument. After all, you almost clashed at the dairy aisle over the best type of yogurt to have with granola. It was starting to feel ridiculous, even for you.

“C’mon, you guys,” Rey huffs, her tone shifting into that familiar, tight lilt you imagine a parent would use with their misbehaving children. Sometimes that’s the dynamic you feel you’re forced into. “I think it’d be fun.”

“He’s insufferable,” you explain, arms crossing as you pretend to pick a product off the shelf and read its label.

“She’s incompetent.”

“Incompetent?!” you twirl around, eyebrows furrowed when you meet Kylo’s gaze. He’s standing there, poking his cheek with his tongue and raising both eyebrows at your frustrated form as if he was surprised at your bewildered disagreement.

Rey groans, rubbing at her temples as the two of you exchange murderous glares. “It’s literally just chopping vegetables.”

“I do not trust this woman with a knife,” Kylo utters, his voice low and biting. For a second, you could almost catch his jaw tightening, like the image of you wielding a weapon was humorous. You try your best not to think of the incident with the salad spoon.

“Smartest thing you’ve said all day,” you quip back, curling your lips into a mocking smile that Kylo returns. You think he’s about to bite back, when Rey interrupts you once more.

“Oh my god, whatever,” she slumps her shoulders, pushing the cart forward with an extra pep in her step. “Let’s just do pasta and decide who cooks once we get home.”

“We always do pasta,” you mutter, more to yourself than anything.

“Quiet, you,” Rey snaps, but her tone seems jollier now that the three of you are back on business. With the bulk of the shopping done, you’d be able to leave this sensory hellhole soon enough. “I’ll take care of the sauce, you two find us a pa—”

“I’ve got it,” you announce, quickly bee-lining to the nearest aisle. You turn for just a moment to find Kylo’s curious gaze, pointing a finger at him with your best attempt of a warning glare. “Don’t follow me.”

He tilts his head, but the glint in your eyes leaves you feeling unsteady, like he’s still undecided if following you would be a worthwhile endeavor. You mentally reprimand yourself for giving a shit.

“Wait, just don’t get spaghetti! It won’t work with the sauce!” Rey calls to you, and you wave at her in acknowledgment before disappearing between the shelves.

You don’t even notice your pulse has quickened before you’re finally left alone. With a long, deep breath, you let your shoulders slump as you traverse down the aisle of tin cans and jars. If it wasn’t for the fact Kylo was around to pounce at you so often, you think you’d actually enjoy this trip. It was rare for you and Rey to make time to collaborate on groceries, so you’d love to see this evening as quality time.

Your plans are immediately poured down the drain once you sense a familiar presence behind you. A shiver rises up your spine before you even turn around, but once you do, you can’t help the groan that leaves your lips at the mess of raven locks trailing behind you.

“Oh my god,” you huff, turning back ahead to lose sight of his taunting gaze. “Are you serious?”

You hear him click his tongue as you pass an elderly couple. You catch them eye you for a second, the woman’s lips curling into a pleasant smile as her gaze darts between you and Kylo. You return her pleasantries with your a smile of your own, but inwardly, you’re cringing at the implication being made.

“Miss me?” Kylo chuckles, his voice velvety. It’s enough to make you want to strangle him, but out of respect for the other shopgoers, you decide to save it for later.

“Didn’t I just tell you to not follow me?” you hiss, glancing at the signs dangling off the ceiling in search of your desired aisle.

“Did I agree?” He replies from behind, still on your heels as you finally spot the dried goods section.

You sigh, slowing your pace to eye the various brands of pasta that stretch on the shelves in front of you. Momentarily, you catch his gaze on you in your peripheral.

“Leave, Kylo.”

“I need to approve your choices,” he shrugs casually, and you roll your eyes, making sure he sees your displeasure. It proves to be a rookie mistake, as each instance of annoyance you show seems to fuel his energy, like he’s some fucked up, unsexy iteration of an incubus.

“You’re evil,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing one of the boxes that appeal to you. The label reads ‘farfalle’, placed just above a small, plastic window revealing a glimpse of your favorite pasta shape. You place it under your elbow before you turn to Kylo again, deadpanning at his self-satisfied smile. “An evil dictator ruining the sanctity of this grocery store.”

“I’m just doing my job,” he shrugs again, eyeing the box you had picked out before pointing. “You picked the wrong pasta.”

You gawk at him, lips ajar. You hear yourself mutter something, but the frustration in your system makes the words come out as an incomprehensible gurgle. Once you see his smile deepen into a teasing grin, you finally force your vocal cords to utter. “There is no wrong pasta, dude!”

“She asked for rigatoni, dude ,” he mocks, his eyes sharp as they scan down your form. “You’d have known if you didn’t run off like the little hellcat you are.”

You stay silent as he steps forward. For a second, you feel your breath still before his hand extends to grab the box from you. You glare as he places it back on the shelf, turning to you with glittering eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, scanning the shelf for rigatoni.

“Am I though?” he counters through a chuckle, crossing his arms. You’re starting to miss the short period of time he’d keep to himself. “You seem to enjoy my company.”

“Enjoy?” you laugh dryly, “Try endure .”

He places a dramatic hand over his heart, sucking in air through his teeth. “Ouch.”

“Suck it,” you mutter, letting Kylo live out his theatrics. It’s times like this you’re made to regret ever seeing anything in him, whether it was his face, or his body. He wasn’t unattractive by any means, but his personality often spoiled any semblance of potential.

When you feel your cheeks heating up, you clear your throat and grab a box of rigatoni from a brand you like. Once again, you place it under your elbow and glance at Kylo, pointing at the pasta half-heartedly. “There, rigatoni. Happy now?”

He shrugs, head tilted as he briefly eyes your choice.

“Oh!” you exclaim, pushing the box against Kylo’s chest. The pasta rattles inside when he catches it, looking at you with a quirked brow.

“Wha—”

“Take this back, I’ll be a second,” you quickly explain, eyes bright when you wave him off. Without waiting for an answer, you book it down the aisle, disappearing between the tall shelves. The last thing you hear is Kylo’s deep voice calling your name, frustrated—you think it serves him well.

Most people have already done their due diligence and gone home, so the store is looking more and more empty by the minute. Your neck cranes as you look through the signs again. In the background, a song from Rex Orange County plays.

As you turn the corner, you’re met with a small, secluded shelf filled with baking retail. Boxes of cake mix, colorful cupcake liners, and an impressive assortment of sprinkles fill your vision, giving you brief vertigo. You duck slightly, biting your bottom lip in search of what you’re looking for, but all you’re met with is a row of extracts and aromas. You huff, craning your neck to the top shelf.

And there they are. Sitting in a half-opened cardboard box, you spot a variety of birthday candles—some shaped like numbers, others swirling into simple, neat sticks of wax.

You huff, lifting your hand, but your fingers don’t even skim the plastic packaging. You strain, groaning softly at the burn emerging in your triceps, but still—you’re nowhere close to nearing your prize.

“Damn it,” you mutter under your breath, eyebrows squeezed as you get on the tiptoes of your sneakers. They squeal against the shiny tiles, making you wince when you realize your efforts are entirely in vain.

“Need help?” comes a familiar baritone, his voice grazing at your spine and forcing you to teeter over the verge of frustration again. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is, it’s clear with how your body reacts.

“No,” you huff, stretching your fingers further and refusing to meet his gaze as he approaches, “Didn’t I tell you to take the rigatoni back?”

“I did,” he replies plainly, taking a step closer. Your gaze flickers to his hands, and indeed, they’re empty.

Yet he still came back for you.

The thought, albeit short-lived, makes the hairs on your neck stand as a dull shiver passes through your body.

“Why’d you come back?” you mutter, rapping your fingers against one of the shelves you can reach so you can take a rest.

You catch him hesitate for a moment, his gaze flickering down your extended arm, then down to the spot where your shirt rises to reveal part of your belly. Suddenly, he’s making you feel vulnerable again with his penetrating gaze alone.

“Come on,” he finally utters, nodding his head forward. “I’m actually fucking starving.”

“Then leave ,” you sigh, finally turning to look at him. He’s standing close enough that you have to crane your neck just slightly to meet his dark gaze. His posture is loose, but there’s something about the way his jaw tightens that makes your stomach twist. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

He hums, tilting his head. “Sure doesn’t seem that way.”

Your eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

Kylo gestures toward the shelf beside you, where the box of candles remains stubbornly out of reach. His smirk is slow and lazy, the kind that makes your fingers twitch with the sudden urge to smack it off his face.

“What do you need these for?”

Your eyebrows furrow at him, eyes widening like you’re asking if he’s joking. “They’re birthday candles, Ren. Go figure.”

Your nostrils flare as you turn back toward the shelf, indifferent to his reply. You don’t need the asshole’s help.

You stretch again, this time pressing up onto the very tips of your toes, ignoring the way your abs tighten. Your fingers graze the bottom of the box—just barely. You’re so close to getting it. Maybe if you just flick it off the shelf, or— If you jump , maybe—

But before you can try, Kylo moves.

He steps in behind you, broad chest just shy of brushing your back. One of his hands reaches past you, the soft cashmere of his emerging sleeve brushing your cheek before he plucks the candles from the shelf with infuriating ease.

His body isn’t quite touching yours, but the space between you is thin. If you moved just an inch, you knew you’d collide.

So you freeze in place, like a deer caught in the headlights. Despite yourself, you breathe in deeply, your chest thrumming with warmth as your nose fills with the concoction of his scent: fresh, crisp pine, soft musk, and just the slightest hint of vetiver.

He’s so warm. You hate that you can tell.

Kylo lowers the box of candles into your line of sight, holding it just inches away. You manage to shake off your daze just enough to realize the situation you’re in, but when you go to grab it, he pulls it back.

You’re forced to turn.

Your gazes meet.

You’ve always thought his eyes are brown. But now, as you stand chest to chest, you notice the speckles of green and gold within his iris—thin, housing a blown-out pupil that taunts you with its size. His plush lips part just slightly, urging a warm, minty breath to spill onto your face.

You think you’re floating with the tingling in your legs. To avoid succumbing to the numbness, you lean against the shelf. It digs into your hip, and Kylo inches forward.

His face leans in, drawing the breath from your lungs. If you wanted to, I mean, really wanted to, you could lean in now and feel his lips on yours. You could do it. You could kiss Kylo Ren, and regret it for the rest of your life.

“Say please,” he utters, his voice a thick gravel that makes you bite back a gasp.

He knows what he’s doing, the smug bastard, and yet your pulse still skips against your will. He’s boxed you in, one arm catching the grate of the shelf while the other taunts you with your box of candles. Suddenly, you think the effort wasn’t worth it.

“No,” you croak out, scowling even as your stomach twists itself into complex knots.

Kylo lifts a brow, thick lashes brushing over his speckled cheeks when he blinks. “Come on.”

You press your lips into a tight line, feeling your heartbeat trickle into your ears and then elsewhere. Your thighs squeeze involuntarily, and when you wince, you hope he doesn’t notice.

You exhale sharply, resisting the urge to shove him with your jittering digits. “ Never .”

His jaw tightens, but the rest of his face softens almost imperceptibly. The knit of his brows dissolves, and his lips come ajar slightly when he whispers. “Say it for me.”

Your throat tightens at his lilt. It’s honeyed, cradling your confusion-addled mind with something akin to pleasure. And the heat between your legs grows. Fuck, you should withdraw—push him, pull away, what have you—

But you don’t. Not when he sounds so damn good in your ear.

“Kylo,” you whisper, just loud enough to catch his attention. His eyes flicker over your face, starting at your parted lips and ending at your half-lidded eyes.

“Hm?”

The hum rattles through your ribs, nearly strong enough to dissolve your resolve. But not quite.

You grit your teeth, glaring into his smugness as your nails leave crescents on your palms. His jaw tightens again, watching you with glittering eyes. For a second, you feel like the hatred between you dissolves for just a second. “Please.”

His lips twitch. You tilt your head when he doesn’t move.

“Again.”

“What?” you gawk, eyebrows furrowing as the hatred slowly trickles back in. You should have known he wouldn’t let go this easily. Suddenly, you feel like a fool.

“Say it again,” he repeats with a slow, deliberate smirk. The air between you thickens, so tense you can almost feel the buzzing in your ears.

Your voice drops, nearing a hiss. “I already did .”

“And?” His head tilts slightly, gaze flickering to your mouth. The notion makes you want to sink into the tiles below. “Didn’t sound like you meant it.”

Your fingers twitch, aching to rip the damn box from his hands. But you know you can’t. He towers over you, broad and tall and so fucking confident. You hate that about him—how he always manages to pull. Sometimes you worry that one day, your resolve will snap.

“Kylo,” you grit, warning, but he doesn’t budge.

Your pulse pounds so hard you feel it in your ears. He’s pushing you, and whichever god might help, you feel yourself giving in.

The word slips past your lips before you can think.

“ Please .”

There’s a beat of buzzing silence. You don’t dare move, watching his Adam’s apple bob with a thick swallow.

And then, he places the box in your hand. But instead of letting go right away, his fingers brush over your knuckles, loose enough for you to escape had you wanted to. He leans in even closer, his nose brushing against your earlobe. Your breath catches when he gravels out.

“ Good girl. ”

And finally, your breath hitches. It’s audible, carrying in the air between you when he slowly draws back. There’s a small, self-satisfied grin painting his lips, making a mockery of the way your face burns.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, voice tight and shaking when it reaches his ears. And he relishes the way you falter. Relishes the way your eyes glaze over when he backs away, taking all the warmth with him.

“Touchy,” he shrugs, and the familiar word sinks into your stomach like a boulder. You feel incapacitated, while he manages to walk it off just fine.

And he does. Before your trembling lips can utter, he’s moving down the aisle.

He turns to you one last time, his eyes flickering with something completely devastating—Warmth.

“See you outside,” he chuckles.

And then, you’re alone.