I’m sorry if it’s vague, but could I request Kylo saying the cliche “who did this to you?” line to a soft reader?
Unauthorized Contact
Kylo Ren x Fem!reader Word Count: 4.61k Authors note: I eat UP cliche lines, you guys have no idea. I meant to make this way shorter but the story just kept going! Hope you all enjoy. Please send in more Kylo/Ben requests! I don't know how soft the reader actually is, she came off as a little more independent, so I'm sorry if it's not exactly what you were looking for, anon!
Continued in this post.
It was so stupid.
Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up, but you did.
Actually… No. You should have brought it up, and you’re glad you did. Why should you need to stay silent just to keep things smooth with him? Why does he get to brush you off like you didn’t matter? It absolutely mattered. Officers don’t just hand out compliments or promotions. Especially not Admiral Elar. It mattered to you. You earned that praise
And his response told you exactly what you needed to know. You watched Kylo look right through it like it didn’t mean anything. You called him out for it and what did he say? ‘Maybe you shouldn’t care so much what I think.’
He couldn't be serious. As if he hadn’t just kissed you in the bed, pulled you into the low light of his quarters and told you about his day, voice quiet for once, lips trailing across your bare shoulder.
The fight wasn’t about that, not really, but it was. You asked why he wouldn't just sway something. Acknowledge it, even a little. But he just threw it back like it was your problem for caring. And he knew he didn't mean it. You saw it in his face the second he said it, but it was already out there. So you left. And he didn’t follow.
It wasn’t a great day for you. Especially since you became a target that day, as well. Getting jumped in the west hall training wing was just a cherry on top. Three of them, and it just had to be Tavik Trenn. He wasn’t just some recruit, he was just as good as you. At least he thought so. You sparred him, worked the same simulation drills and assignments, and he’s watched you get promoted ahead of him. Twice.
“Private lessons with the Commander, huh?” Tavik said, coming to you with the insinuation that you didn’t deserve what you had. The private training, the promotion he wanted… He said he was just evening things out. You fought back pretty well, considering it was an unfair advantage. You got one of them right in the face, another in the knee cap. One hit Tavik so hard he staggered onto the floor. But there were three of them, and only one of you.
It was never supposed to be public, whatever was happening between you and Kylo. There were unspoken rules about this sort of thing. Keep it quiet, keep it clean, no one needed to know. But somewhere between the glances and pauses when he corrected your form, people started talking. That kind of talk is never contained. It spreads and twists everything you’ve worked for into something cheap and unearned.
You came back to your quarters after a quick stop at the medbay—you had to use your personal ration clearance to authorize an extra dose. You didn’t want to report it, and knew what you had left in your cycle wasn’t enough for the beating you just took.
Now, you’re sitting stiffly in your desk chair, facing the wall, trying to find a position to breathe where pain didn't start a fire in your body. The light from the monitor has dimmed into an idle flicker.
Then, three harsh BANGS came from the door behind you. You jump and your shoulders pull tight.
“Open the door.” Kylo’s deep voice demands from the other side. You breathe in slow, lips pressed into a line. “I know you’re in there.”
You don’t answer.
He kept going. “It wasn’t a big enough fight for this. I expected you to come back.”
You roll your eyes. He expected you to come back? He can’t be serious.
He knocks again, quicker, more insistent. He doesn't say anything for a while until he starts calling your name out, pounding on the door a little harsher.
“I swear on the Force,” you hear his breath through the door, “if someone is int here with you—”
“There’s no one in here.” It came out bitterly and before you could convince yourself not to.
A long silence followed.
“Open. The door.” And you stay quiet, willing yourself not to speak again. You can outlast him, you know you can. “I’m not leaving.” He says. He means it. “I will override this panel.”
Bastard would do it. Your eyes flicker to the door…If someone sees him standing outside your quarters this late, hammering at your door, there'll be more whispers. Worse ones.
You stand slowly and a blanket wrapped around your shoulder slides off the chair as you move. Pain sparks through your ribs, they ache even as you lift your arm to unlock it with a tap. The door had just clicked and he was already moving inside. Shoulders set, no cloak, no mask, eyes darker than you've seen in days. He steps into your space like the fight never happened, like he never left you and your words hanging out to dry.
You turn your back before you can get a good look. You return to your desk, sit as he closes the door behind him. Say nothing. The room shrinks around you.
“You’re not gonna face me?” He speaks. You don’t. “Why.”
“I don’t feel like fighting.” You respond so quietly, flatly.
“Well,” his breath drags, “I’m here now.”
You laugh under your breath. “You came to my door.”
You hear him step closer, back still turned. “I said something… stupid.” You don’t give him much reaction. “I didn’t mean it.” You don’t respond, the silence sits for a beat too long to feel comfortable. “I was trying to protect you.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you were soft, Kylo. I just wanted to share something good about my day. A promotion I’ve been working hard for.”
“You know that’s not it.” You only shrug at his words, shoulders stiff, but you didn’t let the pain show in your movement. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”
“Then you shouldn’t have said it.” You grit, looking at his reflection in the metal of the small lamp in front of you.
He took a step closer. “Your whole body’s tense. Look at me.” He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can’t come up with anything to say. “You’ve been crying, haven’t you?”
You scoff. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t.” He sounded offended. He tries again, one shuffle closer. “Something else is wrong. Is it me?” You stiffen “Talk to me.”
“Stop.”
He doesn’t. “Tell me what happened.”
“Just go back to your quarters.” You grit your teeth. He’s closing in on you. You have nowhere to go.
“Not until you look at me. You’re avoiding something.”
“I’m avoiding you.” And you spin around before you could stop. You stand too fast and your hip knocks the edge of the desk, you wince. That’s all it takes. His expression shatters the second he sees your face. Your jaw, swollen and bruised, the yellow and purple curve beneath your eye, even the way you’re holding yourself up. He goes completely still.
“What the fuck.” He closes the space in two steps. “Who did that. Who did this to you?”
You shut your eyes, cursing at yourself and sighing. His eyes rake over you. Your mouth to your temple, your hand now over your ribs. The bruise that disappeared under your shirt collar.
His voice is low. Dangerous. “Tell me.”
“No.”
“Why not.”
“It looks like you’d kill them.”
“You’re right.” He breathes. “I will. I’ll kill them. Tell me.” Your arms folded across your body as if that could protect you from the way he’s looking you up and down. Like he was ready to burn the ship down for an answer. “Tell me now.”
You bite your cheek. “It doesn’t matter—”
“It absolutely matters—”
“Son of a…” You grumble to yourself. He is so goddamn stubborn. You knew him too well to assume he’d just let this go. “Fine. Tavik. And two of his pets that follow him around everywhere.” You wave a hand as if it was nothing, a small annoyance in your day.
His nostrils flare. His mouth opens, then closes. He steps back like his feet were ready to head toward the door. You can see it building behind his eyes. The switch from man to monster. The fury crawled up his spine and sat on his shoulders. He turns to you only for a moment, breathing through a locked jaw.
“I’m handling it.” You say quickly, too dismissive for his liking. “I got some good hits in.”
“Not enough.” His gaze lands on you again, eyes dragging over every mark, cataloging the damage. His voice is lower now, barely holding steady. “He did all of this to you.”
“Kylo. I’m fine.” It goes in one ear and out the other.
He steps forward again, this time he reaches you, fingers grazing your jaw like a feather, pausing right before a nasty bruise with angry blood vessels veining on your skin. You feel exposed, especially at how quiet he is. There’s a pulse behind his eyes, a pressure telling you that he doesn’t trust what might come out of his mouth if he says what he’s really thinking.
His fingers twitch at his sides as he slowly reaches a hand to your shirt collar, pulling it back with a hooked finger. The bruise runs lower than expected. A handprint blooming from shoulder to collarbone, branching toward your sternum. He follows the shape with his eyes and you notice how stiff he is. His breath is coming too controlled, panting almost. He gently shifts the fabric again only to see that the mark doesn't end there. The purple gives way to something darker, smeared down your chest like ink. And still, lower.
His voice is hoarse. “Take it off.”
You blink at him. “What?”
“I need to see.”
You know how bad it is under there. Once they had you on the ground, there wasn’t much you could do to fight back. “No.”
He looks at you, sharp and expectantly. “Take it off. I’ve seen you naked.”
“Not the same thing.”
He opens his mouth, but stops himself. Instead, he steps back a pace, turns away. His hand in a tight fist at his side, unclenching and reclenching. He is coiling into himself. Almost to himself, he begins to mutter. “I’ll break his jaw. I’ll rip out his fucking spine. I’ll take him apart until he begs—”
“Stop.” You reach out and grab his wrist before you can even think, and he freezes. “Don’t. Please.”
He turns his head just enough to see you in his periphery, so tense you think it might even hurt. “You’re asking me not to?”
“Yes.”
“You’re asking me not to.” He confirms in disbelief. “Why?”
He waits for your answer. You pause, not wanting to say it and have it be real. But it is real. “They did this because of you. Because of… us. Whatever this is.” He turns the rest of the way, brows knit and confused. “They said I only got my promotion because of you. That I didn’t earn it. They wanted to even out the playing field."
His expression fractures. You can see it in his face, exactly how much he’s thinking and how little he’s managing to control it all.
He steps back toward you. “Take it off.”
You hesitate. “Ky—”
“I just…” His voice breaks, “I just want to see. Please.” He speaks your name like it hurts.
You hold his gaze for a second longer. Then, you lift the hem of his shirt, the fabric pulls stiffly over your bones and stomach. You wince and he doesn’t hesitate to help you, watching your grimace all tense, then pinning his eyes as the skin is revealed, dropping the shirt with a loose grip.
There’s more bruising than you even realized. A boot mark, faint but clear, pressed into the side of your waist. Finger bruises blooming dark blue down your hip. A few cuts you couldn’t quite reach to clean, and they sting when you sleep. Ben stares, face unreadable, but you’re sure his mind is loud. His brows furrow as he steps forward, slowly, eyes dragging down your side. He lifts a hand to graze the skin with two fingers, just beside the worst of it on the edges of your bruises.
His voice is clipped. “Did they do this with their hands?” You nodded once. “And that?” He gestures to the boot print.
You nodded again. “Yep.”
He closes his eyes for a moment. He opens them again, they're darker than before.
“I’ll find him.”
“Seriously, come on—”
“I’ll find all three of them. I’ll make them feel what this feels like. I’ll snap every finger—”
“Kylo.” Your voice is firmer now. His chest rises, then falls, then rises again. Faster. Shallower. Like he can’t get a full breath in. His hand is now resting on your waist, fingers slightly curled around the hem of your pants. “You’ll make it worse. If you go after Tavik, it proves them right.”
He stares at you for a long moment. “You earned it. Every bit of it. You’re better than him, you always were.” He steps in front of you, eyes trailing across your marks, finally meeting your tired eyes. His voice is rough now, it sounds like it's being pulled from his throat. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was just… angry. About things that don’t matter. About being seen with you, not being with you.”
Your shirt is off and your ribs are bruised in streaks of yellow and violet and the boot shaped outline is carved into your side like they branded you… and Kylo is looking at you like he’s the one who’s hurt. Like if he looks away, for even a second, he might do something irrevocable. He shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He never has. Not when your voice is so quiet and unsure of itself for once.
You stare at the man who showed up at your door with squared shoulders and a heavy fist and it pains you, because you didn't expect him to melt into this. You knew he was protective—possessive might be a better word for it… But this was something different. Tender maybe. Ragged. Almost like he didn't even know he had it in him. He’s the last person you should've let close. He’s powerful and dangerous. A ticking weapon. Your superior.
And you like him. You really like him.
The thought is too stubborn to bite back, and maybe you always did feel something for him. Maybe somewhere in the sparring and the whispered corrections into your ear, showing you with his own strong arms wrapping around you, something shifted. Maybe you’ve been protecting yourself from him for so long you didn’t notice he was trying to protect you too.
“What do you want me to do?” He asks, a little desperate now. “Nothing? I can’t do nothing.”
You hesitate, words sitting in your throat like they didn't want to come out. “You could just… stay.” His eyes flicker and you wished you could take them back when he looked startled. He wasn't prepared for that. “Stay with me.” You double down. “Just for a bit. If you want to.”
He softens, you see it in his shoulders when they drop. He steps closer and presses his hand to your waist again. Not examine you this time.
“Okay.” He nods and eases you toward the bed.
He squeezes himself between you and the wall, long legs tucked awkwardly, folding in on himself just to hold you. You lean back against his chest, arms wrapped around your stomach, careful not to couch the bruises too much.
“You didn't deserve this.” He murmurs. “I should've known.”
You breath evens out slowly, your hand tightens faintly over his. He listens to you breathe, shallow and strained.
He thinks of Tavik Trenn. Thinks of those little smug glances, the bitterness in every training exercise, the jealousy he would give you in his congratulations after you performed well. Thinks of him stepping on you. Your body curving inward, trying to protect yourself on some cold floor. How you never cried.
His vision’s gone back to red. If only he hadn't been so stupid, so proud. If he had just told you you deserved the praise.
He looked down at you, mouth parted faintly, lashes touching your cheek, the crease in your brow relaxed now. You’re warm. You fell into rest so quickly, breathing against him like you were meant to. Maybe he was wrong about all of it—hiding you, keeping you as a distant secret. Pretending he didn’t think of you constantly, counting down the next sparring session like some kid with a crush.
Maybe it’s time to stop pretending.
You blink and rustle awake, head shifting slightly. “Sorry,” You grumble. “Didn’t mean to trap you here. I know it’s small.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologize. I'm comfortable.” Your eyes are foggy with sleep. He brushes a strand of hair back, letting his hand just cradle your head.
Your fingers trace his chest. “You know, you don’t have to stay.”
“I know. I want to.” He digs his body into his spot, gently holding you a little closer. His voice is quiet and serious. “I’m in it. I mean it. I don’t want to keep pretending that we’re just messing around or sleeping together. I want to be with you.”
Your lips part slightly and he watches you smile and hide it immediately in his chest. Just as stubborn as him. So cute. He bit one back himself, putting his mouth against the top of your head.
“Get some sleep, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
He fell asleep just after you did.
The night went quickly and he woke up with less layers than he had on when he got here. He must have tossed his tunic off mid sleep. It’s so damn stuffy in here. The circulation in this wing is weak. The room is dim, there’s no sound of boots outside. You’re curled into his side, face buried just under his collarbone, nose brushing a warm huff against his skin. One arm flung over his stomach, legs tangled in his, thigh tucked across his hips.
Kylo stares at the ceiling. He hasn’t slept this stiff in years. The mattress beneath him might as well not be there at all. He can feel the cold bleeding up through the base of it through the wafer-thin padding and a blanket that’s barely enough to sketch across the both of you. He’s seen crates with more cushioning. Then he looks at you, almost comfortable in your spot.
Gods, you really sleep here every night. He couldn’t believe this is what you come back to and never said one word about it. His bed has room to stretch, sprawl. But even there, you end up wound around him like this. But you could.
You shift slightly against him, sleepy eyes opening to look at him. “Kylo.” You grumble, putting your face back into the heat of his shoulder. “You’re staring.”
“I’m allowed.” He mutters, but turns his head to face the ceiling once again.
You smile faintly, eyes closed again as you trail a tired kiss to the skin on his chin. Then one to the corner of his mouth. Then, a real one. You lean in and catch him fully. He kisses you back slower and deeper, hand tightening against your waist.
You pull back and try to sit up, but barely make it halfway before you wince hard.
“You have painkillers?” He acts fast, already shifting to support your back.
“Top drawer.” And he reaches over you without a word, grabbing the bottle and helping you sit up more carefully. You groan through your teeth, arm trembling. “It’s better than yesterday.” He doesn’t look convinced and watches as you dry swallow two large pills. “I need to get dressed. I have sparring drills.”
“The hell you do.” He scoffs, rubbing a kink out of his neck.
“I only got cleared for two days. Medical gave me—”
“I’ll handle it.” He stated like it wasn’t even worth a second thought. “You’re not going back to that training room until you can hold your head up by yourself, at least.”
You want to argue. You feel the push back sitting in your throat, but you swallow it down. He’s probably right. There’s no way you could spar, much less make it out of your quarters without holding onto the wall.
Kylo sits at the edge of the bed, fingers fiddling with a hole on the blanket, eyes focused on the threads with a strange concentration. “I want to tell people we’re together.”
You almost choke on your tongue. “Kylo—no.”
“No one can lay a finger on you if they know I’ll kill them.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I want to take care of you, too.”
“Ky,” You need him to think this through. This isn’t a small thing he can decide in just one morning. “They’ll think everything I’ve done is because of you. That I didn’t actually earn any of it and I’m just some officer in your bed.”
He shakes his head, shuffling close to you, supporting himself on his arms and towers above you. “Then I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly how hard you earned it.” He leans down, kisses your lips softly. You run your fingernails down his forearm. You might be blushing, but the palette of colors on your face surely hides it enough. You just smirk. “I’m going to break every bone in their fingers. They’ll have to crawl back to their bunks.”
You groan, half exasperated, half flattered. “Gods, you’re sadistic.”
He brushes his lips over your cheek. “I’m being romantic.”
“Romantic would be… I dunno, writing me a letter, or something.”
“Same thing.” He kisses your jaw and sits up on his knees.
You reach for his hand and hold it, feeling the callouses on your fingertips. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He huffs, and there's a moment you just stare at him, thumb brushing the inside of his wrist. “Don’t kill him.”
“I’m going to make sure no one lays a hand on you ever again.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I do.” He cuts in, standing and picking up his clothes. “Because I’m with you. I’m in it.” You watch as he makes himself presentable, just the way he came in last night. He straightens and moves to the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
Now, mask on and obsidian plates, he stands at the threshold of the training hall, still as a statue, watching through a glass pane as cadets practice their forms. Some sloppy, some impressive. But he wasn’t there to recruit or criticize their talents.
The doors slide open and he makes harsh steps forward. Silence spreads, boots shuffle, backs straighten, the sounds of fists and boots all fall quiet. He walks with his cape trailing behind him, the soles of his feet striking deliberately against the flooring. Kylo stops in front of the instructor. A tall, wiry lieutenant in combat gear, visibly surprised to see Kylo Ren and trying to snap into some respectful stance that won't betray the nerves that were pouring off of him.
“Commander Ren,” the man says, breath caught. “I wasn’t informed you would be visiting the session.”
“I’ll be observing.” Kylo responds through the modulator.
“Yes. Of course, sir.” The man swallows. Kylo turns toward the gathered officers and cadets, all standing respectfully. “Resume.”
The pairs reform, movements return, gloves tighten. Everyone is fighting much more evenly now, all of them trying to prove themselves better than their partners. Kylo watches but doesn’t move, arms to his side as the training staff gives him a wide berth as they correct stances and call out bad technique.
And then he sees him.
Tavik Trenn.
The dark buzzed hair, broad shoulders, neutral expression. Maybe trying too hard not to look in Kylo’s line of sight. His sparring partner could barely hold her own against him. His form was clean, but aggressive. Striking too hard for a training match.
Then, across the mat, two others. One with a mottled bruise across his jaw, another favoring his left foot. Kylo tilts his head slightly as his gaze lingers on those bruises. He sees the pattern to them. The traces of your fingernails that dug into their skin, leaving a bloodied scar on his neck. You didn’t go down easy. He would have known that even if you didn't tell him. You could have taken any one of them if they hadn’t outnumbered you.
He kept his eyes glued on those three until the lesson ended.
“Dismissed” The instructor called out.
Everyone began to scatter and go about their regular activities for the day. But Kylo was there for a reason. He saw the three of them gather together, heads down, beelining toward the door in hopes they could get away. They might as well have plastered the word guilty on their uniforms. “Tavik Trenn.” Kylo calls out, voice cutting through the room like a knife. “And you. You two. Stay behind.” They freeze, but turn slowly with cautious eyes that hold steady and shared glances. Kylo turns to the instructor. “Leave us.” He stiffens, unsure. “Now.”
The man nods quickly and exits, leaving them alone with the hum of the lights and the breath of three men who knew they were absolutely fucked. Kylo doesn’t speak at first, just watches them, soaks in their fear and masked confidence. How the one on the back left shifts his weight. How the other one doesn’t look up at all.
Tavik lifts his chin a degree too high. “You wanted something, Commander Ren?”
“You ambushed an officer. Three on one. I know exactly what you did.” Kylo took one step forward. Tavik’s mouth opened— “Don’t speak.” The room grew cold. Kylo’s voice felt like a blade. “She’s earned her rank. Every inch of it. She wasn’t handed anything, I have no part in promotions. I don’t sit on that council. You think private lessons give her power here?”
Tavik let out a breath that might've been a laugh. Dry and forced. “Personal involvement doesn’t go hand in hand with personal involvement?”
“You understand nothing about how the Order works.” Kylo stepped forward again, towering over the man by only two inches or so, but his tone alone could've intimidated anyone in the galaxy. “You think you proved something to yourself? You only proved that she was a threat, and you couldn’t handle it. You turned on her like cowards.”
No one breathed, Tavik backed down, but with a tongue in cheek expression that made Kylo wish you never made him promise not to kill his smug faced asshole.
“I’ll be leading your sparring session tomorrow.” He tilted toward each of the men, the two behind were focused on the floor, heads hung. “Hands-on training. Each of you.” He turned back to Tavik. “You had the advantage once. Three against one. Tomorrow, you’ll face me. Alone. One by one. And I will show everyone just how weak you are.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You better pray this is the last time I hear your name from her mouth.”
He stared them all down. Waited and watched them settle in the reality of their punishment. They never stood a chance against him, they knew that.
“Dismissed.”
Next Part
