HELLLO IM here again to beg u for a request 😭😭😭.
Okay so I have been so getting so Obsessed with kylo ren ( from star wars ) and HIS LACK OF FICS ARE CONCERNING 😭😭😭 . CAN I PLEASE PLEASE REQUEST A LONG KYLO REN OBSESSIVE FIC WITH SMUTT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏
You do NOT have to beg. You give me fic requests and they turn into MASTERPIECES! Girl, keep sending them in, I beg you! Please! Hope you like it, didn't turn out as obsessive, but I frisking love it so I hope you do too.
I Am Yours—That is All That Matters
Obsessive!Kylo Ren x AFAB!force-wielder!reader—in which, he sees you and falls, lurking in shadows but you have always seen him and the light inside of him. You are the one who brings him back. TW: 18+ MDNI, one sex scene. Some angst as Ben misses his mom and dad, pregnancy and a kid. But like ANGST for a bit. (Also Kylo Ren doesn't die in the battle because I CAN)
You were everything to Ben, everything in the world good and kind and right and beautiful. You were the universe and the galaxies and the stars and planets and suns in one form. You were the world with which he lived for, the religion he subscribed to, the place he worshipped.
You were his light and life and love, everything that he could ever want, ever desire. You were more than enough because you were everything. You had been since the First Order, since he saw you then, still beholden to the dark, to the history of his blood, the darkness that seduced him once. You were the first bit of light that he saw, someone strong and powerful in a way so strange and foreign to him. You were the light which drew him from the dark, the thing he would gladly give his life for over and over.
You were the one who brought him back to himself. To Ben. To the name which he had run from once, but never again. You were the one who loved him as Kylo Ren, the monster people feared and hated, cursed and obeyed in the same breaths. You were the one who loved him as Kylo Ren and who loves him now as Ben Solo.
Who loves him now as an ordinary man, husband and father. Who loved him when he was a commander, the one feared and obeyed and cursed and hated.
You were the one who gave him the one thing he had thought he’d never value. Love. You were the one who made him realize it did not have to be a weakness but a strength, something to come back for, to. You were his saviour. His light.
The one who guides him back from his demons and the dark.
And he watches you now, watches the way the star shines like a sun upon you, haloing you and the form of the child curled up beside you, your hand smoothing back their hair while they twine flowers together. He watches you and his child, this family he’s created, one he feels he doesn’t deserve, yet you remind him he does.
He watches and he remembers.
Remembers the first time he saw you, before he realized that love was light and dark and warm and cold and all things together. Before he had you.
Remembers the first time he saw you when wanting cut through the dark.
***
Kylo feels anger simmering within him, a familiar feeling, the one constant in his life, something never tempered only growing. It grows and grows, boiling his blood before he explodes, someone else on the receiving end, learning what it means to displease him, the Commander. He’s used to the feeling of rage and the burning and he doesn’t know what he would feel without it, without the rage and anger and hate and spite. The dark that showed him the truth long ago.
“Commander!” calls the voice of General Hux, the annoying man who believes he has more power than he does. “Commander, what would you like us to do about the prisoner in Detention Block AA-23?” Kylo turns then, his mask still on, an homage to his grandfather, the Chosen One of dark and light, with dark the one he followed.
“Kill them,” he says, voice coming out darker through the mask, the box bending and altering his voice, the sinister tone something like he imagines his grandfather would have had, the one who was beaten by the Skywalker. His uncle. Best not to think about that, about the past.
About Ben.
“But sire, we don’t have all the information you requested,” Hux says, his tone grating and pleading and annoying.
“Did I stutter, General?” Kylo demands, stepping forwards, dark heeled boots clicking across the metal floor, sinister and dark as it should be. “They haven’t told us in time so kill them. Now."
"Of course," Hux says, bowing his head once and stepping back, allowing Kylo to sweep from the room, stepping out into the hall, eyes scanning left and right before he turns and begins to walk away from Hux and his idiotic, passivity. He begins to start but then he hears a voice, one as sweet as it is strong, as powerful as it is kind.
He hears you.
“Armitage!” he hears you cry, spinning on his heel to look, taking in your appearance, the hair swept up, away from your face, your expression that of joy as the idiot general steps out of the room, sweeping you up in a hug, twirling you around while you giggle.
Kylo cannot help the tightening in his body, the anger in his veins. How could you find that idiot ever entertaining or kind or worthy enough of such affection? Didn’t you know—didn’t he know—that love was weakness? It only got you hurt?
Yet, Kylo couldn’t help wondering that if love was such a weakness why were his palms growing sweaty, his throat tightening and lungs restricting as he watched you, watched from the shadows of the hall that he blended in with. Watched as you began to walk with Hux, lecturing him and adjusting his jacket, anger and irritation and irrational jealousy rising within him as he sinks back into the shadow of one of the nooks, praying the two of you will not notice him and the way his hands clench and unclench at your closeness to the general.
“…but Armitage, must you truly be so…so particular. He says, kill the prisoners and you dare to tell him that they haven’t given what he wanted? This is a man known for his brutality! I do not want to have mourn you, brother, for a death from your own stupidity,” he hears you admonish, his heart both growing and constricting at your words because you speak the truth. Simply and plainly.
He used to delight in the way a dark one does in his reputation, hoping he grew worthy of his name, of his relation to the Dark One, but in your voice, in your words, mouth, thoughts, he finds it wrong. He finds shame in what once gave him pride, shame in that which he sought to create. The identity of himself as the perfect head of the First Order, the one who could promise retribution and a future. Could give the people what they needed, rule the galaxies with an iron fist.
But now…it seems wrong.
And he reaches up, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm, expression sinking and blood draining as he watches you walk away, still hearing you whisper about him. And how he’s a monster made man.
He can’t have you thinking that, not when you make him feel this way, when you make his life different, changed.
No. No, he needs you to understand that he is a monster for his people because that is what they need.
And if you need a man, than that is what he will be.
***
“Darling!” you call now, turning to notice him standing in the doorway, your face lighting up when you see him and he cannot help the smile that forms in response at the sound of your voice, at the sight of you content and happy. “Come join us.”
He is helpless to disobey, has always been and he leaves the doorway of the house, cutting across the grass to you and your child, the one formed of the two of you and your love. The proof of his survival, of you bringing him back to the light. To himself.
And so he goes to you, sinking down before you, one hand coming to rest on your stomach where the second child grows, another one of the two of you. Something he never thought possible.
He also never thought it would be possible for you to love him, to lean back and rest your head on his shoulder, his arm coming around you, holding tight to you, supporting you as the stars like suns shine above you, casting a yellowed light upon the field of flowers before you. This is heaven, he thinks. It must be for only heaven could provide him something as perfect as this.
Because it is not so long ago that he thought you hated him, that this could never come to pass.
That you just saw him as the monster lurking in the shadow.
*** “You do realize I can hear you breathing through your mask, right, Commander?” you call out, turning slowly to face him, hand resting on your braid, fingers twined in the strands of hair as you attempt to unbraid it.
He’s been watching from the corridor, every door open for him and his mask and his power. His status. He’s been watching since he saw you walking with General Hux, since he heard you call him brutal, tone hinting at monstrosity. He’ s been watching and tormenting himself with the one thing he can never have. Love.
You.
He had come to the realization very quickly while watching that what he felt was love, that twisting and twining in his stomach, the flushing of his cheeks, the self-consciousness, the sweaty palms. It’s undignified and improper and no matter how he exercises his power, commands what he must, it doesn’t change. It cannot.
He knows this because he does remember his parents, their love, the stories. He remembers and he scorned them when the dark first came to call, to claim. He scorned the stories and love and faith and light and them. And now he wishes his father were here—here to slap him on the back and tell him that it’s normal, Ben, love makes an idiot of everyone. He wishes his mother were here—she’d comfort him in a way, in her way and it would be enough as it was when he was Ben. Her little boy.
He knows that his love cannot change and so he has not fought it, rather indulged in it, hoping you would never notice.
But you have. He should not be surprised, he knows the strength you command, the power, the skill. He knows the secrets that you harbour, the sensitivity within you, the same as he, a connection strong. He should not be surprised that you know he’s there when he has seen you use the Force, knows you can control it, manipulate it that energy which runs through all things.
He should not be surprised and yet he is.
“I did not realize my breaths were truly that loud,” he says, stepping out from the shadows, hands reaching and removing the mask, holding it before him like a shield as you level your stare on him, one with the force of a thousand suns, a thousand fires. One stronger than all the stars in all the galaxies known and unknown. But it is not a shield from you, rather from what he would like to do.
Because all he wants is you. You consume his waking thoughts and it is why he’s here, watching over you. He tortures himself but it is all that he has for even if you did not see the monster, the Commander Kylo Ren, you would not want him. He could still be Ben Solo, learning the way of the light and it would not matter. He knew long ago that love was not meant for him, not with the way he looked.
And yet, despite the fiery hatred burning in those precious eyes, he would almost assume that he saw attraction.
“Perhaps not,” you answer, fingers returning to their task, unravelling the braid, strands falling loose around you, “perhaps I am just sensitive.”
“To the dark or to the light?” he asks you, stepping closer, boots hitting the smooth metal surface of the floor, of your room. Your space in a place ruled by him.
“I sense them both,” you reply, lips parting just slightly, body tensing the closer he gets to you, his one hand coming from his helmet, the gloved extremity coming to twine through the strands of your hair, your body shivering at the contact, precious eyes closing for a moment.
“But which one do you feel the most?” he asks, presses, his voice low as he steps closer, like a moth drawn to a flame, needing you in a way he’s never needed anything. And he is rewarded by the sight of your eyes again, the flash of that fiery nature.
“Right now?” you ask and he nods, mouth growing dry at the closeness, his hand pushing the strands of your hair behind your ear, skin burning at the closeness to yours inside the gloves, his body reacting to the proximity. “Right now, I am most sensitive to the dark.”
And if he were anyone else, he might truly believe you want him like your words suggest. But he is not anyone else and he is but a monster.
Although, he would like to be your monster.
“You should not listen to the dark so close to night,” he whispers, willing you to pull away, place distance between the two of you but all you do is step closer, your body so close that he can feel the heat from your body against his own.
“But when I listen,” you whisper, eyes blazing with something he believes is hatred, unaware that it is desire, want and love, “I find that it’s afraid.”
“The dark is not afraid of anything,” he answers, withdrawing his hand from you, stepping back and placing his mask back on, obscuring himself from you, the flush of his cheeks obvious, the pupil-blown stare revealing too much.
“I think he is,” you answer and then you smile at him, a small smile, one he sees as victorious, but is truly sad. “I think he is afraid of the light.” And then you turn around, your back to him and he fades back into the shadows where he believes he belongs.
The place where everything falls silent.
***
“Do you wonder sometimes,” you muse, your head lifting from his shoulder, to guide your daughter up as she struggles, cubby legs failing to climb into your lap, your hands reaching and lifting her, placing her where she likes to sit, her small hands coming to rest with his on your belly, babbling about a sibling, her voice soft and far too much like yours.
It’s a miracle truly and all he thinks is that he wishes his father were here to see this, to know this. That his father were here to give him advice and congratulate him and tell him don’t fuck it up, kid. He feels like a child when confronted with the smallness and the sureness but also the frailness of his daughter, this life depending on him. He struggles to be a father, fears that he will do it wrong, mess it up. That he’ll ruin it all.
And all he wants is his father, but he can’t have his father because he killed him. He looked his father in the eye and took his life and yet all he wants is him back. He wants him here to teach him how to be a father.
“Wonder what?” he asks you, head turned and eyes on you and his daughter—Hanna, an homage to the man who should be here now.
“Do you wonder what it would be like if we had never met?” you finish and he can feel his body stiffen, eyes widening as he looks at you, the love of his life, at his daughter, at the swell of your stomach where your second child grows, kicking out against his hand.
“No,” he says, tone fierce and voice breaking in a way that has you turning your head to look at him with panic, Hanna turning too, childish eyes wide with exaggerated terror, a mimic of you, her mother. “No,” he says again, softer this time, his eyes locked upon yours, still so familiar and burning with ferocity like always, “because any life where we have never met is not a life worth living. You are my life, all that matters to me.” And he leans forwards pressing a soft open-mouthed kiss to your lips, one sweet yet cut short by the disgusted squeal, little two-year old Hanna lets out, small hand coming to hit his arm.
“No kiss, Mama,” she cries, tone indignant, face screwed up in disgust and disappointment. “Icky.” And he delights in the sound of your laugh as you pick her up, bringing her level with your face as you look deep into her eyes, eyes that burn with your fire but are a mirror of his dark brown, so deep they’re almost black.
“Would you rather we kiss you?” you ask her, tone light and teasing, speech giving way to laughter when she nods and Ben can’t help but smile, leaning forwards with you as you both place a kiss against her cheeks. “Better?” you ask her and she nods, a satisfied smile growing. “I fear we’ve spoiled her, Benny,” you tell him, turning to him, expression alight with delight and wonder at the same time.
“So, long as she is happy,” he whispers, mind on you and the first time he realized that you loved him, that you wanted him. The first time he realized and yet he felt more like a monster in that moment than ever before.
But you were there, pulling him back from the edge.
Pulling him back to the light.
***
“Kylo?!” you cry, running to him, your presence a constant in his life, his request that you assist him with sparring simply a disguise to have you with him in a way that wasn’t lurking in the shadows where you could feel him, sense him but never see him. He wanted you to see him, but not today.
Not with the blood of his father on his hands. Blood that will never wash off, never truly be clean because as much as he says he is Kylo, not Ben, he is. Ben is a part of him, is him, just not in entirety.
Because when he’s with you, sparring and talking, responding back to your quick wit, he feels like Ben, like the Jedi in training, not Kylo Ren the Sith. No, when he’s with you…
He feels human again.
And it’s why he doesn’t want you here, not now when he is more monster than man. When there is no man left inside of him, only darkness and despair and monstrosity.
“Leave me!” he cries, hand rising, the door between the two of slamming closed from his usage of the Force, only for it to open, your hand level with his, strength more than his while he cries, eyes clouded with the image of his father.
His ever-strong, ever-powerful father, crumpled, dying, his last words being for his son. For Ben and all Kylo did was embrace the dark by killing him, stabbing him. Ending the life of the strongest man he ever knew. “Yes, anything,” rings through his head, his father’s earnest expression, the hope in his eyes. The hope for Ben, the son that died yet seems to come back to life around you.
“No,” you answer, stepping into the room, letting your hand drop, the door slamming closed. “No, I won’t leave you.” Your eyes don’t burn like normal, but maybe he just can’t seem them through the image stained on his eyes, the image of his father dead.
Is it supposed to hurt this much when you embrace the dark?
He thought it would be easier.
“Why?” he asks you, his voice guttural as you kneel down before him, hands coming to grip his face, expression stern and strong and loving. Loving…?
“Because I love you,” you whisper and it’s like the world around him stops turning, that the darkness is frozen, that the Force is only between the two of you, like all that exists is you and him. You and him, you and him.
“You…You love…me?” he asks, voice not breaking so much as already broken and all you do is nod in answer, hands leaving his face to take his hands, pulling his dark gloves off, pale skin exposed, free of blood in the literal sense.
“What happened?” you ask him and he tells you, the story spilling from his lips as tears spill from his eyes, but all you do is hold still and steady, holding him tight, upright. You are the force for him, the only one that he will willingly submit to, obey and follow. You are uncontrollable and powerful and perfect and all-consuming. He could never feel or control the Force again so long as he has you.
Power means nothing without you and lurking in the corners, in the shadows is no longer enough for him. Nothing except you will ever be enough for him.
“This does not make you a monster,” you whisper when he’s finished and he looks up at you, eyes still blurry from tears, cheeks carved from crying.
“How does it not?” You reach forwards, hands wiping his tears away and then holding fast, forcing him to meet your eyes.
“Because you’ve been led astray, you’ve made a mistake. And yeah, it’s a big one, but you’re not a monster. All you know right now is the dark and Hans…he had too much hope and it got him killed cause you’re not ready yet, but you will be. You’re not a monster, you’re a man who thought he was doing the right thing,” you tell him and in your words, he hears something, a truth he didn’t notice before.
“Who are you?” he whispers and you smile at him, a slow small smile, as you reach one hand up, smoothing his hair back and down.
“Just someone who loves you, scars and bloody hands all.” And that’s enough for him. Somehow, he can see the light around the corner, can see the truth will come.
He just has to wait.
***
You step out of Hanna’s room, sighing as you close the door behind you, smiling at Ben, a tired smile, a happy smile and in your smile, he can see his mother. Not in you, but in his memories, the mother who never gave up on him, never stopped believing and loving him.
The mother who loved you just as much, who believed that you would be the one to save him, bring him back. The one who hoped.
And he wishes she were here too, here to help you, help him. No doubt, she’d be laughing at the kitchen table, sipping tea and sharing stories of him as a child, teasing him and sharing glances with you.
He wishes it were so, but it is not.
Everything has changed in this battle, but not you. Never you. He fell for you because of the sound of your voice, the way you looked, the way you spoke, the way his heart felt like it just began to beat the moment he heard your voice.
He fell for you because he was meant to. He was meant to fall for you, love you and be with you. Be yours and you are his.
That is the only good to have come from these battles, these shifts and changes. The only thing good, the only thing worthwhile in any universe. You over anyone.
You, forever.
Because he chose you and you chose him. Miraculously.
***
“Kylo, what’s wrong?” you cry, running into his room, the doors sliding closed behind you as you enter, hand on your belt, ready to draw your saber, the one thing you have kept hidden from the rest of the Order. Just as you hide your allegiance.
And he is tired of the secrets.
“Let’s fight,” he says, his voice carrying and all you do is arch a brow, lifting your saber from your belt, eyes narrowing at his, watching the red as it appears, contrasting with the…purple of yours. “Both,” he murmurs as you step forwards, striking and drawing back, parrying his blows and advancing with your own.
As the two of you spar, he can see it, the balance within you. The lack of conflict, the calm. He understands now why you responded both when he asked what you sensitive to. Because you have the balance between the two, that understanding of the force in ways very few do.
And he retreats, withdrawing from you and closing his saber, watching you do the same, expression stern and jaw set. “Did you get what you wanted?” you ask and all he does is charge forwards, a battle of a different sort on his mind as his hands find your waist, lips finding their way to yours in an open-mouthed embrace.
He fears he’s doing it wrong, that you don’t actually want it but all you do is respond in kind, pressing your lips to his, tongue darting into his mouth, touching his and he is gone, weak and yours. All yours.
He pushes you from your spot, back and back and back until your knees hit the bed and you fall back against it, your lips swollen from the kiss, eyes gone dark from pupils and desire. He wants to see you lose control, wants to see you lose control because of him. All because of him. He wants to watch you come undone.
“Do you want me?” he asks you and in response you grab the front of his uniform, pulling the shirt free from his pants, pulling him down to you, your legs wrapping around his hips, his face inches away from yours.
“I have always wanted you,” you whisper and then you crash your lips against his, his desire surging within him and he takes control, pulling and untangling your body from your clothes, mouth trailing from your lips to your neck, licking and sucking marks upon it, a part of him delighting in the way the skin changes, a visible sign of his love upon you.
You unwind your legs from his, allowing him to step back and strip, movements quick and clumsy as you readjust on the bed, shifting your body until it’s leaning against his pillows, legs bent at the knees, waiting, fingers drumming a rhythm on your bare stomach, eyes tracing every line of his body.
“God, you’re hot,” you murmur as he climbs onto the bed with you, his cock hard and ready for you, always you. Only you.
“Not even close,” he answers, pushing inside of you when you nod, groaning at the feeling of you around him, holding him.
“You’re beautiful,” you whisper as he brackets himself around you, his arms resting on either side of you, his face just inches above yours as he rocks his hips into yours, your legs wrapped around his hips, moving forwards with every thrust he has into you. You let out breathy moans, soft exhalations of his name as you press your lips against his scar, first the tip and the bottom. “Perfect,” you breathe out as he slams his hips into you, hitting that spot, that one that has a galaxy spinning before your eyes.
“Mine,” he groans as you flutter around him, clenching once tightly, pushing him closer and closer to his own release, the feeling so perfect that it’s almost painful.
“Yours,” you breathe, the last bit of the word rising into a moan as your release washes over you, flowing around him, the clench that which pushes him over the edge, has him spilling inside of you in thick, hot ribbons that have you gasping. “Don’t,” you tell him, grabbing his wrist and so he stays inside, collapsing beside you, wrapping his arms around you, feeling for once in his life, full and satisfied, the darkness beaten back to only reveal the light.
“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” he asks and is rewarded with your laugh as you crane your head over your shoulder to look at him.
“The most.”
***
“I regret many things,” he whispers now, late at night as he holds you tight against him, his body wrapped around you, holding firm as if he fears that you will disappear after all these years, slip away like his mother, join the force like his uncle or crumple like his father.
Although, he knows you will do of those things. That you are strong and that your love is enough.
It tethers the both of you here, always.
“I know,” you whisper, snuggling back in the warmth of his arms, your own hands coming to rest atop his.
“But never you.”
“I know that too.”
***
“Ben!” you cry, stepping forwards, your mastery of the Force, the balance within you, pulling him back, pulling him away from the brink. He’s here still. He’s alive.
He’s survived.
Because of you.
“You don’t do that again!” you yell, pulling him to his feet and slapping his chest, your other hand held tight against your mouth, stifling the final sob that threatens to escape from you. And he has the audacity to smile at you, lips curving up even as he feels like death.
“I won’t,” he answers, tone serious, gaze dropping to your stomach, the swell of the child growing within, the product of your many, many nights spent in his bed after the first time, his rooms becoming yours. “Who are you?” he asks again and he knows you know that he hasn’t forgotten but he’s waited long enough. He heard you call Hux brother, yet here you are with the Rebellion, a purple lightsaber, balance extreme within you.
“I’m yours,” you answer and he sighs in your arms, the darkness beaten back, Kylo gone, that piece of him gone, sacrificed and gone in order to save Rey, save the rest of the galaxy. End the power of the Sith like his father wanted, his mother, his uncle.
“Is that the only answer that I get?”
“It is the only one that matters.” And that, he knows, is the truth. Perhaps, the truth. The one that matters most.
You matter most.
No matter who you once were. So long as you are his, he shall be contented.
***
“Do you regret anything?” he asks you and he feels you stiffen once before shaking your head and looking up at him.
“Only that not everyone we need could be here now,” you reply, your one hand dropping from his to rub your stomach where your son grows, develops, begins. “And I was thinking of naming him Leigh, for your mother.”
And all he thinks in that moment, is that he doesn’t deserve you, has never deserved you. But he’ll keep this life all the same, undeserved or not.
Because you are his and that is the only truth that has ever mattered.