Chapter Text
Kylo Ren didn’t necessarily enjoy being an asshole. It just kind of happened that way. Somewhere along the line between puberty and getting his heart broken for the first time, the man evolved into an enigma of darkness and reticence. Somehow he had shucked off the nerdiness and slipped on armor in the form of bad decisions and anger management problems. Looking at this hulking form of a man, you’d never guess his obsession with space or that his hobbies included calligraphy.
Although Hux, his best friend from childhood, sure as hell did his best to remind Kylo of the fact daily.
The biggest joke of all was that Kylo had somehow turned his teenage angst and emo persona into a career. It was pretty straightforward - he just wanted attention. His father was a pilot, and his mother was a senator. Both of his parents were headstrong and stubborn - meaning that neither really had an interest in being a parent. His childhood was a blur of being passed from nanny to nanny. Once, his parents were so busy with their own lives, they actually shipped him off to the Pacific Northwest to live with his reclusive uncle.
So Kylo lashed out. It was a slippery slope that began with wearing dark clothes and piling on the metal hardware. He even gathered his friends Hux and Phasma and started a stupid band where he could croon about abandonment and loneliness. To be honest, they were just kids messing around. Even as he began to collect piercings and tattoos, his parents still didn’t do much. They weren’t exactly present enough to notice their only child spiraling out of control.
Somehow his teenage pet project took off though, and Kylo Ren found himself being signed to a record label alongside his friends. His music resonated with his generation, and next thing he knew Kylo Ren was a college drop out touring the country.
Still, his parents couldn’t be bothered to come to a show.
And so, he continued to act out. It was so fucked really. The more he smoked, drank, and pushed back - the more his fans loved him. Every bar fight, every tabloid photo of his tongue down some model’s throat, every time he flipped off the press - record sales would increase. Finally, he relented to his reputation. If the world wanted him to be an asshole, then he’d be the biggest one of them all. If he couldn’t soothe his aching soul with light and love, he’d find a balm in the form of quick fucks and alcohol.
Which was how he found himself prowling some random bar on a Wednesday night. It was the same routine: if he couldn’t find a good lay, then at least he could get blackout drunk and forget the night. Holding his second or third or fourth (who the fuck cared) glass of bourbon, a sparkling beacon of sweetness caught his eye.
There you were. Pristine and calm, and so fucking good. Perched alone at the bar, your hands were neatly folded over your crossed legs. A stiff peter-pan collar poked out of your pale blue cable knit sweater. A pleated skirt donned your legs, and your feet were covered by a pair of penny loafers. Kylo almost choked on his drink. It was like watching a wet dream straight out of the fifties.
Kylo slowly licked his lips and imagined all of the different ways he could defile you. He’d definitely keep the skirt on while he fucked you into the mattress. He smirked at the clean ponytail - not a single hair out of place. That was definitely staying as well. Better leverage to warp around his hand as he tugged on your hair.
Girls like you were his favorite. Easy pickings as he so eloquently liked to say. There was a reason why the bad boy/good girl trope existed. Women were so eager to fix him. To save him from himself. To make him change for the better - as if he were a fucking conquest. Kylo learned early on that girlfriends would just leave when they realized that he wasn’t some home improvement project they could work on in their leisure time. He was an actual person with actual problems.
They’d usually selfishly move on, leaving behind more damage than there was before their arrival. So Kylo decided to forgo the chore of being in relationships. Instead, he’d allow the illusion that he could be your bad boy for a few hours. Long enough to get his dick wet before he left in the middle of the night.
He thought of it as win-win anyways. He got his rocks off. You got to fulfill some sort of fantasy - really sticking it to your parents for forcing you to take SAT classes every weekend. Nothing said “fuck you” like fucking the boy they’d never approve of.
Downing the bronze liquid in his glass, he harshly set the cup down before cracking his neck a few times. You were still silently sitting alone - not even glancing at a phone. Kylo imagined that you weren’t accustomed to being out on a weeknight. You were probably nervous. The shy type who needed a man like him to shake things up a bit.
He ambled over to your side and slid a forearm across the bar to box you in. His form towered over your smaller one as he smirked down at your placid features returning his gaze with a surprised look.
Jesus, you weren’t even wearing makeup. What an angel.
His deep voice drawled, “Hello, princess. I’m Kylo, and I’m going to buy you a gin and tonic.”
Your owlish eyes blinked back a few times in silence. Kylo licked his lips again. He definitely had you now. Your features were so compliant. So soft. So easy. He could already imagine how he’d probably be the first guy you’d ever allow to go down on you. How he would...
His indecent thoughts were suddenly interrupted as you doubled over in laughter. Hinged at the waist, you had thrown both hands on your knees and bent over to guffaw into the space between your thighs.
What the fuck?
You sat back up and wiped a tear from the corner of your eye. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Seriously? You’re going to buy me a gin and tonic? Just like that? And then what? And who drinks gin and tonics anymore? What, are you like eighty?”
Kylo felt his face redden in agitation as you continued to laugh at his expense. His fists clenched and he felt his spine stiffen in embarrassment. Suddenly, another woman appeared by your side. You clutched her arm and continued to shriek, “Oh my God, Jyn. This asshole over here thinks he’s some sort of dark knight trying to whisk away an innocent dove.”
Your brown haired accomplice gave Kylo a withering glare before grabbing onto your arm to tug you away towards a booth pressed against the back wall. Even as you were dragged away, you turned over your shoulder to cry out, “Oh mister knight! Please show me the dark side, won’t you? Show me how to be a bad girl.” You continued to howl in amusement while Jyn wrangled you into a seat.
Kylo stood rooted in shock. Nobody had ever talked to him like that. All six foot two of him screamed “danger”. Yet here you were, dressed like you worked at a fucking soda fountain while hurling insults at the rock star. Kylo felt offended - it didn’t even seem like you recognized him.
This was his supposed angel?
Meanwhile, Jyn shoved a bottle of water in front of your face. “Seriously? I leave you alone for fifteen minutes, and somehow you managed to still get blitzed.”
You pushed the water away in indignation. “Who said I was blitzed? Was it Finn? That fucking snitch!”
Jyn rolled her eyes and pushed the water back towards your hands. She unscrewed the cap and sighed, “Dude, Finn isn’t even here. Honestly, you hold your composure pretty well when you’re just sitting around. It’s when you open your mouth that I can tell you’re drunk.”
“How?”
The brunette laughed and pulled you in for a hug. “I say this with so much love, but you turn into a total bitch when you’re tipsy.” You huffed into her hair and relented with a swig from the water bottle.
“Oh, here. Thanks for letting me borrow your phone.” Jyn squeezed your shoulder before placing the device on the table. You waved off her gratitude, and the woman continued, “Why are you dressed like a cast member in Grease, anyways?”
You moaned and threw your face into your palms. You were in the last year of getting your MBA. One day you would be a fearless female CEO of some publicly traded company. You’d slink out of your penthouse, get chauffeured around to your job, and change lives dammit.
But that was someday, and right now you were a broke grad student trying to make ends meet before resorting to hawking your organs on Canal Street. Jyn gave you a look of pity as you bemoaned your existence. “I look like Sandy Olsson because I actually do work at a soda fountain now.” Jyn burst into a fit of giggles as you pulled at your face in exasperation.
“It’s one of those stupid hipster joints in Brooklyn where they’re still trying to profit off of nostalgia. So yeah. That’s my part time job.” You moved to kick your friend off her seat as she started to tear up at the image. Just before you could successfully push the woman off, a man cleared his throat.
Kylo was looming over the table, still angry from your confrontation. Somehow watching you laugh it up with your friend only pissed him off even more. He glared down at you and seethed, “What’s your fucking problem?”
Before Jyn could grab the back of your sweater, you leapt up from your seat and squared right up. “You want to know what my fucking problem is? My ‘fucking problem’ is entitled douchebags such as yourself thinking that you can just prowl up to any woman and we’ll drop our panties for you. You’re not good looking enough to act like an asshole.”
Kylo reeled back, completely disarmed and offended. “Well I’m so sorry for misreading your desperate fake good girl look.”
His chest was heaving now, barely grazing your own as it rose and fell with each labored breath. You knew you were about to become annoying, but it was too late to stop. You begin to press a finger into his chest over and over again, punctuating your words with each push.
“Let me tell you something about looks, mister. At least I’m not the old geezer dressed like he’s still holding onto the wonder years of his misguided youth.”
“Misguided youth? Do you know who the fuck I am?”
Kylo was positively seething at this point. Who gave you the right to talk to him like that? Some stupid nobody dressed like a fucking cartoon trying to school him on his wardrobe. Jyn desperately tried to calm you down, but her words were drowned out as you raised the volume of your voice.
“No, I don’t dickwad. And I sure as hell wouldn’t want to. I don’t want people thinking that I associate with grandpas who still wear eyeliner!”
“Grandpa? I’m fucking twenty-seven!” Kylo practically roared as he flung his phone into the wall. You looked at him in shock as the device ricocheted off the wall and slid back towards him across the table. Kylo Ren had participated in his fair share of bar fights, but very few people could actually get underneath his skin. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting his opponent to be sporting a bowtie in her hair.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” A posh British accent suddenly interrupted the feud. A red-haired man appeared next to Kylo, and pushed him away from your shaking fist. He quickly snatched up Kylo’s phone, and apologized on behalf of his friend. Jyn took the cue and quickly moved you behind her as well. The moment was over, and you heard Kylo call the man “General” before the two disappeared through a crowd that had formed.
Still shaking, you sank down into the booth and closed you eyes. You really needed to get your shit together.