Upon-a-starry-night

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𖤐⭒๋࣭ Tag, You’re It. -Coming Soon! Summary: Dex plays a game of deadly tag with a mysterious stranger who’s caught his attention.

Kylo Ren x Fem! Reader

Star Wars Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2k

Summary: As Kylo sleeps he finds himself mysteriously transported to your modern world, while you sleep you find yourself following alongside Kylo as he goes about his duties as “supreme leader?” who even was this guy? And why does he keep talking about ‘The Force?'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time you see Kylo, you’re in the middle of judging a middle school science fair.

You can tell he’s impressed by his crossed arms and blank expression. He raises an eyebrow at you as you don the sparkly blue judge’s sash that definitely didn’t match the rest of your outfit.

“Don’t give me that look, they’re making me wear it,” You mutter to him as subtly as you can. You were going to need to start wearing an earpiece of something so you didn’t look insane. 

Instead of granting you a response, Kylo shifts his attention back over the sea of projects and 3-faced poster boards. You can’t garner what he’s thinking, but you imagine it’s something along the lines of “Middle school science fair today, world domination tomorrow” or something else alien-y.

Truthfully, you’re very curious about his opinion of Earth considering his view so far has consisted of small pieces of your neighborhood and an overcrowded, slightly nauseating gymnasium filled with your city’s smartest 12-year-olds—if the parents are to be believed. 

Baking soda volcanoes are the pinnacle of human invention. Right next to sparkly blue sashes.

You don’t expect Kylo to enjoy wandering around through a sea of children and gallons of Elmer’s glue, but to your surprise, he doesn’t brood the entire time—in fact, he even cracks a small smirk when a balloon filled with shaving cream explodes directly onto you. You don’t even know what project it was a part of. 

Even more surprising is when you’d jokingly asked him who he thought deserved one of at least five shiny blue ribbons sitting in your pocket, he turned his gaze in the direction of a young girl standing farther off in the corner than everyone else. You must have accidentally passed over her, but somehow Kylo noticed. 

The longer you stare, the more you notice that most people seem to pass right by her, not entirely on purpose, you think.

You walk over to her table, and she shies behind her poster board. Ah, smart but too shy to talk about her projects. You found it funny that the fifteen kids that did volcanoes were more than happy to confidently explain their projects, but the one kid with something original was too scared to.

You crouch down to her level, offering her a smile and an outstretched hand. She takes it with a bashful smile. After exchanging names and finding out she was in the 6th grade, you ask her if she wouldn’t mind explaining her project to you—to which she nods with a gap-toothed smile.

A very thorough explanation of an impressive motor-fueled windmill later, the two of you part with big smiles on both of your faces, and your pocket is one ribbon lighter.

You take a short break in the hallway outside the gym, indulging in a free juice box, which you’re ashamed to admit is half the reason you signed up for the job. You weren’t one to turn down free snacks.

When you look at Kylo, something is different, and you don’t know if it’s his doing or yours. You’d have never expected such a thoughtful gesture from him. You half expected him to scoff at every project you came across and say something about Earth's “lackluster technology,” but instead he seemed to take his time examining everything with genuine interest.

Here in this hallway, with your juicebox and the distant sound of children screaming, you begin to see Kylo in a different light.

—------

When you wake up in Kylo’s world, you are not on the same ship. The world tilts around you, and it takes you a second to realize what you’re looking at outside of the window is stars. When you do realize, you’re pressed against the small window in seconds, watching the stars race past you like an endless meteor shower. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before, and you stay there entranced for at least fifteen minutes before finally turning around.

The ship you’re in is small, about the size of Kylo’s room alone; there are three chairs—one of them occupied—and an open hexagonal door that leads to the back of the ship. It’s empty save for a few crates and what might be weapons. You don’t dwell on it, turning to find Kylo watching you with an unreadable expression. 

His stare jolts something within you so you turn back to the endless expanse of stars. They seemed to have slowed down from before. Is this what real space travel is like?

“I can’t believe this is casual for you.” You admit part of you is envious you can’t feel the physical rush of it—the other, prone-to-car-sickness part of you, is happy to be weightless. 

There’s a bout of silence you spend staring out of the window, debating sticking your head through the glass until Kylo eventually speaks—

“I’ve been piloting ships since I was a kid.” 

It’s a tidbit of personal information you were not expecting but definitely not going to dismiss.

You finally look back at him, his gaze glued to the vast expanse of space outside.

“I’ve fixed a few,” he mumbles, and it’s so unexpected you laugh. Immediately covering your mouth with your hands and apologizing when his glare lands on you.

“No no, sorry it’s just—” You shake your head. "You’ve not only been flying spaceships since you were a kid but also fixing them? Most people on Earth have never even seen a spaceship, and you’ve just been tinkering with them like they’re pickup trucks. The absurdity of your situation is not lost on you.

You can hardly even believe that you fall asleep and wake up part ghost in another world instead of dreaming about normal things like your high school teacher dressed like a gorilla and throwing giant bananas out of your bedroom window.

No, instead you got the chance to be flying past thousands of stars on a spaceship with an emo space lord who liked to call you names.

Speaking of–

There’s nobody else with him on this ship, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve felt truly alone with Kylo—no neighbors, cats, or troopers present.  No risk of someone walking in catching one of you talking to yourself. It feels strangely intimate.

“Where are we going?” Your voice has turned soft, suddenly shy to speak too loud and break whatever spell has been cast on this moment. 

His eyes finally turn to meet yours, a thousand worlds beneath deep pools of dark umber. 

“There’s something I need to check on.”

—---

Barely ten minutes of what felt like an eternity passed before the two of you came upon a planet. It’s fascinating to see it from the outside, the round shape, and the swirling clouds visible even from afar. It’s instantly at the top of your list of the most amazing things you’ve ever seen. 

Whereas the ship had seemingly been cruising on autopilot before, now Kylo has taken the reins, his hands expertly maneuvering the ship in a way you can’t help but watch. You ignore the flush that threatens to creep up your neck and decide instead to focus on the descent to the planet's floor.

When you land, your breath is stolen from you as you gaze out of the window. The sky has hues of purple the likes of which you’ve never seen. There are two moons in the sky, low and larger than you thought possible. It’s incredible.

You don’t look away until you hear the hiss of the ship's door and look back to see Kylo by the exit. For a second you worry you won’t be able to breathe before you remember that you literally can’t. Still, you worry for Kylo.

“Is it safe?” 

He quirks an eyebrow in amusement, and you roll your eyes, huffing as you make your way to the ramp. Part of you wants to jump through the ship's walls just to spite him, but you’re a little worried your brain won’t stop your legs when they hit the ground, and you’d like to spare yourself another mental fiasco. 

The planet is even more beautiful once you’ve actually stepped foot on it, with flowers taller than the trees back home and leaves as big as your head. The colors of everything are vibrant and exuberant, rich with life.

Briefly, you wonder if Earth could ever look this pretty if humans took care of it properly.

“It’s beautiful.” 

Kylo turns his attention away from you to look at the electric violet-colored plant you were fixated on. 

“I came across this planet during one of my missions.” Your focus turns back to him, taking notice of how out of place his all-black look is in a world full of color. Still, your eyes can’t help but be drawn to him because of it. In a world full of colorful stars, he was like the endless black expanse of space—the part everybody always feared. 

You wait for him to continue, observing the turmoil that consumes him. 

“I… Couldn’t bring myself to tell The Order about it” He admits, though his fists clench like it pains him to do so. “There are no other sentient life forms, but the order would still demand to have it under their name.” You don’t comment on his use of ‘their’ instead of ‘our,’ but you desperately want to. 

When his eyes meet yours, they shine with something pained that you think might just be regret. It hits you square in the chest.

“Some things are not meant to be owned.” He says it like it’s a revelation, something he knew but couldn’t ever say out loud. It’s a spark of humanity you wouldn’t expect from someone whose ship was literally classified as a “star destroyer,” but here he is, confessing to you like a sinner to a priest. Part of you wants to absolve him of his crimes just to cure the look of suffering in his eyes—the other part of you wants to know: if he was capable of this level of humanity, why was he leading a war?

What was he not telling you? 

—---

The two of you fall into a routine after that day. After that talk on that planet, you were in search of something new to distract your mind, and you applied to every newspaper ad and Facebook Marketplace post you saw. 

Was it potentially dangerous? Yes. Were you showing up to random people’s houses for odd jobs at odd times anyway? Also yes.

So far, Kylo has had the pleasure of accompanying you to feed horses, assistant coach a senior citizen basketball team, sort through lost mail, toss pizzas, and supervise a mini golf course to ensure the kids stopped sticking their gum inside of the hippo’s mouth.

You won’t mention the brief day you were a golf cart caddy girl and had side-stepped handsy old men so many times you were practically salsa dancing all day. Kylo had looked ready to bite their hands off, and after a particularly close call, you wished he was really able to do so.

You turned in your badge the moment your shift ended. Some things were just not for you.

–

In Kylo’s world, he gave you a tour of his ship, which mostly just consisted of you watching as people, robots, and aliens alike scrambled to get out of the way when they saw him coming. 

Still, you sat there in awe for nearly twenty minutes when he’d shown you the hangar bay. The sight of so many different kinds of spaceships was too incredible to not hang your jaw at. Why did all of earth’s spaceships have to look the same? These were far cooler.

You’d had no idea just how huge the ship you were on was until Kylo led you around the base. He explained a few mechanics and other miscellaneous things you passed in vague detail, which gave you the impression he either didn’t think you’d care or still didn’t trust you fully, but all you could do was roll your eyes. Who did he think you were going to tell? 

Pt.13

A/n: awwwwww Kylo, who knew you had such sweet sides to you? Sure hope nothing bad happens next chapter hahaha ~𖤐

-----Taglist------

Kylo Ren x Fem! Reader

Star Wars Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4.5k -geez

Summary: As Kylo sleeps he finds himself mysteriously transported to your modern world, while you sleep you find yourself following alongside Kylo as he goes about his duties as “supreme leader?” who even was this guy? And why does he keep talking about ‘The Force?'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s two days later, and you’re still thinking about everything that happened with Kylo as you scan people’s groceries and ring them up. Your manager tells you to smile more. You tell him you quit. 

In terms of dream jobs, you could certainly scratch that one off the list. You didn’t need a manager who told you to smile obnoxiously while you scanned thirty apples across the belt like you were in some kind of math problem. And it was hard to have small talk with customers when your mind was constantly thinking about the space war going on in another galaxy far away from yours.

Instead, you handed in your shitty reused nametag and decided to treat yourself to a day of ice cream and TV, only to remember that today was your neighborhood barbeque. It beats a day of sulking on your couch, and the familiar company would be a welcome change from cold space lords and sleazy managers. You really couldn’t catch a break, not even in another universe.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, you’re making the perilous journey of going two houses down. You’re barely stepping out of the door when the sound of communal laughter hits you, the heavy smell of meat and charcoal wafting through the air thanks to the soft summer wind. Today really was a perfect day for a barbeque, if only your neighbors with the pool were hosting it. Though there was still time for that.

You hope the host won’t mind you being an hour and a half late to the party. At least it wasn’t a potluck; then you’d really be in trouble.

When you get to the house, you bypass the front door and walk straight towards the back gate, the same way you did last year and the year before that… and every year since this family moved to this neighborhood.

The backyard of this house was bigger than yours and thus, had enough room for not only their entire neighborhood to gather, but also a bounce house for the kids. You didn’t know if you were more jealous of the big yard or the kids currently bouncing so hard they were getting rubber burns.

“Well, look who decided to show up!” Your neighbor pulls you into a big hug, and you smile and breathe in the scent of sunscreen and vanilla shampoo. After the other night's unmentionable panic attack, you’re more than receptive to all the physical touch you can get. You were never taking hugs for granted again. The first time a person touched you after you woke up, you flinched, half expecting their hand to go through you. You were only slightly worried about the implications that this situation was already affecting your mental state… and not in a good way.

A warm hand on your back guides you around the backyard, pointing out where to find the food and refreshments, and when it pulls away, you frown a little. Holy shit, you were touch-starved.  One of the only cons of living alone. For a second you consider finding a roommate, but you shake the thought from your mind immediately—not only did you enjoy your personal space, but you didn’t need anyone witnessing you talking to an invisible six-foot-something warlord.

Once you’ve grabbed yourself a cup of lemonade, you find a sliver of shade to stand in and take in the scenery. The wind was nice, but the summer heat still tried to destroy anything that stood still in the sunlight for too long, animals and plants alike.

The bright sun and green, lively grass are so unlike the black metal walls and endless expanse of space in Kylo’s world.

You shake your head. You were here to get your mind off of that night. 

You spot some of your neighbors' kids playing together, running across the yard and weaving through their parents' legs. You grin and take a sip of your lemonade, homemade by the host, of course. 

Briefly, you remember babysitting those kids a couple months ago and make a mental note to add that to your list of potential jobs. Professional babysitter didn’t seem too bad; you were great with kids, and you know the parents in this neighborhood would love the extra help.

You slip into people-watching as the minutes tick by. You weren’t unfamiliar with your neighbors by any means, but you couldn’t exactly relate to most of their conversations about parenthood and businesses. There were a few women here with their own self-owned businesses who seemed so well versed in their crafts it was almost intimidating...although maybe it would be a good idea to ask them for some job advice.

You push off from your shady corner and begin to make your way over when a familiar face stops you in your tracks.

Kylo?

–Wait, what? 

You’re frozen in your spot at the sight of him standing awkwardly in the group of people. You resist cartoonishly rubbing your eyes to see if he’s really here. You suppose if you could follow him out of his room, he could follow you out of yours; it just throws you for a loop how real he looks standing there. It’s not until someone spills their drink and it goes through him that you let go of the tension you didn’t know you were holding. 

The closer you look, the more the illusion begins to wear off, the ground near him has no shadow, and the sun isn’t bouncing off of his pale skin—he’s not really here. But what would you have done if he were?

As the shock of seeing him slowly begins to wane, you nearly laugh at how out of place he looks. While most guys here are dressed in casual shorts and breathable shirts, he’s in the same long-sleeved black sweater and pants as last time. You’ll give him credit though, he looks comfy as hell. You wish you could ask him where he got the sweater, but, well—

You watch as his eyes scan the crowd, his usual stoic face is pulled into a slight frown, and if you knew any better, you’d say he looked a little…lost. If other people could see him, he’d stick out like a sore thumb, and not just because of his dark aesthetic; his features were distinct, and he carried himself with a no-nonsense attitude that didn’t fit the bill of your friendly neighborhood.

Someone call the HOA on this guy. 

Still, something akin to relief passes through you at the sight of dark brown eyes instead of the soulless black mask. It was easier to see him as human this way. Thank God he didn’t go to sleep with his mask on. Honestly, you’re a little surprised he doesn’t, he seems like the kind of guy who never wants to be caught unaware. The thought reminds you of the last time you saw him: the towel slung low on his hips, his chest on full display—you shake your head for the umpteenth time today. You really needed to get a grip. 

In a strange form of self-regulation, you close your eyes, breathe in deep, and repeat ‘evil space warlord’ over and over in your head as you picture a cartoonish version of Kylo torturing innocent little green aliens with devil horns and a pitchfork. 

When your eyes land back on Kylo, you come to the conclusion it only worked about forty percent. 

Part of you couldn’t help but think how strangely intimate it is to see him face to bare face. From what you’d seen in his world, he didn’t show his bare face a lot. In fact, it wasn’t even a choice for him to be showing you. It felt kind of…wrong, like a nonconsensual vulnerability. You suppose he could go to bed with the helmet on, but you know that wouldn’t be comfortable. 

Like he is now. Clearly uncomfortable in the crowd. Sure, people couldn't see him or touch him, but you experienced firsthand how disorienting that was. And crowded places were never easy to be in, even with a physical body. Honestly, before the other night you thought being perceived was awful, but now not being perceived was just as bad, especially in an unfamiliar place.

Maybe it would be different if it was something you chose, but both of you were forced into this.

Kylo’s eyes find yours as you're observing him, and you blush and glance away, feeling caught. He got to stare at you like a statue all he wanted, but your stupid moral code made you feel guilty for staring so brazenly. Not to mention your mind was hell-bent on conjuring up images of him shirtless. It was almost dizzying how your mind ping-ponged between ‘shirtless space prince’ and ‘evil evil war man.’ 

You were seconds away from strangling the metaphorical angel and evil on your shoulders.

You see him begin his path towards you from the corner of your eye and frown, already feeling tension seeping back into your shoulders. You need to find something to calm you down soon, or you’ll end up looking constipated in the middle of this party. It’s just hard to relax when the object of your frustration is actively walking towards you, probably with a witty remark locked and loaded. 

What was with this guy and showing up at the worst times? And who just casually forgets to mention they’re the leader of a war? – and a supreme one at that. What was he, the Taco Bell menu?

Just as he arrives by your side, you’re saved by two little heads of hair coming up to you. They’re panting and sweaty and full of grass stains, and you smile and crouch down to match their height. You’re glad for the distraction from the 6-foot ghost currently haunting this barbeque. Where are the fucking Ghostbusters when you need them?

“Hey guys, what’s up?” 

You recognize the older one as your neighbor's son, whom you’ve babysat once or twice. He’s a lot taller than the last time you saw him. The other, smaller boy hides behind the other shyly, you don’t recognize him. He must be a friend. Unless one of your other neighbors had a secret kid they didn’t tell you about. You did suspect one of the couples was undercover FBI, they were too nice. A kid would take some of the suspicion off.

“Umm, we found this for you.” The older one holds a yellow dandelion weed out to you, his hands are covered in dirt and grass, the same as his knees and shoes. Obviously, he’s been taking advantage of his parents being occupied with socializing. You graciously accept the flower—relieved that it’s not a bug of some kind—and thank the boys before they take off running again. Though it looks like they’ve been playing for a while, apparently they still had more energy left in them. 

The black wall of a man is a jumpscare when you turn back around and you nearly jump out of your skin, flinching and clutching a hand to your chest. Your eyes quickly dart around to make sure no one saw your reaction. You didn’t know how long this was going to last, but you’d have to learn to reel in your reactions if he was going to follow you around in public. At least in his world his reactions were hidden by his helmet. Not that you’d have any chance at jumpscaring him.

Maybe you should take a page out of his book and start wearing a mask everywhere. Maybe you’d reignite the 2016 killer clown craze. Or you could start something new like… actually, you had no idea.

Speaking of, the whole ‘mask and cape super villain’ getup being gone makes you wonder, if you went to bed in a different outfit, would you show up with that outfit on in his world? Your mind wanders through the different outfits you could fall asleep in: a dress, an inflatable dinosaur costume, and on occasion, you fell asleep in just your underwear—

“What is this?” 

The warmth of a summer breeze rushes past you as your eyes glance around the yard, making a pit stop at the tall ghost for only a second before returning to people watching. You have no idea what he’s talking about, but you don’t exactly feel like being his Siri today, not when you came here to have a good time.

When you don’t respond for a while, he turns impatient—if his body language is anything to go off of. And though you want to ignore him, you know how disorienting it is when it feels like you’re not real, and despite your irritation with him, you sympathize. It wasn’t like either of you chose this.

Briefly, you turn to him and raise your eyebrows in acknowledgement before directing your attention to the yellow liquid swishing around in your red Solo cup.

Lemonade. Drink of champions. 

If he wanted answers, today he would have to work for them. You were done being interrogated and possibly judged about your life and planet when this man was out here killing babies or whatever.

“Are we really doing this?” 

The unimpressed voice of a warlord brings you out of your thoughts, and a glare settles on your features as you focus your attention on the chipped paint of the back fence. It’s just far away enough that you have to squint to really see it. Professional painter…you could try that job out. 

“There’s a lot of ‘this’ around, you’ll have to be more specific.” You mutter into your lemonade cup to not draw any attention to yourself. You imagine the soccer ball the kids are kicking around is Kylo’s head, and it makes you smile. You figure you kind of deserved to be petty considering the circumstances. Besides, it made something in you happy to deprive him of getting his way, even if just for a bit.

“Where are we? Why are there people here?”

Breaking news: Anti-social War Leader Discovers What a Party is for the First Time. Not Clickbait!

You make a mental note to consider YouTuber as a profession and then immediately scratch that imaginary note out. 

“It’s called a barbeque; they’re a kind of party people have in the summer. Don’t worry, you’re dressed appropriately.” You smirk into your cup as his eyes narrow at you, a small sense of pride welling up inside you.

“If this is a party, then…why are you by yourself?” You choke on your lemonade at his comment, coughing into the back of your hand to try to stop the citrus from burning your throat. The smirk is wiped from your face in a nanosecond, and when you see the corner of his lip uptick, you internally curse. Damn. Kylo- one, you- zero.

… Well, we could give you half a point; you got a reaction out of him instead of his usual blank stare.

“Jesus” You swallow roughly and turn to glare at him. "I’m gonna need a stronger drink if you ask me questions like that." 

“Should I get one for you then?” The self-satisfaction is practically rolling off of him, and you roll your eyes. Crossing your arms, you turn away from him, remembering other people can see your actions. Kylo- two, You…still at half a point. 

Actually no, minus one billion points for Kylo being the supreme leader of a galactic war. You fight the self-satisfied smile that threatens to break out on your face, considering the fact that if anyone was watching you, they’d be watching you choke on your lemonade and then smile like a maniac. 

“Terrible joke,” you mutter under your breath, but you’re honestly a little in awe. You suppose quick wit was good for more than just war. Still, it surprised you how talkative he was being with you. Maybe you two trauma bonded over your little manic panic. You wondered if you should buy little confetti poppers to pop when he told a joke, he’d surely love that.

You snicker to yourself at the image and let a warm silence fall over the two of you, placing your now empty cup on the ground. Some of the tension from when he first walked over has waned, and for a moment you forget about everything. About how he’s not from this world, about the war he leads, about how unfamiliar and insane this situation is. You just breathe in the sweet scent of summer and twist the small weed in between your fingers.

“What is that?” He gestures to the small flower in your hand, and you stop twisting it so he can get a better look. 

“It’s… well, it’s technically a weed, but—” 

Would he even understand? Could you explain to him that sometimes things that look pretty are considered invasive? Would he relate? You snort at that thought. 

Still, would he be able to see that it didn’t have value because of what it was but because of what it meant? Does something so small even matter in his eyes? 

You go silent, suddenly valuing the flower a lot more than before. You saw hundreds of dandelions in the summer, plucked them from your front yard more times than you could count, but never once did you see them as more than weeds. Now, standing here next to an alien who’s never seen one before, you’re seeing something new in the small invasive species.

You wonder if Kylo saw the stars he destroyed as dandelions, picking them from their life source the same as you.

How many things did you take for granted because you were just used to seeing them every day? If you lived in Kylo’s world, a world of bleak greys and blacks, with stainless steel everything and the endless expanse of space outside of your window, something as small but bright as this weed would be considered a luxury. So why wasn’t it here?

How many things have you discarded the value of just because you were told they were worthless? Clearly the little boy who gave you the weed saw value in it. Wasn’t that enough? At what age would he stop seeing beauty in the little things, even if they have no real value to anyone else?

Were the stars Kylo destroyed like weeds to the galaxy? Detrimental to the environment and the planets surrounding them? You can’t help but hope that’s the case, hope that he wasn’t killing innocent civilizations in the name of ‘The Order.’

Somewhere along the way you must’ve pinched too hard on the dandelion's stem, as green stains the tips of your fingers and the end of it looks a little too 2D. Maybe you were reading too much into things, but… maybe as you grew up you learned to read too little into them. When did it become so normalized to ignore the beauty of everyday objects?

Working a bleak 9-to-5 routine office job really did a number on your outlook on life.

“This weed is precious to you?” There's a lilt of teasing in his voice, one you’d normally be surprised—or even happy—about, but part of you wilts at the fact that he can’t understand the way you desperately want him to. If you could make him see the value in one planet, maybe he’d begin to look at others a little differently. To see the value in your planet, in everything. 

Or maybe you want him to see Earth's value because you’re a part of it. A small part of you worries if he had the chance, he’d destroy your planet—knowing you were on it. After all, it’s not like the two of you were close; interdimensionally tangled acquaintances at best. 

“It’s so easy to take the little things for granted: the grass, the sun, the breeze. Everything around us, existing together. Heck, I even took being tangible for granted.” You turn to him to find his eyes still on the dandelion between your fingers, he’s staring hard, like he’s trying to see what you see in it.  “I know you’ve seen countless planets, some with flowers a lot more beautiful than this, I'm sure, but… Earth is the only planet I've ever known, and I can confidently say it’s home to some of the most beautiful creations in all the galaxy.” 

You don’t know if you’re even getting through to a man who owns a ship called a star destroyer and has literal space as the backdrop to his meetings, but your perspective has certainly shifted. “If only you could really be here. If only you could smell it, feel it. Then maybe you’d understand.” 

You brush the petals of the small weed with the pad of your finger and smile, a slight movement in your peripheral draws your attention as a large pale hand cautiously reaches for the yellow flower—

“Hey neighbor!” 

You flinch at the unexpected intrusion of a man’s voice, said man stalking towards you with a small wave and a large smile. Technically, he lived in the neighborhood behind yours, but he knew the people on your block and thus, was invited every year. Invitation by association had to be in violation of the HOA, where were the Karens when you so desperately needed them?

You plaster on a fake smile as he approaches and try to ignore the tall silent ghost clenching his fists next to you. 

“Hi Jeremy, it’s so good to see you.” –Said Jeremy is red with sunburn. It covers his whole face and the sliver of skin showing beneath his Hawaiian T-shirt that makes him look older and douchier than usual. You’re surprised he isn’t always sunburned every time you see him, considering he has the confidence of a thousand suns. 

There’s a distinct warmness that radiates off of his body, one that Kylo doesn’t share on account of not being real. Truthfully, the lack of extra heat was welcome against the burning sun.

“Wow, you look good. I mean really good.” He does the least subtle scan of your body you’ve ever seen, lingering on the parts of your skin that are exposed before drawing his eyes back up to yours. You don’t see the way Kylo rolls his eyes next to you. “You know we all miss you at the office.”  Right. And he’s also your ex-coworker who didn’t even try and vouch for you when you were getting fired. You kind of maybe hate him a little bit. Just a little. I mean, how could you not?

“Yeah! Yep. Really unfortunate what happened there, but I’ve moved on so…” You wrap your arms around your stomach, suddenly feeling a little too exposed in the presence of this man. Somehow, even Kylo makes you feel more comfortable than this prick. Morally Grey Space Prince or Douche A La Barbeque—watch out, Epic Rap Battles. 

“This is humiliating.” You barely spare a glance to the man next to you as he speaks, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Obviously you knew it was humiliating, but for him to say it out loud was kind of— “Those younglings did a better job at flirting with you than him.” 

You choke on air at his words, scrambling to cover it as a cough as you cast a brief wide-eyed look at Kylo. There are no crickets at this time of day to signify the silence that overcomes you, so you settle for the hum of cicadas instead, your brain is short-circuiting as both men focus on you. 

“Are you okay?” Pursing your lips, you nod your head at Mr. Hawaiian Punch and mutter an excuse about needing some water as you make a quick escape inside the house. The cool air is immediately refreshing, but you don’t stop walking until you’re shutting and locking the bathroom door. The wood is smooth and cool as you rest your forehead against it, you don’t know if you’re this hot from the sun or from embarrassment, but either way it’s a welcome repose. 

“You can’t just say things like that when we’re in public.” You don’t have to turn around to know Kylo is there behind you. Despite not being able to hear his footsteps, the tug in your stomach always manages to tell you when he’s too far. 

When you turn to look at him, he raises an eyebrow at you with a look that you can’t decipher, either amusement or annoyance. Could be both.

“Why? Was it distracting?” You don’t fail to notice the challenging glimmer in his eyes and it hits you exactly why he was looking at you like that. 

You stutter for a response but he cuts you off before you manage to formulate a coherent sentence–

“I was stating the obvious. It was a poor attempt.” You roll your eyes, an action that you fear might become a regular habit with him around. 

In the confines of the small bathroom, his tall figure takes up too much room–his all-black outfit (which you can only assume is summer attire), stands starkly against the small pristine white of the bathroom. It almost feels like you’re back in that weird section of his ship for a second, and your stomach drops. You grip the counter till your knuckles turn white, reminding yourself that you are real and tangible in this world. 

You shut your eyes and count to ten, focusing solely on the feeling of smooth marble counter within your hand as you try to quell the anxiety that threatens to take over. You did not need this right now. Not in public.

Focusing on the smell of ocean breeze hand soap and cleaning supplies, you finally manage to swallow the lump in your throat. A sentence finally able to emerge now that the blockade had disappeared.

 “Look, I'm not able to ignore you as easily as you ignore me. It’s not like I can just tune you out, especially when you say weird, unfortunately true, remarks.” Of course you didn’t want to go back to silent and intimidating Kylo, but you’d also prefer to not look crazy in front of your entire neighborhood. Especially your ex-coworker, who wouldn’t miss the chance to run and tell the entire office that you’d gone bonkers after being fired.

There was enough going on in your life with being laid off and being followed around by a six-foot angsty ghost, you didn’t need ‘village crazy lady’ added to the list. Though you’d gladly apply for the position if it paid.

“I don’t apologize.” He declares coolly, and you’re two blinks of his pretty little eyelashes away from tearing your own hair out. You genuinely can’t tell if he’s enjoying seeing you so peeved, but either way you aren’t going to argue about ethics for twenty minutes in someone’s nautical-themed bathroom.

“I wasn’t asking you to– nevermind” You sigh, gripping the doorknob and twisting. “Come on, let’s just go.” 

You were really going to need that drink.

~~~~

Kylo seems to take your declaration as a challenge, throughout the rest of the party, he follows you diligently, making snide remarks and quips about the people you talk to. Some of them come a little too close to making you squirt canned margarita out of your nose. You believe it’s his form of retaliation against the things you say in his world. 

You’ll show him that you can handle his 6-foot-something temper tantrum even if it costs you a bit of your dignity. 

Despite the blatant fuckery, you do manage to hold down a solid conversation with a group of women discussing their small businesses. It gives you a good few ideas for future job endeavors, and you actually start enjoying yourself a little. It’s not until the sun begins to set that you notice a distinct lack of witty remarks from over your shoulder. You turn only to find Kylo is nowhere to be found. The smallest part of you can’t help but feel a little disheartened, though you can’t, for the life of you, imagine why. 

Pt.12

A/n: I've written and rewritten this chapter over and over and for some reason I feel like it's missing something, but I figured after literally close to a year of nothing I ought to try and finish the story for those of you still interested. Sorry I was gone for so long, Thanks for sticking with me guys! ~𖤐

-----Taglist------

Bob Reynolds x Fem! Reader

Series Masterlist Bob’s Masterlist

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Your encounters with Bob as a tired convenience store clerk working the graveyard shift.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I seriously need to move,” you mumble to yourself, severely lacking sleep due to your upstairs neighbors' midnight sexcapades. There was a reason you started taking more night shifts, and it wasn’t just to see your cute regular, Bob.

Today though, you were off from work. Inspired by Bob’s healthy journaling, you decided to take a page out of his book and drag yourself out of bed for an early morning walk. Right now you were trying to decide if you liked the sound of traffic and construction more at 8 AM or 1 AM. Either way, the symphony of cars and jackhammers was helping to keep you awake and putting one foot in front of the other. Sleep deprivation was a real bitch, one that would love to see you faceplant on this concrete in front of at least fifteen other people. 

The birds chirp far too cheerily for your liking so early, and in an attempt to save yourself from their beautiful assault on your ears, you slip into the closest coffee shop you can find. If anything was going to save you from becoming Oscar the Grouch, it was caffeine, or maybe a smile from a certain brunette, but you probably wouldn’t see him for—

You stop dead in your tracks, barely registering the greeting the barista calls out as you stare at a familiar head of brown hair. Were you hallucinating? His back is turned to you, but there’s no mistaking him anywhere. Especially not when he’s wearing his trademark sweater, a sweater that your tired brain imagines you nuzzling into, soft and warm against his broad back. It was his fault for looking so comfortable to lean on. But you were not going to be the movie protagonist that falls asleep on people’s shoulders in line for morning coffee.

Speaking of, it was hard to tell due to all the loose-fitting clothes he wore, but from here he almost looked built. Was he hiding a perfectly sculpted body underneath all those sweaters? You shake your head, trying to stop yourself before you spiral on about your new friend's body and what it looked like undressed. You’d like to keep your decorum intact for a few more hours at least. 

He’s a few people back from the register, so you approach him with a light tap on his shoulder. He flinches hard, and you think if he were a cat, he would’ve jumped fifteen feet into the air at the touch. You’re stifling a laugh as he turns around with wide eyes, looking downright petrified and ready to let you cut in front of him if there’s even an inkling of conflict. Instead, the scared sheen in his eyes gives way to something else as recognition crosses his features. 

You give him a cheery smile and a wave as he murmurs your name, almost like he can’t believe you’re standing right in front of him. You’re in a similar boat. The ‘I’m sleep deprived and might be hallucinating you’ boat. 

“I swear I’m not stalking you.” You joke, and he lets out a gentle, albeit tired, laugh. “What are the chances, huh?”

You dive into casual small talk as the two of you patiently wait for the line to dwindle. If Bob notices you fighting off yawns every other sentence, he doesn’t say anything. The cafe jazz is a welcome change from the busy morning noise and birds trying to hit Adele-level whistle notes like they’re auditioning for The Voice. You make a mental note to ask your manager if you can update the convenience store playlist your next shift.

Your eyes drift around the shop in faint recognition, realizing you’ve been here once or twice before. It wasn’t far from your place, and if Bob was here, it must mean it wasn’t far from his either. You try, and fail, not to dwell on that idea. 

Though you take some time to briefly scan the menu for what you want, your eyes always seem to draw back to Bob, the cafe lighting must be being paid off to make him look this good. His eyes are shining in a way that must be due to the daylight, and his hair curls gently around his ears in a way that makes you want to scream. You were two seconds away from ripping off your hands so you didn’t do something you regret.

“Next!” Oh thank god. 

The two of you approach the register together, Bob giving his order of a surprisingly sugary drink that seems to fit him just right. You tag your order onto the end of his and hand the barista your card before Bob can even blink. He tries to object, but you just fix him with a smile and tell him he was saving you from spending it on something stupid later. He looks like he wants to say more, maybe object again, but instead he leans back and nods with a grateful smile.

A few minutes later, the two of you are exiting the cafe, coffees in hand and smiles on your faces. When Bob turns in the direction of a park, hesitation and nerves dripping from his skin, you’re already laughing through a yes before he can ask you the question.

That’s how the two of you end up slowly strolling through a park for the better part of the morning, exchanging stories and casual small talk.

“No, Bob—I hate to bring it up again, but they were really going for the gold last night.” Bob chokes on his drink as you bring up your upstairs neighbors once again, clearly not ready for such a conversation so early in the morning. 

“Oh my god.” He’s laughing between fits of coughs, and you gently pat him on the back, spouting quick apologies through your own fits of laughter. There’s a flush to his skin that you’re unsure if it’s from the coughing or the sex talk, but either way you have to fight to look away from the way the tips of his ears turn rosy. As if he couldn’t get any cuter?

Further down the path, Bob tells you about how he was up until 5AM like it’s a normal thing to do, and you turn to him, perplexed and concerned. “Jesus, Bob, do you even sleep? What are you doing up so early then?” 

He shrugs as a breeze brushes past him, rustling the trees and sending leaves cascading onto the path in front of you. The green park you two had stumbled into was more than picturesque, and you had already stopped Bob more than once to take pictures of the flowers and butterflies. You’d apologized for stopping so many times, but he just smiled and shook his head, assuring you he didn’t mind. 

You’re having such a great time that it feels a little like the world is ending when you come to the end of the park, green giving way to skyscrapers and pedestrians always late for something. Both of your coffee cups were long empty, and the lull in the conversation suggested a goodbye was coming, but before either of you could utter one, you were swallowing your nerves and asking him to your place.

“Not for anything weird, I swear!” You assured him, “Sorry, I realize how that sounds.” You laugh a little self-deprecatingly as you focus on the man across the street talking to a stop sign, unable to fully meet Bob’s eyes. “I just—I can try and cook us up some brunch or something?” 

When you finally meet Bob’s eyes, you can see the surprise swirling in them and brace yourself for rejection, but after a second he swallows and tells you he’d love to. The two of you dispose of your coffee cups in a nearby trash bin and make your way to your apartment, exchanging secret glances at one another as something warm and giddy fills your stomach.

Bob Reynolds x Fem! Reader

Series Masterlist Bob’s Masterlist

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Your encounters with Bob as a tired convenience store clerk working the graveyard shift.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re checking out a large group of college guys who think it’s hilarious you asked them for I.D when you see him again. If you were surprised he came back the first time, you’re even more surprised the second. You don’t know how your awkward attempts at conversation haven’t scared him away, but who knows, maybe he just reeeeeeeally liked this convenience store compared to the other three carbon copies on the block.

Your eyes unconsciously flock to him as he wanders through the store, straining to catch glimpses of curly brown locks above the shelves of processed foods and drinks. All night you’d been fighting off a headache, which seemed to triple tenfold when this gaggle of guys walked in; now you were willing to brave the headache for a little longer if it meant you could exchange a brief interaction with Tired Guy, maybe even earn one of his shy smiles again.

You don’t know when you became so infatuated with seeing him, but now it was something you looked forward to every graveyard shift, even playing a little game with yourself by betting yourself a penny on whether he’d come each night. So far you’d been out two pennies, but it looks like you're getting lucky tonight. You consider going to the casino, but you don’t want to spend it all in one place.

“Hello? Can I have that back?” You’re knocked out of your wayward thoughts by a hand waving obnoxiously in your face. Rude. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding the guy’s ID, handing it over with the driest ‘sorry’ you can manage. It wasn’t like he’d been particularly nice to you either; that whole group was loud and prone to knocking over various snack racks on the ends of the shelves. It was obvious they were already a few beers in each. 

“Dumb bitch,” you hear one of them mutter as they walk away, and you press the button under the counter that auto-locks the doors, watching with a self-satisfied smile as they push and push to no avail.

“It’s a pull door,” you call out with mirth, despite the obvious ‘push’ sign clearly labelling the handle. In their drunken stupor they try to pull the door open, taking turns pushing and pulling, and you only let up when you see one of them take a step back, gearing up for a hard shove. You release the lock on the door seconds before one of the guys goes tumbling towards it, and watch with far too much glee as he stumbles through the doorway, only just barely avoiding a full-on concrete face plant. You frown a little at that. Damn, so close. 

You’re still smiling as the rest of the guys stumble out; even as Tired Guy approaches the register, it doesn’t leave your face. Honestly, it’s probably a little jarring considering he’s only ever seen you looking sleepy and half dead. He doesn’t seem all that fazed by it though, matching it with a shy smile of his own, and you internally cheer and grant yourself another penny. Dang, two cents closer to being a millionaire, you were practically Scrooge levels of rich at this point. 

You scan his items in comfortable silence, determined not to speak and make a fool of yourself a third time, instead choosing to focus on the lull of the background music, scanning the items on beat just to humor yourself a little longer. You glance up just in time to see his throat bob on a hard swallow, letting your eyes follow the movement and then track down to what little of his collarbone you could see peeking out from his sweater of choice for the day. It took everything in you not to make a fool out of yourself by complimenting his throat. You would keep that thought inside your head tonight, thank you very much.

“That was funny,” he swallows again, “what you did back there.” You finally bring your eyes up to his, trying to act like you weren’t ogling his throat like a starving Victorian vampire. You’re shocked he spoke first, perplexed even. Doesn’t he know what he’s in for!? Has he learned nothing from your past two interactions?! Still, you feel another penny coming on.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? The door’s a dud.” You fix him with a playful look at your words, one that he matches back with eyes so bright you become a little speechless. Jesus, somebody get this man on some anti-depressants, the world doesn’t deserve to be deprived of that look. In hopes of keeping the smile on his face, you lean a little closer to him, beckoning him forward as if you have a secret to tell.

He leans forward with you, albeit a little hesitantly, and you take a second to admire the scent that floats towards you. It’s clean and soft but somehow still masculine, and it’s divine. You don’t think you’ve ever encountered someone who smelled this good. God, you are seconds away from throwing this man in a sack and taking him home with you; somebody better come stop you. 

“Best to keep that a secret,” you whisper, barely catching the shiver that wracks through his body when you speak. “You never know who’s listening.” You gesture with your head over to the CCTV and then throw him a conspiratorial wink and a smile, letting him know to keep it between the two of you. It’s a joke, obviously, but with the way he swallows and nods, suddenly unable to meet your eyes, you’re a little worried he thinks you’re serious.

The two of you stand there nervously smiling at each other, and you become increasingly more concerned that maybe you said something you shouldn’t have again when he shifts shyly from foot to foot and speaks up.

“They, uh—they shouldn’t have called you that.” Your eyes widen a fraction at the fact that he heard what they said; it was barely audible to you, and he was standing even further away. Still, you roll your fingers on the marble countertop and finally lean back, a softer smile on your face.

“Thanks. Wish I could say that was the first and the last, but well—” you gesture around yourself, noting the fact that not only do you work in customer service, but this is customer service in New York. If you couldn’t handle being called a bitch a few times, you were not in the right town.

“That's really—that sucks.” He blows out a breath, a mix between a scoff and a laugh releasing from his lips. “I’m sorry.” He curls in on himself, fidgeting with the grocery bag in his hands. You’re unsure why he’s acting like it’s his personal responsibility to make sure women don’t get called bitches. Not even Spider-Man could stop that. 

“Hey, don’t apologize. If anything, I should be the one apologizing to you.” His head shoots back up, and his eyes search yours with seemingly a million unanswered questions. “I mean, for the past few nights—I’m kind of really bad at knowing when to speak and when not to.” You let the smile on your face bleed into an apologetic, borderline self-deprecating one, and he chuckles good-naturedly. 

“Oh no, it was fine. I, uh, I appreciated it, actually.” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Really?” That was the last thing you were expecting to hear, but maybe he was just being nice.

“Yeah, it kinda…made me realize how bad I was getting. I thought if the cashiers were saying something, I must have looked really bad. So I went home and did some…journaling.” He trails off at the last part, turning a bit red at the confession, like he expected you to tease him for it.

“Well, that’s healthy.” You remark, “Glad I didn’t ruin your night.” 

“Far from it,” he offers you another one of those shy, sweet smiles, and your organs all melt into a pool inside your stomach.

”But I have to ask—” He tilts his head inquisitively, waiting for your question, but in your head you quickly become preoccupied with comparing him to numerous stock photos of puppies. “The sparkling water and gummy worms? Is that a regular thing for you?”

He laughs a real laugh this time, not like he’s trying to suppress it, and for the first time, the fluorescent lights seem to make someone glow in a good way. You can’t help but admire him as you laugh along with him. He’s so handsome, you think, not for the first time, and something buried deep within you aches. 

“No, no, I didn’t even realize what I was grabbing, really; I just sort of…grabbed it.” The end of his sentence is accompanied by a little shrug that makes his sweater slide a little further down. Goodness, if this was the 1820s, this would be downright scandalous. You’re about to remark on the weirdness of the combination when your alarm begins blaring in your back pocket. You don’t miss the way Tired Guy’s shoulders slump a little, mainly because yours do the same. You hadn’t even realized how much time had passed.

You quickly turn off your alarm, and before you can second-guess yourself, you’re reaching out your hands and lightly grasping his wrist. He goes almost deathly still, panic flashing in his eyes, and you quickly pull away with an apology. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just wondering if maybe you’d want to take my lunch with me?” It's your turn to be the nervous one as you shift from foot to foot, fiddling with your hands. “I don’t know if that’s…weird.” You’re already bracing yourself for rejection when the panic in his eyes softens and he nods, gesturing for you to lead the way. 

You make quick work of flipping the lunch sign and leading Tired Guy out of the back door, snagging a few light snacks for you to nibble on. Luckily he didn’t have anything refrigerated in his bags; otherwise, they would’ve definitely begun to sweat by now. 

In the alley you lean against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Tired Guy. From this close you can smell his clean scent again as you exchange snacks and random facts with each other. He tells you he recently moved in with a bunch of new roommates, and he’s still adjusting, but they feel like family. You tell him stories about your landlord who refuses to fix your washing machine and the upstairs neighbors that don’t know the meaning of quiet sex. You watch with a little too much elation as a flush creeps up his neck at that part, decidedly going into explicit detail until he’s covering his face with his hands and begging you to stop talking. 

The two of you dissolve into a fit of giggles as a warm summer breeze brushes against your skin. It rustles through his brown hair, and you resist the urge to run your fingers through the soft-looking tufts. You divert your eyes, closing your eyes at relishing in the quiet moment you felt you so rarely experienced. At least you seem to have regained your impulse control. You didn’t want to scare off your new friend.

When there’s a lull in the conversation, you turn and ask him why he was crying that night. He seems a little embarrassed to have been caught out but explains to you that all of his roommates went out of town and he was feeling pretty lonely. He tells you how your concern for him made him feel less alone, and apologizes for running out without saying a word. You admit to him you were worried you scared him off, and the two of you end up laughing once more. You talk for what feels like hours but is really only thirty minutes, and when your alarm goes off again, you don’t bother hiding your disappointment.

“Well, I'm sad this has to end, but I won’t keep you any longer; it’s already—” you glare at your phone, not sure if the reaction is from the bright screen or your disappointment at being interrupted  “three AM. Wow, okay, I really did not mean to keep you for so long.”

He chuckles lightly, gripping his bag full of now-half-empty snacks a little tighter. “Don’t worry about it; I liked being…kept.” You nudge his shoulder with a laugh, chiding him for being a hidden flirt and wondering how you can feel so comfortable with a man you’ve only met three times. You feel like you’ve known him forever. You wonder if his new roommates feel so much like family because he makes them a family. 

“Well, I should get back to work.” You tuck your phone back in your pocket and push the back door open a crack with the toe of your shoe, everything in your body screaming at you to quit work and go home with this guy, but that’s a little too fast for even you. Tired Guy nods and gives you a small wave, turning to leave when you call out to him.

“Wait! I didn’t catch your name.” After tonight you couldn’t keep calling him Tired Guy; you had to put a name to such a handsome face. 

“Oh, uh, my name’s Bob.” You repeat his name under your breath, testing the sound of it on your tongue before giving him your name. You see him do the same. Gripping the door handle with a little more force than necessary (it’s not because you’re angry, but it’s also not not because you’re angry). You give Bob one final smile and wave, appreciating the sort of halo the street lamps at the end of the alley cast around him. 

“Goodnight, Bob!”

“Goodnight…” He hesitates for a second, but then tags your name onto the end of his sentence, gracing you with another smile that powers you through the rest of your shift. Headache long gone and forgotten, having vanished around the same time Bob smiled at you.

Pt.4

Bob Reynolds x Fem! Reader

Series Masterlist Bob’s Masterlist

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Your encounters with Bob as a tired convenience store clerk working the graveyard shift.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s another joyful night of graveyarding when you finally see him again. It’s nearly a week later, but that’s probably more due to the fact that you didn’t pick up your usual night shifts. It wasn’t on purpose; you were just…oh, who were you kidding? You had been up for the rest of the morning after that interaction, tossing and turning and unable to get those stormy blue eyes out of your head.

You needed money, however, and your boss loved torturing you, so here you were, with the extra two hours tacked on to your shift that you said you’d never do. Hey, at least in—you squinted at the digital clock—twenty minutes you could take your lunch—or breakfast, who cares.

You’re resting your head on the counter, cheek pressed to the cold (and freshly wiped) countertop as you count how many gum packets you’d sold tonight, rubbing your eyes as you try to decipher if the group that had just been in here had stolen a pack or if you were just counting wrong. You hope it’s the latter, you really couldn’t afford to get chewed out by your boss for losing a single pack of gum—pun intended.

When the bell for the door chimes, you lazily lift your hand up in greeting, although the distraction has made you lose count, and now you’ll have to start over. You sigh quietly, turning your gaze to the security camera to make sure you didn’t get swindled out of anything else tonight when the sight of a familiar mop of brown hair has you perking up, leaning towards the small CCTV to get a better look. 

He’s wandering through the aisles like he usually does, occasionally glancing towards the front counter in a way that would put you on alert if it were anyone else. When he rounds the corner, you sweep your gaze in favor of looking at the real thing instead of the small pixelated version, and are surprised when your eyes meet. He ducks his head, offering a shy smile as his cheeks turn rosy, and then he’s disappearing behind another aisle. That was a good sign, right? You hadn’t completely scared him off. At least he looked a little better tonight. And that smile….

The bell chimes as another customer comes in, and you nod your head as one of your regulars walks through, beelining it to their usual aisles to get their snacks. You don’t mind the fact that most of them rush through interactions with you; nobody wants to fight through small talk after midnight.

Your regular makes it to the register first, spilling their armful of snacks onto the counter as they whip out their card, already ready to pay and leave. You do your best to scan and bag everything quickly, the fast-paced beeping of the scanner akin to that of a hospital heart monitor gone askew. You hand over the condescending smiley face bag with a friendly “have a good one” and a half wave. They’re already digging into their goods as they walk away.

You tap your fingers absentmindedly against the countertop, having momentarily forgotten about your other customer until he comes into view. His hands carry an assortment of chips and sodas that you find yourself agreeing with a lot more than the other night's haul.

“Good picks this time.” That was probably the wrong thing to say, as his eyes snap to yours, wide with surprise and confusion. When will you learn to keep your mouth shut? “Sorry, I shouldn't have—” You cut yourself off, wincing slightly as you look away. “…sorry.”

An awkward silence befalls you, and you take to scanning the items, internally chiding yourself for being weird a second time. Maybe this job was making you loose-lipped and loopy; you should consider quitting soon if that’s the case. New York was not the place to be loose-lipped, especially not with all those non-humans popping up left and right these days. 

You hand over the bag full of snacks and his receipt, pointedly avoiding eye contact with both him and the damn smiley bag. Bastard. It’s painfully awkward as the soft generic indie music plays over the speakers, but when Tired Guy—as you’ve taken to calling him—doesn’t move away, you look up. He’s staring at you with a look you can’t read again, his mouth opening and closing like he’s either a goldfish or on the verge of saying something. You don’t get to figure out which, though, because your phone alarm signals your lunch break. Whatever he was going to say seems to have died in his throat, startled out of him by phone alarm number 7.

When you bring your phone out to turn off the blaring attempt at both music and airhorn, you watch as he reads the name of the alarm, tiredly titled ‘lunch break, thank fuck,’ which you named at 10pm right before clocking in.

Tired Guy gives you a tight-lipped smile, his eyes somewhere between understanding and disappointed as he grips his bags and turns away. You have half a mind to call out to him and ask what he was going to say, but you’ve done enough damage to this poor man and your ego for a lifetime. You weren’t going to let your curiosity ruin two people’s nights and stop you from having lunch (breakfast?). Fuck, who cares? 

When the door shuts behind him, you meander over, flipping the ‘out for lunch’ clock to the outside world for their viewing pleasure and utter disappointment. Yes, what would the world do without you for a whole thirty minutes? You snag a few of the same obnoxiously small chip bags that Tired Guy did and push your way out the back door to the alley. 

Unfortunately for you, your small convenience shop didn’t have a back room; boxes of unpacked goods went behind the counter, leaving barely enough room for you as is, and if you stayed inside the shop during your lunch, someone would assume you were open and pound on the door to be let in. 

So in favor of your peace and enjoyment of this chip sacrifice, you get the honor of eating outside against the wall of a dingy alley. 

You shiver at the breeze, pulling the end of your shirt down further as if it would help, and consider smoking a cigarette, just for the aesthetic of it all. 

Pt.3

Bob Reynolds x Fem! Reader

Bob's Masterlist

Summary: Every night a sleep deprived brunette comes in to your convenience store, and every night you struggle to find the right words to start a conversation.

or

Your encounters with Bob as a tired convenience store clerk working the graveyard shift.

Status: Complete?

*Part 1

*Part 2

*Part 3

Bob Reynolds x Fem! Reader

Series Masterlist Bob’s Masterlist

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Your encounters with Bob as a tired convenience store clerk working the graveyard shift.

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“Are you…okay?” 

You don’t know why you said that. Immediately, you clasp your hands over your mouth, muttering apologies through the cracks in your fingers that can only barely be heard over the generic convenience store music. It bops a tune far too happy for the shame and regret already seeping into your shirt via sweat—or maybe that was just from the six-hour shift you were thirty minutes away from completing.

 If you were lucky, you could blame it on that, on the fact that it’s currently two AM and you’ve been on your feet for far longer than you liked. It especially didn’t help that you worked two hours too short to qualify for an actual lunch break, and you’d been so preoccupied with making sure the store didn’t get robbed again that you forgot to take your ‘generous’ fifteen minute break granted to you by your shifty manager. If that guy wasn’t embezzling funds, you’d be out twenty bucks in the bet with your coworkers. 

Even if you had said yes to the two extra hours that would qualify you a lunch break, you weren't so sure you’d have an appetite so early in the morning, unlike so many of the stoners and night owls that wander into your little corner shop at the oddest hours. It wasn’t your place to judge; you just made the small talk and the sales. Which is why you’re so shocked when you’d involuntarily spoken out to one of your regular customers.

You’d seen him around time and time again, mainly when you were working the graveyard shift, which wasn’t unusual—you’d become so familiar with some of the tired faces of 2 am that you’d even gained enough rapport for a head nod or two from some of them. Him, though, you had yet to crack, and frankly you never planned to. 

You’d assumed he was high the first time you met him; his red-rimmed eyes and blank stare in the candy aisle had convinced you as much. But he never smelled of anything, never acted out or slurred his speech, so by the third time he came in you concluded he was just a night owl. Maybe an insomniac. 

He was cute from what you could tell, though to be fair, most of the time you were physically dead and mentally checked out. Not to mention the fluorescent lights never did anyone good in terms of beauty, and when they bounced off of the dirty linoleum aisles, they always cast a ghostly glow on people’s faces. But he was cute. Curly brown hair that always seemed tussled and unbrushed, tired deep blue eyes that always made you blush and look away when they found yours. You’d blame it on the lighting and not the fact that his gaze always held so much weight to it.

He’d come in wearing various different sweatshirts and hoodies; it seemed he had an endless supply, seeing as you couldn’t recall seeing the same one twice. Another indication that he probably wasn’t on drugs. Most of your high regulars wore the same outfits over and over, never finding a point in dressing up for their daily munchies run.

Sure, he’d looked troubled, ever so slightly dragging his feet, and he shuffled from aisle to aisle, trademark tired red eyes, sometimes with a small list in his hands that he would mumble the contents of over and over, hoping to not forget. Then he’d murmur a small thank you when you handed him his bag, and you wouldn’t see him again for a few days.

But today, today he looked bad—worse than usual. His chest shuddered with every breath he took, his hands clenched and unclenched enough times to turn pale, and in the corner where he hoped no one could see, you watched on the security cam as he wiped his eyes over and over with the sleeves of his sweater.

You don’t like to get involved. It’s not your business, and the one time you did ask, the young teen glared at you and snatched her soda from the counter, nearly shaking the entire store with the weight of her heavy exit. So you swore you wouldn’t ask again. Your body, it seemed, had other plans as it sputtered out the concern involuntarily. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say one final time, cringing as you take in his wide-eyed look. Jesus, he looked ready to bolt; you’d probably never see him again after tonight, just like that teenage girl.

In favor of moving on instead of making things worse, you quickly snatch up the items he’d put on the counter, clenching your teeth to refrain from making a fool of yourself even more. Lord knows you wanted to comment on his choice of gummy worms and sparkling water for midnight dinner. You’d seen worse though, most recently being a pregnancy test and a case of beers. Now that was a midnight dinner you wished you could sit in on.

You place the items into a small bag with a mocking smiley face on the side; it stared at you as you handed it over, taunting you with its blank, unmoving eyes. Yeah, you really needed some sleep. 

You glance over at the clock on the wall, squinting at its offensive blood-red lettering that blurs together the harder you stare. Oh well, the alarm on your phone would tell you when to clock out anyway.

Turning back, you’re surprised to see the tired man still standing there, eyes peering at you and freezing you in place with their weight. He was looking at you in a way you couldn’t really decipher, but at least it wasn’t a glare. That had to mean something? After a few seconds he seems to come back into focus, his eyes widening once more as he realizes he was staring. He mutters his usual quiet thank you and turns tail as fast as a sleep-deprived person can go out of your store. 

You feel bad, hoping you haven’t ruined his night or his favorite place to get snacks, but ultimately there’s nothing more you can do. Since no one else is in the store, you open your phone, scrolling mindlessly as you attempt to fight off the oncoming headache you feel approaching.

You never see the way he turns to look back at you through the window.

Pt.2

Requests/asks are open!

Main Masterlist

𖤐⭒๋࣭ Love in Linoleum 𖤐⭒๋࣭ -Complete?

Every night a sleep deprived brunette comes in to your convenience store, and every night you struggle to find the right words to start a conversation.

or

Your encounters with Bob as a tired convenience store clerk working the graveyard shift.

Kylo Ren x Fem! Reader

Star Wars Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: As Kylo sleeps he finds himself mysteriously transported to your modern world, while you sleep you find yourself following alongside Kylo as he goes about his duties as “supreme leader?” who even was this guy? And why does he keep talking about ‘The Force?'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stare into Kylo Ren’s eyes for a long time. He keeps his expressions neutral, and you don’t know if it’s to help you or because he genuinely doesn’t feel the need to show concern. Probably the latter. It’s strangely grounding sitting there looking at him. Maybe because it reminded you that there was at least one person who could see you. Someone who knew you were there— knew you were real. 

Maybe it’s some freaky alien magic.

You count the freckles on his face, desperately trying to ignore the fact that you can’t do the other 3 things you can feel, taste, and smell as part of your calming method. Though you can still hear, he doesn’t speak. No comfort but no insults either. You’d count it as progress. 

You don’t know what Kylo sees, but after a few minutes of what felt like hours staring into his eyes, he stands, apparently deeming you fine. Or at least better than before. And as much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. Your hands are less shaky, the electricity is back to its low familiar hum, and your heart rate feels like it’s at a healthy 75 bpm. 

You look around you to see if anyone noticed Kylo crouched down talking to a ghost, but no one is around. The hallway that was so busy when you were walking is now empty, so empty and quiet it feels almost abandoned. What happened to all the people that were passing by?

When you look back up at Kylo, his mask is back on, and he’s looking down another branch of the hallway. It strikes you then, that Kylo had been walking somewhere very deliberately before your little panic attack. You were probably making him late. 

Forcing yourself to stand on wobbly legs, you manage to right yourself despite feeling like a newborn deer. A black mask glances back in your direction, and you feel a little disheartened. Maybe your panic attack had a little to do with the fact that the one person who could see you covered his eyes. 

His focus on you lasts only a few beats, and then he’s walking down the hallway he glanced at, you stumbling quietly behind.

The two of you arrive at a meeting room, this one much larger than the one he stopped you in for a little chit-chat about stalking. Well, not exactly stalking, but close enough. It’s empty, and you’re a little worried he’s going to reprimand you about your emotions or something, but instead he just sits at the head of the long table, silently observing you once more.

It reminds you of the last time you met. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, so you focus on something else instead;

The meeting room is a long rectangular shape, with the door on one end and five rhombus-shaped windows on the other. Kylo is sitting at the head of the table closest to the windows, at the end of a long, sleek, black rectangular slab of a table. There’s some sort of fixture or device in the middle of the table, but you have no chance at guessing what it does. There are at least eight chairs seated, though there’s room for plenty more. Guess whoever this meeting was with was for higher-ups only.

Though the room is interesting, you’re ten times more fascinated by the view from the window, walking over to it and hovering your hand in front of the glass. On the other side of this windowpane were thousands upon thousands of stars against an endless black backdrop. Though nearly everything in this room was black, nothing could rival the beauty of pure space. If you were lucky, maybe a planet would pass by. The thought alone fills you with excitement.

“Troopers.” You flinch at the sudden deep voice that interrupts your fascination. Turning to see him still sitting but facing you. You wrack your mind for any ideas of what he means, but you come up blank.

“What?”

“They’re called Stormtroopers.” You can practically feel the distaste rolling off of him. “Does your planet not have any military?”

So the men in white—stormtroopers—were military? That explains the armor, you suppose, but what kind of question was that? 

“Why do you ask? Are you planning on invading it?” He’s silent for a beat, and you grow a little anxious. Oh shit, was he?

“Is that one of your…twenty questions?” It takes a few seconds for your brain to catch up because, oh my god, was that another joke? You can’t help but smile a little.

“Is that one of yours?” you shoot back. Two can play at this game. If he thinks you’ll give up being curious just because he’s being resistant, he’s wrong. You’ll pry the answers out of him if you have to. He owed you that much. 

You can’t see his face, but you’d like to imagine he’s smirking, maybe even a little pleased at your quick comeback. He holds your gaze in what’s—for the first time—a comfortable silence before he changes the subject. You wouldn’t say you won, but, well, you kind of feel like you did.

“Your planet isn’t in this galaxy,” wait, what? “And from what I've seen of your technology and your…companions—” Shoot, he was definitely talking about the pugs. “It’s not worth seizing.” 

Really, you should feel relieved at this news, but the first thing that comes to mind is, ‘Hey! What the hell?’

“Your loss. Earth is great.” What were you even saying right now? “We may not be as advanced, but there are people working day and night to better our planet. And people who spend their whole lives pursuing their dreams and the things they love. And some people love their dogs more than they love their kids, so you’re lucky they can’t hear you; otherwise, we’d have an intergalactic war on our hands.” 

Okay, so maybe you were a little offended that your planet wasn’t worth invading to him. 

“And there’s more than just dogs too; there are cats.” You think back to your little tabby, Toast, what you wouldn’t do to be petting him right now. Kylo tilts his head at you. Of all the things you said in your rant, he tilts his head at cats? Really? Well, you can’t blame him.

“...cats?” Oh, right. Alien. 

“Yes, cats. You know the little ball of fur that tried to eliminate your feet in my kitchen?” Maybe not the best reference to go off of, but you don’t have your phone on you to show him.

“That was not a Loth-cat.” 

You blink. Some kind of air conditioning system kicks on in the background.

“Sorry, what?” It’s all you can think to say because not only does he apparently know what cats are, but he’s saying that yours does not qualify as one. Which—fair, sometimes he seemed more kangaroo-rabbit than cat, but still. How does he know what a cat is—or a loth-cat, as he called it?

He turns back to the table and taps on it; a keyboard blinks to life, hovering just above the surface. You abandon your view of the stars momentarily to get a closer look. Was that… an intractable hologram? Holo-board? Whatever.

He types into it and then swipes, and the device in the middle of the table crackles to life, a hologram shoots up, and you gasp. The teal color illuminates the room, and you resist the urge to walk through the table to get closer to it. 

The creature cast from the hologram is small and fluffy, yes, but that's about where the comparison to a cat ends. It’s got a smooshed face that looks like a mix between a pug and a monkey, talon-like feet, and two triangles protruding so straight up out of its head they look more like cones than ears. You suppose its tail resembled that of a cat’s, but the shape of it was off. Not to mention the pattern of its fur went from striped to spotted in what looked to you like an attempt to be both an owl and a jaguar at the same time. You’d never seen any creature like this before. It certainly wasn’t what you pictured when you thought of aliens, but…neither was Kylo. 

The image makes slow, stationary rotations, allowing you to see it from every angle. Dark, inky black eyes meet yours, and despite its obscureness, you do find it a little cute. Still, now you understand Kylo’s confusion. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” You are, of course, referring to both the hologram and the creature it’s casting. 

When silence once again greets you, you turn to Kylo to see him still staring at you. You don’t know why he seems to observe you so much or why he’s so quiet about everything. Honestly, it’s a little frustrating. Just when you think he’s going to speak again, his fists clench and he jerks his head back to the keyboard. He swipes his finger across it, and the hologram is gone in an instant, just as the door at the end of the room opens up.

The man in the doorway isn’t small, but you can tell just by looking at him that he’s smaller than Kylo is, both in height and in muscle. His face is sour, and his hair is a bright ginger color. He’s looking down at a device with distaste, but the second he notices Kylo in the room, shock crosses his features. Then his eyes narrow in either disgust or suspicion; you can’t really tell. Either way, he’s approaching Kylo Ren differently than the people in the hallway did, and it piques your interest. 

“Ky-Supreme Leader, I did not expect you to be so early. I was just about to send an informant,” Ah. There it is. That slight hesitancy that people approach Kylo with. 

Kylo lifts a hand to wave him off, and the ginger flinches. Now that raises some eyebrows—specifically yours. What was the history there? 

Before you can question it or even think of asking Kylo, seven more people filter into the room, each sporting either a look of surprise or of fear. Why was everyone so shocked that he was early? Was he usually late, or was this a plot of some other kind?

If he was usually late, then why did he rush to get ready to leave? A thought strikes you suddenly: Did he leave early because you were there? A small smirk forms on your face as you revel in the fact that you scared Kylo out of his own room. You file that information away for later.

The men begin casual small talk with each other, exchanging a brief greeting to Kylo but nothing more. You didn’t know their history, but were none of them even going to try talking to him? All of the men in here—save for Ginger—looked older than him by Earth standards. Did they not respect him because he was young? Did they not see him as their boss? 

“Hux.” The room falls quiet, and even you turn to Kylo when he finally speaks. He doesn’t look at you. You felt like you were intruding on something you shouldn’t. “The report.” Gone is any lilt of teasing you had heard in his voice just minutes ago. Replaced once again by the Cold Supreme Leader. You were beginning to wonder if he had DID with how fast he switches.

“Right away, sir.” You’re surprised to find that it’s the ginger that responds. So his name was Hux? What kind of a name was that? You want to ask Kylo, but he feels too far away, and you doubt he’ll answer you when so many people could hear. So you slip your way back over to the window as Hux pulls up a hologram from the table. You’ve been through many work meetings at your previous nine-to-five, and you weren’t trying to sit through any more any time soon. 

The sound of Hux’s voice drones on and becomes background noise as you stare at the endless expanse of space. If you put your head close enough to the glass, you can see just how far the ship extends. It’s a lot larger than you thought, especially because all the hallways look practically the same. For a while you thought you were following Kylo in a loop.

Your cheek hovers less than an inch from the glass when a thought strikes you: could you…stick your head through it? You’ve stuck your head through every surface, but that was here in the ship. If you stepped out into space, could you come back? Surely it couldn’t hurt to try, right?

“And we’ve captured more Resistance, like you ordered. I can’t imagine there are many of them left. If you let me lead the search, we can snuff them out and finally end this war. The galaxy will be ours. All that would be left is to turn the neutral planets to the side of the Order.” Your head whips in the direction of Hux. You hadn’t been paying attention to what he was saying until you heard the word ‘capture,’ and now a sick feeling was growing in your stomach.

Star destroyers. Capturing rebels. War? This…wasn’t a casual space-work meeting about fuel prices and supply deliveries; this was a meeting about war. And Kylo was leading it. 

You inch a step closer as the generals debate the next course of action; your mind is racing, uncertain, and apprehensive. Your eyebrows furrow as you call out—

“War?”

Kylo’s head turns just an inch over his shoulder, just enough so that he can see you in his peripheral vision. Just enough to not arouse suspicion

“What does he mean, Kylo? Who’s the Order? What’s he talking about?” Your heart pounds as you stare into the soulless black of his mask; the room falls silent.

“Supreme leader?” 

He turns his attention back to the room.

“Capture the remaining rebels and bring them to me. I want to personally put an end to the Resistance.”

Your head spins at this newfound information. No wonder everyone was so scared of him. No wonder he was so intimidating. You want to ask questions, pray he’s not as bad as you’re beginning to think he is, but just as you’re about to, it all fades to black.

Your body is back home, but your mind is stuck in another world. Stuck on the people from another world. 

Stuck on the leader of a war.

Pt.11

A/n: Q&A is still ongoing! If you have any questions feel free to ask!~ ☆

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