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The creature comes to her at night.
When it’s so dark she can’t see her hand held in front of her face. Curtains pinned tightly closed, lights off, door shut.
The floorboards are old and they creak as he walks down the hall towards her bedroom.
Rey listens closely even though she’s already half asleep, and blinks herself conscious, because he’s here. Like she knew he would be. Like she’d been waiting for.
One hundred and sixty-eight hours, seven whole days of waiting.
She tracks every step—past the bathroom, past the framed photo of her and Luke, past the closet she keeps her shoes in.
Until he’s leaning over her, tall and imposing and not entirely human.
“There you are,” she says and though he offers no words, the low affectionate hum he gives is a response all its own.
He rewards her with a stroke of his hand against her cheek—familiar and comforting.
Rey peels back the duvet and with an affectionate smile, she invites the devil in.
*****
The first time Rey met Kylo Ren, she woke to him sitting on the edge of her bed. One steady hand ran along her back—petting her like you would a cat. And though he didn’t touch her skin, she felt the warmth of him through layers of cotton. Rey didn’t dare move or speak. She lay in bed, afraid, sweaty, and unmoving until the sun came up.
And the second time—that’s when he tries to fuck her.
Rey hadn’t even felt him approach, hadn’t felt him slide in behind her. Abruptly, violently, she’s shifted, then held against something solid, hot, and breathing.
Shhh, he says and it turns her mouth to ash because that voice had come from inside her head. As if he’s hooked into the electric synapses of her brain—like he lives there, in her mind, with her.
It all happens so fast that she has trouble keeping up. The way he holds her so tight, she might stop breathing. The feeling of him forcing himself between the soft clutch of her thighs; hard and wet already, pressed right up against the center of her.
Rey would pinch herself, try to wake up from this fucked up dream, but something painful and sharp pricks into her hips. Ten razor-tipped fingers clenched around her hip and torso, capping off the arms that cross over her chest and abdomen. The man, thing, whatever he is, that owns them begins to devote himself to slowly fucking between Rey’s thighs.
With all her heart Rey wishes she could say she doesn’t want it. That she’ll throw him off and run. Die, even—broken from splintered bones and punctured skin—in the struggle. Instead, she gives in. Fights enough that he squeezes her as tight as he can without actually hurting her.
A warning.
Then, she lets go.
Surrenders to the pleasure of it and the relief of losing control.
It’s so horrifying, so embarrassing, how thoroughly she wets his cock. And though she tells herself not to look, she can’t help but tilt forward enough to see the red tip of his bare cock slide through the ends of her legs. Thick and heavy—so much so that her thighs ache with the effort of tightening around it.
All she can think about is how intimidatingly big he is rutting across her clit, all wet and unforgiving. How much of him she sees passing all the way through her thighs and what that says about how deep he’ll go into her.
*****
In the morning, in front of her toothpaste-splattered mirror, is the same Rey she always sees: tangled brown hair with a blank sleep-colored expression. And she might think all of it was a dream, a vision, an erotic nightmare, but her sheets are sticky with cum and the red-rimmed bites along her neck and collarbone feel like enough of an indictment.
She’s not sure what he is exactly, but she still feels the heat of his body at her back. Something suspiciously long, pointed, and thin wrapping around her leg. Claws and red-tinged skin.
Rey shakes off the sleep and remembers how she’d whimpered desperately through her own sweaty orgasm. She shudders under the weight of the memory. Oh, god. And she’d liked it too. So much that she’d shaken with it. Panted and begged for it. Her toes had curled and she'd moaned.
The laundromat is basically abandoned so she doesn’t have to hide the bruises on her neck, her arm, her hip. In the washer, behind the glass door, her bedding twists and tumbles.
Another thing her brain hadn’t quite kept up with. It hits her just now in her orange flip-flops under the terrible fluorescent lights.
It was everything she’s ever wanted.
*****
It feels good to be desirable—that’s the reason she’s settled on. So Rey waits with bated breath every night, hoping he still wants something from her.
It happens one more time. Then another.
It keeps happening.
When she slips between the sheets of her bed, she rubs her bare thighs together absentmindedly in anticipation.
She can’t predict which nights he’ll come, so she stops skipping out on hair-washing days and begins taking greater care to keep her skin soft and her hair shiny; both because it makes her feel better and because she knows there’s little else she has to offer.
Rey doesn’t know what he is, not for sure anyway. Some kind of demon, she thinks. Kylo Ren (Rey doesn’t know how she knows his name but it trips into the front of her mind, makes a home there) looks human in the ways that count.
Dark tousled hair, a mouth, thick thighs, a beating heart.
But the prominent ears she sometimes traces with cautious hands (she wasn’t sure exactly how he’d take tenderness like that, but she thinks she feels him tremble under her touch) come to a point at their tops.
Fingers unlike her own, long and sharp and talon-like. An unsettling pair of fully black eyes and a long tail (the same shade of red-ish she thinks his skin may be—impossible to pin down in the dark) that occasionally flicks in the air behind him. And he has horns. Small and round, cute even, but horns nonetheless.
More than anything though, the demon in him gives itself away in the potential of every touch. The strength with which he moves and the spark of some preternatural power she can’t quite wrap her head around. The certainty with which she knows that if he wanted to, he could burn her up, inside and out.
Beneath fluttering lashes she watches as he climbs the bed, one knee at a time. Big, clawed hands pull her into his chest and Rey yelps and kicks as his teeth sink into the base of her neck. Not hard enough to break skin but just enough to pacify her.
In college, she’d had dreams like this.
Vague, half-realized dreams where she’s pinned, helpless, and drooling. Can’t see, can only hear the desperation in their voice. Can’t anticipate their movements, can’t avoid them—can only be confined by them.
She’d give it a shape; different names and faces (a florist with kind eyes, the stern-looking man always at the corner table at her Starbucks, a friend of a friend of a friend she’d spoken to in the dim light of the library stacks) but it never came from anything real. Never became anything real either.
Her alarm would go off and there’d be no collar of bite-bruised skin at her neck. Just her, wet with arousal, sweat, and her own tears. Crying because she’d thought it was real that time. Tricked by it just like she’d been every time before and would be every time after.
Rey doesn’t really have those dreams anymore. Instead, she’s chased by nightmares that melt and twist all her vulnerabilities into one swirling mess; her parents and her exes and broken promises made between children—salt tears through goodbye kisses and the taste of loss.
Maybe it’s not so out of character, then—that when his cum (warm and unyielding) trickles down from her cheeks, her nose, and into her mouth, she lets it.
And that when he forces it into her mouth with a thick persistent thumb, she lets him.
*****
Rey’s lived in a bunch of places in all different parts of the state. Small towns, big cities, in the forest, by the ocean; in a tent, too, for one memorable summer. It’s not that Rey didn’t enjoy each of them for what they were—she had (except, maybe, the tent). But she likes it here now in her ordinary town with her ordinary job. The comfort of familiarity.
And she’s always lived alone—that’s nothing new. Ever since she was a kid, sharing a room with three other scared and angry girls. Since she’d had to fight for every inch of space to breathe.
There are some things she just can’t go back to.
So she doesn’t.
She goes to work, makes her way through a rotating cast of mediocre takeout, pays for a gym membership she never uses.
All by herself.
Rey doesn’t know if she’s ever felt real love before. It’s like she lives behind glass. Looking out into the light on the other side. Never passing through, never really touching—still wanting.
She’s not lonely.
Really.
She’s just alone.
*****
It’s not touch that wakes her this time, but the sound of cloth ripping. Sharp claws slice through the collar of her shirt down to its hem, her chest bared to greedy eyes—greedy hands, too.
He flicks her nipple then gives it a greedy tug before moving on to the next one. It leaves Rey biting her lip and arching her back.
Better this way. It slinks around the part of her brain where her thoughts bounce around. The connection between them is raw and tender; she feels him like an extension of herself.
Kylo reaches down and pulls at the crotch of her panties. Tears that too and exposes the wet skin there to the cold air in the room.
Rey makes it a little difficult, puts on a little show by trying to roll out from underneath him. Pushing up uselessly at his shoulders must piss him off because he growls in her face. Holds her wrists down before forcing her thighs open and stilling her kicking feet. All the while, looking down at her amused. The kind of fond amusement you might reserve for a kitten. A little pet, a curiosity.
And that pisses Rey off.
“What is wrong with you?” Her voice is shriller than she means it to be, but the twist of real indignation in her words is wholly intentional.
I can do whatever I want, he growls and bites the side of her hip. Rey imagines the bruise that will surely form by tomorrow morning; purpling teeth-shaped proof he was here. Just about the size of her whole hand, she hopes.
The feeling of his tongue against her clit gives her a jolt and her hips buck up forcefully into his face until he draws the orgasm out of her with slick pressure. It’s good and it’s satisfying. So he does it again.
And again.
And again and again. Until she whimpers at the feeling of her abdomen cramping and he stops.
Looking satisfied and a little arrogant, he licks her from his lips.
*****
Where does he go when he’s not there?
Where does he live?
When he’s not paying attention, Rey thinks she might see through the veil of his walls and into his head. To a place with others like him, though none quite the same. It's dark and angry.
Desolate.
In this place, the only certainty is death. And loneliness.
The throne she thinks he sits on—in a technicolor vision, she’s there too. Rey sees a version of herself there, draped in lush black fabric and soaked in opulence. The thought is worn through, like a letter read so many times that the paper softens and the creases scar.
Rey can’t tell if he wants it or fears it.
The pieces don’t quite come together for her yet but she thinks it’s something bigger than her, maybe. Something infinite that scares her.
Maybe Kylo was human. Long before Rey was even a speck on the plate of creation. Or maybe he wasn’t. Does it even matter that he can’t remember? He knows he has wants, needs, and that maybe they fit inside the four walls of her bedroom.
It’s a thought Rey keeps tucked into the back of her mind where it’s safe.
*****
They’d tried all this before—when he’d used her own fingers to stretch her out (Rey’s feet braced on his thighs as they both watch him guide her spit-slicked fingers down; there’s something so hot about the way he uses her own hand to finger her and the way she clenches around herself).
Stretched like this over his lap, with her thighs spread around him, she feels small and it makes his dick feel even bigger where it twitches against her. And all at once her mind is dizzy and sharp with how much she wants it.
The blunt head slips against her where she’s wet with spit and her own slickness. Wide enough to make her worries real. But he soothes her with careful touches. Tells her she’ll take it just fine.
Which, she’s not sure is true for the first few moments when her jaw goes slack and she full-body winces at the shock of it. It’s uncomfortable, painful even, but he steadily slides her down, fits her around him until she’s too full, then tries for more. He doesn’t want to hurt her—he wants to hear his name curling around her tongue.
That’s it, Kylo says and his eyes glaze over as he watches Rey lower onto his cock.
When he starts really moving, when they know she won’t split open, it’s so slow. A stop-start rhythm that eases her into a stretch that soothes the ache inside her.
One sharp inhale and then she releases a shaky breath because the pain begins to dissolve into something relievingly electric.
It’s almost better that he’s too big to fuck her like she wants. She can’t fit all of him in and that’s okay—hot even. Kylo knows just how far to go in, how much she can take. It’s not hurried but very precise. So he won’t slam into her aggressively. He doesn’t even have to find that spot inside of her that curls her fingers and toes—he touches it all. Hits that place and stays grinding into it steadily. It keeps each crack of pleasure close, pulled tight on its leash. Inside her, he’s thick and unforgiving and it’s almost perverse how much she likes it. Honestly, Rey could cry about it.
The room smells like sex and it’s hot. Their thighs are starting to sweat against each other. Together the sounds they make are deliciously disgusting (skin on skin, wet, cheap mattress heaving, noisy impatient breaths).
“Please,” Rey says because she doesn’t know that she can say anything else. Sharpened teeth skim along the side of her neck and he pushes in a little bit harder, faster until she almost bites her tongue. Next to them his tail thwacks against her bed.
Look at me, he demands but it’s gentler than she expects. They both know there’s a part of them that needs this.
And then she’s shaking all over while her brain scrambles. She cries in awful, heaving, sobs, babbling and incoherent to her own ears. Kylo just huffs, laughs, and moves his grip to her ass so he can grind her down just that little bit faster. But jerkier now, like he’s out of patience.
Good, good, good, he breathes out. Whether he’s talking to her or about her she doesn’t know or care because her mind has emptied and turned to fuzz. Beneath her hands, his shoulders are so tense with how wound up he is.
Rey.
When he spills inside her they both sigh, relieved, endlessly warm, content. He whines and pants loudly with his forehead resting against her hair.
And okay—Ray is a little touched, a little warm and gooey inside as he kisses the tops of her freckle-covered shoulders. An involuntary shiver takes over when one sharp finger runs lightly down her nose. Tracing until he reaches her mouth, her cupid’s bow.
Rey never wants to leave this room.
She wants to be the center of his gravity, the focus of his devotion. Under the weight of his focus forever.
So she kisses him
His lips move so smoothly against hers. Pillowy; the softest part of him. He holds her head between his hands, pinning her still while he drags the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth. Hands spanning the whole of her head and a mouth big enough to open wide and swallow her whole.
Rey tucks her lip between his and sucks. She wants to drink him up. He’s like heat and spice. Like if fire had a flavor. It’s in the way he smells too; inhaling it feels like sinking into him. Indulgent, covetous, she asks herself if this is what sin tastes like.
*****
When he nestles his legs inside the curve of hers, she sighs. The duvet smells clean like lavender soap and fresh air. Even if the two of them smell fucking disgusting, at least her bed made it out alive. Her fingers pet at the cotton pillowcase next to her and he breathes into the crown of her head like he loves her.
It feels so good the way he gives her stomach light pets using the backs of his curled fingers. She’s starving for this tender intentional touch and though it feels like too much to receive, she drinks it up.
Rey was alone.
And now she’s not.