Cut To The Feeling (Reader x Professor Ren / Kylo Ren)

Where Can We Get A Turkey On Thanksgiving Day?

Your eyes popped open, and you were sure that you had just had another one of those forbidden dreams. 

But when your vision cleared up and you sat up in the plush hotel room bed, you were sure it wasn't a dream.

You looked around the room, holding the sheet over your chest. Kylo wasn't anywhere to be seen. You made out the faint sound of water running and realized that he was in the bathroom taking a shower, so you took the time to hastily get out of the bed and collect your clothes. They were scattered across the floor, so you scooped them up, running up the stairs to your designated space, trying to get out of the room before he could come out of the bathroom. You hurriedly threw on your clothes and got your things together as you tried to recount the previous night and how you had gotten...in that situation. 

It had happened so quickly, so suddenly and out of nowhere. And you had initiated it. Your body was reacting faster than your mind, and you had just kissed him. And he kissed back. It was hard to comprehend, hard to believe, but more than anything in that moment, you weren't sure you wanted to lay eyes on him which would prove to be incredibly difficult considering you had a five hour car ride ahead of you with the man. 

Your stuff was all ready to go, so you sat on the foot of your bed, hands clasped together, lips pressed shut. Your foot was nervously bouncing as you tried to come to terms with the most outrageous fact: you had fucked your professor. You fucked Kylo Ren. 

You heard him stirring downstairs. You heard him getting his things together. You were on the brink of a panic attack trying to decide how to face him. You took a few deep breaths and decided to get your things and bring them down and act like nothing had happened. That would be the best course of action. Right?

As you descended the stairs, you counted your breathing. When you hit the floor and looked up, he was standing near the door putting the last of his things in a bag. He didn't look over to you, and you just stood there awkwardly staring. He was in a black t-shirt and black joggers. His hair was damp from his shower, and his jaw was tight. 

You cleared your throat. He didn't look to you. "Are we leaving now?" It was all you could muster. 

"Yes. The car's out front if you want to go ahead and get in," he said with the slightest twinge of discomfort in his voice. 

"Okay," you said quietly, pausing a few moments before braving walking toward him to get out the door. As you neared him, though, he darted back into the bathroom. 

This was going to be a miserable day. 

It was the quietest ride you had ever been on. As soon as he had gotten in the car, he put on an audiobook, and that was the only thing you heard for three and a half hours. You hated awkward silence more than anything in the world, but it was impossible to say a word, impossible to articulate anything that could soothe the tension. You spent a lot of the time wondering what he was thinking. You wondered if he regretted it. You wondered if the only thing going through his head was ways to tell you that it would be best if he never spoke to you again, that it would be wise if he would go ahead and take the job in New York and leave. You wondered if he was thinking that he got what he wanted from you, and now he was going to ghost you as soon as you got back to New Orleans. All you were doing was hurting your own feelings, but it was difficult to concentrate on anything else. You would occasionally look over to him only to see that his fists were tight on the steering wheel, eyes glued to the road, and jaw clenched tightly shut. You wanted to talk about it now. Sitting in this silence was too much. 

You wanted to say something. Anything, at this point.

The situation could only be held over by the audiobook for so long. Eventually it ended, and there was still an hour or so left on your journey home. The sounds of road noise filled the air, your fingers were fidgeting with your phone as you thought about what to do or say. You just had to do it, had to force a word out.