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

I Know Something You Don't

It would have been impossible for anyone to get a turkey on Thanksgiving day. But Kylo Ren wasn't just anyone. 

He made a few calls and within an hour and a half, a fully prepared Thanksgiving meal was delivered to his home. It was way too much for only two people, and you knew it must have cost a fortune. You were now standing in front of his kitchen island eyeing all of the goods that he'd gotten for you. A delectable turkey (a kosher one, at that) was surrounded by all of the standard sides you would see at a family gathering. He walked back into the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine--a nice one, not the syrupy Hanukkah wine--and set it down on the counter with the rest of his spread, proudly looking down on it as if he had prepared it himself. 

"Isn't this way too much food?" You looked over and up at him. 

"Probably. It's fine. We can eat on it for the next few days," he shrugged. 

"So, you really are going to let me stay here the whole time? I figured you'd be tired of me by now," you said it playfully. 

His arm moved behind you, grabbing a handful of your ass. "I'd keep you here forever if you'd let me."

You giggled, wiggling out of his grasp and going forward to make your plate. 

He had an outdoor dining area in the oasis that was his backyard. In his backyard, there was a luxurious deck with an outdoor bar, dining table for six, loungers and TV, perfect for entertaining large groups. There was an illuminated pool with a conjoining hot tub, and it looked like something that you would see in movies or something. It was something you never thought you would see. 

You sat on the end of the table, and he was on your right as you devoured the incredible Thanksgiving meal. 

"When are you going to tell me more about your short but illustrious film career?" You asked, biting down on a yeast roll. You thought now was as good a time as any to get some information out of him. He was well fed, recently fucked, and he was in the comfort of his own home. Surely, he'd be open to discussion. 

He let out a breath through his nose, setting his fork down against his plate, and he looked up at the string lights that twinkled over the dining table. 

"There's not much to it. You clearly know how to Google people to dredge up memories of the past--you didn't see anything about my career on there?" His eyes fell back to you, pressing his lips together. 

"No. I just saw academia stuff really," you admitted. 

"Oh, right," he looked as though he realized something. "Well, like I said, my family is big in the industry. My grandfather was a pioneer studio exec in the golden era, and his kids, my mom and uncle, were able to break into the industry as writers. They were really good, don't get me wrong, but it was all because of my grandfather. When he died, my uncle took over the studio, and he kind of started to take over everyone's vision and wanted everyone to make one kind of movie. Oscar-bait things, you know?" He looked at his lap. "My mom and dad were always a team, and they were fine with putting out the kind of things my uncle thought was 'right' for the studio." 

"Wow," you were invested. "So, where did you come in?"

"When I was, like, eighteen, my parents kind of pawned me off on my uncle. They wanted me to learn from him, because I would be the next one to get the studio. I liked writing, so he let me do that. I wrote a few features, and he thought they weren't up to par with what our family had created," Kylo looked bitter, grimacing. "So, he tried to show me how to make the kind of shit he liked. I folded, and I did write some pieces that were up to the family formula in my early twenties. They were huge financial hits, but they weren't authentic."