♕Chapter 1♕

                                  ━━━┓ ✠  PART I  ✠ ┏━━━

Nothing said "hungover" like sporting the darkest pair of shades you could find and the largest water bottle you owned- 42 ounces to be exact. You strolled into Holdo Hall with both in tow, your oversized Lulu's sunglasses still covering your eyes until you rounded the corner to your English lit classroom; you couldn't have Professor Ren seeing you wearing them, though even if you took them off, he would likely guess your sorry state anyway. You were probably fighting a losing battle- having it in your head that you could wordlessly convince him that you had shown up fresh-minded and ready to learn when you looked as exhausted as you did.

Usually, you would just skip class to sleep off your hangover and take the absence for the day. Your grades were good enough to do it; you skirted just above average. You probably would have excelled in most of your courses (not math) if you put in more time. But you found it generally hard to focus once the clock turned midnight and you were still trying to study. Around that time, you'd abandon your work and turn on Netflix if you were still studying at all by that point. And you'd take a party any night (even a weeknight) over a night of cramming. Case in point: last night's excursion to Finn's house party.

You coasted on your in-class participation and test-taking skills- certainly not your homework marks. You missed an assignment here and there, but you would have been a truly gifted student if you just applied yourself more. But that was easier said than done, and you settled on simply being marginally better than most.

But English Literature  was different- Topics in lit theory, to be exact. You were a junior in a graduate level course doing passably well. English was your strong suit, so you were able to skate by even easier than usual.

You hoped Professor Ren noticed your gifts in writing. You generally passed with B+'s and the occasional and blessed A-'s in his class, which was especially decent given that he was a notoriously hard grader. A part of you was continuously disappointed with yourself; think of how much you could impress him if you really applied yourself. Learned better focus? You would be his shining top student.

But that wasn't your reality, and this far into the semester, it was probably too late now. You were just near the top, blending in with all the rest.

Professor Ren entered the classroom at four o'clock on the dot; just as he always did. He looked stoic and strong; rested but aloof, apathetic, even, but laser-focused. Like someone in the back row could stick a piece of gum under their table and he would notice.

And then destroy them.

Most people were terrified of him. Enthralled, but terrified. You couldn't exclude yourself from that majority.

He didn't say a word of greeting when he entered the room, never did. Instead, he merely set up his materials on his desk and today, started up the computer and opened up powerpoint.

Christ, it was lecture day. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, wondering how you were going to stay awake, even for one of his hour-long lectures. Most the time you found them fascinating. More than once, you had taken the lead in classroom discussions. More than once, it had resulted in you and Professor Ren openly debating the topic, going head to head while the rest of the class doodled in their margins or listened uncomfortably.

Not everyone had your passion. Your challenging wit.

Once, you'd been sure he'd noticed. You'd be sure he'd hold you back after class to tell you he noticed your interest and dedication to the material. But he never did. Probably because he didn't owe you shit, you knew that, but fuck, you wanted to be special. Truly special in his eyes.

But that wasn't going to happen. Not today, that much was certain.

"The uncanny." Professor Ren began, eyeing his students. You thought his gaze settled on you, stuck in the middle of the room, but it drifted away. You couldn't help but feel disappointment settling in your chest. "Freud's examination of the uncanny begins in his exploration of aesthetics. How do we recognize the uncanny in art? In literature, in psychology, in life itself? If you'll open up Freud's essay, please; I'd prefer you have a hard copy, but if you have it on your laptop, that's fine." His eyes scanned the classroom through his glasses that you were sure cost at least a couple hundred bucks, a silent warning: I'll know if you're not paying attention.

The one thing good about lecture day being today of all days was that the blinds were down so you could all see the smartboard. Even the thought of strong sunlight streaming into your eyes made your stomach turn. So you focused instead on your professor. He was unbelievably tall: 6-foot-3 and all muscle. His suit form fitting and rich-looking and clean, an interesting juxtaposition to his youthful black locks that cascaded down to his jaw.

Sexy as hell.

"Ms. [L/N]."

You snapped out of your thoughts, feeling your heart drop to your stomach. Fuck. You thought. How long had he been lecturing? If he asked you to repeat anything he'd been talking about for the last however-long, even just to sum it up, you were fucked. In a split-second of panic, you scanned the slide that was on the projector, racking your brain trying to tie the words to the reading.

The reading you didn't finish.

Fuck.

"Ms. [L/N]." He repeated coolly.

"Yes, sir." You answered, quickly this time.

"You have horror and disgust." He lifted one hand. "And a sanctimonious reverence." He lifted the other, as if balancing two defying odds. He was clearly continuing off of whatever he'd been saying moments before. Words that you missed. And now he was quizzing you, you could feel it, in front of the entire class. You braced yourself for the question, wracking your brain for any reading you'd ever done on Freud.

"What does Freud surmise causes the dance between the two?"

His eyes bored flaming holes into yours. Were you the only one who felt the burning ache between the two of you?— No, that was insane. Absolutely fucking insane. He was your fucking professor. Lost in your thoughts once more, you chewed the inside of your cheek, eyes falling to your desk, away from his intoxicating and one-sided eye-fucking gaze that you could only be misinterpreting. Why, in a million years, would he have an eye on one of his students when he could probably have anyone he wanted? You got the vibe that maybe he liked older women.

"We don't have all day, Ms. [L/N]."

Well, it was Freud after all. And if anyone had a one-size-fits-all answer, it was Freud.

"Sex." You blurted out, eyes snapping back up to meet his. You could have sworn his chin twitched up ever so slightly. Other than that, he was as stoic and still as always. Until you saw, without and doubt and irrevocably, that his eyes narrowed at you.

"Or, the taboo." You corrected yourself. "Specifically, anything sexual in nature. Things that we hide from everyone else. Things that exist in our subconscious that represent our secret desires."

You held your breath, and he held your gaze for a moment. "Threats to our super-ego, the moralizer." He continued, accepting your answer as correct, turning around to pace around the front of the class with his hands clasped behind his back. You felt a swell of pride bubble in your chest. "Next time, Ms. [L/N] I'm sure we would all appreciate a swifter answer, lest we all fall asleep waiting for you to gather your thoughts."

Christ. You just couldn't gain one single, solitary win. Not against Professor Ren.

Once class was over, and everyone had already started packing up their things five minutes early, as always, Professor Ren stood with his hands on his hips. "I should have your papers back by the end of the week. Until then, I suggest you complete your reading thoroughly."

Out of it as usual, you took to packing up your things when half the class was already out the door. You shuddered at the thought of being alone with Professor Ren and scrambled to shove your belongings into your bookbag. Naturally, you were the last out of the door when-

"Not you." You stopped in your tracks, feet away from your exit. He was going to murder you. He hated you. You didn't know why; it's not like you were a bad student. But you could feel it. Maybe the sexual tension you'd sensed between the two of you was just pure fucking rage and irritation on his end. You stared at the opening into the hallway, where students milled about; they did anything but notice you standing in the doorway with real, genuine fear in your eyes.

"Close the door, Ms. [L/N]."

Without thinking, you dropped your bag, figuring he wasn't going to let you out of here without a chat that would probably cause you to go home and cry for hours. Might as well brace yourself now and settle in for the ride.

You closed the door.

"I suggest you lock it as well."

Is he going to beat me up in here?  You thought for a brief moment. With motions that weren't your own, you reached out and locked the door, wondering why he was always singling you out. Humiliating you in front of the entire class.

You turned around to face him. With a sigh, he leaned back on the front of his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose before motioning for you to approach him with two fingers.

You took a single step forward.

He raised his head, eyes meeting yours, and the meaning of it all sunk in. You were alone. With him. And he was staring straight at you. You didn't know whether to be thrilled of terrified. So you didn't choose between the two- you were both.

"If you are going to come to my class hungover and unfocused, it would be better if you did not come at all."

Your jaw set. For a moment you didn't say anything. Then, it struck that maybe it wasn't appropriate for a professor to mansplain your own personal life to you.

"I'm not hungover."

He looked at you flatly. "The bags under your eyes are dark enough to make me think you've been punched in the face. Twice."

You swallowed thickly, standing up straight, trying to maintain your dignity.

"It's a Monday, [L/N]."

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

His brows cocked. He looked slightly surprised- and something else. Interested. Amused. Contested. Eager. Urging you to keep challenging him.

"When you called on me, I didn't see anyone else fighting me to answer your question. This is confusing stuff, and I know what I'm doing. I'm not a distraction to the class," you argued, "I'm doing well on this unit, I-"

"Your last essay. Why didn't I receive it?" It sounded more like a statement than a question. A flat, monotone phrase meant to make you feel like he already knew the answer. Because you didn't do it.

"Time got away from me." You admitted. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I-"

Suddenly, he stood, and you felt yourself take a step back.

"You did well in class today, when called upon." He told you with a small nod, eyes almost understanding. Almost. "But I would argue that giving 'fuck-me' eyes to your professor and speaking incessantly on sexual desires is a bit of a distraction to everyone else."

"You asked the question." You shot back, slightly outraged, holding your ground this time, staring up at his 6-foot-tall frame that hovered over you like an intimidating black shadow. "You called on me specifically to answer it, knowing what I had to say. I know my Freud—my answer was correct," you said, drawing out the word so he'd get the point, "and Freud would be proud."

He looked at you with darkness in his eyes, jaw set, inches away from you, so close you could smell his rich-guy cologne, it drifted against your senses, making your mind go dizzy, and instantly, instantly, instantly-

He was on you. Hands cupped your cheeks as his mouth crashed into yours, lips tight and plush and wanting against your own. He shoved against you until your back hit the door, a good few feet behind you, but you didn't mind the pain that wracked against your entire backside- you were grateful for the support behind you because you were about to melt completely in his arms.

You parted your lips, urging him to open his, moaning into his mouth. Your hands found his hair, his sexy, dark, wavy hair that you'd been dreaming on tugging on for weeks. Dragging his lips against yours, one of his hands found your hips. "And the eye-fucking, Ms. [L/N]?"

You noticed your chest was rising and falling dramatically, the back of your head resting on the wood behind you. "I would argue," you said, tossing his own words back at him, hoping they'd land heavy on his chest with a painful impact, "that you're just as guilty of that as I am."

Professor Ren smirked, pushing himself off the door and away from you. You panted, resisting the urge to pull him back to you. You were pretty positive that he wouldn't appreciate that move. That you weren't going to be the one calling the shots.

You were completely and utterly at his mercy- the mercy of Kylo fucking Ren.

Slowly, he took a few steps back, a hand rubbing his jaw. He was clearly in thought, eyeing you for a moment before his gaze fell to the floor, contemplative and measuring. Within moments, he'd made up his mind.

"Get on the desk." He said, snapping his fingers and pointing to his desk that sat at the front of the classroom.

"What?"

"Sit your ass on my fucking desk." He said, storming to you furiously, hissing the words into your face. Eyes wide, your head hit the back of the door again. "Make your choice." He said, hand clenching around your wrist. "You will sit on my desk, or you will leave. Now."

It wasn't the hardest of decisions, but that didn't mean you weren't nervous.

You did as he told, walking towards the desk and lifting yourself to sit on its cold surface. You could feel the chill of the tabletop begin where the cuffs of your denim shorts ended. As he walked towards you, for once, your attention wasn't on him. Instead, it was on the door. Locked as it was, you were pretty sure the other professors had master keys. Panic set in-

-And dissipated when Professor Ren placed a hand gently to hold your jaw. "Don't worry about that." He breathed lowly against your neck. It was as if he was reading your mind.

He nudged your legs open at the knee, using his thigh to step in between them and draw himself as close as possible. His hand moved from your jaw downward to clasp your neck with the same gentleness as before. He wasn't grasping.

But he could. You knew he could if he wanted to.

His lips went to your ear. Feeling his breath against your delicate skin made your mind go fuzzy and the clenched muscles of your core to drop. "I need you to tell me that this is what you want. Before we go further," he nipped at your jaw suddenly, causing a sigh of pleasure to spill from your lips, "I need your permission." His head moved lower, sucking at your collarbone, threatening your skin with his teeth. It was all you could do to keep your hips from erratically bucking forward. "With it," he continued, "you agree to trust me. To trust that I won't hurt you." He pulled away then, face hovering inches from your own, his hand moving to lift your chin. "Much."

Another sound tumbled from your lips- something between a whimper and a moan. A clear indicator that you were dissolving in his arms. A smirk hinted at the edge of his lips. He leaned in closer, lips barely brushing against yours. "Will you give in to me, [Y/N]?"

Your head dropped back and you groaned, hands tangling in his hair.

Fuck. You thought he'd never ask.

"Tell me." He hissed, mouth traveling back to your jaw, hand moving to clutch your hair. He squeezed, pulling on it slightly, and the pain set your soul afire and made your eyes burn—likely a hint of the freaky shit you were sure he was into. Using your hair as leverage, he yanked your gaze forward to meet his. "Say it."

Your breath hitched in your throat. He moved your head, using your hair as his reins, ever so slightly. To let you know who was in control. "I'm yours." You breathed against his lips. All yours. "Take me."

His lips found yours again, and this time, the kiss was rougher. Deeper. You parted your lips to allow his tongue to find yours. His hands rested on either thigh, sliding gradually towards your core. You moaned into his open mouth as he ripped himself away from you to yank your top over your head. He tossed it furiously to the side, and as quickly as he was gone, he was back on you, licking at your lips as if your kiss was a whole fucking meal, nibbling at your swollen pout.

Your hands grabbed whatever they could but soon, he pulled away again, this time dropping to his knees in front of you.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, this isn't happening. You whimpered at the sight of him, the sight of Professor Ren's face just inches from your cunt.

"Unbutton." He ordered, tilting his head down to bite the inside of your thigh- hard

Without warning, without control, you threw your head back and let out a yelp.

You don't know how he moved so fast, but his face was in front of yours before you'd realized he'd moved. His hand was around your jaw again. This time, his grip was not so gentle. But you could feel his fingers, his whole hand, trembling as he held you.

He was still holding back, you realized. If you didn't know better, you'd think that he...wanted to hit you.

"You will be quiet." He warned through a tantalizing hiss. "And you will unbutton your-" he glanced down at what you were wearing. "Shorts." He sneered, the judgement in his voice plainer than day itself.

Lips tilted up to his, you unbuttoned your denim shorts. Sticking his fingers through the ripped holes on the front, the holes that you liked, that showed more skin, that added what you thought was a cute, sexy, distressed look, he ripped them down, leaving you nearly bare in your bra and panties. You had a habit of buying mostly black undergarments. But now, here, wearing a black mega-bra that cupped your larger-than-average tits and a matching thong- you hadn't planned for it, you just wore a lot of leggings, so generally speaking, buying thongs was the move- you realized you looked a bit like a fucking porn star.

"Look at you, wearing these things." He muttered, throwing the shorts lazily off to the side. He moved to grip your waist, hands traveling across your skin as they pleased, taking you in, feeling you, feeling your bear skin, fingers dragging over the waistline of your panties. "Wearing these. You walk around like you're begging to get fucked."

His hands roamed up your belly to grasp at your breasts, rolling them beneath his massive, strong hands, feeling them, squeezing them with considerable force.

You hissed at the pain, hips rolling forward. You wrapped your legs around his, hoping to draw him closer. He noticed, and he smirked down at you.

"Looks like she is." He concluded. "Begging to get fucked." Spitting the words at you, he reached around and unclasped your bra in less than a second.

Okay, you thought, so this isn't his first rodeo. Or his second or his third or his tenth, by the looks of it. Good to know.

In the midst of your thoughts, his mouth dove onto your nipple, eliciting a whine from your lips. "Oh, fuck." You breathed, your moans and whimpers continuing as his tongue swirled around it. He sucked you, released, and pressed with his tongue, before taking it again lightly in between his teeth and pulling away until your breast popped from his mouth and bounced against your chest. As he turned his attention to the other one, his right hand traveled down to your-

"There-" You gasped, his fingers circling your clit through your panties as his other hand worked your breast against his mouth as he bit at the skin around your nipple. Pleasure shot through your cunt, just beneath his fingers, and pleasure shot through your nipples, the ecstasy tingling within your sensitive skin.

He dipped his finger under your panties, pushing them aside and running a finger up your drenched slit. You heard him snicker darkly from in between your breasts, bragging. If your moans didn't give away your blatant arousal, this certainly did.

You wondered what he'd do to you if you weren't on such a time crunch- if there wasn't the threat of a teacher, or god forbid a student, knocking on the door from the other side. You shuddered at the thought.

Kylo's moves were frantic and quick. He was going to pleasure you, that much was clear. He was going to make you pleasure him. But he was going to do it quickly.

Your suspicion was confirmed as his hands moved to undo his belt, fingers working in a frenzy. He unbuttoned himself and shoved the flaps of fabric to the side, reaching into his underwear and pulling out his thick, hard, pulsating cock.

It wept at the slit, already hungry for you. He pumped himself in his hand a few times, suppressing a groan against gritted teeth. You felt sheer pleasure at the sight of it, the sight of your English professor sliding his hand up and down his cock. Him. The man who taught you Freud and assigned you essays and judged your intelligence for a living.

The power of it- the power he had over you, in more ways than one, was enough to make your pussy feel like it was about to leak out all your arousal onto the top of his desk.

He pressed a hand on the center of your chest and pushed you down, your back hitting the desk roughly. His hands came down beside you with a thud, knocking over books and pencils aside as he splayed his hands on either side of you, each item crashing to the floor, forgotten.

He kissed you again, roughly, moving one hand back to his cock, stroking it as he teased your entrance. "I'm going to fuck you on this desk," he growled into your ear, "and I'm going to fuck you hard. And I'm going to wrap my hand around your throat and choke you while I'm doing it. Is that what you want?"

Letting out another whimper, brow furrowed, you nodded. "Please. Please, professor, I want- I need you to fuck me, to choke me, I want you to control when I breathe, I..." your words were a jumbled mess. You were finally melted, a dribbling pool of lust and wetness and want.

And in one swift, rough motion, Professor Ren slid into you, newly free hand going to your throat and squeezing.

You gasped at the intrusion, your tight pussy clenching around his cock, forced to accommodate his length. Fuck, it stung, you were so tight, and he...

He rested on his elbow, face inches from yours. You liked that, liked how close he was, liked how his chest was pressed against yours as he fucked you. He tightened the grip on your neck, and you felt the blood rush to your head as your eyes rolled back.

His thrusts were erratic, rough, wanting. He pumped himself in and out of you like his life depended on it, thrusting, forcing you to take his length into a pussy that was too small for him, that needed to be stretched.

"I didn't know I had such an eager slut in my class." He panted, his hair falling down to graze the skin of your face. His lips were so close to yours you could feel the words brush against your own. You tried to moan, but your airway was nearly completely cut off. From between your lips escaped a raspy choke, and then a gravely groan that caused a string of filthy expletives to fall from your professor's lips.

"Oh, fuck, you-" he panted, gazing down at your red, pulsating face, the blood trapped from the tight clench he had around your neck. It made his cock twitch inside you. "Look at you trying to- mnnnh- moan for me. Fuck, you look so delicious." He smirked devilishly down at you, watching you struggle beneath it, struggle to breathe, and getting off on the thrill. He released the grip on your neck, and you gasped and sputtered before his thumb twisted into your mouth. Without instruction, you sucked back on it, groaning and grunting, trying to catch your breath as your lips worked at his thumb.

Each thrust grew harder, and your body was wracked against the desktop you were splayed out and open on. Your tits bounced wildly, your back arched. You wanted to badly to scream, to moan, to alert the whole building that Kylo Ren was taking you, marking you as his. Instead, you bit down on his thumb in an attempt to keep your mouth shut. He grunted in response, drawing it out of your mouth and move to rub circles around your clit.

The delicious pressure buried deep inside you and now this- it was going to set you over the edge and soon, without a doubt.

His breathing grew ragged and your hand fell to your lower belly, where the pressure was the greatest. You felt your release brewing, hot and tingling in your core, unmistakable. And judging by the way his thrusts grew uncontrollable, you guessed he was teetering over the edge.

You pressed your lips together and moaned, not daring take your eyes off of him as he chased his own release and brought you dangerously close to yours. His fingers worked rapidly against your clit.

Your lips swollen and wet, you kissed him until you couldn't kiss him any longer, until the force of your brewing orgasm grew too overwhelming.

"Professor, I'm gonna cum." You blurted. "I'm gonna cum for you."

He fucked you harder then, if that was possible, the sound of his skin smacking against yours turning to a ringing in your ears as your orgasm gripped your entire body.

Every inch of you trembled and shook as your orgasm ripped through you. You gazed into his deliciously dark eyes for as long as you could, but your release was too powerful and you squeezed your eyes shut. His hand clamped down on your mouth just in time to keep you from screaming. You screamed anyway, but the sound was muffled against his skin. Your tongue licked at his fingers, you couldn't help it, couldn't control anything. Your frame quaked as you rode out your orgasm, and you opened your eyes to take him in, drink in the sight of him, delicious and drunk.

He removed his hand when you stopped screaming, beginning to come down from your orgasm, though whispers of pleasure still had your pussy throbbing. "Oh fuck, I can feel you in my gut." You whimpered.

It sent him over the edge. Professor Ren grunted as he spilled his load inside of you, groaning as he came. He rode out his orgasm with erratic thrusts, and you felt each spurt of hot seed shoot into you as his hips slowed. He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, hips still rolling slowly to ride out every bit of pleasure you had given him. Your fingers snaked through his hair, drawing him close, and you both laid there, breathing heavily, chests heaving, savoring the moment while it lasted.

You wanted him to stay there, breathing into the curve of your throat. You wanted him to kiss your skin. But all too soon, he pulled away. He looked at you, examining you. "Are you alright?" He breathed.

Still panting, you nodded, bringing up a hand to cup his cheek. He turned away from your touch, turning around to redo his pants and make himself look half presentable. He ran a hand through his hair before leaning down to whip up your undergarments from the floor.

"Here." He said, holding them out to you. His voice was as stoic and as distant as it ever was now. Again. You were grateful to have seen him lose control.

You began to dress, finding your shirt and shorts on opposite ends of the classroom. He stood still as you did so and when you turned to face him, it seemed he was mulling over his actions, walking himself through what the two of you had just done.

You felt a twinge of guilt. The least you could do was help him clean up. You looked at all the contents from the desk that lay scattered on the floor and knelt down to gather them. Books, papers, and mail- your eyes settled on an envelope as you lifted it off the floor. In the return address read "Mr. and Mrs. Organa-Solo." It was made out to a- to a "Ben Solo." You furrowed your brow. What was this doing on his desk?

Suddenly, you felt his presence behind you, and you hastily went back to gathering up items.

"I'll take care of this, Ms. [L/N]." He said, voice low and soft. Pensive. Regretful?

You stood, turning around to place the items in his hands and giving him a small smile, hoping he could not sense what you had just seen. He did not return the expression, and your gaze dropped to the floor. You walked to the door slowly, sensing you were already overstaying your welcome but hoping he would ask you not to leave.

He didn't.

You gathered your bag and took one more turn-around to look at him before you left for good. He was looking at you too. "Until next time, Ms. [L/N]."

You nodded, giving him one last melancholy smile before turning, unlocking the door, and stepping into the hallway.

You should have been thinking about the experience you just had with him. Your body was certainly sensing it. You felt the beginnings of a bruise pulsing at your thigh where he'd sunk his teeth into your skin. You should have been thinking about what it felt like to kiss the man that you'd been fantasizing about for weeks.

But as you walked down the empty hallway, sunset streaming in through the windows and illuminating the floor, you could only think of one question, everything else be damned and forgotten, your curiosity getting the better of you:

Who the hell was Ben Solo?