Fandom Oneshots

Temptation *Kylo Ren x Reader*

Warnings: No smut but it gets QUITE suggestive. 18+ just to be safe. I don't usually write stuff like this lmao I don't know what happened. BDSM/choking kink reference.

You are walking through the sleek halls of The Dreadnought, carrying out orders from General Hux and dishing out some of your own to the lower ranks. The rebels have been more active than usual and The First Order has had to expend many resources and soldiers trying to take them down. With Rey on their side, their hope is blazing as passionate as ever, making taking them down that much harder. Tensions are high throughout the base. They have been for the past couple of weeks. Ren is even more volatile and Hux is even more on edge. You've been doing everything in your power to maintain order and keep the violence to a minimum, especially from Kylo.

His temper has gotten many soldiers killed as of late, and you need as many of your troops alive as possible.

The robotic beeps and whirs of the ship's mechanics resound in your ears and the sound of your footsteps echo throughout the hall as you walk. Not a single storm trooper is to be seen. The silence and isolation is almost therapeutic. You feel as if you haven't gotten a moment to yourself for days.

Slowing your pace to a crawl, you train your eyes on the vast expanse of space existing just behind the large glass window that lies only a few feet away. The beauty of the galaxy has never ceased to take your breath away.

A shaky voice interrupts your thoughts. "Sir, I'm afraid we were unable to take down the rebel fleet."

A pause.

Then a much more sinister voice replies, "You were... unable... to fulfill your mission?"

The hair on the back of your neck stiffens and you pick up your pace. You know that voice. The anger that resides in every word. Like poison.

A sharp turn to the left reveals your suspicions to be true. A quivering soldier and a seething Kylo Ren stand alone in the vast darkness of the hall.

You can see the sweat reflect the light on the cadet's brow. "Y-yes, sir."

Kylo clenches his fist before extending his opposite arm, throwing the soldier against the wall.

Your feet launch you forward, "Sir, that's enough! I cannot stand by and watch as you thoughtlessly torture my men!"

Kylo turns his head toward you, his arm still outstretched, pinning the helpless man against the wall. After a moment's pause, he drops his arm, releasing the cadet who scampers away in terror.

You become dangerously aware that you're alone with him. A cold shiver runs up the center of your spine. A hard lump forms in the pit of your throat. A cold damp cloaks the skin of your palms.

He approaches you in long, heavy strides, each step emphasized by a thud. You fight the instinct to run, keeping your feet planted and your eyes trained on his mask as he stops just in front you, towering over you, casting a shadow over you.

You feel so small.

"What makes you think you can talk to me that way?"

His voice is menacingly calm. You clasp your hands behind your back to avoid fiddling with them and giving away your weakness.

"We cannot afford to lose men outside of the battlefield."

His chest rises and falls as he sucks in a deep breath, "Incompetent soldiers do not deserve the valiance of a death earned fighting for The Order."

"It is not up to you to decide upon their incompetence."

You can see a trembling rage begin to swell within his shoulders, "I can do what I want."

Your brow twitches ever so slightly, irritation bubbling in your throat as you speak, "Not to my soldiers."

His masked face lowers ever so slowly until you are eye-to-eye with his jet black visor. "It is below me to take orders from a lowly First Order pawn."

"How ironic coming from Supreme Leader Snoke's little pet," you seethe. With fists clenched tight, you can feel a rage of your own build in your stomach. So sick of the mistreatment and stress and pressure. You are so swept up in emotion you have no room to regret your hasty, insulting words.

You stand, defiant, waiting for his outburst. But, it never comes.

Silence fills the small space between the both of you.

The air is still.

And then his head tilts ever so slightly to the left–observing, conniving, and... alluring.

"You know... I could kill you if I wanted to."

Something new weaves its way through his voice. The air about him shifts. You feel as if his gaze is tearing you apart.

"It'd be as easy as snapping my fingers. I know you know this. You've seen it." He trails a teasing finger from your right temple, down your jawline, and pausing just under your chin, tilting your head up. His touch leaves a burning trail in its wake. He pauses for just a second before continuing his finger further down your skin and wrapping his large, gloved hand around your vulnerable neck. In one swift motion, he roughly pushes you back against the glass wall, pressing his body against your own.

Confusion and terror are overpowered by something white-hot that flashes through your entire being as you stare, wide-eyed, at Kylo in front of you.

"And, yet, you're not afraid." With fingers still pressed firmly around your neck, his other hand slowly removes the mask from his face, revealing the ruggedly-handsome man underneath.

His long locks frame his face as he searches yours. You can feel his presence prodding at your conscience but you don't care. His onyx eyes feel as if they have captured your soul so looking away was out of the question. You want to see as much of him as you can. You never thought in a million years that the hateful man under the mask could be so handsome, so young. You always thought that hate makes people ugly, but Kylo is a devilish exception.

His grip on your neck tightens and his face grows closer to yours. His lips are a mere centimeter away. You can feel his hot breath fan over your face as his free hand travels under your shirt, clawing at the soft skin of your waist.

"Sir," you barely manage to exhale.

"Kylo. Call me Kylo. You say it in your mind, so say it allowed. I want to hear it," his voice is low and gravelly like the deep hum of a double bass, drawing a sharp breath from your lungs as another flash of white-hot courses through your body.

"Kylo," you whisper, removing one hand from his wrist and ghosting your thumb over the soft flesh of his bottom lip.

He revels in your choked tone, practically melting into your feathery touches that so contrast his damaging ones.

With a sharp inhale through his nose, Kylo violently closes the distance between your lips. His hand grapples with the skin of your body, his parched lips and forceful tongue drink in the taste of you as you wind your fingers through his hair, pulling and tugging with lustful ferocity and desperation. His entire being envelops your senses, his toned body is flush against yours, your knee wedges itself between the crevice of his legs when–

the heat of his body is replaced by freezing air.

Catching your breath and clutching at your bruised throat, you stare–disheveled, hurting, and hungry for more–at the once again masked Kylo when the familiar tempo of marching soldiers grows louder and louder in your ears. Overwhelmed, you don't bother to clean yourself up before the wall of soldiers come down the hall, filling the space between you and Kylo. You don't take your eyes off of him for a second and his gaze remains intently fixed on yours. What feels like hours pass before the soldiers disappear down the hall and Kylo whisks toward you, yanking your arm toward him and leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Meet me in my quarters at midnight. Don't be late," before sharply releasing his hold and exiting the hall, power and enticing menace radiating from his authoritative form.