#Soldier!Kylo

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 4

Read on AO3. Part 3 here. Part 5 here.

Summary: Ohh, okay, so that's why he's called The Butcher.

Words: 6100

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence/animal death

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia <3

YAY finally some horny content oh my god we were literally salivating to write some of it. Very much appreciate everyone reading and interacting - it literally makes our day!! I think we probably just have to admit to ourselves at some point this is becoming a full-blown fic, but what can we say, we simply love this petty cunt of a man LOL. Love y'all so so much! <3

“Colonel,” you said. “May I ask you something?”

William Tavington exhaled softly through his nose. “My answer to this inquiry is irrelevant.”

You twisted your lips in thought, nodding to yourself. He understood you well enough.

The ride so far had been quiet—you’d slept through most of the day and evening prior, awoke with horse hobbles on your ankles, and had them exchanged for rope when the redcoats had packed up camp. Before you’d left, Tavington had gathered you back on his mount and bound you into a human rucksack once more. You weren’t sure what time you’d set out, but the sky was still dark, and the crickets still chirped in song between the hoofbeats of the horses.

The sleep you’d had was deep and halfway restorative. With the addition of water and food, your head had stopped pounding and your body had stopped quaking. Despite the horrific obscenity of your thirst the day before, you vacillated between grateful for the colonel’s offering and furious you’d even been put in the position to be grateful for it.

There was also the confusion that it happened at all. Even if the British weren’t supposed to treat their prisoners the way he treated you, you’d thought you’d had an accurate read on him. He should want you weak. Suffering. Compliant. Since betraying that, he’d wound you off on a new, inspired approach.

“What is the plan for when we arrive in Charleston?”

“Give me the benefit of assuming that I am not inclined to reveal military strategy to you.”

“Not military strategy,” you said. You lowered your voice. “It’s about Grace.”

“Ah, first the soldier, now the negotiator.”

“Try to use those large ears of yours to listen,” you said. “I’m aware of why I’m being taken to Charleston. But Grace—she really doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t belong in those prisons.” You knew as well as most that the conditions inside the prison ships were as good a death sentence as any formal order to hang. The thought of her sick, starving, alone—your heart quickened. “She… I…”

“Your sister has, whether knowingly or unknowingly, aided and abetted the enemy.” The lack of interest in Tavington’s voice dripped from his teeth. “She will receive her punishment accordingly.”

You sighed in frustration. “She hasn’t, though,” you said. “I handled everything. I was the only one to speak with my father. I was the only one he trusted. I am the only one you want.”

“And we have you,” he replied brusquely. “Was there a point to this conversation other than demonstrating to me your capability to recall simple factual information?”

Leaning closer, you implored him. “I’ll—I’ll do whatever is needed. I’ll comply with your orders. I won’t try to run.” Desperation congealed in your throat. “Trade her for me. You lose nothing, and you gain my cooperation.”

“You know,” he said, “you may be an even worse negotiator than you are a soldier.”

“I’ll pledge loyalty to England!” you said. “Let her go and I’ll swear allegiance to King and Country.”

He snorted. “Certainly you don’t believe that to be of any conceivable value.”

“If you refuse, you get nothing from me,” you spat. “You can torture me or starve me or—or do whatever your general demands. I won't speak a word. I'll die. With everything I know.”

“Ever the little lionheart.” He tutted. “Fearsome.”

“You…” Blinking, you let out a breath. “You don’t think I can withstand it? You think I’ll break?” You balled your fists, your bandages shifted uncomfortably under your restraints. “After everything you've seen?”

“Your death is all but guaranteed either way,” he drawled. “I don’t see why your chosen path to the noose is of any consequence to me.”

“The consequence is—”

“My court-martial?” He said it so matter-of-factly that your jaw shut with a click. “Ah. You see, I think you’ve rather misjudged my standing with the General. Delivering you to Charleston will be more than sufficient to avert it, but thank you ever so much for your concern.”

If the British army had a commendation for obstinacy, you were certain he would have been the incumbent winner for the past lifetime. The letter you'd discovered from Cornwallis didn't say, deliver some colonial woman to me and be forgiven. It said actionable intelligence. And you were feeling far less than actionable at the moment.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Willing to bet your life on that?”

“Yes,” you said. “You know as well as I do that your general expects results. Without what I know, I'm nothing. I'm nobody.”

You wondered if Tavington suspected you to be bluffing about your supposed knowledge as egregiously as he was bluffing now. But you guessed he wasn’t willing to risk his career on abandoning the only lead he had—at least, far less willing than you were to risk your life for your sister's.

For a moment, all you could hear was the familiar sounds of the South Carolina nighttime chorus. Each of you rocked with his horse’s gait, back and forth, steps syncing with your breathing. There was no indication of his thought process, no tensing of his stomach, no twitching of his arms.

The last tool you had was supplication—which would require precision, but not deception. There was truly nothing you wanted more than to secure your sister’s safety. But the moment he sensed any deliberate manipulation of your tone, you knew he’d deny you.

You held your breath, became even quieter, murmuring towards his ear. “Colonel Tavington,” you said, a tinge of that desperation working its way onto your tongue. “Please. I’m… I’m begging you.”

Tavington straightened in his seat. Only by a hair—but he straightened. “Are you, now?” he said. “I don't believe I heard you.”

It took nearly all the strength you'd managed to gather over the past evening to swallow your rancor. Bastard.

“Please,” you said, only slightly louder than before. “I'm begging you, Colonel. Please, release Grace.”

“Hm.” Tavington was silent for a moment, then exhaled, lifting his chin. “No.”

Your jaw dropped. You weren't sure why you expected anything different, but it struck like a boulder to your chest regardless.

Fingers twisting together in your bondage, you ran through your options. You'd have to find some way to bargain for her freedom. If not for yours, then for something. Your home, the little patch of land your father had built it on, anything at all. You'd figure it out, you were sure of it, you just needed one person at Charleston to hear you out and—

“Enough with your ceaseless fretting,” Tavington said.

You blinked. So what if your brow was drawn and your lips were pursed and your forehead was crinkled—that didn’t give him the right to say that. You were allowed to think about whatever you wanted whenever you wanted. God, he irritated you. But the thought of giving him the satisfaction of your response irritated you more.

“It does no favors to your face.”

“I—excuse me?” You needed to stop making promises to yourself that were so easily broken. “I suppose instead I should adopt a habit where I look down my nose and sneer at everyone I pass?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “It would be more respectable than wrinkling your nose like a farm animal at every fleeting thought.”

“Do you have a talent for making all women feel this special, or did you reserve your charm for me?”

Tavington hummed. “I’m not certain what part of you qualifies as a woman.”

Heat came to your cheeks, and you barked a laugh. “Oh, no, I think you can remember which parts qualify,” you said. “If you think very hard about it.”

For one truly blissful moment, Tavington did not respond. Triumph resounded within you, deafening the tiny whispers of confusion that this past minute had wrought within you. What did he mean, does no favors to your face? How closely had he paid attention to your face? What about being reminded of your body had managed to quiet him, even for a breath? After all, he was the one so disenchanted with your breasts to begin with—you couldn’t imagine that his memory of them was particularly appealing.

“Hm?” he said. “Were you saying something?”

Or maybe he was still just toying with you, as he ever was.

To your right, your group passed a church that appeared still unoccupied for the moment. The sight had you rise in your seat, tighten around your captor. You must’ve arrived in Dorchester. You glanced behind you, seeking Shaw and Edwards for confirmation of your curiosity, but they avoided your gaze, craning their necks and shifting on their horses to focus on the road ahead. Beneath you, the ground flattened into a trodden dirt road.

The sky had lightened, the horizon spilling cream into its inky breadth. Just beyond it, the sun would rise—and you would be another day closer to rescuing Grace.

A scream echoed in the distance. Then a gunshot. Multiple gunshots. Tavington turned to stone beneath you, as did his horse. He raised a hand for his lieutenants to halt. You pressed closer to him, peering over his shoulder. Fire flashed in the darkness, shadows moving around the tabby walls of the fort you had been approaching. Your eyes widened, and you curled tighter to his back.

“Colonel?” said Shaw.

“Militia. Lieutenant Shaw, alert the garrison,” Tavington said. “They’re raiding the magazine.” A growl rumbled deep in his chest—his hand landed on his sword and whipped it free. “Charge!”

The horse exploded forward. You clutched around Tavington’s middle, your thighs clamping down to stay balanced as the grass turned to a blur beneath you. As gunfire and shouting grew closer, your heart leapt up your throat.

Tavington’s body felt like wrought steel, an extension of his blade that flashed in the dawn glow. Then it arced downward, and sprayed the grass with red.

The air around you fractured into bursts of light, cracks of powder, screams of death. Beneath you, the horse leapt forward, and Tavington’s blade cleaved flesh once more. Warmth splattered your neck, your mouth, leaked copper between your teeth. You burrowed into his spine. Willed yourself to think. To react. To do something.

But there was nothing you could do. Nowhere to move, no action to take but to cower behind your living blade and pray that each ensuing blast wouldn’t herald your death. Your own helplessness clawed you, squirmed and writhed like a panic-blind animal.

Flashes of battle swung past the very corner of your sight as Tavington’s mount slowed, turned. Bodies littered the grass, a row of gore sown in his wake. Beyond them, more men rushed the fort, meeting with fire from its defenses. The tabby wall loomed above you, now on your opposite side. Tavington was peeling back around for a second charge.

You tucked down again as the horse bunched and sprang. Between your arms, you could feel breath rolling through Tavington in a rhythm as wild and steady as the hoofbeats jarring your bones. A distant part of you wondered if he even remembered you were there.

Daring to look up, you glimpsed a familiar, reedy form fighting by the opposite treeline. Edwards, now on foot, had one of the minutemen flanked. Frail sunlight illuminated several more strewn on the ground around him. Then two shadows surged forth from the trees, and a bayonet emerged from Edwards’ sternum. He toppled forward off of the slickened blade, and then the barrel turned—directly upon you.

“Colonel—!” you screeched just as his sword split a throat, and the musket flashed.

The horse bellowed. The world dropped away. For a moment, you were weightless. Then you and Tavington struck the dirt in a rolling, conjoined heap.

You coughed, groaned, trying to wriggle away, but found your whole arm pinned underneath his torso and feeling somehow wrong. Tavington felt your movement and scrambled alive, throwing your arms from his body like a garland. Pain erupted through your shoulder and your arm fell limp, useless, back to the ground. Hissing, you rolled to your stomach with a sickening shift of bone somewhere below your clavicle.

On his feet, Tavington spied his sword yards away and retrieved it, his hand on his pistol as he barreled into the fog of iron and smoke.

The man before you became an instrument of war, his body singing every note of battle. It was a refrain, you could tell, he’d rehearsed hundreds, thousands of times—the slaughter a symphony, and death a dirge only he was tuned to perform. Men toppled before him in a crescendo of entrails, his sword carving through flesh like a metronome. His pistol fired, a staccato, skull-cleaving coda.

Musketfire crackled, exposing his silhouette to the light, and your jaw fell in awe. He was smothered sanguine, his chest heaving in exhilaration, his eyes wild with a fervor reserved for men at the foot of their marriage bed. He was electric with excitement, dripping with desire for more, more blood.

Breathless, you found yourself transfixed, the reality of the fight waging around you drowned in the weight of your—your—

An unintelligible whisper by your ear, and you screeched, jerking around. You came face-to-face with one of the minutemen, crouched, his attention flicking between you and Tavington, who was currently reloading his gun and seemed focused on far more important things.

“Miss,” he said, waving you toward him, “miss, come with me. We can get you out of here.”

You shook your head. “What?”

He glanced at your bound wrists. “You are a captive, miss?”

“Oh. Yes, yes, I am!” You inched forward, wincing as you raised your arms to him, one supporting the other like a hook dangling a fish. “Can you untie me?” Your rational mind sputtered alive again. You had an objective. “Can you get me to Charleston?”

He grimaced, wagging his fingers like it would make you move faster. “We need to move.”

It wasn’t as if you could refuse, so you nodded, sneaking a glance at Tavington. He was studying the treeline, just about finished reloading. Throat tight, you rolled onto your knees, and the man hovered above a squat, his arm waiting to prop you up, but you staggered to your feet without him.

“Quickly,” he murmured. He grabbed your hands. “Follow m—”

The man’s head popped like a pressurized cherry. Something hot splashed your face. He went limp, and hit the ground.

You turned, finding Tavington’s gaze trained straight on you. A snarl crested on his upper lip, and he returned to the fight, crouching low as he reloaded his pistol again. Gunshots pierced your ears and you dropped to the ground with a gasp, realizing you’d stood in the middle of a fire fight.

The remaining men were torn between Tavington and the magazine barrier. Above the half-bastion walls, a Galloper gun fired—thunder split the air, dirt spewed to the sky, bodies collapsed in pieces. Some of those still standing broke rank and tried to retreat, finding themselves impaled on Tavington’s sword as they fled.

Chest to the grass, you attempted to assess your surroundings. The fort: near-victory. The militia: almost all dead. Your would-be rescuer: definitely all-dead. Your captor: a harbinger of bloodshed, and exquisitely, grotesquely alive. You: uncertain if these facts terrified or elated you.

Outfought and outgunned, the few living minutemen fell to their knees in surrender. The Butcher gutted, slit, and bled them as they begged to live.

Horse hooves rumbled by the treeline, and in the emerging dawn, you saw Shaw, charging forth with his pistol drawn. He was passing the two men still hiding in the woods who remained unaware their regiment had been obliterated. They’d catch him, you realized. Your heart flipped. He was going to die. For a brief, confusing moment, you wanted to warn him.

Before you could reconcile that urge, a bullet burst through his chest, and he tumbled from his mount in a crumpled heap. Wincing, you watched as the horse galloped off without its rider, revealing the two colonials that had broken into the field. One was reloading. The other was ready to shoot.

Tavington raised his weapon, pulled the trigger. The latter man dropped. The former scanned the field, realized he was alone, and his movements became frantic, desperate to get off the shot and vanish unpursued. But Tavington was casual, pouring powder into the barrel with the urgency of a lion stalking a meal. Despite his confidence—or perhaps because of it—the colonial moved faster, nearly fumbling his gun as he slipped the ramrod free.

Tavington was too damned stubborn to see he was outpaced, or he was too bound by bloodthirst to care. Either way, it was plain to you he was about to get shot.

The realization catalyzed you to do something. The dead man in front of you had no need for his pistol. You lurched forward, grasping it in your tied hands. There was no shake, no tremble to your grip, no heeding of the pain in your shoulder as you stood and raised it, only the hope that the pan was properly primed, that a bullet was waiting in the barrel.

The two men stood beyond your muzzle. Tavington was pumping his ramrod into his pistol. The colonial was pulling his free, tossing it to the side. He was ready to fire. If you hesitated, Tavington would take the bullet. Or, it occurred to you, you could turn the gun on him yourself.

In any tale, this was your moment of triumph—David slaying Goliath with a stone slung through Goliath’s red-jacketed back. In any tale, this was where you’d escape, where you’d scamper into the woods with your fellow colonials and find your way to Grace with their help.

In any tale, you realized, except this one. In this tale, you needed Goliath as your ally. And you wanted him alive.

You shifted your stance, aimed your shot. The colonial, your dread mirror, aimed his at Tavington. You pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck the colonial dead-center, and he scanned the field, eyes landing on you in horror. Like a deer, he wobbled, groaned in disbelief. He heaved, spit blood down his chin and crumbled to his knees. Tavington paused and turned his head, his eyes wide as they settled on you.

Ice pooled in your chest, your gut, as you watched the man you betrayed slump forward into the grass. Though you swallowed rising bile, the breath you took was steady. As if reassuring you of your choice. Tavington eclipsed the dead man’s shape.

He was a storm. Raging a path straight toward you, carnage in his wake. His eyes sparked. His shoulders rolled. You were witnessing the very last sight beheld by so many men on this battlefield. He tossed his sword to one side, his pistol to the other, gaze never leaving yours. And you could do nothing but lift your chin and meet his advance.

He slapped the gun from your grip and his palm slammed your throat, lifting you onto your toes.

“You—” He was an inch away, eyes searching between yours. You couldn’t fathom what he found there. It wouldn’t be fear. Nor shame. Some wild tempest of your own had brewed in this chaos. It was licking to the surface along the seam where his grip met your neck, where your hands had come up to clutch a sliver of his bare wrist.

“Colonel!”

His head whipped to the side. Two redcoats were quickly approaching from the fort. Tavington’s gaze, however, fixed upon the gate from which they’d emerged.

He wrenched you around until you were facing them, and you coughed when he released your throat. His grip moved to your arm, crushing down to the bone, and he shoved you forward. The two redcoats staggered to a halt as he began to advance with you.

“Sir, we a—”

“Begin a perimeter sweep,” Tavington barked.

The men jumped out of his path with stuttered affirmatives and made for the treeline.

The gate approached fast until you were shoved through it, meeting with the wide gazes and stiffened spines of several more soldiers as their eyes fell upon Tavington. His arm shot out to your periphery, pointing at a pair of redcoats who instantly became an inch taller.

“Meet the garrison when they arrive. Brief them on the attack.”

The men sprang toward the gate and disappeared. Tavington turned to the remaining men, glassy-eyed and waiting.

“Clean up the bodies. I want a full report.”

“Yes, sir.” They followed suit without hesitation.

The fort stood empty aside from the powder magazine, a small building hunkered in the middle. You were alone. Your breathing stalled. A lurch, and you were moving again.

Tavington bashed open the door to the magazine and marched you through. You had barely blinked against its murky interior before the door slammed behind you and you were wrenched backwards. Your spine hit solid wood, your arms were pinned above your head, and the Butcher’s body collided with yours in the darkness.

“Why?” he hissed.

Pain screamed through your shoulder, mangled your thoughts. Reeling, you shook your head.

“I… I don—”

The fingers of his free hand clamped around your jaw, forced it up until you were looking into his eyes. You could just make them out, reflecting the weak light that bled beneath the door. They were shining. Deranged.

“The colonial,” he growled. “You killed him. Tell me why.”

With his grip still locked on your jaw, all you could manage was a muffled mmph in reply. Then he released your face, and his hand delved to your hip, your thigh.

“Who sent you?” He sought your pockets, the seams of your trousers. In the darkness, his hand brushed between your legs. You gasped. “Was it Cornwallis? Did he order you to spy on me?”

“What? No, I—ah!”

His hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingers plundering your waistband. The leather glove was supple and warm against your skin, trailing flames in its wake as it slid from one hip across your belly to the other.

“What are y—”

“Shaw and Edwards,” he said, panting. His breath fanned your neck as he continued searching, his hand circling to the small of your back, then around to brush across your ribs. “Did they know? Were they part of this?”

Beneath your shirt, his knuckles skimmed your breast. Every flame left flickering across your skin shot straight down between your legs, and you yelped. It was too much.

“Get off.” You bucked hard, your hips colliding with his.

He drove back against you, pinning you flush between the door and his body.

“You were trying to escape,” he gritted, the words skimming the shell of your ear. You squirmed and felt the hilt of his sword prod your hip. “Tell me why you shot that man.”

“I’m not… I’m no spy.” Thrashing, you achieved nothing but to impale yourself again on his…

He’d left his sword on the battlefield.

“Tell me.” He thrust forward with such force that his knee slipped between your thighs and his coat buttons grazed your nipples. That same hardness ground against your lower stomach.

A wave of molten heat flashed up your neck, soaked your lower abdomen, and a whimper escaped your throat. The pressure that flared alive in your center dizzied you. Pressing your thighs together against it, you met only the firm length of Tavington’s leg between them.

“You were—he…” The explanation tried to form on your lips, but nothing seemed to make sense any more beyond his body covering yours. The warmth of him, the weight of him against you, the vicious thrill through your thighs. The scent of copper, gunsmoke and sweat flooded you. “I just…” Your own voice sounded far away. Breathless. Needy. “I just needed to—“

He snarled, his hand coming up to lock around your throat and silence your pathetic attempt to form a sentence. It squeezed, sending cotton through your vision, and his face brushed past yours. You felt a breath skim the slope of your neck.

The charybdian maw of your desire opened, ravenous, his breath on your skin the gale that would deliver you. As your body melted to his, ready to succumb, one final thought pierced the squall like a pinprick of light.

“Release Grace,” you heard yourself croak. His grip loosened fractionally. You gulped at the stale air.

“What?”

He had gone still as marble. You craned your neck under his grasp until you were looking at him again. The tip of your nose brushed his, your breaths mingling in the gloom. Pools of blackest ink had devoured the blue of his eyes. You sucked in a breath, heart hammering under his palm.

“Release. Grace.”

You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare struggle, terrified you’d spur him on, more terrified that you wanted it.

Tavington’s lips parted. He examined your face, attention falling to his hand on your throat, your trembling chest, the junction where his hips were pressed to your belly. A short, sudden intake of air broke him free from you, the tempest vanishing from his gaze. His brow pinched together, and he shouldered you aside to open the door, pushing you out before shutting it behind him.

As he marched you forward by your good arm, a new redcoat—a captain, you thought—approached the gate, backed by what looked like at least a couple dozen soldiers, perhaps more you couldn’t see.

The man tipped his hat toward Tavington. “Colonel.”

“Take her to the holding cells at the barracks,” he said, jostling you toward the captain. “Ready a transport to Charleston.”

“Oh.” The captain halted you as you stumbled into his arms. “Sir—”

“Did my orders confuse you, Captain?” he snapped. “See it done.”

The captain blinked, then nodded, turning you around and pushing you toward his subordinates. They received you silently, trading looks of concern with their superior officer before guiding you out of the fort.

The walk to the barracks in town was silent and relatively short, your head spinning to catch up with the past half-hour. Shaw and Edwards’ bodies joined you in a cart pulled by a couple of privates, their limbs jostling from the uneven path.

You certainly didn’t mourn them, but to see them in death felt strange, like recognizing a face you’d long-forgotten. You remembered how your mother looked when she died—though you were small and Grace too young to recall—and found no similarities there. She’d appeared to be how you imagined serenity. These men laid with mouths gaping, clothes festering with blood.

When you arrived, you were placed in an outdoors holding cell with several other prisoners of war. With your restraints and clearly limp arm, you appeared to fit right in. A relief, since you weren’t sure how welcoming these men would be if they knew you’d just killed one of their own.

Their eyes followed you as you sat in the corner, sparking awareness again of what you’d been wearing and the fact that you were the only woman being held. The attention felt unwelcome, uncomfortable, like you were a rabbit wandering into an enclosure of wolves. For a brief, despicable moment, you wondered how bold they’d be if you’d been standing next to that very same colonel.

The thought twisted your stomach. Standing next to Tavington, indeed. Blinks of memory—breath on your neck, hand on your throat, hips crushing yours, his… his—

You shook your head. The entire encounter was befuddling. And it seemed to have befuddled him, too. He’d almost lost control. Almost lost control on you. More befuddling still, between his performance in the fight and your apparently traitorous inclinations, you were nearly disappointed.

Every man you’d grown up with, every man you’d met since had been a plain-parchment imitation of a person. Talking with them was tedious, their behavior when courting was saccharine, and their estimation of you was frequently, constantly deficient. Grace often teased you about never getting married, but it didn’t bother you. The idea of spending your life with someone who bored you to the grave seemed far less appealing than the idea of spending it alone.

A man had never, ever stirred you before. Never, of course, until now.

Not that you wanted to marry a man who happily murdered surrendering innocents. But your body certainly had some ideas of what it wanted with such a man.

The ghosts of his hands retraced your skin, dragging shivers in their wake. Your eyes fluttered, tried to close. You almost didn’t see the man approaching from across your cell. Almost.

You shot to your feet, squaring your shoulders to him with eyes wide. He held his hands up to you like the skittish animal you surely resembled and slowed his pace. Back pressed to the perimeter, you measured his approach.

He wore a tattered Continental Army uniform, dappled with blood and dirt. The shadow of a beard clung to his face, his cheeks not yet hollow enough to be starved. A line of dried sweat and dirt encircled his receding hairline where a wig recently sat, and his eyes—brown and strangely familiar—were still bright. He couldn’t have been imprisoned for more than a few days.

“S’all right,” he murmured, taking in your bunched shoulder and challenging stare.

You gave him no reply, grappling to assess the threat he posed. The man was a colonial. He should be your ally. Shouldn’t want to bring you harm. But then again, Colonel William Tavington was a redcoat who should have wanted nothing more than to bring you harm. And he had thoroughly, vexingly, defied that expectation. It would be foolish to default on assumptions now, given everything the past few days had taught you.

“You, uh,” he continued, glancing back at the other men before stepping closer. Your feet shifted beneath you, lending strength to your stance. “You were at the battle? We heard shots.”

After a small hesitation, you nodded, sending a bolt of pain through your shoulder that you ignored. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“Continental forces? How many?”

“Militia,” you replied, counting the number quickly in your head. “Thirty-two.”

He frowned, raised a brow in thought, then looked back at you. “Any other survivors?”

You grimaced. “None.”

His face fell, then flickered with hope again. Another vague spark of familiarity struck you. “Y—you’re sure you didn’t see soldiers? The militia could have been a cover. They could be coming to break us out.”

It wasn’t likely. But you couldn’t begrudge the man his hope. You simply shrugged your good shoulder.

“You—“ He blinked rapidly, frowned as he took in your attire. “Were you… with the militia?”

There was no good way to answer. No, I shot one of them to save the Colonel of the Green Dragoons didn’t seem like the best option. A change of subject did.

You nodded toward his uniform. “Where were you fighting?”

“Oh.” He followed your gaze down to his own torso and back up. “Waxhaws. North of here.”

Your eyes widened. A wheel of memory slotted onto its axis and turned.

“I know you,” you whispered.

He blinked again. “Begging your pardon, miss?”

“Or…” You shook your head. “You know my father. Michael. He left to join the Continental Army with you in the Wilksburg company.”

He muttered your father’s name under his breath, recognition expanding in his eyes. You leaned forward, pulse picking up a gallop.

“Do you know what happened to him? When did you last see him?”

“At the battle,” his brow furrowed, like he was conjuring the memory with some difficulty. “Three—three days ago? Some of us were captured. He escaped.”

“Do you know where he went?” you implored.

The man shook his head. “He didn’t return home? Or send word?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Deflating, you leaned against the wall behind you. “Redcoats took me and my sister from our home that night. They were looking for him.”

The man’s brow creased with pity. You felt an irrational stab of anger—you didn’t want his pity. You wanted answers.

“What was his objective?” You straightened, meeting his gaze again. “You battled at Waxhaws, were you ambushed? By whom? Where was your regiment heading?”

“S-slow down.” He took a step back, raising his palms. Only then did you realize you had advanced on him.

A jeer sounded from across the cell. Your head snapped in its direction.

“Scared of the girl, Wilson?” one of the other men called, laughing to and with himself only. “Don’t worry if she’s a biter, I’ll still make her purr.”

You glowered over Wilson’s shoulder. Perhaps some of your assumptions about men still held water. Wilson shook his head and let out a sigh, long-suffering. Your attention shifted back to him, still awaiting an answer.

“We were meeting a detachment from Virginia,” he said. “They gave us dispatches to distribute to the South Carolina commanders. We thought the Charleston forces would never catch up to us by the time they headed back north.”

Wilson swallowed. You leaned in further.

“We—we weren’t expecting the Dragoons.”

“The Dragoons,” you said, as if you barely recognized the term and hadn’t been pinned to a wall by their colonel less than an hour prior. “What, uh, happened with the Dragoons?”

“They slaughtered us,” he replied. “It was a massacre. Over a hundred dead. Maybe two. Your father was one of the few who got out alive.” He paused. “At least, I thought he was.”

You pursed your lips. How comforting to know that the man who stirred you could’ve been responsible for murdering the only important man in your life. God willing, the person you’d killed hadn’t been a father, or anyone important to anyone else on the planet. Though that seemed unlikely. Regardless, you would've killed the man again if it went even a sliver towards Grace's safety. And your newest moral quandary meant nothing as long as you didn't plan to act on it—and you most certainly didn't.

“Well, I have to hope,” you said. “Perhaps he met up with the other riders after escaping.”

Wilson shrugged in a hesitant agreement. “Perhaps so. They rode out all across the colony. Some followed the Ashley River, some followed the Santee.” He found your gaze. “It would take more than a few redcoats to trip up your father,” he said. “He’s a wily man.”

“Wily, huh?” said the awful, annoying man behind Wilson. “Does the daughter favor her father in that regard?”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you,” you said to Wilson. “I… It’s a relief to know he might still be alive.”

“My pleasure, miss,” he said. After stepping back to the group of men, he added, “Don’t let Paul here bother you too much.”

Paul huffed. “Bother her?” He stumbled toward you, his mouth black with rot and his face damp with sweat. “Am I bothering you, young miss?”

“Not yet,” you replied, trying to retreat but finding yourself cornered.

Wilson made to put a hand on Paul’s shoulder, but Paul slapped him off, inching closer to you, close enough for you to choke on the stench of dirty blood oozing from him.

“Then can you explain for me why Wilson thinks I’m bothering you?”

“Perhaps I can. You’re a tiresome lout,” you returned, your rising panic making you too brash. “Can you explain that?”

Something sinister fell across his face. Your feet ached to run.

“Come, now.” He spoke through his teeth, stepping forward again. “Don’t be unladylike.”

Just as he reached out to snag your collar, you propelled forward and smashed your forehead into his nose. His flesh gave a wet crunch. The man reeled back, clutching his face, blood geysering between his fingers. You felt a trickle of it slip down the bridge of your nose.

“God’s fucking balls!” Blood spewed, smattered the ground as Paul screeched, stumbling onto his backside.

Wilson laughed at him. Another averted his attention, appearing nauseated. The last one scowled at you. Lifting your chin, you returned his glare. Finally, he turned away as well.

Your assailant remained on the ground with his hands over his face, groaning and spitting blood. You sank back into your corner, nodding at Wilson. None approached you again.

The sun had met the sky by the time your transport was readied. New redcoats led you out of your cage full of starved wolves, putting them all in bondage before leading you toward a covered wagon. You supposed that once you reached Charleston, you’d be in an entirely different cage of wolves, or perhaps even bears, and you’d need to figure out how on God’s holy earth you were going to free Grace.

At the front of the line, you spotted Tavington perched atop a new mount, mostly cleaned of blood, surveying his domain. As you stepped toward the wagon, a stranger’s blood dripping down your face, he peered over his shoulder. His stare landed on you.

In the glow of sunrise, his eyes shimmered like water. He watched you board the transport, gaze never leaving yours until you disappeared behind the canvas.

[thetorturerwrites]

Asks Are Open

I've decided to re-launch Torturer Tuesdays (with some changes); and so, asks are open. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing, and this was recommended to me as a way to start.

A few things of note:

ADCU is my primary wheelhouse, but I'm in a place where I'm ready to branch out. Its ok to ask for people outside the ADCU. Let's see if it trips my trigger.

I doubt I will be posting every Tuesday, but I will keep posting on Tuesdays. That's the day to look for me.

The type of work I do has not changed. It is still 18+, NSFW, and likely dark. I don't particularly like fluff, and I lean into kink (those you know and those you may not).

It is unlikely that I will answer every ask. I plan to cherry pick the ones that speak to me. You're just gonna have to hope and pray.

We all know what we're getting into here. So, let's have some fun.

[mellowswriting]

gruff character who wears a mask and has definitely killed many, many people: *exists*

me: ah, yes, it’s him. my babygirl

[clqoo]

god i need an ancient greece reylo fic

[anakinsgirlfriendreal]

First post! Thinking I might start posting on here, I really missed writing and wanna get back into it again. Requests are open, so please feel free to send whatever you want and I'll get to writing.

I do fluff, smut (really whatever readers want)

I'm in so many fandoms and too lazy to list characters so just send your requests and I'll get to them.

[savannahjamesauthor]

Person: You know your comfort characters say a lot about you as a person

Me: Oh? Well mine are Kylo Ren, Bucky Barnes, the Phantom of the Opera, Prince Zuko, and the Darkling

Person: …I hope you’re in therapy because there’s a lot to unpack there

[edgyeli]

if bad guy, y hot

[katethefett]

[unsettledcreatures]

@breaksmen​​​ asked ❛ ⭐️⭐️ ❜

hc 1:  if ben is meeting yana somewhere, more likely than not he’s showing up with her drink of choice (he memorized her coffee order the first time he heard it)

hc 2: he starts incorporating russian and sokovian dishes she’s mentioned she prefers into his usual cooking

hc 1: he hasn’t shown her the building he’s grown up in yet, hasn’t found it in himself to seek it out, but he does like to show her the places still standing from his old days

hc 2: he trusts her in a way that he can’t trust the av.ngers; unless they’ve gone through the red room themselves, it’s impossible for others to understand the weight of coming through it alive. if he needs help she’s the first one he turns to

[earlgreydream]

SAVIOR. | Kylo Ren x reader

Some enemies to lovers(?) on Mustafar, for my love, @little-diable

for @little-diable's 15k celebration ... Kylo Ren, Smut, Page 66 ..... „The air felt hot and dusty.” From The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires

cw: dubcon

Mustafar.

You were naive to think you could escape.

The air felt hot and dusty, choking you as you ran through burning trees. It felt like every nightmare you’d ever had — the ones you couldn’t wake up from, knowing you were prey with nowhere to run. Your heart slammed in your chest, pulse echoing in your ears as your wild eyes darted around, desperately searching for an escape.

Limbs of trees reached out to scratch you as you ran through the forest fire, everything a haze of red. Desperation to outrun those who scorched the planet made you fearful, knowing there was no real escape.

“You’ve got nowhere to run, rebel.”

The words echoed in your mind, not spoken aloud, but directly to you, through a divine power. Invisible hands halted your attempt to escape, slamming your body into the ground.

Kylo Ren watched you fight to breathe as you inhaled the dust, unable to escape the grasp of his force. He towered over you, face-to-face for the first time since Coruscant, when you were still undercover as a member of the First Order.

“Don't do this, Ren,” you hissed, staring up at the supreme leader, who had burnt down the planet and everything in it just to catch you.

“You’ll be made an example to anyone who dares to defy me,” Kylo swore, the hot blade of his lightsaber singing just inches from your throat.

Your chest heaved, wild eyes watching Kylo, waiting for his red fire to cut through you. The summer heat filled you with dread, watching Kylo stand over you with hate in his eyes.

Coruscant.

Things were different, then. What transpired only months ago seemed to be an entirely different life, lived by someone else. In a sense, it was.

Coruscant was the mission you never wanted. When you’d dedicated your life to the resistance, you didn’t anticipate being sent undercover to infiltrate the First Order. You wore the mask of an enemy, blending in and becoming someone else until you forgot who you were entirely.

The objective was simple: move your way up in the First Order, and gain the trust of Kylo Ren. Your mission was to gather intel to feed back to the resistance; when your commanders had assigned it, they pictured you sitting in meetings, taking notes on the outskirts of Kylo’s militia. At the time, the Jedi order thought they could trust you, and you thought you could trust them. Before Coruscant, you had no idea of the power you possessed, the power the rebellion kept a secret from you.

When Kylo Ren first laid eyes on you, the plan crumbled to dust. The moment you stepped into the throne room, you could feel it — the pull of the force pricking the edges. Kylo felt it too, your heart beating in sync as he failed to pry into your mind like he did with every other being.

“Leave us.” The command to the knights was sharp, the room clearing until you were the only one standing before him.

“Where have you come from?” Kylo Ren had once seemed menacing on his throne, adorned in a crimson glow. Now, his expression was pure curiosity, gazing at you with startlingly disarming eyes.

“Naboo, master Ren,” the reverence came naturally, and you found yourself lowering to your knees at his throne.

“It is an honor to serve The First Order,” your voice sounded foreign on your lips, speaking words you never intended to say.

Kylo reached forward, tilting your chin up until he held your gaze, studying every detail of your unfamiliar face. He was captivated by you, your mystique raised curiosity, not alarm. Nothing happened on his ship that he didn’t know about, but you, a young soldier from Naboo was unexpected.

“You wield the force?” He questioned, puzzled by the inability to tear apart your thoughts.

“No, master.”

“But you can, padawan, you’ve just not been taught,” Kylo answered, having no knowledge of the crack he’d sent through your alliances.

The Jedi order would have recognized the great power you possessed, even as you didn’t recognize it in yourself. Your gifts had been kept a secret, but here was Kylo Ren, a man meant to be your enemy, offering truth and guidance you were deprived of. The resistance and its leaders had deceived you, a betrayal far deeper than a political alliance. They had kept you from destiny, fearing that the ability to wield the force would lead you into darkness, having no idea you would one day learn to harness your power from the ruler of the Empire.

“I can show you the ways of the force," Kylo’s voice was smooth, pulling you to his outstretched hand, an invitation to leave everything else behind and stand at his side.

You didn't recognize yourself in the reflection of Kylo's eyes. Instinctively, you took Kylo's outstretched hand, letting him pull you to your feet.

.

"You have had no teacher?" Kylo questioned, the two of you standing in an empty room in the Star Destroyer.

He looked so different out of his suit, more relaxed in simple training robes. Here, Kylo didn't seem to be the menacing overlord that you'd once saw. With you, he was different, an attentive and guiding master.

"No," you shook your head, confliction slowly eating away at you.

The more hours you spent learning from Kylo, the less you wanted betray him. Your alliance to the order you'd spent a lifetime fighting for was broken, and now you sought solace in him. Your allegiance to Kylo bloomed as your abilities grew, and the hard walls around him slowly came down, letting you in. Even as he opened up about who he was, you kept the secret of your origin, praying every night that he didn't have to find out.

Your lost soul found a home in Coruscant, lines blurring between you and Kylo as you spent intimate hours meditating and practicing. His hands that were once your waist to position your body, guided you until you found yourself pressed between Kylo’s strong body and his mattress. 

The first time Kylo took you to his bed, he was tender, attentive to your pleasure. As your addiction to him grew, so did the constant need for one another. You begged Kylo to fuck you with his hand around your throat, bending you over the closest surface because you couldn’t get enough. Every second with Kylo was sexually charged, craving him like a drug. He was your teacher, your solace, your lover, and your savior — before you knew it, Kylo became everything to you. 

Kylo Ren changed when you entered his existence. He had never experienced a love like you, constantly starving for your touch. 

In a year, everything fell apart. 

You’d long forgotten the Jedi, your allegiance, and your mission, until the day they invaded Coruscant. What you would never be able to forget was the betrayal on Kylo's face when they called you their commander. You could no longer run to your savior, nor to your fellow jedi, so you ran away, alone, to Mustafar.

.

Mustafar.

You wrists were held behind your back with imperial binders, and you were completely naked - save the collar that Kylo had clasped around your throat. You glared up at him from your kneeling position at his feet, chest heaving as you struggled against his force keeping you still at his mercy.

Part of you yearned to throw yourself at him, begging for forgiveness, explaining to him that you had abandoned the resistance to follow him. You ached to tell him that every night you spent in bed with Kylo made you fall more in love with him, that you'd rather perish than live without him another day, but the words died in your throat.

Your words would do no use anyways - Kylo had made up his mind to make an example out of you, to humiliate you before the entire First Order.

Your skin burned as you felt the eyes of his knights on your body as they filed into the room, taking their places around the table. You couldn't hide from them, your sins and entire self exposed to those you once ruled over.

"Our little rebel traitor is going to pay for her sins," Kylo's voice was ice cold, sending a shudder down your spine.

Instinctively, you leaned back into Kylo's legs, subconsciously searching for shelter. He grabbed the back of your neck in one of his large hands, hauling you to your feet, dark eyes blazing down at you, starvation and thirst clouding his judgement.

"Get on the fucking table, now," he growled, manhandling you onto the cold metal surface, your wrists above your head as you laid spread out.

"Since you'll sell yourself to the jedi and the empire, my knights can have you as well."

He sank back into his throne, draped lazily over the armrests, legs parted to reveal how hard he was just from the sight of your nude form dripping on the table.

You strained against the binders on your wrists, hating yourself for how wet you were just knowing Kylo was watching, the knights pulling your legs apart as one knelt between your legs.

You helplessly watched Kylo as Vicrul's hands wrapped around your soft thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your sex, pulling a pathetic whine from your lips. You hated him for it - hating him for making your hips raise, begging for more as he ate you out, sucking on your clit and pushing thick fingers inside of you. Your muscles contracted around you, other knights groping your body, playing with your nipples and gagging you with their fingers.

Meanwhile, Kylo watched, freeing himself from the black trousers that hugged his thick thighs. You watched as he stroked his cock to the sight of you, fighting not to come immediately from the filthy noises the knights pried from your parted lips.

You ached for him to fill you, your cunt throbbing with need, despite the overwhelming touch of the knights, ripping orgasms from you despite how hard you fought against it. Before you could stop yourself, you were crying out to him, calling his name as your back arched off the table, gasping for air.

Your ears were ringing, and all at once the knights retreated from you, exiled from the room by Kylo. He stood abruptly, dark robes falling from his shoulders, his strong body fully on display for you. You felt the binders release your wrists, and you pulled your limbs to your body, trembling on the cold table.

"I didn't betray you," you rasped, knowing Kylo could read your mind, prying through your thoughts and your memories, allowing him in.

He said nothing, approaching you slowly. Kylo grasped your jaw, holding your head up, forcing you to look him in the eye.

"You will never run from me again."

"Yes, master."

Kylo's lips were hot and heavy against yours, pulling you into his body, kissing you violently. He'd had every intention to take you back to his chambers, but the second you touched, he couldn't resist, climbing over you on the table in his throne room.

His hand hooked under your knee, pushing it to your shoulder, rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance. He ignored your whimpering pleas, taking his time, marking your throat with his lips. All the air left your lungs as he finally pushed inside you, much bigger than all of the knights who had violated you only moments before.

Your back arched as he split you open, pressing your chest to his, your hands pulling his thick black hair. He bottomed out, his hips pressed against your ass. Kylo hushed you, wrapping an arm around your torso before fucking you at a blistering pace. It was desperate and violent with need, tearing you apart for leaving him, and putting you back together all at once. You felt his velvety skin drag against your walls with every thrust, Kylo using the force to circle your clit so he could keep both hands on you.

His skin was slick with sweat, black hair sticking to his forehead as he moaned, biting your shoulder and burying his face in you, his thrusts stuttering as he filled you until cum was spilling out and smearing between your thighs.

"I'm not finished with you," he panted as you sank back into the surface, trying to catch your breath.

Kylo flipped you over so he was lying on his back, your knees on either side of his wide hips. You could barely hold yourself up, muscles shaking as you leaned over him.

"Kylo, I can't—"

"Ride me." He commanded, leaving no room for argument or protest.

He reached up and wrapped his hand around your throat, holding you up as you rolled your hips, feeling his cock twitch inside you, moving easily despite your trembling thighs.

"Look at me. Watch yourself take your master," Kylo's other hand lightly smacked your cheek, prompting you to open your eyes, holding his gaze for a long moment.

You wrapped your hands around his wrist for leverage, thankful his other hand was helping your hips, before obeying his wish. Your gaze fell, watching him disappear inside your body every time you sank down, feeling him set fire to every nerve ending in your body, your limbs screaming for release. Kylo held your weight, guiding you to finish until you collapsed on his chest, aftershocks shuddering through your weakened body.

"You'll have to earn back your place at my side," he tilted your chin up, dark eyes showing the slightest bit of mercy.

"I'll do anything," you breathed, chasing his mouth for a kiss.

"Start by getting on your knees."

[jinx-xxed]

Protected

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I love characters protecting their too-stubborn partners

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; Kylo Ren does the worst thing imaginable in order to save you—he forces you off the battlefield.

Content; Angst to fluff, Supreme Leader Kylo, Commander Reader, original characters, bonded to Kylo through the Force, reader gets seriously injured, very protective Kylo, Kylo doesn’t want you to die, Kylo’s scared of losing you, and you’re scared of losing him, mention of Kylo dual wielding after he takes your lightsaber (he’s crazy), battlefield Kylo (my favorite), reader gets sentenced to the infirmary, talking about feelings, cuddling

Wc; 2.4k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

“You can’t do this!”

Your boots slip in the mud as you’re dragged backwards, you struggle against the hands that hold you. Rain pelts your body, drenches the entire battlefield, is illuminated in its fall to the ground by the ship headlights. Your infuriated gaze is stuck on the man before you; dressed in black, form eerily illuminated by the crackling red light of his saber and the blue undertones of the world around you. The silver around the visor in his mask seems to absorb the fluorescent lights of the ship, reflecting them back towards you. His steps sink into the skid marks you’ve left in the mud, walking in front of you in stride with your restrainers.

“Let me go!” You yell, thrashing as best you can, ignoring the screaming agony reverberating through your left side, hisses spat from between your teeth. You try with everything in you to free yourself from the members of your personal fleet that have a hold of you—Eera, Chief, and Rankou—your own comrades being used against you to keep you down. You’d expect your authority over them to work in your favor and for them to release you but considering the order came from Kylo, you’re sorely overruled.

“This is for your own good!” Chief says over the rain and thunderous noise of the battle happening just beyond the mountains that surround you all in this hidden alcove. She grunts as your elbow manages to fly back and hit her side, though her grip doesn’t budge.

“I can still fight! You can’t send me away like this!” You shout. Your captors pause briefly, allowing you to fall to your knees, mud and freezing cold water soaking into your clothes, chilling your war-heated body. Your chest heaves, puffs of your breath visible in the air. Every inhale hurts, every twitch of muscle aches and sends lightning bolts of pain across your limbs.

“I can, and I will.” Kylo says definitively, voice spat through the vocoder within his helmet. “You’re injured and in no state to be on a battlefield.”

“Bullshit, so are you!” You snarl, giving one last thrash of your arms, your strength already weakening. Your anger explodes, and you know he feels it along the bond you share. He can probably taste it in his mouth. It’s like he’s undermining you, underestimating your ability to fight right alongside him. But beyond that, you’re angry at him for making you leave him here alone. This fight is not easy, and it will continue to get harder, and he’s sending you away to deal with it on his own. Sure, he has the soldiers, but they’re just fodder in your eyes. He’s the one your enemies are after, he’s the one at the forefront, he’s the one who takes the brunt of it all. And you’re supposed to be there to be his shield. Sword and shield, that’s what you two are.

His own emotions along the bond come forward to combat yours, clashing in a similar fashion to the way lightsabers might. His are born from concern, for a need to protect you after he saw you be a direct victim of an explosion, after he had to drag your half-concious form off the field while your blood created a trail along the ground.

Your left side remains gaping still, red mixing with the rain and being washed away. It stings, it hurts like hell, but it still hurts less than being forced to leave him.

“Mine are minor. You will die if you stay out here.” He says. His injuries are a few mere scratches and wounds from blasters grazing his arms, nothing nearly as severe as your own. Your struggling has made it worse, torn it further at the edges, caused more blood to spill. He sees as such, and his disapproval is palpable. “You need to leave.”

You begin to get pulled again. The ramp to the ship is less than a foot away. “No! No, no, you can’t! Ren, you bastard!” You scream. You spit, you curse, you snarl—you act like a raging, rabid animal. In your flailing attempts at freedom, your lightsaber comes loose of its place on your belt, audibly falling into the mud. Theres a brief second where everything seems to freeze as your eyes land on it, and so do Kylo’s, his thought process easily following your own. You both go for it at the same time, both reaching out for it desperately with the Force, eager to be the first to grab it. Since it’s your own weapon, naturally it should have more affinity towards you and you feel that invisible grip on it, but in your weakened state, Kylo overpowers you with infuriating ease and it feels like he shoves you aside to take over. He yanks it from your grip as you yell, the metal handle flying into his outstretched hand and well away from you.

“No! Give that back!” You demand. It’s your own damn lightsaber, he has no right-

He clips it onto his belt, safely out of your reach. “I’ll give it back once this is done.” He then closes the distance between you at last, his gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb wiping away a raindrop that falls from your eyelashes. He leans forward, presses the cold muzzle of his helmet against your forehead as if to kiss you. His voice is low when he says, “I’ll find you again. I promise.”

You feel a pull against your mind, a tug in the direction you were already heading. It’s supposed to be simple like falling asleep but it feels more like getting the floor ripped out from under you. Kylo uses his ability to lull you into unconsciousness, taking advantage of your waning strength and sucking away more of it to make you less of a difficulty for the rest of them. Darkness swims at the edges of your vision, your body goes slack and your head lolls.

He straightens, looking to the Fleet members who hold you. “Get her on that ship and get her out of here.” His order is final, and then you can just barely see him as he walks away, his black-robed form swimming and blending in with the world around him.

“N-no, no…” Emotion cracks your voice, tears mix with the rain until they’re indistinguishable. You don’t know if the tears are from your own fear or your anger or both. You feel your comrades pull you onto the ship like it’s secondary, like it’s happening to someone who isn’t you. You feel the ramp close and the engines come to life. You feel a final despair as you’re taken into the warm embrace of the darkness.

» ☆ «

The door to your infirmary room opens. It’s followed by the familiar thudding of boots, the swish of a cape, until it all stops and Kylo stands next to your bed. Your back is turned to him, body curled up as best it can be without irritating the wounds wrapped in generous gauze. Your shoulders hunch as you feel him staring, you curl up just a bit tighter. Your stubborn attitude keeps you from facing him, so you ignore him in a futile attempt at pretending he’s not there. It’s an impossible task when his presence is so obvious and imposing, especially when you’re bonded to him.

“Love,” he says after a moment; his helmet is off, his voice clear. He waits another moment, silence stretching between you both. “Look at me.”

As much as you want to keep being stubborn, you can’t ignore the relief you feel at having him there, knowing he’s okay after not seeing him for four days—even if you were unconscious for half of that. You roll over, meeting his gaze at last. His face visibly softens when he can look at you and he sets his helmet that had been tucked under his arm aside. He settles himself on the edge of the bed next to you, making a significant dip that has you sliding closer to him. Kylo reaches forward to brush the backs of his gloved fingers against your cheek, then holding his hand there and leaning to kiss you. It’s gentle and easy against your lips, more of a greeting than anything. He pulls away and his eyes fall towards the bandages covering the entirety of your left side, visible beneath the tank top you wear. A healthy amount of bacta is smeared along the gauze, already fully healing a majority of your injuries.

His attention doesn’t lift from them as he says, “the battle was won.”

“I expected no less.” You reply with nothing but honesty. Your victories are almost always assured, your enemies being no match for the First Order. Though of course, some are harder to win than others.

There’s another silence between you as he idly runs his thumb along the back of your hand. He’s considering his next words, thinking of what to say. You get the general sense of his concentration along your connection, mixed with the colors of muddy blue and purple and gray—colors of uncertainty. “I’m sorry for what I did.” He says finally. An apology was not what you were expecting to hear from him, but it’s welcome nonetheless. Apologies from him are always rare, and it’s clear this one still took him a good amount of effort.

Your chin dips in the slightest hint of a nod, a sigh blowing through your nose. “We’re supposed to be partners. We fight together.” You say. “I could’ve done more.”

His free hand clenches into a fist. “I did what I had to to save you. I was not going to let you die trying to protect me.” He says roughly. “When I saw that explosion hit you I… you have no idea what that did to me. You were barely conscious, I thought that you…” He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching at the memory. You have a faint recollection of the emotion you’d felt from him in that moment, so fierce and clear along the bond that you could still feel it even in your state. He was beyond furious, ready to kill each and every last person who harmed you, to unleash infinite hells upon the enemy forces. But above all, he was scared. He was terrified that he was going to lose you as he watched your blood seep out in a steady stream, mixing with the mud beneath you.

You take his hand into your own, drawing him out of the dark cloud he stuck himself into. “I know. I know you were just protecting me. It’s just hard to accept that when your entire life has been dedicated to being a war commander. You never want to get taken off the field.” His hand is warm, blissfully so against your cold ones. The leather of his gloves is familiar. “Thank you.”

You can tell he’s not sure how to take being thanked, he never has been, so he changes the subject. “How are your injuries?”

“They’re better, almost fully healed. It’s just some of the major ones that need more time, perhaps another day, the medics said. Not sure what the scarring situation may look like.” You say, pondering the idea. You received severe burns and cuts from shrapnel, but the bacta is quick to reverse damage, so who knows if you’ll sustain any reminders of the wounds at all. “What about yours?”

He shakes his head. “They were nothing to be concerned about. A brief touch of bacta on the worst of them and I’m fine.”

“That’s good to hear.” You say with a brief smile. It seems neither of you can ever come out of a battle uninjured.

He reaches over to his belt, unclipping a familiar item and depositing it into your hands. “Here, as promised.” You stare at your lightsaber handle, feeling that sturdy weight and all the different notches and engravings. It feels like an old friend, a companion through thick and thin. However, embedded into that metal is something else, a recent memory that doesn’t belong to you. A brief scene flashes through your mind, of hands that aren’t yours gripping the saber, both ends ablaze with red fury, twisting and thrashing it.

You look up at Kylo, astonishment clear on your face. “You used my lightsaber? I can’t believe you.” You say teasingly, raising a brow. He avoids your gaze, seemingly embarrassed to admit anything. You chuckle. “So, how was it?”

“It was… fine.” He bites the words out before he composes himself. “I can see why it requires such skill to handle one like yours. Your abilities are impressive.”

You smile again. “Thanks. I’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself with it.” He rolls his eyes at that and you laugh as you set your lightsaber safely aside.

When you do, your eyes catch on the clock positioned on the wall that reads how late it is. The crew of the Steadfast is probably preparing to power down for the night and those taking the night patrols are getting ready for their shifts. You tap your fingers in thought, debating what you want to ask instead of just saying it like a wimp.

“I’ll stay here with you.” Kylo says, before you can manage to get it out. He saw the question formulating in your mind, felt the desire for him to keep close. He doesn’t want to leave you either.

“Are you sure? It’s a tight fit.” You point out. “I understand if you’d rather sleep in your own bed.” The infirmary beds are always small, sometimes even smaller than standard dorm beds, though this one is a just a tad bigger than usual because you’re the one sleeping in it. Sometimes your status can be useful.

“Of course.” He responds, like it’s the easiest decision in the world.

You scoot over to make as much room as you can for his hulking form. Kylo gets in behind you after kicking his boots off, about an inch away from falling off the bed, and pulls you close. He’s so very careful of your injuries, his arms snug around your body, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His steady breathing tickles your skin and his warmth bleeds into you, chasing away the chill of the infirmary as the lights dim to darkness.

The bond between you becomes relaxed, producing a mixture of warm colors and happy feelings that’s cultivated easily by the two of you in your state of peace as sleep is quick to claim you both.

[sweetrevxnge]

Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter Seven

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 3.6k

Chapter-specific CW: torture (what fun!), period-typical sexism

A/N: the dead speak! lmao at least that's what it feels like coming back after an entire YEAR??? I kinda got sucked into playing 1,200+ hours of baldur's gate 3, romancing a certain vampiric elf time and time again, which gave me plenty of inspiration to continue this fic. I never meant to be gone for so long, so if you're still interested in this story, please let me know!

───────── ❅ 🦇 ❅ ─────────

What have you done?

To say that you were restless would be an understatement. The first order of business when you returned to your chambers was finding a safe place to store your stolen weapon, and now, hours later, you had yet to succeed. 

You paced the room, wearing holes in the soles of your slippers as you wondered if you had made the right decision. It was unlike you to have sticky fingers, but then again, these were unprecedented times. Boldness meant survival.

Above all, you feared Ren was privy to your thievery, despite his silence on the walk back to your chambers. The prick of blood seemed enough to distract him for a moment, or perhaps he was practiced in hiding his tells. Either way, the consequences of him knowing gnawed at your sanity.

Rey had tended the hearth while you were away, ensuring your chambers were kept warm and filled with the familiar scent of dry wood. Her diligence as a handmaid proved to be an unforeseen complication in hiding your contraband.

Instinct urged you to keep it close to your bed, but reason told you it would be found too easily there. Same with the lounges circling the hearth, whose velour cushions could conceal many things if asked to. Though a dagger lodged in one’s rear would raise many concerns, as well as promise unspeakable punishments to come.

For these reasons, you ultimately settled on the bookcase.

Towering in the corner was a collection of books and texts, dense enough to put even the most curious scholars to sleep. A perfect place to hide a dagger.

Dragging a footstool over as a makeshift ladder, you reached for a leather-bound book embossed with gold letters along its spine. Imperium Nunquam Fuit. Though written in Old Basic, you understood its meaning.

The Empire That Never Was. A phrase coined by Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin to describe the destruction of Alderaan during the Revolution. An unsavory way to speak about a fallen civilization—considering he was the man responsible.

You made quick work of hollowing the historical text, skimming the page you’d turned to before defacing it. This passage detailed the last of the Imperial attacks on Alderaan, near the end of the Rebellion. One of the more infamous sieges of the war, earning its place in history with a tithe of blood and destruction.

The lines of script told the story of how Imperial soldiers salted Alderaan’s lands and butchered the citizens—babes and crones included. The Empire was thorough, wiping out an entire civilization over a mere conspiracy. With few survivors, and even fewer successors, Alderaanian blood was a rarity. You supposed that was one of the many things that set General Organa apart from the rest.

Considering the contents, it was a book of little interest to the First Order—a perfect hiding place.

The point of your blade pierced the parchment with ease, as if slicing through a block of butter rather than a thousand-page text. Tragic as it was to ruin a book like this, what other choice did you have? Hosnian Prime’s Grand Archives likely stored dozens of copies; one locked away in the depths of the First Order’s fortress would not be missed.

The fit was snug, but it would do for now. As for the pages you’d carved out, they laid in a pile at your feet, a messy reminder that your room was not private.

You slammed the book shut and returned it, hurrying to clean the shreds of paper scattered across the red carpets. Despite your efforts, the fragments proved too difficult to clean with just your hands alone, forcing you to sweep them into your skirts.

As you carried the pieces to the hearth, a gentle knock sounded through the oak doors. “Gods,” you muttered as you rushed towards the fire, dumping the pages unceremoniously onto the crackling wood.

Another rap on the door.

“Just a moment, please!” It was impossible to hide the panic in your voice as you prodded at the withering pages with an iron poker. Time seemed to slow as you watched the flames engulf the ink, turning Alderaan’s history to ash once more.

“It’s me, my lady.” Muffled by the wood, Rey’s voice was barely audible over the fire, hissing with fresh fodder. If any good came from her being your visitor, it was her staunch etiquette. She would not barge in uninvited—unlike some of the castle’s residents.

Brushing the slivers of evidence from your gown, you opened the doors, mindful of the lingering ash in the hearth. “My apologies. I was…” You cleared your throat, smoothing out your skirts before finishing your lie. “Indecent.”

Demure as ever, Rey dropped her gaze as she curtseyed before you. “It’s no matter, my lady. I was sent to fetch you; the Supreme Leader requests your presence.”

The moment his name left her lips, cotton filled your mouth, forcing its way down your throat as you swallowed your fear. What reason would the Supreme Leader have to summon you—at this late hour, no less?

Your thoughts immediately turned to Commander Ren. Perhaps he had noticed your theft after all and reported your offence to Snoke. If that were true, you vowed to slice his throat first. 

“Did he give a reason?” you asked, trying to maintain your resolve.

Rey’s throat knocked in her slender neck. “He did not say.”

Part of you wanted to take the damned blade with you, but recklessness wouldn’t serve you. Though you did not recognize him as your ruler, you were not keen on adding treason to your ledger.

You sighed, coming to stand beside Rey at the door, shoulders pressed back and hands folded over your lap. “I’m surprised he didn’t send you with manacles.”

She said nothing, but the trace smile on her lips told you all that you needed to know. You couldn’t blame her for watching her tongue around you. Given what transpired last night, you would do the same in her position.

The two of you walked in near silence to the throne chambers, passing countless tall windows with panes stained a deep red, dark enough to block most light from entering. What little light did manage to seep through painted the halls crimson, giving the appearance of blood spilling over the floor.

The burned pages of text flashed in your mind.

Every step forward was committed to memory, including the number of paces between notable fixtures, as well as where each one stood in relation to your chambers. Still, there was no sign of an access point in this section of the castle. But your resolve did not falter. If there was a means of entry into this accursed fortress, there must also be a means of escape.

As you rounded the corner to another corridor, you glanced at your handmaid, noticing that her usual singular bun had evolved into three smaller ones, meeting the nape of her neck in a uniform line.

“You’ve changed your hair.” The observation came out as more of a question than a comment.

“Yes, my lady,” she said, delicate fingers reaching to touch the one near her collar. “An effort to be closer to the gods.”

You furrowed your brows. “How’s that?”

“As there are three of them, there are three knots. We servants are forbidden to worship openly, so we find other ways.” She closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her chin towards her chest. “Divine strength allows clarity of the mind.”

While you were not necessarily a pious woman, you were familiar enough with the gods from your upbringing to understand what she meant. As a child, you often prayed at your family’s shrine, asking for a bountiful harvest, good health, and, most of all, peace in the realm. For many years, they fulfilled your wishes. Now, your faith provided you with little comfort.

“Certainly,” you said, not wanting to discuss the subject any further. “Are we nearly there?”

“Just down this hall,” she said, her tone clipped. Either she was annoyed with the change of subject, or just as uneasy about seeing the Supreme Leader as you were.

True to her word, Rey came to a stop near the end of the corridor, leaving a short distance between you and the two looming oak doors, with iron enforcements woven into the grain and a guard posted on either side. Their faces were concealed by crimson veils, the signature regalia of the Praetorian Guard. Those tasked with protecting the ruler of these lands, whether they carried the title of Chancellor, Emperor, or Supreme Leader.

The warmth drained from your face at the sight.

“This is where I leave you, my lady.” Her face lacked its usual peachy hue, her freckles washed away by the candlelight. “The Supreme Leader does not allow us to enter these chambers, save for when he is passing judgment upon us.”

Standing before the faceless guards, you understood her unease.

“Will you be here to escort me back?” you asked, palms growing damp as you clutched the fabric of your gown.

“It is late. I must turn in for the evening.” She shifted her weight, eyes darting between you and the guards, whose presence seemed to loom over you from meters away. “Besides, I should think you do not require my assistance from this point.”

With that, she turned on her heels and retreated, her steps muted as she faded into the stretching darkness of the hallway. Turning to face the guards, dread settled in your stomach. Surely these warriors would not accompany you back to your chambers.

You studied them for a moment, the strategist in your mind seeking to understand what threat they posed. Both were tall and well-fed, given the size of their uniforms. The one to your left carried a bisento, while the other held a tall voulge, both equally unnerving. Their blades were pristine, foreign to combat. You wondered if the same could be said for those wielding them, too.

As if seeking to test your theory, they readied their weapons as you approached, each blade humming as it sliced through the air.

You came to a halt, the hair on the back of your neck now stiff. “I’ve been summoned by the Supreme Leader.”

The two remained poised to strike for a long moment before returning to their sentry state, offering one another a brisk nod as they pushed the heavy doors open, revealing the grand throne room. With tentative steps, you approached, pausing at the threshold.

Black marble columns lined the walkway to the throne, each manned by a knight of the Praetorian Guard, their crimson armor matching the First Order banners draped along the cobbled walls. Above the throne was the room’s sole window, with red stained panels filling the space between the spokes of the First Order insignia. Six steps carved of the same dark mineral as the columns led to the throne, lined with black velvet upholstery and a towering slate backing. Perched comfortably in the seat was Supreme Leader Snoke, draped in golden robes that flowed over his limbs like smelted ore, barely concealing the matching jewelry wrapped snugly around his fingers.

The paragon of humility.

He was joined by another: the fire-haired General Hux. His gaze snapped to you as the doors creaked open, beady eyes piercing you like darts from across the chamber.

“Ah, my guest of honor,” Snoke crooned, clasping his hands before his chest in delight. His tone fell icy as he turned to address the General. “Leave us.”

Confusion spread across his pale features as he turned to face Snoke once more. “But, Supreme Leader, there is still much to be discussed.”

“Perhaps I did not make myself clear. You are to leave these chambers at once, General Hux, or you will be removed.” Snoke’s gravelly voice rumbled through the hall with the force of a thousand footsteps, and reluctantly, Hux obeyed.

You watched the scene play out before you from the safety of the doorway, your feet rooted to the floor.

Snoke relaxed in his chair once more, beckoning you in with a hand gesture. “Please, come in, darling.”

Willing your feet to move, you did as he asked, eyes flitting between the Praetorian guard and the approaching General Hux, whose expression could only be described as irate as he brushed past you, black coat fluttering behind him.

Your heart was lodged in your throat as you neared the throne, feeling like a lamb being shepherded towards the maw of a lion. You stopped in line with the last of the guards before the Supreme Leader, leaving some distance still.

Snoke watched you with keen eyes, a stark contrast to his stoic front. “I do hope you are well, my dear. I can only imagine the days spent in anticipation of your wedding are agonizing.”

You frowned. “Is that why you summoned me? To ask me about my wedding?”

“Of course not. But pleasantries are the foundation of any proper conversation.” The humor fell from his voice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” The words left a sour taste in your mouth, like wine crafted from grapes plucked too early.

Satisfied, he settled back into his throne, resting his hands over the ornate armrests. “See? Deference needn’t be cumbersome.”

His mocking tone made your vision red, but you held your tongue. Invisible threads tied you to him and his guards, each one pulled taught in the silence. It would take nothing more than a misstep to cause one of them to snap.

He spoke again, this time with authority. “It has come to my attention that you are unaware of what is expected of you as a noblewoman.”

You let out a terse exhale. “I suppose I am. Perhaps that is because of the conditions under which I am becoming one.”

A thin smile curled on the Supreme Leader’s lips. “These are unprecedented times, lieutenant.”

The emphasis on your title made your skin crawl. Snoke was calculated, sadistic. With his power, he was untouchable. The red veils surrounding you served as a constant reminder of his invulnerability.

“Now, I am curious. How did you manage that?” he added, tilting his head in intrigue. “A commoner like yourself rising to the rank of a commanding officer is no easy feat—even more so for a woman.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hardly see how this is relevant to my new status as a noblewoman.”

Despite your outward naivety, you knew too well what being a noblewoman would entail. You’d known from the moment your betrothal was announced. You were to be the docile wife of a commander, providing him an heir, a spare, and a warm bed whenever he pleased. Your military career would be swept away by the title of Lady Ren, all traces of your independence lost to time. You couldn’t think of anything less appealing.

“As a Lady of the First Order, you will be granted privileges seldom given to others, such as this.” Snoke motioned to the surrounding space, and you found yourself unable to decipher his meaning.

He isn’t referring to having an audience with the ruler of the realm as a privilege, is he?

He continued, “The safety of the castle. Our stronghold. You will be protected within its walls.”

Oh. Of course.

You suppressed a scoff. “I find that hard to believe, considering Commander Ren has attempted to strangle me twice over since my arrival.”

“I see,” he mused, pressing an index finger to his lips in thought. “My mercurial underling. If only his mind were half as quick as his temper.”

Somehow, your first instinct was to defend Commander Ren from his inflaming remark. While the Supreme Leader was correct about Ren’s temperament, he didn’t see the side of him that you saw—however infrequently it may have showed itself. There was a tenderness to him, fleeting in nature, like a luminescent star ripping through the night sky. You saw it in his eyes as he sat before your hearth, again when he laced your bodice.

Or perhaps what you felt was just the lingering effects of his charm.

Snoke’s rough voice broke your reverie. “Nevertheless, I’m sure Commander Ren had his reasons. Just as I’m sure whatever actions may have led to these outbursts will cease henceforth, won’t they?”

Before you could answer, a searing pain sliced through your skull, its barbed tendrils reaching into the deepest part of your consciousness. Every muscle in your body became succinctly rigid, frozen in place as an invisible force suspended you midair. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to call out; for the gods, for your mother—even for Commander Ren.

“You will behave yourself, insolent girl, or you will be disposed of.”

Despite your efforts, no sound would come from your throat. An eternity seemed to pass as the Supreme Leader kept you trapped, holding your feet to the fire of his anger. Mustering every ounce of strength, you forced your chin down in agreement, hot tears distorting your vision.

Without moving a muscle, he relinquished his hold on you, your knees cracking against the marble floor in an instant. The violet fabric of your gown pooled around you like the blood of a slain enemy, collecting the tears that fell from your chin.

Before you could find your voice, the creak of wood and subsequent rustling of armor behind you swiped your attention. The guards had readied their weapons, aiming at something other than you.

You flinched as the doors slammed shut, followed by a heavy—yet quick—footfall.

“What is the meaning of this?” Commander Ren’s voice was biting, filled with untamed fury as he entered the grand hall. His cloak rippled behind him like the night sea, silver sword in hand as he marched forward.

You scurried backwards on your tender palms, caught between his rage and the throne. He drew closer, only stopping at the intersection of two of the guards’ blades.

“Commander Ren, what a welcome surprise,” Snoke crooned. “Your bride was just leaving.”

His eyes found yours in an instant—wild and dark. Silently, you pleaded for his cooperation. If he were to strike at the guard, your life would be forfeit.

Outnumbered by eight blades, he stowed his own. “What have you done?” he demanded.

Though he was looking at you, his question was directed at the man atop the throne, whose enthusiasm at his subordinate’s display was palpable.

“Nothing you have not already done yourself,” Snoke growled. With that, he stood to his feet and stepped down from his throne, closing the gap you’d deliberately left and standing over you. “See her back to her chambers, Commander.”

A snarl flashed across Ren’s face as he pushed past the guards and kneeled before you, extending a gloved hand for you. Though he was quiet, his eyes were heavy with guilt.

With legs like a new foal, you accepted his help, gripping his hand like a lifeline as you stood. “Thank you.” The words floated from your mouth, burning your throat as they passed through.

He only nodded in return, guiding you away from the chamber. Because of his intrusion, the outer guards were now sealed inside, allowing some privacy in the dimly lit hall.

Ren came to a halt, moving both of his cool hands to rest on your shoulders, inspecting you. “Are you hurt?”

Averting your eyes, you shook your head dismissively, ignoring how your knees seemed to rattle with every step.

He let out an amused hum. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you will, Commander,” you managed to say through your dry mouth. “I’m fine.”

At that, the two of you carried on in silence, meandering through the castle, passing knights and servants alike down each corridor. Ren’s emotion rolled off of him like heat from a flame, slowly dwindling the further you were from the throne room.

As your legs regained their strength, so did your voice. “How did you know I was in there?”

“Does that really matter?”

“I’d say so. For all I know, you’re the reason he summoned me in the first place,” you argued, head spinning as you tried to recognize your surroundings. Only when you realized these walls were unfamiliar did your pace falter. “Stop!”

He obeyed, meeting you where you stood. “What?”

“Answer me.”

He let out a terse breath. “No, I am not the reason he summoned you. Come, we can discuss this later.”

At that, he began his stride again, but you didn’t follow. “No. I will not take one more step. Not before I know where you are taking me, as it is clearly not my chambers.”

“I’m bringing you somewhere private,” he finally answered.

“Are my chambers not private enough?”

“By the gods,” he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “As I’m sure you’re well aware, it is unbecoming of me to be seen entering your chambers before we are wed.”

You scoffed. “How pragmatic of you.”

Ignoring your comment, he continued, “After your encounter with the Supreme Leader, I think it’s best if we avoid unnecessary speculation—for your sake.”

You couldn’t argue with him. If Snoke was inclined to submit you to the rawest agony over the slightest display of defiance, you could only imagine what else he was capable of.

“Fine,” you conceded, seeing reason in his words. “But let it be known that my cooperation does not reflect my satisfaction with this decision.”

A smile ghosted over his lips. “I know.”

[xylavie]

An old sketch back in 2019 again.

I had a phase where I liked the idea of kylux as soldiers (featuring Bowl Cut Kylo ofc.)

[cryptfile]

ᝰ FANDOMS I’M CURRENTLY WRITTING FOR:

those marked in colored letters are the ones i’m currently simping on. Feel free to send promps, requests of characters or anything honestly. Always nice to recieve a message! / This list will be updated regularly so you guys can know what i’m into, also, if I forgot someone.

THE BOYS

Billy Butcher, Soldier Boy, Victoria Neuman, Starlight/Annie January, The Deep, A-Train, Frenchie, Sister Sage, Queen Maeve, Firecracker, Homelander, Hughie Campbell, Kimiko.

GEN V

Cate Dunlap, Jordan Li, Sam and Luke Riordan, Marie Moreau, Emma Myers.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Alicent Hightower, Jacaerys Velaryon, Aemond Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen, Harwin Strong, Criston Cole.

MARVEL

Loki Laufeyson, Sylvie Laufeydottir, Moonknight x3, Hawkeye/Comic!Clint Barton [recasted as Oliver Jackson-Cohen], Yelena Belova, Kate Bishop, Scarlet Witch/Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Steve Rogers, Matt Murdock/Daredevil, Deadpool, Peter Parker/Spider-Man’s in general, X-Men’s in general, Thor Odinson, Carol Danvers, Tony Stark, Doctor Strange, Bucky Barnes, Fantastic Four, Adam Warlock, Ant Man, Druig, Natasha Romanoff, and more since there are too many characters, feel free to ask!

HARRY POTTER

Remus Lupin [marauders era, post I war, nothing weird], Sirius and Regulus Black [marauders!era], James Potter [usually recasted as Dev Patel], Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott.

BRIDGERTON

Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, Francesca Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Simon Basset, King George.

THE BEAR

Carmy Berzatto, Sydney Adamu, Richie Jerimovich, Luca.

TWILIGHT

Carlisle Cullen, Charlie Swan, Bella Swan, Edward Cullen, Alice Cullen, Rosalie Hale, Emmett Cullen, Jasper Hale, Leah Clearwater, Alec and Jane Vulturi, Benjamin.

YELLOWJACKETS

Natalie Scatorccio, Jackie Taylor, Shauna Sadecki, Van Palmer, Lottie Matthews, Taissa Turner, Misty Quigley.

GRISHAVERSE

Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker, Alina Starkov, Matthias Helvar, Aleksander Morozova / The Darkling, Nina Zenik, Inej Ghafa, Malyen Oretsev, Zoya Nazyalenski.

DAISY JONES AND THE SIX

Daisy Jones, Karen Sirko, Billy Dunne, Warren Rhodes, Eddie Roundtree.

THE HUNGER GAMES

Peeta Mellark, Finnick Odair, Young!Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss Everdeen, Johanna Mason.

STAR WARS

Anakin Skywalker, Qimir / The Stranger, Kylo Ren [yes, I have a type], Shin Hati, Han Solo.

MISC

Rafe Cameron [OBX], James Beaufort [Maxton Hall], Drew Starkey, Dean and Sam Winchester [Supernatural], Aaron Taylor Johnson in most of his roles aka Kick-Ass or Bullet Train, Robin Buckley [Stranger Things], Steve Harrington [Stranger Things], Rick Flag [DC], Harley Queen [DC], Battinson [DC], Art Donaldson, Mike Faist.

[madlittlecriminal]

MADLITTLECRIMINAL'S MASTERLIST

hello! welcome to my masterlist! this is the new & improved version as I figured the other ones that i had were getting old and frankly long. anywho, i hope you find this one easier to navigate! happy reading! :)

RULES

KO-FI

Criminal Minds:

Spencer Reid Masterlist

DC Universe:

Bruce Wayne/Batman Masterlist

Dick Grayson/Nightwing Masterlist

Jaime Reyes/Blue Beetle Masterlist

Jason Todd/Red Hood Masterlist

Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow Masterlist

In Time:

Raymond Leon Masterlist

Kingsman (2014 & 2017):

Gary "Eggsy" Unwin Masterlist

Lucifer:

Lucifer Morningstar Masterlist

Marvel:

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier Masterlist

Charles Xavier/Professor X Masterlist

Eddie Brock/Venom Masterlist

Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto Masterlist

Hank McCoy/Beast Masterlist

Hobie Brown/Spider-Punk Masterlist

Jake Lockley Masterlist

Joaquin Torres Masterlist

Layla El-Faouly Masterlist

Marc Spector/Moon Knight Masterlist

Matt Murdock/Daredevil Masterlist

Miguel O'Hara/Spider-Man 2099 Masterlist

Miles Morales/Spider-Man Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow Masterlist

Peter B. Parker/Spider-Man Masterlist

Peter Parker/Spider-Man Masterlist

Scott Summers/Cyclops Masterlist

Stephen Strange/Doctor Strange Masterlist

Steven Grant/Mister Knight Masterlist

Peaky Blinders:

Alfie Solomons Masterlist

Thomas Shelby Masterlist

Sherlock:

Mycroft Holmes Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes Masterlist

Star Wars:

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo Masterlist

Poe Dameron Masterlist

Triple Frontier:

Francisco "Catfish" Morales Masterlist

Santiago "Pope" Garcia Masterlist

Video Games:

-Alejandro Vargas Masterlist

-Astarion Masterlist

-Gale Masterlist

-Halsin Masterlist

-Karlach Masterlist

-Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Masterlist

-Leon Kennedy Masterlist

-Peter Parker (Spider-Man) Masterlist

-Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra Masterlist

[anatee]

Fantasy | Kylo Ren x Reader Smut

Fantasy | Kylo Ren x Reader Smut One Shot. 18+. MINORS DNI.

Word count: 4.3K

Content warning: fem!reader x Kylo; a few curse words; jealous, possessive Kylo, one tiny bit of violence (not smut-related), inappropriate use of the Force, smut: thigh riding, fingering, oral (f receiving), size difference (and kink ig lol), piv (unprotected), filth really

Author’s note: What bothers me in many Kylo smuts is that he is excessively ruthless. And while I do agree this man is no softie in bed, sometimes the degradation goes so far it’s actually a turn-off to me, so here we have this, the man’s still the leader but doesn’t make you feel like scum ig

"Why did you invite me here?"

Y/N was still shocked she found herself in Kylo Ren's quarters. They had known each other even before she became a First Order soldier, but it was the first time she got to visit him. She didn't know why: ever since she started her military career, she saw him only a few times, and always with his mask on, either arguing with General Hux or walking aggressively maker knows where.

They didn't even talk much, busy with their own duties, however this part changed two weeks earlier. He started approaching her often, talking to her even if he didn't need to and, eventually, asked to come with him. She followed him gladly, but in utter shock at the same time, not quite understanding what he was trying to achieve.

Yet there she was, alone with him in the private quarters while almost everyone else on the ship was going to bed.

It was the first time she was even near his room. Twice the size of her quarters, it was mostly black with red accents just like every interior of the First Order. Everything was dimly lit by one source of light, and it didn't seem like he wanted it any brighter. He gestured for her to sit on a metallic, circular chair while he approached a weird piece of furniture resembling a well filled with ashes instead of water. And then, to her surprise, he took his helmet off to put it there.

He turned to face her, making her jaw drop. She had seen him before, of course, but it was a long time ago. He matured a lot.

"Wow," she breathed out before she could stop herself. "I... I almost forgot how you look like."

"You like it?" he asked with a smirk dancing on the corners of his mouth.

This question made her gulp, because she knew about the Force, she knew that Kylo could read her mind like an open book if he wanted. He even tried to show her the ways of the Force years before, but it wasn't strong with her. That's why she worried...

She worried he knew how attractive she had always found him, and now even more so. Black, thick hair, broad shoulders, the face that looked young and mature at the same time. He was much more pleasant to look at without the mask, although the act of taking it off was hot by itself.

"Is this your way of asking if you're attractive to me?" she retorted, trying to save herself as her First Order uniform suddenly became much warmer.

"You've been on my mind recently."

Her heart jumped for a moment. She threw her ponytail back, but even though she didn't have her hat on anymore, it still felt very hot... And she wanted to keep it cool.

"Is that so? Why?" She raised an eyebrow, engulfed in a weird feeling. She hadn't looked him in the eye for a long time and it made her heart race.

"I saw you have been talking to this one guy lately."

"You mean Admiral Fando?" 

Kylo's face was almost expressionless. "Whatever his name is."

"Well, yes, he approaches me often. Tries to be funny, I sup..."

"I don't like him talking to you," Kylo cut her off sharply, rendering her speechless for a moment. She thought she had long forgotten the feelings she used to have for him before joining the army, but when he was saying things like this, it was impossible to stay calm.

She cleared her throat eventually. "Why?"

At that moment, as if she weren't shocked enough by everything he was doing, he sat beside her, making her feel extremely small, both literally and metaphorically. He was huge next to her... And one could almost feel the power vibrating, whirling all around him. It must have been part of why he was so intimidating.

His face was less than ten inches from hers as he leaned towards her to say quietly:

"Because I don't like any man trying to court you."

She swallowed hard, because even if it weren't her he was threatening, he looked murderous, and she knew what he was capable of. "You think he's trying to?"

"Don't be delusional, Y/N. Why else would he do this?"

She knew this question would be very risky, but she asked nevertheless.

"And why are you doing this?" She looked down, then back up at him, trying to understand the situation they found themselves in.

There was a moment of silence, silence so tense Y/N feared they might lose oxygen from the room soon. Kylo was piercing her with his gaze, so intensely it almost made her dizzy.

"You know that I can hear your thoughts. I don't look into them at all, but once... Once they were so loud..."

He moved his face closer to speak straight to her ear. The moment she felt his hot breath tingle her skin, she was hopeless; she had a strong inkling she knew what kind of thoughts he was talking about, and waiting for the confirmation like for a sentence.

"I know your fantasy," he whispered in his deep voice. "I know about everything you want to be done to you. I heard it loud and clear."

Each word was almost like a separate touch between her legs. 

Suddenly everything made sense. The dates aligned - she remembered that night her thoughts went wild, her mind playing out every erotic scenario she wanted to experience while she pleasured herself on her bed, but didn't even get half the satisfaction she wished for. Little did she know it made him realise how much he desired her, how much he wanted to act out his own dreams with her, and he decided he would make it happen.

Y/N was surprised herself, but she was not embarrassed at all while listening to him - on the contrary, it was turning her on, and the only fear she had was that he knew her emotions.

"Well, thinking that is not an offence..." she replied breathily, not daring to think he had something else on his mind other than scolding her, even if deep down she wanted him to have.

"That's not what I'm talking about."

He was still speaking against her ear, craning his neck from time to time to watch the expression on her face. Her lips were parted, her gaze half-lidded, and he was intoxicated by that view. Eventually, he decided he wanted to see more of it.

He put his cold, gloved hand on her hot cheek, and the feeling of the leather itself sent a shiver down her spine. All of this was the last thing she expected to be doing that day - but she wished it would never end. He never acted like this, but he always had an effect on her...

He guided her head gently so she would face him, the subtle touch almost igniting a flame between them. She was sure that if he had no gloves on, it would drive her crazy.

After a moment of silence, Kylo spoke while looking right into her eyes. "You're talking to this guy... Do you think he can do it? Do you think he can make you feel as good as you want? Do you think he could fulfil your fantasy?"

His gaze alone was penetrating her, petrifying her completely as the provoking questions echoed against the walls of the spacious room.

She gave in.

"It's not him whom I'd like to fulfil it with."

That sentence alone made him heave a sigh as blood rushed through his entire body. He didn't even need to use the Force; her eyes told him everything he wanted to know.

"Who, then?" he asked even though the answer was right there, in the way she gazed at him.

They both felt that question between their legs.

The only thing stopping him from ripping clothes off of her was that he wanted to do this right, especially now that he knew she desired him just as much. Besides, he would love to catch her off guard one day...

"You could have just told me," he said, making her snort.

"You could have not entered my thoughts."

"You will thank me for doing this," he whispered against her lips, making her heart stop for a split second. She was anticipating something, anything, any touch, words, any action from him, hoping beyond hope he would let the lust from his eyes take over.

He brushed his gloved finger over her bottom lip, trying not to give into the frenzy too quickly. A smirk formed on his face as he was already planning what he'd do to her.

"Let's meet again soon."

He left her that day with arousal, disappointment and anticipation all at the same time.

The next few days were a hell to go through. Kylo Ren didn't leave her thoughts not even for a second, making focusing on her duties almost impossible. But how could she not be thinking about him when she remembered the words he had told her with the velvety voice, when the feeling of his hand still seemed to linger on her cheek? She was constantly alerted, just waiting for the moment he decides to take her back to his quarters.

To make matters worse, he realised what she was daydreaming about, and he absolutely loved it. He made sure she saw him every day so both of them would crave the other person even more, and he was just waiting for the best opportunity to show her that only he could give her the pleasure she had fantasised about.

The opportunity presented itself one calm evening, almost two weeks later, when the tension between them was so high both Kylo and Y/N wanted to throw themselves on the other at any given moment. That evening, she finished her shift and intended to go straight to her room to rest, but Admiral Fando approached her before she could even leave her console. 

"Where are you headed?"

"To my quarters, where else?" she replied in a surprised tone as she stood up from her chair.

"Well, you look and smell exceptionally well today, I thought you had some other plans." He smiled at her, and she was given yet another confirmation Kylo was right about him.

But she did look and smell better. Ever since her tense encounter with Ren, she tried to take better care of her appearance, should he decide to invite her again. She shaved herself to the root and used the most deliciously smelling lotion she could access.

"Thank you, but that is just me caring about myself," she replied, making sure everything was in place for the shift coming after her.

"But if you don't have any other plans... Then maybe you'll come and visit my quarters instead."

And Kylo Ren heard that. Every word, loud and clear, even though he was far away from where Fando was standing. It railed him up immediately; this was the moment. He couldn't wait anymore.

Y/N was flabbergasted. She suspected he might eventually ask her this, but had no idea how to react once it happened.

"That is a bit unprofessional, isn't it, Admiral?" she replied half seriously, half jokingly, trying to get out of the situation.

"Oh, come on. I'm not asking anything weird," he continued. "We can just drink tea and talk."

Y/N let out a sigh. She wanted to refuse, but it was quite complicated since he was her superior and it felt like it was against the protocol.

"It's very nice of you, but I..."

"Come on, Y/N," he cut her off, moving closer to her. "I know you're not taken. Do not act unavaila..."

He trailed off because a loud gasp escaped her lips, one that was unexpected by both parties.

"What's going on?" Fando frowned.

Y/N wished she could explain. Just a moment before, she felt something touch her, like an invisible hand, right between her legs. A shiver of pleasure went down her as she realised whose hand it must have been.

Before she even opened her mouth to respond, her heart racing, she sensed presence somewhere behind herself... And soon, a man in a mask was towering over her and Fando, wrath radiating from him.

It all happened in a split second. One move of Kylo's hand was enough; Fando was thrown against the wall, then fell to the floor with a yelp of pain. Ren didn't even give him a second glance as he spoke to Y/N again:

"Follow me."

She did not dare disobey him, did not dare to check on Fando who was whimpering on the floor... She followed Ren step by step to his quarters, and the moment the door closed behind them, he cornered her.

"I told you it would come to this," he said with disappointment, trapping her between the wall and his body, enveloping her in the feeling of smallness.

"He approached me first, I just replied." She intended to respond loudly and proudly, but her voice failed her as he inched closer.

"Then I'll show you," he grabbed the sides of his helmet and took it off aggressively, "why you shouldn't even reply to scum like him." He threw the helmet into the ashes, his eyes never leaving hers.

She suppressed a shiver as he put a gloved hand under her chin. Her eyes, wide and full of admiration, were staring back at him, and he couldn't get enough of that view.

He smirked. "I should have done this sooner."

"Then stop talking and start doing already. You left me waiting for so long," she said before she could stop herself, making him sneer.

"Cocky, aren't you?" He took his hand back. "Why don't we change that?"

For a split second, fear overtook her as he took a step back, and she had no idea what he was about to do. He threw his cape off, then put one of his hands in front of him, brows furrowed in concentration.

Two invisible hands cupped her breasts at the same time, pulling out a gasp out of her yet again. This further confirmed he was the one responsible for what she felt back at the bridge. It was such a weird sensation, but a pleasurable one, something being there and not existing at the same time, vibrating, pulsating against her body while he wasn't touching her at all. He had never done this to her before.

"I-" She sighed heavily, trying to form a sentence as the large hands massaged her breasts. "I didn't know you- you could do that."

He clearly enjoyed these words as he smirked again. "See? You've underestimated me... Not the first person who has..."

He moved closer to her, maintaining the Force touch - and it made her want to act, too.

"You underestimate me as well, Kylo."

She stood on her tiptoes to grab him by the neck and bring him to her lips. Caught by surprise, he lost focus for a split second, but then quickly seized the initiative again. His invisible hands were untying her hair and taking off her hat or gloves, while his real ones were roaming her body, looking for openings in her uniform.

Minutes passed and she was beginning to lose her breath. She had never thought he'd be kissing her, yet there she was, letting his tongue in anywhere he wanted.

He eventually grabbed her buttock with his one hand and her thigh with the other, raising it so she would wrap it around him. When she did, his arm travelled to her nape, and he held it tight to kiss her hungrily. Hell, fire was flowing through him while he was doing it. Who knew her taste would be so addictive, her lips so soft he could nibble and lick them constantly? Had he known all of this, he would have been devouring her ages ago.

His kisses were hungry and demanding, making her dizzy, but that was just what she wanted. At that moment, she was so drunk on his taste, scent and noises she would allow him to do anything to her. Each of his sharp breaths, loud grunts to keep focus on the Force, the strong, fresh scent that lingered on his body... All of these things made her notice him and him only.

"Fuck," she whimpered against his lips when his real hand slipped underneath her pants. He immediately circled her clit through the material of her panties, causing her to buckle her hips.

He let out a triumphant laugh. "Look at you, and I haven't even started yet..."

The invisible hands took off her boots, and then her pants, roughly, almost causing her to lose balance. Kylo pulled her towards the circular to sit on it, and then made her settle on his thigh.

It was huge. She felt it well as she straddled it, heat from between her legs already spreading throughout her half-dressed body. She knew what he was doing; it was a picture taken straight from her mind, one of many he must have seen...

"I don't think I have to tell you your own fantasy..." he said, planting a kiss on her neck. "Ride it," he added in a commanding voice. He meant it.

The first thrust of her hips pulled a moan out of both of them. When she noticed it was already much more pleasurable than rubbing herself against furniture, she grabbed his arms as tightly as possible to steady herself and began moving back and forth.

The friction did it for him. The invisible hands took her shirt off, while the real ones grabbed her hips strongly enough to leave marks on them. She didn't restrain herself from any noises, and they turned him on more than he thought they would; his pants becoming tighter on him was the best proof of it.

That's why he didn't let her do it for long. Without any warning, he cradled her in his arms and took her to his bed. He let her lie down on the black sheets as he stood in front of her, enjoying the view - she was already soaked, just like his thigh.

"I'm taking whatever I want now," he announced to her, looking her up and down with no shame.

She just smirked, because from her new position she could see the bulge in his pants, one she knew she caused. Who knew she could have such an effect on the Kylo Ren?

"Do it," she replied with no hesitation, craving for him.

He took his gloves off and tossed them to the floor before kneeling in front of the bed. Her heart stopped just for a moment; was he really going to do it? Was he going to fulfil her another fantasy this easily?

The answer came instantly - the Force pulled her panties down, and he used his bare hands to grab her thighs to open her legs. Flesh to flesh, the sensations were even more overwhelming.

She closed her eyes, waiting for what's to come and let out a squeal when he planted a kiss on her inner thigh, massaging them at the same time.

"Open your eyes, look what's coming for you," he demanded. "He wouldn't be able to do to you what I'm about to..."

She obeyed and saw his face for a split second before his mouth came in contact with her clit. A very long lick was followed by an absolute madness of licks and sucking, almost like he took his time to prepare for it. He wanted to make her shake, and it quickly turned out it was the right way to do it as he saw her grab at the sheets out of pleasure.

The moment she moaned out his name, Kylo became drunk on the control he had over her. He let go of one of her thighs to speed up the process of her becoming undone...

"You feel good?" he asked right before sliding two fingers inside her, earning himself the loudest moan yet.

She couldn't think straight enough to give him a cohesive answer. She grabbed him by his thick hair, burying his face in her. "Fuck, Kylo."

He snorted with satisfaction. "I'll take that as a yes."

He soon added a third finger to pump in and out of her, remembering the number from her thoughts. Even she, however, didn't expect them to be this big. The sensations were indescribable; his tongue nor his fingers didn't slow down for a second, making her think she was about to have an orgasm and a heart attack.

She came. She came for the first time in months, because she couldn't quite reach that level of pleasure herself. A powerful orgasm rocked through her, her legs shaking, her breath shallow, and at that moment she was sure no other man than Kylo Ren could make her feel like that. Maybe it was the Force, maybe it was his size, maybe it was her desire for him - either way, she hadn't even hoped it would feel this good.

He let her ride it out to the end, then stood up, his face and fingers glistening - the proof of her satisfaction.

She began sitting up slowly, trying to catch her breath. "Kylo, I-"

"Stay where you are." He pressed her back into the mattress with a wave of his arm. "I am not done. I want you to not be able to think about anything else than this."

Y/N didn't even get to cool down and she was already turned on again. She watched in awe as he removed his pants and boxers, revealing his erected cock without any shame. Her mouth fell agape; not only because it was the first time seeing him naked, but also because it meant he intended to go as far as they could.

He looked at her with authority, clasping a hand around his length - as a result, she felt even smaller than in reality. If he were to interrogate her, she would be cowering, but at that moment, she was excited and waiting.

"Now, can you give me one more?" he asked quietly, his voice working wonders on her.

"Depends on what you're about to do."

"Make you beg," he used the Force to open her legs even wider, "for more."

Before she could respond, he started slowly rubbing his cock along her cunt, letting out a grunt that made her roll her eyes back. It went on for a few seconds, the sound of the wetness echoing in the room and arousing them even more.

And then, without warning, he slid into her with just the tip, then pulled out quickly. He repeated that a few times, slowly driving her insane.

"Kylo... Please..."

That's what he wanted to hear.

"Tell me what you want and you'll get it."

She gulped. The perspective of telling him what was on her mind seemed humiliating, especially that he knew exactly what she wished for.

She tried to save herself. "I cannot give orders to you."

As she expected, he did not buy it.

"Say what you want. That is my order," he replied, moving the tip once more to stimulate her further.

She closed her eyes as if bracing for impact. Alright. She could do it. It were mere words separating from another wave of pleasure. They were nothing compared to the fact that she was lying there with her legs open for him, weren't they?

She took one last deep breath. "I want you inside me."

He smiled with satisfaction. "As I thought."

He ended her torture as promised. He slid into her, slowly, because it was a lot; after all, nothing about him was small-sized.

She thought he would stay standing, but it wasn't the case. Right after a few of the first thrusts, he put his hands on either side of her body and continued dragging his body passionately, making sure to fill her up completely each time. She felt unbelievable.

"Who is making you feel good now?" he asked after hearing a moan from her, trying to hide the grunts of pleasure which were taking over him as well. "Who is the only person who can?" he rasped, keeping his head close to her neck to kiss it.

"You." She breathed heavily, her whole body shifting on the bed with each of his movements. "Only you."

He used the Force to keep himself steady and grabbed her wrists with his hands, pinning them over her head just to feel even a bit more of control. There was no mercy in his thrusts, ones he had been waiting for for days, the sexual tension finally resolving.

She didn't know if she were to have another orgasm, but he was certainly coming to one. She could hear and feel it as the powerful thrusts became sloppier, and the loudest grunt yet escaped his lips.

"You'll take it all," he almost growled, "for me."

That was his last warning before he reached his peak, letting all of it fill her up. It was insane, the whole scene, the emotions, the sounds of their breathing in the spacious room...

He placed one last desire-filled kiss on her lips, then stood up eventually, pulling out of her, leaving her with her wrists burning. She had no energy to raise again, and he stood there, watching with triumph how his cum flowed out of her.

For a moment, there was a silence, in which they both tried to regain rational thinking... And realise what had just happened, and that there was no turning back - but neither of them regretted it, not even a second. They both got what they wanted and were already thinking about repeating it.

Kylo used the Force once more to pull her closer, then put his hand under her chin again.

"You're not going to even think about anyone else now, are you?" 

She smirked, still feeling his cum dripping down her thigh. "Is that your way of saying you want me only for yourself?"

"You're so right."