Your National Anthem (Kylo Ren x Reader President AU)

Men Are Dumb

The door of the conference room clicked shut, and the only life that remained was you, Mr. President, and the four servicemen. The room seemed a lot smaller now with the lack of action going on in it. You stood there, looking at the president. His admittedly plump lips were pressed into a thin line as he returned your stare, looking you over the way a predator might look over prey. He was standing incredibly tall at his seat, his suit hugging his body snugly. You hadn't noticed before how fit the president was, but it was hard to ignore right now as you refused to let up on your eye contact at this point. It was confusing--he'd taken your words into consideration and ended the meeting, all should have been well. Why were you still here?

"So we are clear," he began, "you are still an intern. You may have increased, more hands on duties now, but you are an intern."

You nodded quickly. "I know that, Mr. President. You asked for my input today."

"Because only a fool wouldn't have been able to see the outrage on your face," he scoffed. "Learn to maintain some decorum if you want to keep this job. I can tell you're passionate about this."

His tone was so weird. It was like he was scolding you with its icy quality, but it also held a twinge of encouragement, like a dad may have given their kid after a teachable mess up. Truthfully, it was unsettling.

"You are pleased with the placement, no?" He continued.

You blinked a few times, interested that he was asking you such a question. Seemed personal. At least too personal for him. You thought about the question, if he was genuinely asking, you should genuinely answer. You did want this job. You loved this shit. 

"Yes, sir. I am very pleased, and I will do better in the future," you tried to show earnest. 

"Very good. I like to hear that," he hummed, something exhilarating about his tone. For the first time in this peculiar encounter, he moved, stepping closer to. Your body tensed up as he neared, not expecting to be this close to him. He was arm length away from you. 

"You are still just an intern, though," he repeated the sentiment. A sharp edge was there. "You don't get to challenge me like that in front of my advisors." He looked down on you. He was towering above you, tilting your neck to look up to him. 

Something in you swirled, that exhilaration staying ever present. You felt compelled to keep the eye contact strong and to argue with him. You liked the attention suddenly when he was this close. You liked it in a sick masochistic way, because it made your stomach flip continuously. 

"Interns don't usually get moved to third tier jobs in national security dealing directly with counterterrorism within a month either, Mr. President," you shot back. 

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you could have sworn the corner of his mouth flicked upward in amusement. He liked this, too. 

"Careful," he said softly, stepping even closer now, his towering presence right up to you. "You're walking a fine line." 

Everything in you reasonably was screaming, step back. Abort. Get away from this. Some small part of you, some crevice of your being tempted you to stand your ground, though, and you acted on it. You could feel the heat radiating off of him with how close he was, his scent--something dark and expensive--invaded your senses. 

"I'm not walking any line, sir, I'm simply taking my job very seriously," you said, your pulse quickening as each word left your mouth. 

His eyes darkened, his eyes darted across your face, lingering on your lips for a moment longer than the rest, before he looked back into your own. The tension in the room was undeniable, inescapable. And that's when you remembered the servicemen in the room. You broke eye contact momentarily to glance at them, thinking to yourself that this was surely inappropriate for them to be witnessing.