DEFIANT • kylo ren (18+)

03 - Your thoughts are a distraction.

You head over to your water source, still lightly coughing, letting the water pour and you fill as much as you can in your cupped hands, then dribbling it across your dirt smudged flesh. Scrubbing at your face, your legs and armpits. You do this repeatedly, careful around any wounds.

You scrub at your hands until they go from ash to pink, then tending to your cuts after you're somewhat confident of your hands being clean. The gash on your forehead, your lip which is healing nicely, your ankles and wrists, the scrapes on your legs. Lastly, the branding. In the mirror you're foreign to your memories, a pink fleshy tattoo of branding on your ribs, unfamiliar and painful. You decide not to clean it. It looks sore, and somewhat clean anyhow. You're scared to touch it.

Leaning your elbows on the sink, your hands support your face. You can't help it, you're so far away from anyone who cares for you, your skin is not your own and your dreams are plagued with nightmares.

You miss your close friends Poe, Finn and Rey. You miss LJ. The four strongest fighters and nicest people you've ever met. Tears slip from your eyes, dropping down your palms to your wrists and arms.

You need to stop crying into this fucking sink. Instead, you wipe your face of the tears and collect your grey attire from the floor. You wring them of dirt under the water from the tap, hanging them against the sink to dry, before you lay down and shut your eyes. Hoping to sleep through the cold, and wake when your clothes are dry.

In your dreams, the Commander flashes before you. The mask looking upon you from above as his gloved hand holds your face. The thumb slipping onto your tongue past your lips and choking you, again, except this time it's just a distorted memory.

A memory that pools heat to your core, a growing sensation of need between your legs. You remember the taste of the leather so well... too well... as you kneel there, captured by his cruel stare, held by his dominant hands, hanging onto his every word. You see him in your mind, glowing with dominance, distant yet close, his hands reach for his helmet... grasping it... he's about to take it off...

You wake with a groan, upset at your dreams for being so traitorous against your will, turning on your side to face the wall in an effort to forget. Your senses prickle with a knowledge of danger, a presence of someone as you rub your eyes of sleep and sit up to face whoever it is.

He stands in the doorway.

Ren. The door is shut behind him. You have no way of knowing how long he's been there. Your knees bolt to your chest from nervousness as you sit up, feeling so exposed to his gaze, more than usual in your underwear. The cold air grips at your bare legs, arms and torso. He remains there, not saying a word, the sheen of his unforgiving mask sending a shiver up your spine.

"What do you want?" You narrow your eyes as you reach out for your top, grabbing it and sliding it over your head. It's slightly damp, but almost dry... you'd rather suffer a little than accept his eyes on your body.

He steps toward you, each slow deliberate footstep casting a chill of dread and anticipation from your feet to your fingertips.

"Your thoughts are a distraction." A beat passes and when he realises you won't reply, "you will stop," he tells you, walking around the cell before turning back to face you again.

"How might I stop something I have no control over, genius?" You look to him as you speak, deadpan, but instead of the flare of anger you expect in return, he just casually approaches you. Your breath catches in your throat.

He stops in front of you, you have to crane your neck up to see his mask. You're scared of the mask. But you're not sure you're as scared of the man underneath.