Our Little Secret (Kylo Ren x Reader)

Flashbacks

The screams echoed through your ears like alarm bells. You crawled forwards, vision blurry and head throbbing in pain. You felt your bare hands scrape against the hard, coarse dirt underneath you. Fighting for each breath, you forced your body to exert any amount of energy it had left. You had to get away. 

Suddenly, two giant, gloved hands grasped around your shoulders. You screamed in anguish as a hard black boot connected with your ribs in a harsh crack. You were thrown on your side, arms flying up to protect your face. 

"Rebel scum," the trooper hissed through his white helmet as he delivered another kick to your neck, sending waves of pain through your spine. You rolled into a ball, your legs pulled to your chest. Your ribcage was throbbing from the first kick, and you felt hot streams of tears pouring down your cheeks. 

"Aren't you going to beg?" He sneered, "For your precious life?" His boot smacked against the crown of your head, white light exploding behind your closed eyelids. You screamed out, your voice echoing through the cold, night air. You wanted to say something. You wanted to curse at him with every word in your vocabulary. But you couldn't bring yourself to form sentences in your head. The pain was too much, your mind flickering in and out of reality. For a moment, he stopped. You tried through shuddered breaths to push yourself up onto your hands. Failing, you keeled over, choking and coughing up a pool of dark blood. 

"Have you had enough?" He said coldly, kneeling down next to your bloodied body and reaching a gloved hand toward you. He slowly ran his hand through your matted hair, your body shivering underneath him. 

"Shame," He sneered, "You're too pretty to die like this."

You groaned, baring your teeth and attempting to roll away from him. As soon as you moved, he tightened his grip on your hair, yanking you forwards and planting your face in the dirt. His heavy boot slammed down on the back of your head, crushing your nose under the weight. You felt a thick line of blood smear over your lips, coating your chin and mixing with the dirt. You squirmed underneath him, muffled screams attempting to escape your mouth. After suffocating you for a few moments, he flipped you over with his foot, immediately delivering another kick directly to your jaw. You screamed, your hands raising to your face. As your fingers traced feverishly over your bloodied appearance, you noticed raw patches where your skin had been torn off, hanging in thin strips. A wave of nausea washed over you as you forced your eyes closed.  

This is it, you thought to yourself, swallowing your vomit, I'm going to die here.

"You all were fools for thinking you could succeed," The trooper hissed, standing over your body. "The First Order cannot be beaten. It cannot be taken down. It's only a matter of time before the entire resistance is wiped out. Like the scum they are." You coughed, a small laugh escaping your lips as blood splattering over your white and red leather jacker. 

"You're wrong," You somehow managed to whisper, fluttering your tired eyes open and making eye contact with his lifeless mask. "There will always be more. Of us."

"Scum," he said again. Your final sight was him raising a large white gun over his head, roaring as he brought it down with a swift blow on your head. You saw white for a moment, fireworks of pain ricocheting through your skull. Then, in an instant, the pain was gone. The world was gone.

Everything was black. A sense of calm washed over your shoulders. Silence fell over you like a blanket. You were finally free.

You sat up suddenly, gasping. Your body was soaked in sweat, the sheets around you on the cot damp and cold. Your mind was reeling. You'd had that dream again, about that night. Your arms, you realized, were wrapped around your chest, cradling your own body. You rocked back and forth, trying to steady your heartbeat and your breathing. Your chest felt tight, and you could almost still feel the pain in your ribcage. You shivered, remembering the feeling of being so vulnerable, the trooper's figure looming over you.