(tw: sexual assault, graphic depiction of violence)

One unfortunate repercussion of a hours-long sob-fest was a pounding headache. Another was puffy, painful eyes. Yet another was shallow shuddering in your chest--like your breath was still ready to hiccup away.

How lucky for you that you managed to get all three of them.

Your indulgent pity-party had left you with one more parting gift--the dull ache in your body that you knew only as surrender. It was useless, you'd determined. Kylo Ren would never, could never feel for you the way you felt for him. He was a fortress, and you were skipping in futile circles around him.

Arriving at the Command Shuttle, peeking into its decimated interior, made you feel even smaller. How had things really changed since you'd first met Kylo Ren? His obstinance and dismissal were as sharp as ever. Perhaps there was some truth to his words: Juvenile. Naive. That was the only explanation you could conjure that dared to apply some logic as to why you'd let yourself be strung along by his dick.

You dragged yourself up the ramp and plopped into the pilot's chair. Dash would arrive at any moment. In the meantime, you stared out the window of the shuttle, brain failing to register anything your eyes focused on. Your body was heavy, limbs like lead in your seat, head rolling like it was filled with water. Half of you had a mind to tell Dash to fuck off in hopes you'd just be moved onto your new assignment, so you'd stop having excuses to be in the presence of Kylo Ren. But that was a bet on your life you weren't willing to make.

As you'd predicted, Dash wasn't far behind you. He entered the shuttle, and you craned your head over your shoulder to greet him. But his back was to you as he spent what seemed like endless minutes surveying the interior of the ship--and when he turned to face you, he flinched, hiding a gasp. Like you'd caught him.

"Oh," he said. "I, uh, I didn't know you were here."

Shrugging you turned back to the dashboard. "Welp. I am."

"Cool." He crossed the ship in a few quick strides, standing in the threshold of the cockpit. "You wanna get started on this repair?"

"Sure." You peeled yourself off of the chair, moving to exit the cockpit--but no matter which way you stepped, he seemed to ignore the silent request to pass, not budging an inch. "Um. I need to, uh..."

Dash's eyes widened, like he hadn't known what he'd been doing, and he stepped aside. "Oh, yeah."

You moved to the body of the shuttle, a shiver running up your spine as you felt his stare follow you. All you needed to do was to run him through the repair. Then post-flight procedures. Then you could leave. Shrugging it off, you pointed to the walls and faced him again.

"So, the first thing we want to do is check and see if any of the internal wiring was damaged." You stepped back, ushering him to have a look. "Go on."

He nodded, joining you near the wall and bending to scrutinize the shredded durasteel. "How am I supposed to tell through all of this mess?"

"Ah," you said, grinning. "Good thing you asked. The electrical panels are distributed throughout the--"

"Hey, what happened?" He rose to his full height. "Your voice sounds kind of weird."

Frowning, you cleared your throat. You'd hoped the stress from your weep session had been camouflaged. "Nothing happened," you said. "I'm fine. Everything's fine." Gesturing to the walls again, you continued. "The electrical panels are--"

"You don't sound fine."

"Are we going to play this game again?" you asked. "Because I really don't feel like it. At all."

He stepped toward you, raising a brow. "So, something is wrong."

Swallowing, you took a step back. "Come on, dude," you said. "Let's just focus on these repairs."

"Is it a guy? Girls are always upset over guys."

You groaned. "Why are you so insistent that I'm banging some guy, or something? You bring it up like, every five fucking seconds."

"Oh, come on!" he laughed. "You're really good at playing hard to get, I'll tell you that much."

"Hard to get?" You threw your hands into the air, baffled. "There's nothing to be gotten!"

He eyed you with a smirk, like you'd just told a joke. "You remember that I'd been asking about you, right?"

All at once, your heart stammered, your stomach flipped, and every tiny hair on your body went stiff. Why had you been so sure he'd given that up? Your brain was already scrambling to locate every avenue of escape--but it stalled at the ramp. The ramp that Dash was standing in front of, arms crossed. Maybe you could just kick him in the balls and run out. Or like, punch him. And bite him. But how would it look for you to have physically assaulted your boss? Maybe you could just talk your way out of this.

"Ha-ha." You hated the tremble in your voice. "Did they tell you about how I blew up that TIE fighter a few months ago?" Another forced laugh. "Good times, man. Good times..."

Dash grinned, shook his head. "You can stop playing dumb with me, you know."

"Dumb? Who's playing dumb?"

Sighing, he took another step toward you, and you retreated again, blood flooding your face. He smiled, dropping his arms to his sides, palms open and facing you--an attempt to placate you, it seemed. But it wasn't working. The sirens in your brain were still shrieking at full volume.

"I wondered how someone so skilled ended up in your position," he said. Your brow furrowed. "So I started asking around." He came closer still, anxiety stealing the air from your lungs. "I get it, okay? I know how girls like you operate."

You went to take another step--but your back connected with the durasteel. You remembered the last time a man had you pinned to the wall in the Command Shuttle. At least then, you'd wanted it. Now, your fight or flight center was fuming, melting any bit of fear you had into liquid rage.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you said. "Back the fuck off."

Dash frowned. "Look," he said. "I know you're in trouble for sleeping with superior officers. I get it." He sighed. "But maybe we can make a little deal." You shook your head, but he continued anyway. "It's been, probably, I don't know. Years? Since I've slept with someone. And you--" He moved forward once more. "You need to be reinstated. Right?"

Sand was pouring down your throat, and your jaw had hardened to stone. "Fuck off."

"I was thinking..." His body was a barricade between you and the ramp. Any way out now would require physical force. "You help me with my problem..." A hand reached toward you, and you winced, pressing yourself flat to the wall. "... and I help you with yours."

Your lip curled in a snarl. "Why don't you fuck off, and I won't knee your balls into your fucking throat."

He laughed. "You really think you can do that, huh?"

"You have one more chance to get away from me before I start screaming."

Hard steel clanged your skull as his hand clamped over your mouth, palm sweaty and hot on your skin. It was crude, but effective--when you yelped into his grip, it was smothered into a dull whine. So you writhed like a worm underneath him, flailing for any point of weakness--but he was strong, too strong, his long, lanky body pinning you like a boulder. His other hand grasped at your hip, fingers balling around the fabric of your top, and you scratched at him, slapped his arms, used all of your panicked strength to try and wrench him off. But he clung to you like vines, fingers digging into the tender flesh of your cheek.

You weren't sure how long the struggle went on--just that by the end of it, you were panting into his hand, wild heart pounding out of your chest, sweat staining your back and forehead.

"Just hear me out." Feral excitement sparked in his eyes. "I can help you, okay?"

Glaring, you spit into his palm. He wasn't fazed.

"I won't say a word about what we did, and I'll make sure that you get your position back. See how we could help each other?" You were silent, still trying to squirm, still stuck underneath the stifling heat of his body. He observed you for a moment, gaze drifting over your figure, and he frowned. "I don't get it."

His admission was enough to make you pause--a pause long enough for his knee to break your legs apart, enough for his other hand to snatch one of your wrists. Grinning, he smashed it into the wall, sending bolts of pain echoing to your shoulder, and you wailed, a noise that died in his flesh.

"I was so sure that would get you to see reason." He stared into the ceiling, lost in thought. "I feel kind of owed it, honestly. You had sex with other men to get your position."

Well, now he was just insulting. For once, you were glad that Kylo had never initiated a single move forward in your career. If anything, fucking him had only been detrimental to your success.

"Now," he said. "I'm going to remove my hand. And you can't make a sound, okay?"

You rolled your eyes. Sure.

"Really," he insisted. "Do you want to get caught? Because, fine, we can do that. But I know how Hux is. I'll just tell him that you came ontome first--I was only trying to stop you. Because, my stars were you aggressive." He chuckled. "Who do you think they'll believe?"

Frosty fear froze the blood in your veins, turning every red channel into a cold, blue block of ice. Your heartbeat was suspended in time--not a single pulse passed through your body. The chance of him being right was far too great for you to risk your life on--after all, you knew how Hux was, too, and imagined that any other complaint about you would be reason enough to fling you out of the Finalizer. You could hope against hope that you'd be taken seriously, but apart from Sam and Minks--and maybe even Kylo Ren, who you knew wouldn't dare stick his neck out for you anyway--you couldn't picture a single person who wouldn't consider your credibility in league with space-garbage.

Your anger crumbled to dust. You'd already determined the extent of your value the day before. Perhaps this was just an extension--evidence--of how truly worthless you were. Dash's hand was slipping under your top, skimming over the twitching, tense flesh of your stomach, and with reluctance--hot tears stinging your eyes--you admitted it. Maybe you just deserved it.

"Hey," he cooed. "Don't cry. It's okay. I know you're scared..." His hand was on your breast, now--palm damp with anxious perspiration--squeezing it, testing the soft, supple flesh with his fingers. Wet desperation spilled over your scalding cheeks. "But just think how great it'll feel to get your assignment back." He pinched your nipple through your bra, and you squealed, trying to bite at his hand. It was useless. "Oh come on, it can't be that bad."

Fiery wrath flashed in your eyes when you met his gaze, and you spit into his hand again--not that he cared. He leaned closer, his breath warm and foul, tweaking your nipple with his thumb and forefinger. Acid eroded your esophagus while you fought the urge to vomit, concerned you'd choke on it.

"If it's so bad," he said, "why is this getting hard?"

He meant the bud between his digits, stiffening only out of physical instinct. You hated that. You hated that your body was sending out signals of betrayal, even if every single cell in you was threatening to barf the longer he lingered.

"Why do you guys do that?" he asked. "Always act like you don't want it. It is out of modesty, or something?" His hand returned to kneading your breast. "You can be honest with me, okay?" A pause, and he pulled back, grinning. "I mean, I bet if I put my hand down your pants rightnow, you'd be soaking wet. Am I right?"

For some reason, you shook your head, like he'd believe or listen to you, and instantly regretted it.

He shrugged. "We can test it out, then."

Dash's hand released your breast and crawled down your stomach, tips of his fingers teasing the seam of your trousers. You thrashed with renewed purpose, prepared to expend every bit of energy you had if it meant throwing him off of you. He was just so strong, despite his sinewy build--even your adrenaline-induced vigor wasn't able to shake him. But when his fingers breached the hem of your bottoms, you screamed, bucking him off for only a moment--a moment that was long enough for your free hand to ram a fist straight into his crotch.

"Fuck!" he hissed, fighting the urge to buckle at his waist and seethe with pain. "Fucking bitch!"

The surge of joy you felt at your victory was short-lived. Both of Dash's hands flew to your neck, crushing your windpipe, cutting off any hope of breath or protest. His eyes were savage and wide, face spasming with boiling fury. You gasped, grasping and prying at his trembling wrists, fighting to suck in air--but nothing came.

"Why am I any different?" he growled. "You fucked those other guys. Is there something wrong with me?"

Your face was purple from the red blood swelling in your blue cheeks, darkness fogging the perimeter of your sight--you couldn't stop fighting. You wouldn't. But your brain was buzzing with oxygen deprivation, the tingles of unconsciousness pricking your skin. And you could feel your pulse fluttering, struggling to beat against his grip. You hadn't imagined you'd die like this. Not at the hands of some awkward prick. Not surrounded by the debris of the Command Shuttle. Not isolated, terrified, and alone.

Dash's face faded into obscurity, and a wash of peace flooded you. Your body's way of comforting you, you figured--not that you were a doctor, and not that it mattered. You'd never get to ask.

Everything was black and empty, your lips numb, pressure pushing your eyes. The void started swallowing sound, now--even Dash's throttled grunts were drowned by a painful, piercing ring, reverberating through your skull. It was loud--louder than anything you could remember hearing--consuming every fizzing feeling inside of you, until you were filled only with white, clear noise, no pain, no worry, no fear, no--

Air rushed your lungs in massive gulps, and you were lucid, your neck was free, your body collapsing to the floor in a heaving, bewildered heap. As you sucked down oxygen, your eyes wandered over the shuttle, body hardening in preparation to confront Dash when he grabbed you again. And then you saw him--flat along the destroyed durasteel, feet dangling from the floor, body straining to break its invisible chains.

It was only seconds later that Kylo, an enormous black tempest, charged into the shuttle, gloved hand extended, squeezing the air around Dash's neck. He didn't turn to look at you, didn't even acknowledge you were there. His focus was centered on the man pinned to the wall, looming like a predator--even though his visor was leveled inches from Dash's face.

"C-commander Ren," Dash sputtered. "You don't understand, sir--I was--"

"Quiet." He snatched Dash's throat, veins bulging out from under his leather hands. "I understand perfectly well."

Dash tried to shake his head. "No, sir." His voice cracked, woven with desperate breath. "This girl came onto me, she wouldn't stop--"

"You're lying."

"I'm not!" he gasped. "That's what she does, sir, she's been inappropriate with superiors--"

Kylo snickered, tightening his grip. "I know," he said. "She's mine."

The plea in Dash's eyes disintegrated into abject horror. He met your gaze from across the shuttle, then flicked back to Kylo, whose body was a massive ball of trembling muscle, seconds from snapping his neck. You knew Dash was realizing that whoever had told him about you had failed to include one important detail. Regret was a thick plaster over his face.

"Sir," he said, "please, I didn't meant to hurt her, it was an accident--"

You heard it before you saw it--a ragged scream that sliced through your ears--and then the red, serrated edge of Kylo Ren's lightsaber, filling the shuttle with a crimson glow. It was so sudden, so bright, that it took you a moment to place where the light was emanating from--and when you realized it, breath vanished from your lungs.

While one of Kylo's hands was flattening Dash's neck, the other had jammed the hilt of his saber between Dash's legs. The cross-guards had blown through the flesh of his thighs, and the blade had ripped through his body, poking straight out of his chest like a rod of fire. Tiny wisps of plasma crackled in the air, illuminating the contortion of pain and shock and terror that twisted his face. His mouth was popped in a silent howl--his lungs had probably been punctured--and his eyes, emptied of anything but the reluctant acceptance of death, studied the hole in his sternum, then drifted to meet the black slot of Kylo's mask. Blood dripped out of his nose.

Kylo tilted his head. "An accident," he sneered.

The blade died with a wail, and Kylo's back fell in a sigh before he stepped back, letting Dash's body crumple to the floor while he replaced his lightsaber on his hip. The stench of singed flesh was raw in the air, and you were petrified, a statue in Kylo's presence.

Dash was dead. Dash Damarcus was dead. Though your heart couldn't find any sympathy, it constricted with disgust at the sight of his blank, lifeless face. Blinking, you looked to Kylo, then back to Dash, reality slapping you hard across the cheek. You'd known Kylo Ren to be a killer--and in your head, it was always justified--this was war.

But seeing Dash's mouth lolled open, a black hole burned into his chest--that was a different situation, entirely. He hadn't needed to do that. Dash was no threat to him. But now he was dead, in front of you. Dead.

Kylo Ren wasn't just a killer. He was a monster.

"Get out," came the mechanical mumble of Kylo's voice, his shoulders crowding at his neck.

He didn't need to tell you twice.