Chapter Text
Things hadn't gone the way she planned.
In hindsight, Rey realized there hadn't been much of a plan to begin with. Blind hope, maybe. Heedless ignorance, more likely. Whatever the oversight, it was ultimately her own naivete that had delivered her this fate: locked away in a cell, surely presumed dead by what remained of the Resistance, powerless to escape, and altogether a defeated woman. All that remained to her now was the waiting, plagued by the certainty of worser things to come.
Time was elusive in her cell. The lights never dimmed, and meals were delivered at inconsistent intervals, making it impossible to track the hours of solitude that passed. It was maddening, sitting there in constant suspense, unsure of where or when she was, and the longer she spent without any sort of indication as to why she was there—why they hadn't just killed her and been done with it—the more restless she grew.
It was Kylo himself who ultimately broke her suspense, entering her cell on what she guessed was the fourth or fifth day of her imprisonment.
Rey startled upon his arrival, preparing for the worst, but he did not act. In fact he barely met her eye, merely crossing the room and seating himself on the opposite end of her cell, where he lingered in silence.
She regarded him cautiously.
He was marred. Horribly so, with scrapes and bruises over his face and lips, jagged burns that crept up his neck, and an obvious ache in the way he carried his limbs. Yet there was no explanation for it. Nothing to decipher. He merely sat there for roughly ten minutes, all the while giving nothing as to his purpose before he simply stood up and left, leaving her to wonder after him in confusion.
It happened again. He returned the next day, and the day after that. Then every day for a week. Rey watched his wounds gradually heal, her confusion with his presence morphing into a dulled vexation as he never once offered her an explanation, never once acknowledged her situation—the position he'd put her in by willingly handing her over to Snoke.
After so many of these bizarre occurrences, there arose a new peculiarity when a doctor came to visit her. They ran... strange tests. Those that were uncomfortable even under the normal pretense, and didn't seem all too pleased with the results.
The very next day, Kylo returned to her cell battered once more, carrying fresh burns and visible bruising around his neck. Unlike his usual visits, however, this time he was watching her, fully regarding her with a look she couldn't decipher. Rey tried not to worry herself over the subtle shift in demeanor, maintaining her customary veil of silence, but when the usual ten minutes had come and gone, he didn't leave. When they reached fifteen, twenty minutes of silence, he still hadn't budged, leaning his head against the wall and gazing at her through hooded eyes.
"Why do you come here?" she finally asked. Her voice hadn't been used in so long that it was coarse and strange to her ears. "What do you want?"
Awoken from whatever trance he'd sunken into, Kylo blinked for the first time in several minutes, leaning forward wearily and slow.
"The Supreme Leader has determined that you may yet be of use to us," he began in a voice that was unusually strained and somewhat hoarse. "I have been tasked with the matter."
Rey was already shaking her head. "No. I won't be another one of his weapons. You can't turn me."
"It's not that."
"What, then? He would use me as a mole? Send me back to the Resistance to uncover their secrets?"
"No."
He wouldn't meet her gaze, and Rey grew increasingly uneasy.
"What is it?" she asked.
"He has commanded," Kylo spoke with a tense resignation, "That I sire an heir."
Kylo must have been hearing things. He must have suffered some sort of infection, or taken the brute force of an explosion to his eardrums, for surely he hadn't heard that right.
"What?" His voice was faint, straining around a heavy lump in his throat.
"There is no sense in wasting such powerful blood," Snoke declared. "You will put a child in her and give yourself a strong heir."
"I don't—" Kylo gaped, at a loss. "What?"
"Would you let Vader's bloodline end with you?" the Supreme Leader chastised. "You will never find a more suitable woman to further it with, I assure you. The child will be stronger than you ever were, shaped without the trouble of all your..." He made a sour face, waving a hand. "Imbalances."
The demeaning jab did not go unheard, but Kylo had greater concerns than his master's customary scorn. What he was proposing... it was unconscionable, even for him. Not to mention completely outlandish to presume of the woman in question.
"She'd never agree to it," Kylo stressed. "Never."
"Why should that matter?" Snoke scoffed.
Kylo blinked. Then felt all the color slowly drain from his face. "You want me to...?"
"If that's what it takes."
Kylo's features constricted, his gaze darting across the floor in numbed desperation; a need to make sense of this, to find a way out of it. But the only response he managed was that of a small, pitiful utterance.
"I can't," he choked.
Snoke laughed—a hoarse, wicked sound that made his skin crawl. "Kylo Ren," he mocked, leaning forward to sneer at him. "You would murder your own father, slaughter hundreds and wreak havoc across the galaxy, and yet this you cannot do?"
Kylo dropped his head, shame knotting in his chest.
The wound of Han Solo's death was still fresh, and the inability to deny any of the rest only deepened it.
He spoke true. Kylo had committed horrific deeds aplenty, most without contrition. But this was no quick mercy or swift justice. It held no sense of retribution or necessary evil. This was a violation in its purest form. And to commit this affront upon her? She who had been the only one to show him any semblance of compassion, she who he had, in return, stripped of all her freedom and will?
No.
In all his strength for defiance, Kylo shook his head. "I won't."
The silence that followed was grating. He kept his eyes glued to the floor, instinctively tensing in apprehension.
"You would be wise to reconsider that sentiment..." Snoke warned.
Kylo held firm.
"How disappointing."
He expected what came next.
Violent electricity poured into him, jolting his nerves and shocking his bones, tightening his limbs and bending back his spine. The pain was blinding, albeit familiar; it was the sort of correctional measure Snoke used often when honing his apprentice.
When at last it broke, the forceful release sent him careening forward. Ren caught himself on unstable limbs, his muscles aching and lungs straining. Yet he did not break. He did not yield.
Without a word, he returned to one knee.
When the Supreme Leader uttered the command once more, he shook his head.
The pain came again. It coursed through his veins, snaking up his neck and wrapping around his torso, penetrating his chest and burning its way through every part of him. And for the next several moments, Kylo knew very little beyond the sensation of his flesh burning and the hoarseness of his voice tearing through his throat.
When it finally ceased, there was only a second's respite before he was struck with a hard blow, blood stinging his tongue as he hit the floor.
Over the years, he'd learned to numb himself to what came next. Detaching from his body, Kylo retreated into the parts of himself even Snoke couldn't reach. The crevices of his consciousness where he clung to faint recollections of comfort, more and more distant as the years went on, but never entirely lost. The places where, as of late, he found something new. Something brighter. Still too far to fully grasp, but simmering in the vicinity, like the lumalamp that lit his childhood bedroom at night. A small comfort that kept the nightmares at bay.
By the end of it, he was reduced to a heap of battered limbs and broken flesh, his body aching and ears ringing against the sound of Snoke's voice overhead.
"That you think you have a choice in this astounds me," he deigned from above him. "I will force the both of you, if need be. But you truly mustn't care for the girl if you would have it happen that way. Here. In the open. Having her be shamed and humiliated because of your weakness."
Ren balanced onto shaky palms, his breaths strained and uneven. Defeat gripped him like a vice as the verity of Snoke's words sunk in.
There was no fighting him. Not here. Not like this.
With a hard-set jaw and a stony resignation, he nodded.
Kylo had no plan of action when he entered Rey's cell.
Countless scenarios had played through his mind in the walk between the throne room and the Supremacy's detention sector, each more outlandish and unfeasible than the last. Yet the moment he stepped inside, one look at her was all he needed to put those thoughts to rest. He saw her surprise... followed by her fear, and he knew one thing for certain.
He couldn't do it.
He contemplated whether he should speak to her, whether he should offer acknowledgments or assurances that would surely sound hollow, but he was at a loss. And he was ashamed. So he merely carried his aching limbs across the small space and seated himself far opposite her.
Rey watched him warily, searching for answers, but he gave nothing away. No explanations. No comfort. Just silence. It was all he had to give her.
And once enough time had passed, Kylo stood and left without a word.
"Well?"
"It is done."
Snoke descended from the dais, eyeing him with scrutiny. The golden fabric of his tunic trailed behind him, slithering across the floor like the serpent he was until he came to stop before Kylo's kneeling form.
Large fingers spread out beside his head, hovering as the Supreme Leader began sifting through his mind. He was searching for the proof, Kylo realized. Hastening around the probe, he swiftly erected barriers around the memory, concealing what wasn't there.
Snoke found the fortified area, pressed against it, and his expression darkened. "You would resist me, boy?"
Kylo shook his head, maintaining a hard front. "If she must be violated, let mine be the only offense."
A glowering silence filled the room. Then, Snoke broke into a chuckle—a dark, menacingly cruel sound that unsettled the very air around them.
"Still your father's heart," he muttered, tilting his head derisively.
Kylo's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Snoke gave a dismissive nod. "No matter. If this at least means you've performed, then so be it."
Kylo did well to hide the relief that washed through him. Even so, in a final forewarning, Snoke grasped his face, gripping his jaw and forcing him to look up.
"But you must continue to perform," he said, the nail of his thumb scraping a fine lesion across Kylo's bruised cheek. "Every day until it takes." His lips curled into a sadistic smile. "Or more, if it suits you. But you will put a child in her, no matter how many times you must defile her to achieve it. Understood?"
His eyes fell, and he nodded.
"Good."
Snoke released his jaw with such harshness that it threw him off balance. He blinked, steadying himself and fortifying the barriers around his thoughts as the Supreme Leader sulked back to the throne. If he sensed even a modicum of the relief Kylo felt, realizing the lie had worked, then it would all be for naught.
But he didn't. And once Kylo departed and the lift doors slid shut behind him, he slumped against the durasteel paneling, letting the weariness, the relief, the dread and the guilt of this entire situation come crashing down, leaving him hollow and spent.
He played the lie.
Every day, he would enter Rey's cell, stay long enough to sell it, and leave again, having never spoken a word.
Part of him knew this fragile deception wouldn't hold out. But every time he saw her—the flash of fear, the apprehension as she braced for what he might do—his resolve crumbled. He couldn't act.
The threat of his ruse being uncovered loomed over him constantly. It put him on edge, fearing every summons, masking every thought, putting as much distance between himself and his own disquietude as possible.
He contemplated fabricating a diversion. Perhaps manipulating one of the guards into creating the falsehood that they'd caught him in the act of defiling her, letting the word spread so there could be no doubt he was following orders. But the thought of anyone so much as perceiving her that way filled him with inexplicable rage, and he abandoned the idea.
All the same, he began to regret not finding an alternative subterfuge when he was abruptly and inexplicably summoned to the throne room.
He tried not to panic, to not to let anything give as he trekked the half-distance between the lift and throne, coming to kneel before his master.
"Supreme Leader—" He began with all the proper decorum, but was cut off before another syllable could take form on his lips.
"She remains intact," Snoke hissed.
Kylo's gaze snapped up, and he felt himself pale.
"The physician went in to see our little Jedi today," the Supreme Leader informed. "And while I am loathe to doubt your integrity, perhaps you can explain to me why she has yet to be so much as breached!"
A jolt of raw power surged into him, the pain searing and violent.
"You thought you could lie?" Snoke growled. "To me?"
An invisible force clamped around Kylo's throat, his breath hitching as his airways constricted. His body tensed under the strain of Snoke's imperceptible grip, but he didn't fight it. Didn't choke for air or claw uselessly at his throat the way Snoke surely wanted him to.
The edges of his vision began to darken, a blur creeping in from the corners of his sight when the pressure was suddenly released. Kylo fell forward, gasping.
"You will bed her, or the next I hear of your failure, I will do the same to her as I have done to you," Snoke threatened, "Only I won't be stopping there. Bearing a child does not require that her mind remain intact."
There was a beat of silence as he watched Kylo struggle to right himself.
"Though perhaps I would be doing you a favor," he mused thoughtfully. "Taking away that pesky defiance of hers. Turning her into a husk that you could freely have your way with. Would you prefer that I do?"
Kylo shook his head in a weak, stuttered motion.
"Answer me!"
"No," he managed.
"Then—" The Force took hold of him. Thrusting Kylo upward, it spun him towards the lift and shoved him forward onto stumbling feet. "Pull yourself together and be done with it."
"He has commanded," Kylo utterd, the words grating against the formidable reluctance he was still fighting. "That I sire an heir."
She was confused at first. For several moments, Rey merely stared at him in dismay. But as he regarded her with a grave, denoting look, Kylo watched the understanding sink in, and her expression slowly fell.
She shook her head. "Just kill me."
Kylo felt his chest tighten, a new stabbing wash of guilt, sharper than any before, sinking into him. He buried his face in his hands.
"Please, Rey," he muttered. "I can't do that."
"But you can defile me, is that it?"
His jaw tightened. "It doesn't have to be that way."
"You expect me to agree to this? To willingly take part in it?"
"It must be done," he snapped, looking up. His tone was harsh in a way that surprised even him, and when he saw Rey flinch, he immediately regretted it. His exhaustion with the entire situation was getting the best of him. He had to take a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was markedly softer. "Neither of us have a choice in this. But if you would just... work with me, here. I'm trying to make this easier. For both of us."
A small, pained laugh of defiance bubbled in her throat. "Easier? This would have been easier if you hadn't just handed me over to him. If you hadn't chosen to listen to that monster over me. But no. Now you've bowed your head so low that even this you would do. Go on, then. Do as your master bids. Defile me, if it would please him so."
"Rey, please," he muttered dejectedly. "Don't make me do it this way."
"I'm not making you do anything."
"I know," he uttered tightly. "I know. But you're making this harder than it needs to be."
"Harder than it needs to be," she echoed. "Am I meant to just roll over and let you rape me, then?"
Kylo flinched, and swiftly averted his gaze. He fidgeted with his fingers, his heel bouncing restlessly on the floor.
"Rey, we had an understanding once. You trusted me, for a brief time, and I know I broke that trust. I know you have no reason to grant me any deference. But... if you ever felt anything—"
"Stop it," Rey snapped. "Don't you dare try to use my feelings to—to coax me into this. To somehow justify it."
Kylo's nostrils flared and he leaned back, glancing about the room in frustration. He was trying—struggling—to maintain the careful approach he'd intended; the one he'd hoped might ease her into the matter more peacefully. But he could feel it unraveling at the seams, her persistent defiance and contempt pulling apart the strings of rationale he'd feebly strewn together.
He couldn't blame her. It was the reaction he'd expect, given the absurdity of what he was proposing and everything he'd done to lose what little regard she held for him. She had every right to hate him, to refuse him, to meet his plea with scorn.
But what was he to do?
There was more to this than she understood, more than he was willing to tell her—how could he? Was he meant to declare in the midst of one atrocity that an even greater threat loomed over her should she not abide? That her very being was at stake should she not come to heel? She was already backed into a corner. To reveal how truly dire things were would only crowd her further, only strip away any inclination she had to accept the manner he was proposing.
Sighing, Kylo leaned forward.
"Listen to me," he implored. "This has to happen. And I'm sorry. But this can go one of two ways, and I'd much prefer the version of it where I don't have to hurt you. If we could just... try to do this—without all the strife, maybe... maybe it doesn't have to be so awful."
Rey's gaze had dulled, and she was regarding him with an aversion that implied she'd already settled against his plea.
"It will never work," she said flatly.
"Why not?" he demanded, tone both desperate and irate.
"Because you disgust me," she declared outright, scowling at him. "And what's worse? The thought that I would ever let you do this to me."
"Rey..." he started, almost in warning, but she wasn't finished.
"I don't care how you feel about it. If you go through with this, you will act the truth of it. I won't let you delude yourself by viewing it as anything other than what it is, and I won't let you forget what this makes you—what you've always been, monster."
"Enough," he growled, suddenly standing.
Rey's eyes widened, the fear that flashed in them genuine and raw.
Were it before, that look of terror alone might have impeded him. But there was too much at stake now. Too much to resign to the penalty of his failure.
So he stalked towards her.
And Rey panicked, all that hard-faced defiance swiftly failing her as she backed herself into the wall.
"No—no!" she cried out to stop him, but he was already above her, grabbing her by the ankles and dragging her across the bunk.
She struggled, kicking and trashing in a blind haze of terror. He moved to seize her wrists, but one slipped free in time for her fist to swing forward, punching him square in the jaw. Staggered by the blow, a subsequent firm kick to his ribs pushed him back, giving her just enough leverage to lunge past him and tumble over the side of the bunk.
There was nowhere for her to go. Rey knew it, but she was no doubt desperate, clambering to her feet and bolting for the cell door.
She made it a handful of steps before he caught her by the waist. The pads of her feet lost friction and she cried out, twisting as he hauled her against his chest.
Rey tossed and kicked, clawing at his arms, his shoulders, his neck. She fought every inch that he dragged her back, and when her arms and legs failed her, she threw back her head, driving it straight into his nose.
Kylo’s head whipped back, and he felt his nasal bridge crack. He grit his teeth. Pitching their weight, he abruptly yanked her around, hurling her back onto the bunk.
Landing sideways, Rey had no time to orient herself before he was on her. She managed a few more uncoordinated strikes, fighting through a tangle of fumbling limbs until Kylo finally managed to cage her legs, pinning her down by the forearms.
"Stop!" he shouted.
Rey flinched, falling suddenly still, and he saw that look again.
She was terrified.
And why shouldn't she be? Who wouldn't be terrified of a monster like him?
"Ben, please," she begged him—begged him, tears welling in her eyes. "Don't do this."
Kylo felt a drop of blood fall from his nose. It landed on her cheek, streaking down and dripping over her chin in a teardrop-trail of red.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"I don't want to hurt you," he urged softly. "I want to help you. Please—let me help you."
When he brought himself to look at her again, Rey was shaking her head, her face twisted in an anguished frown.
With dulled resignation, he maneuvered her struggling wrists into one hand, gripping firmly to keep them still. Her squirming legs found no tolerance beneath him, and try as she might to fend him off, there was little to stop him when he grabbed the waistband of her pants and started to pull.
Rey had known desperation. She'd known what it was to struggle, to fight for her life amidst uncertainty and peril. But never had she felt such terror at what befell her.
It was visceral, her need for escape. Her legs squirmed, her wrists struggled, every muscle fighting to break free. None of it availed her. Pinned beneath him, Rey felt helpless and humiliated and furious. Furious at him. Furious at how powerless she felt. Furious that she had ever believed in his compassion, and been foolish enough to find hope in it.
That fury, however, quickly reverted to a state of desperate horror once he had her exposed.
"Don't–" Rey whimpered, but his touch was already between her legs. She choked on a sob, and Kylo swiftly looked away.
She felt his hand move, the touch too cautious, too delicate, and it wasn't right. Did he think he was helping her? That this would somehow make it less of a violation?
It wouldn't work. Her body wouldn't respond no matter how he tried to coax it. He realized as much, because he ultimately withdrew, using his teeth to tug a glove free and wetting his fingers. When his bare touch returned, Rey gave a despondent whine, straining her wrists in his grasp and attempting to pull her weight free.
She didn't budge.
There was nothing she could do when she felt stinging pressure, wincing and grimacing as he forced a digit inside. Rey whimpered. Her body fought every inch he took, and the intrusion burned.
Kylo glanced her way, shamefaced and sullen. "Please try to relax," he urged softly. "It will be easier if you relax."
If he were any closer, Rey would have spat in his face. Instead she could only turn her head away, features screwing in anguish as she was invaded.
A sharp pang shot through her when he reached deep and she flinched, biting down hard on her lip. She would not cry out. For worse than any pain was the shame she felt, lying there helpless while he desecrated the most intimate parts of her. She felt she hadn't done enough to prevent this, hadn't fought as hard as she could have. Yet every attempt to catch him unawares and yank her wrists free was impeded, every jostle of her legs or twist of her hips fruitless under his weight.
With all her waning defiance, Rey instead chose to stare at him, her swollen eyes burning into those he averted. But even as he tried to feign blindness, she knew he felt it—the searing contempt and scornful disgust in her gaze. When his eyes briefly flicked over, his quick aversion all but confirmed it.
And that was when he turned her over.
She tried to take advantage of the shift in weight, twising her legs and tugging at her bound wrists, but when he had her face pressed into the sheets, there was nothing left for it.
There was rustling behind her and Rey jerked, attempting to look back at him, but Kylo was no more than a blur in her peripherals.
"Coward," she spat.
There was hesitation, and a low exhale before the whisper of his movement resumed. She didn't know what he was doing, but she could guess. She considered taunting him for it, making him feel just as humiliated as her. But somewhere beneath that urge, she knew it was better that he struggle. Though it made no difference to the offense he was committing, it at least meant he wasn't getting off on it.
She doubted there were many men who could have a woman pinned in her position and say the same. Fewer, if any, who would subsequently take such care in sliding their hand beneath her waist to gently prop up her hips, or then place her locked wrists overhead, allowing her to ease the strain of her spine on her elbows.
But none of it mattered. Not really. Not when he was still nudging her legs apart, slotting himself behind her and prying her leggings a little lower.
Rey lamented. Her body was tensed in apprehension and she knew it was only going to make it worse, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't help anything.
It was a suffocating thing to feel so singularly helpless. To be degraded in such a way that one forgot what it ever felt to be strong. She'd hoped, once upon a time, that she would never have to feel this way again. But it was plain to see how far hope had ever gotten her.
"Rey, listen," Kylo spoke softly. His hand rubbed lightly at her hip, and Rey didn't know whether to accept it as some sort of cynical comfort or be outright revolted. "They're only looking to see whether you're... intact. I can–" He hesitated. "I can just... break you—without finishing—and that can be the end of it. It will be enough, I think. And it'll be over quick. I promise."
Burying her face against the bunk, Rey muttered with defeat, "Just do it."
He never wanted this.
In another life, he would have taken her abed with soft kisses, loving caresses, and a reverence that rivaled utter devotion. He'd have worked her into it properly, with time and patience and care and—if he were ever so blessed, she would have welcomed him when at last they joined together.
Instead it was this: her helpless body pinned beneath him, wrists locked in an iron grip, tears staining the sheets as a churning dread pooled in his gut.
He wondered, for a moment, if he should just put her to sleep. If it was more defiling to make her consciously suffer the pain, or to do it in a way that she would only know the aftermath. But he imagined it—Rey waking cold and alone with an inexplicable pain, slowly realizing what had happened; realizing she had been violated and broken in the most cowardly way possible and left to wither in it—and Kylo thought he might vomit.
At least this way, she could direct her anger and pain towards someone once it was over. He would let her. She could strike him, claw at him, bite him, he didn't care. He would deserve it. He would take it, if it meant this was the worst that would happen to her. Because—as he had to constantly remind himself—a worser fate awaited her should he fail now.
He remembered her screams. The way she struggled and agonized when Snoke pulled Skywalker's location from her mind. That was only scratching the surface of what he could do to her with enough time and patience.
Kylo couldn't even entertain the thought.
And so he centered himself, gathered what little remained of his resolve, and drew a deep breath.
"Forgive me."
The sound she made next would haunt him for the rest of his life—a strangled cry that tore itself from her throat, grating and dissolving into a fragile whimper.
He would take years of Snoke's torture over this, he decided. He could tear his mind apart, rip through every piece of him until he was nothing but a shell, and it would still be a greater mercy. But this wasn't about him. As cryptic as the notion seemed, this was about Rey. About avoiding something far worse, though the thought of anything worse than this was difficult for Kylo to conceive at the moment.
He had to keep to his word. Had to make it quick. And so he did.
He would like to say it was gentle. Like to think he made it easy for her. But he was truly breaking her; there was simply no other way of putting it. And by the time he'd finished, Kylo could only pray that whatever hell awaited him in the end would deliver him a kinder fate than this.
But that was for him to contend with. All he could offer Rey was to cover her back up, ease her down, and release his hold.
He waited for her fury. For her to turn around and launch herself at him, to strike and claw and bite at him. He wanted her to. He wanted to see that there was still fight left in her, because this was so much worse. This wasn't her, this feeble and broken thing, and he had done this to her. He'd turned her into this.
Kylo squeezed his eyes tight.
He took it back. He didn't want her forgiveness. He didn't deserve it. In fact, he'd much rather have her hatred in that moment, if it at least meant there was something left of her spirit that he hadn't stripped away.
But she showed nothing at all, lying there with a numbness that killed him inside.
There was bile in his throat and moisture in his eyes as he picked up the blanket bunched against the wall and carefully folded it over top of her. His palm lingered on her shoulder as he contemplated something—anything he could say to her that might offer some solace.
"Rey..."
Her gaze drifted to him briefly, unreadable, before shifting back to stare vacantly across the room.
Forget it. Anything he said to her would sound meaningless and hollow. Apologies, assurances—none of it would matter. None of it would fix what he'd done or lessen the offense, and his lingering there was surely only adding insult to it.
It was for her sake, then, that he abandoned any efforts to console her, merely freeing her of his presence and departing from the cell.