Kylo Ren/Adam Driver One-Shot Collection

Fight for Me - Vicrul x Reader

Part 3 (Finale) of 'Poker Face'

Pairing: Vicrul x Reader

Warnings: Bitter/Petty Reader, Banter, Mentions of Canon-typical Violence, Angst, Drama, Implied Imprisonment, Implied Stockholm Syndrome, Implied Betrayal, Insults, Soap-Opera Antics, L-Bombs, Affection (scary as fuck), Best Friend Appreciation, Emotional Goodbyes.

Summary: After a failed escape from Kylo Ren's restrictive, sadistic grasp, your restrained to the life style of a pampered prisoner all over again— only now, your futile attempt at escape has broken you and Vicrul apart. He's willing to do anything to refurbish everything that crumbled between you; including betraying the one leader he's ever known in order to provide you freedom.

***

A shrilling, ear-piercing alarm blares incessantly, reverberating around the strictly durasteel walls of your quarters.

Kylo had gifted you your own Quarters after your failed escape from his confines.

You grumble dreary complaints, smearing your droll across your cushiony pillow, fumbling for the datapad perched on the nightstand. It vibrated, sending a ricochet of surging tremors through your fingers as you skimmed along the table in search of it, one eye open.

Once you grasp it, you haul it into your face, nestling comfortably in the sheets as you accept the boisterous request. "Hm?"

"Morning, Sunshine." Vicrul chides sardonically.

You crack a bleary, crusty eye open, staggering upright when a sapphire-hued image of Vicrul, accompanied by Cardo and Ap'lek, conveyed in a live hologram.

"What?" You snarl, examining the translucent red numbers upon your datapad dictating the time; 0700 in the morning. "What do you want?"

Vicrul and Cardo exchange a concurring look. "Rough night?" The ladder quips, hinting at the smudged eyeliner encompassing your eyes, the beads of sweat that clung to the column of your exposed throat and the length of your collarbone— that glinted under your quarters fluorescent glow.

You shift chagrinly, hugging the satin-black sheets protectively to your bare figure. You survey the empty side of the bed; the hollowed, lopsided mattress, the wrinkled, bunched sheets, the dinted pillow.

Kylo must've put them up to this.

Considering every breath you intake will forever be supervised by one of the five Knights— discluding Vic— in Kylo's absence, you should've expected this call.

"Are any of you in dire need of medical attention?" You ask groggily.

"No." They exchange baffled looks.

"Fantastic. You're about to be if you call me again." You state meaningfully, preparing to end the hologram, when another voice clamors in.

"Is that her?" A voice emanates distantly from the hologram, a clatter of determined strides following. Trudgen's sleep-swollen face hovers horrendously close to Vic's datapad. "Good morning! You look awful."

You spear him with a daggerish glare that transmitted just as dangerously through the hologram as you intended, according to the surrendering look he grieved you with before waltzing off.

"What do you fools want?" You snap, plucking at a phantom speck of fuzz on the dainty sheet concealing the vulnerable bits of your body.

Specifically shielding yourself from Vic. It's been a substantial month since the day the two of you attempted to escape Kylo's grasp, when Vic had learned of the grueling treatment he'd been inflicting upon you.