Oh, no, yet another one. Rey is lonely. The thing closest to intimacy was Ahch-to (she was cold and soaked to her skin there, and then her dad busted on her while she was skyping with her bf), then the Throne Room (where she was a victim of an attempted gang rape orchestrated by Snoke). She needs some comfort. And thanks to wonderful people of reddit, I only just realized how much of a SW fangirl Rey is. The way she expects of Luke Skywalker and Ben Solo/Skywalker to become heroes from the legends and save the day is just so endearing. Poor kid.

"The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself."
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Rey wakes up pleasantly numb. Trashing the droid notwithstanding, she still had a small victory. The expression of fear in the First Order, them being disheveled after what Resistance did to them – it brought a smile back to her face. It will feed her with new enthusiasm for days. If only she could talk to Poe about it. He would appreciate it more than anyone else.

Perhaps she'll find a way later. A cunning Jedi she was, wasn't she? Because what she saw is pure gold.

For the first time, the room feels more like her own. The soft sun comes into the room, defying the pollution on the Coruscant. The air is almost opalescent. She allows moments of utter laziness, just lying there on her back, observing the dance of rays of light on the high ceiling, relishing in how powerful and how fearsome she was yesterday.

Her gown ruffles between her legs – it's a new sensation. She never wore something so decadent before. It doesn't feel natural, but precisely because of it, she wants to do something out of the ordinary, something she rarely did because it was never time, or place. Sometimes, back on Jakku, in her old AT-AT, when the loneliness was too much, the instinct provided shelter and comfort. But it was crude and it would end soon. She could never sacrifice her sleep to such things. She had to go back to work at the crack of dawn: no point wasting the precious sleep on quick releases that only made her content for a few minutes, and then throw her back again into the grinding routine, even deeper than before.

At night, desperate to sleep.

But here… in this strange place… it's different. She took the ring off, feeling it would be impious to leave it there while she is performing… stuff. She follows her instinct and reaches out for that place. First she rubs herself through the thin fabric of her night-gown and her panties. The fabric cresses and stimulates the inner of her thighs simultaneously. Strange imagery comes into her mind, but it isn't unpleasant.

She stains his night-gowns. Smiling absently, she goes back on her belly and rubs harder against the silky sheets. She taints his precious imperial sheets. She pulls her night-gown up and pushes her panties down, now tauntingly rubbing herself against that pretentious bed. She moans, imagining his utter dismay and disgust at the display. But she knows he would not be disgusted for too long. That thought pierces her mind and she almost stops, in terror and embarrassment. But she is too far gone now – her needs precede any convention right now. She continues and the warm crease she created in the mattress welcomes her. Almost like home. Safe. Distant from anyone and everyone. Her mind wanders. She imagines someone in that crease bellow her. Finn is sweet and tender, and Poe is handsome and coveted, but she can't summon their faces in that moment. It feels sacrilegious. She needs someone else. Someone who is already tainted, who wouldn't find her filth repugnant. Someone strong and warm and pleading and demanding – someone like him.

Ben Solo. Ben bleeding Skywalker Solo.

Freckles on him, his elvish features, and his unruly hair. She wants to hear him say: "Please" again. But this time, under her terms.

Yield to me.

I will let you be my Darth Vader as long as I am the Jedi who saves you.

Gods in galaxy, was that her thinking? She stops and shudders. Instinctively, she dives into the soft mattress beneath her, like a scared animal searching shelter. She almost breaks the magic, feeling ashamed with her sacrilegious thoughts, but then she realizes there is no one with her in that room except for her. Vacuum where that bond was. Heroes sleeping in their dignified sleep and unaware of her – madness.

She punches the headboard to stop thinking so loudly and so tawdrily and the whole construction trembles. She will trash the bed. It will need a lot explaining. Or none.

But the build-up she already achieved comes swirling in back again, murmuring, pondering, testing her abilities.

How would it feel to ride him? Just to bridle him? To invite him in and let him see? Would it insult him? Would he think less of her? She is unsure of the former, but is safe with the latter – she is already nothing, lesser than less. Safe with him, because she is nothing… strange thoughts.

She is on the brink of summoning him into her mind and asking him. She almost wants him to barge in and see for himself.

It's good she finally comes. With the orgasm waning, she blushes with the sheer embarrassment. She scrambles quickly to her feet. She'll call the – third - droid to fetch these sheets and the gown later. Now, it would look too conspicuous. She was already afraid the whole compound reverberated with her muffled moans and with her dirty thoughts.

Quickly, she goes to the shower and scrubs herself for a long time. The Bacta bandage falls off and lands at her feet like dry leaf – leaving almost nothing behind. She rummages through the wardrobe but finds nothing beside the accursed tan wardrobe and floating imperial dresses. She picks one eventually. It is the lightest in color and the simplest.

It's of lightest gray color.