let the past die. kill it, if you have to.

reylo fanfic favs: pity seek what we might lose by qiras

Conquest.

He wouldn’t love her so much if she didn’t fight dirty too sometimes. 

Her hand fisted in the hair on the nape of his neck, her other one curling tentatively over his shoulder. Her head tucks under his chin: a brilliant move because it can read as needy but also withholding from him the reaction he wanted to watch, even if he was busy. She was hiding in his body, when he was setting her up for shameless and exhibitionist, leaning back in his chair when she tried to lure him to bed and threatening that there was only one way she was getting what she wanted; because he had to get some work done. 

Rey straddled his thigh and hid in his body and played dirty, her thighs dragging her core up and down the length of his leg. Her sounds muffled in the fabric at his throat. Hands clinging. If she was going to use him, she was going to act like she was just borrowing him, scared to make a mess, instead of how fully they owned each other. As if she was shy. Could still be shy, with all the things they’d done to each other.

Clever, she was always clever about these things.

Absently, or at least feigned absently, his hand cupped her lower back to guide her movements. She purred, nuzzling up his neck to his ear, where her little, helpless squeaks as she got herself off could root in his brain and derail an entire evening’s worth of work. 

She was obeying, but still making him crazy, so it was easy for him to give her ass a little smack, to grab a cheek and fist another hand in her pajamas to then drag her purposefully up and down his leg. 

She set her weight down, grounding herself over the surprise and tightening her arms around his neck, right over his upper thigh. Seated. Not moving, but shuddering, her fingers weaving together at the back of his neck. He felt a flood of he arousal soak his trouser leg before she started up again. Focused. Not playing. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, lifting his datapad carefully to try and look over what he was drafting. Once she lost his full attention, she climbed onto him, her legs scrambled for purchase, straddling his lap in his chair to continue her grinding. Her silky pajama bottoms were soaked through.

She remained over one thigh. Following the rules.

Never said she couldn’t climb in his lap, just that she had to use his thigh.

“I suppose you think you’re very clever,” he grumbled, tilting back in his chair and turned away from the show she was now putting on. Not enough to set down his work, even with her arched back and wild hair and muscular thighs riding. 

A hand snaked down to held her along, her own, disobeying, and he smacked again. Proving he was paying close attention. Drawing her hand away from her sex, extracting her from her improvisation. She glowered down at him, hips stilling, before stroking her hands over his torso. 

“Sir,” she purred, a rare use of the name when it wasn’t asked for. His fingers whitened on the edge of the screen, but he still pretended to read. She unfastened his shirt at the throat and stroked the bare skin of his neck. “I want to cum. I want to cum so bad.”

“I put you in charge of that, sweet thing.” he stroked up and down her spine lovingly, if absently, “you can do it.”

She shook her head, burrowing into his throat to hide a moan, and to suck on his skin. He arched uncomfortably against her, and felt a flash of teeth that was her devious grin. Those thighs worked over him, he felt a line of her wetness now soaking his thigh, and he was struggling not to give into this. But she had to learn to follow orders, there was no breaking. 

“So close, I can tell,” he encouraged, staring a screen that could have died minutes ago for all he could know now. “Sweet little thing. You’re going to do a good job for me, aren’t you?”

She clung to his arms, nodding. She’d softened to the idea, maybe he should have talked her through it to begin with. This was her receptive, obedient side, needing him to take control. Even if it meant giving her a job to do herself. 

“You can cum from just my thigh,” he teased, lifting his leg to put pressure on her swollen sex that had her howling. She gripped him tight, bleary-eyed, gasping. “Not a finger or tongue or cock touching you, just your own needy little pussy rubbing whatever it can get. What if I said a pillow? Or the leg of this chair? Would you still do it?”

This, this was getting in her head, and he could tell she liked it. She may have acted put out, but she did this anyway. 

She nodded, her lips in her teeth, shaking. Her hips dragged back and forth fluidly, having found her rhythm that worked, and increasing the pace swipe by swipe. 

“You’re so sweet,” he promised, brushing his thumb along her nose, and somehow that little attention, that affectionate touch had her limbs lock around his body as she shrieked and came. It was quick, and harsh, hardly the biggest climax he’d given her, but more meaningful that riding his thigh should have ever been. Just a rough shake of an orgasm, thighs quivering around his hips. Cries muffled into his shirt.

“I bet you feel powerful,” she mumbled, curled up in his arms as he read. Sated. Sleepy. “Big strong man at his desk, woman pleasuring herself on whatever she can get while you do important business.”

This one’s for you, @newerconstellations (and anyone else that’s interested in some Reylo modern AU lingerie-based smut) 

Enjoy, you filthy animals!

Nobody would say that the sex had gotten boring, per se.

It hadn’t. Of course it hadn’t. They still had the same volatile chemistry they’d had since the beginning. The one that set them off for long, luxurious all-night sessions and explosive quickies in semi-public places. They tried new things. They experimented. They were vocal about likes and dislikes, kinks and fantasies.

Boring wasn’t the word.

…But maybe there was a bit of complacency.

Maybe there was a bit of, let’s pull down your sweatpants and I’ll pull down my sweatpants, and we’ll do the thing, and oh, fuck, that was good, now let’s keep watching that outdoor cooking guy on Chef’s Table because I like what he did with the fish in the dirt.

It’s possible there was a bit of that.

And one day, Rey was talking with her friend Rose, who became her friend after Rose started dating her really good friend Finn. And, since Rey still saw Finn as a bit of a brother, and didn’t really want to hear much about their sex life or the ways Rose was looking to improve it, and made that known to Rose in the sometimes-blunt way she had of saying things, this gave Rose a golden opportunity. An opportunity she didn’t get that often. An opportunity to say:

“Well, how about you and Ben, then?”

Rey froze, half-chewed burger lodged in the side of her mouth, another bite thwarted in mid-air as Rose’s question stopped her dead. It took some effort to chew the bite she already had in her mouth and then ask, as nonchalantly as possible, “What about me and Ben?”

“I mean, what about you and Ben,” Rose insisted, with a poke. “How do you guys keep things fresh and new? It’s been, what, five years now?”

“Six,” Rey mumbled, annoyed that her comprehensive enjoyment of her burger had been ruined, even as she took another huge bite.

“Right, six.” Rose picked at her fries. “So, like, don’t you find things get a bit…stale after awhile? Like, same old, same old?”

Rey shrugged. “Not really. I mean, things are still…” She waved her hand vaguely, searching for the word. “Like, good. Really good.”

“Right, right, of course.” A pause. “Like, good-how-it-was-in-the-beginning good?”

The question made Rey pause, too, before she answered honestly. “Yeah. Yeah, like that good. Better, sometimes. Because it’s the best when you know the other person and you no longer spend that awkward amount of time trying to figure out whether or not you can do, like, a finger up the butt or whatever—”

“Rey!” Rose squealed, throwing a fry at her while Rey cackled and took another bite of her burger.

The girls ate in silence for a few minutes. After they had gotten up to throw away their garbage and start to leave the food court, Rose spoke up again.

“Do you think Ben feels the same way?”

Rey was busy crunching the ice from her fountain pop before tossing it in the recycling section of the garbage bins to catch what Rose meant. “About what? The—?” Rather than say, she gestured by pointing her first finger upwards and doing a little back-and-forth twist.

Rose slapped her hand down, laughing. “God, no, stop it, you pervert. I mean about things being better. Don’t you worry sometimes he might be bored?”

Rey’s chuckle immediately died on her lips.

Truth be told, she hadn’t thought about it. She just figured he’d had no cause for complaint. Sure, things had slowed down a bit in the bedroom as of late, what with him working longer hours and even sometimes on weekends – hence her and Rose’s Saturday mall excursion – and Rey trying to keep up with work and house stuff to pick up the slack, before they usually met somewhere on the couch after nine o’clock, and fell asleep shortly thereafter. But things were still fine. They were good!

Weren’t they?

Rey brought herself to ask: “What did you have in mind?”

Rose’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

Hours later, Rey was already tucked into bed when Ben finally arrived home. She heard him enter, drop his keys in the bowl by the front door, and sigh wearily. His shoes made twin thudding sounds as he kicked them off, before she heard him walk into the kitchen.

Rey burrowed deeper into the covers, her heart pounding nervously now that her plan had been called into action. What would he think? Would he be interested—well, of course he’s interested, she admonished herself, but would he be down? Or too tired? Or think it was silly—?

Shaking her head to clear her anxious thoughts, she instead got up out of bed and cinched the robe’s belt around her body tighter, trying not to think about what she was wearing underneath. She softly padded out of the bedroom and across the hall, meeting him in the kitchen in short order. When they had moved out of their apartment a couple years back, they had found a nice, three-bedroom bungalow just on the outskirts of the city. It suited them well, though it meant a longer commute for Ben.

“Hi,” she greeted him, standing up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Hi,” he said back after swallowing the drink of water he’d just taken. He turned his head to plant a soft kiss on her lips. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” She shrugged. “Just killed some time at the mall with Rose. How about you?”

He shook his head as he took another gulp of water. “Busy. Crazy. Snoke is riding my ass again and Hux is reveling in it. I haven’t done this much research on fucking torts since law school.” He shook his head again. “Anyway, I’m out of there now. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He put his glass in the sink and loosened his tie. “I’m going to get changed and just crash. I’m so fucking beat.” He started to brush past her and out of the kitchen.

“Oh—” 

The sound came out involuntarily, but it stopped him and he turned back to her.

“What?” he asked. “Everything okay?”

“Uhhh,” she stammered, avoiding his gaze.

Her hesitation caused him to peer at her more closely, perhaps actually seeing her for the first time – barefoot, in a pink terrycloth robe she rarely took out let alone wore. (She didn’t think to also purchase a sexy robe, because honestly, there’s no bloody guidebook about this sort of thing is there?)

“What—?” He took another step towards her and squinted. “Do you have a ribbon around your neck?”

She fiddled with the ribbon in question nervously. “Erm. Maybe.”

He cocked his head and looked at her quizzically. “Uh… why?”

Okay, Rey. It’s now or never. Just do it. DO IT. “Close your eyes,” she blurted out.

His brows draw in. “What?”

“Just close your eyes!” It came out shriller than she had intended it to, but thankfully he obliged with only a quirk of his eyebrow. “Now count to ten and then you can open them.”

His eyes snapped back open. “Rey, what are you—”

“Please,” she implored him, “just trust me.”

He gave her a Look, but sighed. “Fine.” His eyes dropped closed again. “One… two…”

Okay. Gathering up the last vestiges of her courage, she untied the knot on her robe. She took a deep bracing breath, then shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it pool around her feet. At that point, she had all of three seconds to come up with a sexy pose, then two seconds, then she panicked and just let her hands hang at her sides, resisting the urge to wring them or cross them over her chest.

“—Ten.” He opened his eyes.

The Eye Has to Travel Chapter 3

Her first mistake in his sewing room was a lesson in that, the week she had started at Star Alliance. She’d scrambled to do a hem in order to please him quickly, not thoroughly, and he hacked through the sloppy stitches with a seam ripper and loathsome expression. Made her do it again.

“Always ask for more,” he told her coldly, “as I am always going to ask that of you.”

𝑹𝑬𝒀𝑳𝑶 𝑿 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑺

𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉:𝘝𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘐𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘗𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺, 𝘝𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘚𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘧, 𝘌𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝙃𝙚𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙢, 𝙎𝙚𝙡𝙛-𝙙𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙩, 𝙇𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙇𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛-𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡, 𝙑𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮

𝑹𝑬𝒀𝑳𝑶 𝑿 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑺

𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉:𝘝𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘐𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘗𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺, 𝘝𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘚𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘧, 𝘌𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝙃𝙚𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙢, 𝙎𝙚𝙡𝙛-𝙙𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙩, 𝙇𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙇𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛-𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡, 𝙑𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮

“Back from the dead?”

Her eyes flutter shut at the white light, like one of those strangely bright cloudy days.

It seems like the only thing she can say in the face of the impossible. 

He shrugs, his civilian wear not as luxurious as his First Order Garb, nor as weathered as Resistance fatigues. A reserved navy somehow appearing bright on his skin. Brighter still; a shy smile. 

Both look luminous because they are indeed rare departures from blackness; emotional and aesthetic.

“The girl I’ve heard so much about.”

Like they are meeting for the first time again.

She keeps her focus on her breathing, when Ben, alive, walks out of the brightly lit room at the end of the hall. Almost blinding it’s so bright. So close to hers, so accidental their meeting like this. But his smile says that he isn’t surprised. Knowing. Calm. Accepting. 

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren died in her arms just weeks ago. 

But that isn’t this man.

“I’d like to talk about that last thing you said to me,” he murmurs, brushing a hair out of her face. His touch is gentle, and yet, it’s bruising when his thumb swipes over her lips. Bare handed. No gloves. 

She swallows, “I can’t be held to everything I’ve ever said to a dying man.”

“Everything?” he withdraws his hand with a stern expression, but playful in the curl of his lips. 

She needs to remember to breathe, before she can search for the first clue this isn’t a dream.

“Some things…” she murmurs. 

Ben. I just want you to know. I love you.

He had smiled in death. 

She backs up, but he’s living, he can follow. She tries to shut her mind from some kind of blue, shimmering telepathic power. It’s not the force. He is in her room and it is nothing but what is really here.

His lips are still red as ever, if she needed any proof. Lowering gently on to hers. 

“I don’t want to have to die again, just to hear that from you. But I’ll take it, if I must, if you decide to be cruel.”

She shivers when he kisses her. She kissed the cheeks of his dead face, beloved only to her, too late. But this is alive and real and all the words she felt then are on her lips now and she heaved out a sob and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with her. Holds her gently. Sighs when their bodies press together.

“I’ll wait, if I must,” he adds, with her shaking there, realizing she may need time to process that he’s really alive.

“I’ll love you for as long as it takes, if I must.”

“I love you,” she blurts out through sobs, and he is now gripping her tightly. 

“I didn’t think there would be time for this.”

“There’s not enough,” She presses him back with a sharp knock of the force. “Now.”

Ben is alive, his hair in her hands as she straddles him, his lips kissing hers like she thought they never would. He peels her clothes off quickly. He must feel the same, being recently dead. She’d ask about it when her head clears. Now it’s just him kissing her and whispering it over and over, the thing she never thought he’d say back before he died, and rolls her hips into his because in this moment she belongs to him. Without question.

“I love you,” she groans out as he flips her onto her back. Not losing her again. Trying to do the opposite. 

Clothes are dealt with minimally. She’s got something knotted under her neck, he’s got a shirt that’s only half-off. They push together anyway. 

“Could have died happy when you said that you loved me.”

Her heels dig into the mattress to grind against him; wet and bare, her teeth clenched when he strokes her.

“This is better.”

“Good enough to wake the dead,” she throws back her head as he slides inside her; the mood too frantic for tentative exploration. There’s time now. Not enough. She may never be patient enough.

Oh.

He fills her to hilt. Something alive inside her. And loving her. 

He is capable of performing the act of loving as a man alive. 

Ben kisses her shoulders as he thrusts, steady and loving. She fights the gentleness.

“You’re alive?”

She’s breathing too heavily. Like he’ll say ‘no’ and vanish into thin air.

He smiles again. 

“Yes.”

“How did that happen.”

“I’ll tell you later. I want to love you now.”

He grips her muscular thighs as they tighten around him, leveraging rough thrusts instead of his sensual ones. He is trying to be soft with her, but she’s trying to prove something about his current state. That it’s real. That she will prove her love in the time that she has.

“Patience, darling,” he purrs, touching her face. The minute their eyes lock again their entwined bodies go still. 

She tries to move again. Not learning what he’s trying to tell her. She is doing things to prove something. To make it count in some kind of explosive way-

He reaches a hand down to stroke her clit. She goes limp on the mattress, so full and so in awe and he just keeps whispering the words she’d never think he would get to say back. 

“I love you,” he croons in her ear. “Rey,” it’s a little jagged, and desperate. This is what makes it real. That he knew what he was losing too.

This is the man who killed Kylo Ren, himself, for her.

She lets him stroke her with his cock still inside her until she falls apart. Lets him take his damn time, even if it drives her crazy.

“Patience,” he whispers, kissing her fully. Worshipfully. “I promise, my love. There will be enough time.”