inappropriately timed force bond moments (both nsfw and humor approaches)
dream-sharing
emotional bleed/transference (from rey, involving other parties)
inappropriate force bond voyeurism on rey/poe or rey/finn
mid-conversation force bond interruption
The Rise of Skywalker- Cross-galaxy chase of the Resistance
anything related to ben solo, but especially:
snoke confessionals with family or friends of family
returning to the light
smuggler life style
jedi knight ben
resistance-fighter ben
The Rise of Skywalker- Force Ghost communications w/ Rey
anything related to supreme leader kylo ren, but especially:
fall via coup
resistance fighter reconditioning (gen or nsfw)
force ghost visits from anakin/luke/rey/leia/snoke
defeat by the resistance, and subsequent aftermath
The Rise of Skywalker- Mole Discovery w/ Hux
canto bight:
shady weapons deals
picking up prisoners
recruitment
obligatory dinner party
general casino shenanigans
beach party
basically any reason you can think of to use canto bight as a setting piece
A note on romance: I will ship all of the new trilogy characters with Kylo Ren (except Snoke/Family). But I have no interest in exploring domestic-style takes on them. Thank you for understanding.
[That gets him to stop walking, knuckles cracking into a fist in an effort to calm himself from the swell of indignation that suddenly threatens to eat him alive.]
I came here because I picked up a job. By choice. Being able to choose where you go, and what you want to do -- by the sound of it, you don't even know what that's like.
[ desire hoods her eyes as she looks down at him, and though the bond makes it so that she can feel the sticky smear of fluids across his face, seeing him flushed and eager and wet with her arousal mixing into his own spit. she would have him looking like this all the time, if she could. hungry and wet with his cock out.
as sad as she is to lose his hand on her hip, she can feel how it moves, and a smile spreads across her face as he takes time only to do what's necessary for him to withstand the continued denial of satisfying her. the ache he feels come through too. she understands it.
once, she had believed him her better. that he would be the one leading the way, leading their people, leading her. but she has come to understand ben. what he needs, and what she does. ]
It's alright. [ her voice is soft with permission. ] Touch yourself.
[ she wrests her arm free of one strap of her dress and pulls her neckline down to expose one of her breasts. cold air prickles her skin and she pinches her nipple until it stings. this motion she pairs with the hard yank of his hair. hard enough that she can feel it too.
with a grunt rey drops her head to the desk and arches her back, rocking back and forth in time with his fingers, with his tongue. she's able to lose herself in that rhythm. the fever inside of her starts to swell, converting to a tension that flexes her thighs and has her pulling him closer. and trembling. ]
Her permission soothes the fever burning in his belly, and the hand that had been about to journey back to hold her still instead retreats to his cock once again. The grip he takes himself in falls in time with the same moment she pinches herself and pulls at his hair, and the sound that comes from him is louder than anything that's escaped him that evening. Its a long, drawn out groan, chased by hyperventilation that is hot and heavy over her clit. Sweat from his face slides to join the other mix of fluids decorating his lips.
He feels the pain spiderweb across his own chest, and his joints grow weak. For a moment, she holds him in place only by the grip in his hair. His squirms in his own hand, dragging a rhythm that he struggles to match with the movements of his tongue and his fingers. Its all quite a lot to keep his attention on, and one is guaranteed to lag behind the other.
Still, he can feel the fever swelling within her, and as she pulls him closer, he sits higher on his knees to allow for it. Deeper and deeper he drives his fingers, straight unto his knuckles. She trembles, and he feels it run down his tongue and to his spine. He trembles with her, leaking over his hand while simultaneously chasing to keep up with every sensation that rubberbands across the bond.]
[He frowns furiously and inhales to stuff his anger back in the box. It won't help him here -- in fact, it might actively work against him if he fails to keep it in check.]
If it was up to my mother, I'd be running in the Resistance with her.
[He says nothing about his father. He doesn't want to broach that subject yet.]
[ the erratic nature of his attention, torn between his own pleasure and hers, drags her final ascent out, leaving her softly whimpering and bucking her hips, pleading for more with every sense. that need tightens and twists the bond between them in time with the way she pulls him in by her heels. and in it, a sort of enveloping friction from the way he ruts against his palm, unfamiliar to her and yet familiar in how it reads from him.
in abstraction, it is satisfying enough to know that he had waited for her permission, to have such acute control over him as to decide even how he satisfies himself. and more than that, to be offered such apparent proof of how he loves serving her like this. but it goes deeper. he's a phantom part of her, which further stimulated leaves her gasping.
the tremor turns to a quake. she's coming undone. that certainty ripples out with the rest.
the high ceilings of the throne room catch her cries and echo them around the empty space. she yowls like an animal, thrashing under him, trying simultaneously to hold onto the contact and flinch away from how it overwhelms her. tears sting her eyes, but not from pain. it's just so much. so much that she can't pull air into her lungs.
her heels scramble along the length of his spine until finally she gets enough leverage to push herself back just enough for a moment's relief. she slumps back against the desk, gasping. slowly, her fingertips comb back through his hair, and the rhythmic, absent gesture soothes her as she starts to come down. ]
[Nothing could have prepared him for the tide that pulls him away when Rey falls over the edge. She trembles violently, as does he, unable to peel himself seperate from the phantom pleasure he feels on another level of awareness. His hand stutters and shakes, and thanks to the work he’d already put into Rey, it only takes a moment to join her, spilling across the carpet scraping at his knees. While she echoes her cries out to the high ceiling, he buries his face in her thigh when she forcefully frees herself of his attention, and a series of helpless moans muffle themselves in her skin.
It takes him longer to come down from it all, a combination of the speed at which it had all hit him coupled woth its intensity. There are tears in his eyes which he tries and fails to hide with the angle he’s chosen. He can feel an irritated mark forming across his chest underneath his tunic which now sticks to him horribly.
His breath comes in short wheezes, both spent from how much energy he had exerted, and how little he had come up for air during the whole thing. The rhythmic attention against his scalp encourages a proper breathing pattern, and chases away some of the adrenaline that causes him to tremble against the desk, completely spent and yet still eager to hold onto the stimulation they’d shared. Once he falls back into his sense of self, he finds himself cautiously searching for Rey’s expression, and the approval he so desperately and constantly yearns for.]
[ the first time she starts to lift her head, a dizziness claims her. she slides her legs against his shoulders just to feel more of the contact, to stir that warmth, to bask in the ambient glow that lingers with her ending. his head tilts in her hands and she hazards another lift of her head to look down at him.
where was the stone-faced killer he had been? he is so raw as he looks up at her now that she is struck suddenly with the contrast. his need broadcast openly for her, unreservedly. she strokes the side of his face and lets her knees slip off his shoulders, spreading her thighs wider.
dampness trickles down the curve of her body, smearing the edge of the desk as she shifts again. they have ruined this haven. ]
Come here.
[ she grasps for him with both hands, pulling at his shoulders to compel him to join her up on the desk. left behind in the wake of their frantic congress was the same soul-deep ache which has always plagued her. for warmth. companionship. closeness. for him. ]
[There is a moment after her request where his head stays cradled in her hands, a slow and sleepy blink keeping him from an open mouthed yawn as he gathers his strength and finds the will to move. He withdraws entirely, both of his hands covered in a mix of fluids as he stands, lazily kicking his clump of pants away. It leaves him in just his half-fastened tunic. Truly, he is a mess.
He doesn’t quite trust the stability of the desk to hold both of their weight, but he obliges anyway, pausing only to search for something to wipe his hands on. It only takes a moment for him to realize that he’s on his own, both hands clenched to fists to try and keep from spreading it all over their shared space. He frowns lightly, the way he often does when he comes in contact with a problem that he can’t solve.]
[ she pushes up onto her elbows first when he doesn't immediately join her. it takes no time for her to catch his meaning, glancing at his hands. logistics get in his way. she casts a cursory glance around the room and laughs, noticing then just how empty the expansive space is. not even properly decorated, but for this perpetual fixture she sits upon like a pedestal. ]
I didn't think to, believe it or not.
[ a not insignificant part of her reasons that, well, they've already soiled the thing, why worry about clean-up now. but then she has an idea.
rey reaches to take his hands in hers. there's a steadiness about the way she takes her time, though her intentions come clear through their link well before. at first, just a purpose, an intimacy. and perhaps a hint of playfulness. she brings his hands closer. they smell like salt and tang and something she can't place.
she meets his gaze as she sucks at his knuckle, and the same quality of that scent floods her mouth. the noise she makes to savor her own taste on his hands is, perhaps, exaggerated, a fact which would be clear in the space between them. she's tasted herself before. a mere curiosity, then, now something for her to leverage against him to entertain a reaction. ]
The hand she reaches for goes a little limp in her grip, but the other becomes a fistful of his own fluids as he clenches it reflexively in response. To an onlooker, he hardly as any reaction at all, but Rey has the benefit of being right in front of him. The concentrated furrow of his brow, the way his lips purse and then contract as he resists the urge to bite them, and the way he swallows down the flush that abruptly rises up the back of his neck.
Aside from all of that, she has the bond at her disposal, twice amplified thanks to their lack of distance between one another. She demands all of his attention with one simple gesture, and when he feels the pull of her on his own tongue, the finger attached to her knuckle of choice spasms slightly.
[ she takes her time drawing her tongue over the length of his finger before she wraps her mouth around it. perhaps if he weren't so responsive, it wouldn't be worth the effort. but she has learned to appreciate the nuance of ren's reactions, and that alone is worth savoring.
his next finger brushes against her cheek, leaving a sticky trail there, but she doesn't look bothered.
then she pulls back, saliva briefly bridging the gap between her lips and his fingertip. she pushes his hand back towards him. she's shown him what she wants, and now she expects he'll execute obediently.
her attention, meanwhile, turns to coaxing his other fist open. there's a bit of fire in his reply. were she less invested in scratching this particular itch, she might turn him away to teach him a lesson about biting back at her. instead, she has to take another route to the same destination. ]
I gave you permission to touch yourself. [ she drags her finger through the salt spilled into his palm. ] Not to finish. [ she leans in and her teeth scrape the heel of his palm. bad dog. ] I wasn't done yet.
[A piece of him is wishing he hadn’t bothered to worry about the mess. One thing he has learned about Rey is that she’s a dreadful tease. When she finally finishes with his hand, he is eager to reach up and finish the job, if only because it keeps him from making an even greater embarrassment of himself through displays of arrousal that he doesn’t quite have a grip on. It also gives him the opportunity to reach up and smear some of the excess from around his mouth, using the finger she had already licked clean. The taste of salt is still sharp on his tongue, but he mirrors her motions without complaint in spite of the raw feeling still sticking to his lips.
That is, until she scolds him for finishing without permission. It was not as if he would have been able to resist, between the bond and the more direct attention he’d been allowed to give himself. Thankfully, with his fingers pressed inside of his cheek, it keeps him from arguing, but there is no mistaking the indignation on the other side of their link.
She drags her teeth across his palm, and his fingers (forcefully opened) curl slightly in anticipation. But he also knows that if he doesn’t say something to acknowledge her displeasure, than she might simply walk off and leave him to deal with this himself. He forces himself to swallow, and pulls his hand out of his mouth to reply unbidden.]
Sorry.
[He has never particularly mastered the art of the apology, but a part of him is genuinely rankled by her disappointment even if he would not admit it verbally.]
[ the scrape of her teeth turns soft, lips pressed to his palm, reassuring. she can feel the edge of resentment building. she doesn't want that, not least of all because she has no use for resentment. she has seen what it can do, left untended in kylo ren. that kiss turns all tongue as she cleans his hand of any evidence of that transgression. a clean slate. ]
You can still make it up to me.
[ said as though such an opportunity were generous, forgiving, and not entirely rooted in her own desires. his hand is damp with her saliva now, but she still turns it to cup the side of her cheek as she gazes up at him.
rey gets up onto her knees on the desk so she can lean in and tell him, ] I'll help you. [ and at some point, disguised by all that movement, she releases his hand to allow hers to drift down his chest to where the end of his tunic half-covers his flaccid penis. ]
[As it turns out, Kylo Ren is still just as easily manipulated as ever. The press of her teeth turns its task to soothing his slightly bruised ego, and he seems to forget he was ever agitated in the first place. He allows her to guide his hand to her cheek, feeling her intent as she changes directions. He feels her hand reach the end of the material and takes a moment to marvel at the fact that they’re both half dressed still. At the time, he hadn’t even considered it a problem, and something about recognizing that again reactivates his interest.
But before she can do anything else, he takes one more stab of authority and leans in to steal a kiss from her, guiding her head with the hand she’d left on her cheek. He hadn’t quite managed to clean everything off yet, leaving his jawline a bit tacky to the touch. Its a non-verbal agreement comply with her demand to correct his previous error, nudging his hips into her hand.
He’d probably live to regret his enthusiasm later. His knees were already slightly weak with exhaustion from their most recent tryst.]
[ she can feel the way his focus tightens on her, the way he drinks her in and steps back for just a moment to examine their position. yes. that's what she wanted from him. someone to make her feel wanted and whole. when he seizes a messy kiss for himself, she is not put-off by the initiative he takes. rather, it seems so wholly unified with her intention that it warms her. they are, as ever, attuned to each other.
when he leans in, a smile spreads over her lips. he can feel it two-fold. she works him with both of her hands, a steady pace that doesn't seem overly concerned with if she'll need to take her time before he's ready to go again.
rey bites down on his lip, tugging at it; it serves the dual function of deepening the kiss and jolting him somewhat. she wants more of what she had felt start to come alive in him. her lips leave his, journey down to his jaw where her teeth scrape again, down to the pulse point in his neck. she had realized some time ago that this body, his body, was hers, just like the rest of him. ]
[His nails dig into her scalp when she bites at his lip, dragging down when she pulls away to lean into his neck. The loop starts again, and every bit of contact makes his hair stand on end, overstimulation chasing the bone deep need he feels once again stirring in his gut. Kylo Ren tilts his chin for her when he feels her teeth press over his pulse, which slowly begins its increase in anticipation. Its a fight not to hold his breath, but there is a shift in his jaw that suggests he is biting down on his cheek.
She is obscured from his vision when she leans in to focus on his pulse, but her intent is impossible to miss. His free hand, now no longer occupied bu his mouth, moves to nudge one of her arms aside so that he can reach one of her uncovered breasts. He takes her in his hand and starts a slow, tantilizing and circular motion, all while swallowing down the sound it threatens to pull from him.
Her choice of pace might have irritated him not long ago, but there is something to be said for the care she takes with him, and he resists the urge to search for more — at least, for the moment. He is slow to harden again, but her attention encourages him to shift how he stands to allow her more immedoate access, without the angle of the desk getting in their way. Better to allow her ownership of the situation.]
[ she can feel his fatigue in the lethargic way he responds to her, but she's determined, and he's not letting it stop him by any means. frankly she might be a little insulted if he did.
insubstantial as smoke at first, an ambient satisfaction slowly pools in her belly, stoked by his mounting response to her. it brings with it a sort of stifling heat across her skin. she nods her head into his neck, a quiet approving noise coming out against his skin. his sweat sticks on her tongue, a welcome reminder of where it came from.
his tunic stops her from going any further. that thing is still on. and on her, the dress bunched around her ribs and abdomen like some absurd belt. good for haste, not for the long game. she releases him only to pull the hem of his tunic up. he'll have to stop groping her to help her fully rid him of it, so she pulls her hands back then. ]
Take that off.
[ and instead of struggling with his further, she reaches down to pull her dress over her head. the material is light, but it's still heavier than anything else she'd worn before agreeing to this insanity. it weighed her down. she'd be glad to be rid of it and bare as the day she was born in this grand hall. ]
[Kylo Ren listens to what he has to say, if only because he is about 4 drinks in himself. He rubs at his chin, covering his mouth with one gloved hand and allowing his brow to furrow. Of course, he wasn't considering an actual ethical replacement, but that doesn't erase the validity of what he has to say.
Leave it up then. But that doesn't actually answer the new question that's popped into his head, so he turns to glance at Poe, letting his wrist go limp so he can speak.]
Then Canto Bight remains standing. Given your beliefs, how does that benefit you?
[AKA why are you trying to encourage him to keep it?]
[he finishes his drink and grabs another from the droid. round two let's do this shit.] Honestly? Just because you wanna tear it down makes me want to keep it now. But, I mean, if there's another one in its place, how do you think that's gonna be? Better? Worse? Might as well stick with what you know.
[He grunts in displeasure when he feels her stop in favor of grabbing at the hem of his tunic. Granted, it was his own fault, really — battle armor was hardly suitible for debasing his grandmother’s delegation chambers. He is forced to release her, pulling at he closures on his sleeves to open them first in order to peel off the entire outfit in one swift motion. Its almost like he’s done this before.
Kylo Ren is quick to move in again once he spots that she’s managed to lay herself bare, in an attempt to avoid giving her a good look at the various rips, burns, and tears in his skin. She was responsible for most of them, but they were from a different time, and they had already deliberated on them enough. But he also knows her compassion — it was what had made this whole thing possible. He doesn’t want old wounds interfering with the momentum they’ve already built.
Of course, the bond means he cannot hide his intent when he moves back in for her, reaching for her ribs and rubbing large thumbs upward to tease at her nipples.]
Because the First Order will have proper juristiction and financial control.
[He says it like its the most obvious thing in the world, but the truth was that CBPD didnt do such a bad job themselves, and most of them didn’t scare people nearly as much as a stormtrooper did. And to top it all off, Cantonica was a wasteland outside of Canto Bight. They could do better.]
[ that insecurity is like a venom that taints the space between them. it lurks like a shadow, spilling over into the warmth of his reverence. because really, it's not reverence if he's only trying to draw attention away from himself. rey shuts her eyes, sighing in satisfaction of the attention to her breasts for only a moment before those dark eyes snap open and fix on him.
that gaze probes into his vulnerable places, and her fingers lift to chase them, following pocked scars like a starmap. let her fingertips press upon the injuries that she did not leave him with. her palm settles over his ribs where chewie's bowcaster humbled him.
her lips meanwhile find the small circular patch of scar tissue, pink and irritated, which rests near his shoulder. she had given him that. a jab. her tongue laps out to soothe a forgotten injury. then she reaches around him with her other hand, her fingertips caressing the path of her own lightsaber, able to track it in the angry burn that survives their animosity there.
they are gentle touches. assuring. enveloping. and yet glancing and short lived. ]
If you're touching me, I want it to be because you want me. [ she would never presume to ascribe love to this thing. she's still wary to suggest that kylo could even feel something like that, still. but want? need? hunger? yes. all this, and more. ] Not so you can hide. If you can't do that, you can keep your hands to yourself.
[he just snorts a laugh. because that's where he is as a person right now. everything's made up and nothing matters. he also drinks some more before replying:] Yeah? Good luck with that.
[He doesn’t shrink under the severity of her stare, but he catches her meaning enough to slow his attention on her until he is forced to grip the desk instead, caught in his own game with a shaky anf frustrated exhale. He doesn’t watch her map his failure (he doesn’t need to, he can feel it on two different olanes of awareness, and that makes it worse), instead chosing to try and swallow down both the bruises on his ego and the bitter taste of resentment he suddenly feels when she calls him out. Of course he wants her, almost as badly as he yearns to be wanted in return. But hiding is a habit he’s carried for a good twenty years of his life, and the fear that circles the darkness in him only amplifies with that recognition.
There is no verbal apology from him this time. Instead, he closes his eyes and forces his shoulders to relax, leaning heavily on the bond in an attempt to divorce himself of his shame. It doesn’t quite work, but it allows him to remind himself that — well, if there was going to be a dealbreaker, the scars she gifted him for his hubris would likely not be it. If this was another concession that had to be made, was it really so bad?
He swallows it.]
I do.
[It comes out with conviction as he opens his eyes again, shoulders flexing a bit more confidently as he encroaches her space more fully to rest his forehead against her own. His hands come up again to rub reverently along her thighs.]
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