Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Pathway

The woman on the path turns as if sensing his presence. Soft skin bathed in light, a face that has haunted him for a lifetime.

"It is you," Ben gasps. 

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Yield

He towers over her, the long reach of his sword meeting hers forcefully, causing her to fall to her already bruised knees. They have been in the training yard for hours, but the girl disguised as a boy has energy yet.

"Do you yield?”

She glowers up at him. “Never.”

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Glare

“Your move, Skywalker.”

Rey focuses on the table so as not to glare at him for using that name. 

The holomonster she directs lumbers to the square adjacent to Ben’s, where it raises its club and destroys his remaining game pieces. 

Victory.

“My name is Solo .”

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Animal

Rey knows she’s nearing exhaustion when her sobs begin to turn animalistic, when the burning in her chest makes it so difficult to breathe and she has to place both hands on the floor to steady herself. It’s a nightly ritual, this sobbing. 

Ever since Exegol. 

Ever since Ben.

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Molecule

“You know I can take whatever I want,” he had told her once.

Now, as she's crying out and coming undone around him, the molecules in his body burn for only her, and he knows he would give her everything.

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Kyber

Rey fastens soft leather around the red-yellow crystal she's pried from the weathered alloy saber and drapes it around her neck. Pressing intimately to the skin beneath her tunic, its energy is warm and strong, pulsing in sync with the beat of her heart.

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Lazy

"Let's be lazy today," he says, nestling into the shared warmth of their duvet.

Rey bristles at the word.

Lazy is a foreign concept to her. Lazy means thirst and hunger—a constant pain in her belly. 

Then she remembers she doesn't have to scavenge to survive anymore. No. With Ben, now she gets to live. 

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Signature

"Johnson, can I see you in my office for a moment?" Ben Solo asks as Rey is packing her bag to leave for the night. 

She follows him, spotting the report she had spent the last week writing spread out on his desk.

"Is there an issue with my work, sir?"

He reaches out a broad hand and passes her the last page, the one reserved for closing remarks. 

"Can you tell me why you wrote this?"

Confused, she scans the text but finds no typos or other errors, and she's certain her conclusion is sound. Before she can ask him to explain, she spots the words that make her stomach drop and her skin flush in mortification.

Above the line where Rey Johnson's signature should be—the one she's signed at least a million times in her life—she had scrawled the name Rey Solo.

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Bow

Rey comes from nothing. She is just a servant in the palace. But when the prince comes to her at night, draped in fine black velvet robes inlaid with gold thread, it is he who bows to her. 

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Cityscape

From his office high above the city, Ben spots the jogger at the waterfront below. Always moving, he thinks.

When she stops to watch the boats bobbing along, he’s allowed a brief moment to admire her slim form before the dense fog engulfs her again.

Until tomorrow.

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Orange

Ben gazes down at Rey nestled at his side. Reverently, he puts his lips to each of her freckles, leaving a trail of silent prayers. When at last he slips inside her, she claws at him and cries his name while the heat and orange glow of the fire dances across their skin.

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Character

"The saga should've ended with these characters starting a family and forging their own path without the burden of their legacies. It's not hard," Rey said.

It had been three months since they'd seen Galaxy Wars, but Ben still listened patiently to his wife's nightly ramblings.

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Home

She joins Ben on the floor and grabs a slice of pizza. Her muscles burn from the day’s work of carting boxes upstairs, but she sighs contentedly at their belongings strewn about the one bedroom apartment.

It might not be much, but it’s home, and it’s theirs.

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Cycle

It’s a habit she started on Jakku: scratching lines into metal to note the planet’s day cycle. 

She runs a hand over the fresh marking she’s etched into the Falcon’s paneling. There are nearly three thousand of them now, each one jagged and deep like her grief.

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Quarantine

They'd found many ways to entertain themselves during the mandated quarantine. 

Rey stifles a giggle and tries to calm her racing heart as Ben counts from another room.

He reaches the final number, and all too quickly his heavy footsteps are approaching.

His voice is husky against the door to her hiding place, and Rey suddenly feels warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach, nervous about all the things he will do to her when he finally gets his hands on her.

“You can’t hide, Rey. Not from me.” 

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Neon

She forces herself to suppress the sob clawing its way up her throat when she passes the flickering red-yellow neon sign—the color so reminiscent of his crackling saber.

The strangest things remind her of him.

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Binary

She'd shut him out for nearly a year, but Ben was relentless, so desperate to understand his connection with the scavenger.

He thought it fitting that he found his answer on a desert planet located in a binary system. 

Dyad , the ancient Jedi text read. 

Two that are one.

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Disaster

"Oh no , it's happened! It's finally happened!" 

Her voice is frantic. 

"What is it, Rey?" 

Ben paces restlessly outside the door, concern growing as he awaits her response.

"We've run out of loo paper!"

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 Swimming

Her hands skim along his shoulders and chase the droplets that cascade down his broad chest. Palming her thighs wrapped around his waist, he draws them to deeper waters.

Rey grins and pecks him on the cheek with wet lips. 

She doesn’t tell him she already knows how to swim.

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Frequently

A lifetime of self-doubt couldn't have prepared him for all the love she bestows upon him frequently. Constantly.

Not just with words. He feels it in their legs tangling under the sheets, or her hands gliding through his hair as she peppers his face with kisses. He feels it in her beaming smiles and lingering gazes and everything in between. 

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Rigmarole

They need food and showers, she knows, but their mutual exhaustion causes them to fall to her bed instead. Pressed shoulder to shoulder, Rey feels his gentle energy across their open bond. 

They can face the rigmarole of explaining his presence to the Resistance in the morning.

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Pyramid

Dr. Solo— Ben , he insists—crouches at the base of the massive pyramid-shaped structure, calling out numbers for her to record. 

In the three weeks they've been the island's sole inhabitants, she's almost convinced herself that it's only the jungle's humidity making her wet.

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Abstract

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the abstract shapes fluttering around him. They glow brightly in the vast darkness and nothingness, and he instinctively reaches for their familiar energy.

Butterflies swarm his open palm and pull him into the light.

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Stitch

"Sir?" she asks, startled to find Master Solo at her bedroom door at this late hour. 

He hands her a familiar black tunic. 

"Have this stitched by morning."

Her face heats at his deep, commanding voice.

Wearing a self-satisfied smirk at her response, he turns to leave.

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Steam

Her slow removal of clothing is made more torturous because he can’t see her properly through the steam rising around her in milky waves. Nonetheless, she feels his penetrative gaze burning a path into her skin as she steps into the warm water and crooks her finger in invitation.

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Starburst

The first time she sleeps over, Rey discovers an entire shelf in Ben’s pantry stacked with colorful boxes of sugary cereal.

She eyes one in particular—horrified momentarily at the flavor—before shrugging and pouring herself an overflowing bowl of Starburst cereal.

Rey’s never been one to turn down a meal.

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Tropic

Ben's finger draws patterns in the banana-scented oil glistening on her thigh.

"You're gonna mess up my tan," she says from behind her book.

He grins cheekily, tugging at her bathing suit bottoms and untying the little bows at her waist. 

"I think I can do better than that."

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Alive

"Ben Solo is alive," she shouts, grabbing her satchel of meager belongings—including a torn black sweater she‘s rarely seen without—and pushing past them to leave. 

They call after her, but Rey doesn't hear them above the new mantra she repeats in her head: I'm coming for you.

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Forever

“How long do I have to hold it?” Ben asks, beads of sweat disappearing beneath his dark shirt.

Rey grins and observes his stance. “Thirty seconds.”

He growls in frustration. “That’s forever!”

“I can make it two minutes, if you like. We have to open up those hips, Ben.”

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They build the cottage by the lake, amid the trees and bushy ferns.

At night when they lie together, sweaty and spent, the sound of the waterfall lulls them to sleep, and each morning Rey stands beneath its cool water, with traces of Ben between her thighs.

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She stares up at him expectantly. Her mouth is moving, but there's a buzzing in his ears.

"Ben, did you hear what I said?"

His hands are clammy where they grip the straps of his backpack, and he nods dazedly.

"I asked if you'd go to prom with me."

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The bell rings and Ben has to jog to catch up with her; he’s thankful she hasn’t yet put on her headphones.

It's more fun when she can't pretend to ignore him. 

“Hey, Rey.” 

Behind dark sunglasses, his eyes crinkle in amusement when she tilts her head back and groans at his presence.

“Want a ride?”

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Juice smears her cheeks and flows over her bottom lip. Her tunic is soaked, sticky and stained pink, but her eyes shine with each enthusiastic bite.

Ben smiles, chewing primly in comparison.

The seeds had been a gift—the only thing he could offer besides himself.

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Rey is led through the doorway, arm wrapped tightly in Leia’s grasp. Instantly she’s hit by smells of cooking, and tears form in her eyes at the sight of various trays of food lining the wide kitchen island. She’s sniffling as Ben drops their bags by the stairs.

“Ben,” Leia says, patting Rey’s arm comfortingly. “Be a dear and make a batch of mimosas—fresh oranges, not the carton.”

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He speaks the sacred words, softly so only she can hear, and weaves flowers into her silken hair.

Atop her braids he places a crown of purple irises, planted the day he was born.

The prince could not imagine a more beautiful bride.

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“Rey, let me—” He tries to wrap his arm around her and bury his face in the crook of her neck. “I want—fuck.”

Rey enjoys this particular kind of torture best: wringing incoherent babble from those pink, plump lips. Hearing him plead as she uses him for her own pleasure.

“Stay,” she says, hand to his chest, and shoving him against the cushions. It feels like a promise when she grinds once against the bulge in his pants. “If you're good for me, I'll let you come.”

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Ben marvels at the disastrous state of their quarters, at the stuffing and tattered sheets littering the floor. Rey stands in the middle of it, looking more exhausted than he'd ever seen her during any battle.

“What happened?” he asks gently.

Her eyes blaze in fury. “Porgs.”

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She'd experienced all the rigors of a full life at such a young age—pain, loss, suffering—but the greatest hardship, Rey thought, was having been loved.

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"Bollocks, never happened!”

He shrugs mischievously as they exit the building for their lunch break. “If you say so, Rey.”

She latches onto his shirtsleeve, near tears with laughter. “Ben Solo, your mum did not shag Freddie Mercury!”

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From his shadowed booth, Ben Solo is well-hidden from the other patrons.

There he won't be disturbed as he watches the girl sipping from a lowball glass at the bar, her nails iridescent in the club's pulsing lights.

He nods to his faithful henchman—a signal.

Her.

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"How long this time, Ben?"

He shrugs. "A week."

Leia's mouth sets in a hard line.

"Aw, come on, lighten up. When I was his age I got suspended every other week."

"That was for truancy, Han, not picking fights with girls half your size."

Ben huffs. "Rey started it."

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Rey swears she'll pay attention today. His thick fingers pointing out formulas in her textbook will not be a distraction. She crosses her legs, trying to quell the image of him teasing them up her skirt.

Who needs to know about mathematical inductions anyway?

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"The use of color here, the cobalt streaks—"

Rey snickers. Cobalt? God, he's so pretentious. It's fucking blue.

A few students gasp in disbelief.

She looks up, staring into Ben's darkening eyes. His jaw clenches.

Oh.

Shit.

Did I say that out loud, she wonders.

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The tower looms above the trees like a warning; the girl waits for the light burning in the window to darken before sneaking inside.

She scans the heavy tomes spilling from their shelves, doesn't notice the man approaching from behind.

"I've been wondering when you'd turn up, Rey," the alchemist says.

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Aglow

"What are they?" she asks, face aglow in delight.

He answers in that slow drawl of his that makes her stomach flutter like the insect in her cupped hands.

"Down here we call them lightning bugs, ma'am." 

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Zamboni

Exiting the storage room, Ben sighs at the familiar sound of ice scraping.

"Rink's closed, Rey." He motions to the Zamboni waiting in the wings. It's 9:15 already, and he still has that history paper to write at home.

"I'll leave." She glides by, lithe and all muscle. "If you can catch me."

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Desert

She winds up in the desert again. 

But now her belly is full and her bed warm.

The sunsets aren't so lonely with him by her side.

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His teeth chatter behind distractingly plump lips, and Rey can't help but wonder how he's managed to survive so long in the real world.

"Here."

She shoves a dusky scarf at him, only slightly tattered. Hers, Ben realizes as he winds it around his neck and drowns in her scent.

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Rey had never given anyone a gift before.

She places it on his lap, nervous. The wrapping job is a catastrophe: clumpy and covered in too many bows.

A dimple creases his cheek as he slowly, carefully peels each strand of tape.

She believes him when he says he loves it.

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"Will you keep us steady?" Rey snarls when the Falcon jerks to the right, scattering her tools.

"I know how to fly my own ship," Ben snarls back.

Smoke fills the cockpit as another alarm sounds—this one ominously sweet and jingling.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Do you?"

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"Don't even think about it, Rey."

"What? I'm not doing anything."

She shuffles up to the counter, hands behind her back.

Ben shifts closer to his creation, protective.

"The cake is for guests."

"Fine," she says, snatching the bowl of chocolate frosting and dashing away before he can stop her.

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Their love is verdant.

It’s in the clay pots lining the window sills.

It’s the drying herb bundles hanging from the walls and the sprigs tossed into simmering stews.

It’s the flecks in Rey's eyes when she smiles at Ben each morning before kissing his rosy lips.

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Something’s wrong. Her throat feels itchy, her skin hot.

Rey knocks quietly on her neighbor’s door, hating to bother him like this.

He looks at her and instantly, without hesitation, skims his hands—blissfully large and cool—along her blotchy arms.

“Ben, don’t! What if it’s contag—“

He scoops her up while dialing the hospital four blocks away. “Don’t care.”

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"What is it?"

Dr. Solo plucks the artifact from Rey's wire screen. "Looks ceremonial. Possibly ritual," he says casually, wiping his palms together to clear them of dirt.

Rey can't help it; she doubles over in laughter. "You have no idea, do you?"

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"You're in my seat, new girl."

 "This one was empty," she says, eyes on the open book in her lap. 

"But it's mine." 

"Oh, well, in that case." The girl makes a show of gathering her things and offers her hand. "What's your name?"

He takes it, tells her.

"Sit somewhere else, Ben."

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"Those things are bad for you, you know."

He considers her briefly, eyes trailing the long curls resting on her houndstooth coat and mustard jumper. He drags the cigarette from his lips, careful to aim the smoke away from her freckled face.

"I know."