Because You're Mine

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/30907049.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con
Category: F/M
Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Relationship: Rey/Ben Solo
Character: Rey (Star Wars), Ben Solo
Additional Tags: Dark, or dark-ish, non-con elements, Consensual Sex, Non-Consensual
Conception, Breeding, Pregnancy, Birth Control, Do Not Read If
Triggered By Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex, Unsafe Sex, Forced Pregnancy,
Ben Solo Makes Questionable Moral Decisions, But he loves her, POV
Ben Solo, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established
Relationship, Porn with Feelings, a little bit soft, Light Somnophilia,
Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, One Shot
Stats: Published: 2021-04-26 Words: 8101

Because You're Mine

by LyricalRiot

Summary

Unbeknownst to Rey, Ben knows how to compromise her birth control, and he has a plan.
He will get the baby he's always dreamed of, whether she wants it or not.

Notes

Hiiiii friends!

This is my toe-dipping foray into darkfic. Apparently I am incapable of writing these two as
anything but soft so there is some domestic fluff kind of stuff that crept in and made this
more dark-ish. Still morally objectionable and potentially very triggering so I'm still gonna
go with dark, but just know that it is also a little bit sweet.

Anyway, enjoy!

Based on an anonymous prompt from "Dark and Tabboo Reylo Prompts."

The hour of eight o'clock is the one he resents.

Her phone chimes a polite reminder. She pops the pill and their evening resumes, the interruption
so brief as to be hardly worth notice.

But he notices.

He watches the blister pack diminish, plastic bubbles crumpling into themselves day after day, and
wonders if this will be the time when she doesn't go for a refill.

She always turns up with a new one.

He's tried broaching the subject, but it has never been a successful venture for him. She isn't ready.
Well, she believes she isn't ready, anyway. Ben knows better. He sees her competence, her
strength, her steady calm in the face of difficulty. She's resourceful and adaptable, and he knows —
he knows she could handle it.

It's just that she's afraid.

And it's not like he can blame her for that. He knows what she endured growing up. He's aware of
the great void, the yawning absence, in the place where her mother should have been.

So she pretends that it's an inconvenience or a decision she's not ready to make, deferring again and
again to some unspecific future. Someday, she says.

But Ben is tired of waiting for someday.

So they go back home and make the dinner that their subscription meal kit had planned for them,
and they sit on the couch to resume the remaining episodes of the current true-crime documentary
they're into. Rey cuddles up to him on the couch, small against his body, big in his awareness. He
holds her and enjoys the smell of her hair, vaguely fruity from her favorite shampoo. One of his
hands slides between the hem of her shirt and her shorts, finding a home on the warm skin of her
abdomen. He's content, and for the moment, so is she.

Eight o'clock. Her phone chimes.

She kisses him when she rises, promising to be right back. He watches her go, watches her hips
rock as she moves down the hallway towards their room and her nightstand. Something hot flares
inside him. Her shape will change, but he doesn't mind. She has the hips for it already, he thinks.

She comes back a scant moment later, and Ben begins his careful attention to the time, arranging
his arm strategically around her again so that he can tip it slightly and his fitness tracker can inform
him of how many minutes have passed. She nestles in against him and comments on the absurdity
of the law enforcement decisions in the show. Ben murmurs his agreement. He stifles a little thrill
of anticipation deep in his gut.

Fifteen minutes later, he gets up with the excuse of needing the bathroom. He uses it quickly,
washes up, and heads to the kitchen. From the freezer, he pulls out the pint of absurdly expensive,
specialty "detoxifying" ice cream (two concepts which should never go together, in his opinion) he
purchased earlier that day and dishes up a small bowl. It looks all wrong. Black like coal, but soft
like butter. Ordinarily, he'd disdain any foodstuff that didn't resemble anything natural. He is a
stickler for healthy, clean eating. This has been his habit already, but it has the happy side-effect of
ensuring she is well prepared for her future nutritional needs. He will provide.

This abomination of a dessert treat will be a means to an end, so he'll allow it for now.

"Ice cream?" he asks genially as he sits back down beside her. She's immediately tangled into him
again because Rey has touch issues and needs the physical reassurance of his presence always. Ben
is maybe a tiny bit codependent as well so he enjoys being needed in this way and welcomes her
body with his own.

She plucks the bowl from his hand and looks at the jet-black contents with dismay. "This is ice
cream? It looks like tar."

He laughs and takes a spoonful himself to show her it's safe. "It's just a promotional flavor. I
thought it looked creepy and fun to try."

"Since when did you become Mister Adventure?" she teases and snatches the spoon away from
him. She gives it a bold try, a big helping, and decides the coconut-lemon flavor almost masks the
weirdness of the black.

She finishes the entire bowl.

Ben smiles to himself and pulls her closer, holding her to him with a surge of tenderness.

The next night, he repeats the gesture. He gives her more ice cream around 8:15. This is their
routine until the entire carton is gone. After that, he switches to a new food and begins to serve her
black lemonade with their dinner, about half an hour before her phone will chime.

She laughs the first time he puts it on the table. "You're really on a black foodstuffs kick, here."

He shrugs with another sheepish smile. "It fascinates me, what can I say?"

She gamely devours her smokey lemonade, like she gamely consumes everything he gives her.
"Let's remember this stuff for Halloween. It's perfect if we're asked to bring something to the
inevitable party."

He hums noncommittally. Halloween is several months away. He expects things will be different
by then. Idly he entertains himself by wondering what sort of costume she will pursue to
complement her altered figure. The very idea spreads heat and arousal through his middle.

Rey talks about her day, and he listens attentively. His mind doesn't wander. He likes hearing her
talk. She's always passionate in every retelling. That passion is what drew him to her initially, and
even all this time later, he's still never bored in her company. She has this way of making
everything better, like he can face anything if she's beside him.

It's all her fault anyway that he's got this irrepressible need. Before her, it was this indistinct, hazy
sort of dream wrapped safely up in the words she still used, like someday and maybe. But since she
came into his life, the vision of his future has become incredibly specific. The particular wish of
his heart, which he'd long buried under the demands of machismo and blending in with other guys,
has become something of an obsession. He will have it. Rey showing up in his life has taught him
that he's allowed to want and have happiness.

She's the biggest piece of the puzzle. His other half. The marbled mirrored piece of him he'd lived
all this time without. Now that she's here, he's ready for the rest.

Rey gives him this funny look over dinner. "What?"

His mouth quirks in a crooked grin. "What, what?"

"You had a weird expression on your face. What were you thinking about?"
"You," he says honestly. And he loves the way her nose scrunches in surprise.

"Me? Was I rambling?"

"No." He chuckles. "I was just thinking about how good we are together."

She likes that. Her eyes glitter with happiness and his favorite of her smiles unfurls. She takes his
hand over the table. "Yeah. We are."

He wants to bring it up again, to press her to think about it more. But he won't. He's heard all her
bullshit excuses before, nonsense arguments like overpopulation and finite resources, selfishness
and commitment and why don't they just go adopt an old dog instead? Ben knows these are bullshit
excuses, he knows she uses them to deflect from her own insecurities, and they just piss him off.

So he doesn't. He's in too good a mood for that, and he needs her to stay in a good mood for what
he has planned next. He doesn't need her to change her mind. He's playing the long game.

He's been playing it for a while now.

He brushes his thumb over her knuckles and appreciates the warm tan of her skin. He's always so
pale. She's admired by the sun wherever she goes.

Ben does the dishes while she parcels out the leftover foods into carrying containers for their
respective lunches tomorrow. Her phone chimes and she briefly leaves. He confirms that her cup is
indeed empty, and contents himself with what he's done. She takes a quick shower to rinse off,
piling her hair up high and out of the way so she won't have to wash it — and Ben takes this as a
very good sign. She always wants to rinse off if she's feeling a little frisky. Her career is more
physical than most, and always leaves her a little sweaty and a little smelling of motor oil. Ben
doesn't really mind, but she's self-conscious about it.

He settles into his usual spot on the couch and waits for her to join him. They'll go through the
motions of pretending to honor their routine, and at some point they'll either make a mad dash for
the bed or desecrate the couch. Either one is fine. Maybe the table. They haven't done that since
getting a new one. Ben lets his attention wander to it and amuses himself wondering how he'd do it.
It wasn't quite high enough. The angle would be awkward. Maybe the countertop, though. Hm, no,
he needs her in a spot where she'll just lay still for a while after. Better be the bed.

She definitely wants some tonight. She comes out in only a towel and seats herself next to him,
skin warm and dewy along the shoulders, smelling clean and fresh, like soap.

"Hm," he rumbles with approval, wrapping his arms around her toweled form. "I like this outfit."

She laughs and tips her head back against him. "Picked it up special just for you."

The top of the towel puddles loosely just at the edge of her breasts, teasing him. He pretends to be
indifferent, clicking on the TV and their favorite show. Meanwhile, his other hand, the one
wrapped around her middle, slides to the bottom hem of the towel and plays with it, fingertips
grazing the skin of her thigh.

It's always been electric with her, since that very first touch was stolen in the backseat of Poe
Dameron's car. No one can make his heart race like a teenager the way she can. It's so much more
than just sex. It always has been.

Even now, her hand sliding over his to guide him to the split in the towel, directing his touch
beneath the barrier as she pretends to watch the show, he can't help the way his heart picks up. Her
skin is so warm. The water must have been very hot to leave her this toasty warm under the towel.
In the steamy warm air, he touches her. She hums her soft approval, sliding down against him,
opening her legs a little wider to allow him more room to operate.

She's trimmed down here, he's surprised to discover. He doesn't particularly have any opinions on
southern landscaping, and it's never bothered him that her preference tends towards the natural. But
sometimes she does it, and he knows now that it's a silent signal. She wants his mouth. And oh,
how the discovery of that unspoken request shoots straight to his dick, arousal blooming in every
cell of his blood.

He will gladly do that for her. In the first place, he enjoys it. In the second, it's practically
obligatory, to make up for what he's going to do to her tonight.

But all that will come. For now, he just softly pets through her wet seam and lets his eyes wander
from the screen when he pins her against him with his other arm, shifting it up just enough that it
draws slack to the top of the towel and her perfect little rosebud breasts peek into view.

It's an unhurried thing. He's slow and gentle, and he can feel her getting wetter and wetter the
longer he just quietly plays down there. He's careful to avoid direct stimulation to her clit at first.
He's going for a soft, slow build. She offers up these quiet noises from time to time, a sigh or a
wordless croon or a breathless little "oh." And his cock stirs within his pants because these are the
sounds he bottles up and keeps inside him, the sounds of someone who will be bred tonight and
doesn't know it.

He really couldn't say what on earth they're watching. His lips have found an interesting map to
trace along her neck, though it requires a bit of shifting her onto his lap to get easy access without
crunching over. And the lap is good because her warm ass is nestled pleasantly against his
achingly hard cock, and the rising tension in her core makes her squirm against him. The
stimulation has him seeing stars. He tastes the sweetness of her skin along her neck, still holding
her tight while he palms one of her tits. His whole world, right here in his arms, ripe and ready for
his taking. God, she really has no idea how much he loves her.

She also has no idea how determined he is to make a family of them at last.

It's when she starts to grind against his hand that he knows she's close. He switches to more direct
contact then, introducing two fingers to touch her inside while his thumb finds her nub outside.
And this is what she was waiting for, because now she's arching back against his chest, gasping,
breathing his name between expletives of praise. The TV plays on, but neither of them is listening
anymore because she's in crisis and he's steadily pushing her over the edge.

She jerks hard, and Ben presses firmly into her and holds while her whole body tenses, internal
muscles spasming frantically. Her orgasm takes her hard, enough that she can't quite breathe, and
lets out a strangled little sound instead. And Ben gives her no reprieve. The moment he feels her
loosen, feels her body relax abruptly against him, he rolls them until she's laying with her back
against the cushions of the couch. He pulls her towel away and sinks to his knees on the floor,
angling her hips towards him. She'll be soaked after that release, and he wants it all for his own.

It's good she wanted this tonight. He wasn't sure he could wait much longer. He's been trying to be
patient, methodically feeding her the activated charcoal for carefully calculated days since her
menses. She should be ovulating or very nearly ovulating. Her horniness couldn't have been better
timed.

"Look at this mess," he rumbles adoringly, large palms coaxing her legs apart for him. "Is it for
me?"
Her eyes flutter open, half-closed in a fit of worn-out bliss. She's already noodley and soft, but she's
still got a long way to go tonight. That's alright. Ben will ease her through it. He can give her a
second to recover. There are plenty of ways to soothe her back into being ready, and he'll start by
pressing a little kiss to the inside of her thigh.

"Mmm, Ben," she sighs contentedly, one hand fumbling for the remote. She clicks off the TV.
"How do you always know what I want?"

He'd like to pretend he's some half-psychic sex god or something, but the truth is a little more
pathetic. He's never been more whipped, more over-the-moon for another person, and it has been
of paramount importance to him to learn exactly what she likes and what she doesn't from their
very first coupling. He's an intense student of any subject to which he applies his hyper-curious
mind, and he has fastidiously studied her every noise and expression and motion. He's become
reasonably good at guessing what she wants, though sometimes he still seeks verbal confirmation.

"Yeah?" he asks with a crooked grin, dropping another kiss a little higher up. "You liked that?"

"Of course I did," she laughs, low and husky and sated. "But you already know that, you ass."

He chuckles, breath huffing hot against her skin that smells of soap and arousal. "Yes, I know that.
Just like I know what you want now."

Tracing a trail with a light peppering of his lips, he makes his way to her juncture. Her thighs are
spread quite wide to accommodate the span of his shoulders, giving him a lovely view and plenty
of access to her glistening center. The little rumble that escapes him is entirely involuntary. He
hitches each of her legs up onto his shoulders and gives her hips a little tug to the edge of the couch
cushion. And then she's right there, and he can't resist, so he closes his mouth on her mound and
takes a generous taste.

The sound that rushes out of her is pure music. He smiles to himself and swipes his tongue in a
long stripe, gathering up as much of her wetness as he can. It's messy and lewd and he loves it.
Loves the way her thighs tremble against him, her chest heaving with the big gulps of air she's
trying to draw as he rolls his tongue against her clit and laps up more of what she offers. Loves the
way she's wetter still, her hands grasping desperately at the fabric of the couch, pelvis
unconsciously grinding against his face in a bid for more. Loves the way she moans.

She's loud. She's always been loud. He adores that about her, and oh how it makes his ego swell,
but she'll have to learn how to be quieter when they're no longer the only ones in the house. He
sucks hungrily at her core, a dark delight rising in him at the idea of helping her be quiet. Muffling
her sounds with a gentle hand. Then again, she might bite — he'd tried to do it once and in her
passion she'd clamped down onto his finger with her teeth. She didn't know how hard she bit, her
body caught up in other convulsions and waves to occupy her. He'd have to find other ways of
hushing her.

It didn't matter, she would learn, she'd figure it out. They'd figure everything out.

There's no telling how long he dines on her. His universe narrows to this one pinprick of time, the
taste of her drowning his senses, the sounds of her drowning his thoughts. He is a man possessed,
holding her thighs so she can't squirm away as he applies more pressure, greedily partaking without
deference to anything else.

And when she breaks, it's with a gush that leaves him sated and soaked and more deviously content
than a fox in a henhouse. He lifts his head and rests it against her abdomen — that sweet flat space
he will shortly fill. She's still trying to catch her breath, whimpering wordlessly at the ceiling while
one hand comes to slide into his hair. He smiles and closes his eyes. It feels nice, her trembling
fingers scraping over his scalp. She's no good for speaking her adoration right now, but he feels it
in her gesture.

She's definitely tired, her body gone all limp against the couch. He collects himself and stands,
gathering her into his arms and lifting her up.

"Now now, almost done," he jokes warmly. "Just a little more."

"Mm, wanyourcock," she mumbles.

"Good. That's exactly what I'm going to give you."

"Hey." She comes into focus, frowning at his shirt and tugging at the buttons as he carries her back
to the bedroom. "Why am I naked and you're fully dressed?"

"I'll fix that, don't worry," he laughs. "I was a little too busy to think about my clothing situation."

She smiles a blissful, lazy smile and touches his cheek again. "You did so good. You always do so
good. You're perfect."

It should be unnecessary, this soft praise of hers. He's got the evidence of his achievement
lingering on his lips, and in the jelly-like relaxation of her body in his arms. But hearing her say it
in that quiet, understated way of hers never fails to touch some deep place inside him, never fails
to make him trembly and weak and more in love than ever.

To the bed they go, and there he gently deposits her. He unbuttons and shucks his shirt while she
undoes his belt with a desperate clink of the buckle. The clothes come off quickly.

It's time.

He knows it, his cock knows it. Everything for the past few months has been leading to this. His
heart is racing now and a shadowy hunger curls up inside him like black smoke. That thing inside
him, that part of himself she does not know exists, it's ready to take what it wants. He will have her,
and everything else.

She tries to return the favor and kisses the tip of him, flushed and hard and oh so achy, but he
doesn't want to waste even a single drop right now. It isn't meant for her mouth. Even the precum
should go where it's most important, no chances taken elsewhere. He shakes his head and pushes
her back, pushes her down, pulls her to the edge of the bed. They'll start this way. She looks up at
him, a little surprised at his aggression, but there's intrigue behind the surprise too.

Ben runs his hands up the sides of her body, giving himself just a moment to admire her beauty one
more time. Small, so small compared to him, but so very capable of enduring everything he is
about to do to her. Her eyes widen a little when he locks eyes with her. Maybe she can see in his
face that this time will be different.

He reaches between them, slipping two fingers easily into her soaked passage. He has to add a
third. It's a necessary step for her comfort. She squirms on him, a little eager and a little protesting,
as she always does at the difficulty of his stretch. He works her gently with the three for a minute
while he sucks at one of her breasts, getting her used to the girth. His aim isn't another orgasm —
no, he's saving that for right when he's about to come, to make her nice and receptive. His aim is
just to get her pussy relaxed enough for his intrusion. And when her tightness eases, he knows she's
ready. He scoops what he can out and applies it to his cock, turning his attention between them so
he can slide it between her wet seam and then fit it to the right spot.
Just a little pressure and — he sinks into her. His eyes flit back, locking on hers with a heated,
silent promise she won't understand. Hers are wide and round, mouth falling open a little as he
claims an inch or two.

"That's right, baby," he growls softly, pressing in further. "You know the truth."

She gasps. It's a slow torment, this steady penetration. She squeezes her eyes shut. "T-truth?"

He leans over, bracing himself with one hand on the bed, using the other to coax her face back to
him. When she opens her eyes, he says with quiet authority, "That you are mine."

He thrusts forward another couple inches abruptly, and she gasps.

"That your cunt is mine."

He jerks forward again, this time cramming the rest of him in with one hard push. She cries out,
legs wrapping automatically around his hips as she arches and pushes herself harder against him.

"Mine to claim," he snarls, jerking out and thrusting back in. "Mine to fuck. Mine to seed."

He holds her gaze for as long as he can, setting a rough pace, but eventually her eyes roll and her
head thrashes to the side. Her hands are on his shoulders, digging marks into his skin, and she's
meeting him thrust for thrust with undulating motions of her own. She likes the merciless
treatment. He isn't being exactly sweet in his determined plowing of her. His cock works her hard,
pushing deep into her body on every harsh jerk of his hips.

"Ben," she mumbles almost incoherently.

Fuck, her cunt is so tight and her body so pliant and her voice so hoarse. She's wrecked, and he's
being quickly pulled into her wreckage too. He can feel himself speeding recklessly towards his
end, and he doesn't want to go there yet, but he can't stop either. It's too much, knowing she's
unprotected and fertile and right here, her pussy gorging on his sperm-imbued precum. All her
careful efforts so methodically sabotaged. Knowing he's going to spill all of him into her waiting
channel, undefended against his deluge, is too much for him to bear. He would conquer her body
as thoroughly as he had conquered her heart. He'd make her swell with the life he pumped into her.

Oh god, no, he doesn't want to come yet. She needs to get there first. She's tired, she may not want
to, but he needs her to come because that will assist the process. It's important for his goal. He
wrenches out a tortured groan and slows his thrusts, buries himself deep, pauses for a moment so
he can get control again. His dick twitches hard deep inside her as his feeling of imminent release
ebbs just slightly.

"It's okay," she tries, regaining some of her senses. Her hands come up to the sides of his face.
"You can."

"No," he growls and pulls out sharply. There's a swoop of cold air around his wet cock after he's
left the molten heat of her insides, but it only helps pull him back further from the edge. He climbs
onto the bed and tugs her to follow. She does, scrambling up on shaky knees to follow him to the
middle. He urges her back onto her back, but this time he snags a few of the pillows — why oh
why did she insist on so very many throw pillows? — and wedges them under her hips, tilting her
pelvis up.

"What...what are you doing?" she manages to ask.

"Fucking you," he replies, crawling over her. "The way I've been dying to fuck you since the first
time."

"With pillows?" she laughs. "Why didn't you say so?"

"Not with pillows." He pulls her legs back up around him and sinks down into her again, groaning
a little at the delicious squeeze greeting his cock once more. One hand slides over her lower
stomach, over her womb, pressing into it as his thumb spans lower to graze over her clit. "I'm going
to fuck you so that you know that this place is mine too. Mine to fill. Mine to breed."

"Won't…work…" she manages to gasp.

He smirks. "Is that a challenge, Rey?"

He starts to move again. She squirms and squeaks, bucking against his thumb and tugging his cock
buried deep inside her along with her movements. Ben chokes. He was going to add something
else, but he can't think just now. The lower part of her body is tilted just right, giving him the
perfect access to nail her down hard.

"B-Ben," she cries. "Oh fuck th—that's d-deep…"

He has to tear away from her clit, holding himself up with two arms on either side of her, head
hanging low, eyes squeezing tight shut as he pounds into her with a rush of desperation. She's
close. Her sounds are fast and whimpery, she's mumbling this broken little series of incoherent
pleas.

Ben plunges into her again and again, cockhead spreading her open again and again, his thick base
disappearing into her body over and over. He juts up once, twice, hitting that spot up inside her that
makes all the air fly out of her lungs, and then he's colliding with her, pulling her into his tight
embrace and kissing her hard as she cries out, her body clenching.

It's maybe the biggest orgasm of his life. The strength of it takes him by surprise, and he has to
wrench away from her mouth as his own sound comes tumbling out. A rush of pressure and
delicious relief as he spurts into her, throbbing, agonizing pleasure following each generous gush.

Rey's still riding hers, clenched tight around him as she pulses with her aftershocks, and Ben can't
really think beyond that dark place where he's sewing deep, sewing many, flooding her with a
destiny she cannot escape.

There's so much of it. Abstaining for this long was worth it, to be able to contribute such a copious
amount. He shudders and curls against her, keeping himself embedded and her pelvis tilted up
above her as he rests his top half against her, head on her chest. It's probably heavy, even with just
half of him lying on her, but she doesn't complain.

"Wow," she says weakly, hands again finding their way into his hair in soothing strokes. "That
was…"

Ben can only grunt in confirmation. Sated relaxation is quickly overtaking him. He can't really
think anymore. They just lie there in the silence, her hands playing with his hair, the rise and fall of
her breath beneath his head.

It has to work. He needs it to work. He's wanted this for so long. Even before he was allowed to
want it. His shitty parents notwithstanding, he knows he'll be a good father. Knows it in his bones.
Knows it like he knows she will be a good mother. They have way more love to give than they can
possibly pour into each other.
His cock twitches in lackluster acknowledgment. It's diminishing, but at this angle, gravity is
helping him keep his spend inside her.

She shifts and puffs in soft protest after a while, his weight becoming too much, and he's forced to
slide his softening plug out of her and fall to the side — but he isn't going to chance her getting up
right now, so he immediately wraps his arms around her and pulls her backwards into his chest,
spooning her with all the possessiveness of a child clutching a teddy bear.

She laughs throatily, her voice a little raw. "What's gotten into you?"

"I love you," he mutters into her shoulder.

"I know. But you're different today."

"I want us to be a family."

"Yeah, I kind of got that from your choice of dirty talk tonight…" She waves her hand vaguely and
tries to twist around to look at him, but he won't let her, discouraging her movement with a low
growl and tightening of his arms. She laughs again. "God, Ben, what's the matter?"

He whispers soft and low, "You don't have to be scared of it. I'm right here. I've got you."

She's quiet for a second, and he'd give anything to know what thoughts flit through her head.
Finally she says, "I'm on the pill, Ben. It's not going to happen, I'm sorry. Someday though, I
promise."

Again, that stupid someday.

Not someday.

Today.

And anyway, she's on the mini pill. That is part of his strategy too. Before they got together, she
relied on condoms and other on-demand prophylactic products. When this thing started, though,
they both found themselves too desperate, too overcome, to want to pause long enough for the
application of any such measure. So she got on the pill, and he spilled so liberally inside her that
she marveled that any condom had been able to contain him before.

But the more comfortable Ben became in their relationship, the more he resented that little blister
pack, and the more he'd fantasize that his offerings to her womb would be received. So he began to
plot. And when Rey one day complained to him that she felt the pills were making her too
emotional, he encouraged her to switch to the mini pill.

Because the mini pill didn't reliably halt ovulation all the time. There were easier ways to sabotage
the mini pill.

"Ben?" she prompts, because he's fallen silent.

"If it did happen?" he asks. It's the only contingency he hasn't planned for yet. He's reasonably
certain she wouldn't terminate a surprise discovery, but he has never actually asked.

She laughs again. The possibility, in her mind, is so remote as to be absurd. "Ben Solo, if you
manage to will it into existence, I'll take it as a sign from the universe that it's meant to be."

He relaxes. Good. That's exactly what he wants to hear.

"Hmm, it is a challenge, then," he murmurs.

He snuggles into her and closes his eyes, content to visualize his goal in the privacy of his mind,
the little giggles and bright curious eyes, the chaos of a bursting-full household, the squabbling and
the complaints and the laughter and the noise. She doesn't know what she's in for, or how many
times he'll do this to her, but Ben will be there with her the whole time. He knows deep down that
she'll find as much belonging and comfort in it as he will.

He holds her in his sleep for so long, his arm goes numb and his spine aches for want of rolling
into a new position. It's only this that wakes him, and he figures it's been long enough that she's
alright to move around now. He untangles himself. She barely stirs, sleepy as she is, and rolls over
with a contented sigh to bury her face in the pillow. It's dark and late, and Ben's body feels heavy as
rocks, but his mind rouses even as he tries to go back to sleep.

He tries to doze. It does not go well.

He keeps worrying about her. If she's hydrated (her body excreted a lot of fluid.) If she's
comfortable (he was pretty rough on her.) If she'll forgive him if she ever discovers his sabotage.
And most importantly, if his carefully laid plans will work.

He's so restless, it eventually drives him out of bed. He goes to the kitchen for some water, a big
glass for him, and a glass for her so she can drink it if she wakes up in the night. Returning, the
diffuse light of the hallway reveals her well-fucked form laid out on the bed. She's on her stomach,
hair in disarray around her head. She looks like a painting, and Ben smiles at the view. His prickly
beloved in all her glory.

But even in this muted light, he can see the sticky smear on her inner thigh, and a riot of protest
wells up inside him.

He can't have that.

Blood quickens, flows to his cock, indignation at the loss rousing him to action again. He palms it
a few times, still sensitive from being squeezed into her little body only a couple hours before. He's
looked it up, and he knows that the longer he's able to wait between emissions, the better quality
his swimmers will be. But a few hours will have to be enough for now, because he can't stand the
sight of what she lost dribbled there on her thigh. He'll have to give her more.

He shuts off the hallway light and places her water on the nightstand. Guzzling his own, he returns
to bed and goes to her immediately. Ben lowers his body over hers, peppering small kisses against
her shoulders. She wakes a little at the motion and preens, back arching in a stretch, eyes closed but
a languid sort of smile unfurling on her half-buried face anyway.

"What time is it?" she asks.

"Late," he replies. "The middle of the night."

He spreads his knees between her legs, opening her up, and rubs his sensitive cockhead along her
slit a few times to wet it. She's slippery from his cum oozing slowly out, so that's something
positive about the loss, he muses.

She mumbles something about "again?"

"Yes," he insists. "Again."

"Greedy bastard," she mutters with sleepy affection, arching her ass up a little for easier access. He
chuckles, shushing her and urging her back to sleep even as he slowly pushes into her vice-like
space once more.

She groans, eyes fluttering a little. Possibly she's sore. He did go pretty hard earlier. Ben settles
over her, working into her as gently as he can to keep her relaxed and too sleepy to wonder why
he's doing this again in the middle of the night. He slides into her so deep, he can feel her terminus
and decides that is exactly where he'll plant his next load. He rocks gently, slowly, and is satisfied
when her deep, rhythmic breathing takes on a sensual whine. She can't help that it feels good, even
when she'd like to sleep. He again kisses her bare shoulder blade, softly sucking a mark into her
skin as he eases himself in and out, long slow passes that always introduce him again to the nudge
of her inner gate. He can't breach it, but his imagination takes him there anyway, wondering how
certain conception would be if he could just get past and make a direct deposit.

It would help if she could orgasm again, but she's half-asleep, and it feels cruel to wake her and
make her come again after she did so well three times already, so he leaves it. This is just a
precaution, anyway. Hopefully, most of his earlier load remained. He imagines his cock pressing it
right up against her, pushing it in deeper.

"Again," he whispers so softly to her. "And again. Over and over until it works."

She hums a little moan and buries her face deeper into her pillow.

It doesn't take him long. He gets a little out of control there at the end and starts working her fast,
chasing his climax with feverish fury. He braces himself and pounds her hard, growling this feral
noise, and Rey whimpers in soft desperate gasps. The bed knocks against the wall, reporting each
time he knocks against her deepest place. Her eyes open and she shoves back onto him hard. With a
stifled grunt, he comes. It isn't nearly as much as before, but then his body hasn't had days to store
up a supply. Still, it's a generous spurt, freshly made just for her taking. And she will take it.

"Every...single...drop," he manages to grunt as he prints her cervix a couple more times, wringing
the last of it out of him.

Hopefully, it's enough of a booster to make up for what she lost.

"D'jyou take viagra or sumth'n," she mumbles, dropping her head back to the pillow, eyes closing
again. "Why're you so riled up?"

He pulls out and lays down next to her again, truly spent. "I don't know what it is, but I'm just
really fucking horny. The sight of you lying here naked and full of cum is unbelievably sexy."

"You've seen me like this before."

"I have, but...I don't know. Just hits different tonight."

"Good thing you're cute," she says with a yawn. "Maybe if you're nice and let me sleep, I'll even let
you do it again tomorrow."

He finds her hand with his and pulls it to him. Even after fucking her twice, he needs the feeling of
her skin against his. "Don't tease. I might hold you to it."

She wiggles her ass a little and grins against the pillow, but says no more for the rest of the night.
Ben lets her sleep. He's worked her hard, she needs the rest. And anyway he's utterly exhausted
himself, and it doesn't take long until he follows her into the dark.

…
She's not ready to take him again in the morning, but he persuades her anyway. It's possibly
unnecessary, but he wasn't completely lying when he said he was really fucking horny. It surprises
him how much. Knowing she's full of him already, unprotected, and that he can keep pumping
more into her to make sure his efforts are successful — they seriously undermine his normal
refractory and push his libido into overdrive. She's game, but unable to keep up.

"Just one more time," he coaxes gently, quieting her soft protests when he pushes inside her that
morning. He holds her close against him on their sides, her leg thrown up over his hip. "Please, just
let me fill you one more time."

"Ben," she whimpers, squirming. "I can't."

"I know, I know it's uncomfortable." He's not easy to take on a good day, and they haven't done it
this many times in twelve hours since the early days when the novelty of their relationship excited
them into pawing at each other every chance they got. She's no doubt feeling the stretch. He kisses
her with tenderness. "You've done so well, sweetheart. You're incredible. Last time, I promise."

He soothes her through it with all the soft affection he holds for her in his heart. She bears it well,
even getting into it once her body relaxes — enough that with a big of clever touches from him she
manages to come hard. And Ben loves it.

"That's right, baby," he croons softly, peppering her face is kisses as he gently pushes in and pulls
out. "So good for me, so good. That's it. You're perfect."

"Ben," she pleads.

"Okay, I know, I know, you're tired. I'm gonna come now too, okay?" He can feel it radiating
through his groin, the imminent release, and his movements are a little more jerky than she can
take. "Gonna come inside you one last time. Ready?"

She nods helplessly.

It's quick and rough, that last bit before this little sound from her topples him right over the edge
and he paints her in strong wet throbs once more. They lie there for a long time after. He refuses to
pull out until nature does it for him.

When she's recovered enough, and his stillness wedged inside her convinces her it really is over,
she laughs at him and wants to know again what's gotten into him. He turns it around on her,
wondering what's gotten into her that she's allowed him to have her even when she didn't really
want it. She isn't the kind of girl to just lie there and take it out of submission. If she really doesn't
want sex, she makes it very clear — but she hadn't. All her protests were half-hearted.

She speculates that maybe Venus is ruling their charts right now, because she herself feels
unusually horny too.

"Maybe we should take a sex vacation," Ben says, half-joking, half-hoping. "Call in sick to work,
take a few days off, bang out our horniness until the planets go back to normal."

"Wow," she marvels. "My poor vag couldn't take you that many times. I don't think I'd make it
through that without coming out permanently bow-legged on the other side. We have to go to work
today. You gotta give me some time to recover, there, big boy."

He chuckles, kisses her once, and rolls her onto her back. "Alright, fine. But I insist you stay here
and nap a little while I make you breakfast."
"I should go to the bathroom first," she says, trying to sit up. "I didn't last night and I don't need a
UTI right now."

He pushes her back down with a firm: "No. Later. It might hurt to walk right now. You'll be fine
for another twenty minutes. Just relax and rest. I'll be right back."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't try to get up again. "You're ridiculous."

"I know."

Over the next week, Ben keeps giving her the black foods. He keeps her well-stuffed on his cock
too, as often as she'll allow, even though he's reasonably certain that first night was enough to
accomplish his goal. Better safe than sorry, though.

She keeps taking her pills because she doesn't know, so the charcoal becomes even more important
because Ben doesn't want anything to harm what may or may not be already sprouted in some
secret place inside her. Eventually, he backs off, and she's allowed to be free of his aggressive
pursuit of her cunt any time she's within arm's reach. They go back to their normal routine, and she
sighs and laments the changing phase of the moon or the stars for taking them out of that weird
horny state.

And Ben waits.

It takes time, but he knows how to be patient. In the meantime, he plies her with healthy food and
gentle activity, anxious that she should be in peak physical health for the road ahead. He takes her
to her favorite places and indulges her every odd request, insofar as they are compatible with her
possible condition, and he overhears her telling Rose on the phone how the last few weeks have
made her feel closer to him than ever. He swells with love and pride and tenderness.

...

She misses her next period.

He knows even before she tells him. He's been tracking it himself since his plan was hatched
months ago, and when the calculated day arrives without any announcement from her or
appearance of menstrual products in the bathroom, he notices. And when it doesn't arrive the next
day, or the next, or even the next week, he begins to tingle with hope.

"Hey...um, Ben…" she says one Saturday morning, coming out of the bathroom, and his heart
sinks because he thinks maybe it finally arrived. It wouldn't be unheard of. He knows these things
don't always happen at first, and they might need more time. But she's pale and her voice is funny
when she says, "I...need to talk to you about something."

Ben makes room for her on the couch, pulling her to him when she sits. She's trembling a little. His
breath stills in his chest when he sees she's got something clutched in a shaking hand. A little stick.

"Are you alright?" he asks so gently, with genuine concern. And when she doesn't answer at first:
"Rey?"

She swallows hard and shows him the stick.

It's exactly what he hoped it was. The display shows exactly what he hoped it would. He has to
carefully silence the laugh of joy and triumph that wells up in his chest, heart soaring.
He takes the stick from her, pink cap re-applied to the used portion of it already, and stares at the
readout. This isn't real. It worked? It worked! He looks at her, gaze zeroing in immediately on her
half-hidden middle where something he buried there has taken root. She's got life inside her. His
head spins and a shaky breath tumbles out of him.

"Say something," she pleads softly.

She's scared. It's in the knitted arc of her brows and the glassy sheen of her eyes. He takes her face
between his hands and kisses her, lips gentle but urgent. She clings to him and doesn't let him pull
away, so he gives her all the comfort he can.

They wind up tangled together on the couch. She's on her back, he's got his head on her abdomen,
and they're talking through the future. She's still scared, but he's calm and confident and it's helping
her find courage. Ben doesn't know how she doesn't suspect, why she doesn't start hurling
accusations at him, but she doesn't. She's quiet. He knows how hard this is for her, but he'll help
her through every step. She's not alone.

Ben's love for her grows in spades that night. It grows stronger, brighter, deeper than it ever has
been. He didn't know it was possible to love her more than he did already, but he does. And she
accepts it, returns it, with as much willingness as she accepted his offering and is making from it a
whole new soul.

He will never tell her that this was all by his design.

Just shy on ten months later, when he holds the sleeping infant in his arms and kisses a soft fuzzy
head while Rey sleeps, he promises himself that his dream of a large, bursting full household of
love and chaos will become their reality. Nothing has ever felt as good as loving them both, and he
knows they've got room for more. He'll make it happen, little by little, in the right time. Not now,
but someday, when this little one and her mother are ready, he'll find a way to make it happen
again.

"Again," he whispers to the little bundle, "and again."

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