do you have any Senator!Ben and Jedi!Rey headcanons? where Ben never went dark and Rey was somehow found as a child and raised to be a Jedi by Luke
Hi nonnie! So glad you requested this! It was fun to write - so sorry it took so long. I’m sick with the flu and have an exam for Friday, but wanted to get this out! I’ll do the non-sexual part first, and then put the sexual under a cut :) Also, I wrote these headcanons as more ‘storyline-based’ than just a list. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself ahaha. I should really actually write this as a story *sighs*
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Rey and Ben met when they were younger, thanks to Uncle Luke bringing a few of his students with him to Naboo for the Festival of Glad Arrival. Rey was weaving in and out of one of the many dancing circles, stumbling over her feet but entrancing all the same. Ben, standing next to his mother in a place of honor, tried to ignore how beautiful the girl looked, not dressed in padawan robes but in a traditional white and gold embroidered dress. Braided ribbons adorned her arms and were tied about her three buns, aquamarine, peach, lilac, and daisy-yellow all fluttering in the wind. Across her face, gold paint was sprinkled like constellations, and an intricate design resembling a diadem was painted across her brow. He can feel her through the Force, a life-force that is warm and entrancing, like the sun. That was the first time Ben found himself enraptured by Rey, but also what he expected to be the last….
Ben didn’t see her again until she was a grown woman, 19 years and as beautifully fierce as a storm. She stood up in the middle of a galactic senatorial session to call out a particularly nasty Senator on his obvious speciesism and his disparagement of the Outer Rim sector. The entirety of the Senate had its eyes trained on her, breath held, before the clapping and cheering started. Rey, more embarrassed now at being praised for her outburst, flushed pink and resumed her post behind her assigned protectee, who wore the faintest of smiles on his lined face. Ben, having immediately recognized her, wore a look between shock and pleasant surprise, but he joined in on the clapping nonetheless. His eyes never again wavered from her for the rest of the day-long session.
He first speaks to her after the session releases. He catches her forearm - bedecked in arm wraps - in his warm hand, halting her forward movement. A current of pure energy flows between them, makes her hair stand on end. She freezes, stuttering in a breath before she grabs his hand and wrenches it away from her, turning with blazing eyes to see who would dare to touch her. A flicker of recognition crosses her hazel eyes, and she feels the Force echo between them like waves beating against a seashore, but her face twists into a scowl nonetheless. “Don’t touch me.” Ben holds up his hands, in an almost mocking manner, before leaning against the wall next to her. “You did what most were scared to do in there: use your voice, speak your mind.” She scoffs, tossing her head. “You’re senators; you only know how to talk people’s ears off.” Ben smirks at her words, but subtly shakes his head. “Not when it matters.”
He sees her regularly after that, in the hallways, in the senatorial chambers, at gala events. Every time she looks up, his warm brown gaze is trained on her, lips twitching in amusement. She tells herself she hates him, can’t stand the way he smirks and laughs and stares at her. Yes…that’s what it is.
She slams into his office, not even knocking. She was a force of nature, something to be reckoned with - hazel eyes glinting with barely concealed rage. “I’ve been assigned to be your bodyguard,” she growled out, “-despite the fact that I’d rather be the one to take you out than protect you.” Ben chuckles, leaning back in his chair languidly, knowing his easygoing attitude needled at her and her delicate temper. “What a serendipitous coincidence.” Rey sneers at his response, crossing her arms, the slate grey of her robes moving like water with her. “I was told that you had ‘requested’ me - as if I’m some sort of ‘girl-for-hire’!” Ben was already shaking his head. “I would never think of you like that.” Her shoulders subtly relax, and her erratic breathing seems to calm. “After all, you’re a woman, not a girl.” He ducks the bookend she throws at his head with the Force.
“You’re very thorough in your job as my bodyguard, aren’t you?” Ben comments as she trails her hands down his front, over each ripple and curve of his bare, muscled chest. “Oh, you have to be, in my profession,” she purrs against him, nipping at his pectoral with glinting teeth. “I wouldn’t want there to be something I missed.” Her hand strokes him through his pants, feeling him harden further against her eager palm. She smirks. ( @ifoundkylo hehehe)
Sometimes, when debates are particularly boring and long, Rey uses the Force in a way that would make old Master Skywalker cringe. She keeps her face stoic as Ben shifts restlessly in his Senate chair, the Force caressing him, stroking him. He keeps his mouth sealed shut, determined not to release a sound, but it’s when he has to count off or comment that Rey has the most fun. The slight stutters and broken sentences coming from his normally silver-tongued self is endlessly amusing. It’s safe to say that Ben ends up with a bit of a wet, sticky stain underneath his senatorial robes thanks to her fun…and he punishes her for it later.
“What a naughty little Jedi you’ve been,” he murmurs into the curve of her throat, licking there, sucking. “What would Luke say if he saw you now, getting fingerfucked by his nephew in a private opera box?” Rey shakes her head against him, gasping in a breath as his fingers undulate in and out of her at a leisurely pace. “Please,” she pants, writhing against him. “So polite now,” Ben murmurs, tutting. “Where’s your manners whenever your cursing me out, hmm? Or throwing bookends at my head? Or forcing me to cum during my sessions?” Rey clutches at his shoulders as her hips ride his hand; she lets out a moan, long and loud. “Be quiet, kitten. That is, unless you want the entire audience to see another show….” He chuckles at the thought, feeling her lithe form shake against him. She murmurs curses against his skin, biting at his shoulder as he thrusts into her particularly hard. “Do you want to come, little Jedi?” he asks, knowing her answer as he speeds up his hand and his thumb nudges against her clit. She bucks, mewling - tame for once under the ministrations of his fingers. “Should I let you?” She releases a muffled sob at the thought of not coming, desperate now. She begs for him, sweet little pleas falling from her delectable mouth, one after the other. He smiles in triumph, his other hand coming up to palm at her breasts through the silver spidersilk of her gown. “Come then,” he orders her, his voice as powerful and heady as when he is commanding the Senate floor. She does, just as the opera crescendoes to its grand finish. Yet, somehow, she still doubts that the opera was loud enough to drown her out.
She likes watching him work, likes the way he commands the room with a rich voice stoked in reason and power. He is dark, charismatic, convincing. She wonders, not for the first time, if the Force flows through him a bit more when he is working the floor - if his allure is purely him or not. Either way, the way he meets her eyes, even for the briefest of moments, has her wet for him. He knows it too, can read it in the set of her lips, the glint of her eye, how she holds herself. His lip twitches, imperceptible to anyone but her, and his eyes speak of promises to come, of late nights and fucking her into the desk in his office, spread out for him like a feast. She holds him to that promise when, two agonizing hours later, she slips away. As he enters his office, he’s greeted to an uninhibited view of her spread legs on his desk, her dripping pink cunt on full display. He shuts the door behind him, locking it, before prowling towards her. She offers him a smirk from where she sits, her fingers sliding in and out of herself. He quickly wipes it from her lips as he pulls her in for a long, searing kiss. “Anyone could have walked in and seen you,” he growls to her, hand locking around her wrist, halting her movements. “It’s a good thing it was you then,” she purrs, dark eyes flicking up to him with undeniable smugness. He proceeds to show her just how good it is that it happened to be him.
If you are doing the ship and number thing then reylo and 37 or 38. Thank you!
Oooh, this is fun.
37. Meeting in prison AU
(This drabble turned into a smuggler!Ben AU as well, I hope you don’t mind!!! ^-^’’)
She’s thrown into his cell unceremoniously, the chains around her wrists clinking against the ground as she falls to her knees, spitting and cursing at her captors.
He rolls his eyes and leans his head against the stone wall of the cell. She’ll break eventually, but in the meantime it was giving him a headache.
He tells her as much, and she scrambles to her feet, just noticing him. She’s silent a moment, bright eyes assessing him. By the looks of it, she’s twenty or so; her brown hair is in disarray, her face and arms covered in scratches. She wars a beige tunic and leggings, has no discernible markings of a specific planet or group.
“Who are you?” she asks him. Huh. Coruscanti accent. “What are you in for?”
He shrugs. There’s no use denying it. “Shafted the Hutts on a deal.” His father had warned him about that, and Ben – to spite him – had ignored the advice. And wound up in a cell as a result.
She clicks her tongue. “Well, we’re getting out of here. Stand up.”
He frowns. “Are you mad? Do you realize -” but before he can finish, the chains that bind her wrists unlock of their own accord. His soon follow suit. She rubs her wrists, stretches her arms. “We’ll have to take down the guards. I don’t fancy an all-out brawl in a Hutt’s palace.”
“You - you’re a Jedi?” he asks, incredulous, rising. He’s a good head and shoulders taller than her. “How did you - I thought they were all with Unc - with Luke.”
“I - I guess I am.” She shrugs. “I use the Force. We can debate semantics of it later.”
He blinks, takes a moment to digest the information - just who the hell is this girl? - but then, his instincts kick in. “There’s a closet down the hall. They keep prisoner’s weapons there.”
“I don’t need weapons.” She reaches out a hand, and the cell door slides open.
“I do.” He steps forward, casts a glance up and down the hall. All clear. “Let’s go.”
It’s not until they’ve escaped – after a daring back-to-back battle with the Hutt’s lackeys and scrambling onto his ship by the skin of their teeth - that he asks her name.
Prompt: two miserable people meeting at a wedding AU
Notes: Thank you so much @lariren-shadow for sending me this prompt. I spent too much of last night writing this, but it was totally worth it!
Rey’s assignment for the night is simple enough: guard Senator Organa on her wedding day.
The senator makes a beautiful bride, if an unconventional one. She has eschewed anything ornate for a plain white dress, long-sleeved and high-necked. It isn’t as though she can’t afford something fancier; Leia Organa was a princess, then a rebellion commander, before becoming one of the foremost Senators in the galaxy. She’s famous for her fine clothes and elaborate hairstyles, but today she’s dressed simply, her grey-streaked hair falling loose to the small of her back.
She smiles when she catches Rey looking at her, and there’s the gentlest tug in the Force—Senator Organa reaching out to her, Rey realizes. She remembers with a sudden lurch of embarrassment that this woman is also Master Luke’s sister.
“I wore a dress almost identical to this one the day that I met Han,” she says, smiling. “I thought a bit of nostalgia would be appropriate—and the look on his face will be priceless.”
Rey smiles. She hopes it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. The Senator seems kind, and she doesn’t deserve a dour Jedi dogging her footsteps on a day that should be joyful.
When it’s time for the ceremony to start, the senator pats Rey on the shoulder and says, “It was thoughtful of Luke to send some extra protection to my wedding, and I appreciate your effort, but I can take care of myself. You’re dismissed for the evening.”
“But—”
The senator’s smile sharpens. “But nothing. Enjoy my wedding, and if I catch you shadowing me, I’ll only give Luke grief about it.”
She walks out of her dressing room before Rey can think of anything useful to say.
The ceremony is short and informal, but the reception is a party unlike any Rey has ever seen. There must be two hundred people in this ballroom, and by the looks of them, they range from the galaxy’s highest legislators and diplomats to its bottom-feeders. A representative sample of the bride and groom’s respective social circles, Rey imagines.
The senator and her husband are as different as night and day, but there’s no denying their love. They look at one another like they’re alone in this crowded room. It’s charming, beautiful even, but Rey can barely summon any feeling for the sight of them besides bitterness.
“So what did you do to get stuck with this assignment? Draw the short stick?”
Rey glances to her left, then up, because the man speaking to her is uncommonly tall. There’s something familiar about the curve of his lips, the shape of his brown eyes, but Rey can’t quite place it.
“Do I know you?” she asks.
He looks her up and down. “Doubtful. I’ve never set foot in my uncle’s charade of a Jedi school.”
“Uncle,” she says dumbly, a moment before her brain catches up to her mouth. “You must be Ben. Master Luke speaks of you.”
Rarely, and sometimes with frustration, but it would be rude to tell him as much.
“It’s Senator Organa these days,” Ben says dryly. Then he points to his mother. “Not to be confused with the Senator Organa in the white dress.”
Rey bites her lip, but she can feel her smile peeking out anyway. “It would be an easy mistake to make. You favor your father more, but you look like her too.”
“And yet uglier than both,” Ben says. He smirks, as if this is a joke, although Rey thinks it might not be, at least not entirely.
“You must not own a very accurate mirror.”
She didn’t mean to say that, but it’s hard to regret it when Ben’s pretense of a smile softens into something real.
“Aren’t Jedi forbidden to flirt?” he asks.
Rey shrugs. “How would you know? You said you’ve never been to the Academy.”
He could have, if he’d wanted to. Rey would know that even if Master Luke hadn’t told her about his nephew rejecting the Jedi path. She can feel the vibrancy of the Force all around him, potent and overwhelming.
Ben leans down, until the warmth of his breath fans across her temple. “I understand the rules,” he says. “Even if I chose not to follow them.”
Ben Organa is a verbose and sloppy drunk. He drinks straight from a wine bottle, with none of the grace or restraint that she might have expected from a senator. The Corellian red has left his mouth ruddy and damp, and Rey is trying very, very hard not to think about that.
She isn’t entirely sure where he took her, only that this room is dim, shuttered, and far away from the busy ballroom three floors below.
“It’s stupid, is what it is. Marriage won’t fix whatever the fuck it is that’s wrong with them. They’ve been together for thirty years, and they’ve spent more of that apart than in the same room! They fight all the time, and I’d swear that my father must be trying make Mom angry, but to be honest, I think he’s just very good at winding her up without even meaning to.”
Ben takes another long swallow of wine, throat working furiously as he chugs it.
“They love each other. I only just met them today, and even I can see that,” Rey says. “And stop being a hog. You drank most of the last bottle by yourself.”
Ben bites his reddened lip, worrying it so roughly that it has to hurt. Then he smiles, hands over the wine, and says, “My sincerest apologies, Master Rey.”
“I’m only a knight,” she says.
“Only a knight. You say that like it’s unimpressive, but if you’ve already earned that title, you must be something special.” Ben looks her up and down again, same as he did in the ballroom a few hours ago. “How old are you anyway? Eighteen? Nineteen?”
“Nineteen-and-a-half,” Rey says.
“So you still count your age in half-years?” he asks. “How grown up of you.”
Rey finishes off the wine, sets the empty bottle aside, and says, “So you get drunk with people you don’t know and whine about your famous parents? How grown up of you.”
Ben laughs, but there’s a dark, angry edge to it, like he didn’t find that funny at all.
Good; she hadn’t meant it to be funny.
When he stops laughing, Ben says, “What’s got your panties in a twist, darling? You’ve been scowling since I met you.”
Rey wraps her arms around her middle. “Maybe I scowl all the time.”
Ben slides closer to her, so that his powerful body brushes against her side. “I might believe that if I couldn’t feel how angry you are. The Force is boiling with it all around you.”
He’s warm. Strong, broad, and so blatantly sensual that the heat of his presence is prickling under her clothes, under her skin. It makes her feel foolish, reckless, beyond the burden of her responsibilities.
“I wanted what I saw your parents promise today. Love, commitment, faithfulness,” she says. “And I guess I have those things, in a strange way. You can’t be a Jedi without them. But dedicating yourself to an order you believe in—it’s not the same as being loved.”
Rey doesn’t know why she’s spilling her secrets, her fears and reservations, with a perfect stranger, but it’s oddly easy to admit all of this to Ben. Maybe because he had the same choice she did: to learn the way of the Jedi, or to lead a freer life. Ben had the same choice, and he chose differently.
Then again, it might have nothing to do with that. It could simply be that she’s spent all day wanting more than her lot has to offer, and Rey knows that, if she asked, Ben would give her a taste of what she’s missing. Love isn’t something you can find in one night, but there are other things he could show her. Share with her.
He takes her hand, twines their fingers together, and caresses the point of her wrist with his thumb. It’s obvious, what he’s asking without speaking aloud, and Rey shivers.
“Ben?”
He hums, low in his throat. “Yes?”
Rey breathes in, deeply, steadily, trying to work up the courage to say something, anything. Will you hold me? Will you touch me? Will you—
Ben kisses her. His mouth is wet, soft, bitter-rich from too much wine, and it feels good. So wildly, impossibly good, that Rey doesn’t hesitate to kiss back.
They’re both clumsy and slow-witted, but Ben knows what he’s doing, and Rey is impatient and unafraid. They strip each other out of most of their clothes, then stumble to the wide, dusty couch in the corner. Rey nibbles at Ben’s throat, running her hands all over him, until he breaks away to kiss his way down to her sex. Then he kisses her there too, that sweet, supple mouth of his working her until she’s trembling and aching, begging for more. He doesn’t stop, just keeps licking, sucking, flicking his tongue across the neediest parts of her. She feels languid all over and slick, wet, such a mess between her legs, but it’s not enough. It won’t do.
“I can’t—I can’t—” she cries, and suddenly it isn’t good at all. Just one more thing she desperately wants but can’t have.
Ben climbs on top of her, starts kissing her jaw, her cheek, her temple. “You can, all right? You can, and I’ll make sure of it.”
Rey hangs onto his vast shoulders, opens her legs wider, giving permission with her body because she can’t find her voice. Then he’s pushing against her, inside of her. Joining them, taking her, rocking her through the ache of it to a full, uncertain pleasure. So much keener and harsher than his pretty mouth had been, and it still has her clinging to him and gasping. She tells him to have her harder, faster, and he does. Ben follows orders like he was made for it, so she gives more. Kiss me. Say my name. Get off me and lay down; I want to be on top.
Ben listens. He listens so well that Rey could lose herself in giving him commands. It’s intoxicating, how biddable he is, and she rides him until he starts to whimper, hissing, “Stop! I’m—I’m close, and we shouldn’t—”
Rey scrambles off of him, panicked out of her lust. She’s a Jedi, and Jedi have no need of contraceptive measures. If he hadn’t warned her, she could’ve ended up—
Ben sucks on his first two fingers, then slides them between her legs, and she’s unthinking again. Yes, that’s what his mouth was too soft to give her, what his cock and his submission teased her right to the brink of. She comes, a cry caught sharp in her throat as the pleasure heightens and hits her, taking her apart while she watches Ben stroke himself to the edge. He finishes just as she’s quivering through the last of the aftershocks, and he’s so perfect. Lost and giving and all hers, at least for right now.
They dress in the dark. Covert, hushed, the scents of sweat and sex coloring the air between them while they try to make themselves presentable. It’s a lost cause for Rey; her hair is a rat’s nest from the manhandling Ben gave it, and she can feel the tenderness of love-bites springing to life on her throat in at least two places. It’s some consolation that he looks nearly as disheveled as she feels, but not much.
Downstairs, the reception is long over. Ben follows her outside and takes a seat on the wide stone steps next to her.
“Well,” he says. “Was I so good that you’re going to renounce the Order for a life of pleasure-seeking?”
Almost, Rey thinks, but she has the sense not to say it.
Instead, she rests her head on his shoulder, allows herself to lean against his solid body, and whispers, “I’m glad I met you, Ben Organa.”
It’s the gentlest way she can think of to say thank you and goodbye at once.
When he answers, Ben’s voice is quiet, almost lost in the darkness. “Do you think if we’d met some other way, at another time, that you might want to see me again?”
Rey knows that she’s going to remember this man for the rest of her days. Wherever their lives take them, and whether or not they see one another again, this night will be with her forever. She can’t imagine meeting Ben under any circumstances without being deeply, irrevocably changed by it.
Summary: Leia and Han tie the knot after thirty years of avoiding it, much to their son's displeasure. Rey was tasked with guarding the bride, but somehow she ends up drinking wine with Ben Organa instead.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The old man lowers himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged near her head. His next question surprises her.
“Do you know your lifeday?”
Rey blinks. “I...no.” She feels a flush crawl up her neck, not sure why she’s embarrassed. “I never got one. I don’t think.”
Anakin leans forward, like they’re sharing a conspiratorial secret. “Let’s give you one, then.”
