#not doing it. he’d deflate like the dare commercial

[dykedvonte]

Alternate med bay scene where Anya locked herself in to hot box cause they ran out of pills and she needed the relief. Daisuke assumed it was a gas leak so she gotta smoke it all so she don’t gotta share with Jimmy and when Daisuke got in she was deflated like the girl in the dare commercial and the contact high took him out.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Partying and Poker Faces

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Word Count: ~3350

Warnings: Errbody gettin drunk. Terrible zamboni puns. 

A/N: No, seriously, it’s just random drunk conversations. They are ridiculous. It’s fun. Thanks to @stunudo​, @fookinghelljensensthighs​, @lastactiontricia​ and everybody else in the Slack chat who listened to me ramble and helped with Nutcracker jokes/Winchester band names. Hair clip scene inspired by this post. 

Part 6 of the Rockstar AU! 

-

-

The “Wayward Sons” World Tour: Pre-Tour Kickoff Party

. . .

“Okay, seriously though, my friend found all these pictures of them at Bonnaroo walking around with a girl with blue hair, right? So she did a side-by-side analysis and she swears it’s Harry Styles in a wig. Like, honest to god.” 

“Who’s Harry Styles?” Spencer asks, putting his book down and rubbing his eyes as he comes out of his reading trance.

“Only the love of my life,” Penelope tells him. 

“Penelope,” Emily interrupts. “You are not allowed to ask him if he’s really friends with Harry Styles.” 

Penelope deflates slightly. “But -”

JJ tells her, “You are definitely not allowed to ask if you can have Harry Styles’s phone number.” 

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Apparently there’s a whole group of crazies who think he and Sam are actually dating. There are conspiracy theories and everything.” 

“Let’s just outlaw the subject of Harry Styles altogether,” JJ says hurriedly. “Okay?” 

“Oh my God, I wouldn’t actually ask. Are you ready yet, Em?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Emily replies, glaring at her reflection. She’s been trying to even out her wings for like half an hour now. “I look like a raccoon.” 

“So… normal then?” Spencer asks, with his cheekiest smile. 

“Uh oh, we’ve got Sassy Spence tonight,” JJ says. She grabs Emily’s arm to tug her away from the mirror. “You’re gorgeous. Let’s go.” 

“Forward, march!” Penelope orders. “To Suite 202!” 

. . . 

“So then Sammy asks if she’s his daughter,” Dean finishes. 

Hotch and Spencer laugh; it makes Hotch look about ten years younger. 

“What did she say?” Spencer asks, tucking his hair behind his ears again. With his legs crossed in his ratty Chucks, he looks too young to be drinking. 

“Just said ‘I’m his wife,’ ice cold, and walked away.”

“You should’ve seen the look on Sam’s face,” Cas adds. He settles down next to Dean, handing him a fresh drink and sitting close. For a moment Dean forgets that they’re allowed to be close, that he’s not in public any more, and then he puts an arm around Cas, smiling to himself. 

“What about you?” Dean asks. 

“I haven’t gotten starstruck since Kurt Cobain,” Hotch answers. “But you should ask Spencer what happened when he met David Byrne.” 

“Spencer, what happened when you met David Byrne?” Cas asks with a smirk. 

“Well… you know how Freud talked about seeing the Acropolis for the first time? The feeling of derealization?” 

“No,” Dean says, raising his eyebrows. “Should I?” 

“What you have to understand is that my mom was playing me the Talking Heads while I was in the womb,” Spencer continues earnestly. “Remain In Light, mostly, because it came out that year, but — anyway. Research shows —“

“David Byrne is his Acropolis,” Hotch translates. “He didn’t speak for almost two hours after they were introduced.” 

“And I get the feeling there aren’t many things that render him speechless,” Cas says dryly. 

. . .

“Hey there, hot stuff,” Penelope says, and she sits in the empty spot next to Derek on the couch. She almost kicks Spencer as she does so; he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, hunched over one of the acoustic guitars that everybody’s been passing around. 

“You know there’s another chair, right?” asks Sam, who’s sprawled out in one of the armchairs opposite their couch.   

“Trust me, it’s pointless,” Derek tells him. “He hates chairs.” 

“That’s not true,” Spencer says absent-mindedly, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I like the ones with wheels.” 

“Wait, you play keys, right?” Sam asks, watching Spencer pluck out a quick, dexterous open-tuned thing that Penelope is pretty sure he’s improvising. 

“And synths,” Spencer says, pushing his hair out of his eyes again. “But also… a little bit of everything, I guess.” 

“Guitar, bass, drums, violin, cello, saxophone, clarinet,” Derek rattles off proudly. “What else? There are some weird ones.” 

“Didgeridoo!” Penelope adds. 

“She calls it my didgeri-don’t,” Spencer says, and it’s true; it’s her least favorite instrument, which is unfortunate because it’s one of her favorite words.“And there are a few things I built, I guess, but haven’t really named yet.”

“That’s awesome,” Sam says, looking suitably impressed. 

“You need a goddamn haircut, Pretty Boy,” Derek says, as Spencer tries to get his hair out of his eyes again. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Sam tells Spencer, running a hand through the shampoo-commercial situation he has on his own head. “And don’t let my brother start in on you, either.” 

Penelope rummages in her purse for a second and pulls out a neon green butterfly clip. She combs some hair back from Spencer’s forehead, twists it, and secures it so that the butterfly is right on the crown of Spencer’s head.

“Thanks, that’s much better,” Spencer says, giving her a quick smile over his shoulder. Sam stifles a laugh. 

“Hey,” Derek says, in an undertone. “Got any more of those?” 

“I love the way your brain works,” Penelope stage-whispers back. She digs around until she has a whole handful of aggressively colorful glittery barrettes (some are shaped like flowers, some have pom-poms) and passes half to Derek. She leans down and starts to braid a little section of hair near Spencer’s temple. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

. . . 

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Hotch asks, as he starts mixing himself a drink. “I don’t think we met at the surprise show.” 

“Jack,” the kid says, with a sweet smile. He’s all fresh-faced and earnest. Hotch has concerns. 

“I’m Aaron, but everybody calls me Hotch,” he says. “What‘s your part in this whole circus?” 

“I’m their guitar tech,” he chirps. “Cas is my uncle, also. He’s the one who got me the job.” 

“Uh-huh. First tour?” 

He nods. “I’m excited! This is going to be great.”

Hotch has a feeling this is going to be trouble. 

Jack has a hand on the whiskey bottle when Hotch notices and asks, “How old are you?” 

“He’s twenty,” Charlie interrupts, snatching the bottle from Jack’s hand. “Down, boy.” 

Jack shrugs, not seeming particularly bothered, and wanders away with his soda. 

“Good to know,” Hotch says wryly. 

Charlie gives Hotch an apologetic look and says, “I feel like a spoilsport. Like, let the kid have some fun, right?”

“So you followed all the rules when you were his age?” 

“Well, no, not so much, although I wasn’t into drinking so much as… um. Mild felonies.” She wrinkles her nose expressively. “But I have strict orders from Cas. He might look like a teddy bear, but Cas can be scary.” 

“Felonies,” Hotch says, trying to keep a straight face. Charlie nods. 

“Hacking, mostly?” she says tentatively. “There was some… environmentally focused cyber-terrorism, I guess you’d call it.” 

“You should talk to Penelope, she used to do that sort of thing as well.” 

Charlie looks over dubiously at Penelope, who is pulling up the hem of Derek’s shirt and showing off his abs, Vanna White style, for Sam’s benefit. Sam looks shockingly unaffected, so odds are he is straight, in which case, Rossi owes Hotch some money.

“Really. She was actually contacted by the FBI, they wanted to hire her, but.” Hotch smiles at the way Charlie’s mouth falls open. “She has a whole… sordid history. They used to call her the Black Queen.” 

“Are you… what?” Charlie asks incredulously. 

“I know, it’s a ridiculous name, but —”

“No, that’s — I can’t believe it,” Charlie stutters. “Really?” 

Hotch raises an eyebrow. “Really. Does that mean something to you?” 

Charlie shakes her head, eyes wide. “You don’t understand, she’s a legend. She’s like a frakking rockstar.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“No, like an actual rockstar,” Charlie insists. “Not that you’re not a rockstar, I didn’t mean — holy crap.” 

“Would you like me to introduce you?” Hotch offers. 

Charlie goes pale. “I don’t — um.” 

“I think you’re the first person who has ever been intimidated by Penelope Garcia,” Hotch muses. 

Charlie does a quick shot of whiskey before nodding. “Okay, I think I’m ready.” 

. . . 

“I am so fuckin’ glad I don’t have to deal with this every night,” Bobby says gruffly, with an expansive gesture at everyone in the room and their varied levels of inebriation. “We’re too old for this shit. Don’t know how you still want to go out on the road.” 

“Of all the groups I’ve managed, believe it or not, this one’s the easiest.”

Bobby looks across the room to where JJ is passing around shots and Emily is talking everybody into a game of Truth or Dare, as a “bonding exercise.” Spencer is clinging to Morgan’s back like a gangly white Yoda; Morgan, who’s serenading Sam with “Wonderwall” (Sam is covering his ears and looking pained) doesn’t seem to notice his weight. 

“I don’t believe it, actually,” Bobby tells Rossi, who shrugs. 

“They take care of each other, really. No ego involved, with any of them, which is rare enough in this business.” Rossi pauses as Penelope shrieks; Hotch, who is standing between her and Charlie, looks vaguely alarmed, but nobody seems to be in any real danger. Rossi adds, “They may act like a bunch of assclowns sometimes, but they’re much smarter than they look. I told you, didn’t I?” 

“Fair enough,” Bobby says. He’d called Rossi on a whim, looking for an opener for Dean’s surprise show and hinting about “discretion” and “liberal types,” trying not to give too much away. He’d expected Rossi to put him in touch with a friend of a friend, or something. He didn’t expect this to work out so well.

Bobby’s not used to things working out well. It’s a nice change. 

“Good to see you again, anyway” Rossi says. “You’re coming out to a few more shows, right?” 

“Course. I’ll be around here and there.” 

“Bet you’ll miss them soon enough. I was bored stiff when I was retired,” Rossi says. 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to get those two through their teenage years,” Bobby grouches. “Just about put me in an early grave.” 

“They seem like good kids,” Rossi says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since they were… how old?” 

Bobby can’t help but smile at that. “Yeah, they’ve got good heads on their shoulders. They grew up. Just in time, too. I kept tellin’ them, success is going to change things, but I don’t think they believed me. Idjits.” 

Rossi nods knowingly. “Cheers to success, then. And old friends.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

. . . 

“Pastor’s son, in the church,” Emily says. 

“Twins,” Dean replies smugly. 

“Nice.” Emily gives him a fist-bump. “Backstage during a performance of The Nutcracker.” 

“I’ll be very disappointed if there were no nut jokes.” 

Emily smirks. “Well, there were no actual nuts involved, but the fairy did, in fact, taste like sugar plums.” 

“Yeah, okay, not bad,” Dean says. He clinks his beer bottle against hers and they drink. “On top of a zamboni.” 

“You mean zam-bone-y?” 

“Thank you! Sam rolled his eyes so hard I thought they were gonna fall out when I said that.” 

“The Roxy.”  

“Green room? C’mon,” Dean scoffs. “Amateur hour.” 

“Nope,” Emily says triumphantly. “In the crowd, during a Guns N Roses show.” 

“Okay, that’s fuckin’ awesome,” Dean laughs.

“It really was.” 

Dean’s eyes flick across the room, following Cas, who just deadpanned something that’s making Hotch double over with laughter. Dean’s eyes go crinkly at the corners as his smile gets even brighter — a full-on megawatt movie star smile — and his expression is so sweet and soft and utterly adoring that Emily melts a little bit. 

“Gross,” she says, elbowing Dean. He elbows her right back. 

“Shuddup,” he mutters. 

“No more twins for you,” Emily sing-songs. 

“Worth it,” Dean says firmly, and even she can’t think of anything snarky to say to that. 

. . . 

JJ can only understand about one in five of the words Penelope and Charlie are chattering to each other, so she gives up and leaves them to it. She’s slightly concerned they’re plotting to take over the world, or something. They don’t seem to notice her leaving. 

Dean and Emily are side by side on one of the couches, both slouching, with their feet up on the coffee table and beers resting on their stomachs, giggling about something as if they’ve been lifelong friends. The whole tableau is unexpected, but not in a bad way. 

There’s something about Dean that JJ just didn’t like, at first. It’s mostly that he’s too likable. In every interaction they’ve had, he’s been incredibly charismatic, warm, polite, funny… but it’s not him. 

JJ is an expert at getting people to trust her without ever showing her hand. She recognizes a bluff when she sees one. 

She’s been watching Dean, whenever he thinks she’s not paying attention. He lets his guard down, sometimes, when he’s with his brother or Cas, but there’s a well-disguised wall that goes up when he talks to anyone else. It’s defensive fortifications camouflaged as charm. 

Apparently Emily’s shoved through whatever wall Dean usually puts up when he’s around strangers. Emily can do that to a person, though. JJ knows that better than anybody. 

Emily’s clearly teasing him about something. He’s grinning, boyish and bashful and genuine, and JJ likes him a hell of a lot more, suddenly. 

She heads over to join them on their couch, sliding over the armrest to sprawl halfway over Emily’s lap and cuddle in close. 

“Are you two still playing Truth or Dare? This doesn’t look very daring.” 

“Debauchery pissing contest,” Emily informs her. 

Dean is watching her, and his walls are up again: pleasant smile slapped on his face, eyes calculating, playing it close to the chest until he figures her out. 

She raises an eyebrow and prompts him: “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me?” 

He looks suspicious, but he goes with it. “What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” JJ says primly, and for a second Dean’s actually thinking about taking her seriously. She rolls her eyes. “Kidding. Middle of a Guns N Roses show.” 

He looks confused for a second. Then Emily and JJ high-five, and Dean barks out a laugh. 

“I didn’t know you —” 

He hesitates. 

“Swing that way?” JJ supplies. 

“Yeah, that.”

“Most people don’t, and we’re gonna keep it that way. Understood?”

Dean seems surprised by the sudden sharp edge in her voice. “Gotcha.” 

“I used to think she was crazy for not coming out publicly,” Emily tells Dean, but she’s looking at JJ with a little half-smile on her face. “But now that people are starting to give a shit about us, sometimes I think she might’ve had the right idea.” 

“Don’t lie, you love being an ‘inspiration to the youth,’” JJ says, with mocking finger quotes. “And you’ve been disappointing your mom for years, she’s used to it. Mine would probably have a heart attack.” 

“Yeah, but the number of times I get that fucking ‘Does that mean you’re attracted to pans?’ bullshit, I swear to God…” 

Dean’s looking at JJ again, but this time it’s less calculating and more admiring. He nods slowly like something just started to make sense.  

“Helluva poker face,” he says approvingly.  

JJ grins. “Yours isn’t too bad either.” 

. . . 

“I gotta ask,” Spencer says, slurred and slow. “How’d you choose the band name? The Ceiling Fires?”

Sam shrugs. “It was a recurring dream that Dean and I both used to have.” 

“Weird image.” Spencer makes a face as he undoes one of the tiny braids Penelope left in his hair. “Not that — weird isn’t a bad thing. It’s memorable.”  

“Yeah, I guess so. Dean called it that as a joke, to start with, I think, but...” Sam rambles. He’s right at that point of drunk where words just keep rolling off his tongue. “Feels like a long time ago. I mean, I did not in a million years think we’d end up here.” 

“Linear time,” Spencer comments. 

Sam waits for him to finish the thought, but apparently that’s it. 

“Linear time,” he repeats agreeably. “It’s not just… time, though, you know? It’s the whole deal. Success, I guess. People listening.  Expecting you to look a certain way, or… I don’t fucking know.”

Spencer nods pensively, combing his fingers through his hair again. “We did a magazine photo shoot the other day and they wouldn’t let me wear any of my own clothes. I like my clothes. And people keep asking if I’m dating anybody.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been getting that question too.” Spencer doesn’t know the half of it. Sam laughs to himself, rubbing his forehead, and takes a big gulp of his drink. 

Spencer pulls out another barrette with a grimace. “I mean, why would anyone care if you’re dating… who was it? Harry Styles?” 

Sam chokes and spits whiskey everywhere. 

“Who —” he wheezes, and has to stop to cough. “Fucking — how did you know?” 

“Wait, really?” 

“What?” 

“Penelope said it was just a stupid rumor,” Spencer says. He’s squinting at Sam like he’s seeing double. 

“Shit.” The adrenaline rush is going a long way toward sobering Sam up. He shakes his head and tries to pull himself together. “Shit. I just… shit.” 

“Is that a big deal?” Spencer asks, with a mild sort of confusion. “Penelope made it sound like a joke. She called it a conspiracy theory.” 

Sam stares at him, open-mouthed, before dropping his head into his hands with a groan. “Yeah, let’s just keep calling it a conspiracy theory, okay? I already owe his publicist a fucking… fruit basket, or maybe just a lot of wine.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t actually know who that is,” Spencer offers. Sam laughs weakly. “No, really, I won’t tell anybody. Even Penelope. Especially Penelope.” 

Sam studies him for a second. He looks earnest enough, in a boozy, unfocused way, but Sam’s learned the hard way that most people can’t be trusted. 

Still, worth a try. 

“If you could — yeah. Please? Just… please don’t tell anybody.” 

“Believe me,” Spencer says. “I know how it goes. If you let people see the things that matter…” He trails off, his eyes sliding to a point somewhere over Sam’s shoulder, and his voice gets unexpectedly clear and fierce. “People can be vicious. I wouldn’t give them a weapon like that.” 

Sam’s pretty sure he shouldn’t feel so reassured — Spencer still has a glittery butterfly clip sticking out from behind one ear — but he is, somehow. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. 

Spencer shrugs, like it’s nothing, and settles the guitar in his lap again. “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

“Oh hell no,” Sam grumbles, and throws a couch cushion at him.  

. . .

“Okay,” Hotch says decisively. “Everybody have their room keys?” 

“Aww! He’s like the world’s cutest drill sergeant,” Charlie says. Hotch scowls at her, but he has a feeling it’s not very intimidating. She just giggles.

“Rossi?” Hotch asks, looking around and doing a quick head count. 

“Went to bed an hour ago to listen to the latest episode of his fucking true crime podcast,” Emily says. 

Hotch frowns. “Without me? Sneaky bastard.” 

“Of all the weird fucking hobbies…” JJ mutters. “Hey, Morgan, is it my turn to be the jetpack?” 

“Fuck no. I am way too buzzed to be carrying any of you home tonight. You can walk.”

“I’m not sure I can, actually,” Spencer says morosely. He looks like a rag doll, sitting on the floor, propped up by the side of the couch. 

“Somebody come get Schroeder,” Dean mumbles, from where he’s curled up on the couch with his head in Cas’s lap. 

“We got this,” Penelope says determinedly. She grabs Spencer by the wrists and hauls him to his feet, and they lean against each other heavily, somehow managing to stay upright. 

Sam opens the door for them, smiling bemusedly as they all start to trail past: Morgan first, uncharacteristically wobbly on his feet; Emily and JJ, with their hands tucked into each other’s back pockets; Spencer and Penelope, staggering dangerously; and finally, Hotch bringing up the rear.

“Thanks,” he tells Sam, and waves at the others. “See you tomorrow.” 

Before the door closes behind him, Hotch hears Dean say, “It’s gonna be a fun tour.” 

.

.

.

[optimisticsprinkles]

[CLEAN VERSION] Soul Searching, Ch. 32

Sexual situations redacted.

If you’ve read the story until now, you’ll note that sexuality in the past has been referenced but not explicit. That’s the level I’m going for in the clean version, as well.

I’m including a brief non-explicit description when context is necessary.

Original version on AO3 here.

Chapter 32: Collecting Kisses

I wrote 20k words and wasn't done, so I decided to just grab the first half and post it.

Tired of editing/revising, so I'm not doing a final look-over. Here's hoping it's in good shape. (I think I fixed everything I wanted to last night.)

Ben woke to a brightly-colored fast food commercial, a crick in his neck, and a warm weight against his hip. He stretched his neck and glanced at Rey. She’d uncurled in her sleep and had tucked her feet against him.

He relaxed as he looked at her. He’d been so tense the last year, pressure sitting on his chest like a lead weight. Too often, he’d woken groggy and reaching for something that wasn’t there. He would find empty air and remember, and the weight would get heavier.

Ben sighed silently and let his head fall back against the sofa, his body deeply unhappy with him for falling asleep sitting up. Rey might be able to contort into weird positions and wake up refreshed, but Ben was old enough for his joints to protest the lack of a bed.

The commercials ran out and another crime procedural came on. He didn’t even want to watch it, but the remote was on the table past Rey, and he didn’t want to wake her up by moving.

He checked the time on his phone. In Sweden, it would maybe be dawn, but here it was the asscrack of night. His jetlagged body hated him, his muscles still aching after that morning’s nine hour plane ride, on which he’d been too nervous to sleep.

Rey’s breathing beside him was deep and even, audible. She’d be okay here on the couch, but if Ben didn’t get at least a few hours of sleep in a bed, he would regret it.

Though he stood carefully, Rey stirred and said, “Ben?” She blinked sluggishly up at him.

Unable to help himself, he gently touched her shoulder. Just enough to get her attention and reassure her that he was there. “I’m going to bed,” he said softly. “You should, too.”

“Oh,” she said. Yawned and sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “Okay.”

He picked up the remote and switched the TV off, plunging them into pitch black. Ben grumbled and found a lamp, switched it on the lowest setting, and then waited, not wanting to leave her here alone.

--

“Ben?” she asked when he lingered.

“Mm?”

Rey’s heart pounded, her limbs heavy and breathing shallow. “Would you…” She blushed, and he focused on her. She couldn’t look him in the eye as she forced out, “Would you kiss me goodnight?”

He didn’t move. When she looked back at his face, his eyes were wide and his mouth shifted, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Ben?”

That jolted him out of it, and he moved a step toward, then away from her. “Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, of course.” He wound up kneeling on the floor beside her, rubbing his hands on his jeans-clad knees. He looked into her face. “Are you sure?”

Rey swallowed her nerves and nodded. “Yes.”

He shuffled around a little bit, hesitating with his hands hovering near her as if he couldn’t decide where to put them. Then he leaned forward and frowned as if trying to decipher the correct angle.

Rey couldn’t go through with it. She wanted kissing him to feel real and organic, not forced, so she put a gentle hand on his chest and sat back out of his range.

Startled disappointment and hurt flashed across his face before he hid it, and Rey felt guilty as she tucked the blanket around her knees. “It’s okay,” she said gently, trying to reassure him that she wasn’t playing mind games. “Come on, let’s watch something. I’m awake now.” She jerked her chin toward the cushion beside her.

He got up and settled gingerly onto the center cushion, tossing a glance her way as if worried he’d misinterpreted her gesture. Her knees rested lightly against his side — an apology of sorts.

Rey pulled up Han and Leia’s streaming service and entered her search criteria. Ben groaned before she even finished typing, and Rey grinned at his incredulous horror when multiple results popped up.

“They made more than one?” he asked.

“Oh yes.” She turned to him, perfectly serious. “Ben. The world needs stories about bakers who solve mysteries with literally no training.” She clutched the remote to her heart. “Needs them.”

He rolled his eyes. “Nobody needs them. I dare say the world would be infinitely better without them.”

Rey pointed the remote at the TV. “Do we want to watch the Christmas one or the Valentine’s one?”

“Is ‘neither’ an option?”

“No.”

He grunted irritably, but she saw the corners of his mouth twitching up. “You pick. I’m going to need coffee to stay awake. Want any?”

--

As Ben prepared coffee, he obsessed over the failed kiss. He’d been far more nervous than he should have been, given that he’d been thinking about kissing her for well over a year. Which was likely the entire problem. He’d been building it up for so long that he’d put too much pressure on himself to make it perfect, to make sure she felt comfortable. He’d hesitated, and he’d blown it, and the chance to kiss Rey had slipped from his grasp entirely.

It was fucking depressing.

Rey entered the kitchen and poked through the pantry, pulling out a package of Oreos and setting them on the island. She skirted around to the cabinets by Ben and pulled a glass down, her bare arms moving gracefully in the indirect glow of the under-cabinet lighting, her dark skirt swishing lightly with every shift of her body.

She had to pass him to reach the fridge, where she tugged a jug of milk out, uncapped it, and began to fill her glass.

“Can I try again?” he asked when she was nearly finished.

“Try what again?” she replied absently, focused on her task.

That was discouraging, but fuck it. He didn’t care if he had to beg. It was Rey. “The kiss.”

“Oh,” she said, straightening the jug and glancing at him with wide eyes. “Um. Yes. Of course.” She hurriedly capped the milk and put it away, biting her lip when she turned back with nothing to occupy her hands. Nothing between them, blocking him. “That’s kind of why I chose the dumbest movie I could find.”

He frowned. “I don’t follow your logic.”

She smiled a little and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s hard to be stressed with a ridiculous movie on. I figured… we could watch it, and when you feel relaxed… we could try again.” She ducked her head and glanced nervously up through her lashes.

“Oh,” he said, lightheaded because all of his blood had just gone southward. He wondered if she’d be pissed if he kissed her right there, pinned against the fridge, because he damn well wasn’t going to be able to relax with that prospect on the table.

The couch would be more comfortable, though, and he hoped that when they finally kissed it would go on for a while.

The couch was the most sensible place.

But… fuck sensible.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asked, stepping forward as butterflies flung themselves against his insides.

She blinked and bit her lip, good signs because they weren’t no. And her body swayed toward him. It was only a millimeter, but he was examining her closely enough to catch it.

When she nodded, his focus narrowed further. He watched the way her eyes fluttered closed when he cupped her cheek in his palm.

He stepped forward, leaned down, and tipped her face up with a touch to her chin. Her eyes opened halfway, and he met them for a long moment, savoring having her there, with him, waiting for him to kiss her, before he bent and brushed his lips across hers.

Slowly.

Then he dragged them back across, equally as slow, letting every imperfection of his lips catch and tug at the sensitive skin of hers.

Rey let out a little gasp that went straight to his groin, and he deepened the kiss, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her steady. Her arms went around his neck.

She was warm and eager in his arms, as if she’d been waiting for this just as long as he had.

It wasn’t until the pressure of their mouths nudged the wound inside of his lip that he grunted and pulled back, wincing.

“Ben?” she asked, concerned.

He shook his head, bringing his fingers up to touch the wound. No blood. Just sore. “Sorry,” he said, his voice a bit raspier than usual. Rey’s mouth was kiss-swollen, and the sight filled him with satisfaction. He’d done that. “You have an excellent left hook.”

“Oh,” she said, and her eyes widened. She stared at his mouth and then actually seemed to deflate before his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

--

The bruises had been red earlier, but now they’d started turning purple. The one on his mouth looked a bit swollen.

Rey forced herself to face them and winced, shoulders hunching inward. “I shouldn’t have hit you.”

Something flickered in his eyes, and he searched hers for a long moment. He took a breath and said, “It can’t happen again.”

Rey flinched. She’d been hoping he would brush it off, but she knew logically that he shouldn’t let it go that easily.

It didn’t stop her from wishing he would.

The irony was not lost on her as she swallowed her pride and nodded. “I know.”

“It can’t, Rey. I’m not okay with being hit.”

Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. “I know.”

He hesitated, then held out a hand. She looked at it for a long moment before putting her own in it, letting him grasp her fingers with his longer ones. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, and she tingled from the contact. “I’m not mad,” he said. “Just… it can’t happen again.”

The tears fell. “It won’t.”

His hand squeezed, his fingers lacing through hers. His voice was gentle, and she almost wished he would yell at her. The kindness made it worse. “I get why you did it. I’ve needed to hit things before.” Still his thumb brushed across her skin. “Did you know, I punched my dad once?”

Rey swiped at her eyes and shook her head.

He shrugged. “It was pretty awful. I didn’t have the height advantage I do now, but it busted his nose. Blood everywhere.”

Rey flexed her fingers against his and heard the way his breath caught. “I shouldn’t have hit you. Especially in front of all those people.”

His eyes were fixed on their hands. “People do like a show.”

“They clapped,” she said, and his gaze rose to her face. She remembered it, how she’d felt horribly exposed. “I hate them for clapping.”

“Forget them.”

“Ben—”

He shook his head, eyes dark and unflinching in the dim lights. “They don’t matter. Besides,” he added in a milder tone, clasping her hand tighter, “I did kind of spring myself on you.”

Rey huffed a laugh and took a step into his personal space. “Yeah, you did.” He reacted, Adam’s apple bobbing, and part of her leaned into the desire she read in his eyes. She wanted him to kiss her again. “Still, I shouldn’t have done it,” she murmured, raising her free hand to touch the damaged part of his mouth. She wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, but the evidence was right there.

And if she wanted him to atone for his sins, she needed to hold herself to the same standard, no matter how much it sucked.

His lips parted, and he nipped the tip of one finger. Rey gasped, and his eyes went heavy-lidded with lust. “Rey,” he whispered, mouth moving against her fingers, warm breath puffing onto them. His throat moved as he swallowed. “Can I kiss you again?”

Equally soft, she said, “Don’t hurt yourself this time.”

His mouth landed warm and eager on hers, and Rey fought to keep her knees from buckling. His tongue probed at her lips, and she found herself gasping against his mouth, letting him in with a groan. She inexpertly met his tongue, and he rumbled his approval, his grip on her hand tightening convulsively as he backed her up against the island counter.

Rey wrapped her free arm around his neck and lifted a leg to hook behind his knee, and then his warm palm was on her bare calf hitching it higher, and fuck he was letting her hand go and lifting her so that she had to wrap both legs around his waist.

Rey dug her fingers into his shoulders and jerked in surprise when she felt something hard against her inner thigh. “Oh!”

Ben stopped immediately, staring into her face and then hurriedly setting her down. “Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair and looking around the room as if just then remembering where they were. He backed a few steps away, and Rey couldn’t help herself — her eyes dropped to his groin.

When she snapped her eyes to his face, aware that she’d been staring, she blurted, “I’m a virgin.”

He blinked a few times, then nodded thoughtfully. “I thought you might be,” he said softly, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “I, ah… same.”

Rey was surprised. Fiercely pleased, but mystified as to how a man his age, looking like that, had never been with anyone.

It was true he wasn’t ruggedly handsome or even boy band pretty, but he had something. The broad shoulders, the expressive dark eyes, the height. The hair. But mostly Rey thought it was something intangible. Something intrinsically Ben. He was — and she’d never have seen it if they hadn’t bonded, would never have paid enough attention to him to notice it — panty-droppingly sexy. So she was being perfectly sincere when she asked, “Seriously?”

He raised a brow and deadpanned, “I know. With my sparkling personality, I should have been mobbed.” He tilted his head and grimaced. “I’ve been on, like, two dates. I’m incredibly awkward.”

Rey tamped down a flare of jealousy that he’d ever found another woman attractive enough to ask out. “I don't think I've ever seen you be awkward.” Rude, frustrated, angry, overbearing, worried, and even, on occasion, content. But never awkward.

He looked at her, then gave a soft smile. Tried to joke, “You've never been on a date with me.”

That was true. They’d spent time together, but even that flight on her seventeenth birthday hadn’t been a date. “I’d like to,” she said. His eyes widened a fraction, and she clarified, “Go on a date with you. I’d like to do that.”

His cheeks flushed pink. “Okay.”

--

Rey sat cross-legged on her side of the couch, twisting the tops off Oreos and eating the frostingless side first until she could mush two frostings together to make a monster Oreo. It was in the middle of biting into one of these that Ben returned with his coffee. He looked at the couch and hesitated before sitting on the far end.

Rey tried not to take it personally, groping for the remote to start the movie. Why would he want to sit beside her? It wasn’t like he’d fueled her sexual fantasies for the next twenty years with those kisses in the kitchen.

Dumbass, she grumbled internally.

They were maybe four minutes into the movie when he said, “I’m seeing a lot of baking, but I don’t see any murder.”

“Give it a few more minutes,” she told him. “Murder takes time.”

“They keep smiling at each other. It’s five in the morning. Nobody is that cheery at five in the morning.” He sat up and pointed at a gaggle of characters entering the bakery laughing. “No. No. Stop it. Turn your butts around until you are ready to be passive aggressive and judgmental like real human beings. Jesus Christ,” he said, sitting back and shaking his head. “What is this, Mayberry?”

Rey set her cookies aside and got on her hands and knees to crawl toward him. His eyes locked on her as she did, and he set his mug on the table. Rey stopped just short of him, rocked forward, and kissed his cheek. Then she smiled at the heavy-lidded look he gave her and sat back on her heels, pleased with herself. “You’ll get your murder soon,” she promised, flopping back into her spot and grabbing another cookie, her toes tucked into the space between her cushion and the middle one. Her skirt rode up a little, and it gave her a thrill when his hungry gaze dropped to her legs. She debated parting her knees so he could look all the way up to her underwear, but he swallowed and looked back at the TV before she could make a decision.

Rey bit her lip and rubbed her thighs together. She saw Ben watching the motion out of the corner of his eye. He had a hand on his coffee cup but hadn’t picked it back up.

“Come kiss me till they kill someone,” she offered, sliding down until her back was on the cushion and her neck was on the arm of the couch. The motion made her skirt slide higher, but she didn’t try to fix it, too desperate to have him pressing between her legs again.

His lips parted, chest moving visibly as he raked his gaze over her. His knuckles turned white where he gripped the handle of his mug. “Are you sure?” he asked huskily.

She parted her knees — not wide, but enough for him to rest between — and that was all the invitation he needed to let go of his coffee and crawl up her body, pausing to kiss each of her bare knees before looming large and heavy over her.

Rey’s breath caught as she looked up into his face. His eyes were softer than she’d expected. He looked at her not as if he wanted to devour her but as if… as if…

“I love you,” he whispered into the warm, intimate space between them.

As if he wanted to make love to her.

Rey cupped a hand behind his neck and lifted her face while drawing him closer. Their lips met, and there was the hunger, but he didn’t settle between her thighs, didn’t press his hips against her even though she wouldn’t have minded.

He seemed to be taking the “kiss” part of her demand quite literally, because kissing was all he did.

Heart-pounding, toe-curling, tongue-twining kissing that made both of them moan until Ben raised his head a few inches, his reddened, damaged lips parted, and threw an accusatory glance at the TV. “Someone has been murdered,” he murmured, turning back to her with a question overlaying the heady desire in his eyes.

Rey leaned up and gently kissed the bruise on his mouth as guilt threaded through her, ruining the moment. “I really am sorry about hitting you.”

“I’ll heal,” he replied. He brushed some of her hair carefully out of her face. “Thank you, though.” He eased off of her, returning to his cushion, though his eyes didn't leave her. “Are we supposed to watch the movie now?”

“Might as well,” she sighed, wiggling to sit up. She didn’t miss that Ben’s eyes dropped to her bare legs as she did.

With her heart in her throat, she crawled over and tucked herself against his side the way she’d wanted to last year. Ben lifted his arm out of the way, letting her rest her cheek directly against his chest, and placed it behind her, not quite an embrace.

His heart thudded through the white cotton under her ear, and she tried to focus on the movie. She found herself getting into it, even though she'd missed seeing who exactly had been killed. She'd always liked mysteries.

After the baker and detective’s first argument, Rey laughed. “Oh my God, it’s us.”

“What are you talking about?” With her ear against his chest, she could hear how Ben's voice reverberated. It gave her goosebumps.

“The detective is an antisocial pessimist, and the baker is a cheerful optimist. It’s us.”

“That’s not us.” When she looked at him, he pointed out, “You are not as cheerful as you seem.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he wasn’t wrong. “Well, you’re not as mean as you pretend to be.”

“I am every bit as mean as I pretend to be.”

“Not with me,” she said confidently.

“No,” he agreed, and his eyes caught her and kept her from looking away. “No, not with you.”

She tilted her face up, and he took the hint and kissed her again. He groaned into it, and she hoped it was because he'd been dying to kiss her.

When Rey resettled against him, she realized she had a perfect vantage to see exactly what she'd done to him.

It scared her a little bit.

And maybe that was a good thing. It wasn’t like she wanted to hop on and ride him and forget everything he’d done, everything they still needed to talk about.

But she also had a year’s worth of sexual frustration built up that roared at her to make Ben do something to fix it.

She could beg him to touch her. But the sensible bit of her, the part that had reinstated itself after her nap earlier, suggested Door Number Two: go to bed and deal with the giant complication that was her soulmate tomorrow.

It took every bit of her willpower to lift her head from his warm, solid chest and detach from his side. She stood in front of him, ignoring his questioning frown, and bent forward to kiss him. She held her hair out of the way and didn't let any other part of her body touch his, because kissing alone was almost enough to break her resolve. Especially when Ben opened his mouth beneath hers, making her thighs clench as their tongues met and stroked.

“I'm not going to make it,” she said, straightening and dropping her hair. Let him think she was talking about staying awake.

“Right,” he said, seeming a little dazed after the kiss. He ran his tongue thoughtfully over his bottom lip, and Rey resisted the urge to climb on his lap and make out with him in earnest.

So she merely bade him goodnight and left for her room, where she got ready for bed thinking about Ben and the way he'd kissed her.

--

Rey woke late the next morning, finding Leia already up and dressed in a simple silk blouse and slacks that Leia would call “casual” but Rey thought were too nice for loungewear. She joined Rey in the kitchen and crossed her arms on the island as Rey poured herself a mug of coffee. “Han went to the shop to go over accounts with the manager. Ben’s out back.”

Rey glanced out the window and saw him on her bench swing. “Okay.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with him staying here?” Leia was watching her with those eyes that always saw too much.

“I’m sure.” Rey glanced out the window one last time before turning her back on it and stretching. “I’m gonna hit the punching bag for a while.”

She was halfway out of the room when Leia said, “Rey?”

The look on Leia’s face made Rey turn fully around. “Yes?”

Leia had an ability that Rey admired, where she could look both soft and stalwart at the same time. She used it just then as she said, “Please don’t hit my son again.”

Hot shame prickled across Rey’s skin. It was worse, somehow, coming from Leia. Worse than the clapping or Ben’s forgiveness or her own guilt. She looked into Leia’s eyes and saw the anger that the older woman was trying to bank; it terrified the orphan in Rey, the part of her that was afraid of being unloved and unwanted.

Rey swallowed the fear down, forcing herself to call up the memory of Leia telling her she wasn’t allowed to worry about things like that. “I-I won’t.”

“It upset me.”

Rey ducked her head to hide her tears. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Leia approached and reached up to brush the hair out of Rey’s wet eyes. “I love you both. No more violence. I mean it.”

Rey nodded, a sob tearing out of her, and let herself be drawn down to Leia’s shoulder. Leia rubbed her back as she cried, and Rey clung to the woman who’d been a mother to her this past year. She knew that Leia didn’t hate her, but the anger called to Rey’s worst fears.

She didn’t think she could survive another mother leaving her.

“It’s okay,” Leia whispered, voice soothing. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

The patio door opened, and Rey jerked out of Leia’s embrace, hurriedly wiping at her wet cheeks.

“Rey?”

She turned away, uncomfortable with the worry in Ben’s voice, and tried to compose herself.

“Mom? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Leia said smoothly. “More coffee?”

Rey glanced over to see Leia taking a black mug from Ben’s hand. Ben was looking at Rey, trying to catch her eye.

“I’m going to get changed,” she told Leia, avoiding Ben’s worried gaze.

Rey got her workout clothes on — a tank top, sports bra, and some old leggings — and put her hair up in a ponytail, and by the time she returned Ben was sitting at the kitchen table talking to his mother.

“I'll be in the garage,” she told them, and she could feel his eyes on her as she grabbed her neglected coffee off the counter and retreated to the quiet of the garage.

Rey took a swig, just cool enough to gulp, and set the mug on Han's workbench over a pattern of old coffee rings.

She turned on the radio and taped her hands, then stretched her arms high over her head and fell into a boxer's crouch.

The movement felt good, warmth loosening her muscles as she progressed, but hitting the bag reminded her of hitting Ben which made her think about why she'd hit him in the first place.

Rey groaned and stopped for a more thorough stretch now that her muscles were warm. He'd deserved it, certainly, but she regretted it. It hadn't done anything for her anger, and now Leia… Rey fought back tears for a moment, but they were coming whether she wanted them or not, so she gave in and sat on the floor to have a good cry.

The tears didn't last more than a minute. When they tapered off, Rey wiped her face on her tank top and went inside for water.

Ben was alone at the breakfast table and looked up too fast to be casual when she entered. He had his reading glasses on, a book in his hands, and an uncertain expression on his face.

“Punching bag?” he asked, taking in her taped hands and workout clothes.

Rey nodded, casting a wary look his way as she uncapped a water from the fridge and drank. Was he going to assume that last night meant he could kiss her whenever he wanted? Or that they were okay now?

“Would you like some company?”

He tried to sound casual, but his tense shoulders gave his nerves away. Rey considered and started to decline — she'd tense up with him watching her — but her eyes fell to a familiar strip of caramel brown leather lying on the table beneath his book.

Unable to stop herself, she moved forward and pulled it toward her to get a better look.

“You… kept it,” she said, noting a smooth patch that hadn't been there before, as if it had been polished only in one small area.

“Of course.”

She looked up, and he looked as confused as she felt.

“But it's garbage,” she said. Literally garbage.

He reached out and drew it back, frowning at her. “It's the most valuable thing I own.” He picked it up and looked at it, his thumb rubbing absently across the smooth patch in a motion too natural to be something he hadn't done before. “If there were a fire and I could save one thing, it would be this.”

“Why?” she breathed, guessing the answer but needing to hear it.

He looked straight at her and said, “Because it's from you.”

She stepped hesitantly around to his chair and kissed him. When she drew back, he gazed warmly up at her. “I love you.”

Rey wanted to cry. “I love you, too.” Ben's eyes lit up, and he reached for her, but Rey stopped him. “It doesn't fix anything.”

The joy in his eye dimmed only to be replaced by a flare of stubborn hope. “Let me enjoy it for a moment. Please.”

So Rey let him cup her face in his hands and draw her trembling mouth down to his. This kiss was tender where the ones last night had been hot, sweet where they'd been desperate. This was a kiss that could go on forever without ever needing to be anything more.

“God, I love you,” he whispered.

Rey settled onto his lap without even thinking about it, gripping him as they kissed as if he were the only thing keeping her upright.

A noise from the doorway brought Rey back to herself. She tore her lips away from Ben's with a gasp and scrambled off of him.

Leia grimaced sheepishly at them, obviously in the middle of trying to sneak back out of the room. She flapped a hand at them. “Don't mind me, carry on. I wasn't here.”

Ben sighed, sitting back and running a hand through his hair. “Too late now,” he grumbled.

Leia left anyway, and Rey grabbed her water, putting some distance between her and Ben.

“You can keep me company,” she finally said, looking at her water and not at him. Then she sent him a stern glare that was probably ruined by how hard her heart was pounding. “But behave.”

His lips only barely curved into a smile, but his eyes gleamed. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and stood. And if Rey’s hips swayed a little bit as she led him into the garage, it was entirely against her will.

--

Rey on the punching bag was a beautiful sight. Her form was excellent, but it was her ferocity which held him spellbound.

She paused to drink more water and glanced at him, gaze wary. Then her eyes dropped and widened, and she choked on her water. Still coughing, she asked, “Are you—?”

Ben didn’t glance down. “It’s not something I have much control over.” He shrugged and leaned back on his hands. He’d never been self-conscious about his body, and while he might mind another woman staring at him, he wanted Rey to see him. All of him. He wanted her to know the effect she had on him.

She blushed and looked away, tendrils of hair sticking to her sweaty brow and neck, her chest moving as she panted from exertion. “Jesus, Ben,” she muttered, setting her water aside and avoiding looking at him. She checked the tape on her hands and stretched her arms and shoulders, popping her modest chest out as she clasped her arms behind her and drew her shoulder blades together.

Ben made a helpless noise as he thought about following the sweat with his tongue down that tight sports bra.

Rey’s eyes flickered to him, her brows drawn together as she pulled one arm across her body and held it for a few seconds. “What is up with you?”

He arched a brow at her. Seriously? She had to know that being covered in sweat in those clothes would affect him.

Didn’t she?

Her furrowed brow and blush said differently.

Ben took pity on her. “You’re gorgeous,” he said.

Rey’s eyes came back to his, expression skeptical. “I’m disgusting,” she countered.

His gaze traveled over her, and he swallowed. Best not to tell her all the things he wanted to do to her, all the things he wanted her to do to him.

His mouth worked for a moment before he could rasp out, “Watching you work out is apparently a turn on for me.” His sweaty, flushed, fierce soulmate.

“Oh,” she said, turning redder and looking away as she finished her stretching. “Sorry.”

“Don’t ever apologize for that.”

She shrugged without looking at him and went back to the punching bag. Ben was sitting on the floor where his dad usually parked The Falcon, watching.

“I was thinking,” she puffed, slowing her routine to talk to him. “We might not’ve been on a level playing field before—” She tossed him a brief warning glare as if daring him to gloat that she’d conceded the point. “—but we weren’t nothing. And you had no right to keep me in the dark.”

“Agreed,” he said carefully, and she shot him another warning glance.

“So I was thinking,” she said, huffing as she gave the bag a sharp jab followed by an uppercut that made him wince in sympathy. Rey’s face was flushed, her expression determined. “You could tell me what was going through your head back then. All the things you hid.”

Ben considered. “You’re not going to like all of it.”

Rey stopped to catch her breath and get more water. She eyed him over the mouth of her water bottle. “Better than not knowing.”

He nodded and swallowed. “Okay. But you have to do the same.”

She looked away, and his stomach sank with her next words. “It was torture for me. For most of it.” She shrugged and turned around, setting her water back down. With her back to him, she said, “I thought I'd have to spend the rest of my life loving someone who didn't love me back.” She shook her head, her ponytail swishing, and rounded on the punching bag, slamming her fist into it with zero technique. “Do you have any idea —?” She lifted a foot and kicked it so hard that the chain holding it to the ceiling creaked, and Ben winced.

His heart felt as bruised as her knuckles probably were. He got up and touched her back, holding his ground when she rounded on him with all of that rage and pain clear on her face. She gritted her teeth, tears in her eyes, and threw her arms around his waist to sob into his chest.

“I thought you didn’t want me. I thought you’d never want me. I thought I’d have to watch you fall in love with someone else and start a family, and I’d have to murder her because you’re mine.”

No one had ever told Ben that his heart could break and swell with joy at the same time, or how terrifying an experience it would be. “I am yours,” he whispered shakily and kissed her hair.

Her sobs had begun to abate, though she still clung to him. “I thought I’d only ever get pity from you once you found out how desperately in love with you I was.” She sniffed, her voice muffled against his chest. “I was a kid, and you were… you were a man. You didn’t need me.”

“I needed you,” he assured her, rubbing her back and dropping more kisses onto her hair. “I needed you. Even if I hadn’t loved you, I would have needed you. You’re you. You’re my soulmate. You’re the bravest, strongest, cleverest person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s not true,” Rey said, pulling back slightly. “You’ve met Leia.”

He huffed a laugh but only kissed the tip of her reddened nose in reply. His mother was strong, but so was Rey. He honestly couldn’t say which of them was stronger. Perhaps his mother for now, but in a few years… who knew?

Unable to help himself, he kissed her cheek, and her nose, and her other cheek, until she laughed and pushed him away.

“I should have been more open,” he said, watching her as she untaped her hands. “I’m sorry you ever had to go through that.”

She frowned and glanced up at him. “I didn't have to go through it. That's kind of the point.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I know. I didn't mean — I only mean that I'm sorry I made you go through it. If I'd been honest, you wouldn’t have worried about me finding someone else, and you would never have kissed me and… maybe I would have had to leave, but on better terms. Without hurting you as much.”

She lifted her face, serious and intent. “It still would have hurt me.”

Ben nodded. “Yes, but — correct me if I'm wrong — it would have made a difference if I'd prepared you for the possibility. If you'd known that at some point I might have to remove myself, and why.” If only they’d sparked a year or two later. It wasn’t the first time he’d lamented the timing of it all, and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last.

Rey went back to untaping her hands, but her frown persisted. “How would you have told me?”

He took a deep breath and looked at the sturdy old punching bag. “I'm not sure. I suppose I could have told you when you asked if I was gay.”

Rey snorted, and he sent her an amused smile.

Still with that little smile, he said, “That was mortifying, by the way. Being asked by the only girl I wanted to fuck if I liked men.”

Rey shifted, her color deepening. She licked her lips — on purpose or was she just nervous? — and her voice was low when she asked, “Did you ever imagine it?”

His breathing picked up. “No,” he said, swallowing. “I wouldn't let myself — you were sixteen — but I, ah, found that my… tastes had changed after we sparked.”

She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “And what was your taste before?”

He blinked and had to bite back a smile. Her tone had been a little too sharp, a little too possessive. “I wasn't too particular before we sparked. After, I only ever noticed athletic brunettes. With freckles.”

She looked away, her cheeks reddening. “Did you imagine yourself with them?”

He hesitated, and she looked at him again, eyes wide and hurt. She was getting the wrong impression, so he hurried to correct it even though the truth was not something he felt proud of. “When I watched certain… certain videos, I would imagine it. They were a stopgap because I didn't think of you like that, Rey. I wouldn't let myself. Not until you kissed me, and then I couldn't stop thinking about you like that.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, loathe to tell her the sordid details of what he’d done to himself again and again that same night, thinking of her, the dam blown wide open.

While she’d been crying in his mother’s arms.

He still felt dirty and guilty when he thought of it.

Ashamed.

He licked his lips to wet them and tried to interpret her posture. “I assume you want to go over things in more detail,” he murmured. “And there were a few things underlying my choices back then, but the main one was fear. I was too turned around to think straight, or to see what you were going through. I fooled myself into thinking you were okay because I was scared. I…” he shifted his jaw and looked away, taking a breath to steady his suddenly pounding heart. “Snoke did a number on me, Rey,” he said, meeting her eyes again. “He never touched me, but he fucked my head up. I was afraid of… of molesting you.” His voice broke, and he needed to take another gulp of air to get through it, but his words came faster until he was almost gasping them. “I didn’t want to be like him, I didn’t want to hurt you like that. It was imperative that I not hurt you like that. I’d fucking die if I did. I swear to God, Rey, I’d fucking die.”

He didn’t realize he was crying until her hands came up to cup his face and she shushed him. She pulled him down, cradling his head against the crook of her shoulder the way his mother used to when he was a kid, and stroked his hair. She murmured reassurances to him and let him cling to her until his breathing steadied and the tears dried and the panic receded.

“You didn’t,” she whispered over and over. “You didn’t do it. I’m fine. It’s okay. You’re okay, Ben. It’s okay.”

He took a shaky breath and straightened, wiping lingering tears away. “Sorry.”

His fierce girl, his woman warrior, glared up at him. “Don’t ever apologize for your trauma. Not to me.”

He cupped her jaw, feeling wrung out. “I love you.”

Her hand covered his. “I love you, too.”

He moved his thumb to catch against her bottom lip. “Please,” he murmured, chest sore and hollow. “I’m trusting you to know what you’re ready for, to not push yourself for my sake. I want you, of course I want you, but I need you to be sure. I need you to understand how important it is for you to be ready before—”

She squeezed his hand, eyes soft. “I understand.”

He nodded and let out a breath, feeling unsteady. “Okay. Okay, good. Thank you.” He released her, and she brushed some hair out of his face, finger-combing it back. The touch made his eyes close and his body relax.

“Do you want to get some waffles?” she asked. When he looked at her, she tipped her head to one side and shrugged. “They always makes me feel better.”

He usually spent time on the punching bag when he felt like this, or out for a run, but going for waffles with Rey sounded infinitely better. “Sure.”

She smiled. “Okay. Let me grab a quick shower first.”

They started toward the door, but she paused on the stairs and looked over her shoulder at him when he said, “Rey?” He hesitated, but he needed to know. “Why were you crying earlier?”

Her smile melted away. “Your mom asked me not to hit you again.”

He frowned. “And that made you cry?”

She opened her mouth and closed it. Hesitantly said, “She was angry.”

“What did she say?” His voice came out sharper than he’d intended, and it made her flinch.

“She didn’t… she wasn’t…” Rey sighed and plopped down onto the steps. Ben sat when she jerked her head at the spot beside her. “I could tell she was angry. She didn’t say she was. She was completely reasonable, and it was completely fine. I just… I get afraid. When people get mad at me, I worry that they’re going to leave.” She looked him in the eye, her own big and soft and sad. “My parents, Maz, you. I’ve been left a lot, Ben.” She shrugged, her eyes filling, and he tugged her into a hug because he couldn’t go back in time and fix anything. No matter how much he wanted to.

She leaned against him. “I know it’s not rational,” she said quietly. “It’s just… always there, you know? This awful voice in the back of my mind telling me I’m not good enough.” She sniffled and pulled away, giving him a watery smile. “I’m getting better at dealing with it.”

He nodded. “I have something like that, too,” he said softly.

She laced her fingers through his and pulled him up with her when she stood. “Come on,” she said with a more genuine smile. “Let’s go get waffles.”

--

Rey had first softened toward Ben because of all the kissing, she could admit that, but his breakdown in the garage had taken most of the venom out of her anger. She still had plenty of residual emotions to deal with, things like hurt and frustration and resentment that would give them more than enough to talk about, but, right now, she could sit across from him at a diner and not want to either throw coffee in his face or dry hump him, which had been her two reigning emotions for the past twenty-four hours.

She’d found a text from Lusica while still wrapped in a towel after her shower: Anything yet?

Rey had considered postponing her reply, but she’d smiled and shot off a quick, We kissed.

OMG YESSS! How was it? Is he good? How much tongue does he use? Is he handsy or a gentleman? He seems like a gentleman, but you KNOW I’m hoping handsy.

Rey had bitten her lip and grinned as she typed, Well, I have a general estimate on size now.

OMFG REY. DETAILS. NOW!!!

Can’t. Going out for breakfast.

NOOOO! I hate you!!

Rey had sent a LOL back and got dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, finally turning her sound off because it was just a litany of Ta-dings as Lusica tried to pry more details out of her.

Rey didn’t plan on giving her friend a play-by-play, but she liked that she had someone who was excited about all the little milestones.

“Okay,” she said, dumping three packets of sugar into her coffee. Across from her, Ben raised his brows. “What was your first reaction when we sparked?”

“Honestly?” He sipped his coffee. “My first coherent thought was, ‘Oh shit.’”

“Teenage student?” she asked.

“Teenage student,” he agreed with a nod. “It was basically my worst nightmare, what with… you know.”

His expression tightened, and she reached out and brushed the backs of her fingers against his. The darkness in his eyes lightened, and he brushed back before drawing his hand away and wrapping it around his mug.

“It would have been better if we’d sparked later. During your senior year or after graduation. When you came home from college, even.”

Rey frowned at that, stirring her coffee with a little swizzle straw. “I wouldn’t have come home from college. No home to come back to.”

He frowned as well, sitting back. “I didn’t consider that.”

“If we hadn’t met when we did,” she said, working it out as she went, “I’d still be at Plutt’s. Or I’d have been moved into a different foster home, maybe in a different school district, and we’d never have met at all.”

His lips parted. “Shit. I hadn’t… God.” He covered his mouth with one hand. “I didn’t even realize.” When he looked up, she saw horror there. “We might have missed each other altogether.”

Gently, because he still looked troubled, she said, “Good thing we didn’t.”

He nodded, his posture easing minimally even though his brows still had a crease between them. “Right.”

“I always liked to imagine meeting you when you were my age.” She shrugged at his surprised look. “I’d always be the same age, of course, since it was my imagination. But if we’d met around sixteen or seventeen, there wouldn’t have been any of that age awkwardness.”

Ben’s brows drew together, and he shook his head. “That would have been a disaster.” He looked at her with those big, serious brown eyes. “I was not in a good place back then. I would’ve… Jesus.” He took a hand from his mug to run it anxiously through his hair. “Things would have been a lot worse if we’d met then.”

“Oh,” Rey said in a small voice, feeling suddenly foolish about her daydreams.

“It took me over a decade to get to the mess I was when we met,” he added. “Sixteen and seventeen… that was right after Snoke. I was angry, violent. I got suspended a few times, and my mom had to hire a tutor just to get me through graduation. I was only barely fit to interact with other people when I went to college, and even then I was an aggressive jackass.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Jesus, that would be a nightmare. I would have dragged you down with me, or you would have kicked my ass and left me.”

The picture he painted was very different from the sulky but sensitive boy she’d imagined. “Probably kicked your ass,” she said quietly, discomfited.

He gave her a wry smile. It stretched the bruise on his mouth. “Most likely, yes.”

She smiled back and looked down into her coffee, still feeling stupid. “I suppose we met at the best possible time, then.”

He nodded, and they drank their coffee in silence, dwelling on their own thoughts. Ben had a deep frown line between his brows when he asked, “Do you think it would have been better if you’d never met me?”

Rey’s eyes snapped up to his, horrified. “No!”

He let out a breath and nodded, seeming relieved. “Okay. Good.”

She fought down the panic that wanted to choke her. “Do you?”

“No,” he said quickly, eyes wide. “No, I just… you’ve been through so much because of me.”

“I don’t wish I’d never met you. Not even a little bit. Don’t ever think that.” She was getting worked up, but she couldn’t stop it. “I love you. I mean, it hasn’t exactly been smooth, but… I don’t wish we’d never met. You’re my fucking soulmate, Ben.”

He reached over and touched her hand, and Rey realized she’d been getting louder until the people at the booth across from them looked over. “Okay,” he said, stroking the back of her hand soothingly with his thumb. “Okay.”

Rey looked at the salt and pepper to hide her wet eyes from curious strangers. “You’re a jackass, but you’re my jackass,” she grumbled at him.

He laughed and released her hand. “Yes, I am.” Warmly, he added, “Always.”

They were quiet for a bit after that, and this time Rey was the one to break it. “So,” she said faux-casually. “About those two dates you went on.”

He gazed at her over his coffee. “Only if you tell me about yours.”

Rey's eyes widened. She'd started writing to him after her first and only date, but she'd never actually told him about it. It had been too much of a failure to rub his nose in.

“My mom told me,” he said, toying pensively with his napkin. Those dark eyes pinned her. “I almost came home right then. Even bought a ticket.”

“She must not have known how poorly it went,” Rey said with a forced laugh. “Or you wouldn't have cared.”

“Oh, I care,” he said grimly. “I still want to track whomever it was down and rip his head off.”

Rey swallowed. “Look at you, using ‘whomever’ in a sentence,” she said lightly.

“Rey,” he growled.

“You start,” she said firmly, ignoring his posturing. “You had two, so tell me about one of them.”

He sighed and took a sip of coffee while he thought. “Okay. The first was a nursing major. Sarah. We had an acquaintance in common. The date itself was horrible — stilted, awkward, and she talked almost exclusively about herself and how hard her classes were. She didn’t have a lot of time to socialize or date or anything, so she told me point-blank at the end that it wasn’t going to work out and I shouldn’t bother walking her home.”

She sounded like a bitch, which made Rey feel a little better. “What did she look like?”

He raised a brow at her but obliged. “Average height. Curly blonde hair.”

“And the other one?”

He gave her a look which channeled Teacher Ben so perfectly that Rey almost felt like she was back in his classroom. “I think it’s your turn.”

She bit her lip, trapped by the pressing need to know what kind of women had caught his eye. Had they been prettier than her? More fashionable? Curvier? Nicer? Did they laugh at his jokes? Had he made jokes? She knew it was insecurity that made her say, “Please?”

He sighed and folded his arms on the table. “Second one was Claire. She was a foot shorter than me and had really long brown hair. Sarah had insisted on splitting the bill when we went out, but Claire expected me to pay, which…” He shrugged. “That’s the traditional arrangement, and it’s not like I couldn’t afford it.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Rey’s stomach clenched. How much had he liked Claire? “I walked her home, said I’d call her, and she gave me one of those fake smiles and went inside.”

“Did you call her?”

He shook his head. “It was pretty obvious she didn’t want me to. She pretended not to see me on campus after that, so I just went along with it. Acted like she didn’t exist. It was more awkward than being adults and just facing that we’d had a date and it hadn’t worked, but it was… easier. For the short term.”

“Were you very disappointed it didn’t work out?” Rey looked at her coffee, not wanting to see what expression might cross his face.

Ben apparently didn’t like that, because he reached out and tipped her chin up until she was looking at him. “Rey,” he said very seriously. “If you’re asking if I’m sorry those women aren’t in my life anymore, the answer is no. The only disappointment I felt had to do with not finding what I was looking for in them.” He released her chin and leaned back, shaking his head as he glanced around the diner for their server. “I wanted companionship, connection, understanding. I wasn’t going to get that with them.” He looked back at her. “It was disappointing enough that I stopped trying after that. Which is a stupid thing to do — two bad dates doesn’t mean I’m undatable, but that’s how it felt at the time.” He made a face. “I was way too ready to settle for the worst interpretation of everything.”

“Unlike now?” she asked, cocking a teasing brow at him.

He smiled, then glanced away. “This is going to sound corny—”

“Corn away,” she replied, setting her elbows on the table and her chin on her fists.

He flicked her a wry smile and then sighed. “You’ve brought… hope… into my life in a way I’ve never had before.” He glanced at her, his cheeks turning the slightest bit pink. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happy. Maybe for a while when I was a kid, but… and I’m not trying to be weird and say you’re the only thing in the world that could ever make me happy, because that’d be a lot of fucking pressure. But.” His eyes shone, and a smile grew as he spoke. “I’m in love.”

Rey’s throat felt tight, and her eyes were wet, but she smiled back and tucked her bare ankle against his clothed one under the table. “I think I know what you mean.” Rey had been happy enough. Certainly happier than Ben had. She’d had friends and hopes and dreams and plans. She’d been working her way toward a better life. But this kind of love… changed things. Her life to that point hadn’t been awful, and it would have been a good life without him, but now it had more color, more depth.

And it wasn’t just because of Ben. It was Han and Leia, the uncles, even Wicket who’d given Rey the royal treatment every time they’d gone to his restaurant over the past year.

That gave Rey a wicked idea. As their food arrived, a Belgian waffle for her and a Mexican omelette for him, she casually suggested, “We should go to Wicket’s for our first date.” He stared at her long enough that she felt self-conscious and started to squirm in her seat.

“Sorry,” he said, nodding absently at the waitress as she promised to return and refill their coffee. “My brain short-circuited at the word ‘date.’” He spread his napkin neatly over his lap, picked up his utensils, and very politely inquired, “Are you insane?”

Rey drizzled syrup over her waffle. “Part of me still wants to punish you,” she said with a shrug, spreading butter into every waffle-dimple. “And Wicket’s would do that nicely.”

He raised a skeptical brow at her over his food. “Do you really think our first date should be planned with revenge in mind? That seems a bit counterproductive.”

Rey stuffed her mouth full of waffle and considered. He had a point. She didn’t really want to make their first date awful, just… she thought it would be fun to see Ben’s longsuffering response to Wicket.

But taking him with the intent to torture him would just make the whole experience fall flat. She wanted to take him to Wicket’s because she liked Wicket and because he would be delighted to see Ben. Ben’s annoyance would be amusing, but only if he was actually pleased to be there with her and not forcing himself to suffer through it.

“Okay,” she said quietly, feeling small for having suggested it. “But we’ll have to go there at some point.” At his frown, she said, “Not for ‘revenge’ — Wicket will be happy to see you. And deep down, I’m willing to bet you’ll be happy to see him.” She gave him a pointed look, daring him to contradict it.

Ben grunted and cut a bite-sized piece off of his omelette. “So long as it’s not some sort of weird punishment.” He glanced up, and Rey saw no humor there. “I can’t stop you if you want to be vindictive, but I’m not going to sit back and take it. I’ve spent enough of my life thinking I’m not good enough.”

Rey tore her eyes from his and grabbed her coffee as the segment of waffle she’d already eaten churned in her stomach. The thought of choking down the rest suddenly made her queasy.

He was quiet for a moment before he softly asked, “Rey?” but she didn’t look up, just shook her head. His ankle hooked behind hers and he tugged, jerking her foot forward.

Rey did look up at him, then, and the tears spilled over. She looked quickly away.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Her gut twisted tighter at the endearment. “Am I completely awful?”

“No,” he said immediately and with authority. “As someone who has been completely awful at various points in my life, you are absolutely not.”

“I’ve been a bitch to you.”

“It hasn’t been that bad,” he replied.

Rey fixed him with a look and dropped her gaze pointedly to the bruise on his mouth. “I punched you in the face.” She held up two fingers. “Twice.”

His eyes were too soft, too understanding. “It’s in the past.”

“It was yesterday,” she grumbled. She looked at the food in front of her and pushed it miserably away. “Can we get out of here?”

Ben flagged their waitress down and got the check, throwing some bills on the table and refusing to let Rey contribute. She tried to argue, but he ignored her protests and tugged her from the booth and out to the parking lot, holding her hand the whole way.

“Why do you think you’re awful?” he asked when they were safely ensconced in her car.

Rey rubbed at her wet cheeks with her palms. “Because I’m vindictive. And petty. And just… terrible.”

Ben looked at her long enough for Rey to think he wasn’t going to contradict her, and that made her feel even worse. But he finally shifted to face her, braced a hand on the seat by her shoulder, and said, “The difference between terrible people and you is that when you are called out on those things, you listen.”

She raised her tear-stained face to look at him and sniffled.

Ben ducked his head closer, intent. “Terrible people don’t. They just keep being vindictive and petty and selfish and cruel. You aren’t a cruel person, Rey. That’s not you. You’re angry, yes, but you’re not cruel.”

She sniffled again and nodded, processing. His words made sense, but shreds of fear and inadequacy floated around her like seaweed trying to tangle her limbs and pull her down. She knew from experience that she would feel better tomorrow, but it wasn’t even lunchtime yet, so she had plenty of day left to get through.

She wanted to not think for a while. To not feel like every move she’d made since he got home had dragged her further and further down.

It’s in the past, he’d said. As if the past were that easy to forget.

She thought about what he’d done, about what he’d hidden, what he’d put her through, and she just couldn’t muster the same amount of antipathy as before.

Ben interrupted her thoughts. “I haven’t forgotten that you still owe me a story. I told you mine. So. Who do I have to kill?”

She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, and she suspected that he wasn’t, not entirely. He genuinely wanted to hurt the boy she’d gone out with, even though she knew he wouldn’t.

It shouldn’t have made her happy, but it did.

Rey shifted against her seat and fastened her seatbelt before starting the car and pulling out of her spot. “Well, all the boys at school knew about the incident with Thomas and wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

Ben snorted and crossed his arms, leaning back as he listened. “Good.”

Rey sent him a brief glare, then looked both ways before turning onto the road. “The boys outside of school just weren’t interested.”

“Clearly not all of them,” he murmured, and she felt his eyes on her.

She inclined her head, glad for the excuse driving gave to avoid his gaze. “I was working at the ice cream stand on Elm—”

He nodded. Of course he’d know it if he grew up here.

“—and this one guy came around sometimes.”

“Were you attracted to him?” he asked abruptly, biting off the words.

She glanced over when traffic allowed and saw him glaring out his window. “I thought I could be.”

His jaw worked, which was all she had time to see before she had to look back at the road. “What does that mean?”

“It means he was cute, and I thought… I don’t know. Maybe he could help me forget.”

“Forget me,” he said, and Rey flinched.

“Forget my pain,” she corrected softly. He had nothing to say to that, apparently. Rey wasn’t done feeling like dirt, though, because she needed for him to know the truth. “I said yes to him because I wanted to hurt you.”

A huff of breath, but she couldn’t interpret it without looking at him and the traffic was too busy for that. His reply was soft. “You did.”

Fuck. She had to pull over, couldn’t keep driving with tears blinding her. She turned into a parking lot for a fast food place and went to the furthest corner, affording them a bit of privacy. She put the car in park and swiped at her eyes. Her voice was thick when she said, “If it makes you feel any better, it went about as bad as yours did.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, his arms still folded across his chest. When he spoke next, his voice was more neutral. “What did you do?”

“Pizza and a crappy movie.” She shrugged. “He tried, I guess, it just… it was all wrong. He was wrong.”

“How?”

“You know how.”

His brows lowered and he stared at her, not letting her weasel away from the truth. “Say it.”

“He wasn’t you.”

His silence consumed the car, but she could tell her answer had satisfied him. “Did he touch you?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “I was going to let him kiss me, but… I couldn’t go through with it.” She shrugged and glanced reluctantly his way. “He wasn’t you,” she repeated in a miserable whisper.

Ben unbuckled his seatbelt, and that plus the determined way he was looking at her sent a flutter through her stomach.

“Ben?”

He unbuckled her seatbelt and tugged, urging her over the center console until she was in his lap, her hands flat against his chest.

“Ben, we’re… we’re in public,” she gasped.

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop,” he rumbled, one hand fisting in her hair and tugging her head back to lavish kisses along her throat. “I need to stake my claim, Rey. I need it.”

His kisses were leaving her lightheaded, but she managed to get out, “H-how exactly do you plan to do that?”

In answer, he covered her mouth with his, tongue tracing the seam of her lips and demanding entry. Rey let him in and moaned when his hand tightened in her hair, his other hand on her waist. She was on his lap, but there wasn’t enough room for either of them to grind against the other, so she could only shift deliriously, losing track of time as they spiraled further and further into each other.

Someone thumped her trunk, and she jumped, looking out to see a pair of teenage boys laughing and looking back at them as they walked toward the fast food place.

Both of Ben’s hands were on her waist now, and she thought it was only her physical presence on top of him that kept him from getting out of the car to murder the boys.

She buried her face in his neck, blushing at being caught. “Let’s go home,” she murmured, and his tense body relaxed a fraction beneath her. He looked less homicidal when she peeked up at him.

He kissed her again, then let her go. “Okay.”