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Here’s 3 things about Ben Solo, according to Rey:
1. He’s her best friend.
2. He smells like fire roasted marshmallows, old books, and apple pie.
3. He’s the strongest person she’s ever known.
They met five years ago at a PSAO (Peer Support for Abused Omegas) group held in a damp church basement on 54th Street. Honestly, he scared her the first time she saw him; all broad chested and angry, hunched over in his chair like a panther ready to pounce, but that all fell away the moment she heard him speak.
“I don’t know what my life was before him,” he’d admitted, his voice deep and hesitant with a touch of a Midwestern accent. “Every action I did, every choice I made was influenced by him being there in my head. I tried to build myself up in the only way I could, so I was at the gym constantly during my free time, but even that backfired on me. At first nobody believed me, probably because I’m a guy or because I’m bigger, they just assumed that I could take care of myself.” He had let out a harsh chuckle and ran his fingers through his shaggy black hair. “I felt so alone.”
“You’re not alone,” she’d blurted out, fresh faced and new to all of this, so unaware of the meeting’s standard etiquette.
Then he’d looked at her, really looked at her, and his sad, lonely face split into a small smile. “Neither are you.”
Now they lead a group meeting together, side by side in equally uncomfortable plastic chairs. They meet in an elementary school gym on Saturday afternoon, where the cheerful cartoon graphics of kids jumping rope clash with attendees’ whispered confessions of emotional and sexual abuse.
“...and it got to the point, really,” Rey breathes, fingers twisting in the fabric of her shorts. “Where I almost wished he would rape me. Because I felt so lonely, so useless and unwanted, that at least it would prove that I was good for something, that someone wanted me in some way.”
She feels Ben’s warm hand snake under hers and clench it tight. He’s heard this story, her story, countless times at group meetings before, but he never seems to tire of supporting her through every painful word. “It finally ended when I made a connection from outside of it all. My friend Finn, he–” Her voice catches in her throat. “–he made me feel like somebody. Somebody worth knowing, you know?”
Almost every attendee in the circle nods, some staring at their laps, others with tears crystalizing in the corners of their eyes. “And he was so good, so strong and supportive, but it’s often the case that others...that Betas, just can’t quite understand what it feels like. Which is why we come here, where it’s safe and private, and where we can be surrounded by people who know what it feels like to be treated less than, and where we can seek guidance from those who have risen above their pasts.” She squeezes Ben’s hand. “Together we can be strong and support each other, because we are enough.”
3 more things about Ben Solo, according to his new roommate Rey:
1. He’s an unconventional minimalist.
2. He’s an excellent cook.
3. He’s a massive snob, especially about ‘lifestyle’ topics.
“Wow."
She stands in his living room, mouth gaping, two ratty IKEA bags full of her stuff hanging from her shoulders. “You live here?”
“We live here,” he corrects, gently, placing down the busted cardboard box from the liquor store that holds the rest of her belongings. “And yeah, this is the place.”
His apartment screams ‘old money’, from the gorgeous dark hardwood floors to the angular Craftsman door frames and window casings. The space itself is sparsely furnished, but the items there are obviously expensive, solid wood and linen, as opposed to her pressboard bed frame. The exterior of the building is one of those old but meticulously maintained landmarks that makes passers-by stop and gawk from the streets, and she knows the strata fees must be in the four figures, at least.
And he owns it. Her friend Ben, who wears tattered black jeans and plays D&D every second Friday night, he owns a unit in the most beautiful building in town, and he claimed he ‘needed a roommate.’
“Bullshit,” she breathes.
“Hm?”
“Nothing.” She drops her bags to the floor and crosses the floor towards him. Throwing her arms around him, she pulls him into a huge bear hug. “Thanks.”
“Hey, it’s my pleasure.” He returns the hug, effortlessly squeezing her around the waist. “Like I said, you’re doing me a favour.”
“Right,” she mumbles into his shirt. “Because it’s not suspicious at all, you needing a roommate right as I’m getting evicted from my place.”
His laugh rumbles deep and rich in his chest. “It was an emergency.”
She snorts. “What emergency?”
“I was lonely.”
She snorts again but squeezes him tighter all the same, rubbing her nose against the fabric of his shirt as she breathes in his toasty sweet scent. “Well, I’m not happy you were lonely, but I–”
Her voice catches in her throat, and he hugs her tighter. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“I just–”
Her words are all tangled and choked but she doesn’t have to explain. He knows how long she’s waited for a safe space to live her life and nest. “You can live here as long as you want to,” he vows, threading his fingers into her hair. “I’m not going to kick you out, and I’m sure as hell not going to sell it.”
“But what about when I start hoarding.”
“It’s okay. I need more stuff in here anyway.”
“But what about...what about my heats?”
He tenses just a bit underneath her. “We’ll manage. I’ll stay somewhere else or–”
“No.” Pushing away from him, she steps back and gives him the most intimidating look she can muster. “I’m not going to drive you out of your home four times a year.”
“Fine.” He smirks. “If it’s cool with you, I’ll pop in my airpods and play Minecraft. If you need me, just text.”
“Same here.” She wrinkles her nose. “Except I’ll be using normal, poor people headphones, and playing the Sims or reading fanfic.”
He sticks out his hand and she shakes it. “Deal. Now what would you like for supper?”
Here’s 3 more things about Ben Solo, according to Rey:
1. He’s ridiculously stubborn.
2. He’s disgustingly self-righteous.
3. He’s still so broken on the inside.
He’s rushing around the apartment when she arrives home, scrubbing down the countertops, lint rolling the couch, fetching their big laundry basket of well worn blankets from the linen closet. Rey frowns, pulling out her phone to check her calendar.
“It’s early. You’re not due to start for another four days.”
Ben pauses mid-step. “Mhmmm,” he grunts out through a thin lipped grimace.
She pockets her phone and hooks her bag on the back of the door. “You need help with anything?”
“Nope.”
He’s so tense he looks like a statue installed right in the middle of their living room. “D’you– d’you want to talk about it?” she asks softly.
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
Disregarding his previous answer, she immediately starts her own routine, the one she slips into every few months for him. She rearranges the fridge to make room for the six pack of Gatorade they keep in the pantry for these occasions, then cleans and fills their essential oil diffuser with crisp peppermint oil and eucalyptus. She draws the blinds, fills the ice tray, and pulls out the menus from their favourite restaurants in preparation for his mid-heat munchies tomorrow.
It may seem like a lot of work to an outsider, but it’s really only a fraction of what he does for her. Often the day before her heat starts, she’ll arrive home all flushed and sweaty and find a bath already drawn for her, complete with fluffy towels he kept in the freezer. He makes her smoothies and empties her cat’s litterbox, and once even ran out and bought her fresh batteries when her vibrator died in the middle of the night.
Most importantly, he doesn’t push. He doesn’t push her and she doesn’t push him. All of her friends and even a few of her coworkers always pry about her nonexistent love life every few months, all donning the same aghast expression when she informs them that, yes, she will be spending her heat alone again. Even though it’s none of their business, she still has to stare at those stupid, pitiful, fake concerned faces until they immediately perk up and assure her that ‘maybe she’ll find someone in time for her next one.’
But not Ben. Her first heat after they started living together was painless and uneventful, as far as lone heats go, at least. He’d asked if she was having someone over, she said no, it’s fine, I’ll just stay in my room, you can go out or wear headphones, I don’t care, and he’d smiled and given her a dorky thumbs up, and that was that. His first heat was the same, with the same two sentence disclaimer the day before, and soon enough they fell into a comfortable rhythm, helping each other out when needed but ultimately just leaving the other person alone. No fake concern, no judgement required.
Still, she can’t help it if her heart clenches when she hears him crying at 3 am, or when she overhears his desperate pants of ‘please, please, please’ when her iPod dies because she forgot to charge it. She can’t control the way her gut twists as he describes the Alphas he works with, how tall he is, or how assertive she is, how wonderful he smells, or how her hair is so dark and sleek and falls over her shoulder just so, because part of her is just begging for him to give in and find someone. Because someone like Ben, who cares so much and has so much to give just deserves someone who will take care of him in his loneliest hours. And it’s crazy because she of all people understands why he just can’t give himself up like that, but at the same time watching him suffer every few months is boring a hole in her heart that she doesn’t know how to fix.
After thinking about it some more, here’s 3 additional things about Ben Solo, according to Rey:
1. He can be kind of gross.
2. He hates doing laundry.
3. He’s sometimes such a guy.
She’s two days into the thick of it, hot and sticky and far too gone to really care that her roommate obviously neglected to wash the blankets after his last heat. It’s not that big a deal; after all, his fluids tend to be less...excessive and more containable then hers. What’s the hurt of having an odd crusty spot or two under her when she’s losing what seems like gallons of slick by the second?
It’s just— the blankets smell like him. A lot. At first it wasn’t an issue since she was too caught up in her hormones and pre-heat anxiety to notice the higher concentration of Ben scent in her room but now, post several dozen orgasms and especially sad and clingy, the scent of a man, even an Omega man, is enough to send her spiraling into another fever.
Grabbing the offending crusty blanket, she rubs it against her flushed face, imagining it spread underneath her roommate’s sweaty, naked body. She pictures him gripping his cock, which is large and firm and perfect in the dark corners of her imagination, pumping it firmly up and down as his mouth falls open in extacy. Objectively, she knows he uses lube, but for the purposes of her fantasy she imagines him using his cucumber scented lotion, the one he applies on his hands and feet after every shower.
Yes, that’s it. Hand slick with cool, creamy lotion, sliding up and down his shaft as his hips buck up with barely restrained pleasure. She groans, flicking the switch on her vibrator up a notch and pumping it at the same time as imaginary Ben’s thrusts. His moan echoes in her head, fresh from the last time she overheard him during his heat, and she whimpers as she pictures his hand speeding up, full lips caught between his teeth as he starts to lose control, hand stroking faster and faster, precum dribbling from the tip of his cock, then suddenly he comes, gasping in pleasure, dick twitching and spraying hot, white ropes of cum on his belly as he chokes out, “Rey.”
Wait, what?
Her body chooses that exact moment to come as well, clenching around the toy while she whimpers his name over and over into the blanket. Crusty dried cum rubs against her lips, her cheeks, flaking onto her nest of blankets to join the gush of slick that drips out of her, mixing his scent with hers. It’s not the same as a knot, or a bite, or an Alpha, but with his essence on her skin and his grunts of pleasure replaying over and over in her mind, she finally feels just a little less lonely.
3 not so great things about Ben Solo, according to Rey:
1. He’s gets super jealous.
2. No, like really jealous.
3. ...more jealous than that, actually.
His hackles rise the moment she steps into the apartment. She knew this would happen, she’s dreaded this since the moment she signed the offer letter, but she can’t let his feelings dictate her life. She won’t be controlled like that, not again. Not ever.
“Why do you smell like him?” His voice is pained, just like his face, his shoulders tense as he sits up from the couch in their living room.
She shrugs and tries to act casual, even though she knows her scent it spiking enough that their neighbour three units down can probably smell her anxiety. “Because I work for him.”
“You do not,” he spits, his forehead wrinkling with confusion and barely suppressed rage. “Y-you would never, you said you would never–”
“No I didn’t!” she all but shrieks back at him. “I never said I wouldn’t work for him, and you couldn’t have expected me to say no! He’s the CEO of the top firm in the city; I would be a moron to reject an offer from him.”
“You’re a moron to accept his offer,” Ben snarls and, oh, that’s not a good look for him at all. He’s wide eyed and red faced, and Rey can’t help herself, she just has to poke the bear.
“Just because you were a shit son and he was a shit dad doesn’t mean he’s going to be a bad boss, and just because I live with you doesn’t mean you can control my life.” Her hands are shaking and she can feel her world start to crack around her, but she can’t stop. “I’ve got to look out for myself, and in this economy there’s not many firms hiring EITs. Millennium is starting me at 60k! I couldn’t say no.”
“You couldn’t say no,” he echoes, bitterly. “You had no choice. Han Solo put a gun to your head, and made you sign the–”
“Oh shut up!” She stomps across the living room towards her bedroom, but Ben and his stupidly long legs make it to the hall before her. Stone faced, he crosses his arms and leans against the hall, blocking her access to the security of her room.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he grumbles. “Why didn’t you tell me you were–that the market was so bad?”
“You never asked. Any why didn’t you notice?” she counters, eyes blazing. “You didn’t wonder why I never mentioned going to interviews or getting callbacks? I’ve been graduated for almost six months now, and I have almost a hundred thousand dollars of student loans to pay off, plus rent.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about the rent.”
Her vision flashes red. “Don’t tell me what to do. This is about my dignity. You hand waving away all of my expenses in exchange for me not working for your father is extremely dysfunctional, not to mention offensive.”
His nostrils flare, and he grunts. “If it keeps me from having to come home everyday to you stinking of Han Solo–”
“Fuck you.”
She drops to her knees and wiggles through the crack in between his legs and the wall. It’s childish and embarrassing, but she’s able to scurry fast enough that his big, lumbering body can’t catch her before she’s in her room with her door securely closed behind her. She hears him fuming on the other side, can practically see his fist raised to knock, but he must think better of it and retreats back to his room, slamming his door behind him.
3 infuriating things about Ben Solo, according to his almost ex-roommate Rey:
1. He likes to think that he’s not petty.
2. He’s super petty.
3. He’s really, really bad at getting revenge.
It’s meant to be a symbolic truce, for them to get out, have a few drinks, then go back home and watch Netflix like nothing bad had happened between them.
And sure, after the first two gin and tonics, Rey’s feeling a bit looser, a bit more willing to talk and let Ben vent about how much he hates his dad before maybe, maybe apologizing to him for not telling that Millennium Ventures was headhunting her, but then she looks over her shoulder and sees him over at the bar, tongue-deep in some tall, leggy brunette and, oh, her gut burns.
This is their thing. This bar, these drinks, this stupid booth with the scarred table and sticky vinyl cushions. Mad isn’t quite the word for it, she feels devastated, like someone’s come and taken a hot, steaming shit on her comfort blankets, and rubbed it in for good measure. She’s known for a while now that what she feels for Ben is a bit more than friendship, but the depth of it has been unknown to her, until she’s forced to watch his fingers grip someone else’s waist and hear his throat make a little noise that’s an echo of what he sounds like when he comes.
She suddenly feels like she’s going to barf, and then she catches a whiff of something in the air, something potent and delicious and so, so alluring.
Alpha.
He’s with an Alpha, and she’s never felt more betrayed, more alone, in her life. This was their thing, their one unspoken vow to each other: they would never let an Alpha come between them, because all Alphas do is take and use and manipulate, and they’ll never subject themselves to that. Not again.
Rey wants to rip this Alpha’s tongue clean out of her mouth. She wants to grab the blunt butter knife off of the table and hack off the Alpha’s fingers, the ones currently running through Ben’s silky black hair. She wants to do all of this and more, because how dare this Alpha touch him, after everything he’s been through. How dare she take advantage of him?
But...he seems like he’s enjoying it, if his fluttering eyelashes and little moans are any indication, and all of the fight in Rey’s body just fizzles. Everything around her becomes a dull roar as she drops a twenty onto the table to cover her drinks and ducks out of the bar without another word to Ben.
She wants home, and for the first time in a while she’s starkly aware of the fact that it’s not actually her home she’s going to. It’s Ben’s, and if he wants to bring over a six foot tall Alpha goddess to fuck him against the thin wall between their bedrooms, then there’s nothing Rey can do about it, and it makes her want to scream. For a minute, she thinks about calling Finn, but it’s not Finn’s couch or Finn’s blankets or Finn’s ratty old sweatshirt she wants.
Maybe she’s being petty herself, but she can’t help the swell of satisfaction and possessiveness she feels when she makes herself a mug of hot chocolate in their kitchen, throws on one of his sweaters, wraps herself in his quilt, and parks herself on their couch for the night. She queues up Brooklyn 99, which is Ben’s favourite comedy, and starts watching an episode they’ve never seen before, one eye on her phone the entire time.
She doesn’t know what she’ll do if he texts her and tells her he’ll be gone for the night. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if he doesn’t text her. She really doesn’t know what she’ll do if he and the Alpha come barreling through the door with no warning, so when she hears a thump and the tell tale jingle of his keys in the lock, her heart rate spikes and her body flips into panic mode. It’s only been ten minutes since she’s gotten home, how is it possible that they’ve progressed so far so early, and why didn’t he warn her, and oh God she really is going to barf this time, and then–
“Hey.”
It’s Ben. Just Ben, red faced from the chilly night air and weirdly bright eyed but otherwise totally normal and alone. Rey is frozen in place, stuck staring at his stupid back as he shrugs off his jacket and hangs his keys on the hook next to the door. Casually, he glances over at the TV and frowns. “Is that Season 6?”
“Uh.” She scrambles for the remote, and pauses it in the middle of Jake’s rant about Holt ruining his honeymoon. “Yeah, uh, sorry.”
“No, no, that’s fine.” He heads off to the kitchen and she hears the sound of the kettle being flipped on. “D’you want a hot chocolate?”
“I’ve already got one, thanks.” Rey chews her fingernails nervously. He seems...happy? Maybe he and the Alpha decided to take it slow, but keep in touch? Maybe he got her number? Maybe he’s meeting up with her later?
She’s never felt this awkward around him before. She keeps tapping her phone nervously as she waits for him to finish, eyes flitting from the TV to the door, then back again. Mug in hand, he plops himself down on the couch next to her with a sigh of satisfaction. “Would you mind starting from the beginning?” he asks, taking a sip of his drink, his gaze locked on the screen.
“No, no, that’s fine,” she whispers. She tries to grab the remote, but her entire body is so wound up that she can’t seem to summon up the strength to actually move her hand. The tension in the air is thick as pudding and twice as stifling, so to clear the air she turns to him and mumbles, “She seemed nice.”
Silence. He freezes mid sip, eyes wide, then he slowly puts down his mug and sits back, staring at his hands clasped together on his lap. “Rey, I–” he starts.
“It’s fine,” she chokes out. Oh God, her throat is closing up, blocked off by the pain that’s bubbling up from her chest. “Really, it’s–”
“No, it’s not fine. It’s really not.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation, honestly, I just wanted to make sure that–”
“Rey.”
She looks over at him and he looks up from his fingers and he’s crying, hot, fat tears carving rivulets down his cheeks and she’s so stupid because he had been crying earlier too, before he came home. The signs were all there but she missed them because she was too caught up in how gross she felt and her own dumb, jealous feelings. “Did she–?”
“It’s not about her, it’s about–” He pauses, and takes in a gulp of air. “It didn’t feel right, you know? I mean, she smelled so good, but I couldn’t–it just didn’t feel right.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Why are you sorry?” He sniffs. “I was the one who left you there by yourself while I–”
“It’s fine!” she blurts out. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I just felt so fucking lonely, so tired of fighting it. This–this part of us that promises to make us happy, you know?”
“I do.”
“And I guess I figured that...well...I was scared. Of being alone. So that’s why I did it.”
He punctuates the ‘t’ with finality, then leans back against the couch, eyes closed, running both of his hands through his hair. Cheeks puffing, he takes in a deep breath then exhales.
Rey stares at him. “Y-you thought I was going to leave you?”
He turns his head to face her and cracks open an eye. “Yeah. Please don’t tell me how stupid I am, I know–”
“Bennnnnnn.” Pushing off her blanket, she scoots across the couch and nestles himself into the crook of his arm. To his credit, he lets her, relaxing under her touch and letting out a low hum of contentment. “I thought you were going to kick me out,” she mumbles into his chest. “I thought you and the Alpha were going to fall in love and start a family, and you wouldn’t need me anymore.”
“I know.” He worms his arm around her and squeezes her close, sending a waft of toasty sweet scent up her nose. “I thought you wanted the job with my dad so that you could move out.”
“I know.”
Her muscles go lax under the weight of his arm. It’s so nice to have this, to have him to hold her and comfort her, and understand all of her weird anxieties. “W-what did it feel like?” she mumbles against him.
“Rey....”
“No, I want to know. Unless…unless you don’t want to tell me.”
His body tenses, so she reaches up her free hand and pats his belly, like he’s a puppy, or Santa Claus. This earns her a gruff chuckle, then a sigh. “It was weird. It was like...my brain was happy? But my heart felt sick. I felt...dirty. Disgusting. Kind of how I used to feel before, with Snoke. I knew deep down that I didn’t feel anything for her, and I was trading my dignity for a chance to feel a little less like shit.”
“I’m so–”
“No, I’m sorry. You deserve a good job, working for people who value and appreciate you. You don’t need your stupid, insecure roommate getting in the way.”
“I–”
There’s so much that she wants to say. Thank you for the apology, for the years of friendship, for opening his home and carving out a place for her, that would be a start, but all she can focus on is the residual anxiety she felt when she thought she was going to be replaced. “If you do find an Alpha, one day–”
“Rey–” he starts, voice pained.
“No, let me finish. I would do anything for you Ben, and if that means moving out one day and taking a step back, then I will.” She pushes up from her home in his arms and punches his shoulder playfully. “On one condition: I have to approve of any Alpha you move in with.”
“Deal.”
His voice cracks and she pretends to not hear it.
3 pretty okay things about Ben Solo, according to Rey:
1. He tries to be a sweetheart .
2. He occasionally succeeds.
3. ...she’s mentioned his scent, right? It’s very nice.
“I’ll get a hotel room.”
His jaw is set, and he’s looking anywhere but at her. “There’s a nice place down on 57th that I’ve heard some people at group talk about. Very secure, very private.”
Statistically, it’s not impossible. If anything, they’ve been amazingly lucky in the few years that they’ve been roommates that their heats have never coincided. But, as with most things, their luck has now run out, with their shared heat looming in just a few days.
Rey huffs, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Don’t be stupid, we’ll both be fine here. It’s a big apartment, with thick walls, and it’s only a few days.”
“The walls aren’t that thick,” he blurts out. Mortified, his cheeks burn with shame. “...not that I’ve heard you. Intentionally. It’s just...sometimes my earbuds fall out while I’m sleeping, when it’s dark and I—“
“It’s okay I’ve heard you too.” The words come out in a rush, and now it’s her turn to stare at a wall as Ben hyper fixates on her flaming face.
“Like, during?” he chokes. “Because sometimes I say things, and it’s not serious, not really.”
“Mmmhmm.”
She feels like they’ve crossed an invisible threshold, one established the day she moved in and respected henceforth as something necessary to maintain their friendship. The headphones, or at least the assumption of headphones, was what gave them the confidence to be vulnerable during their heats, safe in the knowledge that their whimpers and other assorted sex noises would remain unheard.
It’s strange to go through the motions of her pre-heat rituals alongside him. Wordlessly, she divides up their basket of fuzzy blankets, making sure he has his favourite wool one with the grey stripes. He blends up a banana and raspberry smoothie for her while she refrigerates Gatorade and checks the ice maker for him. He orders takeout and together they sit on the couch and watch Netflix and pick at containers of stir-fried snow peas and ginger beef.
Ben’s the first to leave. Rey’s not surprised; according to their calendar, he’s a day or two ahead of her and his scent has been an increasingly rich spicy sweet fog all evening, so when he puts down his leftovers, gives her a nod, and trudges down the hall to his bedroom, she resolutely plugs in her headphones and wills herself to watch the rest of Stranger Things without distraction.
It lasts all of...ten minutes, maybe? Honestly, she tries, but her mind keeps on wandering to the image of Ben stripping down, maybe trying to cool himself off with a wet washcloth or two as he rummages around his room making his nest. It’s strange to be roommates with another Omega because she knows exactly what he’s going through right now, knows the way his belly is cramping and his skin is crawling with the heightened desire to be touched please, yes, touch me Alpha, knows the way his dick is probably begging for release even as his mind is racing too fast for him to touch himself. For now.
God, now her skin is beginning to crawl too. Resolutely, she takes a big gulp of her smoothie and focuses on the TV as her brain begins to freak out. How will she get to her room if he’s already started? Should she go now and starting nesting ahead of time, just in case her heat comes early?
She grunts, sucks back the rest of her smoothie, and uses the subsequent brain freeze as a distraction as she switches off the TV, pops off her head phones, and bolts down the hall to her room. Closing the door behind her, she throws herself onto her bed and snuggles into her blankets, taking in deep gulps of her own scent to calm her nerves. All she can hear from Ben’s room is a slight rustling, proving that her anxiety was unfounded, but now that she’s in her room she feels way more calm.
After a few more minutes of lazing in her bed, she gets up and begins to prepare her space. She throws three ratty towels onto her rug, arranging them on top of each other so they’re a plush absorbant mat, then lines her pillows up around them to support her back. She drapes most of her blankets over the pillows, saving a few of them to cover her body and rub on her face when she needs it, then she walks over to her end table and retrieves the equipment she’ll need to get her through.
One small bullet vibrator (for when she’s tired), one six-inch vibrating rabbit dildo (battery powered, with an inflatable knot), one slim vibrating butt plug (for around day 3), one 5-inch tempered glass dildo (for when she wants something cooler), and a plug in magic wand with various attachments (because she learned from the middle of the night battery debacle). She lines them up in her nest, along with a few washcloths to soak up her slick, then peels off her clothing, curls up in her blankets, and waits.
“Oh God.”
Her entire body tenses. Ben sounds so wrecked already, so needy and desperate even through the paltry filter provided by their shared wall. She hears a whimper, then a groan, and it’s all her brain needs to fill in the blanks with sordid details, images of him, lax and flushed and palming his cock as his hips thrust involuntarily, biting his full lips and running his fingers against his broad chest as he chokes back a needy whine.
Suddenly, she finds herself pressed against the wall, thumbing the switch of her vibrator as she slowly eases it inside her sore, swollen folds. She moans, cheek and lips rubbing the rough painted surface as her knees twitch and legs shake beneath her. Is it her imagination, or does she hear Ben’s voice catch as well? She must be imagining things; there’s no way he could hear her, not with the fog of his head clouding his senses.
Except...except she can hear him, even through the oppressive smog of want and lust crowding everything except for her desperate need to fuck. She can hear his tiny, broken whimpers, the soft squelch of his lube, and his half swallowed gasps, even as she pumps her toy in and out of her pussy, biting on her lip until she can taste blood.
And then she hears him. It’s not her imagination; she can hear him panting clear as day through the wall:
“Rey, Rey, Rey, please Rey, please–”
She must be in a dream. How else can she explain the sheer determination she has to drop her vibrator and pull on her robe against her flushed, itchy skin? The bravery to open her bedroom door and expose herself to the quiet judgement of their deserted apartment? The actual nerve she has to ease open Ben’s door and lay eyes on him, sweaty and moaning on his bed, as he fucks himself into his iron tight fist with a shiny black plug in his ass?
Whatever it is, she feels herself ascend into the heavens when his eyes lock on her and he comes hard against his belly and chest with her name on his lips.
His head falls back against his pillow. She falls as well, tumbling to her knees as the sheer concentration of Ben’s roasted sugar and spice and musk scent hits her. It’s dizzying, she thinks as she crawls across the floor, how one door could hold back the immense volume of his lust, how all of this has been right next door to her this entire time. Yes, he’s not an Alpha, but he is a man, and for the first time in their long and loyal friendship, Rey can finally admit that she wants him.
She pulls herself up on her knees once she reaches his nest. He’s painfully gorgeous up close, large and glistening with sweat, his cum cooling against the muscular planes of his belly. Curious to see if he tastes like he smells, she reaches out a trembling hand, runs a finger through the pearlescent ribbon, and gives her finger a bold lick. Of course he doesn’t; his cum is a streak of salty bitterness in her mouth with only the hint of toasted marshmallows in her nose, but it’s the look on his face, the absolute astonishment and lust she sees in his big brown eyes, that makes everything worth it.
It’s not nature, or hormones, or their shared biology clicking together like two puzzle pieces. No, this is something else; it’s nurture, it’s comfort, it’s the security and love of seeing someone she cares about so damn much blissed out and sated against his bedspread, staring at her with his cum on her tongue like she’s hung the entire galaxy.
“R-Rey, what are you–?”
She’s heard of sex between Alphas and Omegas being described as explosive and climactic, like the pull of the moon on the tides, and the thunderous crashing of waves on a beach, of cosmic rightness and perfect fit. When she drops her robe to the floor and climbs on top of Ben’s shaking body, she knows whatever this is between them is nothing like that at all. She rests her wet, aching cunt against his twitching cock and leans her sweaty forehead against his, and all she can think of is the soft stillness of two puddles of water, who only need the smallest point of connection to surrender and merge into one.
“I love you,” she breathes against his panting lips. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” he replies with a wince. “I loved you for...for a long time now. But how will this– how will we–?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, then rolls her hips against him, relishing the way he moans and squirms beneath her as she rubs herself against his oversensitive cock. Part of her, the frantic Omega skittering around in her brain, is screaming at her that he won’t do, he doesn’t have a knot, it’s not right, it’s not right, he won’t take care of her like an Alpha would, but the thing is, she doesn’t care anymore. She can’t care about those things, not when Ben’s holding her waist like she’s made of glass and whispering desperate, filthy things under his breath as he stares at her pussy.
She comes against him with a gasp and a gush of slick against his now-hard cock. He makes a half strangled noise, reaching out to run a shaking finger through the small puddle of moisture seeping into his crotch as she slumps against him, whimpering.
“That was–” His hand rubs his cock, massaging her slick into his swollen, flushed shaft. “That was incredible. You’re incredible.”
All she can do is whine above him, because it wasn’t enough, she needs more and she’s not sure how to tell him without making him feel bad. She wants to sink onto his dick and ride him until he comes. It looks so tempting, all shiny with her juices, but she knows it’s not going to sate the burn in her belly, no matter how thick he is.
But he is thick. Far thicker than she imagined, and longer too, and even though he doesn’t have a knot, he may be just what she needs, biology be damned.
Taking in a deep breath, she angles herself above him, right where he’s lazily stroking himself as his eyes flutter with pleasure. “Ben, can I–?” she asks, then quickly adds, “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean. I promise.”
“I trust you,” he whispers, without opening his eyes.
“Okay, I just wanted to make sure, I don’t–”
“Rey.” He looks up at her, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed. “Please.”
“Okay.” She reaches down, positioning his erection with shaking fingers as he hisses with pleasure. “Okay.” The tip of his cock rubs up against her clit and she bites back a moan. “Ngh...Okay.” Satisfied with the angle, she grabs onto his shoulders, brushing a kiss against his lips as she slowly lowers herself down onto him. “O-okay…”
It’s good. He’s good, so, so perfect and thick and warm, so solid under her hips and between her thighs. When she moves against him, his dick drags within her, hitting all of those perfect spots without any need for toys or vibrators or anything. Sure, he doesn’t have a knot, but she stashes that worry aside for the moment, content to feel him twitching underneath her fingers as she rides him.
“R-Rey,” he whimpers. “Oh my god, you’re so strong and beautiful and perfect. You feel so good.”
“T-thank you,” she blurts out, because what else can she say to that? She can barely speak, she’s so overwhelmed with the feeling of him in her and under her, his scent rushing into her lungs and soaking into her skin, but even with all of this her body is wailing that it’s not enough, not quite enough please–
“C-can you–?” she asks, her voice quavering. “Touch...please?”
“Of-of course.” Ben lowers his right hand to graze her clit with his thumb and she arches her back moaning. “Can you–?”
She didn’t know it was possible for him to blush a deeper red, but he does and it’s glorious, so she reaches back behind her and nudges the plug in his ass and he groans, deep and throaty and rich. It’s hard to maintain her rhythm while she touches him, so she can only manage brief, erratic tugs on the toy, but it seems to do the job. She feels him swell within her, then there’s a rush of warmth and wet as he bites his lip and comes apart underneath her.
It’s not a knot. It’s not, and yet the swell and rub of skin on skin, plus the pure adoration flooding from his gaze is enough to make her collapse into a euphoric, sobbing mess in his arms.
3 of the best things about Ben Solo, according to his girlfriend mate partner Rey:
1. He believes in her so damn much.
2. He trusts her to make her own decisions.
3. He loves her for her.
Their heads both turn when he walks into the bar, all 6 foot something, muscley, tattooed, musky rich scented Alpha. Everyone’s head turns, he’s so alluring and commanding that even their bored and half stoned Beta bartender perks up. He must be visiting the neighbourhood, judging by how he smells of the ocean and somewhere exotic. Rey feels her mouth water involuntarily and, judging by how Ben’s eyes flick down to his salad, he must be having a similar reaction.
The Alpha swaggers up to the bar with the nonchalance of someone who’s used to being watched, and orders a draught beer, which he downs in one gulp. He turns to asses the bar, eyes scanning and nostrils flaring until his gaze lands on their table. His mouth cracks open into a devilish grin. Slamming his empty glass onto the bartop, he slides off of the stool and swaggers over to them.
“Hey. Can I buy you a drink?”
Rey purses her lips, eyes sliding over to Ben who is studying his food very seriously. “Sorry, uh, who are you asking?”
The Alpha shrugs. “Either. Both. I don’t know, how does this normally work?”
That makes her blood burn. Unconsciously, she reaches across the table to find Ben’s hand, which is already outstretched to accept hers. “Umm, we’re fine,” she asserts, squeezing firmly. “Not interested.”
Puffing out his chest, the Alpha scrutinizes the situation. Two Omegas, both unmated, sharing a meal and drinks at 8 PM on a Friday night. She imagines that they smell of each other but, other than a faint whiff of Han’s scent that she tries to scrub off after work, she knows that there’s no trace of Alpha on either of them.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grunts, half to himself.
But then there’s the scrape of chairlegs on the floor as Ben jumps to his feet and steps forward until he’s nose to nose with the other man. The Alpha is slightly taller but Ben, bless his fastidious work out routine, is broader, enough so that he manages to force the other man back a step. “We’re not kidding,” Ben spits. “Now back off before she decides to stop playing nice.”
Rey grins, eyes flashing in the low light, and the Alpha growls. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, Omega?”
Ben shrugs. “If I had to guess, some knot brained douchebag?”
Then he punches the Alpha square on the nose, and all hell breaks loose. Rey jumps up from her seat, wrapping her arms around his in an effort to tug him back, just as three Betas a table over attempt to do with the Alpha. Thankfully they’re successful enough to pull him back a few feet, until one of the busboys, a tall, thin Alpha with acne, gets in between the two of them.
“Uh, gentleman, I’m afraid we don’t condone this sort of stuff at our establishment.”
“Did you see what that pussy did to me?” the Alpha spits.
“I didn’t see anything,” comments the bartender. “Unless you’re talking about one of our regulars defending the honour of his mate…”
“Oh come on!” The Alpha waves one of his big, meaty hands in Ben’s direction.”Like that could ever mate with someone.”
“Fuck you,” Rey snarls, her fingers gripping against Ben’s heaving chest. “Fuck you for waltzing over here like you own us, and fuck you for insulting my-my mate, when I know for a fact he’s got twice the balls and ten times the dick you’ll ever have.”
He lunges at her, but there’s too many people around for him to attempt to hurt her in any substantial way, so she stands her ground and lets him clench his fists and grit his teeth until he’s blown off enough steam to gather his thoughts and stomp back to the bar. She’s sure it’s not a loss for him; there’s probably several starry eyed Omegas who are salivating at his aggression, but he seems agitated enough that she decides it’s time for her and Ben to head home.
Ben. His muscles are still flexed and hard under her fingers, but she can feel him trembling and knows that he’s just on the cusp of breaking down. With one hand pressed to his chest, she fishes two twenties out of her pocket and tosses them onto their table. She nods to the bartender, who gives them a sad smile then, wordlessly, she guides Ben out of the bar and onto the street.
They’re able to make it through the door of their apartment before he dissolves into a heaving, shaking mess. “I’m s-sorry,” he mumbles as she tugs over a box of tissues and begins to dab at his face.
“Hush.” She rubs his cheek with her thumb, pressing soft kisses to his forehead, his closed eyelids, and the tip of his nose. “I’m so proud of you.”
He snorts.
“I am,” she asserts. “You stood your ground and defended me.” Her voice catches in her throat and softens. “No one has ever done something like that for me before.”
A lone tear trails down her cheek. Ben, lips parted slightly, pulls a fresh tissue from the box and wipes it away. “I wish I had done more. If I were an A–”
She presses her mouth to his to stop his train of thought. It’s not a new insecurity, for either of them to be honest. They’ve both voiced it in group and to each other on nights when their vulnerability and anxiety gets the best of them, and have both decided that it’s a moot point. They’re not Alphas. They will never be Alphas, despite the whispers of back alley drugs and surgeries that make promises which are too ludicrous to be true.
“I love you,” she says fiercely. “Not in spite of you being an Omega. I love all parts of you as you are, and I swear I wouldn’t love you more if you were an Alpha.”
He blows his nose and tosses his dirty tissue in the garbage, then scoops her up into the protective cradle of his arms. “I know,” he breathes.
She sniffs and rolls her eyes. “Would probably love you less, actually.”
And that’s the thing. There’s always going to be Alphas that distract and infuriate them, and there’s always going to be people who don’t understand why they stay with each other, but what they lack in biology is compensated for several times over by the crazy levels of love and dedication they have. Sure, her body still craves a knot sometimes, and their heats are often a mix of crazed lust and gripping frustration, but at the end of the day, she loves Ben for Ben and he loves Rey for Rey, and really, isn’t that how it should be?