
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1776439.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Chris_Argent/Isaac_Lahey
  Character:
      Chris_Argent, Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      Daddy_Kink, Anal_Sex, Consent_Issues, Angst, Dark
  Series:
      Part 4 of My_Mating_Games_Shenanigans
  Collections:
      Mating_Games:_The_Teen_Wolf_Pornation_Weekly_Challenges_Revealed
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-12 Words: 721
****** Light of my life ******
by Arabwel
Summary
     His path has always been a shadowy one but till now it has been
     righteous. Now, the darkness is encroaching slowly and inexorably,
     grown stronger with every loss. Kate. Victoria. Allison.
     He's lost the light in his life.
     Except...
Notes
     My entry to week #4 of Mating Games. For the glory of Team Alpha!
His path has always been a shadowy one but till now it has been righteous. Now,
the darkness is encroaching slowly and inexorably, grown stronger with every
loss. Kate. Victoria. Allison.
He's lost the light in his life.
Except...
It is wrong. It should feel wrong. But the only time Chris feels anything at
all is with Isaac. He could wax poetic about shared sorrow, justify it with
being brought together by grief but he knows there's no excuse for the fact
that the only time he feels alive is when he's fucking the boy who
loved—loves?—his dead daughter.
With his blond curls and blue eyes Isaac looks pure, almost angelic, like
butter wouldn't melt between his plump lips. But that sinful mouth hides a
silver tongue, vicious and cruel or dripping honey at will—tongue now flicking
out to moisten dry lips, "Daddy please...", an almost inaudible whisper.
Chris knows he shouldn't be proud, shouldn't find Isaac's layers of camouflage
so appealing when he knows his ability to mold himself, to say all the right
things was borne out of pain and blood, but he can't help it. Can't help
brushing his lips against Isaac's sweaty curls, murmuring "Good boy..." as his
fingers dip lower and press against the boy's slick pucker.
He wants to peel back every layer of artifice, every defensive reaction till
there's nothing left but the light he once saw in Isaac. The light he chases
now when he licks into the boy's mouth, chasing the taste of his own precome
from when those lips were wrapped around his cock just moments ago.
"Daddy please I need-" Isaac's breath hitches and there's tears in his eyes
when Chris pulls back.
Chris thinks he may be dragging Isaac down into the darkness with him as he
slides two fingers in, the werewolf running hot still just as arresting as it
had been the first time he slid in on spit and precome, egged on by rage and
guilt and Isaac's all-encompassing need.
Isaac wails when the hunter strokes his prostate, his back bowing in a graceful
arch ruined by the way his clawed fingers and toes scramble against the sheets,
shredding the thick Egyptian cotton.
They were Victoria's. He should care but the sight is enough to force a groan
from his lips. Isaac is all pale smooth skin and long lines, the bites and
beard burn already faded.
Isaac's cock is an angry red, slapping wetly against the hard planes of his
stomach. Chris knows the boy is close, knows Isaac can come just from the
relentless pressure of Chris's fingers against his prostate, but that's not
what he wants. It's not what either of them wants.
The noise Isaac makes when Chris pulls his fingers out of his wet hole is
bereft and goes straight to the hunter's cock. He's achingly hard, despite the
fact that he fucked the boy once already against the dirty brick wall of a
Marseille alley stinking of fish.
There's come clinging to his fingers and he lifts his hand to Isaac's tear
streaked face. It's obscene how eager the wolf is for a taste of him, licking
and sucking on the digits.
Chris braces himself on his knees and pushes the boy's legs apart. They splay
easily, wanton and trembling as he guides his leaking cock towards the slick
reddened hole.
He's in balls deep with one smooth thrust and they both groan, Isaac's voice
muffled by the fingers still pressed against his lips.
Chris pulls his hand away and grasps Isaac by the hair instead, fucking into
his boy in earnest as Isaac's long legs wrap around his waist.
The long expanse of Isaac's neck begs for marks. Chris knows they'll heal but
Isaac's scarves let him pretend, lend credence to the thought that underneath
lay livid bruises from his hands and teeth.
Isaac comes when Chris bites down, body arching against the hunter as his come
splatters wetly between them.
Chris swears, the rippling around his dick almost enough to drag him over the
edge. He pulls back, expression grim.
"Did I say you could come?" He tightens his grip of Isaac's hair.
The wolf smiles, insolent gleam in his unearthly eyes. "Sorry Daddy," he
drawls.
Chris's answering smile is dangerous. "You asked for it."
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
 there. 
 
Perhaps it’s simply the heat and the home’s lack of airflow that has him a bit
on the moody side. But he’s quite thankful for a place to stay and the cool
drink in his hand. He musters a close lipped smile. 
 
“Perhaps.” Ben agrees simply for the sake of being polite. “If you’ll excuse
me, Mrs. Kenobi, I’m going to unpack my things.”
 
Lydia opens her mouth to speak, likely to remind him that she's Lydia, but the
hulking man is already halfway up the stairs, carried away by his too long legs
and desire to take a break from her chattering. But she doesn't need to know
that part. 
 
There is a bed beneath everything, pressed against the wall and a tad too tiny
for his broad and long body, but a bed nonetheless. And a desk as well. Perfect
for his studies. All in all, the room is a lot nicer with a bit of sun and
compacting of withered boxes and copious photo albums that are now shoved into
the opposite corner of the room. 
 
Ben travels light, only has a small suitcase of clothes as well as one for
personal belongings. Including his newest most prized possession; his degree.
Ben solo is not a materialistic man. It shoes in the few clothes he has and
very little that he’s packed into a second suitcase. His mother, on the other
hand, is a hoarder of all things from clothes to school projects of Ben's from
his earliest years until high school. The woman is sentimental, but it's not
really a trait she passed on to him. 
 
He places a single photo of his family upon the desk and his grandfather’s
pocket watch beside it. There is nothing else he needs in this world, nothing
else he wants. Well, other than to be employed.
 
                                     _____
                                        
It’s nearly three hours later when a door slams downstairs, a tremor sent
through the home. Ben emerges from his room that he’s since hidden away in,
poking his head outside to see who might’ve caused such a ruckus but then---
 
Right. There was Rey, Lydia's only daughter---only child. He’s met her before a
handful of times and it isn't that Ben's forgotten the little girl from his
past, only that he's not really had much reason to think of her. All he recalls
of the young one is the missing teeth in her grin, her posh little accent, and
the peculiar three bun hairstyle she fashioned for herself. 
 
However, she isn't a little girl anymore.
 
Not as she’s bounding up the stairs, clad in a white romper that seems to be
drenched not in sweat from this hot summer day, but water. She’s likely been
splashing around in the fire hydrants or at the community pool like they did
when Ben was young---younger. The fabric, thin and nearly transparent, clings
to her golden skin as do the loose tendrils of her chestnut locks. Her form is
lithe, not that of a woman, but not that of a child, either. Rey's curves are
subtle, the swell of her chest only just apparent, and the roundness of
otherwise narrow hips slight. Ben’s mouth is dry and oh, what he wouldn’t give
for another glass of sweet tea. 
 
He can’t tear his eyes from her, even as she comes to a halt at the top of the
staircase, her own optics finding his. Her lips are red, rose petals if Ben has
any opinion on what they resemble, tugged at the corners into a tiny grin. Her
cheeks are dimpled and they seem to be a feature he’s let fade from his memory.
But Christ above, they’re deep and prominent and he’ll never forget them for as
long as he lives. 
 
And then there are her eyes, as round as saucers and brighter than the sun,
containing shades of green and gold. If she blinks, she’ll surely create a gust
of wind with those dark lashes that frame those eyes. Maybe he should’ve become
a Literature major instead, for he could go on about her looks until he’s blue
in the face from too much thought. She saves him from himself...yet, manages to
hand him another challenge.
 
 “Hi,” 
 
A simple greeting and Ben, a fluent speaker of two languages, has forgotten how
to reply. His lips part, but no words flow through and he shifts in his awkward
half in one room, half in the hall position, fully coming out. Rey tilts her
head back farther to keep a hold on his gaze. He must look crazy, looming over
her like he is and not saying a word.  
 
Ben is worried when he smile fades and her brow quirks. “What are you staring
at?” She asks. He’s taken off guard again not only by the question, but by the
defensive tone behind it. 
 
“Nothing. It’s just that you’ve grown since I last saw you.” Ben says finally,
his hand lifting to wipe across the back of his neck, collecting sweat on his
already clammy hand. “Do you remember me?” 
 
He could cringe because he sounds like his old as dirt aunts and uncles from
his mother’s side of the family, telling him they remember when he was just a
little boy no taller than two feet. God, he hopes she doesn’t think the same.
Ben is thankful that he really is of no relation to the Kenobi’s. Nothing more
than old family friends. 
 
“A little. You’re Mrs. Leia and Mr. Han’s son. My mum told me you were staying
with us. She made me come home so we could all have dinner together.”
 
Rey is casual as she speaks, giving him one last glance over before she’s
slipping only a few feet away to her bedroom. “Which I’m not really too excited
for.”
 
Ben is taken aback by her brazen words. He doesn’t quite remember her being
rude...well, perhaps when she was little and used to climb all over his lanky
limbs and tell him his ears were so large he could take flight. But then her
expression shifts to surprise and it seems maybe she’s taken aback by her
words, too.
 
“Not because I don’t want to have dinner with you---with all of us. It’s just,
my mum made brussels sprouts...and she isn’t too great of cook. But don't tell
her I told you that.”
 
Rey’s grateful for food on her plate, not picky when it comes to what she’s
eating. She’ll eat just about anything under the sun---except for brussels
sprouts because they simply taste like death. Those are direct words from her
mouth. But to others, her mother isn’t quite a five star chef and Rey just
loves to tease her for it. It’s only fair of her to warn him though, she
thinks. 
 
“I see...well, I’ll let you change for dinner, Rey.” 
 
Rey opens her lips to speak, to ask why he'd think she'd be changing. Then her
eyes flicker down to her wet clothes and she can see the indent of her belly
button through the muslin. If she can see that, then what else does he see?
Swallowing, cheeks burning, the girl turns on her heels.
 
Her door is slammed just as the downstairs door had been and Ben winces, but
collects himself and heads downstairs to at least offer any assistance he can.
Though, it seems Lydia has already done all the work from the meal itself to
the cutlery to the lit candles that really aren’t necessary because it’s still
light out and it’s too hot to add any more sources of heat in the home. 
 
“I take it you ran into Rey on the way down. She’s a mess, that girl!” Lydia
sighs, placing filled dishes upon the table top. Ben doesn’t think she’s a mess
at all. She’s a teenage girl out to beat the summer heat. And if he were bold,
he’d say she looked lovely in that wet romper. But he’s a gentleman and has
some self restraint and respect for a young lady over ten years younger than
himself. 
 
“I hope you like brussles sprouts, Ben.”
 
“They’re to die for.” Rey’s dulcet voice, dripping with sarcasm the same way
her hair drips with water, comes from behind him. Rey has changed into what
looks to be her night clothes, a small pair of shorts and a tank top covered in
polka dots.
 
“Reynada Kenobi! Sit down. You’re getting an extra helping and you will eat all
of them.” Her mother reprimands. 
 
Ben feels quite out of place between the mother and daughter and he hopes that
their bickering isn’t something that happens often. Still, he seats himself
across from the both of them, watching the two women...the one woman and her
girl. He wonders just how old Rey is anyhow. 
 
“I’m seventeen years old, mother. You can’t force me to eat vegetables.” 
 
As if she read his mind, he gets his answer. And much to his dismay, she is
just a girl. Not quite as young as the girl from his past, but still eleven
years his junior. Ben clears his throat and reaches for the glass of water sat
before him. 
 
“You’re seventeen years old and I am still in charge of you, young lady. Eat."
 
Dramatic is how to describe the sigh that falls from between Rey's lips, her
body curling into the chair, bare legs scrunched against her chest. She picks
at her food, stabbing away at the brussles sprout as if it's done her wrong.
Ben's attention is only taken once he hears his name. 
 
“So, Ben, tell Rey and I about your studies abroad. Both of my parents were
from overseas but we never did get around to visiting.”
 
“I think he can tell from our accents, mum. We don’t sound like most people
from around here.” Rey snorts and Ben finds her sass amusing, her quick remarks
reminding him of his own father. 
 
Even if he doesn’t really have too many good memories, Ben always found it
funny when his father would get a rise out of his mother---and then get chided
by the tiny woman who is more than a foot smaller than him. 
 
“I studied at the University of Cambridge. The area is lively, beautifully kept
grounds, incredible professors.” 
 
He’s not really one for small talk and it’s ironic considering what he’s
studies and intends to teach to others. Though,it’s say that if you can’t do,
teach. 
 
“The University of Cambridge! Well, Ben, that is very impressive. Have you
traveled at all? I know you said you speak French. Have you been to the native
land?”
 
“I---”
 
“I speak French, too!” Rey interrupts, earning a stern look from her mother. It
goes completely unnoticed and Ben can’t help but face all of his attentions on
her. 
 
“Savez-vous?“ Ben asks. He’ll be impressed if she knows what he’s saying. 
 
Her face contorts and her lips pout. They’re still red and it looks like she’s
taking a moment to think of what he might be saying...or a reply to what he’s
saying. Even though it’s a simple question. But her tongue pokes out from
between her lips and it’s equally as red. She must’ve been enjoying a popcicle
not too long ago. Ben’s throat tightens and he can't force himself to look down
at his still full plate or to even take a bite of a sprout. 
 
“Okay, maybe I don’t speak as fluently as you, but I’m learning.” Rey defends.
Ben offers her a gentle smile in return. 
 
“Je m'appelle Ben. Tu t’appelle comment?"
 
Rey beams at this, sitting up just a bit straighter in her chair. “Je m’appelle
Rey!”
 
Ben returns her grin with one of his own, oddly proud that she replied despite
how simple this is for him. He supposes that’s what it’ll be like once he
starts teaching, seeing the progress of his students and being able to take at
least a little credit for it. 
 
“Good...good, Rey.” 
                                        
                                     _____
                                        
Dinner ends on a positive note. The ladies have quit their bickering. For
tonight, at least. Now he just has to sit through desert. An apple pie, that
both Rey and Ben know is store bought, is placed on the table immediately
following their dinner, and a scoop of ice cream on top. It doesn’t hinder Rey
from digging in. Store bought is preferred, anyway. 
 
Dark orbs follow Rey’s movements, watching as she scarfs down the slice of pie.
He’s left to wonder how the ice cream isn’t making her brain freeze but that
idea is quickly shoved aside when her little fingers reach to wipe away the
white cream from her lips, popping them between to lick away the sticky
substance. Rey closes her eyes when she sucks upon her fingertips, giving great
care to each one to ensure that nothing is left on them. 
 
Even though he's got a glob of ice cream in his mouth, Ben feels warm. It's so
wrong to watch an innocent girl cleaning herself up and letting his mind wander
to far less appropriate thoughts of that tongue and those fingers. Luckily for
him, nothing terrible specific has popped into his head. But he's trying so
hard not to think anything of the action.
 
When those round optics flit open, they’re on him and his are on her. She sends
him a smirk, humming to herself, and his own lips part, jaw slack. For his own
sake, Ben has to look away. He stands from his seat, taking his nearly finished
pie to the counter where he takes the last bite and places his dish in the
sink. He really should offer to help clean but not only is he tired from his
travels, and his clothes feel oddly constricting. 
 
Rey seems to have the same idea---to bring her dish to the sink, that is.
Because she’s brushing at his side, the ceramic clanking as it’s placed atop
his. He doesn’t move, only waits for her to slip past. Which, thankfully, she
does. 
 
“Thanks, mum! Goodnight, Mr. Solo!” She calls, jogging her body back upstairs.
 
"Good night." He mumbles to himself and he's sure Rey doesn't hear it. 
 
Ben’s surprised he doesn’t hear the door slam again and hopeful that maybe
she’s kept it open a bit---NO. 
 
 
No, he’s going to shut his door for the evening. Shut out Lydia, shut out Rey.
He needs a good night’s sleep. 
 
Although, Ben finds this goal difficult to reach when he’s faced with a time
difference and the notion that Rey is just down the hall and he can’t stop
remembering the barely there romper that clung to her skin the same way sweat
clings to his. He kicks off his blanket and shrugs the sleep shirt from his
body. But it does little to rid him of the heat that pools inside of him.
 
Ben has a strong feeling that this is going to be a very hot, almost
unbearable, summer. 
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Rey reflects on the past two weeks she's shared a home with Ben. She
     also cringes at her mom and her terrible flirting skills. Ben and Rey
     get a little cozy backyard. Until mom comes in to cockblock. (As she
     should! Rey is only 17!!!)
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
He isn’t exactly a dream boat. Not the typical dream boat, anyway. But Rey
knows he isn’t hideous, either.  His lips are full, pink, always pouting and
practically begging to be kissed and his face is long, angular. His nose is
strong but his eyes are soft and warm. No, he’s not ugly. He’s quite nice to
look at, actually. Especially in the morning when she’s already been up since
before the sun and he’s just slipping out of the bathroom with nothing but a
towel around his waist and water clinging to his porcelain skin. 
 
It’s been two weeks and she’s made it a daily routine to sneak a peak as he
passes down the tiny hallway and back into his bedroom where he likely,
DEFINITELY, pulls the towel from around him and dries off his naked body. The
thought makes Rey jolt, her heart stutter. She’s well into her teens and
doesn’t think too much about boys or sex even though she knows about both.
Well, she knows the technicalities of both but not quite how to go about
either. 
 
All Rey knows is that Mr. Solo is not a boy. He’s a man. And maybe she’s better
off graduating to men instead of wasting her time with boys. It’s a discussion
that she and Jessika have had many a time. Especially now that she’s got a man
living in her home that isn’t her father or step father or anyone she couldn’t
theoretically be with once she’s old enough.
 
Jessika turns 18 before Rey does and swears she’s going to take a crack at him
because she's experienced love at first sight since meeting him briefly when
Rey dragged her out the front door and down the sidewalk. But Rey nudges her in
her ribs and tells her to get fucked. Jessika says she’ll try to. 
 
Mr. Solo is massive and it doesn’t go unnoticed to Rey OR her mother. How could
it? He’s built like a house much stronger than this one, broad, tall, and
muscular, his body dusted in freckles just like Rey's. Lydia gazes, stares,
really. And Rey thinks that Ben is on to her. Her mother, that is. Rey doesn’t
let herself be so conspicuous, so painfully obvious.
 
Ever since Rey’s father left the two of them, her mother’s made it abundantly
clear that she’s in search of a new husband, a new father for Rey. But Rey’s
gone nearly half her life without one. What’s she need one now for at 17?
Lydia’s desires are purely selfish. But Rey supposes she’s just lonely and the
loneliness she feels isn’t a void Rey can fill on her own even if she wishes
she could. 
 
Though, it doesn’t derail from the fact that her mother is literally always
making eyes at Mr. Solo and projecting unspoken feelings at him from the way
she bends over when pulling a pot roast from the oven or when she's freshly
taken the curlers from her hair and bounces around the house like a God damned
showdog. The poor guy with his pale complexion is always going red in the face
each time Lydia Kenobi makes a brazen remark or poorly executed innuendo. She’s
ten years his senior and Rey never wants to bring her mother down, but she
wishes she could see just how uncomfortable Mr. Solo is every time she’s near
and opening that red painted mouth of hers. 
 
Then again, Ben is a grown man. He could tell her to shove it, couldn’t he? In
a more polite way, of course. They’re roommates and she’s been so kind to let
him stay in her home even if he is paying rent. Perhaps Rey’s overestimated
him. Perhaps he doesn’t know her mother is trying to make him her next husband
and Rey’s new daddy. Or maybe playing dumb is just his way of enduring it. 
 
It gets Rey thinking; Does Ben Solo, University of Cambridge graduate, really
not now when someone is flirting? Because how could someone intelligent like
him possible be so oblivious? The man isn’t dumb. And then Rey gets an idea
that really isn’t the smartest.
 
                                     _____
                                        
There is a swing hung from the porch in the backyard. An old thing hanging from
chains, the wood worn and white paint chipping to reveal the light hue of the
wood before its transformation. Ben sits upon it, a book that’s quite large
dwarfed by his hands, his thick reading glasses magnifying his eyes. Rey can
see his lashes as she approaches from the backdoor and can’t believe how
impossibly long they are for a man’s. 
 
“I brought you some tea to cool you off.” Rey announces, placing the glass on
the table beside him and taking up a small portion of the swing to his left.
There is little space between them, a curious Rey leaning close to see just
what it is that’s got him so entranced that not even the heat can keep him from
enjoying his book. That and it’s only just the start of a little plan she’s
formulated while staring at her ceiling until she falls asleep for the past six
nights.
 
“T-thank you,” He stumbles over the word, very much aware of just how close the
young girl is, how her body is slightly facing his more so than than forward. 
 
But this is very much FORWARD. Especially when her bare painted toes brush
against his calf. He’s thankful to be covered in a pair of khaki slacks that
act as a barrier for their skin. But he cannot say the same when her dainty
fingers are reaching up, brushing alongside his to touch the book’s yellowed
pages. 
 
“What are you reading?” 
 
“Oh, well,” He briefly flips the cover over so that she can see the title,
thick fingers keeping the page marked. “It’s called The Scarlet Letter. It’s
about---”
 
She’s so good at cutting him off and he can’t even bring himself to care. “It’s
about a girl who has to wear a red letter, right? Because she had a baby and
somehow that was enough to brand her as a...” Rey ducks her head, “a whore.”
she continues in a whisper. 
 
Ben releases a breathless chuckle at her description. “It’s a little more than
that. But yes, you’re on the correct track.”
 
Rey grins, happy to have answered correctly. “I don’t think red is a whore-ish
color. Do you, Mr. Solo?” Rey asks. 
 
The toes that brushed against his calf are lifted, painted a brilliant shade of
vermilion. Ben thinks the color is lovely against her skin and even more lovely
on her lips. The memory hasn’t faded from two weeks prior when he'd first seen
her in years atop the stairs. But he’s torn from thought when her lithe leg
crosses the other to rests atop his lap, tiny toes flexing as she awaits an
answer. 
 
Her skin looks so smooth, tanned and freckled by the sun. The fingers that hold
his book, clutch so harshly that he could leave marks, just wish to run
calloused tips along the expanse of her leg and beneath the arch of her foot.
He swallows thickly. 
 
“Hmm?” She’s coaxing softly for an answer. 
 
“No. No not at all, Rey. I think red looks very nice on you.” 
 
That wasn’t the question. But he gave her the answer she didn’t know she
wanted. Rey smiles. 
 
“Thank you, Mr. Solo. That’s sweet of you to say.”
 
Ben makes to open his mouth to reply. Though, he doesn’t know what exactly he’s
going to say. And he certainly isn’t thankful when Lydia comes bustling out,
her shrill voice taking away the sweet lingering of words between he and Rey. 
 
“Reynada, will you quit lounging all over Ben? It’s hot enough as it is.” 
 
Rey is shaken by her mother’s abrupt appearance, her body practically seizing
before swiftly adjusting beside him. Lydia takes the remainder of the space on
the other side of Rey, her sunhat on and glasses covering her eyes. Maybe she’s
caught on to Ben...maybe the glasses aren’t to protect her from the sun, but to
stare without being caught. Even though everyone in this household knows she’s
staring. 
 
Ben grunts softly at Rey’s side as she moves, the heel of her foot brushing
against his cock that's hidden beneath his pants. Rey hardly notices and Ben
simply places his book atop his lap to conceal anything that may appear, and
Rey  is scooting herself even closer to him. Her feet barely brush the ground,
but her thigh is squished against Ben’s. Rey can’t help but feel as thought
she’s been caught. But nothing’s happened. Even so, they’re close and she can’t
help but brush her fingers against his knee as they come to rest on her own
leg. 
 
He reciprocates and Rey’s heart nearly skips two beats in a row, the tips just
barely grazing her bare thigh whether it's intentional or not. Though, when she
looks up, he’s staring straight out into the lush green of the yard and she
can't really tell if he meant to touch her. 
 
“What’s that you’re reading, Ben?”
 
Ben shifts his attention, lifting the book in question from his lap once he's
sure that the gentle touch of Rey's foot isn't having an effect on him. He
won't get a hard-on from a light graze...even though it's tempting. Lydia takes
hold of the book, skimming through and losing his page. He doesn’t curse, but
reminds himself to dogtag the pages...or keep his books out of her hands. 
 
“I’ve never read it. It’s about a slut, right? She wears red because she’s a
little harlot.” 
 
She is not seething, the woman not showing hatred of those more sexual than
herself, but rather it’s low and husky and quite frankly, making Rey incredibly
uncomfortable. Consider too that she’s wearing red lipstick. 
 
“Something like that, mum.” Rey mumbles before standing up, reluctant to do so.
But she won’t sit between her mother and Mr. Solo while she’s trying to dirty
talk him into being enticed. 
 
“Yes...Lydia. Something like that.” He agrees. And Rey grins all the way into
the kitchen.
 
                                    _____ 
 
It’s three days later, hours after dinner and desert are finished, that Ben is
sitting at his desk with an old lamp dimly illuminating the room as he reads
through paperwork that needs filling out. He really should have done it days
ago, but there have been far too many distractions. It’s just like his father
told him; women are distractions. But that’s really the only part of his words
that Ben held onto while away in school because the other half of them were
spent saying how much he enjoyed being distraught by said women. 
 
And like clockwork, there is a knock on his door. He glances to the pocket
watch that ticks atop his desk. It’s nearly midnight. Ben glances to the door,
brow furrowed even though he knows it could only be one of two people.
 
“Can I come in?”
 
It’s Rey and he’s absolutely relieved and pleasantly surprised that the young
one is here to pay him a visit. For what, however, he isn’t sure. Ben
straightens in his chair, bidding her forward with a nod of his head. 
 
“Yes, come in sweetheart.” 
 
The name slips so easily from his lips, as if it’s natural to call her the pet
name. It’s so fitting. The way she’s standing in the frame of his door, hair
tossed atop her head in not one bun but three, tresses falling loose and
framing her angelic face. Don’t even get him started on how ridiculously
adorable she looks with one sock lifted over her slim calf and the other
dipping below her ankle. 
 
She’s a vision even if the light isn’t the best. But Ben already knows how
pretty Rey is and it pains him to think so freely of her when he knows it's
wrong. Rey, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be too phased by the nickname.
As she’s shuffling across the wooden floor toward him to lessen the space.
 
“Why are you up at this hour?” 
 
“Couldn’t sleep.” Rey explains shortly. “What about you?”
 
He could scoff, but he doesn’t. He merely removes the glasses from the bridge
of his nose and replaces them with his pointer finger and thumb, briefly
pressing. 
 
“I was trying to get some paperwork filled out. But I can’t seem to focus.”
 
Because of you, because of your silly mother, but mostly because of you. 
 
Those words are kept in the confines of his mind.
 
“Oh...why can’t you focus?” 
 
That answer would be perfect if it weren’t so revealing and inappropriate. He
still needs something to say. 
 
“Who really knows?” He shrugs. 
 
Rey smiles at that for some reason and decides to move closer, running her
fingers along the newly dusted desk. 
 
“I used to come in here before you moved in. I liked this room.”
 
Ben shifts in his chair. Of course he’d been so dense as to forget that he was
intruding in on the life of more than just Lydia. He knew Rey was living there,
but never really stopped to think that she was LIVING there. 
 
“I’m sorry to have taken over.”
 
“It’s okay. I just liked to look at the pictures. I can do that anywhere,
though.” Rey shrugs.
 
Ben doesn’t stop her when she’s sliding up to sit atop the desk, right on the
corner just where he’s inclined, where he’s closest too. And all he sees are
those beautiful bare legs again, the same legs he yearned to touch, yearns to
still. The gentle brush of his fingertips over her knee simply wasn’t enough
and he's stupid to think that it would be. But he didn't have any other choice
but to be subtle about it. 
 
“Mr. Solo?” She asks after a moment. 
 
“Hm?”
 
“You never did tell me or my mum if you’ve been to France before.”
 
Ben smiles gently and reclines into the worn chair, its creaking of little
concern to whether or not the chair will break on him. This topic was brought
up over two weeks ago and Ben’s mind gets to wondering about what else Rey’s
been thinking of. 
 
“I have been. My class and I took a visit a few summers back after completing
the course so we could test out our skills with the locals.”
 
It'd been an incredible trip. Ben recalls celebrating with the small class of
ten. After an evening of drinking all sorts of alcohol, Ben finished off the
night with Celine. Well, in her mouth, at least. She'd been so eager to suck
him off in the hotel room and Ben simply couldn't say no. He'll never admit
that his father's advice flashed through his mind and inspired the decision.
And it isn't a decision Ben makes often. In fact, she was the first woman to
put her mouth on him. Now thinking it over, however, the memory isn't giving
him the same effect. 
 
“And just how good are your skills, Mr. Solo?” Rey quips, a playful simper
pulling at those lips of hers. 
 
She’s a little devil, she is. Her wording is intentional, he can see it in her
eyes. And Ben wants to let her be the judge of any skills he may possess. But
he’s going to answer in regards to his French. 
 
“My skills are good enough that I’m able to teach French.”
 
“Could you teach me?”
 
“I thought you were taking a French course in school.”
 
“It’s summer now...and I want to learn more.” 
 
Ben nods, lips pursed. Her reasoning is fair enough.
 
Rey is leaning forward, so unladylike in the way her thighs are parted. A piece
of Ben wishes they were crossed. And a larger piece is begging him not to pry
them open farther and speak tongues against her inner thighs all the way to her
cunt, to leave her a babbling mess, to send her back to her room soaking wet in
those little shorts that were leaving far less to his imagination. It seems to
run wild at night. 
 
Oh, sweet girl, I could teach you so much. 
 
It’s an entirely different approach to thinking when Rey asks him to teach her
than it was when Lydia asked for pointers. 
 
“I’ll teach you something new each day until you go back to school. Then you
can impress your teacher and classmates with what you know.” 
 
Rey seems to be appeased by this. 
 
“Tell me something tonight, then. Please?”
 
Her lips are only slightly pouted, but it’s just enough for Ben to notice and
he can’t bring himself to say no. Instead, he’s taking her hand in his own. Rey
is letting him, watching with curious eyes, excited eyes.
 
“Bonne nuit, douce fille.” 
 
His voice is like honey, the accent flawless even though Rey’s only heard her
French teacher speak fluent French. Rey doesn’t know what he’s said, but she
could do to hear it again and again. 
 
“What did you say? I only understood the word good.”
 
“I said good night, sweet girl. Now, get to bed. It’s late.”
 
She obeys him, hand still placed inside of his. Rey doesn’t want to let go and
Ben doesn’t really want her to leave but she should and so, there she is,
standing in front of him as if waiting for something more. 
 
Without really thinking or seeing immediate harm in it, he’s lifting her hand
to his plush lips. They’re warm and Rey is in disbelief when he’s kissing her
knuckles so gently. It’s over all too fast, though. 
 
And while his lips are moving to speak, 
 
“Go on, Rey.” 
 
His eyes are telling her otherwise. 
Chapter End Notes
     I decided to keep on writing because why not??? I have the muse to!
     Let me know what you think. Idk how much longer I'll be able to keep
     these to from one another. But the subtle things are helping for sure
     (:
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     We see a little more into Lydia and who she is and what Rey goes
     through with her. Ben is job hunting and manages to find something to
     hold him over for the Summer. He and Rey take a little trip to the
     grocery store.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Rey did go back to her room that night a week prior, her knuckles burning
from this gentle kiss he bestowed upon her and her mind a boggled mess to match
her nerves. Rey has played the childish games, has had kisses pressed to her
cheeks and lips by boys her own age. But they’re slobbery and unsure. and the
only slobbery kiss she'd ever accept willingly is from a dog. And for a girl
who’s just coming into her womanhood, she needs some guidance, dammit! Someone
to show her the way. If she plays a different game, plays her cards right,
maybe, eventually, Mr. Solo could be that guiding light. 
 
Rey even told Jessika her hopes. And Jessika agreed that he could guide her
right into his bed. 
 
She doesn’t remember falling asleep that night, either. But somehow, she awoke
on her stomach with drool on her pillow. It had to have been the best sleep
she’s gotten in a while and she isn’t sure how that can be when she went to bed
as flustered as Mr. Jenkins next door when her mother accidentally flashed him
a view right up her skirt while reaching for a piece of mail that slipped from
her fingers. The wind was not on her side that day.
 
For the most part, he life is simple. Not having a reason that her sleep is
off. No stress, really. 
 
Other than taxes which just really get her going. And the occasional drunken
mess that is her mother. But only when she’s got extra money left over to buy
herself that bottle of red wine she likes so much. Which seems to be more often
than not these days. The woman is a lightweight. It doesn’t take too much to
get her tipsy and slurring. And one would think she'd learn her lesson. Not
even a scholar, an absolute genius, could make Lydia Kenobi learn.
 
It’s evenings like this, when she’s sat beside her weeping mother, her head
practically laying in the toilet bowl, that she really misses her grandparents.
They kept Lydia in line, away from Rey when she was like this. But most
importantly, she drank much less when they were alive. Satine and Ben Kenobi
were not like this. They were kind people, level headed, and good. Lydia, for
some reason, strayed from being a product of her upbringing.
 
Eventually, however, Rey realized what was going on at too young an age. All
women seem to be able to find out the truth somehow. And Rey isn’t sure if she
wishes that she could go back to being ignorant to this harsh reality of having
an alcoholic mother who drinks until she’s ill all because she doesn’t have
another way to cope with her problems or just dealing with this head on. Rey
supposes that she really doesn't have much of a choice. The world doesn't work
like that. 
 
Still, she holds her matted brown locks that are identical to Rey’s and tries
to drown out the sound of her vomiting and crying with thoughts of her pillow
or tomorrow morning when it’s a fresh new day. 
 
Mr. Solo has shut his door tonight. Shut it tight and probably locked it, too.
Also probably has pillows over his head even though it’s 200 degrees because
really, who wants to hear their landlord crying and tossing her cookies at all
hours of the night? 
 
Rey wonders what he thinks. Thinks of her, thinks of her mother, thinks of them
together. Rey sees it in his face when they bicker that he’s utterly
uncomfortable. He’s too polite to get in between a mother and her daughter.
It’s smart of him, actually. 
 
But is that not exactly what’s happening? They’re all blind to it. To the fact
that a triangle has been formed with Rey and her mother at two points and Ben
on the third. Lydia pines for Ben, tries so very hard from the way she dresses
and applies her makeup to the way she ogles at him and neatly folds away what
few clothes he has, placing them upon the bed she’s made for him even though he
insists he’s capable of doing those things himself. 
 
Little does Lydia know, he thinks she’s like his mother in that sense which
might knock her down a few pegs if he mentioned the similarities. He doesn’t
because then he thinks of all the times she’s flirted with him and tried to
slip her hand upon his thigh and he feels sick comparing her to his mother.
 
And Rey, she likes Mr. Solo, the attention he gives her. Like she isn’t a
stupid child and someone who is worthy of and capable of having a conversation
with. Lydia thinks he’s indulging Rey for the sake of being kind. 
 
“Getting in some practice interacting with young people before you begin
teaching them, Ben?” Lydia once said, taking a dig whether it’s intended or
not. 
 
When in reality, he’s indulging Lydia because he’s living in her home for a
cheap price and she puts food on his plate. As for Rey, well, she’s enticing.
An interesting girl with a captivating personality and an even more incredible
smile. 
 
But as Ben breathes shallowly into his pillow to drown out the whimpers of
Lydia coming from the bathroom a room over, he just knows Rey isn’t smiling.
And he also knows she is so undeserving of this.
 
                                     _____
                                        
Ben is up early the next morning, the paper in on hand and a fresh cup of black
coffee in the other. He’s taken it upon himself to brew the pot and to fry up
some bacon and eggs that he managed to find in the ice box as well. He’s not
that simple. Leia Organa might be a woman of business with a work ethic to
strike down all others, but the woman knew how to cook and even taught Ben a
thing or two just to get by with.
 
Dark hues are searching through the job section on this beautiful Tuesday
morning nearing the end of June. School begins in two month’s time and Ben has
yet to find anything. Money he’s saved is not dwindling quickly, but his reason
for staying here is so that he’ll find a job and be able to move into a place
of his own. This was never meant to be permanent. Even if the girl, who Ben
thinks is still sleeping upstairs because she’s had a long night, makes him
want to stay for a while longer. 
 
An ad in the paper for a tutor strikes his attention. A foreign family from
Germany have just moved in and they’re looking for someone to tutor their twin
children, Edith and Edward, both eleven, in English to prepare them before the
school year begins. 
 
He considers this. Considers the price. The family must come from money because
they’re offering quite a bit more than maybe Ben would have asked for. The only
drawback is that they’re children. Ben isn’t too good with kids, was aiming to
teach college level or maybe, just maybe, high school.
 
Ben sighs into his coffee before setting the paper down and tearing the ad from
it, leaving a giant gap that leads straight to the comic section. Rey will want
those for later. He’s made a note, upon Rey’s request as she brushed up beside
him and invaded his space to reach for the paper, to set them aside for her.
Not so that she does’t have an excuse to be so near to him, but because he
knows she’ll find another way to get close. And he'll welcome it all the same. 
 
His next move for today is to give the Schneider family on Old Welsh Road just
a few miles South from his location, a call. They pick up on the third ring and
the father's accent is heavy, but nothing he can’t decipher with his finger
shoved into the opposite ear as to hear a little better. 
 
“Yes---yes, sir. I will bring my identification as well.”
 
As if it isn’t difficult to understand as is, he’s got Rey bouncing into the
kitchen and stealing majority of his attention. The man rambles on and Ben’s
brow is quirked as she hops onto the counter at his side, feet swinging. He’s
partially turned away, partially trying to soak in the way she looks. Still so
vibrant even after last night. She steals a piece of bacon from Ben's plate,
popping it between her lips. On the stove lie two pans with more food within
them. Though, if that isn't enough for her, he'd gladly make her more. Even if
the way she's licking grease from her fingers, the way she had licked cream
from them before, is all too distracting and leaving his mouth in a strange
limbo between dry and watering.
 
All the while, Rey is looking to him for answers to questions she’s not yet
asked, leaning forward as if to eavesdrop. She can’t understand a thing that’s
being said on the opposite line, like a band of cats are meowing all at once.
Though, octaves deeper than that of a cat. 
 
“That’s perfect---three this afternoon, then. Good speaking with you. ”
 
He’s not even hung up the phone and she’s already speaking. 
 
“Was it the government? Are they after you?” 
 
Like most things she says to him, he’s taken aback by her words. And well,
confused, too. Ben sputters.
 
“Wh-what? No. Why would you think that?”
 
The man’s done nothing wrong in his life. Well, nothing warranting the
government to come after him. He’s a law abiding citizen, never really causing
too much of an uproar. Even if one of his greatest temptations is sat before
him in a yellow floral two piece outfit, her hair braided down her back, and
the gold especially noticeable in her eyes today. 
 
She shrugs, legs still swinging and creating more airflow than the measly fans
they’ve got running throughout the home. “You said you were going to bring you
identification with you. And you seemed nervous.” 
 
Because you make me nervous. 
 
Which is true and he wishes it weren’t, but it fills his stomach with
butterflies that he hasn’t felt since he was a child. Most off the time, it’s
himself and Rey combined into a cocktail of nerves, nerves that lead him to
want to do things he shouldn’t. He tries too hard to resist her because she’s
so young and he’s the adult. He knows it would be so wrong of him to attempt
anything more than a friendship while she’s still under the age of consent. 
 
“Hey, what cures a hangover?”
 
The subject is changed before he has a chance to offer her an answer he didn’t
have. He’s grateful for her ever wandering mind. 
 
“Well, there is ginger. Ginger ale. Crackers. Medicine to take the edge off of
a headache.”
 
Rey is asking for her mother who is still upstairs after her long night. 
 
“It sounds like you’ve had to nurse a few hangovers in your day, Mr. Solo.”
 
In his day? 
 
“I’m not that old nor have I had that many hangovers. In my day...please.”  He
scoffs at the grinning girl. 
 
“What about hair of the dog?”
 
Ben quirks a brow.  
 
“Where did you learn an expression like that?”
 
“I’m not as daft as people may think, Mr. Solo.”
 
Who could possibly think Rey to be daft? He'd fight them on it if he had to.
“I’ve not once ever thought you were daft, Rey. You’re brilliant.”
 
“Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Solo.”
 
Oh, she looks far too proud of herself for that one and it even has Ben beaming
because she learned that from him about a week ago and it’s stuck. 
 
“I’ve got to run to the grocery store. Do you need anything before you’re taken
by the government?”
 
Rey asks, teasing him as she hops from the counter, landing on the floor in her
little white sandals that contain the tan skin of her little feet. 
 
“Why don’t I come with you? I’ll spend my last hours as a free man perusing the
aisles.”
 
And so, they head for Lydia’s car that once belonged to Ben Kenobi, a Delahaye
135 in candy apple RED. A car fit for a whore, obviously. The thought has Rey
stifling a laugh that burns in her throat but Ben
doesn’t seem to notice as they’re slipping into the front seats. 
 
The store isn’t far, just a few minutes up the road. Town is quite busy today,
a movie just letting out. Although, Rey can’t see what’s playing at the local
theater because the text is just too small and the car is passing too
quickly. She decides that she’d like to see a film with Ben. Maybe not a
romance. Something comedic. Because he doesn’t smile as often as one should.
But when he does, her chest aches in the best way possible. 
 
“How is your mother, anyway?”
 
“She’s hungover. I’m not sure what that’s like myself, but judging from last
night, it doesn’t look like a whole lot of fun...but she seems to be doing
better than before.”
 
Lydia would have a field day if she knew Ben asked about her. It might even be
enough to cure her hangover all together. What a miracle that’d be. 
 
                                     _____
 
Then they find themselves in search of both ginger and ginger ale, Rey skating
across the tile floor upon a cart that she’s actually quite good at maneuvering
through the people and produce. Ben is on her tail and happy he doesn’t have to
apologize for her running into anyone. 
 
If it were anyone else or anyone else’s child, he’d complain, not wanting to be
a victim of a shopping cart heal attack. He’s been there before and it might
just be about as unpleasant as a hangover. Ben remains by her side not because
he's afraid she's going to rear-end him, but because he simply likes to be
beside her. Countless times he's been to this store, sitting in that very cart
and grabbing at everything on the shelves with his mother cleaning up his mess
in her wake. But now, Ben can't help but think that they look like a couple to
any who pass. It's never really been a fantasy of his---strolling around in the
grocery store with his wife. Rey isn't his wife, nor is this a fantasy. And he
pushes any idea of it from his head. It does soothe him, however, to know that
Rey looks a bit older than 17 and Ben looks far too young with his shaved face
to be considered her father.
Even if it seems, at times, that Lydia wants him to be. 
 
“So...where are you really going at three?”
 
She kicks off only slightly, his long legs easily keeping up with the roll of
the cart. Especially considering that one of the wheels seems to only want to
cooperate every so often. 
 
“I’ve got something of an interview. It’s at a home not too far from here.
They’re looking for someone to tutor their children in the English language.”
 
“Children?" Rey pauses in front of numerous boxes of pasta in all shapes and
sizes.
 
Maybe they should have pasta for dinner tonight. He doesn't suspect, or really
even EXPECT, that Lydia will make dinner. 
 
"You don’t strike me as the nurturing type, Mr. Solo. Will you be able to
handle them?” She continues. And it seems they're on the same wavelength
because she's grabbing a box of Rigatoni and tossing it beside the bagged
ginger and bottle of pop. 
 
“They aren’t hiring me to nanny them, Rey.”
 
It isn’t that Ben can’t handle children. It’s that he doesn’t really know how.
He grew up an only child and most of the people he was surrounded by were
adults. And by the time he met Rey, he was already in his teens. 
 
“I know that.” She says with a roll of her green hues. “But being a teacher to
children does make you sort of a nurturer. You’re nurturing their minds,
right?”
 
Rey is absolutely right and he doesn’t fight it. These kids are going to
broaden their knowledge of the English language with Ben’s help and it’s really
not too dissimilar from learning to use the bathroom. Of course, the obvious
differences are there. Language is as basic as the bathroom. 
 
“Have I mentioned that you’re brilliant, Rey?” 
 
Those flowery lips of hers are blossoming and she tosses Ben a look over her
shoulder as she slides off down the aisle. 
 
“You might’ve told me it a time or two.”
Chapter End Notes
     Here's a third chapter for y'all! I'm plowing through these quicker
     and easier than I thought I would. So I'm going to keep writing and
     updating until I just can't anymore. As always, feedback is
     appreciated and inspiring! Let me know if there's anything you guys
     want to see from this story or maybe something else once it's
     finished (which I literally have no idea when that will be lol!) <333
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     It's the Fourth of July and the squad has a little get together!
“Do you think that the tree would catch fire if we held it up to the leaves?”
 
The peculiar query is asked on the Fourth of July by Jessika Pava while she and
Rey lay in the cool grass shaded by a willow tree whose billowing branches
reach low and its leaves nearly tickle their noses. They hold sparklers in
their hands, lit up and crackling away even though it’s broad daylight. They’ve
used nearly the entire package because those twenty seconds or so are just
really amusing. Or these girls are simply easily amused. 
 
Rey turns her head to face Jess, ear pressed into the ground and eye squinted
shut because a ray of sun seems to have slipped through the trees to shine
right into that particular part of her face. The expression she wears is not
quite incredulous, but Rey is certainly silently asking herself why the girl
would ask such a stupid question.
 
“Do you think the heat is causing your brain cells to fry?”
 
Jessika snorts, dropping the used sparkler to the ground. Rey is thankful it’s
out. Otherwise, Jess’s brain cells won’t be the only thing that are fried.
 
“Do you think if I tickled you, you’d pee yourself like you did in ninth grade
behind the soda shop?”
 
Rey groans because she remembers that day and she also remembers how
uncomfortable it was to walk home with a large wet stain in her pants. Even
more so when she got looks on the street and then had to explain her little
accident to her mother. She was not pleased. But really, Rey wasn’t too pleased
either.
 
“You wouldn’t.”
 
But she will and she is. The raven haired beauty is tackling Rey into the grass
and Rey knows that she’s going to get reprimanded for grass stains. And well,
if she pees herself, she might as well just have Jess set her to flame with a
sparkler. She'd never hear the end of it and Mr. Solo will DEFINITELY think
she's a child if she pisses herself like one!
 
Her fingers work into her rig cage, just as potent on clothed skin as they are
on bare and Rey thinks she might be having flashbacks to that day years ago.
Still, she’s laughing all the while because for some reason, laughing is the
natural response to this cruel act. 
 
“You called me dumb!”
 
Some hybrid mix of a cackle and a wheeze releases itself from the girl, her
body wiggling and writhing under Jess’s unforgiving fingers. Rey is strong, but
this is draining her of any power she could have over Jess. 
 
“I didn’t call you dumb! I asked if you thought the heat was frying your brain
cells!”
 
“Well, you might as well have called me dumb!”
 
“Did-did you ever stop to think that if I do pee, that it might get on you?”
 
NOW she decides to stop and think. Rey jolts upward when she finishes, abdomen
tight and so sore she doesn’t think she’ll ever have to exercise again. Jess
falls back into the grass. 
 
“If you peed on me,” Jess begins, breathless and Rey doesn’t know why because
she’s not the one who was being tickled to death, “then you’d have made your
mark on me. you wouldn’t have any other choice than to be friends with me
forever. we’d be like blood brothers but with urine.” 
 
Rey is laughing again, nudging her foot into some part of Jess’s upper body.
 
"You're the fire hydrant to my dog."
 
                                     _____
                                        
From across the lawn, Ben is watching the two girls, a cold class of lemonade
in his hand as Mr. Pava chats his left ear off about grilling and how mean of a
burger he makes. And Ben can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing
because of the amount of smoke pouring from the grill. But it hardly phases him
as he listens to the sound of Rey’s laugh, noting that he’s never quite seen
her so happy.  Of course, he prides himself in the tiny giggles and grins he
gets out of her or that she manages to get out of herself. There is just
something so sweet about her laughter that has him a bit distraught. Well,
among other things. 
 
Like the little two piece outfit she's wearing, a light yellow that compliments
her skin tone. Rey seems to have a lot of those outfits in her wardrobe. And
Ben can't say that he minds.
 
Inside of the Pava residence are Mrs. Pava and Lydia who are whipping up some
sort of desert that Ben will be hesitant to try when the time comes. The last
he saw of Lydia, she was sipping on a glass of white wine but he has a feeling
she started her bender a bit earlier on in the day because she threw herself
onto his arm, which isn't really that out of the ordinary, (her breath tipped
him off) and insisted he come to this annual Fourth of July party that he’s
found out from Mr. Pava just began this year. 
 
Still, he’s happy to be here. He hasn’t really gotten to celebrate Independence
Day in years considering he’s been studying in the land America separated
itself from. Needless to say, a celebration while on their land wouldn’t have
been too appropriate. 
 
More smoke blows into Ben’s face. He winces, hand raising to push it away. Mr.
Pava continues on grilling like he’s not cremating their food. He offers his
assistance which is swiftly turned now. The man won’t even let him near his
damn spatula. At this rate, they’ll be chowing down on ashes. But Ben suppose
he’s going to find out soon enough just how great a grill master Mr. Pava is as
they’re all heading for the picnic table on the porch for their early dinner. 
 
As per usual, Ben finds himself the center of a Lydia and Rey sandwich, Jess
sat on Rey’s left. The large man looks absolutely ridiculous squished between
three women. But Rey is too caught up in piling food onto her plate to notice
until Mr. Pava is opening his mouth. 
 
“Come sit here Jessika, where there’s more space. Let Mr. Solo sit with the
ladies.”
 
Rey pauses mid bite, eyes finding Jessika’s, following hers as she slowly
stands to follow her father’s order. The two girls are pouting, but they’re sat
right across from each other now and they’re still playing footsies. 
 
“Are you saying mom and I aren’t ladies?” Jess’s brow is quirked and she’s
grinning at her father who shakes his head.
 
“Not at all. I just want to sit with my ladies and I’m sure Mr. Solo wants to
sit with his.” The man explains with a chuckle. 
 
Rey hasn’t taken her eyes off of Jess and they’re ogling at each other as if
they’re having a conversation with no words. As one another’s best friends,
it’s simply a requirement to be able to do so. 
 
From her peripheral vision, Ben is visibly tensing. Though, he typically is
tense. But his lips have seemed to disappear, forming themselves into a flat
line. It doesn’t suit his face. Lydia is over the moon with the title of
being his, her cheeks rosy not from rouge or excessive amounts of wine. And
then Ben is parting those lips, freeing them of their condensed state to
demolish her.
 
“Lydia isn’t mine.” It’s the most blunt Rey thinks polite Mr. Solo has ever
been. “Not like Mrs. Pava is yours.” He continues. But it’s hardly enough to
save him because the entire table has grown a bit uncomfortable.
 
A brief moment passes where Rey has since found her plate to be the most
interesting thing ever and not because of the food it contains. She’s willing
herself not to look up at Jessika because she knows she’s done for once their
eyes meet but the girl’s already taken it upon herself to snort. 
 
And then they’re both laughing again like fools, sending the Pava’s dog, Ody,
something to munch on because they can’t seem to control the flail of their
arms as they make to cover their faces. 
 
“Girls! What is so funny?” It’s Lydia who’s demanding to know, her face beat
red for an entirely different reason.
 
When Rey meets her mother’s eyes, she swears she sees the flames of Hell. But
she’s seen them before and she’s sure it won’t be the last time, either. She is
her daughter, after all. 
 
“Oh Lydia, we used to burst into laughter when we were children, too. I’m sure
it’s just over something silly.” Mrs. Pava chimes in. 
 
Jessika shoots a tiny glare toward her mom. “We’re not children.” She defends.
"We're sophisticated young ladies of society." The girl is mocking Rey's accent
and Rey is the only one who finds it endearing.
 
Lydia isn’t having any of it, directing her anger at Rey because it’s just not
her place to correct Jessika. Even if she has known her since she was just a
sweet elementary school girl. 
 
“Then act like it!”
 
Rey, like Ben, is feeling bold today, too. 
 
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize that laughter had to stop once you reach
adulthood.”
 
“Alright, alright. I think that’s enough, ladies. Everyone dig in. We’ve got
plenty of food to pack in. The Mrs. and I don’t want any leftovers.”
 
Mr. Pava may not know how to grill, but he does know how to cut the tension. 
 
                                     _____
 
Nearly fifteen minutes later and it seems everything has taken a turn for the
better, the entire table engaged in conversation about myths. 
 
“That’s a myth, mum.”
 
Rey is a believer of many things from magic to God. Sometimes, at least. She
doesn't speak with him all too often and she thinks that maybe God could be a
girl, too. But she never brings that up to her mother who, for whatever reason,
is a die hard when it comes to Catholicism even though she never goes to
church. She'd accuse Rey of blasphemy when she's really just thinking outside
of the box. Rey just believes there has to be something greater than all of
them. 
 
“It is not! I read it in The Cosmopolitan.”
 
Lydia is insisting that if one doesn’t wait a minimum of thirty minutes after
eating before they swim, they’ll get cramps and drown. Rey has a completely
different opinion on that matter considering she’s eaten her weight in
watermelon and sunflower seeds at Summer camp and then swam in the lake. She
isn’t dead of cramps and drowning!
 
“And people call it Cosmo now.” Rey says as a matter of fact.
 
“You’d better not be reading anything in that magazine, young lady!”
 
The girls are giggling again and Ben finds it funnier than he should that the
little minx at his side is riling her mother up the way she is. He has to
suppress the urge to grin. It may earn him unwanted attention from Lydia. 
 
“I know more than you think I do, mum. And I know for a fact that if you don’t
wait after eating to swim, nothing will happen.” She stands from her spot,
brushing along Ben’s side. It’s warm even beneath the umbrella but he doesn’t
want to her go. “I’d be more than happy to test it out. Because it’s fake.”
 
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Lydia calls, shaking her head as she turns her
attentions back to Mrs. Pava. They share a look and all it really says is
“teenagers”.
 
“I’ll send my love from the pool, mother.” She’s dramatic in the way she parts
with the group, little fingers lifting and pressing to her puckered lips. 
 
The kisses she blows are not for Ben, but for the woman he’s got his back
turned to. Oh, but he wishes they were his. He’d pocket them and save them for
a rainy day because she’s sunshine. 
 
The girls don’t bother putting their swimsuits on, perfectly content with
splashing about in their clothes. Ben doesn’t think he’d be able to handle if
Rey were any less dressed than she is now. It would be torture not to gaze
while in the presence of others who do not stare so longingly at Rey the way he
does. But because he’s around others, it’s all the more reason to look away, to
show some self restraint and respect for Rey.
 
And so, he’s stuck with his fellow adults to talk about politics and world
news. Both topics of which Ben does enjoy in the right setting and mood. But
perhaps not on a holiday because politics just seem to get him heated enough to
start a debate himself and ensure that he wins it. Though, he’d much rather
chat about either subject than have Lydia hanging off of his shoulder and
acting as if he’s her husband and she’s just so proud of his new position.
 
“Ben’s gotten a job tutoring two darling children from Germany. He’s teaching
them English. The family’s got money. You should see their house. It’s
incredible, right?”
 
He glances to Lydia, then to the Pava’s who await the same answer. He simply
nods. 
 
“It’s a lovely home. And the children are very nice.”
 
He’s turned into a parrot. Nodding his head and agreeing with everything Lydia
says simply to appease her and the group because he really doesn’t have the
energy to explain every little thing to the woman. Her curiosity is not nearly
as satisfying to sate as Rey’s is. 
 
                                     _____
                                        
The sun fades eventually and Rey isn’t sad to see another day pass because
Summer seems perpetual and there are fireworks to be set off. She and Jess have
reached their tanning goals. Rey a nice gold and Jess a beautiful bronze. But
they’re paying the price with the demarcation lines from their clothes.
 
“I started laughing because I looked up and saw your mother’s face after he
said that and couldn’t contain it any longer!” 
 
Jessika’s lips are blue, dyed from the Fire Cracker Popsicle that drips down
from the stick and onto her fingers. Rey knows she’s either wipe them on her or
on herself. But she’s got one, too and isn’t afraid to use it. 
 
“I can’t believe he said that.”
 
Mr. Solo seemed to knock Lydia down a notch with just three words. It's just
what she needed to bring her back to reality. But still not enough to keep her
there. The woman is persistent if nothing else. 
 
“Neither can I---and you know what?!” 
 
“Are you going to enlighten me, Jess?”
 
“You bet I am, kid.” The girl is leaning forward, taking extra precautions as
to keep their conversation private. Rey meets her halfway until their noses are
nearly touching. They laugh. “He only said that your mom wasn’t his. He never
said anything about you.”
 
The smile that once pulled at her lips falls, her brow furrowing. She reverts
back slowly because Jess is on to something and Rey is disappointed that she
didn’t catch on to that when it happened. But she does now. Yes, she recalls
that he only denied Lydia out loud to the table, but not Rey. Never Rey...not
yet.
 
So far, Ben has not denied Rey the little bits of attention she wants where he
always seems to be trying to escaping her mother’s painted nails from latching
onto him. It’s as thought she’s got magnets in those talons of hers and she
keeps dragging Ben back like he’s her polar opposite. Except, he is her
opposite and the saying that they attract is not necessarily the truth---
a MYTH. One that Lydia probably believes.
 
                                     _____
                                        
When the fireworks have set off, and they go off for about three hours from all
different locations in the area, Rey is dozing in the backseat of the car. Ben
insists he drive home even if Lydia hasn’t drank anything in hours. He doesn’t
want any of them put at risk if she’s still even the slightest bit intoxicated.
Rey has not become a victim to cramps and drowning and Ben makes sure she’s not
a victim of drunk driving, either. 
 
The brunette woman shuffles her way up the stone path to the home once Ben’s
parked alongside the curb. For once, she seems eager to leave him be. But her
daughter is asleep in the backseat, Ben finds. Moonlight pours through the
window, highlighting her cheekbone and the freckles that dance across. Knees
lazily knock into one another when she shifts, just barely waking, just enough
for Ben to catch himself. 
 
“We’re home, Rey.” He murmurs to his sleeping beauty. The girl hums, further
rousing herself so that she can mosey her way into the house, up the stairs,
and to her bed. She thinks of nothing else but how wonderful the mess of sheets
she left from this morning will be to fall into. 
 
“Come here, sweetheart. I’ll help you out of the car.” She hears Mr. Solo say
before rounding the vehicle to her side. And it’s enough to open her eyes,
vision following him as he comes to open her door and offer her his hand. 
 
Rey takes it after a brief moment of gazing into his face and tries to find her
footing on the grass.
 
“It’s been such a strenuous day for you, has it?” He’s teasing her which he
rarely does and the girl just has to revel in it. Rey chuckles softly, closing
the car door behind her. 
 
“I just can’t bounce back the way I could when I was ten.” It’s his turn to
laugh now and boy, does he. 
 
“Imagine being twenty-eight.” He counters. 
 
They’re moving through the threshold, Rey first, ladies first, and then Ben.
They haven’t stopped holding each other’s hand. 
 
“I’d rather not.” Rey begins, hopping up onto the first step. Somehow, that
quick ten minute nap seemed to help her regain her energy tenfold. 
 
Rey decides to slightly slip her fingers from his grasp, wanting to know just
what he’d do. It’s a test, if anything. And whether or not he passes or fails
is really in the eyes of anyone---of who deems this little gesture between a
girl, nearly a woman, and a man right or wrong. 
 
Those optics of his drop to their connected hands, staring at them as if
they’ll keep together simply because he wills them not to part. Rey doesn’t let
it go unnoticed. She leans forward.
 
“Twenty-eight is old.” She continues, a tiny smirk on her lips. 
 
It should wound him even though he’s well aware that she’s joking. But he
simply can’t find any reason to be offended when she’s looking at him like
that, that glint in her eyes and the tiny curve of the left side of her mouth.
It’s the side that seems to curve up first before that bright smile of hers
takes over every part of her mouth. That smile never comes. Instead, she does
let go of his hand and begins up the stairs with a gentle spoken goodnight.
 
Ben is just short of leaping forward. “Wait!”
 
She’s a stair above himself and even then, she’s still almost a head shorter
than him. He swallows and takes in the expression on her face, a adorable mix
of surprise and confusion. 
 
“Bonne fête de l'indépendance.” 
 
The French language flows fluidly off of his tongue and through his lips, like
he’s made to speak the language. And Rey looks up at him as if he’s not
speaking French at all, as if their connection knows no bounds of language. She
knows what he’s saying without really having to put her brain to use. 
 
“Happy Independence Day to you too, Mr. Solo.” 
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Summary
     Ben and Rey find themselves alone. They get to talking. And then
     some...
It’s maintenance day around the Kenobi-Solo household, Lydia an absolute freak
about it. She wants everything dusted, to shine like the stars in a clear night
sky or the diamond ring she wants from the department store that she talks
about almost every single day. Though, she’s taken the most simple job of
grocery shopping and left Rey to tend to household chores. She begins with the
interior and ends with the laundry. Clothes are picked from every room in the
home and nearly every surface too. Except for Mr. Solo’s. He wasn’t too keen on
letting Rey gather his dirty laundry and insisted he’d take care of it when she
was finished with her own.
 
Why? He’s allowed her mother to. 
 
They dry now, hooked upon lines that run across the span of their lush
backyard, billowing in the gusts of wind that breeze through on this July day.
If there is one thing Lydia takes pride in at the residence, something that her
mother Satine adored and worked hard on, is their yard and garden. Rey’s
grandmother had the greenest thumb and apparently, it runs in the family
because Lydia does too. Why she works as a telephone operator and not a florist
is beyond Rey. 
 
The woman has taken to working night shifts as telephone operator rather than
day shifts. She insists that she works better during the night time anyway
given that she’s an insomniac, constantly worrying, thinking. She might as well
put that energy to use doing something productive like connecting calls for
other people who can’t sleep, either.
 
Though, deep down, Rey is almost positive she hates the job. But not nearly as
much as she hated being a seamstress. It all seems to work out in the end,
however. Mr. Solo uses the car during the days when he works, she uses the car
at night. And she makes just enough to pay the bills and put food on the
table. 
 
Sprinklers run, spritzing the grass with cold water, hydrating everything from
the lilies to the rose bushes and even Rey as they grow and thrive beneath the
sun’s rays. They’ve got the nicest backyard on the street. No! The entire
block. Lydia makes sure everyone knows it, too, the social butterfly she is. A
social bragger, really.
 
Like right about now, she’s probably chatting up the store clerk, taking much
longer out and about than needed and taking up more of the clerk's time than he
likely wanted. Rey isn’t terribly upset about it. As she’s able to take a break
and not get hounded for it by the woman. 
 
She’s soaked in her little white dress, an old slip worn beneath finer dresses
that she stole from her mother’s closet being that it’s comfortable and plain--
-just the kind of clothes Rey likes. 
 
A book lays in the grass, the girl careful it’s out of range of water as she’s
belly down, nose finding a home in the binding. The Scarlet Letter was given to
her by Mr. Solo to read and she can’t put it down. Well, not until Jessika
comes knocking for her to come out. Otherwise, she’d have been finished it by
now. 
 
Well...she’s been given yet another reason not to focus today. And it’s not the
amount of house work that needs to be finished. 
 
Across the way, upon the staircase to the back porch just in front of the
swing, sits Mr. Solo in his khaki slacks and a white tank top, focused on a
book himself, glasses perched atop the bridge of his strong nose and hair
falling in his face. 
 
Rey isn’t sure what aspect to hone in on first, be it his arms or the dip of
his clavicle, both equally enthralling. His skin has remained hidden from the
Summer sun, protected from changing shades. He’s still a pale face and Rey
grins to herself because her mother is unable to ever get as dark as Rey and
she hates it when she calls her that. But even if he is just slightly darker
than his tank top, it doesn’t keep her from wondering what being held in his
arms would feel like. 
 
He doubles her in width, his shoulders broad. He looks as if he’s carved from
marble---a modern day Adonis, he is! Rey could gaze for hours on end. 
 
Little does she know, he thinks he could do the same. He’s hardly concentrating
on the text before him, reading the same sentence over and over and it still
isn't making sense. Eyes strain to look out to the side, only just able to
catch a glimpse of the girl who lays in the grass like a flower waiting to be
picked. She’s watered like one, the white slip she wears clinging to her lithe
form like a glove. He’s seen her this way before, the first day they met since
she was just a little girl. Ben wishes he could catch her looking at him the
way he looks at her because then he’ll know for sure that he’s not going crazy
in this seemingly endless Summer. 
 
It’s torture being so far from her. Especially when they really have no need to
be separated. Lydia is away, offering them peace but all Ben feels is conflict.
For if she’s near, he will want to touch her. And if she’s far, then he’ll be
longing for her to be close. The man yearns either way, is so smitten with this
young beauty---a duckling turned swan and still growing into something
magnificent. And she was never ugly even if he only remembers a solid shape of
her from before.
 
Rey makes the first move and Ben’s almost given himself whip lash with how
quick he’s turning his head toward her, watching her push up from the ground
and pluck strands of grass from her body. The book comes next and then she’s
moving toward him and he’s all but forgotten about the book in his own hands,
the plot, the characters, the title! 
 
She’s a vision in white and gold wading through the grass until she’s looming
above him like a perfect cloud. She drips, soaked by sprinkler water. 
 
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Rey asks. 
 
And Ben thinks that yes, lovely is the precise word among many more he could
use.
 
She’s referring to the yard and how exotic it feels being surrounded by
greenery and life when just next door, Mr. Jenkins is having such difficulty
growing a proper tomato (as he keeps complaining about)  and keeping his lawn
from looking crisped like the toast she ate for breakfast this morning.
 
“Absolutely lovely, Rey.” He agrees and she smiles.
 
Rey lifts her hand to the hem of her slip, bunching it between her fingers. Oh,
how he waits with bated breath for her to expose more of her honey thighs to
his vision. He shifts in his spot, sitting straighter, eyes trained on her
legs. They’re perfect level for his gaze, perfect level for his own hands to
reach forward and help her. And if the lip comes high enough, he’s got a front
row seat to the delicious view of the apex between her thighs.
 
The lines of panties are visible, hugging her hips, concealing her most private
places. If they were not alone, he would not ogle, would do to cover her up
instead and avert hungry eyes. He wishes for no one else to see her this way,
to see the beautiful rose hue of her pebbled nipples that poke through the
sheer fabric or the dip of her belly button. 
 
But she’s only ringing out the water from the slip, gathering the liquid in her
hand only to flick it at him. He winces and lets a chuckle loose, nose
scrunching. 
 
“Thank you for that. It was getting a little warm over here.”
 
“Anything for a friend.” 
 
Rey replies, taking a seat below him, slinking into the grass. He doesn’t tear
his eyes from her, can’t, taking note of every slight move she’s making from
each bat of her lashes to the way her head lowers to rest upon his knee. Those
baby doll orbs, bright and green and round, look to him coyly, her middle
finger tip raised, suspended just enough to draw lazy circles in the fabric of
his pants. 
 
“We are friends right, Mr. Solo?” 
 
She asks for reassurance of something that is plainly obvious. Even if
friendship isn’t quite what their relationship has formed into. Still, he cares
for her, converses with her like they’re friends. 
 
“Because I consider you my friend. Am I yours?” 
 
Yours.
 
Mine, he thinks. And he doesn’t have any right to. Because she isn’t his no
matter how much he wants her to be. So for now, he settles for second best. 
 
“You’re mine---my friend. You’re my friend. We’re friends.”
 
It brings a smile to her lips and Ben feels like he’s made an accomplishment.
She still lays her dimpled cheek against his leg. At his side and on his book,
fingers tense and twitch, wanting to reach out. Surely he could indulge for a
moment to push the errant curl that’s strayed from the highest bun in her row
of three. He goes for it, the back of a thick finger pushing the hair behind
her ear even though it’s beautifully formed against her cheekbone that he can’t
help but go out of his way to press just a tad more pressure to in order to
feel her soft skin. 
 
Eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh to rival the soft breeze of warm air falls
from her mouth. Ben wonders if she likes his touch, likes the feel of a
calloused finger, his, brushing the smooth expanse of her skin. He would touch
her anywhere she wished if it would make her sigh that way again and again and
perhaps even graduate to his name. 
 
If the eyeful he’s received isn’t enough to make his pants tight, Rey’s nearly
bare body held by wet fabric, breasts a subtle swell and skin glistening, then
the thought of her sighing his name is. But he doesn’t want to pull away or go
hide in his room to conceal his shame for becoming so taken by the girl---the
young woman that lays her head upon his legs and reacts verbally to his touch
in the gentlest way. 
 
But she still insists on calling him Mr. Solo because she’s such a good girl,
so polite. The name is his father’s but when she acknowledges him, the
formality on her tongue, he doesn’t think of Han. He thinks of how sweet her
voice is and that she’s paying him mind rather than thinking he’s turning into
his father. 
 
“You don’t have to call me Mr. Solo, Rey.”
 
“Would you prefer me to call you Professor Solo, then? How about just Sir?”
She’s teasing him and he takes the bait every single time.
 
Though, he cannot deny that Sir does sound very appealing. Ben is just far more
personal. He wants to be personal with her. 
 
“Ben. Call me Ben.”
 
“D’accord...Ben.” 
 
“Your French is exceptional, Rey.”
 
“I’ve got an exceptional teacher. Even if he limits me to one small lesson a
day.”
 
“Because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. A little goes a long way, darling.”
 
It’s very much true, too. A lesson that Lydia would do well to learn. He gets
small doses of Rey and it’s just enough, but not, constantly leaving him
wanting more. But there is something so enticing about the slow build of
whatever this is between them, the slow exploration. Rey thinks the same even
if she wants to sit with him at his desk all day and talk about everything and
nothing. He’s overwhelmed her before, a gentle press of his lips to her hand or
the longing stares they share while he’s sat at the kitchen table and she’s
painting her nails on the living room floor. Even if her mother does pass
through and shout at her not to get nail polish on the wood and then send a
roll of her brown eyes to Ben.
 
Ben would wait a thousand years for her. And it feels as though he has been
because she’s still 17 and his will power is stronger than he thought. 
 
“I’m just greedy, I guess. I want to learn. What else can you teach me?”
 
So eager, his girl. It's all the more reason to teach her everything he knows.
 
“You may be the only person I know who’s on Summer vacation and still wants to
be taught.” 
 
She beams, proud to be acknowledged. “Is that such a bad thing?”
 
“No. Not in the slightest---come.” Ben beckons her to his side, the step up
from him. Rey obliges, crawling over his lap and placing herself upon the
porch, her leg draped across both of his and the other tucked into her body. 
 
“What is it you want to learn, Rey?”
 
He doesn’t ask the question to put her on the spot and she doesn’t answer right
away as if she feels pressured. Rather,  her eyes flit to the side, pearly
teeth tugging at her pink lip in thought. He’s noticed she does that a lot when
she’s concentrating and it’s both endearing and maddening. 
 
“You.”
 
“Me?” He’s quirking a dark brow in response.
 
“I want to know about you.” Rey says, confident in her words. 
 
“I’m a teacher of French and English and you ask me to teach you about myself.”
 
“I'd like to think I'm already pretty decent at English. So much so that I
speak it fluently. And you're already teaching me French little by little.
You’re an expert on yourself, aren’t you? I'm not.”
 
Ben opens his mouth to speak words that have not yet formed into sentences.
She’s right. He does know himself...well, he thinks he’s got a good handle on
who he is as a person. He knows his own favorite color and that he’d never kill
anyone. Without good reason, at least. 
 
Rey gives a single nod of her head. “Black is my favorite color. Red might be
the next.” And he doesn’t say that because her toes are always painted red and
he thinks that its a beautiful color on her skin tone. 
 
“I like green.”
 
Green. Like her eyes. Ah yes, another color to tie with black. Perhaps he
enjoys shades of brown and beige now too for her hair and freckles. 
 
“You seem to like green and red together. Is it safe to say Christmas is your
favorite holiday?”
 
“Actually, it’s Halloween.”
 
The man scoffs, nose scrunches in response. He detests the day, finds it’s
pointless.
 
“Not a fan of All Hallows Eve?”
 
“It’s hardly a holiday. Just children dressing up and knocking on people’s
doors in search of candy. Don’t parents teach their children the dangers of
taking candy from strangers?” 
 
He wants to take back part of what he said or at least re-word it better. She
doesn’t look offended and if she is, she’s got a damn good poke face. He didn’t
mean anything by what he said---just that he doesn’t understand the holiday.
Only participated when he was little because his mother and father thought it
was a fundamental part of childhood. 
 
Rey shrugs her shoulders, a barely there strap of her barely there slip falling
from her shoulder. 
 
She doesn’t really know what to say. She could tell him that maybe she is a
child, then. She could tell him that not everyone in this world is looking to
poison children with sweets they hand out on Halloween. Rey opts for something
lighter instead. 
 
“Did you have a terrible experience with Halloween as a child? Who hurt you,
Ben?” She asks as if he’s been in grave danger, asking as if she’s his
therapist. Except she’s laughing and so is he.
 
“My mother dressed me as a pumpkin and has photos.”
 
Rey laughs harder, Ben looks away with pursed lips to hold back the ridiculous
grin that wants to burst on his face. 
 
“So tragic. How did you manage to move on from it?” It’s rhetorically asked,
facetious but not rude. 
 
“What do you dress as? I'll bet you've been dressed as something embarrassing,
too.” 
 
The girl perks up. “My mum dressed me as Santa one year per request of my
father, apparently." Rey admits, almost proud. Ben thinks to ask her of her
father, but decides against it because their conversation is not of that nature
and that topic could really offend her. It's the last thing he wants to do.
"Last year I dressed as Rosie the Riveter. Because women are just as capable as
men. This year...maybe I’ll be a cat. If I go out, that is.”
 
He’s smiling again, eyes closing and head shaking.  “You’re not wrong. My
mother thinks the same as you and I suppose she gets it from my grandmother.”
 
His family is full of strong women from his grandmother to his aunt Mara to his
mother and Ben knows with great certainty that women are just as capable as
men. He’s found that they’re quite an advanced peoples and more mature than men
majority of the time, anyway.
 
But then he’s thinking of Rey with whiskers, a tail, and ears and has to
chuckle. What a pretty kitten she’d make, no doubt able to claw your eyes out
if need be. 
 
“Both incredibly intelligent women.” Rey says, needing to know little more than
what he’s told her of his grandmother and what she remembers of Mrs. Solo. Ben
agrees wholeheartedly.  
 
“Are you nearsighted or far?”
 
“What---oh.” The peculiar question (ironically) blindsides him, the change in
subject vast. He peels the glasses from his face.
 
“Near. But I’m not terribly blind. Not yet, at least.” 
 
The man’s been wearing glasses since he was a boy, no older than five. His
mother thought he was the cutest little boy in the world with his four eyes and
now she thinks he’s the most handsome man with four eyes because he reminds her
so much of her late husband. 
 
“How do I look from here?” Rey’s asking, no more than a two feet from him. 
 
Beautiful. 
 
“A little blurry. I can see you just fine, though.”
 
She’s standing again, making her way toward the swing that hands from the
largest tree in the backyard. Her hips sway with each step, bottom round. He
glances to the stairs where she’s left a wet mark that will dry up in no time
with the heat. 
 
“How do I look from here?” She calls. Ben stands from his spot, setting his
book aside, his glasses on top. 
 
Still beautiful.
 
But he doesn’t say it out loud. He only advances in her direction, watching as
she slides onto the swing, toes barely brushing the ground. Just enough to give
her the leverage she needs to kick off. 
 
Rey doesn’t take her eyes off of him, either, still expecting an answer. His
strong hands finger the ropes, gripping them as he leans forward to catch her
mid swing, their legs brushing together and his knee is so very close to
slipping between her thighs and if she’s any higher up, which he could easily
push her higher, she’d slide forward and he’d find her cunt soaking and pressed
to his leg, soaking his tight pants too. 
 
“You looked too far.” 
 
Not clear, not blurry. Just too far away from him for his liking. He had to
close the space, wants to close more space and there’s just so little left but
it seems impossible to do because of his conscious. But she looks like an
angel. She’s touched him like one, but he can’t touch her. That is, until,
she’s scooting forward, practically capturing his leg between hers.
 
“Swing me a little.”
 
Touch me a little. 
 
He humors her and himself, leg moving forward then back, rocking Rey on the
swing. It only sends her closer until she’s nearly sat on his thigh. She’s more
than halfway, her wet clothes wetting his. And if he looks close enough, he can
see that her hips are rolling in sync with each press of his thigh into the
wooden seat, grinding so gently into him that it almost isn’t even happening. 
 
Except that it is and she’s chewing on her lip again, head tipping back. Ben’s
mouth is dry, parted, his hands moving to cover hers on the ropes as she uses
him. He’d let her use him any way she likes, any way she wants him. He’s...
 
Hardening beneath his trousers, cock pulsating with a desire he’s been trying
so hard to keep at bay. And Rey, inside her, the pit of her belly, that same
pulsating, a hot steady thrum that does not match the erratic beating of her
heart. 
 
His gaze is intense, meeting her own in a showdown. Neither look away, neither
want to. Ben can’t believe what he’s seeing, his sweet girl, so innocent,
grating her pussy against him, starting to pant softly, wanting for him and him
too weak to stop her.
 
“Reynada!”
 
A stronger force stops them both, sending Rey flying upward and into Ben's
chest. She shoves past him to grab the wicker basket from the ground, tearing
halfway dried sheets and shirts and pants and underthings from the clothes
lines and stuffing them inside. 
 
It’s pressed to her chest, covering her front as she pushes forward past Lydia
who is dressed in her best clothes and standing in the doorway of the living
room leading to the porch.
 
“Set those down and go unload the car, Rey. I bought a lot of food that needs
to be put in the ice box immediately!” She calls, demanding her daughter. 
 
Ben is left gripping the ropes of the swing so tightly he could tear it from
the tree, his member heavy in his pants, constricting, a wet spot in the shape
of a part of Rey apparent against his thigh. He looks to Lydia who is already
staring at him. Ben represses a groan both from her gaze and from the hard-on
he’s sporting, frustrated and wondering just how the hell he’s going to explain
it because there’s no God damn way she won’t be checking as nosy as she is. 
 
Ben, for a moment, wonders if she saw anything. He’s fearful, but then she’s
speaking to him and he’s just plain annoyed. 
 
“Won’t you come help, Ben? We need a big strong man to help us.” Lydia croons.
Ben forces a smile and she heads off, peeling the stupid hat from her head as
she heads into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. 
 
                                     _____
 
She can hardly look at him. Especially when she’s sat before her him and her
mother at the dinner table. Rey prods at her meat with her fork, chicken
covered in some sort of seasoning and a generous amount of broccoli on the side
next to her bread. 
 
“What’s wrong, Rey? Aren’t you hungry? You’d better eat. I didn’t slave over
the hot stove for nothing.” Her mother’s voice is not soothing, not used with
the intent to show care for her daughter as she abnormally toys with her food. 
 
Ben is the same, quiet and gathering the chicken’s juice upon his fork as
redundant as it is. He feels guilt spread through him, uneasiness. How could he
not? He's sat in front of Rey who was finding release on his thigh not too long
ago and in front of her mother who may or may not have saw them. What's worst
is that he was so ready to let Rey come on his thigh, to make her come, make
her feel a way he hopes she's never felt before. At least not from someone
else. 
 
“Nothing is wrong, mum. Thank you for dinner.” Rey says with the hope that it
will appease her mother. She simply takes a sip of wine and turns her attention
toward Ben.
 
“I’ll get to your wash tomorrow, Ben. I told Rey to, but I suppose she got
lazy. I saw the pile at the top of the stairs.”
 
“It’s no worry, Lydia. I can wash my own clothes.” Ben lifts his water to his
lips. “And Rey did offer. But as I said, I can do it myself. She’d already
cleaned the entire house. I didn’t want to burden her with more.”
 
Rey does finally look to Ben with nothing other than gratitude in her eyes for
coming to her defense. He meets her eyes and offers her a soft smile. Rey
would’ve gladly let him burden her with more had Lydia not come home and
disrupted their time together. 
 
“Yes, she did look busy sitting on the swing.” It’s the wine talking and maybe
a dash of jealousy. 
 
But it has both Rey and Ben staring wide eyed into their plates with nothing to
say in response. The fans are running, but if it got any quieter, Lydia could
hear the heartbeats of both Ben and Rey and perhaps even their blood pumping
madly through them. Though, luckily for them, or maybe unluckily, Lydia has
more to say when she stands from the table, plate clear and heading toward the
refrigerator. 
 
“Who’s ready for dessert?” 
***** Chapter 6 *****
The bicycle is baby blue, the basket perched upon the handles tan and the
wheels covered in mud because it rained yesterday for all of ten minutes and
turned the grass to mush. Almost 18 and she’s still riding her bike to and from
and simply because she likes to ride her bike. It’s winsome watching she and
the Pava girl circle one another in the street, ringing their little bells
while the other neighborhood kids, who are actually kids in comparison to the
teenage girls, play about them.  
 
Ben is meandering through, slow and steady, cautious, as the children part like
the red sea so he can park the car on the curb...but then he thinks the car is
safer and less likely to be hung on and dented up if it’s in the driveway. A
car he wouldn’t mind being left in the streets is his father’s. The piece of
junk is his, apparently. Left to Ben in his will after passing. Ben has yet to
claim the car since being back in the states and he doesn’t really want to. Why
bother when he’s got a perfectly good car to use?
 
Though, it won't be beneficial or even realistic to rely on the Kenobi's car
forever. There will come a time, of which Ben can't say is near or far, that he
will move out and require his own means of transportation. He's reminded again
of the silver car covered in scratches, the interior covered in his family's
late dog's hair. It probably still smells like old Chewie, too.
 
The group of kids find their way back into the street, Rey and Jessika riding
alongside one another just a little ways up the road to keep away from prying
ears. Children manage to hear more than they’re supposed to and what’s worse is
that they’re incredibly honest. But nothing can save them from prying eyes as
Mr. Solo is looking to them, hand raised, waving. Rey smiles in return, chiming
her bells. 
 
“He’s looking extra handsome today. I love a man in a uniform.”
 
“He’s not wearing a uniform, Jess. It’s a tie, a button up, and slacks.”
 
“It’s his work uniform. ‘Sides, what do you care?” She’s riding in a circle
around Rey, starting off ahead of her and tossing a look over her
shoulder. “You like the way he looks no matter what he’s wearing.”
 
Rey halts, sandal clad toes pressing into the tar as she stares her audacious
friend for a moment before racing after her. Of course, it’s no secret that Rey
thinks Ben is the most attractive man to walk this Earth. Well, right next to
Gene Kelly, of course. She thinks he might know how she feels too given that
she was rubbing against his thigh like a cat in heat just the other day. 
 
Since then, they’ve shared little more than glimpses and few words. Majority of
them being the French he still makes a point to teach her each day. She's very
much appreciative of the gesture.
 
“You need to shut up, Jess! He could’ve heard you!” Rey whispers. But the grin
she’s wearing does not match the tone of voice. 
 
And then Jess is defying her because she took Rey’s exasperated and nervous
smiling the complete wrong way. 
 
“Hi, Mr. Solo! Lookin’ good today!” Jess comments, stopping in front of the
driveway on her bike. 
 
Ben is nearly inside when she grabs his attention. He doesn’t look flustered by
her words and Rey’s not expecting  the tiny smile and not of his head he
acknowledges Jessika's compliment with, as if to say he's grateful for it
without really speaking the words.
 
“Hello, Jessika.” He sighs, indulging the teen. Then he acknowledges Rey. 
 
“Rey...I take it it’ll be just you and I for dinner tonight, then? Your mother
starts her shift soon, doesn’t she.”
 
“Within the hour, yes. I could make pasta. We’ve got tomato sauce.” 
 
“It’s too hot to cook anything. We’ll go out. How about to the malt shop on
Second Street? You like it there, right?” 
 
Rey’s lips part, then close, then part again. Jessika knows she’s at a loss for
words because he’s basically asking her on a date, isn’t he? Jess is surprised
too and takes it upon herself to answer. 
 
“She loves it there, right Rey?”
 
Rey looks to Jessika who wears a larger than life grin on her lips. “I do.” Rey
finally answers. 
 
“Watch out, though. She dips her fries in her shake.” 
 
His head tilts slightly in a way that’s far too adorable for a grown man, his
dark tresses slipping atop one another into a cascade. “You do?”
 
“Yes, I do,” She nudges the dark haired girl. “And it’s pretty good, if you ask
me.”
 
“Interesting.” 
 
He excuses himself to freshen up a moment later. Rey wants to do the same. But
not before ramming herself into her giggling friend and seeing her off down the
road.
 
Rey's excitement is unable to be concealed, she's nearly quivering, wobbling on
her bike. Jessika pauses at the stop sign to offer Rey last minute advice and
encouragement that she doesn't really need...but definitely does because she
can't stop smiling and her cheeks are going to be sore if she doesn't quit
acting as if she hasn't been asked out before. In fact, she's had plenty of
dates at this malt shop. It's just the place to be and she's always welcome
there with open arms. There's Maz, who owns the shop, and Finn who makes the
best ice cream soda Rey's ever had in her life. 
 
Yes, thinking of Finn carrying her an ice cream soda with extra chocolate sauce
and his giant grin keeps her nerves in check. For the time being, at least. 
 
_____
 
She’s never really worried too much about what she looks like, what to wear,
always just tossing something on without a second thought. Now she’s gone
through her entire closet and even her dresser drawers in attempt to find
something suitable for dinner with Mr. Solo...Ben...and not her mother. 
 
The girl stands among the aftermath of a hurricane of patterns and colors and
she knows that if Lydia sees the mess she’s made, she’s going to unleash all
Hell on her. Lydia is no neat freak, either. Rey’s had to clean up the panties
and bras she leaves hanging about numerous times---clean ones, no less! Though,
Rey thinks she does it now more often in hopes of enticing Ben. It makes her
cringe with disgust that her mother would be so unbearably brash with her
advances on a man who is so obviously not interested. 
 
And it isn’t that Rey wishes to belittle her mother or discourage her from
finding someone new, but she’s taking things a little too far and there may
come a time when Ben snaps because she just can't take a hint. Or doesn't want
to. Rey is no expert on men or the art of seduction. She's never been in love
or married or really even liked a guy romantically before she met Ben. But she
does know how much is too much. And Lydia Kenobi is just way too much. 
 
“Reynada Jo Kenobi...this room is atrocious! What are you doing tossing all of
your clothes all over the place?”
 
Rey doesn’t bother looking to her mother. Instead, she’s already in the process
of refolding said clothes. All while the word hypocrite rings through her busy
head. 
 
“I’m looking for something to wear.”
 
“Well, I think I’ve found something! A lot of things. What are you dressing up
for anyway?” She demands, flinging a pair of shorts her way. 
 
Rey is reluctant to say what the occasion is. Who knows just what she’ll do.
 
No...actually, Rey knows exactly what Lydia will do. And Rey will do everything
in her power to make sure she doesn’t succeed not only for her own sake, but
for Ben's and the sake of her job. 
 
“Mr. Solo offered to take me to dinner tonight.” Rey tells her, running flat
palms across the skirt of her dress.
 
Lydia is silent at her side, seemingly taking in what she’s told her. 
 
“Well, maybe I should call out of work tonight and join the both of you. I’d
say it’s a perfect evening for a night on the town. And well deserved after a
long week. ” She suggests and Rey is already prepared with a response.
 
“He’s taking me out because you’re supposed to go to work and it’s too hot to
cook.” Rey begins, averting her eyes from her reflection from the mirror to her
mother. She looks so stern for someone so young. 
 
“You can’t call out of work. It would be the third time this week. Remember?
You spent Tuesday drinking and Wednesday hungover.” She finishes, moving past
an exasperated Lydia to the bathroom to fix her hair. 
 
Rey doesn’t quite make it that far, her thin arm grabbed onto, red nails like
talons digging into the flesh of her arm. The woman is angry, threatened and
becoming defensive. Deep down, so far down, she knows Rey is right.
 
“You don’t speak to me that way, young lady. I’m your mother and I do as I
please. My work is none of your business.” The brunette seethes, quiet enough
so that Ben won’t hear the dark side of this mother-daughter relationship.
 
Rey doesn’t cower, the girl not one to bite her tongue. Instead, she’s leaning
forward and opening her lips to speak in the calmest of tones, icy. “Is it not
my business when I’m holding your hair for you or getting you into bed at four
in the morning? Or when your employer calls here asking where you are and I
have to explain to him how ill you are because you can't?” 
 
If Lydia wasn't taken back before, she's positively thrown now. Rey rips her
arm from her mother’s harsh grasp. 
 
“If it isn’t my business, then don’t make it mine anymore.”
 
The bathroom door is slammed, leaving a shaken Lydia standing in the doorway of
her daughter’s room, nails no longer biting into Rey’s skin, but into her own
palms. Her jaw is clenched shut out of anger, not because she wishes to hold in
her shouts. Not while Ben is just in the room down the hall and he’s likely
heard snippets of their quarrel. It wouldn’t be the first he’s heard them. 
 
Though, Rey’s never taken it quite this far. 
 
In the bathroom, Rey’s trembling fingers grip the porcelain rim of the sink,
staring at her face. She’s gone red and it doesn’t compliment her dress, a
lovely lavender. Then again, this mood she’s been put into doesn’t compliment
her normally happy self. 
 
Rey sighs and twists the faucet, splashing cold water on her face. Her next
move is to do something about her hair because it’s been up all day and it’s
likely dried into the strange shape of her even stranger buns. When she
releases her tresses, they fall below her shoulder in loose waves, kinky in
some places but nothing a bit of water won’t help. 
 
The girl tweaks is tweaking her hair when there’s a knock on the door. She’s
sure it’s her mother back to harass her and answers quite rudely. 
 
“What!?”
 
“I---sorry, it’s only me. I was just wondering if you were almost ready.”
 
Ben’s voice is is heard through the barrier of the door and she slumps, feeling
terrible for the way she reacted. She opens the door, her face softened and the
way his eyes light up when she comes into view wearing her pretty dress with
her hair down doesn’t fall upon blind eyes. 
 
“No, I’m sorry. I thought you were my mum.” She weakly explains.
 
His face contorts, concerned. “Did...did something happen? Are you alright?”
 
“Nothing that fries in a milkshake won’t fix.” Rey says, moving forward.  
 
But then he’s reaching for her hand, a dwarf within his. Rey pauses, turning
back slightly to face him. His eyes are trained on her arm, the indentations as
red as her mother’s nails, broken skin poking from the marks. Lydia truly does
have claws.
 
When she looks to Ben, he wears an expression that she cannot decipher, biting
at his lip perhaps in thought of what to say or to keep himself from saying
anything. All Rey needs him to know is that it’s nothing he should to worry
about, that her mother doesn’t do this often. He’s around most of the time
anyway. If she were physically harming her, surely he’d notice.
 
“I don’t want to pry or get in the middle of you two...” Ben starts, softly
brushing his thumb atop the marks, “but if she hurts you, Rey, I won’t have a
choice.” 
 
Rey gently pulls her arm from Ben, flattered that he's so willing to care for
her when it feels like not even her own mother does. “It’s nothing. Her nails
are just a bit too long. You don’t have to worry about either of us.” 
 
She is already worrying about her mother enough for the both of them, unsure of
how to fix someone that doesn’t think she is doing anything wrong, that doesn’t
want to be fixed. Lydia Kenobi would sooner depend on a man to help her out of
this rut than her own daughter who’s been consistently with her for the past 17
years, who loves her through everything. It’s sad, but the cold hard truth. 
 
_____
 
They walk to the malt shop on Second Street because the sun is setting and it’s
a little less warm. That, and Lydia’s taken the car to work. Neither of them
mind the walk being that they aren’t far from the joint, anyway. Rey is just
glad to be with him, glad that her mother is at work until the wee hours of the
morning when she comes home and Rey is asleep in her bed only to wake and find
that her mother is fast asleep in her room. It’s a joyous discovery, something
she expects every time the woman works. 
 
But they’ve since switched subjects from that of Lydia and Rey’s fight to
something less heavy and far more tasty.
 
“I promise you, this is life changing. Just try!” Resy insists, borderline
feeding Ben a fry that she’s dipped into her chocolate shake.
 
"She's right!" Chimes in Finn who is on his way to deliver a basket of french
fries to another table. Ben spares him a glance before turning back to Rey.
 
His hues are narrow, scrutinizing her and then the chocolate covered fry. “How
could a fry covered in ice cream be life changing, Rey?”
 
“Eat and maybe you’ll find out.” She wags it in his face and a drop falls upon
the brightly colored table. 
 
Ben gives her one last glance before leaning forward and nipping the fry from
her fingers. Rey feels oddly satisfied when he doesn’t take the fry between his
own, allowing her to feed him. Rey’s hand retracts, popping her thumb into her
mouth to rid it of milkshake and salt all while watching for Ben’s reaction.
 
“It’s...”
 
“Life changing.” Her mouth is full of burger but he doesn’t seem to care
because he’s chortling at her full cheeks. She looks like a chipmunk in
preparation for winter but damn it if she isn't the cutest chipmunk looking
human of all. 
 
“Not quite the words I’d use. That’s a hyperbole. Maybe something along the
lines of pleasing or...good. It’s plain good. A nice combination of salty and
sweet.”
 
“Don’t go all teacher mode on me!”
 
“Says you who, just days ago, was begging me to teach you something.” He
retorts.
 
“I was hardly begging you. That’s a hyperbole!” 
 
It’s hard not to think of that day, how close they were, how her head felt upon
his leg or how his leg felt between her thighs. Rey flushes and buries her face
in a desert menu that’s placed beside the condiments despite already having a
milkshake before her and her burger main course just barely halfway eaten.
 
“You can’t possibly want more food, Rey.”
 
She sends him a look that has him laughing. If he only knew she's hiding her
face because she can't stand to look into the eyes of the man who's leg she
almost came on. 
 
“What’s it to you if I want more food? I could eat it. I’m a bottomless pit. A
growing girl.”
 
Ben rests his elbows on the table, an act his mother would’ve swatted him for
had he done it at home. His mother is in a different country across the
Atlantic ocean and he can do just about whatever he pleases. And what he wants
to do is gaze at Rey like they’re on a date even though this is just a kind
gesture to save them from having to cook themselves. 
 
The girl is growing. She grows everyday, forming into an incredible human being
first and foremost. And a beautiful one at that. 
 
“You know...” Fries are shoved into that pretty mouth of hers. “While we’re on
the topic of teaching me things...”
 
She’s leaving him on the edge of his seat, leaning closer as if to try and
catch the rest of her thoughts. 
 
“I want you to teach me how to drive.”
 
It’s not what he’s expecting. Though, Ben never really knows what to expect
with Rey. She keeps him on his toes. He’s just a little hesitant about this.
 
“Have you ever driven before?”
 
“Nope!” The p is popped, lips smacking together.
 
“I don’t know, Rey...”
 
“Oh, come on! Please?”
 
Ben is an instructor of languages, not driver’s ed. “Maybe you should stick to
your bike. I’ll drive you where you need to go. That way, you’re safe...and
everyone else on the road is safe, too.” 
 
Rey rolls those round eyes of hers and chucks a half bitten fry at his head. He
dodges it with ease and it finds a seat at his side.
 
“I won’t know if I’m a decent driver if I don’t try. And I won’t become one
unless I practice.” 
 
She’s got a point, he can give her that much. His head bobs in consideration
and she looks so hopeful. He doesn't want to crush her, to deny her anything.
Ben may not be able to give her what he wants, what he thinks she wants too,
just yet. But he can give her this. 
 
“Alright. But we aren’t using the Delahaye.”
 
Rey bounces in her seat but happiness is quickly replaced with confusion. 
 
“What will we use, then?”
 
Ben has found a reason to claim his father’s car. 
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Summary
     Ben teaches Rey to drive and almost gets taught another lesson
     instead...
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“The break, Rey!”
 
She’s giggling like a troublesome child and he’s nearly suffered from a heart
attack with every press of her foot into the gas of his father’s car---a Ford
Model T that is far too old to be on the streets given the amount of cars
available on lots today that are far more reliable and frankly, nicer looking
too.  
 
It’s older than dirt, older than Ben who was also apparently conceived inside
the vehicle. He’s avoided looking in the backseat. And not because of the
cigarette burn marks or stuffing coming from the car’s seats. It’s silvery on
the outside, muted from years of wear and tear. On the inside, some mixture of
grey and brown to create the ugliest hue Ben’s ever seen. 
 
Rey doesn’t seem to care. Not anymore, at least. It’s grown on her in a way
that it never really grew on Ben and in a short amount of time, too. Though,
Rey’s managed to do the same to him because it’s difficult to look at the road
and make sure there isn’t a child (or that damn dog of Miss Martin’s that seems
to only stop yipping if it’s eating) running in the street when Rey is beside
him, positively radiant even within this piece of shit car. He swears he’s only
putting this thing to use because of her. 
 
“But there’s no one coming! My mum does it when she comes to a stop sign. If
she doesn’t see anyone, then she goes right through. Why waste time stopping if
nothing is there? It seems silly, doesn’t it?”
 
There are a lot of things Ben could say now and say about Lydia, but he chooses
to keep his comments to himself, abiding by his mother’s words; if you don’t
have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all.
 
He really doesn’t have a nice thing to say about the woman. 
 
“It’s call a stop sign for a reason, Rey. You’re supposed to stop regardless of
if there are or aren’t any cars. You have to be mindful of pedestrians, too.”
 
“Pedestrians should be mindful of me.” She quickly retorts, glancing into the
rear view mirror. 
 
“That’s not the way the world works, sweetheart.” Ben sounds so much like his
father now that even he’s questioning if the man is speaking in his ear. But
he’s gone and Ben would much rather be like his mother. “Besides, I’m sure
you’d be saying the opposite if you were the pedestrian.”
 
Rey sighs, taking into consideration being in someone else’s shoes.
She has been the pedestrian for all of her life up until now. 
 
“I suppose.”
 
“No, don’t suppose.” He chuckles. “Don’t be a reckless driver.” 
 
Like your mother, he wants to add. But doesn’t. 
 
Her eyes flit to Ben who sits no more than a foot from her on the bench
seat. “Why don’t you give me a demonstration, then?” Rey suggests. “Since
you’re such an expert driver.”
 
“I have a driver’s license.” Ben snorts. “And on top of that, you’ve already
been driving with me. More than once.”
 
“I was asleep for the first and not really paying too much attention to your
technique during the other times!” 
 
“If you’re so eager to learn how to drive, then why weren’t you paying
attention to my technique?”
 
Actually, she was paying attention to Ben’s profile and how gloriously full his
lips are as well as the spatter of moles and freckles sprinkled across his
cheek like stars. Though, she isn’t going to admit that to him. If she’s not
staring out the window at streets and shops and people she’s seen a thousand
times before, then she’s gazing at him and nothing else as they glide along. 
 
"Because! You know I like to close my eyes and listen to music." She pretends
she's performing even though she doesn't have the guts to take that on in
reality. 
 
 
He laughs and she stops the car then in the middle of the road and not at a
proper sign. It’s  violent and causes him to jerks forward, hands flying to the
dashboard, gripping tightly to ensure his face doesn’t catch the edge. But he’s
shooting back up soon after, ensuring that Rey hasn’t brought hard to herself
with wild eyes.
 
But she’s perfectly fine, a hand gripping the wheel, the other putting the car
in park. All the while, that same curl falls into her face and it seems to be
the only disruption. 
 
“Come on.” She says, moving to unbuckle herself. Ben quirks a brow at her
smooth transition. And then she’s turning her body, climbing the short distance
to Ben and seating herself atop his lap.
 
It seems to be a place of interest for her.
 
Not that he particularly minds. Ben likes to have her near and even if they
were only sat a short ways apart on opposite sides of the car, he could do to
be closer. And close they are in the compact space of the car, Rey ducking to
avoid hitting her head on the roof and Ben’s knees practically against the
dashboard because his legs are so long. 
 
Thighs are parted, resting on either side of his own, the fabric of her dress
draping across his pants. This may be the first time he’s close enough that he
thinks he could count every freckle that’s dusted across her nose and cheeks.
Ben would too if it meant keeping her here forever---a selfish thought. But he
can be a selfish man at times. 
 
Rey seems to be a tad greedy herself, always finding a way to be closer to him,
to touch him. Why else wouldn’t she have simply opened the door and rounded the
car if her ploy wasn’t to? And she’s most certainly touching him now, lowering
herself, bottom resting upon his lap, the sweet gap in her thighs pressed to
his crotch. Ben suppresses a groan, hoping to God she does’t move an inch or
worse...grind herself into him like she had his thigh on that day not too far
in the past.
 
They’re in the open, in a car with the windows down in a heavily populated
neighborhood but she’s all he sees with her pretty grin and crinkled eyes that
always seem to hold mischief in them. She’s his little kitten, his Tom, always
wanting to play. He’s her mouse, her Jerry, terrified of her but not doing a
thing to cease all interactions. And yet, they’re nothing like the duo. 
 
This isn’t to be taken as lightly as a cartoon that the both have them have
taken part in watching. It’s so much more, but it can’t be. Not yet, at least.
But here she sits on his lap, her petite hands finding his muscular shoulders
and his hands sliding along her thighs and if he so happens to catch the skirt
of her dress and drag it along the way, then so be it. 
 
“Aren’t you going to get behind the wheel?”
 
She’s flustered him much easier than she should have been able too in the past
and on multiple occasions. Perhaps he’ll take another crack at it. 
 
“I can’t do that when I’ve got you sitting on my lap, now can I?”
 
“You can do anything you put your mind to.”
 
He chortles. “That’s very inspiring, Rey.”
 
“Thanks!” She beams. “Besides, if you wanted me off your lap, then you wouldn’t
be holding my hips, now would you?”
 
God damn it all.
 
His fingers have since found the slight protrusion of her hips, holding her to
him. No, he really doesn’t want to remove her. He doesn’t care to drive.
Though, he also doesn't care to be so intimate in public. In a car, no less. 
 
“I’m getting a good grip so that when I do this,” His voice is slightly
strained as he lifts her lithe from from him, sliding over to take her former
spot behind the wheel, “you won’t just fall over.” 
 
She’s half facing the back of the car now, knees pressed into the upholstery
and looking a bit put off and disappointed. She needn’t worry. Ben is
disappointed too that he had to put her aside. He’s only being a responsible
adult for not only her, but for the good of the street because they really
shouldn’t be parked right smack dab in the middle of the road. They’re lucky no
one’s tried to come through yet. 
 
And not just because they’re blocking the way. 
 
"Such a gentleman."
 
How would one react to a young girl---young woman---straddling a grown man in
the front of a car parked in the center of a street in broad daylight?
 
“Put your buckle on and pay attention like a good girl.”
 
Rey does as she’s told, adjusting in her seat and pulling the safety buckle
across her chest. Ben watches every move, lingering on the way her spread
thighs flatten against the seat, exposed to him because her dress has taken it
upon itself to rest higher on her legs. 
 
“You going to show me your technique now that I’m not sitting on you?” 
 
Ben is prepared to focus. The last thing he wants is to send Rey off in this
car or any car on her own without a well taught and well practiced set of
driving skills. 
 
“Always keep your foot on the break when you’re shifting gears. Otherwise, the
car will roll. Especially if you’re backing out going downhill.”
 
They’re rolling forward again, slow and steady until they reach the next stop
sign and Ben is coming to a full stop, careful not to send her flying forward
the way he did. He turns to look at her with the intention to make a point.
 
“And that is how you stop at a stop sign the right way.”
 
“Eyes on the road...who taught you to drive?” Rey scoffs, crossing her arms
over her chest. He sees the way her cheek twitches. She’s absolutely joking and
wants to smile so he does it for her. 
 
“My father, actually. And in this car, too.” He was thirteen and eager to
learn, eager to spend time with a father who only came around every so often.
Ben was far too young even if he was tall enough to reach the pedals and see
over the wheel at the same time. 
 
“Was he a good driver? Better yet...was he a good teacher?” It’s in her nature
to want to press for more, to know things. 
 
It’s a rarity to hear of Ben’s family. He hardly talks about anyone more than
his mother and grandparents, sometimes his strange uncle Lando. But never much
of his father...Then again, Rey doesn’t speak much about hers either. It’s not
a subject she cares to talk about so maybe he feels the same. 
 
“He liked to think he was the best driver there is. His teaching skills are
different than mine, however. My uncle, Luke, finished off my training before I
received my license.”
 
Han Solo was a cocky son of a bitch. And Ben feels no remorse in thinking so
because he’s never met his father’s mother or really anyone other than Lando.
Even he isn’t blood. 
 
“...Right. Make sure you look both ways before crossing or turning. Twice.” 
 
He’s not so meticulous himself, far less precise and a bit more ragged in his
driving but not dangerously so. Though, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself
if he taught Rey any bad habits that would lead her to get into an accident. 
 
“And what about distractions?” She asks.
 
Ben spares a glance at her as they cruise down Elm Avenue. “They’re bad. Don’t
have them.”
 
“But what if I do?”
 
“You focus. You let it go.” He says. “What could possibly be so distracting
while driving?” 
 
The brunette’s smirk goes undetected by Ben who is leading by example, eyes on
the road. Tips of fingers dance across the seat all the way to his leg where
they creep along the seam of his bunched up pocket, tracing stitches. He
detects this, his body going rigid. Not in disgust, never disgust for his Rey.
Her hand is so close to where he’d like it, where his own hand has twitched to
be. He resists every time out of respect for Rey. 
 
“Rey...” He says softly, a warning for her to stop. 
 
But oh, Ben doesn’t want her to, how he desires in the early mornings, late
nights, and every moment in between when he thinks of her to take hold of his
aching cock and fuck it into his rough hand, to come in thick spurts and
relieve himself of the heaviness, of the frustration. He never does and it
leaves him even more frustrated.
 
Such a small touch, not nearly enough but too much while he’s driving a car.
Ben’s words are forgotten. How could he focus? How could he let this go? He
can’t, really. Not when her fingers are inching closer, squeezing into him a
bit harder and she’s chewing on her lip in that way that drives him crazy and
makes him want to sink his teeth into that pretty lip of hers himself and have
a taste.
 
“Rey...not while I’m driving or I’ll...”
 
What will he do? He might crash, for one. Or he might do something irrational. 
 
She isn’t even hiding the fact that she’s doing this purposefully, to get some
sort of reaction from him. A reaction he’s trying very hard not to give because
it’ll end with her dress torn and sent back home to her mother covered in his
teeth marks and thoroughly fucked. And then she’s leaning up and nipping at him
with those pearly whites and his grip on the wheel might be enough to tear it
straight off.
 
“Or what?”
 
“Rey,” Ben growls her name this time and he doesn’t mean to, but he’s bringing
the car to a stop just the way she had. Rey grabs his leg tighter when she
jolts forward. 
 
“I will  pull this car off to the curb, take you over my knee and spank you.”
He’s stern, dark eyes somehow blown darker. But his voice is not raised in the
slightest. 
 
Rey looks intimidated, her hues wide and staring up at him through her lashes
like she’s ashamed for doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Inside, she’s
excited even if she’s mistaking it for fear. Something hot, something familiar,
is pooling inside of her, causing her to press her thighs together.
 
“I’m sorry, Sir.” 
 
Fuck. His dick is stirring in his pants and that little apology isn’t helping.
He has to control himself, to bring himself down. Her eyes are what he hones in
on, the innocence that seems to plague them now rather than trouble. 
 
Ben sighs and runs a hand through his hair then over his face. Maybe that
wasn’t the best choice of wording. He definitely shouldn’t threaten her like
that. Now he feels bad and hopes he hasn't truly frightened her. 
 
“I’m sorry, Rey. I just...”
 
“No, Ben, I shouldn’t have been trying to get a rise out of you while you were
driving.”
 
“I shouldn’t have threatened to punish you like that. I’m sorry.”
 
Rey considers this for a moment before she’s smiling again, he normal bright
self. 
 
“Take me to get ice cream and I’ll forget it ever happened.”
 
Except that she won’t. Because when she lays in bed at night, thinking of Ben
just down the hall, she’ll be wet and craving the feel of his large, warm hand
against the swell of her pert ass, giving her a sensation she’s never quite
desired to feel on purpose before. 
 
Ben's relief is great, a pressure gone from his chest. Anyone could see it in
the smile upon his face. 
 
“You got it.”
Chapter End Notes
     As always, thank you for reading! I love seeing responses to each
     chapter and everyone's thoughts in general so be sure to leave lots
     of comments! This chapter and the next are more "filler" than
     anything because I have something planned for the plot of this that
     will kind of lead people to where they need to be in order for more
     to unfold. I hope y'all enjoy this one (and the next one!)
     nonetheless!
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Summary
     Rey thinks about that lesson Ben was going to teach her. And it isn't
     about driving...not entirely, at least.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Her ceiling is what she stares at in her dark bedroom, illuminated just
slightly by the moon and stars and Mr. Jenkin’s terribly wonky looking
Christmas lights that he hasn’t taken down in four years.
 
The faint taste of ice cream lingers on her tongue, sweet. Ben had taken her to
a a parlor not too far out of the way, but one she hasn't been to since she was
a child. He let her get whichever flavors she wanted and on top of
that, toppings. Whichever she wanted. Rey kept glancing at him with those eyes
of hers, making sure he meant what he said. And each time, he nodded and
encouraged her to order. All because she didn’t do such a terrible job at
driving that day. Even if things did go a bit awry briefly.
 
Though, it had felt less as if she were being reprimanded in the car and more
like she was being threatened with a good time. And Rey, the poor girl, knows
what being reprimanded is like. When Ben growled her name and said he’d pull
off to the side of the road to spank her for being such a naughty girl and
distracting him while driving, Rey just about lost it. She had to keep herself
from leaping back into his lap and kissing him silly which she has to do more
than she'd care to admit.
 
She’s quite proud of herself for her self restraint because really, even if he
does seem to want her as much as she wants him, who could tell how he’d have
reacted? So, she saved herself some (possible) embarrassment unlike her mother
who would have dove head first into the shallow pool of their relationship for
a chance like Rey had. 
 
At least now that she’s in the safe space of her bedroom she can fantasize
about what could have happened. 
 
Rey’s touched herself before, explored herself as any teenage girl does when
her body is growing and changing. She’s let her fingers travel to the small
peaks of her breasts that are much tinier than most girls she knows her age, to
the little thatch of curls between her legs and the soft lips of her pink cunt.
Rey's touched herself to the thought of Michael Snyder who has a stupidly
attractive smile. But not so stupidly attractive that she’s able to climax from
it. No, the pace and pressure of her fingers against the sensitive bud does not
matter because no thought of Michael and no thought of what they’d do together
is all that appealing when she takes the time to daydream about him. 
 
But the thought of Ben, and she has (and has had) many, is very much appealing.
Especially with the new brain food he fed her today. Not the ice cream. She
imagines now the two of them in a private room. His...him sitting on that chair
behind his desk and beckoning her forward with two of his deliciously thick
fingers. She’d come to him...for him. 
 
She’s dressed in that skirt she likes so much, dressed in it because she thinks
he’ll like it just as much as she does. The picture is pretty; her hips swaying
with each step she takes, finally getting to him. He takes her by the hand,
guiding her as close as she can be standing up, her knobby knees bumping
against his. He looks to her with dark orbs, just shy of complete blackness,
those same hands moving to push her skirt up her thighs until he reaches her
panties. 
 
From her bed, she’s mimicking his movements. Although, her fingers are sliding
down her bare stomach rather than up her thighs, stripped to nothing but
underwear because it’s hotter than Hell. Still, she thinks of him, her fingers
tease the seam of her panties before dipping beneath, finding that pearl of
nerves. Rey sighs aloud into her empty bedroom, thick with humidity.
 
In her thoughts, Ben is digging the pads of his fingers into the flesh of her
hips, hooking them over the panties and dragging them over her legs, letting
them drop to the floor of his bedroom. They’re pure white, she decides in this
reverie of hers that seems to be guided smoothly by her desire. 
 
He’s leading her to rest face first over his lap where there is plenty of room
for her petite body. Rey wishes this could be more vivid, that she could feel
everything from the fabric of his pants against her clammy palms or his own
hands smoothing up the back of her creamy thighs, moving to the crease of her
ass that is now exposed to him because somehow, her skirt has completely
disappeared. But Rey doesn’t care too much about continuity, only that she sees
him taking a handful of her ass, which is quite easy to do with paws as large
as his, and squeezing. 
 
Nimble fingers work against her clit, in a constant switch of direction and
speed in order to find something that works. It all seems to do fine and Rey
believes it  has to do with the vision of Ben and how he’s kneading into her
ass, leaning over and whispering things into her ear that is turned upward, her
neck craned to the side and her cheek rests against his leg. 
 
“You’ve been so naughty, Rey. What did I say I’d do to you if you’re being
naughty?” 
 
“Spank me,” Rey breathes aloud, responding to the image of Ben she’s created in
her mind. 
 
He continues to work his fingers against her, humming in response. “That’s
right, sweetheart.” 
 
God, she adores when he calls her that. Adores whenever he speaks, really.
Because his voice is soft, deep, and somehow calms and excites her all at
once. 
 
“Now tell me what you did to deserve this, Rey.”
 
She had smirked and danced her little fingers across the bench seat of his car
without any other intention but to provoke something within him, maybe to get
him to laugh or smile. She likes when he does both and at the same time in
particular. 
 
“I distracted you while you were driving.” 
 
“Keep going.” He coaxes. 
 
Rey knows he didn’t react the way he did simply because he was afraid of
crashing. She may be eleven years his junior and not yet graduated high school,
but she isn’t stupid. Rey pays close attention to him, to the way he reacts to
things subtle and not so subtle. She sees how he acts toward her mother and the
difference in how he acts towards her. She felt the way he tensed and twitched
at her touch, but the way his eyes darkened led her to continue because it’s
just too enticing to watch a grown man fall apart at her (literal) fingertips. 
 
“I touched you...where I shouldn’t have.”
 
So close, just in the crease where his leg meets his hip, slightly buried into
his inner thigh but never where, unbeknownst to Rey, he wanted her to touch him
most.
 
“Oh no, baby. You didn’t touch me where you shouldn’t have. You teased me.”
 
In her room, she’s trying her best to be silent, rubbing circles into herself,
legs spread, knees bent and nipples pebbled, only responding to him in thought.
 
“Do I have to tell you what you did to me, little girl?” 
 
Rey’s nodding, eyes scrunched shut, hair static ridden as it brushes against
her pillowcase. 
 
“You made daddy’s cock hard.”
 
That name...it leaves her choking for air, eyes flying open and something of a
shameful feeling overcoming her. Rey’s cheeks are flushed, almost raw. They
tingle and so does the rest of her body. Why would she think of such a thing?
It’s wrong, isn’t it? Especially considering the situation she’s in right now,
the situation she’s conjuring up in her head and masturbating to. But her
fingers never cease, never remove themselves. Instead, Rey’s breath hitches
because she’s doesn’t even recall her own father, ever using that term for him.
It holds no meaning to her other than that of society’s.
 
And then Ben swoops in late this evening when no amount of darkness or lack of
clothes can stop her from sweating like a pig and even if it’s wrong, the
thrumming in her lower belly feels so very right. 
 
“And while I was driving, too. What did you want, Rey? For daddy to touch you?”
 
No, maybe that wasn’t her goal at the time. In actuality, Rey didn’t have a
goal per say. She only want to play with him, to tease him. She thinks it
worked. 
 
“Say it, baby. Say what you want.”
 
Rey obliges and not quietly, either. “Touch me.” 
 
Like a fever dream, Ben seems to have formed into an entity on his own, tutting
her softly. 
 
“Touch me, what, Rey?”
 
Oh...oh he wants her to call him by that term. Rey’s thinking about it too,
wondering what it’d sound like falling from between her lips. She mouths it
first in the most minescule movement in fear that a higher power was watching
her from above and shaking their head in disgust. 
 
She doesn’t stop. 
 
“Daddy,” Rey whispers, lowly as to make sure no one will hear. “Touch me,
daddy.” She says again, hips lifting from the bed because those words coming
from her mouth have sent her climbing further toward a finish she craves.
 
“Daddy will, sweetheart. But it’ll be to teach  you a lesson. My greedy girl
needs to learn that if she’s going to do naughty things, she’s going to get
punished.”
 
Her clit is swollen, pulsing beneath her touch and beneath Ben’s phantom touch
as his fingers dip between the gap of her thighs. Rey does the same, the pads
of her fingers collecting the wetness that’s seeping from her pussy. He’d groan
and he’d keep swiping, press his fingers into her tiny nub until she’s crying
out his name so loud that the stray cats outside will get frightened and knock
over the trashcans. And he'd marvel at just how wet she's become because she's
doing just the same, never having felt so strongly that it's made her drip.
 
"You're soaking for me, sweetheart. So wet for daddy..." He sounds breathless
and Rey attributes that to her own breathlessness.
 
Rey imagines him making her count each rasp of his palm against her supple ass,
the way it would make her jolt and grip onto his thigh, letting her nails bite
into his pajama clad skin. It would sting, too. And she’d like every second of
it, would arch her back upward as if to silently beg for more and he’d give it
to her not because he’d like to punish her, but because she’s so needy and
pliant and willing for his touch. 
 
At the end of it all, she’d be branded, the both of them satisfied. But Rey is
still writhing in her bed and needing for more. 
 
What would he do next? Does it matter? She can hardly think straight now as is,
panting softly, a free hand drawn upward to take hold of her pert breast while
the other is being ground into by her sex.
 
Everything he says in her head is all she wants to hear and perhaps it’s
sickening, perhaps it’s too much, but it’s bringing her to her first climax
with the help of her fingers. Rey feels like she’s in a race. A natural
competitor, she wants to finish first.  There is no warning sign, no flag to
wave her down, to tell her it’s happening. Rey only knows that she’s so close
to something and her heart is pouding...
 
But not nearly as hard as it does when the sound of footsteps comes from just
beyond her door. Rey moves quicker than she ever has before, cocooning herself
in the mess of sheets, comforters, pillows, and a baby blanket that is her bed.
She looks as if she’s drowning, flailing her arms and legs and gasping as she
makes to cover her practically naked form from anyone who may enter her room or
come close to it.
 
Rey lays there, eyes shut so tightly that they may never open again if someone
doesn’t pry them with a crow bar. She shakes and it’s ridiculous because it’s
the middle of the summer and she’s got a pile of blankets over her and on top
of it all, she’s aching between her legs from a different kind of heat. 
 
She could cry and then she hears the faucet running, shedding water for her.
Rey can’t tell who it is in the bathroom, only that she’s startled beyond
belief and she might need to borrow one of her mother’s anxiety pills. 
 
It feels like forever before whomever is in the room next to her is padding
their way back to bed. Eventually, however, she is left in silence once more,
torn between finishing what she started or slipping a night dress on and
passing out to forget. But she doesn’t really want to forget this or Ben or
what she wants to do to him, what she wants him to do to her. 
 
The footsteps just outside her door moments ago remind her that he’s only just
down the hall. Rey wonders if he lays awake thinking of her, too. If he’s ever
touched himself to the thought of her. If he’s ever considered taking a risk
and meandering his way to her room to take her right in her own bed. Maybe he’s
waiting for Rey to make the first move. She’s equal distance from him and he is
her. 
 
Would he deny her what she’s denying herself in their reality? His warm, strong
touch, his hair brushing against her cheeks, lips consuming her, cock buried
deep inside of her virgin cunt and claiming her.
 
Out of respect for her and morality, probably. But if either of those things
weren’t in question, then probably not. Rey likes to think that he’d fuck her
right on his desk if she showed the interest. But if he wants for her the way
she wants for him, then he’s denying himself and it’s really a shame because
there’s no good reason that they shouldn’t be together if that’s the case.
 
Well, other than the fact that she’s still considered to be a minor. So yes,
it’s propriety keeping him from her and her age keeping her from him. It’s a
soothing thought to fall asleep to even if the next two months until she’s
finally eighteen will be agonizing. 
Chapter End Notes
     Hihihi!!! Thanks for tuning in again. I've already gotten majority of
     chapter 9 written for y'all. It's a little more plot driven but this
     one has a hint of what's to come for Rey and Ben (((::: As always,
     comments are always appreciated!
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Summary
     Rey and her mother take a trip to church with the Pava ladies (love
     me some Jessika. how about you guys?) Ben isn't too fond of the news
     Lydia springs on him at dinner.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Rey has never truly found solace in church like most have. It’s quiet and
peaceful and a place of no judgement even though she’s almost positive that
majority of the people sitting in the pews around her are some of the most
snobbish, judgmental people ever. Hypocrites, really. 
 
Rey glances to her mother; a prime example. Then she’s looking at two girls
from her school who hate her guts because she stood up for for someone they
preyed on. And now they’re here…praying. But God forgives all, doesn’t he? Just
where does he draw the line and allow for the Devil to take over?
 
She doesn’t detest religion. She believes in a higher power and she’s open to
knowing just what the secrets of this universe are. But Rey simply cannot stand
to be forced into sitting through a mass that very few take very little from.
Of course, she doesn’t compile each person here into a category with her mother
or Betty and Veronica or even Mrs. Evans (who her mother is in a book club with
who has something to say about everyone and everything other than the book
itself).
 
No, Rey sees people like Annie, an elder woman with fire engine red curls who’s
worked in the diner for years. Who refuses to let anyone call her Mrs. and
always does her best. Who sympathizes with the homeless people in her
neighborhood, bringing them leftover food from her work place, who is one of
the kindest souls in this town. 
 
A woman with the voice of an angel sings a hymn to them from the front of the
church, the priest bowing his head in reverence, mouthing lyrics he’s likely
heard a million and one times before. The whole lot follow in his lead as if
he’s their shepherd and not God himself. They sing off key, in whispers. and
not at all. Rey sings softly and in tune unlike her mother beside her who’s
words are coming out in breaths and not in sync with the song. 
 
To her left is Jessika who’s peeling a piece of her nail from her finger. Rey
doesn’t know whether to laugh or pay no mind. If she doesn’t want to be
lectured, the latter would be her best bet. Though, one can never be too sure
with Lydia Kenobi.
 
Maybe the shot of Christ’s blood will give her the will to be kind. Then again,
she never really was a happy drunk. 
 
It happened again this past Friday evening, Rey was called home from Jessika’s
house at nearly one in the morning to come home and aid her ill mother. Rey
wasn’t furious, but she pities the woman beside her who is so dependent on a
bottle of wine, or whatever she gets her hands on these days, to help her.
Doesn’t she realize it’s only hurting her? 
 
Rey supposes not. And if she does know, then she’s wishfully thinking that the
next time will be different, that she won’t end up crawling up the stairs and
into the bathroom a sweaty, unbalanced, mess.
 
Ben was the one to call the Pava’s, to pick her up from their home in the early
hours of the morning. The car ride was not fun, not like it could have been or
should have been. She sat silently, curled into a ball and staring out the
window into the night, the moon shone through the trees. They spoke very
little, the girl embarrassed and Ben fully aware but not having the words to
make things better. 
 
He explained to Rey the next morning, while he made her his signature eggs and
bacon, that he didn’t want to take her away from her friend, that Lydia is a
grown woman who should be able to care for herself. Better yet, that she should
be able to know what her body can and can’t handle—to be responsible. 
 
Rey has learned that only Lydia will be able to help herself in the end.
Because no amount of coddling that Rey or anyone else has done has amounted to
a thing. It’s only enabled her, given her the security she needs. 
 
Yet, she is still so insecure. 
 
So maybe Rey is like her mother in that sense, unable to say no when it comes
down to it, always hoping for a different outcome when in reality, deep down in
this harsh reality she’s trying not to fall victim to, she knows it’s a matter
that ignorance will not solve nor will it always bring them bliss. 
 
It’s difficult to focus on the sermon, on father Gabriel’s sullen voice. The
old bastard (not her words) is nearing his mid nineties and still preaching on
behalf of the Lord. Rey has to commend him. Though, as tiresome as it is to
listen, something does strike her, causing her to lift her head from the
fascinating sight of twiddling thumbs and pay closer attention to his words
rather than her own thoughts or anyone else around them. 
 
“The people we cross paths with in this lifetime are a test to our true selves
whether it be a child waving hello, a homeless person asking for money, a
teacher, a drunk or drug addict. We become who we are meant to be through them.
Because we could be them. We may have already been them. Or are them.”
 
Rey thinks that maybe he’s experienced every single one of those and then some.
And it’s people, their influence, that mold this world and society. It’s why
Betty and Veronica think they’re the greatest thing since sliced bread and why
her mother is a drunk…because their interactions with others have led them to
this place. 
 
Then the priest is quick to add something that Rey is left thinking herself. 
 
“But we always have a choice. To say hello, to give spare change, to listen and
learn, to help. The same as those people do.” 
 
Yes, her mother does have a choice. And she keeps choosing wrong every single
time. How many chances do people get before they’re stuck with the consequences
choices they’ve made? 
 
How many times will Rey cave in and care for her mother and offer her a
shoulder to lean on even though it’s only doing the both of them bad? Is it so
wrong to want to help her mother? 
 
Much like her earlier question; how many times does God forgive his children
before he stops?
 
She told her mother not to make her drinking Rey’s business anymore. But they
seem to have fallen right back into it all the same. At the end of the day, at
too young an age, in the early mornings, and her late teens, it is her
business. 
 
Green hues flicker to the woman at her side who seems to look down, to avoid
the gaze of a priest who is not truly looking at her. Lydia feels shame in this
sacred house. Even if it’s fleeting. 
 
She shifts, straightening as the aged voice of father Gabriel sounds in the
room. 
 
“Do make sure to sign up for our annual Young Lights Retreat. It’s going to be
a joyous two weeks full of nature and learning more about the word of God.
Blessed day to you all.”
 
They join in in singing the closing hymn, bringing an end to the service for
this Sunday. Below the church in the gathering hall is where Mrs. Pava,
Jessika, Lydia, and Rey convene, the two older women pulling out their
checkbooks (which Lydia is too quick to do considering how often she complains
about her lack of money). Rey and Jessika watch on as two weeks of their summer
are taken from them and given to their Lord and Savior.
 
Summer won’t quite as infinite as they once thought.
 
“At least we’ll be together.” Jessika says, looking on the brighter side of
things. 
 
“At least I’ll be away from my mother.”
 
“Don’t forget about your man, though.” Rey sends her a look, eyes narrowed.
Jess snickers. She knows that look all too well.
 
“He isn’t mine, Jess. And it’s only two weeks.”
 
Only two weeks, but she’ll think of him with every second that passes, longing
to see his face and hear his voice. She supposes that with a week before the
retreat to spare, she’ll be able to (hopefully), soak up as much of Ben as she
can before she’s away. 
 
Rey wonders just how he’s going to react. Not only will she be away from him,
but he’ll be left with only Lydia as company when he’s not off tutoring the
children. If she knows Ben, he’ll end up offering to stick around longer to
teach them French as well, probably insisting that it’s best to have a
multitude of languages under ones belt.
 
She doesn’t think he’ll beg her not to leave, though. Rey just doesn’t see that
happening. 
 
It isn’t the first year she’s attended the stay away camp. It’s a camp, not a
retreat. They play, the make silly macaroni crafts, and they talk about Jesus.
She’s never felt more of a child in a grown person’s body. 
 
“Maybe that Poe guy will be there from last year. Remember? He’s the boating
instructor!” 
 
Rey remembers. How could she not? Poe Dameron, boating extraordinaire with his
perfect dark curls and sultry eyes. Jessika has never fancied someone so much
in her life and it shows because she’s blushing at the mention of him and
Jess…she’s more one to make others blush.
 
The girl only simpers at her friend who is growing suspicious because Rey only
seems to smirk like that when she’s scheming (or reaching for Ben’s inner thigh
in the semi-private setting of his car).
 
“What’s that look for, Rey? I’m just bringing up Poe.”
 
Pink lips purse and shoulders shrug. 
 
“Are you going to ride in his boat?”
 
Jessika quirks a brow, the Queen of dirty insinuations off put by Rey's. “What
is that supposed to mean?”
 
“It’s a simple question, Jess.”
 
“You mean something else.” 
 
Rey’s face shifts, feigning Innocence as she opens her mouth. “I don’t mean
anything by it. I’m only asking if you plan to try and catch a ride on his
boat. Or maybe you want him to teach you a lesson in riding his boat.”
 
“Why don’t you just come out and say what you really mean you dope?” 
 
Jess's olive skin is somehow changing hues. She is a chameleon girl, not for
protection from her surroundings, simply just shifitng shades, now redder than
the nail polish chipping off of Rey’s fingernails.
 
Rey hardly represses a wild grin and thinks this is payback for all of the
times she’s tried flustering her.  
 
“I won’t say it…not in the Lord’s house.” 
 
Jess rams into her side, nose crunched up as she laughs, slipping her arm
through Rey’s. “Then you’ll tell me as soon as we blow this Popsicle stand.”
 
“You should definitely go confess to father Gabriel before we leave for calling
me a dope.”
 
“I’ll do that as soon as you admit to your sinful innuendo while in church.”
 
The girls playfully bicker, their mother’s eyeing them to follow along outside
to their cars as they’ve finished sealing their fates (for two weeks, at
least). Rey’s biting her tongue all the way down the church steps. God
definitely doesn’t want to hear what she’s about to whisper in Jess’s ear and
Rey DEFINITELY doesn’t want God hearing it either. 
 
“By boat I totally meant cock.” 
 
Her friend's eyes nearly bulge from her pretty head. Nothing is more scandalous
to Jessika than Rey's dirty mouth and the rare use of her gutter-ridden mind.
 
Her surprise would have been incredibly satisfying if only she wouldn't open
her mouth and release anything more than a gasp in response.
 
“Reynada Jo Kenobi-Solo!” 
 
Rey freezes, nearly tripping over her own two feet and then Jessika’s on top of
that, flabbergasted at not only what she’s said but how loudly she’s said it.
Rey is so worried that her mother will hear that she can’t even enjoy how the
name sounds.
 
“Shut up!” She whispers frantically. Jess chortles.
 
“Oh right, sorry. Reynada Jo Solo. No hyphenation.” She rephrases as if to
appease Rey, but the both of them know it’s to poke fun. 
 
“You’d better hope my mother doesn’t hear you.” 
 
“Why because SHE wants to be the next Kenobi-Solo?”
 
“Jess!” 
 
All the while, Mrs. Pava and Lydia are chatting as if they’ve heard nothing out
of the ordinary, their daughters mosey on behind them. If Lydia heard, she’d
have a cow. Or ten. Probably ten because she’s melodramatic. And then she’d
scold Rey on the way home for inappropriate behavior. She’s never really taken
it as far as to bring up matters of she and Ben. Because it’s just so
impossible to believe he’d want a child over a grown woman—out of the question.
Unheard of!
 
Rey is quite glad they’ve never gotten on to that subject. It’s far too
difficult to sort out despite how simple things really are; Lydia wants Ben,
Ben does not want Lydia…but rather her daughter. To Ben, the notion really
isn’t that hard to perceive. But for someone like Lydia, it’s easier to play
pretend. 
 
                                     _____
 
Rey is testing her hand at the art of frying chicken this evening, Lydia at her
side putting her muscles to work and smashing potatoes. They’re getting along,
believe it or not. Although, working alongside one another and not speaking a
word while the radio plays doesn’t really count as getting along, does it?
Still, it’s certainly a strange experience for Rey; being in the same vicinity
as her mother and not bickering. She can’t speak for Lydia but that doesn't
mean she isn't curious as to what's going on in that head of hers. Rey never
really can tell. The woman spends too much time putting on a show and when she
does eventually crack, she's slurring her words and jumbling her thoughts.
 
For Ben, it’s an interesting sight albeit, nail biting. No one can truly say
when the dam will burst but he's trying to enjoy the peace and quiet while he
can. He’s glancing in from the back porch where he’s busied himself with
reading over and correcting essays of the twins he’s teaching.
 
Yes, essays. He doesn’t care if they’re just children. They need to be pushed
and they’re doing just fine if Ben has any say in the matter. They’re diligence
makes him proud and come tomorrow when he hands them back their work and gives
a progress report to their parents, they too will be proud. And the children,
well, they'll be more than prepared when the time comes for school to start up
again. The first of September is he's not mistaken.
 
There's surely enough time left to spend with Rey while she's on her summer
vacation and perhaps she'll need assistance with schoolwork. He sighs,
adjusting his glasses and bidding the thought of taking up this young girl's
time away even though it will return with little effort from Ben to keep it
back. To force himself not to think of Rey might as well be to force himself
not to breathe. 
 
Well, if he ever does need to stop thinking about her, then perhaps suffocation
is the only way to get his brain to quit. 
 
"Dinner's ready." 
 
Her voice causes him to lift his attention from the essays, craning his neck
back to find her leaning in the doorway with a rag draped over her shoulder and
what looks to be brownie batter upon her freckled cheek. 
 
"I hope you're ready to try my chicken. Don't worry," Rey grins, "it's fully
cooked." But then she grimaces and Ben raises a brow at the sudden change in
her face. "Mum says it actually might be a little burnt."
 
Ben peels the glasses from the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as stands
from his chair, the smile that Rey adores more than she should donned by his
plush lips. "Better overcooked than under cooked. I'm sure it's delicious." He
makes his way toward the dining room, to her, stopping just as her bare toes
brush against his own shoes and lifts his free hand to swipe the chocolate from
her cheek. She only stares up at him with her doe eyes and parted lips, not
with curiosity, nor fear, with what looks to be awe, with baited breath. He
wonders what's going through her mind. So much so that Ben doesn't even think
to check for Lydia (or consider her util this very moment). She seems to always
be watching. And if she isn't watching, she's going to be. 
 
He's utterly loath to remove his hand from her silky skin but he compensates
for the loss when he wipes his chocolate covered thumb on the rag upon her
shoulder to which her vision flies. 
 
"Oh---" Rey realizes with a soft chuckle, noting the substance staining the
white fabric. "I made brownies, too. Those I didn't burn..that I'm aware of."
 
Ben too chuckles at his silly girl, reaching forward to place his hand on the
small of her back and lead in inside just as her mother pops her head out of
the kitchen. Ben already knows she's going to announce what Rey's already said.
 
"Dinner, Benjamin! I hope you're hungry. Although," She begins, heels clicking
against the wooden floor as she places a steaming pot of mashed potatoes on the
dining room table, "Rey has much to learn about cooking." Lydia's beady eyes
fixing Rey with a look of disdain. 
 
"Perhaps she needs a teacher, then. One that knows what they're doing in the
kitchen." His defense is sly and he'd be surprised is the dim woman picks it up
at all. 
 
Rey takes her seat, something of a smirk playing on her mouth that does not go
unnoticed to Ben as he seats himself across from her as always. If he tries
hard enough, and if she is silent, he's able to zone Lydia out and focus on
Rey, imagining that it's just the two of them having dinner. He fantasizes and
it's simple enough; himself, Rey, alone together. 
 
"At least I tried." Rey shrugs, plating a piece of well crisped chicken and
then a large scoop of potatoes. 
 
"I hope you're going to choose a culinary arts class for one of your electives
when you go back to school." Lydia says, fork and knife in hand as she saws
through the chicken. Well, she makes it look as though she's having a difficult
time. But the chicken isn't as hard to cut as she makes it seem. Even Ben seems
to notice, easily slicing a piece and giving it a first try. 
 
 
"I was thinking I'd continue learning French." Rey counters, sending a look
Ben's way. The corners of his lips turn upward as he chews.
 
Neither of them see the way Lydia looks between the both of them, as if she
were a phantom watching from the shadows.
 
"French won't teach you a thing." She replies shortly.
 
Rey's eyes narrow, brows knitting together as she slowly averts her vision from
Ben to her mother. "I'd beg to differ. I'm pretty sure taking French will teach
me oh...I don't know. French. Another language."
 
Lydia is taken aback, blush caked cheeks even more flushed. Rey's taken her
comment and made her look the fool and in front of Ben, no less. Meanwhile, Ben
already knows that the short tempered woman is just about ready to burst. 
 
"You know damn well that isn't what I meant! I don't think you need French.
You're already fluent in disrespect in the English language, Reynada."
 
The brunette tenses in her seat and Ben, if he listens closely enough, could
hear the cranking of her jaw, the grinding of her teeth. Rey thinks to this
morning during church and recalls how hypocritical her mother is, once
encouraging her to learn the Language of Love and now changing her mind. And
now, because she's embarrassed, it's of great importance that Rey be brought
down as well, leaving Ben between a mother and daughter in a pointless quarrel
that occurs far too much for his liking. 
 
Aren't they sick of it? It seems Rey is. And it seems Lydia feeds off of the
anger and the belittling of others in order to make herself feel better. She's
a classic bully and quite frankly, Ben thinks he won't even see this among his
own students who will be much younger than herself. It's pitiful and he pities
not Rey, but Lydia. Rey can fight her own battles even if he wishes to strike
Lydia down for her. But Lydia...this woman, this childish excuse of a woman, is
weak. And eventually, she'll strike herself down. That is, if Rey doesn't beat
her to it.
 
And with the look in her eyes, one he's seen few times before, she may not make
it much longer. 
 
"You only want me to learn to cook because you believe women belong in the
kitchen. Welcome to a new decade, mother. I have ambition beyond slaving over a
stove unlike you."
 
"That's it! Go to your room, you little brat! Go pack your things---"
 
Rey stands not because she's been commanded, but because she's done with this
argument and no longer wants to be in such close proximity to this witch. The
rag that found a home upon her shoulder is thrown to the ground, Rey stomping
across the floor so hard that she may leave indents in the shape of her feet
wherever they touch. 
 
Ben is already standing as well, possibly the most exasperated out of the three
of them. Lydia's order is irrational and wrong and Ben will fight it! And if
she doesn't let up on this insanity, then he'll gladly find a new place to live
and bring Rey with him. He won't have her made homeless by her own mother and
simply sit by while it happens. This is hardly his business but he will make it
his business, make Rey his business.
 
"Now, Lydia, there's no need for Rey to pack her things. You can't kick her out
of the house---!"
 
"Not yet, I can't...but lucky for us, she's going away for a few weeks." She
too stands from her chair, moving behind her to the liqueur stand and pouring
herself a generous glass of whiskey. 
 
His hulking form slouches, face contorting into that of confusion. All the
while, Lydia is working down the alcohol, numbing anger and anxiety with each
gulp. Ben is fixated on her but for no positive reason. He can't even put his
finger on just how he's feeling right now.
 
"Going away?" He finally repeats.
 
"Hmm," Another glass is poured. "Little miss Rey is heading on a church retreat
next week. She'll be gone for two weeks and it's going to be absolute bliss."
Lydia could groan in pleasure and she nearly does, the slightest of sound
coming from within her. Ben's stomach churns and it really isn't because of the
chicken. 
 
"Why---when was this decided?" 
 
"She's been going every year since first grade. It's tradition. This is the
last year she's able to attend, unfortunately." He detects melancholy in her
words and can't fathom why she detests her own daughter the way she does.
Especially because it's Rey, intelligent, witty, funny, beautiful Rey. 
 
"I see." He himself is a bit despondent but in true Lydia fashion, it slips
right past her. 
 
"Oh, Ben, we'll have the house to ourselves. You'll be able to get your work
done without her distracting you. We'll be able to have civil adult
conversations at dinner. Maybe we'll go out to dinner! And dancing, too. I've
got quite a few friends who are just dying to meet you."
 
The man hasn't the energy to reject her. Even if he did, even if he spat in her
face and told her she was the most dense human being he's ever met and that
they would never be together, she probably still wouldn't get it through her
head. 
 
He forgets dinner not long after the news breaks, the pit in his stomach not
from hunger but from a mixture of feelings that leave him physically affected.
His room calls and he answers, stealing a longing glance at Rey's closed door.
He wants to check in on her, to comfort her, to...maybe suggest that they leave
this house together and find a new place to live where Lydia isn't welcome. 
 
No, the idea is foolish and wrong even if it does feel like the right thing to
do. 
 
He's got one week until she's gone for two and as he sits at his desk
scribbling nonsense onto a piece of paper, he can't help the overwhelming dread
of two weeks passing without Rey around and with her mother everywhere. 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Hi everyone! Sorry for the long wait. Life just got in the way! But I
     do have majority of this story mapped out. It's just a matter of
     cranking out chapters for y'all. I hope you guys enjoyed this. Thank
     you for reading and I adore your comments and kudos<3
End Notes
     Hiyaaaa thank y'all for reading! This story isn't going to have too
     much of a plot. It's really just intended to be a love story and I'm
     just kinda going with the flow. So I'm definitely up for suggestions
     or if anyone wants to see anything in particular! Make sure to leave
     comments and let me know what you think! <3
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
