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owlespresso · 4 years

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Tremble, Duck & Weave / 2

Also on my ao3, which can be found HERE.

Urianger hath read his fair share of fantastical prose—legends and stories that flaunt the true meanings of love, dramas that speak of star-crossed paramours and the bonds that gyve them. He hath combed through texts, rigorously reached the span of human emotion.

He was not wont to believe in such far fetched tales, with their extravagant exaggerations and reliance on worn tropes.

At least, till this very moment.

His wiry fingers trembled as they pressed cotton to thy bloodstained skin, clearing the refuse away from thy most immaculate form. Never before had he witnessed such incredible majesty. Thou art an incredible creation, as though Halone had sculpted thee with all the motherly love in the world, her very image.

His traitorous heart thumped in his chest like the frantic beating of a bird’s clipped wings against its cage. When the lord commander besought him unto thyside, he had expected to do nothing more than see to thy wounds—but this feeling—he felt as though he had been striped across the face.

He knew thy name—was well aware of thy exploits, but now he found himself seized by the need to know everything about you. The fresh, morning sun streamed in through the wide, steep window, shedding light unto thy glorious, bruised, beaten form.

He loved thee, he realized, utterly stricken. Despite having never heard a blessed word from thy lips, despite having never been fortunate enough to encounter thee before.

Why? How?

“The reports we’ve received thus far indicate that there was an ambush at the Ul’dahn banquet. The sultana was most regrettably poisoned, the blame cast onto the Warrior,” the lord commander loomed by the door, a towering presence despite the distance between them.

“That is incredibly unfortunate, given our current position,” Urianger could scarcely manage to work, admire thine sleeping face and pay attention to Aymeric’s incessant commentary all at the same time.

Thou art ethereal, limelit so extravagantly, mottled with the sweetest of crimsons and purples, a canvas covered in burgeoning blooms. His nimble fingers wrought tirelessly, laying antiseptics, salves and only the finest of Ishgardian-spun gauze athwart thy skin. His hands began to emit a pale, viridescent glow, sanative energy flowing into thy body. Thy injuries began to mend, skin sewing back together.

Whilst relieved to know thou wert well on the way to recovery, he could not help but grieve for the red sheen. There was no doubt that thou hadst utterly gorgonized him, snatched his heart free from his chest.

“They will be hale and hearty within the next sennight.”

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Urianger,” Aymeric said, “We are most fortunate to have your talents at our disposal,” the door to the office nudged open, the lord commander calling a few, brief orders to the guards abreast the entrance. It all fell into background noise, flimsy and frail in comparison to thee.

Shame flushed his chilled skin as his fingers trender brushed across thine cheek, fervent heat shooting up his spine. He hovered twixt guilt and satisfaction, the conflict brewing threatening to overbrim his frail, mortal disposition.

What kind of man was he? To fall so deeply into infatuation with someone so bloodied at first sight? He retracted his touches as though scalded at the sound of footsteps hurrying in their direction. He felt as though a nitling, a blundering, repulsive fool.

Had he found pleasure in thy vulnerability? The thought nearly topped him as he stumbled from his stool. This was wrong, surely. Perhaps a sudden sickness had planted itself in his weary mind, his resistances weak after endless nights of sleepless study.

The guards strolled into the study, prepared to steal thee away. He hadst anticipated this, aye, but was woefully unprepared for the grief that shook him at the prospect. Thou wouldst only be down the corridor, but a desperate desire to remain as close as humanly possible to thee shook him to his very foundation, causing cold sweet to erupt across his clammy skin.

“I shall endeavor to make room in mine schedule for a visit before the day’s end. Her aether is severely depleted. Twould be wise to ensure the alchemists prepare a tincture to restore her supply,” the words felt like—no, they were sin on his lips, lies manifested as a poor excuse to once again behold thine godly visage.

Is this what infatuation does to good men? Turns them from honest denizens to scheming miscreants?

“I’ll see to it immediately and have it delivered to you post-haste,” Aymeric’s full lips curled into a fond smile, “I’m entrusting her care to you for the foreseeable future, Urianger. Ensure she receives a warm, hospitable welcome. We have use for her talents,” his vibrant gaze swept over the room, before returning to the astrologian.

Ah. The lord commander intended to use thee for his own purposes. As repulsed as any other man might have been, Urianger could not find fault with that plan.

It ensured that you would remain within the city’s walls and—oh heavens, what hath he become?

He strode over to the shelves at the back of the office, beginning to sort through potions and elixirs and medical supplies left long in disarray.

“Of course. Thou canst dependth on me, lord commander,” he set about reorganizing the cluttering of bottles on the top shelf first, carefully categorizing each one by use. It had been shamefully long since he had last house kept, and it currently served as a flawless excuse to not look the other man in the eyes.

Had de Borel seen the way in which he caressed thee? His stomach dropped at the thought.

“As much as I would like to stay and chat, I’m afraid I am needed elsewhere. Everywhere, perhaps. Thordan has left quite the workload for me,” the lord commander gave a laugh most hollow. The creak of the door signified the beginning of his departure.

Urianger’s hands trembled as he separated the Elixirs and Potions, Potions of various effects and caliber and color. He grimaces as he beholds the layer of dust that’s settled on every shelf.

“Farewell and best of luck to thee,” Urianger said.

The door clicked shut, the noise a lonely echo down the hall.

He listened keenly as the lord commander’s footsteps grew quieter and quieter. His pulse thudded in his ears, stomach in his throat. Only when silence reigned true did he press his back to the wall and slide to the polished wooden floor, cradling his head in his hands. It felt as though his world had stopped spinning on its axis, as though the poles had been knocked free from their fixed position, the glove spinning freely through the universe.

“Oh heavens above,” he moaned, begged as he tilted his head back, staring up at the domed ceiling, “What curse hath been cast upon my weary soul?”

------

Estinien has always seen it. The red that lines and freely runs through the streets—he sees it, even if the idle citizenry can’t.

Perhaps it’s the doing of Nidhogg’s eye which has long rested in the cavity of his chest, replacing the human crimson of his blood with black, draconic ichor. Perhaps it's several generations of Midgardsormer’s spawn showing him what they see when they gaze upon Ishgard’s mighty towers. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care to find out. The young fool he had been during his days at the academy would balk at the sight of him now.

The crimson horns arch from his skull, the skin of his arms dyed inky black, patches of smooth scale decorating his body. The glamors hide it from everyone besides himself, a cruel reminder of what he is and what he once was.

“I think they’re amazing,” that gaudy fool, that Fortemps bastard, said to him once, face swollen in a gawsy grin.

His fingers curl around the frigid steel of his lance. The high winds batter him atop his perch, a small, domed ledge jutting from one of the city’s tallest towers. The inky blacks and reds of his armor would stand out stark from the dull Ishgardian masonry.

Across from him, a statue of Halone nestles between the other intricate stoneworks, her expression twisted with desperation, a feeble hand outstretched in his direction.

How ironic.

Her face begins to shift the longer he looks at her. The soft, anguished lines of her brows furrow downwards, into a judgmental scowl, her lips open around words he cannot hear. But he knows she slings vile venom in his direction. He knows she is denouncing him, disowning him, spitting bile as tears of crimson bead at the corners of her eyes, rolling down her cheeks gone gaunt, dripping onto the street below.

A sudden wave of nausea mixed with rage knocks his gaze away, drifting below and to the side. It’s a fight to keep himself from snarling because his veins pulse with rage at his own hallucination and he knows the beast that lives inside him knows he does not belong here. It throws childish fantods everytime he rears a house of worship, makes the simple task of existing in Ishgard take herculean effort.

His numb gaze continues to travel along the wall across from him until it stops on a window, the blinds parted just enough for him to peer inside.

A familiar form hunches over an occupied bed. Urianger’s black robe dips low, giving Estinien’s keen gaze can make out each toned muscle and fine curve of the astrologian’s back. He’s tending to someone. The Warrior of Light, he realizes near immediately. Aymeric made a point to mention it that very morning. She had been severely injured, shuttled off into Urianger’s care as soon as she arrived.

An investment, Estinien understood, a weapon Aymeric hoped to use in the name of Ishgard. After all, who wouldn’t want the vaunted Warrior of Light at their disposal? It’s cruel, he understands well, to think of a fellow, sentient being in such a manner, but that is the cold reality in which they live.

But the way in which Urianger handles her is far from cold and clinical. The astrologian’s long fingers brush tenderly across the warrior’s cheek, the tenderness in his eyes reaching beyond mere professionalism. It’s an expression he’s never witnessed on the other man’s usually severe expression.

At that very moment, Estinien realizes he’s a voyeur, a miscreant witnessing a sclipism by one of Ishgard’s most renowned healers.

The beast inside of him gives an interested, low croon at the pure sin of it.

His blood pumps hot and rhapsodic in his veins, taking in the other man’s broad shoulders, imagining the downy softness of his hair. He imagines the shred of pale flesh underneath his sharpened claws, savors the vision of his teeth sinking into a slender neck.

No!

The man in him snarls. He crouches, leaps from his perch in a desperate bid to flee from the wretched pile of sin the monster created.

The streets are still dyed red, clumps of flesh and organs and scales, but no one else sees it.

#urianger #urianger augurelt #estinien #estinien wyrmblood #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #fanfiction #writing #oz write

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ehstarwar · 4 years

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a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves (3/8)

He would be just gentle enough that nothing hurt, but firm enough that she felt it. Every touch, every stroke; he would make her feel it all, make her delirious with it.

Yes, letting herself fantasize about Ben is all too easy.

Rey tries not to think about what's making her so frustrated and irritable. Ben knows exactly why. Also, Leia meddles.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4K

Read on AO3

Notes: our space babies are back at it again with their BIE. (Big Idiot Energy). enjoy

(´∀｀)

Chapter 3: this tiger-footed rage

It’s as easy as breathing, Rey thinks. Imagining him, large and imposing, all hard plains and thick muscle, nudged between her thighs. All around her. Consuming her. She imagine what his hands would feel like. Would the trace her, lightly and teasingly, or ding into her skin and mar her for all the world to see. And his legs; strong enough to hold her up, to carry her around without so much as a strain.

He would be just gentle enough that nothing hurt, but firm enough that she felt it. Every touch, every stroke; he would make her feel it all, make her delirious with it.

Yes, letting herself fantasize about Ben is all too easy. Made even easier by her fingers currently pushing into her sopping wet cunt.

It should be embarrassing, how many times over the last few days that Rey has gotten off to imagining Ben. She’d had to stop herself from going into the employee bathroom and shoving a hand between her thighs the day he scented her; the smell of an omega that just came would outweigh the scent of an alpha and she’d be in an even worse situation. Rey had dutifully waited until after work, after the inspection, after she took two trains back home, before collapsing in a heap on her bed and getting herself off to Bens’ scent within two minutes.

And that was only the start of the evening.

Rey had refused to shower that night, trying to keep a hold of every molecule of scent Ben had given her, but come morning, she had to wash herself. She totally didn’t cry in the shower, rubbing one out to the last remanence of Ben washing down her drain. The wetness coming down her face was only from the shower.

She though that when his scent was no longer clinging to her person that she may finally get some relief from the near constant arousal, but it only made it worse. Now, the comforting scent of a big, virile alpha wasn’t consuming her, it made her desperate.

Which is the state Rey was in right now; hand pushing in and out of her, wanting to find a release that is never quite satisfying enough.

Twenty minutes of trying to get herself off before the evening was proving frustrating instead of relieving, causing Rey to scream into her pillow before removing her hand from her cunt and getting into the shower. She definitely did not sneak a smell at her overalls from the other day, just to see if there was anything left.

Rose was hurrying around the apartment when Rey walked out of the bathroom, still unsatisfied and a little more than irritable.

“What the hell, Rose?” Nearly every kitchen cabinet was opened, and a small pile of different kitchen items were being shoved into reusable plastic bags.

“Finn wants to bake a pie for tonight, but like, has nothing that he needs if he wants to make a pie,” Rose explains, stuffing multiple pans that were decidedly unnecessary to make a pie.

“Is he making a pie for a small third world county?” Rey huffs. Rose stills, a box of graham crackers falling to the counter below her.

“Are you feeling okay?” Rose asks, giving Rey a once-over.

“Yes… why?”

“You sounded a little upset that we’re making pie. Pie, Rey. You once said you’d give your left tit just to eat pie every day.”

Rey bristles, feeling much more defensive than a statement like this should make her.

“Its just… You’re taking quite a bit of stuff from our kitchen to make this. What if we don’t get it all back?” This only makes Roses’ gaze harden.

“It’s for Finn. We basically share everything with him. And I know for a fact that you two shared a toothbrush for four months in college because neither of you could be bothered to buy a new one. What’s going on?”

Rey is still wrapped up in a towel, dripping onto the linoleum floor. Her fist is clenched, holding her towel so tight to her person that she knows there will be red marks on her skin. She tries to figure out why she’s feeling this way, why she cares at all. Rey doesn’t get territorial like this, ever, especially with Finn. She’s just as curious as Rose is to figure out why she’s acting like this, but is too proud to concede.

“Nothing is going on. I don’t care if you take that stuff to Finn’s, just… make sure we get it back. That’s the only strainer that I’ve ever liked and I just want to make sure its near if I need it. Rose has her eyes narrowed at Rey, and looks like she wants to prod further, but Rey doesn’t give her the opportunity.

“I’ll see you at Luke’s!” She shouts over her shoulder on her way back to her room.

The commute to Luke’s isn’t too bad. Rey has to take two trains and walk four blocks to get there, but his part of town isn’t too bad. Rey’s side is a different story, but that’s a worry for later tonight. Her irritability hasn’t completely worn off when she leaves her apartment, but she figures some fresh air will do her good.

Or, it would be good if she could actually enjoy it. Problem is, she’s itchy.

Not in the ‘I’m covered in poison ivy’ or ‘I have a bad case of the chicken pox’ way, but in the ‘my skin feels too tight and I’m ready to peel it off my body’ kind of way. It doesn’t help that her glands are throbbing. Any brush of material over them sends a shiver down her spine, but it’s too cold and impolite to go out in public naked with pulsing, red glands.

It’s the suppressants working their way out of her system, probably. In her limited research on what to expect when detoxing, Rey discovered gland discomfort was fairly common, but it usually happened within a few days of stopping. It’d been a few weeks for her. But it was probably nothing.

Probably.

All this discomfort was unpleasant, to say the least, but it was at least distracting Rey from the worrying-session she would be having about seeing Ben tonight. Rey had texted him when she’d gotten home the other night. A quick ‘hi i’m alive. thanks for today. see you around.’ before promptly blocking his number so that she wouldn’t be tempted to call him and ask him to fuck her nine ways to Sunday.

Maybe it was too far, but Rey was still a little jaded from the experience and didn’t trust herself to fuck it up even further. Best to just forget the whole thing ever happened and move on with their respective lives and try very hard to think of literally anything else but Ben when she masturbates. Totally fine.

It’s a good plan… well, it’s at least a plan. And one that seems to be totally fine and likely to work, until she opens the door to Luke’s townhouse.

On their normal trivia night, it’s just her small group of friends playing trivia games being moderated by Luke who seems to know the answer to every question. Theres a few drinks, some snacks, and maybe a joint or two.

There is not the entirety of the Organa-Solo-Skywalker clan and a buffet table that looks like something out of a Thanksgiving issue of Better Homes & Garden.

This will not be their normal trivia night, Rey realizes with a deep sigh.

“Oh Rey! You came! I’m so happy to see you!” Senator Organa grasps Rey in a bear hug before she can even make it entirely through the threshold. Rey is shocked, but leans into the hug once she realizes what’s happening.

“Senator, it’s been so long.” The older woman tuts while pulling back, arms still holding onto Rey’s shoulder.

“Oh please, Rey, what will it take for you to call me Leia instead of stuffy ‘Senator Organa’?” She asks.

“It’s… what’s proper?” Rey raises her shoulders in a shrug.

“My wife? Proper? Ha!” Han shouts, over-exaggeratedly slapping his knee. “That’s a good one, kid.” Rey smiles sheepishly as the Senator slaps her husband’s chest. From the corner of her eye, she sees a seated figure, with perfect posture and even more perfect clothes.

“Grandma Padmé!” Rey says, before moving between them to hug her. Grandam Padmé opens her arms wide as Rey leans down to hug her. Even in old age, she feels strong beneath Rey’s body. It’s comforting in a way that Rey isn’t used to, but loves all the same. When she pulls back, Padmé cups her cheek with a thin hand.

“My goodness, Rey, you look lovelier every time I see you,” She says, making Rey grin even harder.

“Thank you. How is Naboo?” She asks.

“Well, I think it’s beautiful this time of year, but I think it’s beautiful there any time of year, really,” She laughs. “You’ll have to come visit me this winter. Maybe you can drag my wayward grandson along with you.” Padmé gestures her head to the corner, where Ben is standing.

When Rey sees him, leaning on the bookshelf, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself smaller, she has the urge to run to him and shove her face into his broad chest. While Rey could never forget just how big Ben is, it’s still shocking every time she sees him.

“Rey doesn’t like the cold, Grandma.” God. His voice.

Rey wants to say that she would literally follow Ben to the ends of the galaxy if he asked her to follow, so going to his grandmothers estate wouldn’t be an imposition whatsoever. But that’s not conducive to the situation they’re in, so Rey goes for something a little more vague.

“I’d love to come and visit you, someday, hopefully,” Rey says, turning back to Padmé.

“Very soon, hopefully,” Rey doesn’t miss the glint in Padmé’s eyes, “Not many years left in these old bones.”

“Geez, Mom,” Luke says, walking to the living room from the kitchen, “Don’t talk like that. Hey, Rey, will you help me with the sink; it’s all leaky again.” Luke was a brilliant man, with many wonderful qualities, but his ability to break a house like it was a china plate was unprecedented.

“Of course, do you have a wrench-” “She’s a guest here. She shouldn’t be put to work.” Bens’ voice is practically a growl and Rey can feel the displeasure radiating off of him. The rest of his family stays silent, all looking towards a glowering Ben. His glare is firmly set on Luke, and she thinks she might see literal fire coming out of his eyes.

“It’s really no problem, it’s an easy fix. Won’t take very long at all.” Rey tries to cut the tension, but Ben doesn’t seem eased by this. “It’s really no problem, Ben,” She says to him. Only then does he look at her, mouth still pressed in a thin line.

“Why don’t you go get her the wrench, Ben. I think Luke’s got one in the cellar. We can look together.” Senator Organa is not at all who Rey thinks is going to step up to the plate, but she does it anyways. Ben mumbles a few terse ‘fines’ before following his mother down the hallway.

Ben looks at Rey the whole way.

“How do you know where a wrench is in Luke’s house?” Ben asks his mother as they go down the stairs.

“I don’t,” She calls back. Ben stops at the bottom step, giving his mother a confused look.

“Then why did you-”

“I figured you’d need a minute. I mean, I’m mated and all that but geez, Rey’s scent was strong. I’m honestly surprised you’re even able to stand upright with that walking around. The betas can probably smell her from-“”

“Mom, can we please… not do this right now?” Ben pleads, letting his face drop into his hands.

“That was a pretty big display of ‘alpha prowess’ you showed back there. I don’t think we can not do this and make it through the rest of the night.”

“You didn’t tell me what you’re doing here tonight. Maybe we should discuss that first.” Leia shrugs.

“Mom wanted to see you, and I know you all have trivia every other Wednesday, so I figured we’d drop by.”

“Uh-huh. And the catered meal that you managed to have delivered two whole hours before anyone showed up; that was easy to get on short notice?” They’re in a glaring match now, both too stubborn to back down.

“I work quickly, Ben. Clearly unlike you, who can’t even tell a girl how he feels after years. Do you honestly think this is healthy? For you? For your friendship? You can’t go all alpha on people every time they suggest your omega goes to a different room.”

“She’s not my omega.” Each word feels like ash coming from his mouth.

“And who’s fault is that? Luke and his leaky sink?” For such a short woman, Leia is able to show a disturbing amount of confidence and control, something Ben has yet to master. It makes the words even harder to hear sometimes, like right now. Ben winces before running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

“I’m working on it. It’s just… difficult.”

Leia softens at this, and seems to remember that she’s fighting her son and not another political enemy. She walks towards him, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

“I know it is, honey. But I promise you, you’ll feel better once you tell her how you feel, no matter the outcome.” Leia’s voice is soft and gentle, and Ben is reminded of being a teenager and his mother comforting him when he was too scared to ask a girl to prom.

“I don’t know that that’s true,” he chuckles humorlessly.

By the time Ben and Leia rejoin the group upstairs, Rey has already fixed the sink with her bare hands (because of course she’s stronger than any measly tool) and is currently stuffing her face with pigs in a blanket. Ben wishes that he didn't find the pastry puff crumbs already lining her shirt so stinking cute.

“I just don’t see how you can go from making a pie to making beanie weenies,” She says, mouth half full. When she realizes that Leia is in the room with her, she snaps her jaw just and brushes off the crumbs. “Do you want some?” Rey extends the plate towards them, even though Ben knows that she will be more than able to eat the whole thing herself.

“No, we’re good,” Ben says before Leia can speak and take one away from Rey. They lock eyes for a moment, and Ben gets caught up in the flecks of gold around her irises. It’s better that they’re around other people right now, because if they were alone Ben wouldn’t trust himself not to cross over to her and hold her face so he can get a better look at them.

Leia elbows his stomach and mutters ‘get a grip.’

“What is Scotts?”

Buzzer.

“Poe.”

“What is Tudor?”

“Yes. Pick a category.”

“Ugh, 1990’s for 600.”

“A 1990-91 war in the Middle East was fought in Iraq and this oil-rich nation.”

“Iran?”

Luke gave a pointed stare at Rose.

“… What is Iran?”

Buzzer.

This had been much the same interaction for the last hour. Everyone participating, even Grandma Padmé. The questions were hard, which wasn’t wholly unusual for Luke, but it made Ben struggle that much more to actually pay attention. Ben easily dominated the board most trivia nights, but his heart wasn’t in it tonight.

No, tonight, Bens’ heart was in an entirely different place all together.

Said place was picking at her fingernails, not even bothering to pick up the handheld device. Rey was just behind him in winnings, but it seemed that even the second champion was struggling to keep up.

Ben knew that he wasn’t being inconspicuous like this; staring at Rey so hard that he’s surprised his eyes still worked. His whole body was inclined towards her, not the center podium everyone else was facing. Ben could swivel around, actually use he device handed out earlier and answer the damn question everyone seemed to be avoiding, but he just didn’t have it in him. Not when Rey was there, barely six feet away from him, smelling like that.

Like cinnamon rolls and clean linen and sunshine and sex and daisies and babies and home and-

Oh shit.

Heat. Ben realized. Rey was going into heat and she was sitting six feet away from him. In a house with many other people. People who would not appreciate a Sasquatch jumping across the living room couch to sweep Rey into his arms and take her to the guest room and fuck her very loudly for a whole week.

This whole charade got that much harder to endure.

Ben doesn’t realize he’s standing until he feels the gaze of everyone on him, looking confused as to his dramatic rise.

“I’m… going to the bathroom,” Ben announces to the group, before stalking off towards the kitchen. Ben made route to the furthers part of the townhouse, where Luke’s master bedroom was and very spacious master bath. Ben honestly didn’t care if he was waling into a room filled with creepy porcelain dolls, he just needed to get away for a minute and try not to think about Rey.

Rey.

Who he had scented exactly 76 hours ago.

Who he had jerked off to probably more times than that in the following days.

Who he was probably in love with.

Who he wanted to marry and mate and fill with his pups and build a house for and live happily ever after with.

Rey, who was going into heat.

Ben defiantly didn’t need to be thinking about that.

He stood at the vanity, knuckles white against the marble countertop as he stared at himself. If it weren’t for his distinguishable ears, that stuck out despite his best attempts at covering them with his hair, Ben wouldn’t have recognized himself.

His eyes were bloodshot. Skin flushed. Lips bitten so roughly the were swollen. In short, a mess.

A light tap on the door, brought him out of his self-deprecation as he dropped his head and sighed.

“Ben?” He hears Rey ask. Ben resist the urge to punch the mirror or the countertop, knowing that it could only end with him being more battered. When he didn’t respond, Rey spoke again. “Can I come in.”

No, he should say. No, get as far away from me as humanly possible because there is no way I can control myself around you without restraints of some sort.

After another minute of silence, Rey opens the door. Ben looks back up into the mirror, seeing Rey over his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” She asks, voice quiet. It breaks his heart a little to hear her so timid.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Her voice is a little more sure this time. Ben quickly turns around to face Rey. It is a horrible time for him to be made acutely aware of just how small she is compared to him. But he is aware of it, all the same.

When Ben opens his mouth to speak, he’s met with a thick cloud of pheromones entering his body. It’s like getting body slammed by a sumo wrestler without knowing what the fuck is going on.

“You’re not fine. Please, tell me what’s going on, Ben.” The whine he emits when she says his name is involuntary and embarrassing, but Ben can’t think about that right now.

“You’re going into heat.” He says it through clenched teeth, eyes clamped shut.

“What?” She asks in disbelief. “I’m not going into heat. I’d know if I was going into heat.”

“Rey,” Her name feels heavy in his mouth, “You are going into heat. You don’t know how you smell.” Ben dares to open his eyes to look at her. Reys’ face goes from confusion to sadness and it makes Ben ache.

“Oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how bad I smelled.”

Bens’ jaw drops.

“What?” She asks, seeing his expression.

“You think you smell bad?” Ben sees a flash of anger across her features.

“Well, I’m sorry for however awful I smell! I can’t tell, ya know. You could’ve been a little nicer about it, instead of running off because you couldn’t stand the smell of me!”

Ben is frozen in shock for a minute before Rey turns to leave, but snaps out of it when she reaches the door.

“Rey.” She stills, hand on the doorknob. “You don’t smell bad. You very much do not smell bad. Rey, I’ve never met anyone who smelled as amazing as you. It’s like.. like the most delicious smell I’ve ever encountered. Like warmth and love and babies and home and… I can’t handle it well. You smell so fucking good, Rey. Letting you go that day was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life, and if you asked me to do that again, I honestly think I would loose my mind. If I can smell you and be as close to you as I was then without being able to keep you next to me, I wouldn’t survive. You don’t smell bad, Rey. You smell like everything I’ve ever loved.”

Her back is still turned to Ben, but she’s made no movement. Ben wants to spin her around and force her to say something, just so he can know what she’s thinking, but that turns out to be unnecessary. When she finally does turn around, there are tears just staring to spill over the corners of her eyes and her lips are quivering.

“You think I smell like home?” Her voice is shaky with emotion, and Ben can’t hold back anymore. Not when he sees his omega like this.

Ben closes the distance between them, enveloping Rey with his body. One hand goes to cradle the back of her head while the other snakes its way around her waist. He tucks his head into her neck, making him squat down. He feels Rey’s knees give out, and he guides her down to the floor, gently, resting between his legs. Her hands are tightly wrapped around his torso, holding not him just as he holds onto her.

“Yes, Rey. So good, it hurts,” he whispers into her ear. She holds onto his chest, quietly crying against him. His hindbrain is going awol trying to figure out how best to comfort her while his realistic brain was trying to figure out how far she would be okay with him going. He figures kisses to her hair won’t be a stretch, so he peppers kisses along her hairline, holding her head between his hands.

They stay like that for god knows how long, until his butt aches from he hard tile on the floor. Not that he would dare tell Rey that. He’s sit his bony ass on concrete for days if it meant being next to her. When the sniffling subsides and Rey uses his shirt to dry her eyes, she looks up at him.

Ben wishes he could map the constellation of freckles across her nose with his tongue. He barely refrains from doing so.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My emotions are all over the place.”

“It’s the heat,” Ben reminds her.

“How do you know, though? I didn’t even know, and normally I’m pretty good about guessing that kind of thing.”

“Have you ever had a heat while not on suppressants?” He asks her. Her silence is all the answer he needs. “That’s probably why.”

Her head drops agains his chest, groaning against the fabric coated in her snot. Ben rubs his hands along her back, trying to soothe her. When his hand gets a little too high and gently brushes against the edge of her gland, a tremor runs through her body. They both still at that.

“Ben,” He feels her say against his chest. When she looks up at him, her eyes are glassy but determined. He wants to tell her he loves her. “Lets get out of here.”

Ben can only manage to nod.

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