#ao3 comments should be the one space free of this type of discourse

[wikiangela]

I feel like some people forget, or are straight up too young and new to fandom to know, how fandom, fanfics, and ao3 work, bc I'm honestly baffled, tho I probably shouldn't be but either ive never been this deep into fandom to witness it, or this is some new insanity

like, you know the main idea with fic writing should be just to have fun with characters and ships you love, right? it can have nothing to do with canon or endgames or even shit we want to actually see in a show, not every fic is spec

and the thing is, you don’t have to read something if you dont like it, that's why we have filters, and most importantly, you don’t go on someone's clearly tagged fic and talk shit about the ship the fic is for, what the actual fuck

keep the discourse here, bringing it into ao3 comments now is just so rude and childish wtf

[stxrrkissed]

── ꗃ TERMS OF SERVICE

𝒾. all works belong to me. i do not give anyone permission to repost, translate, or blatantly plagiarize my works. the only platforms my writing should appear on is here and ao3.

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[tiriansjewel]

Another day in the jatp fandom, another controversy. As a preface, this post is really just going to be me saying: everyone needs to fucking relax. I’m tired of people calling other people out using weighty terms for no reason, I’m tired of people harassing others over something as trivial as an actor’s view on social issues, and I’m just tired of people not staying in their own circles. That’s basically a TL;DR for you all.

So, about this blocklist. Let’s get into it, shall we?

First, my main issue with this list (and I think a lot of other people’s) is use of the words “pedophilic tendencies”. I cannot understate how harmful it is to draw a false equivalence between real, actual pedophiles and smut writers on the internet. We must remember: these are fictional characters who happen to be teenagers, not real children who can be victimized. Calling adult smut writers pedophilic trivializes actual pedophilia, child porn, and CSA. When terms are watered down like this, the term begins to lose meaning. It is okay if smut written by adults about teenagers makes you uncomfortable, but it does not make the authors themselves pedophiles. Not even close.

Second, minors write smut just like adults do. The weirdest thing about this post is the fact that other minors were knowingly included on the blocklist (ie, “most writers are adults” according to the post) which suggests that the issue is with smut itself and not with who’s writing it. As I’ve said before, it is perfectly okay if you want to avoid nsfw content (which is why we have tags, by the way), but making a blocklist based solely on explicit content where you use the word pedophilia is really “not the move”, so to speak. Here’s the thing. I’m seventeen years old, which makes me a minor. I’ve written smut for this fandom, I am writing smut currently, and I will continue to write it. To suggest that smut in and of itself is bad is strange to me. Guess what? People have sex. Teenagers have sex. It’s a part of life, and it will be included in stories about people’s lives. And in comparison to other forms of explicit content like pornography, smut is a great way for young teens who are growing into their bodies to explore and learn about sex and sexuality outside of reality in a safe, contained space.

Third, there is a very big difference between adults writing about teenagers who happen to be having sex and adults sexualizing kids through writing. I’ve been around the block a few times in explicit tags, and at least I find I can always tell the difference between these two types of content. I’d also like to say that these adults (many of whom are still in their 20s, btw) were teenagers once and grew into their sexuality just like everyone else; it’s not like they’ve been separated from the experience! As a smut writer myself, rarely do I find myself personally thinking “this is hot”. I’m writing from the perspective of a character who thinks it’s hot! There is nuance and character development and thought to writing smut, yes, even pwp fics. In this section I would also like to address the fact that several of the people on this list are my friends and mutuals in this fandom. They are all lovely people who have their own reasons for writing what they write and their reason is never “ah yes I feel like sexualizing children today”. It is very shitty to make assumptions about people you don’t know and say they have pedophilic tendencies. That’s a weighty and unfounded accusation. And no, as a minor, I have never felt uncomfortable around any of them.

Fourth, many of these writers have written wonderful non-explicit fics as well! It’s a shame to write these authors off entirely because they’ve written smut. You don’t like sex scenes? Great! Exclude E and M ratings when you browse ao3. Also, some of these adult authors write fic where they age the characters up, probably because it’s closer to their own experience and it makes them more comfortable. They are literally doing exactly what you want them to do by not creating content about minors having sex. Also, I’d like to point out that Charlie is 22, Owen is 20, and Jeremy is 24, and the majority of smut is about the boys. I don’t think I should have to explain why it’s okay for other 20 somethings to view them in a sexual context, even if their characters are 17. Regardless, many of the perceived issues with these writers as people and also with their work simply do not exist.

Fifth, the number one rule of fanfiction is don’t like, don’t read. I myself have seen several nsfw fics in the jatp tag that I have cringed at and chosen not to read because of their tags, summaries, pairings, etc. And that’s okay! But never have I sent hate to these authors, called them pedos, or made large callout posts about them. I simply ignore or block the content and go on about my day. I’m not about to “yuck someone’s yum”, as it were, and I’m not going to be the moral police and tell people some type of content is wrong in all circumstances, even if I find it personally disgusting or ethically questionable. People are always going to write whatever they feel compelled to write, and the great thing about the internet is that we all have the space to express ourselves differently. As others have said, fandom is big enough for everyone. Here’s a nice little example. I’ve been in the Narnia fandom for years now. The four main characters are siblings, so there’s a lot of incest fic. I personally dislike incest fic and think it’s morally questionable, and so do many of my mutuals. We have conversations in private spaces where we tell one another who to block to avoid seeing that content, and every time I go in the ao3 tag I filter out those pairings. But never have we made public lists calling out people we didn’t know, and never have we sent derisive comments their way. Everyone must learn to keep to their own circles and curate their own feeds for fandom to be a positive experience. Everyone must learn to listen to other people and accept that everything has nuance. Everyone must be learn to be kind. As my choir teacher says, “there is never an excuse for being rude”. And when controversy must happen, let’s all be respectful, mature, and level headed in our discourse with one another.

In conclusion, this fandom has an issue with telling people what they can and cannot do or create, and that’s wrong. Fandom is supposed to be a free, positive environment. It is our duty to keep it that way. Thank you for your time.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 31

Read on AO3. Part 30 here. Part 32 here.

Summary: The time has come to do what you promised for the Resistance. If only it hadn't taken you so long to get here.

Words: 3700

Warnings: feelings kinda

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I know it's not Friday, but I've been so full of anxiety about this chapter that I just had to get it out!! I'm sorry. I can promise you that next week will absolutely be up on Friday, because I have a feeling it's going to take me all week and maybe more.

I want to say--I really loved the debates/discussion in the comments? I feel so fucking flattered and excited people are having differing opinions on the characters? I love that there's so much conflict evident from the responses? That makes me feel so happy!

I am so truly lucky to have folks like you in my life, I can't say enough how grateful I am how I don't ever take any of it for granted, even if I can't respond to every comment. I love y'all so much, and thank you, please stay safe and healthy. <3

Across the hall, the Knight Templar stood at attention, blank visor of his mask trained on you, as it had been for the past forty-seven and a half minutes. The wooden walls to the Council Chambers loomed to the sky, oak canopies split with skylights, the morning sun cutting stark prisms into the hardwood floors. The only break in the dust-mote silence was the rumble of privileged discussion vibrating through your back.

Given the presence of Kylo Ren, you’d somehow expected to avoid the sting of exclusion. But even the influence of the Lead Commander was not enough to justify the attendance of a woman--and especially a Handmaid--during a Council meeting. Yet, you supposed you were thankful. The near two-week’s worth of blizzard-conditions between you and your Commander had frozen any willingness to play advisor to an arctic relic. Part of you felt confident that if you’d refused, he would’ve let you off the hook, but another part wasn’t willing to see how far you could push your absence of legal rights.

Shuffling, muffled voices rising--and the doors to the Chambers opened, a menagerie of black suits filtering into the hall. You studied your shoes, the arrival of so many power-wielding men binding your ribcage, curling your toes. Even with the Templar on guard, in the swarm of Commanders, your safety dangled by unraveling thread; you could feel their eyes wandering over you like steer wandered the plains--lazy and lingering and gluttonous.

Reluctant relief trickled through you when you caught Kylo’s boots in your periphery, his footsteps scattering their stares, scaring their own feet into the halls. Another person crossed around him.

“It was a little tense in there, wouldn’t you say?”

You recognized this man’s voice--he was the silver-haired one from the party.

“I anticipated discomfort.”

The man laughed. “Oh, well, of course you did, Ren! You’ve always been very ahead of the game, that way.” He stepped closer, inviting confidence--now his voice was a murmur. “Now, I’m not saying this, as you know. But I’ve heard others… express their concerns.”

“Concerns.”

“That Gilead’s roles were created for a reason.”

Kylo spoke flatly--he didn’t care if you heard him. “Roles exist to serve specific purposes, Enric. Should a purpose arise, then it follows that a role is created to serve it.”

“The only problem is…” Enric’s voice was mollifying, as if he were telling Kylo something he didn’t already know. “We don’t create roles. God creates them. He decided your purpose just as He decided hers.” There was a pause. You saw your Commander’s foot shift. “Other Council members--not me, of course--aren’t taking as kindly to your philosophy as I am.”

“My philosophy.”

“What you’ve done with your Handmaid. And continue to do, too. Some of them are… not very happy. They consider it…” He cleared his throat, a patronizing acknowledgement of your presence. “Inappropriate.”

Your face burned. Perhaps two weeks ago, you might have agreed. But since you’d kicked Kylo out of your room, he hadn’t so much as laid a finger on you or shared a word greater than a single syllable. His presence was now accompanied by a heavy vow of paralyzing silence--a recognition that the other existed, but only as living memory. This should have brought relief, should have forced your attachment to him to wilt like an unwatered fern, decaying in the graveyard of one thousand other hopes you’d tied to the space he occupied in your mind.

Instead, it had festered, a viney weed, writhing through your veins, its roots puncturing your heart when it dared to beat in his shadow. It was only in his deliberate absence that you could feel the pain of your reality, like he’d been opium, numbing you to the knowledge of anything but him. You ached for him more now than you ever had--you’d tried to sleep, chest cracked open, a torrent of loneliness emptying into the night--and knew that it was for this very reason that you needed to deny him.

After all, when you returned home, you’d be meeting with Rey on your walk. And you’d be handing over the switchblade to the Resistance.

“The Eyes are welcome to an investigation,” Kylo replied. “There are no reading materials or writing implements available. Her suggestions will be provided during a once-weekly meeting which my Wife will attend.”

You swallowed. You hoped you’d be free before that happened.

Enric sighed. “But the dress. Dragging her along with your soldiers.” He paused, humming in thought. “To be honest, even I think she gets special attention.”

Kylo’s tone betrayed an inch of irritation. “And even a dog is provided with a reward for its obedience,” he said. “She is in uniform today and before the Council now to provide proof of my intention.”

“Well, I’m sure the Council will begin to understand. You know how difficult it is for these types to tolerate change. The Cambridge Press decided to capitalize a single letter in First John earlier this year and they lost it.” Enric stepped away, and then doubled back with a pause. “As long as you’re not forgetting her true purpose.”

“No,” Kylo replied. “A Ceremony is scheduled for two days from now.”

Your breath shorted. If the Resistance was wrong about the value of your knife, in two nights you’d lie in Johana’s lap, and Kylo Ren would fuck you as if you didn’t exist. The thought made you dizzy, made your stomach churn.

“There you go,” he said. “As long as you’re doing everything you’re supposed to, you’ll be fine. The Eyes might be snooping around your house, but all you need to do is be prudent.” A laugh. “That shouldn’t be a problem for you, though.”

“No.” Kylo couldn’t have sounded more unimpressed if he had tried.

An expectant silence fell between the two men, and Enric coughed to clear the awkwardness. “In a couple weeks, then.”

“Yes.”

With that, he walked off, footsteps echoing from the wooden halls as he left you, your Commander, and the Knight as the only souls outside of the Council Chambers. A soft exhale escaped Kylo’s nose, and he stepped forward--the weight of his gaze was on you, but you refused to meet it.

“Go,” he said. You assumed he was speaking to the Knight, who moved without another word--what was it like being a warrior turned glorified babysitter? “Come.”

You stood, keeping your eyes to the ground while you followed his lead through the vacant, sunlit corridors of City Hall. This end of the building was decidedly older than the front--it creaked with exhaustion as you navigated its floors, as if it, too, had grown tired of the constant political discourse within its walls. Kylo Ren turned into a staircase, descending with the same pace as his stride--you struggled to keep up with him at this rate, unable to stop yourself from admiring when he reached the bottom and turned the corner into the basement hall.

Since the night at the hotel, he’d abandoned his previous attire of suits, ties and white shirts--he now wore black almost entirely, from his dress shirt to his trousers, which more often than not ended up stuffed into knee-high leather boots. He’d also taken to wearing the coat you’d seen during the Salvaging, its tapered cut somehow making his frame even larger, more imposing than it had been before. The coat in particular was a strange choice during the summer--but you knew why he wore it, keeping others uncertain about what it might or might not conceal.

In the basement, the air grew thin and cold, the halls illuminated now only by dim fluorescent lamps. Kylo stopped at a large wooden door, fishing a key from his pocket and popping the lock. He pushed inside, holding it open for you as you followed him in--he released it, and with a pneumatic whine, it slammed behind you. You squeaked, leaping back, swallowed now in darkness.

You heard the click of the lock--then Kylo’s footsteps on concrete as he crossed the room. A ceiling lamp flickered on, revealing what you could only describe as a records room. Shelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling, manila folder files stuffed into them like recycled news. Your lungs stilled looking at them--there were hundreds, thousands of these folders, all labeled with four-digit numbers. Swallowing, you thought of the tattoo at your ankle--1104--and heat rushed your skin.

These were files on Handmaids.

Dread dug into you, head on a swivel as you soaked in the enormity of the identities contained within these piles of paper. Uncountable bodies of women reduced to nothing but a combination of integers in a locked room in the basement of City Hall. Your heart thumped against your sternum. This was not something you were supposed to see.

Kylo meandered along the shelves, searching the tabs, his brow furrowed in focus. You crossed your arms, ignoring the quickening leap of your pulse, thoughts racing. Why had he brought you here? He was supposed to be proving to the Council that your relationship wasn’t inappropriate--and here you were, alone with your Commander in a room almost certainly forbidden to the large majority of Gilead.

“Five-seven-two-four.”

His long fingers plucked the folder from where it was wedged at the bottom shelf and he rose to his full height--the sight still stole your air. Stone-faced, Kylo flopped open the file, cradling it in the crook of his elbow as he flipped to the first page.

“Five-seven-two-four.” He stepped toward you--an involuntary shiver raced up your spine--and tilted it into your line of sight. “Tera Jackson.”

You blinked, looking between him and the text, inching closer to read. It was the facesheet of a dossier on Tera Jackson: birthdate, hometown, education level, allergies, Biblical violation (affair with a married man). You skimmed the document, confused as to why he’d risked both of your skins just to show you a piece of paper. Then you spotted the bottom of the page, three spaces designated to list Commander assignments. The first and only name: Armitage Hux.

“Ofarmitage,” you breathed, and gaped at Kylo. “Her name was Tera Jackson.”

He said nothing, but pushed the front page from its packet, holding it out to you. Hesitating to grab it, you gazed into his eyes. They were tired and sincere.

This was his way of apologizing. Your heart stuttered, skipped, a suffocated warmth welling in your belly. That he’d thought to do it at all was enough to fracture your resistance, but the fact that he’d done something so forbidden to demonstrate concrete proof of her identity, that he wasn’t fabricating a document to placate you, that it was his own admission that she had been a person, and she had been real--you choked on it, cheeks smothered in flames.

“Commander…” The urge to say his name lingered on your tongue; you reached for the paper--and paused. You couldn’t continue to detour down a pointless road. It would only make the inevitable more painful. You dropped your hand. “I can’t have something like this.”

“Then I’ll keep it.”

“Well.” You bit your lip, averting your gaze. “I… I don’t want it.”

“You do.” His voice was soft. “Her file will be cycled through at the end of the month. Take it.”

Frowning, you glanced between him and the paper. To deny it out of pride would be to deny Tera the chance to be remembered in tangibility--something every Handmaid, every person deserved, regardless of what they’d done to survive. You admitted that part of it was proving to yourself that you deserved it, too.

But you couldn’t take the whole page. Jaw tight, you took it from his hand, creased a line around the section with her name and birthdate and tore it free. You stuffed it into your sleeve, avoiding his eyes as you returned the rest.

Silence hung, cave crystals dripping remnants of stifled need onto your skin, small glittering droplets of iridescent understanding that stained you with shimmering agony. You ached to thank him, to tumble, broken, into his arms, to gaze intohis eyes and see yourself there, found and whole. But under Gilead, you could never have him in the ways he’d had you. And you could never be grateful to the devil for his grace.

Kylo Ren returned the folder to its shelf and stood, snuffing a sigh. “Store it in your room before your walk.”

All you did was nod.

The walk to the building and drive home was spent without words. Only twice did you sneak a glance at Kylo during the ride--the first was when he rolled the edge of the wheel against his large palm, face drawn in focus as he downshifted into a tight turn. The second was when he pulled into the driveway, the muscle under his eye fluttering and brow falling for split seconds, an acknowledgement that here was where you parted ways.

You swallowed, peeking at his hand still rested on the gearshift, then stared at your own, imagining the strength of his grip enveloping you, grounding you to something other than misery. The gentle grumble of the cooling engine died in the air.

Would a true devil place his own power at risk for the benefit of another? Perhaps it just seemed unfair that the only man who had ever made you feel sacred was the same man who’d desecrated you, too.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, and before he could think to respond, you opened the door and escaped into the house.

As you returned to your room, your hands trembled with the impending reality of your decision. A few days after Tera’s death, you’d received a message in the market from Rey and arranged for this meeting. There’d been no earlier time available--which was fine, you imagined that as one of the main women in the movement, her undercover operations were in high demand--and now that the day had arrived, you were floundering with anxiety. Certainly, some of it was the fear that you’d be implicated, too, though the Resistance seemed confident they could protect you from that.

Most of it was that despite your resolution, guilt sat like mercury in your belly, heavy and viscous. Kylo Ren deserved this--he deserved retribution, deserved whatever condemnation his future might hold.

But still you craved, as you might forever, a reality where the only condemnation he would receive was to your bed, where the rays of his future would merge with yours, coalesce in a brilliant spectrum of light, ultraviolet and perpetual. In true reality, those rays crashed ephemeral for jagged, resplendent moments--only to streak alone through the sky, parallel for eternity.

In your room, you stowed the slip of paper with Tera’s name and birthdate between the tiny crevice in your dresser where wood joined wood. In that same drawer under your spare undergarments was the switchblade, in the space you’d placed it over three weeks ago. Kylo had never come for it or sought its return. You supposed he considered it yours. Swallowing the wad of betrayal in your throat, you grabbed the knife and stuffed it up your sleeve.

After adjusting your boots and wings, you skipped down the steps and headed toward the kitchen to grab your shopping bag. When you crossed the threshold, you were met with Johana, tending to the little garden she kept above the sink. She spun at the sound of your feet, her blue eyes glowing against the stark cobalt of her dress, and she regarded you in silence, as she had for the past two weeks. You knew she was no idiot--she must have known you and the Commander were no longer speaking, but it had done nothing to thaw the frost between you this time.

“Just coming to get my bag, ” you muttered, stepping past her and toward the pantry.

“Did you--” She paused, lips tight over her teeth. “There’s an addition. To what we need today.”

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile in an attempt to be congenial. “Oh. Um. Well… I sure hope it’s not butter.”

She raised a brow. “Butter?”

“Yeah...” Your cheeks blazed with embarrassment. Why had you expected her to remember that? “I just. Forgot it. One time…”

“Ah.” Johana scanned you, releasing a sigh through her nose. “I’m sure whatever I said at that time was only half-warranted.” Her cheeks went pink, and she glanced at the wall. “Not that it matters.”

Her awkwardness was making your heart race. “Um. Yeah.” You chewed your lip. “So… the addition…”

She blinked. “Oh. Right.” Shaking her head, she stood on the tips of her toes, opening the cabinet above the stove. “I noticed we’re out of vegetable oil. Emma forgot to dictate it. So. Vegetable oil.”

“Right.” You nodded. “I’ll get it.”

“Good.” Johana considered you again, gaze traveling from your feet to your eyes, then breaking away. “Anyway.” She shifted, returning to the sink. “I suppose I’ll see you for the Ceremony in a couple nights.”

Another wave of nausea washed over you. You hoped she wouldn’t. “Yep. I… I guess so.”

“I know you might not...” She paused, and shrugged a shoulder, pruning a leaf from one of her herbs. “It’s what God wants. It’s nothing personal.”

You swallowed. “I know, Ms. Johana.”

If you remained on this subject any longer, you absolutely would throw up. Johana glanced over her shoulder, meeting your eyes--almost pitying. You bowed your head, ears hot, striding toward the front door.

“Wait--”

Johana grabbed your arm--her eyes widened, and she froze, face screwed in confusion as she squeezed you. Terror crashed through your spine. You both stood there, paralyzed, each now keenly aware of her accidental discovery of the blade inside of your sleeve. Throat closing, you didn’t dare to breathe, instead forcing your gaze from where her hand clutched you to meet her eyes.

“What is that.” Her nails pinched your forearm as she jerked you forward, surprising strength in her little body. “What is that--”

You wrenched back as she tried to dig into your dress, flailing as you tossed her off. Exhaling, you stepped away, holding your hands up in submission as she gazed at you in horror.

“Hold on!” you said. “Hold on. I’ll…” You had no other option. “I’ll show you.”

With two fingers, you slipped into your sleeve and revealed the knife, rotating it like a showpiece in a museum. Her jaw tightened, brow drawn low.

“Why do you have a switchblade?”

Your chin trembled. “For protection.”

“Protection. Sure.” She snorted, holding out her palm. “You’re not killing anyone in this house. Hand it over.”

Shaking your head, you took a step back. “No.”

Her face scrunched in anger, and she swatted for it. “Give it--”

“No!” You shielded it with your palms, raising it above your head. “I--I can’t!”

She huffed in dismissal, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Your fingers quaked, the weapon wobbling in your grip. “It’s…” You weren’t sure of what you were about to say. But you couldn’t think of a single lie that she would believe. “We staged the coup. The Commander and I. This is the one of the only things that… that proves it.”

Johana blinked, drew her hand back as she gazed at you, thoughts loud behind her eyes. Her lips parted in disbelief. “You’re working with the Resistance.”

“Yes.” You swallowed your fear. “I am.”

Breath rattled in her chest, and she stared. “You’re turning him in.”

“I am.”

Her face fell into a scowl. “Well. How--how could you?” She fumbled for the words, like they stung her tongue. “He’s… He isn’t... the most kind man, perhaps, or the most Godly--”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not Godly at all.”

“But he still deserves respect.”

“Respect? For what?”

“For being your Commander.”

You threw your hands into the air, exasperated. “Why are you defending him?” you exclaimed, stepping closer. “You deserve more than this! More than how he treats you!” As you spoke, you weren’t sure who in the room those words were actually meant for. “Help me bring him down. Work with me. We don’t have to live like this.” A pause, voice falling to a murmur, and your hand fell to your side. “We can be free.”

Johana paused, as if she had never considered the possibility, and stepped back, gaze falling. For long, motionless moments, she stared at the blade gripped in your loose fist, the fire in her pupils guttering to cold, empty desperation. A slow breath escaped her nose, her throat knocking as she swallowed. Another breath, and tears glossed her eyes--she blinked them away, pinning her lips together.

“I…”

She shivered, looking at you. For a flicker, you saw her--the woman who existed, wholived before you, before Kylo Ren, before Gilead--treading deadly water, gasping for respite. Johana’s focus drifted over your dress, then wandered to hers. Like a match, fury flashed her face, and in a swift snake movement, she snatched the blade from your hand.

“--will never betray Gilead.”

You squealed, grabbing for it, but she darted underneath you, skittering toward the hall, popping the blade free and thrusting it toward you. Her face was tight with bitter rage.

“I don’t care what happened with him. You’ve only known him for a few months,” she hissed. “I’ve been married to him for three years.” Her hand was shaking, her voice cracking like plaster. “You have no idea what I’ve endured. And I’ll be damned if you screw it up for me.”

“Johana,” you pleaded, “wait--”

“Don’t force my hand,” she said, jabbing the air. “If you even breathe another word about some Resistance nonsense, I’ll have you taken by the Eyes. I don’t care what the Commander says.” She glanced over you one final time and pushed the blade back, shoving it in her pocket before turning to leave. “And remember the vegetable oil.”

You stood, empty-handed, listening to her footsteps disappear down the hall, mind a miasma. There’d be no escape from this, now, not from this house, not from that man, not from the hovering humiliation of the Ceremony in two nights. She’d taken your only lifeline to freedom. And you somehow doubted that another one might appear.

[soultronica]

For your fandom asks... why not KID and LAW?

Oooh good one! Took me a while lmao

K -Say something nice about someone in any of your fandoms

Ok starting off strong ahah time to embarrass myself. Well what comes to mind immediately like I mentioned on ao3 is all the kind people who left comments on my stuff, you included especially!, but also @chromatic-lamina is probably the most supportive person I’ve met here. And @chokefriends is the best active kidlaw writer but we all know that lol

I - Has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why

Oh man I guess lol? I got into a big anime fandom (Free!) right at the beginning of its tumblr hype and despite my efforts to find a relatively quiet fandom space via a sideship I got into so much drama lol, partly from my own personality defects and depression, partly from associating with the wrong people, partly from living in Japan at the time meaning you kind of end up getting introduced to all the ultra fans. Should point out that this was around the general move from tumblr to twitter (2014) so it’s both tumblr and twitter, really, but I ended up nuking my entire internet presence for a while. Now I’m older and more reasonable so I know how not to participate in anything that promises discourse, though I do miss the activity sometimes -- an active fandom really is a daily hobby, you can spend all day talking to people. On the other hand I still have the friends I made from that time, most of whom I’ve met irl and even one I’ve lived with in a one-room apartment back when we were living on 30k yen a month. So it’s not all bad and there’s no denying it was a big part of that period of my life but I’m never rewatching that show or getting in a similar fandom ever again ahah

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t (again: be nice)

Hmm hard to answer that one, I either like or dislike ships without real strong feelings either way. I suppose a lot of kidlaw people are into z/s as well so maybe that, and it’d mean more content as well, though I feel like I can get a similar dynamic from kidlaw anyways so I don’t feel like I’m missing much. A good friend is into shanks/mihawk so maybe that one as well so we could swap fics, I totally get the appeal intellectually too but somehow shanks/buggy feels cuter to me despite being a literal clown ship lol.

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves (chars you’re neutral on are fair game, as are chars you dislike)

Uhhhh I don’t have strong feelings about 80% of one piece characters so I don’t even know who to pick ahah. Characters that sometimes annoy me I still generally find have good concepts or fit well in the story/among the strawhats, etc. Like akainu is a bitch but he’s still a good antagonist archetype that fits in well among the cast of antagonists, know what I mean? Does that count?

A - Your current OTP(s)/OT3(s)/OTX(s)

Well kidlaw lol. To be very honest despite generally being someone who loves exploring characters and relationships (I’m a multi-multi-multishipper in most fandoms I get into), One Piece just isn’t really that kind of manga for me, I’m just not invested all that much in most of the characters, which makes the ship pool pretty reduced -- I mostly like the story and the adventure, and like 5-10 charas I’m invested into. But I’m used to approaching fandom as a shipper, and honestly most people on tumblr/twitter are as well so that’s the way to go if you want a decent volume of content/interaction, so that’s how i went into it. I got into kidlaw because I wanted Law content and it was the type of dynamic I liked, started liking Kid through fic and ended up writing my own, and here we are. But at the end of the day I don’t overly care about them interacting in canon or anything ahah. I guess canon and fandom are separate matters for me, one I talk about with my bros and one I talk about on social media.

Should mention that the next fic I wanna write is Robin/Crocodile so that’s another ship (that I don’t overly care about but like exploring)

W - 5 favorite ships and 5 kinks you like best for said ships

All this to say imma skip this question ahah can’t think of 5 ships that would qualify as “favourite” and I don’t really do kinks either

[ehstarwar]

flesh stays no farther reason (3/6)

Absent his post, their lives would have never collided. Rey had no place in his life.

And yet… he kept talking to her. Kept asking for more time. How do you tell someone that their attention is killing you while simultaneously being the only thing keeping you alive?

-

Five times Ben looks for Rey and the one time she finds him.

-

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6.5K

Read on AO3

ur lying

I’m not, actually.

u have to be bc if ur not lying then i can never fuck u again

Okay, then I’m lying.

you don’t read any fanfic?? like ever?

Why bring yourself more pain?

um fanfic TAKES AWAY the pain

i stg the only reason i still watch Galaxy Battles is bc

the fanfic authors are so fckin good

Rey smiles at her phone for what feels like the thousandth time that day. Plutt’s already yelled at her twice about being on her phone in front of customers, but, no one is in the shop right now and Plutt went home. There’s only 10 minutes to close, so Rey keeps herself occupied with closing procedures and tries not to get too worked up about her and Ben’s conversation.

In the two days since they last saw each other, they hadn’t stopped talking. They talked all day about inane things or cute pets that she saw on her way to work or societal issues and if Ben had the technology to rig the election so the orange ball of racism would be decidedly removed from office. Not yet, he’d said, but believe me, I’m trying.  

Their latest discourse about Galaxy Battles had started when Rey admitted to creeping on his other Reddit post, including one of how the original trilogy would forever be superior to either the prequel or sequel trilogy. He was wrong of course, but somehow Rey berating his views of the evil emperors return from the grave had devolved into a discussion on Ben’s fan fic reading, or lack thereof.

imma send you some links to some works you

HAVE to read

honestly they changed the way i view

galaxy battles

but you HAVE to kudos and comment on them

after you read them

its fanfic etiquette

While that does sound fun, I can think of something

slightly more useful to do with my time.

um actually u can’t

but enlighten me anyways

See you again?

I’m off work for the next 36 hours if you’re free.

Rey stopped dead in her tracks.

Yes, her heart screamed, go to Ben!

No, her brain declared, you’ve already gone too far with him.

For someone she’d only met twice, Ben was occupying a lot of her thoughts recently. Everything Ben had done thus far in no way indicated that he was going to ghost Rey. Except, of course, the posting on reddit to find someone to fuck sans feelings. Which was hard the second time and would be damn near impossible the third.

If she met up with Ben, they would have sex. It was the very base nature of their relationship. Not that he would want it to be called a relationship at all. He would be sweet and fuck her so well, not even her wildest fantasy would hold up. He would buy her food and let her sleep in a comfy bed. Then, when their time was up, he would go work at his high paying job and schmoozing with the Coursant elite and she would go back to work at an Auto shop that was listed as a laundromat in the yellow pages.

Absent his post, their lives would have never collided. Rey had no place in his life.

And yet… he kept talking to her. Kept asking for more time. How do you tell someone that their attention is killing you while simultaneously being the only thing keeping you alive?

Don’t do it, her brain whispered again. Protect yourself from the hurt; it’s what you’re good at.

But something about Ben made it very hard for Rey to listen to reason.

sure, i’m free.

-

Ben is a foot taller than anyone else on the sidewalk. He glowers over everybody else, most people giving him a wide berth of space. He’s frowning down at his phone, typing so furiously that Rey is almost too scared to say anything.

“Ben?” She hazards, after a moment. Ben’s head instantly snaps up, and the frown dissipates. It’s replaced by a soft half-smile that makes something flutter in Rey.

“Rey,” He says, looking at her, up and down. Last time, Rey had chosen not to change when coming from work, this time she did not have that luxury. Even if the pair of overalls she was currently sporting were slightly newer than that pair, it was still a potato sack in comparison to Ben’s designer suit.

“Sorry… I, uh, didn’t expect to be doing much after work,” Rey says sheepishly. Ben looks confused, so she clarifies. “I would’ve changed, but…”

“I think you look perfect,” he simply states. She gulps. After a terse minute, Rey rolls her eyes and playfully slaps his arm, hoping to move on from this with some self-deprecation; a superpower of hers.

“Oh whatever. So, should we head to the hotel, or did you have something else in mind?” She asks.

“I’ve made the mistake of not feeding you beforehand twice now, it’s not an error I’m willing to make again. I thought we could have dinner first before.” Ben gestures to the restaurant on the other side of the street. The windows are blacked out, and the valet is wearing gloves. The hostess stand alone looks like it cost the same as a year’s worth of Rey’s rent.

“That’s a lovely idea, but… I can’t go in there.”

“Do you not like their menu? I could have the chef prepare something better, if you-”

“You really don’t see why I can’t go in there?” Rey asks, flabbergasted.

“No,” Ben simply states.

Rey has attempted, her entire life, to make as little of a scene as possible. Some may confuse this for timidness or meekness, but Rey knows better. Her ability to go though life making the least trouble possible for herself is one of the only reasons she’s been able to make it this far. It’s not shyness or second-hand embarrassment that holds her back (god knows she’s faced that enough in her life); it’s the desire to go on living life without creating trouble. Ben, it seems, does not understand that.

“Ben, regardless how you feel I look, the people in the restaurant will balk if they see someone like me, looking like this, walk into a restaurant that serves one dish that is more expensive than my apartment. I can’t go in there.”

“Why do you do that?” Ben asks, looking terse and unhappy. “First at the hotel, now here. You act like you don’t belong somewhere.”

“I don’t belong here.”

“You do. You’re here, so you belong here.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be, if you wanted it to.”

Rey sighs. This isn’t a conversation she’s willing to have with him, certainly not on the sidewalk during rush hour on a Thursday, and there’s a sinking feeling in her gut that Ben will not drop this without creative thinking on Rey’s part.

She scratches the back of her neck, looking anywhere but Ben. He’s stare at her, waiting for her to respond, giving her his undivided attention. It heats her cheeks.

“You know, I actually had a restaurant I was really looking forward to eating at for dinner; why don’t we just go there instead? If you really want to eat your… fancy food stuff, I can just meet you back at the hotel.” Ben’s frown falls slightly, replaced with a  look of neutrality, and Rey represses a sigh of relief.

“I don’t care about eating there, Rey, I want to eat with you.”

“Okay, then Waffle House it is.”

-

It was comical how large Ben looked inside. The harsh, bright lighting made his hair look shinier than Rey had ever seen it, and he barely even fit in the small booth covered in yellow linoleum. When he grabs a laminated menu off the rack, Rey chuckles.

“Is it safe to assume you’ve never been to a waffle house before?” She asks, head cocked sideways. He shoots her a dirty look.

“I’m not entirely uncluttered, you know. I frequented the local waffle house plenty of times in undergrad.” Ben holds up the large plastic card in front of his face.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t need to look at the menu.” Rey pulls the menu down to the table and gives him a sweet smile. He softens at that.

“In my defense, it’s been a while,” He shrugs.

“Well, nothings changed. I’m pretty sure these were the same menus they used in the eighties.”

Ben inspects the menu carefully before putting it down. A older server comes over, giving them drinks (an orange juice for them both, Ben begrudges), and taking their order before leaving them. For the first time since she’s met Ben, the silence is uncomfortable.

“How was your day?” He asks after a moment. Rey is still looking at her chipped fingernail polish when she answers.

“Fine… long, I guess. It was my ninth day in a row,” She tells him. His gaze darkens.

“That’s criminal.”

She shrugs. “I get the next two days off so, it’s not totally unexpected. How was you day?”

“Busy. My bosses boss is visiting in a few weeks, so the office is in a state of chaos.”

“And yet you somehow stumbled upon 36 hours off?”

“An imposition from HR. I’ve accumulated enough sick leave to last a few lifetimes. When my boss got the memo, he sent me home. Told me to rest up for the weeks ahead.”

“Someone who’s accrued that much sick leave must have worked a lot more than nine days straight,” She taunts. “That’s criminal.” Ben rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch.

Another moment of silence passes, making Rey squirm in her seat.

“I think I need to apologize, for earlier,” She says. Ben looks confused. “It was sweet of you to ask me out to dinner in your limited time off. I should’ve reacted… better.”

One of his large hands reaches the short distance across the table to grip hers. Her hands are dwarfed by his, so she stares down at them instead of looking up at him.

“I’m sorry, too. I can be… callous when it comes to others feelings. I should’ve warned you instead of thinking you’d blithely go along with my plans.” When Rey finally looks up, Ben is looking at her with the sweetest and softest expression.

Okay, her brain concedes, this is nice.

“I do have to admit,” he continues after a minute, “my intentions are not entirely virtuous.”

“I certainly hope not,” Rey grins, “because neither are mine.”

-

He brings her to a different hotel this time. Something much more modern and cool. None of the employees are wearing outfits too ostentatious, but Rey has a sneaking suspicion that the level of service is probably the same. The valet seems to be expecting them, despite Ben having made no calls during or after their meal, and hands Ben the keys to the room.

Only when they’re in the elevator, away from prying eyes, does Rey mention anything.

“Why the change of venue?” She asks.

“The views from here are better. You can see the skyline much more clearly from our floor,” Ben tells her. Rey scoffs.

“Plan on spending a ton of time looking out the window, are we?”

Ben quirks a brow down at her. His eyes turn predatory and Rey can feel her cunt throb. He slowly backs her into the wall of the elevator, pressing his front flush with hers, arms going out to cage her in.

“I think it’ll be a nice view for you when I fuck you against the window.”

Heat licks up her spine. His face is only a few centimeters away from her, but he keeps his lips to himself. He traces the side of her jaw with his nose, letting his lips skim across her skin, but never stopping.

“You told me once… that I deserved a bed…” her voice is unsteady when she uses it. Ben pulls back slightly, and brings his wrist up to check his watch.

“We still have about 34 hours left,” He replaces his hand and looks back down at Rey, “I think we can fit a few places in.”

His lips have only just brushed hers when the elevator chimes that they’re on their floor.

-

“You like this,” He whispers in the shell of her ear. “Being held up, open for any and all to see…” His cock drags inside her once again and Rey gasps. The glass is cold against her hand, and she can see her breath fogging up the window. Ben tightens his grip on her hips as he slowly pulls out of her again, making her whine.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch that, baby.” He says, pressing a wet kiss to the top of her shoulder.

“Please, daddy…” Her hands clutch at the glass. “Faster… please,” She begs. She’s rewarded with a few quick thrusts. Her head lulls back, making him kiss at her throat.

“Good girl… asking so nicely,” He murmurs. Rey can feel a twitch of an orgasm approaching her.

“Gonna… make me… come, daddy…” She breaths. Ben snakes a hand downwards, until it finds her clit. He rubs her with soft strokes, flaming the fire within her. She tries to grind down on his hand, but Ben thrust into her harshly again keeping her where she it.

“Come on, baby…” he mumbles, “come all over me… above everyone…” His thrust move in time with the strokes on her clit, and the air in her lungs is sucked out as she tumbles into an orgasm. She’s boneless as he works her through it, still stroking her and pounding into her. She can feel the control slipping from his hands, the movements becoming erratic.

Rey can feel his muscles straining against her over-heated skin. Their bodies are sweaty, only adding to the sound of wet skin slapping against each other. It feels like she’s floating when coming down from her high. Ben grips her tighter as he begins to come, putting fresh bruises in her skin with his fingertips.

His mouth finds the back of her neck, and she can feel his teeth clenched as he comes. He grunts into her skin as his cock twitches within her; she can already feel the warmth of his come seeping downwards. Ben holds her hips flush with his as he continues to pump her full of him. He puts one hand on the font of her lower abdomen, and instinctively, she places her hand over his.

“I can feel myself… like this,” he says, mouth still against her neck. “I can feel myself inside of you… fuck…” he whispers. She strokes the back of his hand with her thumb as Ben regains his breath; trying to comfort him for reasons she didn’t understand.

His breath is hot against her neck, but she loves it. Love the feeling of him alive and hot against her. It fills her with a fuzzy feeling she’s unused to.

-

“Do you think that’s enough?” He asks, dryly. Rey ignored his comment and continued filling the ridiculously large tub with even more bubbles. The bottom of the tub is hard beneath her knees as she waddles her way over to the faucet, pouring the remaining soap underneath, filling the air with lavender.

Ben sits on the other side, arms stretched out of the tub, one knee just above the surface of the bubbles. Even though his comment was sarcastic, the expression on his face is soft. It makes Rey want to melt.

When she finishes adding every soap that was on the counter to the boiling hot water, she scoots herself in between his open legs. Her back leans onto his chest, head cradled on his shoulder, while his arms come down to wrap around her midsection, hands resting on her thighs.

“I don’t get to take baths like this. I think it’s only fair I add whatever soap I want to,” She says, once she’s comfortable. Ben only hums in response. He traces his nose on her wet hairline, lips brushing her skin every so often. If the plastic of the tub weren’t so hard on her ass, Rey would’ve fallen asleep.

After their tryst on the window, Ben had ushered her into the bathroom to clean her up. Ben notices as soon a her eyes landed on the tub that took up a solid quarter of the room, and silently obliged to bathe with her.

Ben’s hands begin massaging her thighs, so she does the same. Her hands seek him out, and land on the thick, corded, muscular tops of his thighs, hands tickled by the sparse hair there.

“Mmmm…” She mumbles, while feeling him up, “I want to ride your thighs later.” She feels him smile against her skin.

“Okay,” He says, voice low. She feels it rumble from his chest and sinks further into him. She can feel his cock, already half-hard again, against the small of her back, but Ben does nothing to indicate that he wants to move any time soon, so she ignores it.

His hands come up to caress her torso, fingers brushing just on the underside of her breast as they work in a rhythmic pattern. Her skin feels hyper-sensitive everywhere he’s touching her; against her back, his hands on her torso, his legs against hers. She wonders, idly, if he’s as unused to this kind of intimacy as she is. It’s not a secret that the two of them need to physically feel each other whenever they’re together. Rey is curious if this is one of the few ways he experiences intimacy, as it is for her.

“Ben?” She asks. He hmm’s against her, nose still tracing the side of her face. “You don’t… do this… with other people, do you? I don’t think you do, but… I’m curious.”

To his credit, Ben doesn’t really falter in his movements. There is a slight pause as soon as the words escape out of her mouth, but he resumes so quickly, Rey isn’t even sure the hesitation happened.

“Would you be jealous if I said yes?” He asks.

Her entire body stiffens. The water, hot against her skin, suddenly feels like ice.

“I don’t,” Ben says quickly, clearly attuned to the change in her demeanor. She relaxes again, but keeps slightly on edge.

“Why not?” She prods further, “It’s not like there’s anything holding you back.”

She feels him sigh beside her. His hands suddenly wrap around her hips, twisting her until she’s facing him and seated in his lap. The steam from the bath has formed sweat all over his skin, so he’s practically glowing in the yellow light. He looks like a greek god; full of imperfections that suit him perfectly. Her mouth goes dry at the sight.

“Do you want me to have… this, with anyone else?” He questions. Rey has to bite her lip from screaming absolutely fucking not!

“Does it matter what I think?” She counters. His eyes narrow at her.

“It does to me.”

Rey softens. Her hands come up to trace the features of his face, down to the hard planes of his chest that peak above the water.

“We’re treading in dangerous water, Ben,” She says before looking up at him. He smirks lightly.

“I think there’s a little too much soap in here, but I hardly think that makes it unsafe,” He jokes, playfully looking around the tub. She splashes him with soapy water, giggling in his lap. He holds her tighter, then bringer her closers to him to kiss her.

Kissing him is many things at one; it’s hot and sweet, promising yet daunting, full of emotion that words can’t convey, but above all, it feels so, so good. The kind of goodness that Rey has searched for in every person and yet to find. It’s terrifying, but she does it anyway.

They make out for a while, hands roaming over pruny bodies, until he’s fully hard again and Rey is wet enough to sink right onto him. They both loose their breath at the sensation, lips still touching but not quite kissing. After a minute, she begins to move, working herself up and down onto him in an unhurried pace. It makes the stretch of him even more pronounced and hot.

His hands guid her hips, and she complies, moving in any direction he so chooses. They only break from each others mouth to kiss at different part of skin; both going for the neck. She leave bites and bruises and he does the same. I hope they’re purple and huge, she thinks; I hope they last forever.

After a while, he whines into her mouth, needy and desperate.

“There is nothing… like coming in you… take me so well… such a good girl…”

She grind down harder on him, liking this desperate, pleading thing hie’s become.

“Wanna make you… full of me… mark you with… my come… would you let me? Let me- fuck- let me fill you… over and over… until you’re mine? Would you?”

She nods against him, telling him “Yes… yes… I’m yours.”

-

“I have tomorrow off, too. I don’t know if I mentioned that,” She tells him once they’re dry and in bed. She didn’t exactly plan for this, so she has no clothes of her own to change into, but Ben seems more than happy to let her snag his white undershirt from earlier. With no panties, of course.

“You did,” he mumbles against her stomach. She’s lying on her back with Ben’s head on her stomach, kissing her skin through the fabric. Rey had one hand brushing though his silky hair, the other holding her phone up as she text Rose.

hey, I won’t be home tonight, Ben called me again

i don’t think i’ll be home tomorrow either, but i’ll

keep u posted

…

are u sure its healthy to be spending this much

time with him?

wasn’t it supposed to be a one night stand?

yeah but the sex is good so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

why don’t u invite Finn over since u have

the place to urself??

don’t try and divert. I’m worried about u

I don’t want u to get hurt, regardless if

the dick too bomb

Rey doesn’t respond. She doesn’t know how to. She wants to accuse Rose of having a secret mic into Rey’s inner most thought and using them against her, but even she knows that’s crazy. Instead, she puts her phone down and luxuriates in the weighted blanket that is Ben.

They’ve been asleep for hours, but it’s still dark out. Rey is secretly thankful for the stormy weather outside, like it gives her an excuse to stay in this bubble with Ben. He’s still snoring softly, head buried between her shoulder and neck. She thinks of their second conversation when he told her he lean’s towards domination. Defiantly a switch, she thinks. Ben has wrapped himself around her, practically suffocating her with his embrace.

Rey loves it.

-

His face is buried in her cunt. So much so that she’s worried he’ll never resurface. He licks with sure, hard strokes, noes rubbing at her clit. It’s a cataclysmic rush of sensations that has her mewling and writing above him. She can see from the corner of her eye, him bucking his hips into the mattress beneath them. And she’s fucking jealous of it. A mattress.

“Ben…” She whines, high pitched and needy, no real message to convey, just liking the way his name feels rolling off her tongue. He grunts against her and sucks her clit.

Her hands tug his hair, trying not to be too rough, but knowing that he liked to be pushed a bit. His teeth graze her labia as a warning, but she pays it no mind. Rey tries to wedge a leg under him, so that she can feel the hardness between his legs and maybe even give him some relief. Ben obliges, using a hand to guide her leg under him, so that his cock brushes against the back side of her calf when he thrusts.

The threat of orgasm is imminent, marching towards her quickly and not giving her time to even breath. Her fingers find the shell of his ear, and Rey remembers how endearing she found it when they got red after sex. Her thumb caress his ears, hands covering them.

Ben looses his mind.

His bucking becomes more wild and his tongue more sure. Rey is stung into her orgasm when his teeth gently nip at her clit, either purposefully or not, and she can feel the hot come from Ben coat her leg.

It’s an overwhelming rush of sensations.

His come spurting out onto her skin and the sheets, his face now sopping with her juices, one of his hands holding her stomach down, the other holding her leg so that he can empty himself on her.

He’s gasping against her as his body shudders. She feels the last few gentle twitches of his cock against her calf before he stops moving and basically melts on top of her.

“Sorry… it was- my ears are- it was so good…” he says, still breathless. Rey makes an experimental stroke of her thumb along the shell of his ear once more, causing Ben to whine but not asking her to stop. She wonders how quickly he could come again, maybe just like this, but decides to save that hypothesis for a later date.

Instead, she holds him as he weakly climbs up to be closer to her.

-

Rey groans when she rolls over to an empty bed. Her stomach drops and suddenly her whole body is alert, immediately shaking off any remnant of sleep. She sits up quickly, panic running down her spine, mouth already open and dry with fear.

Thankfully, she spots Ben right away.

He’s sitting at the desk, typing on a computer, face illuminated only by the light from the screen. He looks so focused and Rey hesitates for a moment, considering weather or not to disturb him from his work. Screw it, she thinks, I only have him for a few more hours; his work can wait.

She gets up on unsteady legs, taking a moment to peak from behind the blinds. It look early out, even in the grey pouring rain. She slowly makes her way over to Ben, who still hasn’t noticed that she’s awake. She shuffles her feet, trying to make more noise as not to scare him before placing her hand on his shoulder.

Ben’s back straightens, and he looks up to Rey, who is pulling his rolling chair back and climbing into his lap with no resistance from him. He’s naked still, she notes, and so is she. She straddles his lap and brings her hands to his biceps. His mouth seeks hers out instantly, pressing wet kisses against her lips.

“Why are you… not… in bed?” She questions between kisses, trying to to sound too petulant. Judging by his chuckle, she’s clearly failed.

“I had some work to wrap up,” He tells her, hands now roaming her bare back. She glances at the clock, flashing a bright 6:43.

“You still have… 24 hours of… your weekend left… no work,” She says, sighing into his mouth. He pulls back, and her mouth instinctively goes to chase it, but stops when she sees him slightly smiling at her.

“You were asleep; I figured I could multitask. After all, you’ll need your strength for everything I have planned for today,” Ben tells her, voice going low. Rey surpasses a shiver.

“Plans?” She questions. He nods. “Care to enlighten me on these plans?”

“Well, you mentioned something about riding my thigh earlier, and I figured if you’re going to ride that, my face might feel left out so we should add that to the list,” Ben says, making Rey chuckle. “Then my cock might feel neglected also, so you should probably ride that at some point too. And I did have a dream about what my come might look like on your tits, so, I think today would be a good day to find out.”

Rey throws her head back laughing and Ben adjusts his hold on her, squeezing her tighter to him.

“So, as you can see, you’ll need your strength if we’re going to get through all of that today, Ms. Niima,” He taunts. Rey brushes some hair behind his ears, fingers purposefully ghosting them and making him shudder.

“That sounds like an excellent plan, Mr. Solo. What should we start with first?” She questions, already feeling his cock twitch where it rests between the two of them.

“Anything you want, Ms. Niima; I’m yours for the taking.”

Rey considers him for a moment, even though she’s already made up her mind. She squirms in his lap before settling her self firmly on one of his tree-trunk legs and begins grinding down. Her cunt is still puffy and slightly sore from all their… activities, but the feeling of his muscles beneath her is too delicious to pass up. She grinds her self until she is slick and wet against him. Ben drops his head to her shoulder, breathing deeply. She thinks of how much his words affect her when he’s the one talking, so she decides to give it a try.

“One of the first things I noticed about you… was your thighs,” She starts. “They’re so fucking strong, even in your pants. I didn’t know how to ask for it, that first night. But I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

Ben’s hands go to grope her ass, squeezing, as he breaths heavily against her sternum. His thigh is covered in her now, and she moves with a sicking wet sound that fills the room.

“I tried everything, after that. I humped pillows, tried to get off on the edge of my bed, even considered buying a sex doll just to recreate what your thigh would feel like,” She admits, voice becoming breathless as her movements pick up. Ben’s cock is red and twitching now, leaving a drop of precome on his stomach where it bumps against. Rey works faster now, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, no doubt leaving red slits in their wake.

“I thought about messaging you every night, trying to come up with some eloquent way to beg you to ride your thigh into oblivion. Even if it’s all you would give me; I wanted you dripping in my come like I’m covered in yours.”

“Rey,” he warns. She can feel herself approaching orgasm, so she readjust her hips to get her clit to hit his skin with every stroke. She gasps and feels Ben’s teeth on her neck.

“Want you… to wear my come… all day… soak it into your skin…so it stays,” She moans out, finding it harder to speak the closer she gets.

“Yes… yes, please…” Rey hears him beg. She can feel his cock so hard against her, but he’s brought no relief to himself in the form of his hand. She resist the urge to grab him and jerk him off, deciding it’ll be much more satisfying to see him come without her even touching it.

She moves quicker now, searching for that peak, and finds it so fast it scares her. Her orgasm wreaks through her body, sizzling down her spine and making her cunt clench and drip onto his thigh. Her hand goes to grip it, holding Ben’s thigh someone even closer between her, and letting her juices flow onto him. Ben comes too, with a cry into her skin. His cock twitches desperately as the white fluid spurts out of him, coming up to coat her abdomen. A rouge stripe of come lands on his shoulder where it’s bent to lean down onto her, and she licks it up without hesitation.

They sit together, not moving for a moment, catching their breath. Ben breaths heavily onto her skin as she licks up the sweat beads that have formed on the side of his throat. She whispers sweet endearment of good boy and thank you for coming for me. She uses a hand to trace up his spine to the back of his head, feeling Ben become putty in her embrace.

It’s a power trip unlike anything she’s experienced before.

Rey doesn’t tell him then, but she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they will be doing that again.

-

“Tell me what your childhood was like.”

She doesn’t know why she asks him. They had been silent for a while, but the conversation preceding the question had nothing to do with that topic. But still, the words bubble and spill out of her without a chance for Rey to begin them in.

She’s lying on top of Ben, listening to the soft thudding of his heartbeat, while some old Galaxy Battles that just happened to be on TV is playing. His hands a tracing her spine, occasionally dipping lower to kneed at her ass. His hands have stoped, midway down her back, but resume quickly.

“It was… loud,” He says, prompting Rey to push herself up to stare at him. “My mother is… popular, you could say. There was always something going on at our house. Meetings that turned into dinners that turned into parties that turned into more meetings. There was always so many people around that I didn’t know. But my father…” Ben trails off for a moment. “He didn’t like it either. So he’d leave for weeks at a time. Sometimes I think my mother didn’t even notice. God knows she didn’t notice me.” Something bitter traces his voice so Rey hums against his skin. “I was… not considered much, when I was with them. An extra bag they needed to pack whenever they went away.

Rey nuzzles her face into his chest, wanting to skin within his skin and give his heart a hug.

“I left home when I was 18 and didn’t speak to either of my parents for 10 years. The only reason I even started speaking with my mother again is because…” Ben takes a moment, and Rey lets him. “My father died.”

Rey doesn’t breath, unwilling to even move slightly and disturb whatever trace Ben seemed to be in.

“I was the first person my mother called to tell. That had never happened before. It was… strange.” She feels Ben shift beneath her, but his eyes still remain closed. “Our relationship is still awful, but we talk more now. Mostly her berating me for my career choices or asking for grandchildren, but… it’s talking.”

Rey hugs him. Squeezes him so tightly she’s worried he’ll bruise, but Ben doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m an orphan,” She offers, after a moment. “My parents dropped me off at a fire station when I was two. Or… they think I was two. All they left was a piece of paper that said ‘Rey.’ Supposedly the state searched for my parents for a while, trying to track them down, but I’m not really sure that’s true. I was sent to Jakku when I was five and I grew up in a junkyard there. That’s why I’m a mechanic. I learned how to spot parts that were salvageable since I was a pre-teen. It’s the only thing I was ever good at.”

Her quiet admission hangs heavy in the air.

Slowly, she feel’s Ben roll them over so that he’s above her and her back is on the bed. His eyes are sad when they look down at her, and suddenly Rey realizes her eyes have tears in them too. Ben kisses away her tears, lips soft against her skin.

“You’re good at so much, Rey. More than even I know. So, so good. Don’t ever say that again, please.”

Ben’s plea pierces her heart with such a sharp precision, it feels like she’s been shot.

All at once, every fear that Rey had before meeting Ben comes rushing back. The feeling both of them were trying to avoid, crash around her like an avalanche, and Rey is stuck in the cold, hard ice. Somehow Rey knows that this was meant to happen. That she was meant to be on that Reddit page and refresh just in time to see his post and meet him in that fancy bar and fuck him in that gaudy room and do everything they’ve done together.

Ben kisses her as she realizes that there will be no soft break from this. That wherever this ends will hurt. It’ll break her even. But, even scarier than that, Rey is more than willing to let Ben do that.

-

“Don’t leave.”

It’s morning. Almost 7. The sun is just starting to peak behind the curtains. The bed is warm where they’ve laid and fucked and made love and held each other all night. The sound of a cart being placed outside of their door is the only besides the fan and their breathing. His hair tickles her face. His arms have wrapped around her so tightly she’s not sure she’ll ever break from his embrace.

“Don’t leave,” She whispers again.

He’s still snoring. He can’t hear her. She says it again anyway.

“Don’t leave me.”

-

The bacon is still hot by when Ben pulls the breakfast cart in. It’s full of wonderful looking food that Rey would gladly devour on any other day. But she can only bring herself to nibble at the fatty bacon that drips grease down her hand.

Ben is all but ready to go, his suit jacket hanging on the other side of his chair and shoes still waiting by the door. He’s go Rey in his lap and hands digging into the cup of greek yoghurt. He hasn’t stopped touching her since they’ve woken up. They showed together, he ate her out, she brought him off with her hand, they had to re-shower, and now they were enjoying a quiet breakfast. Her hair was still wet and dripping into his discarded bathrobe. She refused to wear her own, and Ben had happy obliged when she asked to put his on after he took it off.

He kisses her neck sometimes and she tries to take inconspicuous sniffs of his hair.

It’s nice outside, if a bit hot. Ben has to be at work in an hour. Rey still has today off. He’s got a busy few weeks ahead. She’s got the same monotonous tasks ahead of her for the foreseeable future. He offered to extend the room reservation so that she could keep it tonight. She declined. He extended it anyways.

She’s met him three times. They’ve talked about some of the deepest trauma any person can go through. They’ve argued about fan fiction. Ben is incredibly wealthy. Rey can’t afford her water bill this month.

Ben leaves her with multiple incessant kisses, each sweeter than the last. He tells her he’ll call, but maybe not for a while. He makes her promise to call if she needs anything at all. He kisses her again for good measure. Then her shoulder her forearms and her hands. Rey doesn’t cry until the door is closed.

She’s falling in love with him. (If she isn’t already.)

It fucking hurts.

-

come say hi on twitter!

[usernamesuggestionsarefunny]

No worries, I realize I might have come off as overly confrontational in my original comment, because I preferred to be "shocking" and "in your face" in the heat of the moment instead of opting for a mature way of voicing my doubts about the original post in a more calm, literal and clear way that left little doubt of what I meant.

I wish I could only blame tumblr as a whole for infecting my brain with their classical snappy style of discourse, but at the end of the day, I decided to write that.

The original post just said something like "if you decide to write something harmful on purpose then fuck you", while at the same time claiming to be anti censorship, giving examples of the hetalia guy and the terf artist. The terf artist seemed to be the worst, although I don't know the details of the case. If she was straight up sending her horrible art to trans people then that obviously makes her horrible in a way your average rpf smut writer who doesn't want the celebrities it is about to see their work simply isn't, but if she was doing it in her own space or something then I still hate the contents of her "art" just like I hate rape fics about real people that are meant to be seen as a love story, but I am still not going to harrass the artist with hateful comments.

I think people have the right, however, of pointing out how problematic or horrible they think something is and why, maybe even in the comments as long as it is not death threats or something (Although of course the writer has the right to moderate comments). It is kind of stupid to be anti censorship only when it comes to the art and not the criticism.

People have the right to hate on a work or even a type of work as much as the artists have the right to write or draw it, but I have recently witnessed a lot of double standards on what is "acceptable" to critizice or hate on, and the original post gave the impression of going through that line of thought, that every kink is fine, but writers like the hetalia guy (Don't know what he wrote, don't care, the point stands) who use a racist rethoric in their story are crossing the line because that is "actually" harmful, as if implying fics that portray the rape of children in a positive light are not harmful, but the racist hetalia guy is, when at the end of the day both things are fiction, no one knows what the writer actually thinks is ok in real life, and both things should be free to critizice if people have issues with it. Hence me calling the subjects of race and gender "sacred". They are the two things people should be allowed to harrass you over according to many anti antis. "Hot" rape in fiction is fine, but the hetalia guy is going "too far" and "fuck him" according to these people.

I understand the subjects of race and gender can be sensitive in fiction, but so can other issues people are dismissing. Not everyone has the same life experiences. A commenter above wrote that romanticizing abuse is fine because most people know it is wrong and they just think it is hot in fiction. Maybe so, but what is harmless fun for some people can be taken very personally for others. Many people feel that others enjoy their traumatic experiences, which makes them feel terrible, and they have a right to express that outrage out loud even if it offends the anti censorship movement or the people who write the sort of fiction that is being criticized.

The hetalia writer may be super against racism in real life but want to explore it in fiction through the eyes of a sympathetic character because it may be interesting. We don't know why they wrote it. That doesn't mean he or she should be free from criticism, only that in my opinion, his work is not more outrageous than a lot of the stuff on ao3.

I am against censorship as much as anyone, and I don't actually comment on fics I have issues with myself, if I see something I think is discusting I leave the writer alone, but I am not going to hide that I hate the fetishization of rape and pedophilia that is prevalent in ao3, or that I don't see it as any different than racists using ao3 as an outlet instead of being vocally racist or violent in real life. Isn't that what anti antis are coming from anyways? That fiction doesnt affect reality and that it is better if it serves as an outlet for pedophiles instead of having them harm real childen?

You know, I was originally going to respond to this person with snark and flippancy. But then I do have to relent and say that me using the term ‘harmful’ in the original post when I really meant ‘inflammatory’ was my bad.

But… Even with me taking an L on my wording… I don’t get how the notion of ‘I don’t care if you write Zagreus getting done on all sides by the entire Greek Pantheon, I don’t care if you write some BakuDeku nonconsensual body-modifcation fic, I don’t care if you get off to characters from Genshin Impact NTR-ing each other… They are fictional? So that shit still isn’t hurting anyone? Saying shit like ‘Trans ppl, please go commit 43%’ or ‘Muslim people are all evil’ do effect real people?’ is hard to understand. 

‘Romanticizing abuse’… God, I wish I had the money to send a copy of Quills to everyone who pulls the whole ‘romanticizing abuse’ angle in regards to fictional work. Because, literally, unless you aren’t mentally sound, the average person can look at all the fucked up fanfics and smut and erotica and come out with ‘wow, that’s fucked up and/or kind of hot. Good thing it’s only fiction, though!’