Chapter Text
Rey stares at the time on her phone again, confirming her fears that she’s only been here minutes, not hours, and sighs.
In her 19 years on the planet, Rey has come to learn many things about herself, and subsequently she has developed a list of “Dos” and “Don’ts” to make her life more enjoyable. It’s not like she’s written it down, she isn’t crazy, but the list is firmly ingrained in her mind regardless and right now, the third point in the right hand column is flashing a warning red colour, as if screaming abort, abort!
- Don’t go to parties hosted by douchebags.
She only came to this ridiculous post game booze fest in the first place because Finn had begged and pleaded (and later resorted to dragging her kicking and screaming by her ponytail that was still a mess from gym when his original plan failed miserably).
It was unfortunate really, because on this occasion her number three “Don’t” contradicts severely with her number one “Do”.
- Do always be a good and supportive friend.
The theory behind that one is that as an orphan with a questionable history of foster families and homes, her friends are the only family she has. She and Finn may not always agree on things, and his kind, sociable personality would sometime clash with Rey’s more cynical side, but for all intents and purposes, Finn was her brother and she’d do anything for him.
Including, sadly, breaking her number three “Don’t”.
So here she is, standing in some fancy kitchen, eyes glaring menacingly and arms folded around her in caution to anyone who might otherwise take her to be a potential hook-up option.
It does the trick, and most of the drunk frat boys give her a wide berth, opting instead for the safer pastures of giggling blondes and lash-batting redheads. That’s just fine with Rey. She’s purposely giving off come near me and risk getting kicked in the balls vibes, and let’s face it, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Right now though, the most likely male to get pummelled by her fists tonight is Finn, who brought her to this hellhole and then unceremoniously dumped her in favour of seeking out the sexy Point Guard he’s been eyeing at basketball practice all year. Rey’s only consolation is that Finn will loosen up with a drink or two of whatever monstrous homebrew they are passing around and finally tell Poe how he feels so she doesn’t have to keep having long, drawn out, neurotic conversations with him about it over and over again until she wants to stab herself in the eye just to have an excuse to change the topic.
The problem with homebrew, or more specifically, with idiots drinking homebrew, is that the more of it they tip down their throats, the less susceptible they become to social cues and body language, such as Rey’s very helpful and not at all subtle scowls and crossed arms. She’s even got her jumper zipped up to her neck, so as to not offer the slightest suggestion of skin to the morons that surround her. In short, she couldn’t have been any more obvious without flashing a billboard with LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE written on it in bold, bright colours.
It doesn’t seem to matter as one particularly bright spark - a tall redhead guy that Rey recognises as the Small Forward on Finn's team from watching his games - stumbles over towards her.
“Well, aren’t you just what the doctor ordered,” he says in what he likely thinks is a sexy simper, and yet in reality his drunken slur amplified by him inadvertently yelling in an attempt to be heard over the loud house music pumping through the house isn’t helping Rey warm to him. “My physio thinks I pulled my groin muscle during the game and has prescribed a massage from a hot brunette. What do you say, care to help me out?”
His hand reaches out to skim her shoulder but it has barely made contact before she's sent him tumbling backwards with a firm push to his chest. His inebriated state doesn’t allow for his usual levels of coordination, so he stumbles and hits the floor, his behind making blunt contact with the tiles, producing a loud thud.
In her mind, Rey adds don’t put yourself in situations where you’re likely to be groped by sleazy assholes to her “Don’t” list. If it isn’t already on there, it should be.
Out loud, she says, “I’m good, thanks. I’m pretty sure anything I’m willing to do will only make your groin feel worse,” to the scrambling pile of limbs with as much condescension as she can muster.
When he finally rights himself, his face matches his hair and he is visibly seething. It probably isn’t helping that a crowd is forming around them, their reactions alternating between gasps, jeers and laughter.
“You little bitch,” he snarls at her as he gets back on his feet in several quick movements that remind her he is an athlete.
Rey feels her bravado falter slightly as he makes his way back towards her, all charm and swagger of his previous attempt abandoned, leaving only the rage and resentment of a bruised ego fuelled by alcohol. His anger seems to have refocused him, reviving his physical dexterity and she doesn’t think she could get away with pushing him over again.
Maybe she’ll be kicking someone in the balls after all.
The angry redhead advances on her, and just as she is backing away towards the kitchen bench and preparing to fight him off by any means necessary, a deep, commanding voice makes its presence known.
“Take a hike, Hux. You can’t blame the girl for not being attracted to your ugly mug.”
Rey’s head mirrors Hux’s as they both whip around in synchronicity, searching for the owner of the voice. It only takes Rey a moment to find him.
Ben Solo.
Captain of the X-Wings, party host extraordinaire and all around douchebag.
Of course it would be him.
Rey feels her mouth curve with distain as she takes him in, in all his tall, broad bodied glory, his dark hair and eyes smouldering as watches them, eyeing her more than Hux, she thinks. Then he smirks, and she knows.
It was a cruel twist of fate that one of her most favourite people of all time, her coach Leia Organa, could have created such an arrogant, irritating miscreant that seemed to love nothing more than causing trouble for people she cared about. Several months ago, he’d nearly gotten Finn kicked off the team for skipping training when he had a particularly tough Humanities exam to study for. Snoke had been furious when Solo had pointed it out, and in the end the only thing that saved Finn was Poe telling Snoke he’d walk too if Finn lost his spot.
The only perk of his sudden appearance is the effect it is having on Hux. His face had gone from red to purple and Rey is sure she could see actual steam bursting from his ears.
“Ren, stay out of this if you know what’s good for you,” he hisses at his captain.
“If you know what’s good for you,” Solo counters, smirk still firmly in place, “you’ll take my advice and back off before you have to add broken nose to your list of injuries. Let’s face it, sore groin and ass is probably enough for one day.”
“You wouldn’t,” Hux seethes, although a flicker of doubt in his eyes betrays his fear.
But Solo only laughs.
“You’re right, I wouldn’t. But she would,” he says, jutting his chin in Rey’s direction, “and I don’t particularly want to be cleaning blood off my floor.”
Rey watches as Hux deflates like a popped balloon before backing away and slinking off through the crowd that is just starting to disperse, no doubt intent on sulking in some corner for the rest of the night.
Rey takes a deep, steadying breath, glad he’s gone. If her childhood taught her anything, it was that alcohol created unpredictability and altercations with people under the influence were best avoided if possible.
Unfortunately, one adversary has disappeared only to be replaced by another, as Ben Solo is still standing before her, eyebrow arched and smirk intact.
“You’re welcome,” he offers.
He’s baiting her. She knows this. It’s not the first time, in fact, if Rey didn’t know better, she would think it was one of his favourite past times.
She should just ignore him. Take his earlier advice to Hux and walk away. She should definitely not engage.
She knows she shouldn’t, because it’s on her “Don’t” list at number two.
- Don’t engage in squabbles with Ben Solo.
Yes, it happens so often that it made her list. The list, after all, is about self-preservation, and nothing is better for Rey’s self-preservation than avoiding nasty altercations with Ben Solo. Mainly because his tongue has proven to be sharper than hers on many occasions and it stings less if he gets the last word when she hasn’t really tried. She can tell, by the increasing effort he puts into goading her into a verbal sparring match, that it also lessens his victory, and that in itself is enough to convince Rey to, for once in her life, hold her tongue.
Rey flashes him a smile that’s more salt than sugar and makes to push past him. Time to find Finn and beg him to let her go home, if he can look away from Poe for long enough to pay attention to her, that is.
She doesn’t get far before her escape path is blocked by a broad chest, his broad chest and she huffs in frustration before craning her neck to meet his eyes. He’s the tallest on their team, making him an ideal choice for Center. She’s watched him play, so she knows how well he moves around the court, particularly dangerous in defence. Centers are normally big and slow in comparison to the other positions, and Ben’s definitely taller, but he has more agility than your standard Center, making him particularly perilous to the other team who always struggle to shut him down.
As Point Guard for the X-Wing women’s team at Galactic University, Rey knows she should be happy about this, purely from a team comradery perspective. But right now, all she can do is curse the man for being bigger and stronger than her, and maybe not quite faster – no, definitely not faster – than her, but still fast enough that he has somehow managed to trap her between the bench and the doorway.
He’s feeling very much like a predator to her overly sensitised mind that’s been on high alert since first setting foot in this place tonight and the rest of the party, with its crowd of chattering people, thumping music and flashing lights, is drowned out so she can focus all her attention on him.
Not for any sweet, mushy reason. This is about self-preservation, remember?
She’s close enough to him that she can feel his breath on her face. He’s standing steady and is clearly very much in control of himself, so she knows he must be one of the few at the party having a quiet night, drink wise anyway. All she can make out is the faint smell of beer, which she can’t honestly say is repulsive. In fact, the subtly sweet smell of the hops is oddly endearing.
Rey shakes herself sharply. Who’s been drinking here again?
“In a hurry, sweetheart?” he asks, and it’s all she can do not to slap the stupid grin off his stupid, stupid face.
“I thought you didn’t want to clean blood off the floor tonight, Solo,” she shoots back at him, before remembering “Don’t” number two and mentally kicking herself.
He hums in acknowledgement. “Mm, I wouldn’t put it past you, you are quite a feral little desert rat, aren’t you? Until I met you, I never knew Jakku could produce so much sheer ferocity in such adorable packaging.”
Rey feels her cheeks go pink and curses him, and then herself for responding so obviously, and then him again, because really this was all his fault and credit where credit was due and all.
She tries to push past him again, but he’s standing firm this time, not budging an inch at her attempt, and she scowls up at him.
“Move, Solo,” she grits out through clenched teeth.
“In a minute,” he says, dismissing her command easily. “First I would like to know what you’re doing gracing my party with your infuriated presence, when it’s clear you would obviously rather be anywhere else.”
“Well, no one can say you aren’t perceptive,” she bites back, derision palpable on her tongue as she searches for another escape route. He seems to notice because his arm extends to the wall, blocking her in further.
And then he’s leaning over, his head dipping to get closer to her own height, but he’s leaning forward, which means he’s coming further and further into her personal space.
Rey swallows.
It’s just, the shortening of the height difference and gap between them has meant she has a clear view of his penetrating brown eyes that are locked firmly on hers. His smirk has relaxed somewhat, and for that, she’s thankful, but not really, because the dark, dangerous look he’s giving her instead isn’t much better, and it’s making her forget things, like how much she hates him, and what an ass he is.
And instead all she can think is how right now, he is living, breathing sin unlike anything she’s ever, ever experienced before, and it’s doing strange things to the pit in her belly, and she is so sure she hasn’t drunk anything since she got to this god-forsaken party, but right now she can’t be quite sure.
She swallows again.
“Is it really so bad, being in my company?” His voice is like smooth liquid running through her veins, making her shiver and doing all sorts of terrible things to her faculties.
“Yes,” she replies when she finally finds her voice, but even though she’s found it, she seems to be missing part of it, because the word comes out quiet and stilted and it shouldn’t, because yes, yes, it really is so bad, being anywhere near the smug asshole.
But he’s still looming over her with sex in his eyes and she can’t seem to think about anything except whether that’s actually how he would look at her during the throes of passion and-
“Rey?”
But that’s not his voice, not the molten velvet voice of Ben Solo, it’s…
“Finn,” she calls back to her friend, who is making his way to her behind Solo’s wide body that is finally moving out of the way and out of her space and she’s not sad about that at all, no way.
Finn slips by Solo as he stands to the side of the entryway, flashing him a dirty look – probably just for existing – before returning anxious eyes to Rey.
“Rey, are you okay?” he asks, his hands grasping her arms in a comforting gesture. “One of the guys said Hux was threatening you.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Rey says, at the exact same time as Ben kriffing Solo pipes up with, “Don’t worry, I handled it.”
Finn spins around to look at him and she takes the opportunity to fix him with her best withering stare.
He only seems to have eyes for her.
And his smirk is back.
Bloody hell.
“Okay, it’s nearly nine-thirty, I think I’ve done pretty well. Time to go,” she declares, grasping Finn’s shoulder and pushing him through the gap between Ben and the wall while steadfastly ignoring his gaping face and incoherent questions.
“Night, Sweetheart,” she hears behind her, which prompts another round of splutters from Finn.
She doesn’t look back at him.
She can’t. It would go against her number one “Don’t”, and she’s broken enough of those tonight.
So she keeps her eyes forward and starts forming a plan to distract Finn on the drive home from the whole messy situation by asking him endless questions about his progress with Poe.
Yes, that was sure to distract Finn. It would be a good distraction for her, too.
Get her mind off other things.
Other tall, dark, handsome, irritating, conceited, tempting things…
No, no, no. She’d have none of that. Self-preservation was key, and “Don’t” number one was clear.
- Don’t catch feelings for Ben Solo.