#GOD I have been so normal about chapter 14 (lying) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silver-rings-and-rabbits · 5 months ago

Text

Open Heart 2 - Chapter 14

Returning to Normal

TW: This chapter references sexual assault

Rafael woke to the sound of birdsong. The room was light with the dawn and the outside world was quiet, except for the odd car driving past. Despite not sleeping until late, he felt better than he had in a long time though he suspected most of that was down to the fact Matthew was lying right beside him. Raf’s arm was dead where Matthew had been sleeping on it, but he didn’t care; if all Matthew needed was a long cuddle and a good night’s sleep, Raf would move heaven and earth to get him that.

The ringing of a phone interrupted the quiet. Matthew jerked, then scrambled out of bed to the dresser, where Raf had placed his belongings the night before when he showered. Rafael yelped as blood rushed back into his arm.

“’Ello?” Matthew said, blearily. “Oh, hi Sienna.”

Rafael reached over to turn on the bedside lamp, smiling as Matthew blinked in the sudden light. He was adorably confused and his hair was scruffy.

“Yeah, I’m OK. I went to Raf’s straight after the funeral.” Whatever Sienna said next made Matthew smile and blush. “Yeah we are.”

Rafael – still rubbing pins and needles out of his arm – pulled back the covers for Matthew to come back to bed. He did so, and instantly joined in rubbing his arm.

“Hang on…do you want to say hi?”

Matthew tapped the screen and held out the phone. Sienna’s voice came out the speakers: “Hi Raf!”

“Hi Sienna. Sorry I stole Matthew for the night.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I just wanted to check he was OK. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright now.” Raf squeezed closer to Matthew. “What about you?”

Sienna made a sound like she was trying not to cry. Matthew and Raf glanced at each other.

“Yesterday was hard,” Sienna sniffled. “But everyone says the worst is over so…I guess we just have to get through it.” She cleared her throat. “Jackie and Aurora are working today, Elijah and I have the day off. We were thinking about going to see Kyra later.”

“Do you need me to come home at all?” Matthew asked, uncertainly.

“No! God no, don’t hurry back on our account,” Sienna gasped. Raf felt slightly relieved. “You two should enjoy your day together, we’ll see you later. Sorry I called you in such a panic.”

“That’s OK. I’m sorry I didn’t text.”

The three of them said their goodbyes and Sienna hung up. Matthew placed the phone on the bedside table and turned to Raf, shifting enough to let him snuggle into his arms.

“Sorry about that,” he sighed. “Did it wake you?”

“No, I woke up a few minutes before. What time is it?”

“Just after seven. Do we have to get up?”

“Well, Vovó probably won’t be up for at least another hour…”

“Perfect. Is your arm OK?”

“Just a little numb, but it’s fine now.” He smiled. “You were worth it.”

Matthew chuckled and kissed Raf’s forehead. They didn’t say much else, just enjoying each other’s company in the sounds of the morning. Matthew loved how protective Raf's arms around him felt, but having Rafael curled into his chest turned out to be just as comforting. He kissed Raf again and smoothed his hair, hoping he could provide even a fraction of the sense of safety that Raf always brought him.

They stayed in that peaceful bubble until the minutes ticked over to 8AM when Raf stretched and smiled up at him.

“Are you hungry? Do you want breakfast?”

“That sounds great.”

Matthew noticed Raf moving cautiously as he got out of bed and changed into fresh clothes. He had spare clothes for Matthew to borrow; he was only a few inches taller than him after all.

Juliana’s door was still closed and Raf hesitated briefly before deciding not to wake her. It wasn’t just he and Matthew who’d been having sleep problems.

“What do you feel like?” Rafael asked as they entered the kitchen. “I don’t eat a huge amount at the moment, but Vovó always has a lot of food.”

“Woah.” Matthew had opened the fridge to find several stacks of egg boxes. Rafael chuckled.

“Dr Mirani suggested I up my protein and iron intake so Vovó went a bit overboard. You should see how much meat she has in the freezer.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Matthew said, reaching for a carton. “Scrambled eggs?”

“Sure.”

“Three eggs between us? What do you think?”

“That’s fine, we can always make more.”

Matthew went to break the eggs when Raf stopped him.

“Actually…can I cook? Vovó usually takes charge in the kitchen.”

“If you’d prefer.”

Matthew watched as Raf – still moving slowly and cautiously – broke and whisked three eggs in a bowl, then poured the mixture into a small pan.

“It’s not too much living with your grandma, is it?”

“No, no. She’s actually been very held-back. I think if she had her way, I’d be on 24/7 bedrest.” He smiled. “I have to remind her that I need to be regaining my independence, so if I get the chance to cook, I will.”

This was fine by Matthew, and he prepared toast and tea as Raf added small tomatoes and a selection of herbs to the pan. He kept glancing over at him, noticing how nice it was to see him just going about a mundane morning without the threat of him leaving, or someone else between them. Matthew wanted to hug him again…and then remembered he could.

“I forgot how affectionate you could sometimes get,” Rafael smiled, leaning back into Matthew’s touch as he hugged him from behind.

“Do you not like it? Because I can stop,” Matthew said, kissing Raf’s cheek. “Just say the word.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” Raf said, warmly. “I’m really happy to have you here.”

“Me too.”

Matthew squeezed him one more time and then let go for Raf to take the eggs off the heat and divide it between the toast slices. Taking their plates and mugs to the table, they sat down and clinked their mugs together before digging in. It tasted good, the herbs providing a burst of extra flavour, something Matthew had never thought to add to his own food when he cooked at home.

“Good morning you two.”

Juliana had just walked in, wrapped in a light purple dressing gown. She looked better than she had the night before and the two of them greeted her enthusiastically.

“Did you sleep OK?”

“Can we get you anything?”

“No, neither of you move,” She said, waving them off. “I can sort myself out. And yes, I slept quite well, thank you.” She started slicing up a grapefruit at the counter as Raf and Matthew finished their own breakfast. “By the way, Matthew, I put your clothes in the drier. I’ll run the iron over them and they’ll be good as new.”

“You don’t have to do that…”

“But I will.”

Raf squeezed Matthew’s hand under the table and whispered “Don’t fight it, she’s made up her mind.”

Juliana settled at the table and sprinkled sugar over her grapefruit.

“Will you be staying here for the rest of the day? Rafael’s parents will be coming over for dinner when they finish work. You’d be very welcome to join us.”

“That would be lovely, thanks,” Matthew said. “I should probably go back to roommates after though…can I visit again tomorrow?”

“Of course darling. You’re always welcome.”

She asked about his friends and the kind of work they did at the hospital, and when Matthew got to Bryce, Juliana laughed and said she had met him via video chat where he had flirted shamelessly and she had loved every minute.

“Do you have any plans today, Vovó?” Rafael asked.

“I had a haircut booked…and the car’s low on gas…I need to stock up some groceries too…”

“Good. You should go out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Do what you need to do. Catch up with some friends. You have a phone, we’ll call you if we need.”

Juliana’s ultimate faith in Matthew’s doctor skills prevailed and she agreed not to cancel her appointment. The boys went for a morning walk around the block, then started on a jigsaw puzzle on their return. Juliana joined in, between chapters of her book, until it was time to leave for her appointment.

Rafael sighed in relief when she left.

“That’s what I mean about her worrying over me too much. She already moved the haircut once since the attack, and she’s been avoiding taking the car where she can.”

“At least she’ll feel better having gone out and done it,” Matthew said. “Sometimes maintaining a normal routine is the best thing to do, for patients and carers. If Juliana feels better, you’ll feel better for her.”

“I know what you mean, you don’t need to explain,” Raf said, slightly amused. “You’re not supposed to be doctoring right now.”

“Tell that to Juliana,” Matthew teased.

The next couple of hours were fantastically normal. They worked on the thousand-piece puzzle until they got bored and moved to the couch, where Raf read a book whilst Matthew doodled in a spare notebook, and Raf eventually abandoned his reading to watch, fascinated, as Matthew effortlessly drew a cat sleeping in front of a fireplace.

“How’s Coco, by the way?” Matthew asked, remembering Raf’s old cat.

“She passed away over the summer.”

“Aaw, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s OK. She was very old. And we were with her at home.”

“Still, she was with you for so long…” Matthew said. He signed his drawing, then tore out the page and handed it to Raf. “You know you can always come over to play with Spooky if you need an animal companion.”

“Heh, thanks.”

They smiled at each other, then shared a slow, gentle kiss. Then another. Then another, picking up the pace. They kissed long and hard, until Raf was practically in Matthew’s lap. Raf’s hands ran along Matthew’s thighs as Matthew’s fingers tore through his hair. Excitement thrummed through Matthew’s body like electricity and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so keyed up.

“Wait,” Raf gasped. “Stop…”

“What’s wrong?!”

“I’m OK, I promise…just out of breath…Got a little dizzy…” Raf rested his head in the crook of Matthew’s neck. “Sorry…guess it’ll be a while before my stamina comes back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Matthew said. “Do you want to go back to bed for a while?”

“…All those stairs…”

Matthew laughed, then scooted to one end of the couch and balanced a cushion in his lap.

“Alright, lie down on me.”

“You’re the best,” Raf said, happily, resting his head in Matthew’s lap. As Matthew’s hand gently combed through his hair, his heartbeat started to slow, and he did soon find himself drifting into a peaceful doze.

Matthew sat back against the couch, watching him sleep and listening to the Brazilian pop music drifting from the kitchen radio. He was starting to get pins and needles in his legs but he had no intention of disturbing Raf, not when Raf had held him through the night. Besides, he looked too peaceful where he was.

He started when he heard the key in the door but when Juliana came in carrying a grocery bag, she just smiled and told him not to move before unpacking groceries and making them both some coffee.

“How are you doing?” Matthew asked.

“Today has been the best I’ve been since he was attacked,” Juliana said, sounding weary. “I almost collapsed when I first heard…stayed with my son for a little while. Rafael never wants me to see him in hospital, but I never felt that he was safe until he was home. It helps, knowing he’s got you around,” she added, sipping her coffee. “I’m so glad you could be there for him. When I heard that Sora left him the way he did…”

Her eyes narrowed and something close to fury flashed across her face. Matthew had never seen that side of her; it was terrifying.

“Juliana…I want you to know that I care about Rafael so much…”

“I know you do, darling.” Juliana’s anger had gone, instantly replaced with her grandmotherly smile. “He cares a lot about you too. When he came home from walking with you yesterday, he was holding his head higher, and his smile…I haven’t seen him smile like that in months.” She looked at Matthew trustingly. “I’m so glad you two found each other again.”

****

That evening, Raf and Matthew were sat at the kitchen table, being entertained by Raf’s family. Juliana was chastising Pablo for getting in her way in the kitchen, and Natalia was telling them about a time after she and Pablo had just moved in together. They had invited his parents for dinner, but she accidentally spilled cooking oil onto his leg. By the time Raf’s grandparents turned up, Pablo was in the bathtub, spraying cool water onto his burns.

“Of course, Juliana knew how to treat a burn and Bernardo helped me clean up in the kitchen,” Natalia laughed. “I felt awful at the time though, I wanted to cry. I thought his family would never want to see me again after that.”

“And yet here you are,” Matthew grinned.

“Dad has so much leg hair I’m surprised the oil actually came into contact with his skin,” Rafael quipped.

“Ah, you’re just jealous,” Pablo laughed, joining them at the table.

Juliana served a large dish of stew, explaining to Matthew it was made with prawns, vegetables, tomatoes and onions. It smelled amazing and tasted even better.

“How’s your mom doing, Matthew?” Pablo asked. “We didn’t get to see her when she visited the hospital, will she be back soon?”

“She will,” Matthew nodded. “She’ll be here for a few days over Christmas.”

“I always host the whole family for Christmas,” Juliana said. “You’re both very welcome to join.”

“Really? It won’t be too much?”

“Of course not! There’ll always be room for you.”

“Mãe loves to host parties,” Pablo chuckled as Rafael slipped his hand into Matthew’s and squeezed it. “What were the holidays like at home for you?”

“Pretty quiet actually, just me and my mom. Sometimes my uncle as well,” Matthew said. “It was difficult for a long time after my sister died, but we got through it. It will be nice to have Mom around again this year.”

He’d worked through Christmas last year and, even though Edenbrook made the best of it, he had worried that Holly was lonely. He had called her after his shift and she told him she had volunteered in a soup kitchen before spending the afternoon and evening with her brother.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear about your sister.”

Matthew nodded, and told them a little about Casey. Even though it was still sad to think about, talking about her kept her memory alive.

Conversation passed on to a lighter topic as Raf talked about his cousin – who he had almost moved in with in Brazil – wanted to come and see him in Boston. There were a lot of friends and family asking after him, and he still hadn’t got round to seeing everyone. He admitted it was extremely heart-warming to have so much support. Natalia almost cried.

****

Pablo dropped Matthew at his apartment that night, with his freshly-pressed memorial clothes in a bag and another tin of leftover food which his roommates happily dug into. Elijah reported that Kyra was in good spirits and already bored of bedrest. Jackie then said she had noticed Elijah chatting with the young woman who had moved in to the apartment across the hall in the summer, and thought she could sense some low-key flirting. Elijah shook his head. Sienna went quiet for a minute, then said to Elijah that he should go for it.

“You can flirt back and see what happens.”

“I think I’ve spoken to Phoebe four times in two months!”

“First name basis, which is more than the rest of us have got!”

Elijah brushed off more questions, so Sienna brought out a tin of freshly-baked cookies she’d made that morning. Elijah took the cookies, but pointed out it would take more than that to get him to talk. As they ate cookies and teased each other, Matthew thought he knew what Raf meant when he mentioned heart-warming support.

It continued that way for the next week. Matthew lived in some kind of bubble, where he only needed to think about balancing time in his apartment and time in Juliana’s house. Sometimes he would take a batch of Sienna’s cooking when he visited, which went down well. One evening he got Sienna herself on video chat and she ended up spending quite a long time talking to Juliana, who took a shine to her. Friends and family members would come by to see Rafael and were eager to meet Matthew, who they’d apparently heard so much about. Matthew was so pleased to be back in Rafael’s life that he didn’t care about anything else. Even the two of them spending an afternoon doing nothing was exciting. He would have been happy for time to freeze.

But, although the weather would freeze, time didn’t. Matthew found himself alone in the apartment one morning when his phone rang with an unrecognised number.

“Uh…hello?”

“Dr Valentine?”

“Speaking.”

Matthew started pacing the living room. It couldn’t be anyone from Edenbrook. He wasn’t supposed to return until next week.

“Ah, good. My name is Patrick Coleman, I’m a lawyer.”

Matthew swallowed. If it was to do with the attack, he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to talk about. Especially over the phone.

“I’ll keep this short. I understand you witnessed an altercation between Esme Ortega and Garrett Thorne at Donahue’s Bar on June fifteenth?”

Matthew stopped pacing.

“I was. What’s going on?”

“I will be representing Dr Ortega in a hearing against Dr Thorne and I would like it if you could give a witness statement from that night. Dr Ortega would also like for you to be present at the hearing, if you can. Can you get to Edenbrook Hospital for 10AM on December the fifth?”

“Uh, sure. I mean, of course. I can do both of those things,” Matthew gulped. He had told Esme she could call him if she needed, but she hadn’t. He wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t needed his help for work – especially whilst working under Zaid – but he was a little surprised she hadn’t said a single word about this. What exactly had happened in the hospital whilst he had been off? He wasn’t sure to return to work until December tenth, but he could come back to support Esme…right?

He took down Mr Coleman’s details, then carefully tried Esme’s phone. She answered quickly.

“Hey. Guess Mr Coleman got in touch.”

“Yeah. And, uh, what the hell?” He shook his head. “Sorry, I just mean…what’s going on? What did I miss? I did not expect a lawyer telling me my intern was going to trial.”

“Yeah, it happened kinda fast. I got his surgical shunt booked, and then he started giving me these weird looks and making little digs. Said I was going to ‘get what was coming to me’ and some shit about…’girls like me’.” Her pause was long enough for Matthew to wonder what she wasn’t telling him. “It kept going on, right until he got prepped for surgery. Then, when Dr Emery came to check up on him after the surgery, the idiot was talking about it in his sleep. She got the full story out of me and then reported him to the board. Next thing I know, I’m meeting Mr Coleman and preparing for a hearing.”

“Holy crap,” Matthew breathed. “But…that’s good, right? He can finally face consequences for what he did.”

“Hmm. Except he has power, and money, and I’ve only been an intern for half a year, so who is the board more likely to listen to?”

“OK, you’re not wrong. But you’ve got Harper Emery on your side, and I can’t think of someone the board might respect more. Have you asked Dr Ramsey? He was at Donahue’s too.”

“Yeah, he’s leaving a statement. So are Zaid and Ines, and I’m asking Dr Varma and Dr Trinh.”

“Really? I didn’t think you guys were close.”

“We’re not, not really. But I did some investigating and he’s been rude to them too. Just comments about how women shouldn’t be doctors, but they were willing to help, and they’re all hoping to see him go down. Besides…I kinda need all the support I can get.”

Matthew smiled a little.

“You know I’m providing a statement, and I’ll be there to support you. I told you you’ll need a support system.”

“I didn’t think a hearing would count.”

“Neither did I.”

“Sorry to bring trouble for you, Dr Valentine.”

“We’re not at the hospital, you can call me Matthew. And you’re not bringing me trouble. Besides…I was referring to my first year.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t repeat what I’m about to tell you but…have you ever heard of Mrs Martinez?”

“That was you?!”

Matthew suddenly laughed. Of course she had heard hospital gossip.

“No way!” Esme was saying. “Like, a bunch of my intern class were talking about it and said they wished they could be there to see it. Did you really punch the board in the face?”

“Uh, no. But it probably would have been less painful for them."

****

On the morning of the tenth of December, Matthew was stood outside Edenbrook, dressed in a smart suit and a thick coat. There was something imposing about the building. It had once become something of a second home, which was odd for a hospital, but it was deeply familiar and allowed him to mostly forget his problems. Now it seemed too big, and the cloudy day made the glass too shadowy. He couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting up to the seventh floor where he knew the diagnostics office was…

“Dr Valentine?”

Matthew turned to see Esme, looking slightly awkward and stiff in her own suit, walking towards him.

“It’s good to see you, Esme. How are you doing?”

“God, I don’t know. Last night I felt kind of positive about it, but then I woke up this morning and didn’t know what to think.”

“You’ve done all you can do. Remember there are people here who believe you’ve done nothing wrong. And you know what? You haven’t done anything wrong.” He reached out and squeezed Esme’s shoulder. “You’re a good doctor. You deserve a good career. You’ll make it through today.”

Esme nodded and took a deep breath.

“Thanks. I have to wait for Mr Coleman, but you should probably go ahead.”

Matthew wished Esme luck as he left her in the parking lot and walked through the doors. The lights of the atrium were harsh, and the smell of clinical cleaning suddenly burned his nostrils in a way that it never had before. He glanced at the stairs, and then over to the emergency exit, and then over to the atrium doors. He relaxed a tiny bit when he spotted Jackie and Sienna. They waved him over without hesitation.

“I’m so glad you made it!” Sienna said, linking her arm through his. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” Matthew said. “Esme needs me here, so I’m here.”

“At least this time you don’t have to say anything,” Jackie said. “If you’re ready, shall we go in?”

The three of them found seats in the third row. It was odd being back here, remembering how nervous he felt to be standing at the podium facing a panel. But he had been facing the consequences of stealing medication for unauthorised use on a patient. Esme had done nothing wrong.

Other doctors were filing in – a lot of women – and then Thorne came down the steps accompanied by a man in a smart suit who must have been his lawyer. They sat on one side of the first row. Thorne had tried to make a good impression by wearing a smart suit of his own but he sat with an air of impatience, as if he were attending as a formality and expected to return to work immediately.

Esme entered after that, accompanied by presumably Mr Coleman. He was short and grey haired, but as they sat down he said something to Esme that made her shoulders relax. She glanced around at the doctors who were filling out the atrium, giving a tiny smile when she spotted Matthew a few rows back. He returned it, glad that he was here for her.

The medical board, including Chief Banerji, filled out their seats at the head of the room and called for silence for the hearing to begin.

“Thank you all for coming today. This hearing has been called to investigate reports of inappropriate conduct from Dr Garrett Thorne to Dr Esme Ortega, as well as a history of misconduct of a sexual nature.”

Naveen kept his face smooth as he spoke, but Matthew crossed his fingers that he was secretly on Esme’s side.

Naveen continued, “On June fifteenth, Dr Ortega was sat alone in Donahue’s Bar looking at her phone when Dr Thorne approached her. He attempted to initiate conversation with Dr Ortega, who was not receptive, and then placed his hand on her back. Dr Ortega slammed his hand on the table, breaking it, and in retaliation Dr Thorne pushed her to the floor. As she fell, Dr Ortega knocked into a table which resulted in a leg injury from the broken glass.”

“That is correct,” Mr Coleman confirmed. He stood and gave a character assessment for Esme: that she was a solitary person who preferred to stay in studying rather than socialising. This had been confirmed by the statements of Edenbrook staff – who didn’t find Esme to be particularly talkative, and was very direct in her speech, and she tended to drink alone if she was at Donahue’s – as well as statements received from old med school classmates – she had mostly kept to herself back then too.

When he was done, Dr Thorne’s lawyer – Mr Jason Acton – talked of how Thorne was a good, established doctor, who had many friends and contacts in all kinds of international hospitals, and who had a reputation amongst patients as being good at his job, with remarkably positive feedback from satisfied patients whose “lives had changed” following a plastic surgery procedure at his hand. Thorne looked infuriatingly smug as Mr Acton sat down. Naveen had a grave expression as he started reading through character assessments of Thorne from Edenbrook staff, and the smugness slowly ebbed away from Thorne’s face.

Most of the male doctors had written that Thorne was good at his job and he was either a good guy, entitled, obnoxious, or they didn’t know him well enough to comment. Female doctors had told a different story. Accusations ranged from sexist comments about how women shouldn’t be working, especially as doctors, to outright sexual harassment. The worst one was a resident from before Matthew’s time who wrote in detail about a residency that had been overshadowed by Thorne’s presence; he would corner her and make lewd comments, touched her inappropriately when no one was around and sometimes discretely when people were around, all the while making comments that he was an attending, she was a resident and nobody cared what she had to say. The woman had made passing her boards and leaving Edenbrook her number one priority.

This statement was met with sounds of disgust around the room and Naveen had to call for order, still maintaining his neutral expression. Then Esme was called up to speak.

“Dr Ortega, please describe in your own words what happened that night in Donahue’s.”

Esme licked her lips, her gaze darting round the room for a second before settling back to the panel.

“It was the night before I started my residency at Edenbrook. I wasn’t tired so decided to go to Donahue’s; I’d heard people raving about it. I went alone, and when I was there I didn’t speak with anyone except to order a drink. I was sitting at a table, drinking a beer, when this older doctor – Dr Thorne – approached. I didn’t look at him, but felt like I was being stared at. He started asking who I was and where I worked. And then he asked why I was alone and said he could change that.”

“And what did you say in response?”

“I just said ‘pass’.”

“What happened after that?”

“He called me uptight and said another drink would loosen me up. Then he touched my back…he started at the back of my shoulders and then slid his hand down.”

Esme couldn’t keep her scowl off her face. Naveen nodded, gravely.

She was asked more about her personal life, the panel probing into her dating life specifically, even though Esme didn’t have very much to tell. She wasn’t interested, she said. The idea of sex seemed uncomfortable and romance made her cringe. Matthew thought it must have been humiliating to have to answer those sorts of questions in front of a room full of people, all silently judging everything you do, but Esme stood firm. She remembered what Matthew had told her: she hadn’t done anything wrong. She spoke facts, just getting through the day. He was proud of her. The only time it got tense was when she was asked about her relationship with her parents. Esme just said she hadn’t spoken to them for a long time. The question wasn’t brought up again.

“We have these screenshots of messages sent on social media between you and one Dr Mitch Keller,” Naveen said, shuffling through some paper. “Perhaps you could clarify the meaning?”

Mitch had tracked down Esme’s pictogram and started messaging her with some cheesy pick-up lines. Sienna groaned.

“They were sent after my intern class had had a good work day. I wouldn’t have gone out with everyone but my resident offered to take my cases for me. I hadn’t gone out with my intern class before then, and I had barely spoken to Mitch since our first day. We all got some drinks and then when I got home, I found that he had messaged me through Picta.”

“Are these the messages you see here?”

“Yes. I thought he had got too drunk and it was pretty funny at first. But then it got slightly annoying, so I started phasing out the conversation in the hope he would get the message.”

“May I ask why you chose to ‘phase out’ the conversation?”

“We’d just had a good night out and I wasn’t sure if he was just being friendly. Like I said, I thought he was drunk and being too harsh might have ruined that.” She bit her lip. “I felt like I had started making some friends with the interns and didn’t want to ruin it straight away.”

Esme was dismissed and she sat down heavily beside Mr Coleman, who briefly touched her shoulder in reassurance.

“Poor girl,” Jackie muttered.

“Dammit Mitch,” Sienna sighed.

Thorne was then called up to describe his perspective on the situation, where he calmy described himself making polite conversation and nothing more than a friendly pat on the back, which was when he was attacked. In his shock, he had stumbled into Esme, accidentally pushing her down. Jackie gripped Sienna’s hand, trying to stay calm.

“Dr Thorne,” Naveen said. “We have received CCTV footage of the incident, provided by Reggie Hughes, owner of Donahue’s itself. Please tell us what you’re seeing.”

Thorne peered at the small screen of the tablet.

“Well…I’ve, uh, put my hand on her back, and she’s certainly broken it. I wore a brace for weeks. And then…I step towards her and…ah, yes, I tried to diffuse the situation but slipped.”

More muttering around the atrium, but no one could claim he was outright lying when no one else had seen the footage.

Harper’s jaw was set when she walked up to the witness stand. She stood tall and powerful, never one to be bullied into submission.

“Dr Emery, you recently performed a surgical shunt on Dr Thorne. What happened after that?”

“I went to the patients recovery room to monitor any indications of complications. I could see the anaesthetic was starting to wear off; he was stirring slightly. Then he started to speak and I heard the words ‘bitch made a fool out of me’. I asked what he meant by that, even though I didn’t expect an answer, but then he said ‘bitch broke my hand’. He was referring to when Dr Ortega broke his hand back in June.”

“Were you aware it was Dr Ortega at the time?”

“No, but I had heard rumours that one of the interns was in trouble already, so I asked around other plastic surgeons for what they knew. It didn’t take long to figure out it was Dr Ortega: she was the one who had diagnosed him, and for some reason he had been angry about that.”

“For some reason…?”

“Dr Thorne has historically hated interns, both medical and surgical. My guess is he couldn’t stand the fact one had proven him wrong.”

There was a splutter from Dr Thorne’s side of the room. Matthew smirked.

“Dr Emery, could you please tell us what happened after that?”

“I spoke with Dr Ortega privately and she told me that Dr Thorne had come on to her at Donahue’s. She said ‘pass’ and he put his hand on her back in a suggestive manner, which was when she slammed it into the table. She said that, in retaliation, he had pushed her down and she got cut on some broken glass. She then told me that, as she was booking in a surgical shunt, Dr Thorne had been making comments towards her that included describing Dr Ortega as, and I quote, ‘a stuck-up little bitch’ and ‘someone who needed to learn her place’. He also said no one refused him and he would always got what he wanted.”

Harper looked extremely uncomfortable as she recounted this last part, and Esme was sat with her head down, her hair parting to reveal the nape of her neck. Thorne kept his expression smooth when Matthew was called up to give his statement.

“Please describe how it is to work with Dr Ortega as her resident?” Naveen asked, after Matthew had described what he had seen at Donahue’s.

“She’s a good, smart doctor, and a fast learner. I can trust her to do her job well, and that she’ll page me when she needs.”

“And outside of work?”

“We don’t speak much outside of work. Dr Ortega prefers to keep to herself.”

Zaid was after Matthew, talking about how he noticed Esme took her work seriously and preferred studying to socialising. Ines agreed, adding that she had been a little concerned that Esme wouldn’t have the support she needed to start her career, but her outcomes spoke for itself; she could stand on her own two feet. Matthew was starting to feel a little optimistic for Esme, but there were still a few doctors siding with Thorne, keeping him on edge.

There was a tense silence as the panel discussed what they had heard, then Naveen stood and asked for Esme and Thorne, and their lawyers, to join them for a private discussion. They called for the hearing to resume in fifteen minutes.

“Damn, this is heavy,” Jackie groaned, sinking into her seat. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“I feel like it’s too close to tell,” Matthew said. “Honestly, I think Esme’s support has the edge, but…”

“Thorne has age, power, money and male-ness on his side?” Jackie said. “No offence, Matthew.”

“None taken.”

“He has to face consequences for this,” Sienna groaned. “Harper and Ethan are huge names in Edenbrook, and Dr Banerji’s fair. They have to see through his sliminess.”

“What do you think about Mitch messaging Esme?” Jackie asked.

“I guess I can’t do anything about it now, but he’d better have got the message that she’s not interested.” She shook her head firmly. “I can’t think too much about that right now.”

Matthew leaned over to her. “Are you OK?”

“…Not really. I’ll tell you later.”

“Sienna…”

“No, I mean it. If I think about it too much now, I’ll get mad.”

Worry balled in Matthew’s stomach, Jackie looked slightly suspicious, but they both dropped it. Jackie said she was going to stretch her legs, and came back with three cups of coffee as the panel returned. The room quietened instantly.

“Given what we have just heard, Mr Acton has advised that Dr Thorne would like to settle the matter.”

“Huh. He must have realised he was in more trouble than he thought and decided to quit while ahead,” Jackie muttered. Thorne was looking irritated, and Matthew was inclined to agree with Jackie.

“All things considered, the panel has voted in favour of Dr Ortega.”

Sudden applause burst through the auditorium as Esme sat back in her seat. Her shoulders had loosened and Mr Coleman gave her a quick smile. Matthew grinned, though he noticed Dr Cyrus and Dr Rosario looking slightly annoyed.

Naveen called for silence before carrying on with his speech.

“It has been agreed that Dr Thorne will settle with Dr Ortega and will be on suspension for six months.”

“Six months? That’s it?” Sienna groaned.

“That must have been his fancy lawyers talking. At least Naveen doesn’t look particularly happy about that bit,” Jackie sighed. “Still…a million bucks. Esme’s set for life.”

Matthew stayed in his seat as the auditorium started filing out. Thorne stormed out as soon as he could with Mr Acton hurrying after him. Esme gave Mr Coleman a firm handshake. The panel packed up and left. The auditorium was half empty when Matthew approached Esme, who was smiling.

“Are you alright?” he asked her. “It must have been rough to be up there.”

“To be honest, it was,” Esme said. “Especially when they were asking about my relationship history. But…I’m happy with this outcome. It would be great if Thorne was walking out the door forever, but I figured that was highly unlikely.”

“So, what happened in the intermission? You don’t have to tell me.”

“Thorne earns two million dollars a year – I know,” she added, when Matthew’s eyebrows shot up. “And apparently he has a bunch of investments, so Acton strongly suggested he settle with - get this - one million dollars."

"Holy crap!!"

"I know! Acton saw it as good enough for me to be satisfied, whilst remaining something Thorne could recover from. He was good at arguing about what a great surgeon he was and how Edenbrook literally couldn’t afford to lose him, so the panel argued for a while and then eventually agreed on the suspension.”

“I take it not all the panel were on your side?”

“Cyrus, Rosario and Lozoya were in favour of Thorne.”

“Lozoya? Seriously?”

“Yeah, she disappointed me too. But…honestly, a million dollars is life-changing…”

Matthew nodded towards the door.

“Wanna get out of here? My apartment’s in walking distance if you want to stop for a coffee.”

“That actually sounds good.”

Twenty minutes later, Matthew was safely back in his kitchen pouring out some coffee. Esme was admiring his apartment.

“What’s that big stain on the ceiling?”

“I don’t know. We’d rather not find out.” Matthew handed her a cup and she curled her fingers round it. “Anyway, enough about my apartment. Today was big.”

“I’m honestly just glad it’s over.”

She was biting her lip. Matthew waited. She would speak when she was ready.

“It’s just…”

“Yes?”

“When the panel were asking me about my sex life…that was gross.”

“Have you had…bad experiences or anything?”

“No, just that the idea of sex has always kind of creeped me out, regardless of who does it. Everyone seemed to be going at it in med school and no one seemed to understand why I didn’t like it. Honestly, I just wanted to study and talk about literally anything else. The idea that they would call me a liar…” she trailed off, uncharacteristically upset. As she blinked tears out of her eyes, Matthew reached out to gently touch her arm.

“I can imagine,” he said softly. “But, they did believe you. Over half the people in that room were on your side. And to top it off, you may not need to worry about money again.”

“I know,” Esme sniffed. She wiped her eyes. “God, it’s stupid. Seeing five doctors on the panel take my side was really uplifting…”

“Are you overwhelmed?” Matthew asked, and Esme nodded.

“I guess…certainly since the thing happened with my parents…I’ve learned not to get too close to people and they don’t seem to care…it’s nice to see that people will do the right thing.”

“It is.”

They were quiet for a few minutes as Esme slowly collected herself.

“Thanks for being here, Matthew,” she said. “You’re a cool resident. I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Me too. And you’re very welcome.” Sensing a calmer atmosphere, Matthew tried a question. “Have you any idea what you might do with that million dollars?”

“It doesn’t even seem real. I don’t want to think about it until it’s confirmed. I mean, I could pay off my med school debt.”

“Do that. Don’t take it lightly,” Matthew said. “I think I’ve still got about $90k.” It made his brain spin to think about, and he had to take several mouthfuls of coffee. He wasn’t sure it helped.

“…Matthew?”

“Sorry, did you say something?”

“I just wondered when you were returning to work properly.”

“Uh…the tenth.”

Now that Matthew thought about, the date had completely snuck up on him. He’d barely considered his return to work, too caught up in having Rafael back, their recovery, all the time he spent with his family. It already seemed like forever since he had last seen him, when it had only been a day. Reality started to dawn on him; back to the hospital for twelve hours a day without the comfort of Raf’s company. He would be alone in the hospital. Matthew placed his half-empty coffee cup on the table. He didn’t fancy it so much anymore.

He put on a brave face as he saw Esme out the door. She had a lot of thinking to do. Matthew wanted to do some less thinking, and he wanted to call Raf, but then he noticed Farley in the hallway.

“Uh…Matthew?”

“Er…hi, Farley.”

Matthew hovered awkwardly in the doorway. As landlords go, Farley wasn’t so bad. Apart from jacking up the price of an apartment at the last minute, he was lax about everything else: house parties until a certain curfew, a small pet as long as it didn’t cause too much damage and they would clean up after it. Not to mention that, apart from sending flowers, Farley had returned their rent for the month after the attack.

“Thanks for the flowers and everything.”

“No problem. I just figured it was the least I could do.” He reached up to scratch his ear. “Sounds awful, what you went through.”

“Where’d you get that rash?”

Farley’s sleeve had slipped down a bit to reveal a small circular rash on the inside of his wrist.

“Umm…it came up a few days ago I think. It doesn’t itch much or anything.”

Matthew continued staring at the rash. Maybe it was nothing, just something ordinary like a bug bite. But Matthew knew all too well how even the most non-descript things could turn at the drop of the hat.

“You should get it looked at soon,” he said, but Farley shook his head.

“I can’t. My insurance isn’t great and last month ended up being a bit tight. Car trouble and broken boilers and things. I can’t risk a massive medical bill.”

“Edenbrook has a free clinic…”

“Free examinations, not treatment. Can’t risk it.”

Matthew pictured the rash spreading slowly across Farley’s wrist. He pictured it changing colour, burning him, becoming infected and weeping pus.

“I could help with that,” he said, suddenly. Farley blinked at him,

Matthew swallowed as he realised where he was taking this conversation. Farley needed help. Matthew held the solution. It was why he became a doctor after all…and he couldn’t risk someone else suffering needlessly because of undue hesitation.

He steeled himself and looked Farley in the eye.

“I’m part of a team that has a little more freedom than the rest of the hospital. If you agree to come in with me today I could have my boss treat you pro bono. It won’t cost you a cent.”

“Wow…seriously?” Farley gaped. “I mean…I guess I’ve got nothing else on this afternoon so, what the hell, let’s do it.”

Farley sat in the living room as Matthew quickly changed into his standard work clothes. A new white coat had been sent to his apartment and it felt oddly stiff to wear. Once he was ready, he called Rafael.

“Hey Matthew! How did the hearing go?”

“Yeah, it ended pretty well. But I’m actually calling about something else.” He quickly explained he had an unexpected patient and needed to return to work a few days early. Raf was stunned and kept asking Matthew if he was sure.

“Look, Raf, all I’m sure about is that I have a patient who needs me and I can’t let him down. And maybe I’m not a hundred percent sure about going back today but there’s no guarantee I’ll be a hundred percent by the time my official start date rolls around.”

“OK, OK. Just…take care of yourself, alright? And call me again whenever you need.”

Matthew smiled. “I will.”

Tags: @sazanes @rafasgirl23415 @ceruleansnake0

#playchoices #open heart #rafael aveiro #mc x rafael aveiro

1 note · View note

just-bible-musings · 2 years ago

Text

A word that I really wish Christians would stop using is "deserve." The idea of "deserving" something is such a human construct. Look at this:

What a stupid idea. Like, the first thing Christians are taught to say when they try to witness and tell people about salvation is "you don't deserve to go to heaven." And being a Christian, I get it, I get what they mean, they mean "you can't earn the right to go to heaven." And that's true! You can't! "Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me." (John 14:6) No amount of good deeds gets you into heaven, that's just facts.

But the word "deserve" has garnered such a bad reputation. It conjures up the notion that if anything bad happens to you, you did something to earn it; and likewise, if anything good happens, you did something to earn that, too. Normally, this isn't a terrible idea- but I know I'm not the only one who's had a life that in no way resembled anything "normal." I've been told my whole life that I didn't even deserve to be alive, I didn't deserve to be born.

YES, I DO DESERVE TO BE ALIVE!!!! And you wanna know why? Because God made me! He wanted me to be alive, so I am! And no one has the right to tell me I shouldn't be!

And working from this POV, yes, we all do "deserve" heaven, because God wants us to be with Him in heaven. That's why He sent Jesus to die and rise again for us, God sent His Son to show us the way to heaven because we can't get there on our own.

The KJV (which is the only version I read, and I have my reasons for that) only uses some form of the word "deserve" twice, in Ezra 9:13 and Job 11:6. And in both cases, it says (and I'm paraphrasing here) that God has given us less than our iniquities (our sins, the bad things we do) deserve. The only way that I can accept the word "deserve" is to say that sin deserves death (Romans 6:23). That's why we all die, because we all sin. And that's why we can't get to heaven on our own.

But what's interesting in both of those verses with the word "deserve" is that God doesn't say WE deserve the punishment of death, He says our INIQUITIES deserve it. It's just that because everything we do becomes a part of who we are, that's why we do get punishment for the things we do.

There's a whole chapter of John that deals with this idea, John 9. Jesus healed a man who had been born blind. And His own disciples had this ingrained notion that the man must have sinned, or his parents had sinned, to cause him to be born blind. And Jesus had to tell them flat out that it doesn't work that way. And when the man went to the Temple to worship, the Pharisees turns him out and refused to listen to him because they thought, "you were born blind! You must have sinned in the womb!" What kind of idiotic arrogance thinks that a fetus can sin?!?

And I'm going to stop talking now because there's a whole bunch of theology that can come into play here, and questions that arise that I don't have answers to because I, myself, am still demanding answers from God about why my life was the way it was, why my family members' live were the way they were. But I know we didn't "deserve" the bad things that happened, because we did nothing to earn it. I don't honestly know why God allows all the bad things that happen, and I can give the same pat answer every preacher gives of "oh, it's because there's sin in the world," and yes, that's true, sin corrupted the world and wrecked every human being that ever lived (except Jesus), but that's not the least bit comforting when you're lying on the floor, bleeding and bruised, and your mind is just screaming "WHY???"

But I know that nobody "deserves" the weird, bad things that happen to them, because that's not what God wants for us, that's not what He ever wanted for us.

So my point is: can Christians PLEASE just wipe the word "deserve" out of our vocabularies? It's a horrible word that is almost always used in unbiblical ways, and usually just hurts people (and pushes them away from God) when we do.

#Bible reference #my opinion #salvation

0 notes

captain039 · 3 years ago

Text

The gods with us PT 14

Moon knight x reader

Warnings: anxiety and depression, mental issues, smut, tension, intimacy, age gap, PTSD, trauma, hurt/comfort, oral f receiving

Last chapter <-

It had been a couple of days since the bath incident, couple of days since he said you were his girl. He had been messaging you, well Steven mostly, Marc wasn’t one for messaging apparently. They were trying to deal with Jake, you understood why they needed to be away to do it but somehow you wished you could help them. You hoped they weren’t doing anything foolish and Khonshu wasn’t being a dick head.

You were lying on your bed sorting through your bills when suddenly Bastet showed up.

“Hey” you said like it was a friend popping over.

“Hey” she purred making you tilt your head and raise your eyebrow.

“So I am knower and keeper of womens secrets” she began.

“Hm?” You said crossing your arms.

“And may have dropped by accidentally intruding a rather ‘intimate’ moment in Stevens apartment” you flushed furiously glaring at her as she giggled.

“You-“ you growled throwing a pillow at her that she caught.

“Though I only saw you in the tub you looked rather uncomfortable, he didn’t do anything you didn’t want?” She said eyes narrowing.

“If he did I will-“ she went off in a rage about the many ways to torture and kill him over and over.

“Bas!” You said and she looked to you.

“He apologised for what he did more than once, he covered himself and me and apologised, sat me on the bed and knelt in front of me and apologised again” you said and she relaxed.

“Well then” she said.

“He said I was his perfect girl” you muttered and she gasped a noise of happiness leaving her. She sat down cross legged on your bed.

“Steven loves my thighs” you flushed and she nodded smirking.

“Does he know” she wiggled her eyebrows.

“Shut up!” You huffed crossing your arms.

“and Marc said I was his perfect girl” you mumbled and she snapped her head.

“Oh that man’s smitten” she laughed.

“Oh, that’s adorable” she fiddling with her necklace as she spoke.

“So what was that lying on Khonshus lap?” You asked and she tensed.

“I am not giver of secrets” she muttered.

“Mhm” you raised an eyebrow as she pursed her lips.

“Come on” you urged smirking.

“He’s my half brother” she said and you froze.

“That I did not expect” you muttered.

“When I was a ‘younger’ god Khonshu would stroke my head to calm me down” she sighed.

“Nobody ever knew, except for you now” she muttered eyes saddening.

“I won’t tell anyone, I’m sorry to bring it up” you apologised.

“It’s ok, as a good you tend to move straight to your own thing” she sighed lying down on your bed.

“Tell me, you still haven’t left your mothers den? Why’s that?” She asked curiously and you faltered.

“I uh-“ you stopped typing.

“I’m not good on my own, despite being on my own in my room a lot I don’t like being alone in a house, I’m not good at keeping things clean or taking care of myself” you said sadly.

“And moving away just-“ you clenched your jaw, trying hold back tears.

“I need someone to depend on” you finished continuing your typing.

“I don’t think I could handle all this world by myself” you shrugged.

“I understand” she said and you looked to her. Her hands rested behind her head as she stared at the ceiling.

“I supposed if I was a normal human with a normal family I wouldn’t leave my den either” she said looking to you.

“Must be extremely difficult being a goddess” you said and she sighed dramatically.

“You have no idea” she smiled.

You sent a goodnight text to Steven before settling in for the night. You fell asleep rather quickly considering your difficulties to sleep. You awoke though to your phone ringing, you forgot to turn it on silent. You groaned and picked it up mumbling an answer.

“I’m sorry sweetheart to wake you, but can you come over?” You frowned at Marc’s voice.

“Yeah, yeah um” you slowly stood wondering how the hell you were gonna get there.

“Just give me a minute” you put him on speaker and put a bra and hoodie on along with shoes. You already had long plain black pants on so it didn’t matter.

“Is there busses at this time?” You muttered more to yourself.

“I’ll get you there” Bastet said.

“Oh, cool” you shrugged not really awake. Your world shifted and you were at Stevens apartment building. You pressed the button and the door opened. You waited for the elevator only to have Marc in there.

“Hey, what’s up-“ he cut you off, arms going tightly around you. He was shaking and your worry set in quickly. You checked him over for wounds before holding him tightly.

“Marc?” You asked softly but, got no answer. You stayed like that for a minute, his shaking slowly stopping and his grip loosening.

“What happened?” You asked pushing him back so you could see his face. His face softened and Steven frowned slightly.

“We- we had a nightmare” he muttered and your heart broke.

“It wasn’t normal though” he added jaw clenched.

“Gods it wasn’t normal” he shook his head and hung it. You placed your hand on the back of his neck and left him lean against your shoulder.

“It’s alright, you’re alright, wasn’t real, I know it probably felt real though” you said sadly and he nodded slightly.

“Let’s get back to your apartment ok?” You said and he nodded following you inside like a puppy. You got to his floor and saw his door left open he must’ve ran down out. You made sure he was inside and locked the door before checking around. Nothing wasn’t out of place or broken, it was just a nightmare.

“I’m sorry” you heard Marc say as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t you ever apologise for needing someone” you said hands on your hips.

“I will always be there if I can” you said walking over to him. You cupped his cheeks so he looked up at you. His hands rested on your hips.

“Bastet actually got me here that’s why I got here quickly” you said and he smiled slightly.

“Khonshu wouldn’t do that” he muttered.

“I know” you grinned stroking his cheek. He hadn’t shaved in a few days you think.

“But don’t hesitate ever to call me even if you wake me up I don’t care, I’ll just be a little slow is all” you shrugged.

“Ok?” You said.

“Ok” he nodded making you nod and lean down to kiss his forehead. You sat by him in silence for a while, if he wanted to talk he can.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m not leaving till I know you’re ok” you said.

“When did you become so confident” he said a lopsided grin on his face making you huff.

“Shut up” you said as he chuckled and pressed his lips to yours briefly. It still stunned you, you suppose it would for a while, probably every time it happens. He stayed closed, eyes hooded as he looked over your face.

“What?” You chuckled a lazy smile gracing his lips.

“Nothing” he muttered kissing you again. You tensed up but in a good way and closed your eyes. It was slow and meaningful, he tugged you with him, and you just moved where he wanted. He set you in his lap making you gulp and pull back nervously. You held yourself up awkwardly the best you could do you didn’t squish him. Hands stiffly on his shoulders. He held your arms gently pushing them so your hands were behind him, body resting on your arms instead of hands. His hand gripped your knee in the fold and tugged you closer. You lost your balance and sat on him fully, chests together as he looked at you. His hands returned to your waist and you took in a shaky breath.

“You won’t break me” he muttered.

“Or hurt me” he added kissing you passionately. You moaned, surprised that you could make that noise. He wrapped his arms around you making sure you were pressed against him. You moved your arms, slipping your fingers up his neck and into his hair. You tugged gently as his tongue swiped your lips asking for entrance. You opened your mouth slightly but that’s all he needed, tongue circling with yours. You whimpered softly breathing heavily through your nose before you had to pull back and breathe. You panted loudly his forehead against yours, noses brushing together. You kissed him again though not caring you hadn’t fully caught your breath. He groaned, the noise making your body heat up. Your hips moved on their own, grinding down onto his body, you caught yourself doing it and stopped a small noise coming from your throat as you pulled back. You shook your head feeling tears in your eyes as he hushed you.

“It’s ok” he whispered pressing gentle kisses over your face. You shook your head though it wasn’t ok.

“It’s not” you said fisting your hands on his shirt.

“Why is it not?” He asked tilting his head.

“Because I want this!” You cried leaning your forehead against his again.

“I want this so bad” you mumbled.

“Then take it” he murmured, voice deep.

“I cant” you mumbled.

“Why not?” He asked.

“I just can’t, I don’t even know why you kiss me, this” you sobbed.

“Because I want this” he said and you stilled slightly.

“I want all this” he added.

“I want to kiss you every morning and every damn time I see you, I want to touch you, run my hands over your body, I wanna feel you on me, I want to taste you” his words were making you wet, you could feel heat in your underwear. He was breathing heavily, hands clutching your hips. You nodded slowly and he pressed his lips to yours again.

“I’ve got you” he whispered.

He lifted you with him making you hang on tightly before you were laid down on the bed. You shuffled upwards as did he, his lips on yours again.

“I’ve got you” he repeated hands snaking up your hoodie. His hand stilled under your breast and you nudged it up with your own hand. He squeezed gently groaning into your mouth as he felt you. His other hand held him up, but he rested back on his knees taking both hands to your hoodie and tugging gently. You sat up with him and he took it off your head. His eyes almost shined in the dark as he stared at your naked chest. You wanted to cover up but he quickly kissed you again, intertwining your fingers with his above your head.

“I got you” he mumbled kissing down your neck, hands leaving yours to run over your body, he squeezed and soothed your flesh with his hands while his mouth nipped and sucked at your flesh. He kissed down the middle of your chest before looking up at you. You flushed looking down, before looking away as his mouth latched onto your nipple. You bit the back of your hand trying to not let embarrassment fuel your mind, or anxiety. He was moaning softly tongue swirling around your nipple before he let go. He panted before going to your other one, giving it the same treatment with his tongue before he soothed it with a kiss. He shuffled lower, kissed along your stomach before hooking his fingers on your pants and underwear. You lifted your hips up and he slid them both off and threw them on the floor. He sat back on his heels this time and you held your arm over your eyes, clutching your thighs together.

“Look at me” he said voice surprisingly soft. You did after a while, his mouth was open, his eyes raked down your body and up again. He slid his shirt off and untied his pants before leaning back down to kiss your hips. You closed your eyes again feeling his warm breath by your mound. You tensed your thighs together, but his hands held them gently pushing them apart.

“Come on baby” he whispered and you relaxed your legs. He made a small groan noise as he opened your legs, his mouth pressing against your inner thighs, hands gripping your flesh tightly.

“I’ve got you” he muttered tongue swiping across your folds. You made a surprised noise going to close your legs but he held them open. His nose nudged against your nub while his tongue parted your folds and licked. You were shaking, from the feelings, the emotions coursing through you, the sheets were being held tightly as he ate you out. He hummed and nudged with his nose before his tongue slid in your entrance. Your back arched and you bit the back of your arm.

“I wanna hear baby” he said voice husk. You slowly lowered your arm eyes opening to look down. His hand rested on your stomach, open and you took it holding it tightly. You moaned the sounds new to you, the feelings new to you. Your thigh without his hand was squeezing on his head without you meaning too. You tried to stop but he kept going quicker with his pace, you were panting harshly, gripping his hand tightly. You were close but not quite pushed over the edge every time he sped up. You felt your hand move, rubbing yourself to find release.

“Good girl” he encouraged and you arched your back quickening your pace to match his.

“Marc” you said brokenly as you felt yourself come. You tensed whole body stopping before pulsing. He still ate you out hungrily the sensations overstimulating.

“Marc-“ you broke off in a moan trying to get him to stop. You shook his hand as he slowed and stopped. You felt your body go to jelly as you panted, you looked to him, his mouth and chin glistening with your juices. You flushed furiously as he let go of your hand and wiped his mouth. He licked his hand, making your stomach clench and eyes widened. He crawled back up your body, pressing sweet kisses on your face before lying on his side. You were shaking and too weak to move yourself. Marc put his arm under your head and held you, hand resting on your stomach. You managed to role on your side hiding under him as your cheeks burned. He chuckled lightly gathering you closer, you realised he wasn’t hard anymore.

“Did-?” You mumbled.

“I did” he hummed and you flushed burying yourself deeper in his neck. He chuckled again pulling a sheet over you both, arms securely around you.

“Ive got you”

Next part ->

Taglist

@katkirishima

@mymentalbreakdownsblog

@daddysfavoritesexkitten

@retrorxsie

@rosaren2498

@hinata7346

@tati-the-fangirl

@adriennebarnes

@misscaitygrace

#x reader #moon knight #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #Bastet #jake lockley

101 notes · View notes

psychovigilantewrites · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 14 - A Different Point of View

Summary: Things that happened that you weren't aware of.

Word count: 9,163 words

A/N: Thank you for being so patient with me. I struggled with this chapter due to its nature. I had to further dive into Bruce and Dick's character that I wasn't too familiar with.2020 was a very tough year for me. I lost lots, learned lots. And I thought that the quarantine would mean I would write more. But I was wrong. Life hit me hard, and I stopped doing a lot of things I used to enjoy.Despite being virtually absent last year, you guys stuck by me anyway. Thank you. I love you all for that.Special thanks to my two beta readers. You know who you are. Here it goes.

(i recommend you guys read previous chapters to refresh coz I had to lol)

Ao3

Masterlist

The roles that people played were false- a mere necessity for their career or survival. Everyone was playing a role, whether it was of their own accord or not.

Bruce Wayne was a role- superficial, fake, yet vital to Gotham. Batman, on the other hand, was a completely different role, born out of exigence and a sense of justice.

Dick Grayson, however, genuinely enjoyed playing his role.

Nightwing felt right to him. Being a police officer felt right to him. And especially, if not ultimately, being an older brother.

He listened to the dial tone of his phone, which rung for a few seconds before you finally picked up.

“Hey,” Dick heard your voice, the usual chirp absent that day.

Dick frowned to himself. Bruce was right about you being troubled after all.

“Hey, sis!” he forced the concern out of his voice. “You busy?”

“Nah, I’m just going over some old case files. What’s up?”

Dick leaned back into his sofa. Aside from the traffic blaring outside, the silence in his apartment made it easier for him to concentrate on analysing your speech patterns.

“Can’t I call just to ask how you’re doing?” he teased, easing into the conversation.

Everyone had always told him how he was natural at talking.

“You already called last week…”

Dick smiled to himself. He could already picture your narrowed eyes regarding him with suspicion.

It was good that you were always on your feet, but it was becoming borderline unhealthy. It reminded him of Jason and how he was always so guarded .

He pushed the memory away.

“I can’t call you again?” he rolled his eyes at no one.

“Bruce put you up to this,” you accused.

That’s because he’s worried about you, kid.

If only you knew how much Bruce had changed for you. Dick was glad that you were being loved by Bruce, yet he still couldn't help but feel slightly bitter that he never got that kind of treatment from his father- not the same treatment he gave you.

But he would rather die than admit his selfish thoughts to anyone.

“Yeah,” he conceded, “He was worried about you after last night.”

“I’m fine, Dick,” you insisted.

How many times has he heard those very same words from Jason?

“Well, if you’re not, then you can talk to me,” he offered.

A short pause.

Your response would be what differentiated you from his late brother.

“Actually, yeah,” you admitted.

There it was. No matter how stupid he knew it was for even comparing the two of you, he found that he always had to remind himself not to.

“How did you deal with it? Did it affect you?”

Dick told you his own experience with gore and dead bodies, how he overcame it, how he coped. There was silence after, and he just somehow knew what you were going to ask next.

“How did, uh, he deal with it?”

Your voice came in a whisper, hesitation evidently clear.

Dick was expecting it, but his heart still sank. He knew how everyone acted when Jason was brought up in conversation- he was guilty of reacting as well. He also knew how you were smart enough to avoid that topic.

It had been years. They should all have moved on, because Dick knew that they were also hurting you.

“He came to me as well.” Dick recalled Jason’s hesitant voice over the phone, never directly saying what was wrong, just rambling about things other than what was really going on in his head.

“Then he gradually called less and less when he learned how to deal with it himself.”

The day Dick noticed it, he was happy for Jason, but a small part of him was saddened that his little brother no longer needed him.

“I’ll have to look for that cognitive therapy, then. Thank you for calling, Dick. Talking to you helped.”

Did it really? He noticed your voice had changed again. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone on about Jason like that.

“No problem, kid. Call me if you need to talk, okay?”

The familiar beep left him isolated with his thoughts, wondering if you would trail in Jason's footsteps.

When will the day come when you eventually stop calling altogether?

***

He felt indebted to his city- the city he loved. The city he hated. The city that robbed him of his childhood.

He felt indebted to his family- the family he would give up everything for, the family he couldn’t stop hurting.

And he was sorry. God, he was sorry.

Sorry for everything he’s said and done- or didn’t do. But he still couldn’t stop. Because he didn’t know how.

Yet, no matter how much he claimed to love his family, the problem with Bruce Wayne was that he always expected them to be the people he wanted them to be.

Never like himself, though. No, he would never want them to turn out like him.

“That’s an order. Stay-”

The silence that followed the click in his ear represented the first time you had ever disobeyed a direct order.

It was a little late on your side. Dick and Jason had begun to disobey him within their first six months in uniform. But you had always been obedient- which made it easier for Bruce to trust you in the field.

This first time came as an unexpected and unwelcome surprise. And Bruce was…

Disappointed.

He grit his teeth when he saw you on the ground with the warehouse burning behind you. If he had just been a few seconds late, would you be in the fire, too?

“I almost had him.”

Bruce didn’t miss the wince of pain as you got up to your feet.

He had heard those exact words before countless times from J- no.

Bruce shoved that thought away.

“He would have gotten away, and we wouldn’t have known who it was that did this,” you argued, brows drawn together in a frown, mouth downturned. Your respiratory rate was high, and you were having trouble breathing.

When did you grow so tall? So confident?

Bruce silently pointed to the active security camera he noticed the minute he arrived and saw your expression fall- only for a second.

“I still think I made the right decision,” you insisted.

“You disobeyed a direct order.” He hated his own voice. The way he spoke sounded too militant.

“I acted how I saw fit,” you continued, “You always say to follow my instincts-”

“Not if your instincts contradict my orders.” He regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. He thought he had changed. But no, Bruce was still a dictator.

“Wow. Just- wow.”

He could see the little twitches of annoyance within the disbelief on your face. He understood it completely.

You were walking away, clutching onto your side and weakly limping to your bike, adamant on not seeking his help.

He hated seeing you injured, in pain. It was his fault. If only he was faster, he could have stopped Red Hood from beating you up. If only he predicted it sooner, if only-

“I’ll be heading back now.”

He missed what you had said before that.

“Robin,” Bruce forced out, “Have Alfred check your injuries.”

He should have been there.

When you drove away, he lingered at the crime scene.

Bruce flipped a switch in his helmet, and his lense changed. Non-organic material lighted up bright white. He noticed a fractured piece of shrapnel lying on the ground, less than a centimeter long.

He picked it up and placed it into a test tube from his belt. Switching his view to normal, he saw that it was red, maybe made from fiberglass. He could only deduce that it was a piece of Red Hood’s helmet.

Despite Bruce’s frustrations at you for disobeying him, he felt a swell of pride. You probably landed a hit hard enough to crack the helmet just a little bit that you yourself probably didn’t even realise it.

He shone a UV light on it. A small portion of it glowed.

Bruce had always been numb when he played investigator so that he would remain impartial and objective. That was true justice.

But when he pocketed the evidence and sped to the Batmobile, he felt something he had never felt before.

Against all logic and rationality, he found himself dreading to uncover who the blood belonged to.

***

Bruce never drank his sorrows away. It was dangerous, too easy to develop an addiction to. He could have easily drowned in alcohol at any given chance, like when he thought of his parents, or when he thought-no, knew- he wasn’t enough.

But no, he only restricted his drinking for leisurely activities. He was disciplined. It was the reason why he was who he was.

However, in that moment, staring at the results of the DNA analysis after hours of anxious waiting, he wished he allowed himself a drink.

Not because he was distraught, not because he was in grief- but because he just didn’t know what to feel.

It wasn’t numbness. It was just plain confusion, an internal tornado of emotions whirling inside him all at once.

Footsteps.

He tapped on a button once, immediately closing the window of the test results displayed on the screen.

Composing himself, he clicked on another pending case to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown. It’s just another role.

“Master Bruce.”

Why was he still up at this hour?

“Yes, Alfred,” he turned to meet the butler’s tired eyes- just as tired as his own.

Tired because of him.

Alfred was always up because of him. Because Bruce was a disease, constantly burdening others, dragging them down, keeping them up at night.

“I made some sandwiches. They’re light. Please do eat them,” he set the tray on the cluttered desk, simply pushing aside the numerous stacks of papers.

“Go to bed, Alfred,” he told him. Alfred was too old to be up at this hour. And whose fault is that?

“In due time,” he responded calmly, “What of the blood results, if I may ask?”

“Inconclusive,” Bruce lied.

“I see.”

Suspicion shrouded Alfred’s voice.

“How are her injuries?” Bruce asked, the pain finally creeping in, seeping into his bones.

“I commend you for asking about your daughter’s injuries after only four whole hours of staring at the screen, Master Bruce. You would definitely win father of the year.”

“I was occupied,” he sighed, “Please.”

“Her injuries are only superficial,” Alfred said, “Surface contusions at most.”

He still hurt her.

“Thank you, Alfred. Now go to bed.”

“It was only a little more than two decades ago when I was telling you the same,” he grumbled away.

Bruce made sure Alfred was gone before pulling up the results on the screen again, the glaring ‘MATCH’ sign staring angrily back at him as if it were shouting at Bruce, yelling in rage.

And Bruce understood completely. He had failed Jason Todd. He had betrayed him. And now he was back, vengeful, and full of resentment.

But that didn’t matter to Bruce.

Because despite it all, his son was alive.

In the end, that was all that mattered.

***

What did my son do to my daughter?

Bruce watched in horror as you lay unconscious on the hospital bed, hooked to the IV bag. He couldn’t stop staring at the bruises littering your neck.

Bruises that were far too small and evenly shaped to be the effect of a mere throttling.

He knew how the people close to him viewed him. He knew they thought he was strong, unforgiving, cold, emotionless. Especially when they put him side by side with Clark.

But he forced himself to be those things, because if he didn’t, he would have broken down years ago.

He was used to it. The pain. The darkness.

But this time, he felt like he was being crushed.

He felt like he was hanging on by a thread- no. A delicate strand of thin, brittle hair.

“It’s okay, doctor,” you had said, “I know what you’re going to ask me. No, my genitalia does not hurt. He didn’t do anything to me.”

He felt a wave of relief crash over him.

Jason wasn’t that far gone, then.

But as Bruce looked at your neck again, he still couldn’t help but feel nausea crawling into his core.

He still touched her.

Jim left after his questioning, and you drifted to sleep. He went over to you and looked down at your face, taking everything in.

Since when did you look so mature? When did you get so beautiful?

He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. Even in sleep you had your eyebrows tugged down, as if you were angry that you had to go to bed. He didn’t know why he never saw that small part of you that shouted rebellion despite you almost always following his orders.

He realised that when he watched you sleep, you looked a bit like- no. Don’t ever compare the two.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to your forehead, trying to convey all of his feelings to you.

He was sorry. So god damned sorry for dragging you into this, for hurting you, for pulling you down to the depths with him.

Hoping you didn’t feel the teardrop that fell to your forehead, he quickly wiped it away before leaving for his press statement.

***

“Master Bruce, please!”

Another crash.

Alfred’s plea snapped him out of his blinding fury, his crushing pain.

He was standing at the hallway near the Manor entrance, glass and broken wood shattered at his feet, feeling the walls closing in and narrowing as Alfred looked at him in alarm.

“I-I’m sorry, Alfred. I-” he stammered, feeling like the small, helpless boy who watched his parents die before him.

He remembered the time when he was little, only a couple of months after the tragedy. He had done the exact same thing, taking out his anger and anguish by destroying things, triggered by something he had long forgotten about.

At that time, Alfred had held him closely in his arms as he stained the butler’s suit with his snot and tears. Again, a burden to the man who raised him.

This time, he refused the old man’s offer of comfort, walking past to descend to the cold darkness of the cave he was so familiar with.

Bruce didn’t usually drink his sorrows away, but this time, he did.

***

Dick wasn’t a good person. He was far from it.

Case in example, it was the first time he saw you after your kidnapping.

He meant to come sooner, he really did. But he was just so busy in Bludhaven, he couldn’t spare any time to rush over the moment he heard his sister was hurt. He tried to justify it in his head by thinking that you were probably handling it fine.

But he was just trying to make himself feel better.

What a great brother he was.

“So, why are you obsessing over violent crimes?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

Desensitization was one thing when you worked in that field, but obsession was a whole other problem. And he didn’t want to see his sister walk down that path.

“A lunatic just kidnapped me a couple weeks ago, Dick, maybe this is my coping mechanism,” you huffed, giving him your signature eye roll.

A lot of things start with just a coping mechanism, kid.

Dick knew it about it all too well. The people he brought in on an almost daily basis, high as kites. The accident last week on the highway at three in the morning, two innocent lives taken because of a drunk man who had started drinking three years ago to cope with his mother’s loss.

The man downstairs in the cold cave, who was just a little boy when his parents died, now living with the trauma while going out night after night to beat up criminals, sleeping only three hours a day at most.

“I don’t want your pity, Dick,” you huffed, “I’m fine.”

Yeah, you were. And that was what worried Dick the most.

“I know you are,” he tried to smile, “Which is why I don’t think this is your coping mechanism.”

You talked to Dick about Red Hood, sharing your concerns about him. This is what made you, you. Opening up to him, offering your thoughts and feelings. It was something he never had with Bruce or Jason. The both of them were similar in that sense.

“He won’t tell me either,” Dick huffed, “It’s always been like that with him. No matter how hard I try to get closer to him, sometimes it feels like he’s getting further away.”

It was the same with Jason as well. Did everyone he cared about just end up running away from him?

“I can relate to that,” you sighed.

“But I have a feeling that he will tell you eventually,” Dick tried to comfort you, “It seems too important not to.”

Dick knew better. Bruce had always excluded information from him, whether it was important or not.

“And,” Dick hurriedly tried to change the subject, “I heard from Alfred that you’re not talking to Bruce. May I ask why?”

“So that’s why you’re here,” you eyed him suspiciously. . “I came to check up on you,” he stated, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come here right after, but my little sister did just get kidnapped.”

When are you going to stop putting your guard up around me, kid?

“I told you, I’m fine,” you insisted.

“Then you’re fine enough to tell me why you haven’t been talking to Bruce,” Dick pushed, “I won’t judge. I’ve had my fair share of cold shoulders and fights with him too. I know first hand how frustrating he can be. So come on, tell.”

He saw you hesitate for just a moment, before conceding.

“We fought,” you began, “It was when I got back from the hospital. He wouldn’t tell me who Red Hood was. And he- he called me ‘Jason’.”

Ah, fucking hell, Bruce.

“Jesus,” he whispered, “What did he say exactly?”

“‘Back down, Jason’,” your voice cracked.

Dick saw the way Bruce spiraled after Jason’s death, and he would never tell you this, but deep down he was against Bruce adopting you so soon after. He thought that Bruce was using you to fill up the hole he too felt with Jason’s absence.

You were so like him, yet so different. Still, Bruce must have been really distracted if he could slip as badly as he did.

Dick would ask later.

“Now that’s something I haven’t heard in years,” Dick chuckled humorlessly.

Jason arguing with Bruce about using excessive force. Jason sneaking out to go for patrols whenever he was grounded. Hell, even Jason stealing whiskey from the cabinet at the age of fifteen.

He could still remember it so clearly. Jason with his dark hair poking into his eyes that were full of fury, cheeks puffed up and red as he pouted angrily at Bruce for making him stay at the Manor on nights Bruce insisted on going alone.

Dick tried to shove the past away. He knew he was making you even sadder.

“Has Bruce made any attempts to reconcile?” Dick remembered the conversation he was having with you.

“Yeah, but I’m still mad at him,” you pouted.

“And you have every right to be,” Dick nodded, “But Bruce, well, you know Bruce. He keeps these things to himself, but obviously he’s still hurting.”

You have know idea how much he’s hurting, Little Wing.

You avoided Dick’s eyes, looking down at your fumbling thumbs as the room became silent.

“I’m seeing someone,” you changed the subject.

“You are?”

Interesting.

“Yeah,” you blushed, “It’s still very new, and we’re not official yet or anything. But we’re definitely testing the waters.”

“That’s great,” Dick grinned, “Who is he? Tell me the deets. Spill the tea.”

He sort of loved gossip. It wasn’t a secret.

“I met him in the library a while back,” you excitedly said, “We exchanged numbers. Started texting, meeting up from time to time. He’s really cute.”

Ah, young love. What Dick would give to be at that age again.

“I bet he is,” Dick teased.

“What’s with that face?” you laughed, “He is! He’s slightly older, and he’s got this sexy bad boy look, you know?”

“I thought you liked the nerdy types?” Dick responded. He saw a picture of you and your classmates on your Instagram. Typical prep school kids.

“I never had a type, you ass!” . “You’re right. I thought you were completely uninterested in boys,” he wondered out loud, “Is he nice, at least?”

“Yeah he is,” you smiled to yourself, “He didn’t know I was Wayne until 2 weeks ago. Before that, we were mainly texting. Now we’re meeting up more. I feel like I can be myself with him. I don’t know, there’s just something about him that makes me trust him.”

So you still have some of your walls up with me, but you trust a stranger? Who is this guy?

“I’m not going to tell him anything!” you quickly added, “I’m not stupid. I know I shouldn’t trust someone I just met. It’s not about the confidential stuff. It’s the little things like how I feel, and my problems, and just- stuff, you know?”

The thought didn’t even cross his mind. Dick trusted you enough with their secret, just as how Bruce did.

“I get it,” Dick tried to rationalise, “You don’t know what it is about the person, but you feel like the two of you just click, am I right?”

It had been like that with Barbara. It had been like that with Kory.

Now Dick was alone, and deep down he knew that they saw him as how he truly was. Selfish.

“Exactly,” you smiled, “Been with anyone like that before?”

“One or two,” he brushed it off, “People like that- whom you just click with- they’re hard to come by. You should see where this leads. Who knows, maybe he’s one of those that would stick around, huh?”

What he would give to have at least one person who would stick with him.

After he met with Gordon, Dick went to the cave to see Bruce who was, of course, facing the computers.

“I know what you’re going to say,” his father’s voice echoed without even turning to look at him.

“Then you know how much you’ve hurt her?” he crossed his arms.

Bruce did turn around to face him, and Dick suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

He knew that Bruce hardly ever slept, but this was different. He looked disheveled, his complexion pale, his eyes more bloodshot and the dark circles even more prominent.

Alfred did say how badly Bruce took the kidnapping, finding him passed out on the cave floor with an empty bottle of scotch in his hand, but he thought that Bruce would have gotten himself together by now. It was surprising to see him that way, and Dick felt… Uncomfortable.

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the kidnapping, nor his fight with you.

“You found out something,” Dick narrowed his eyes, “Something important. What is it?”

He caught a flash of guilt in Bruce’s eyes. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Bruce,” Dick groaned, “This is why you keep on hurting her.”

Hurting us.

“I’m protecting everyone.”

“You can’t use that excuse with me anymore,” he sighed, “I don’t need your protection. So tell me.”

“No.”

That was his final word, and he knew that Bruce would never budge.

“Fine,” he let out a breath, “Did you know that she’s seeing someone?”

Bruce frowned.

Which made Dick frown. Since when did Bruce miss things? What the fuck was going on with him?

“Name?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. And no, don’t you dare,” Dick pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Do not do a background check on him. She deserves privacy. Hell, don’t even bring it up. You have no right to go poking into her relationships.”

Dick was being defensive, but that was because he was trying to convince himself as well, which was why he didn’t ask you for a name. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I wasn’t going to,” Bruce reassured, “She… She deserves a life. A normal life. Not this- not-”

Dick knew then he had to leave, because Bruce’s voice breaking meant he was far from okay, and he knew that Bruce hated to show his vulnerability to anyone.

“Bruce,” Dick said, this time softly, “You’re not alone, you know. I’ve been with you since the beginning, and I’m still with you now.”

And with that, Bruce turned his back towards him again, silently going back to his goddamned computers.

“He’s been that way ever since the kidnapping,” Alfred informed him when he walked up to the manor.

“I don’t think it’s just the kidnapping, Alf,” he frowned at the butler, “There’s something more to it. Did he figure out who Red Hood is?”

“Perhaps,” Alfred pursed his lips, “But he refuses to tell me.”

“That means we know him personally,” Dick theorised, “Who the hell could it be that he’s so adamant on keeping it a secret?”

“I do not know Master Dick, but it can’t be anyone good if he’s got Master Bruce drinking during the day.”

***

Bruce knew that he was wrong to call you by his dead son’s name.

But his dead son was supposed to stay dead instead of haunting him with that glaring red bat across his chest, and having that thought in his head all the time, he slipped up.

He prided himself with his contingency plans and detective skills and preparations, but no amount of time could ever prepare him for when he found out his dead son had sexually assaulted his daughter.

You seemed to have dealt with it surprisingly well, exceeding his expectations. In fact, Bruce thought it was a bit odd that you weren’t as affected by it.

And then he saw it.

He saw what he thought was the internalized anger you felt finally bursting through the seams of your tightly lidded emotions.

And he wasn’t prepared for it.

Bruce didn’t think you had it in you, or else he would never have made you Robin.

But there you were on the ground, beating a man beyond recognition.

He couldn’t dread this moment because he never saw it coming. Not from you. Never from you.

He hurriedly ripped you off the man, flinging you away with force.

Pulse was present, but weak. Flail chest. It took him only a few seconds to observe the damage you did to the man’s face. It didn’t look good.

“Stay back,” he growled at you when you came close.

He couldn’t look at you. He didn’t want to.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he heard you whisper.

“Call an ambulance,” he ordered.

There was no other choice. He had to take the fall for you.

“NOW!” he snarled at you again. In the background, you were on the phone, but Bruce’s thoughts were elsewhere, calculating what needs to be done.

You moved-

“Leave. I’ll deal with this.” You needed to go. You couldn’t be here when the ambulance and police arrived.

“Batman-”

“I said leave,” he snapped. He couldn’t even hear your voice.

He waited for the ambulance to come before leaving, making sure they saw him escape. Making sure he would be the one the media would attack.

And while he drove back to the Cave, he decided to give his son a call.

“Bruce?”

“Dick,” he sighed. He knew he had always been unfair to his eldest, giving him so much pressure to perform, pushing him to be his best- and ultimately away. He knew that he never showed it, but he was proud of Dick. He always had been from the very beginning.

“What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t a surprise that Dick picked up immediately that something was wrong. If it wasn’t for the fact that calling him out of the blue was what gave it away, Bruce himself trained Dick.

“She- she crossed the line tonight,” he tried to explain, “Jerome Miller. She attacked him. The damage she’s done to him is irreversible. I suspect he will be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life.”

“Jesus,” Dick breathed from over the line, “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I wasn’t there,” he grit. He thought he could trust you.

But deep down Bruce knew that it was all his fault after all. Who was he to act so righteous when he was the reason your parents died?

“I don’t know if she’ll talk to me, Bruce,” Dick sighed, “Not about something like this. She’s probably beating herself up over this already.”

“As she should.”

“Bruce.”

“Please,” Bruce asked, “I’m worried. She isn’t herself and I can’t blame her for it, but the chances of her talking to you are much higher than if I were to try.”

“I’ll try,” Dick agreed.

“Report to me after.”

“Bruce, we’ve talked about this,” Dick grumbled, “I am under no obligation to report to you. I’m doing this for her. Not you.”

He was trying not to go back to the man he was before, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

They’re your children, not your soldiers.

He had to remind himself time and time again. It was easier to be just a father to you as compared to Dick and Jason, yet even then he made slips.

“I know,” he apologised. “Thank you.”

Click.

And then Bruce was alone again.

***

Bruce watched you from the corner of his eye when you came back. He noticed that you had put more effort into dressing up when you left the house that day.

There was a slight bounce to your step and a small smile that played on your lips.

Dick was right after all. There was someone you were seeing.

But no, he couldn’t look into it. In fact, it would be hypocritical of him if he did. Dick had many girlfriends and flings, and Bruce didn’t want to know about any of them. Mainly because Dick was his first, and the thought of a boy he raised maturing and having relationships made him feel confused about parenthood.

Not that many of them lasted too long anyway.

Jason was a little different. While Dick had girls lining up after him all the time, Jason was much more subtle about the girls he liked, and that made Bruce more curious- but not enough to investigate.

He thought about when Barbara had caught Jason looking at her, making him turn red. He wondered if Jason would like you.

A tight squeeze in his chest.

He didn’t let his mind linger there.

Bruce felt obligated to protect you, which tempted him to investigate the boy you were seeing. It could be a trap, it could be someone using you for fame and money, or something even more sinister. Hell, it could be Jason himself after that stunt he pulled off.

But there was no evidence, and Bruce wanted to be a father to you this time instead of Batman the mentor. So Bruce would have to trust you on this one.

***

There was something holding Bruce back from telling everyone the truth about Jason.

And because he is who he is, Bruce knew what it was.

Guilt. He blamed himself for what had happened, and telling others about it meant owning up to his mistakes. Bruce never ran away from his fears and feelings despite what others might think. On the contrary, he held to them very strongly, using them as a motivation to fight head on.

This time, though, he felt more self destructive- the worst he had ever felt since he carried Jason’s corpse from the rubble- and so he tried to delay the inevitable.

But time was running out. He had enough time to wallow in self pity. It was time to pull himself together, and the first step began with Alfred.

The Cave was colder than usual that night, air thin and darker despite the illumination he had provided. Bruce was slumped in his usual wheeled chair, cowl resting on the desk after patrol, the weight of his suit almost crushing him in his weakened mental state.

“Alfred,” Bruce sighed, “Please, take a seat. I have something to tell you.”

“I assume this is about the identity of one criminal who has been terrorizing your daughter?” Alfred retorted, sitting down anyway.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded, “This… This won’t be easy, Alfred. I suggest you prepare for the worst.”

“And the worst being..?”

Bruce wheeled himself closer to the butler, leaning forward. “It’s Jason.”

Alfred merely blinked. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid my ears have caught up to my age. I must have misheard you, because for a moment, I thought you said that Red Hood is Jason.”

“You didn’t mishear me, Alfred. It’s him.”

Bruce saw the confusion in Alfred’s eyes, the frantic search for reason. “Our Jason? Jason Todd?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

And then, Bruce felt it. The pain he had been suffering with for weeks spreading to the man who raised him. Alfred clutched his chest with one hand, the other clenching tightly over the armrest of his chair, his breathing quickened.

“Impossible,” he whispered, “Jason died. How?”

“There was an event regarding The League and Superboy punching reality. I won’t get into details, but I suspect that was what caused the initial resurrection. The restoration, however. We know of someone who has been continuously restored time and time again.”

“Ra’s Al Ghul,” Alfred concluded, “But why? Why on Earth would he restore Jason?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce frowned, “But it is an almost perfect revenge plan. I would like to entertain the idea that he has brainwashed Jason into thinking we are the enemy, but I can’t put it past him to develop a hatred for me. I… betrayed him.”

“Master Bruce, this is not your fault,” Alfred rose to his feet, “If it is indeed Jason, we can still help. I have faith in the boy.”

“Me too, Alfred. Me too.”

Bruce didn’t miss the sob that echoed faintly through the cave when Alfred ascended back up.

***

As if in slow motion, he saw every change of emotion on Dick’s face. The way he blinked once in confusion, the surprise approaching as he widened his eyes, and then his eyebrows stitching together in a deep frown, his lips downturning and nose flaring in anger.

Bruce saw the punch coming, but he did not do anything to counter it. Gladly, he took the right hook Dick gave him, appreciating the sting that radiated from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“How long have you known?” his son shook in anger.

“Dick-”

“HOW LONG, BRUCE?!” Dick roared, fists clenched, voice echoing in the cave.

“Since the night he blew up the warehouse,” Bruce replied.

“Jesus, fuck,” Dick ran his fingers through his hair, “Jesus, Bruce. That was over a month ago.”

“I know.”

“We-” he choked on his words, “We deserved to know.”

“I know.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you say anything?!” he slammed his fists on the desk. Bruce caught a few drops of tears that fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologised, and meant it. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything more.

“You’re sorry?” Dick looked at him with eyes far too cold than he knew, “He was my brother, Bruce. He told me things he never told anyone else. We shared secrets and jokes. We went to the same diner once a week to catch up. He asked for my help and I asked for his. And then he died. Just like that, because you couldn’t keep him on a leash. And now he’s back, and you knew it was him, and you’re just sorry?”

Dick’s eyes were wet and red, and filled with contempt. Bruce couldn’t blame him. He hated himself, too.

“Does she know?” he whispered, “Does she know that the man who attacked her is your son, and is my brother?”

Like always, he pushed the pain away efficiently, logically, objectively.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I told her this afternoon.”

“And she’s not angry?”

“If she was, she did not show it,” Bruce described, “In fact, she looked… Worried.”

“Of fucking course she would be worried,” he snarled, “She’s worried that she’s going to be irrelevant to you now the dead Robin is back.”

“She’s not,” Bruce growled at that, “She’s not his replacement. She never was.”

“Does she know that, Bruce?” Dick snickered, “Did you finally get over yourself and tell her that? Because the last fucking time I spoke to her, you called her Jason.”

Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that. He was good at smiling at the cameras and making speeches and charming an audience, but he was never good with words, real words that described his true feelings to the ones he cared for the most.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, now numb to everything throughout years and years of practice. “I promise, I will bring him back. Will you help me?”

“What can I do that you can’t?” Dick scoffed.

“You knew him, Dick,” Bruce said, “You knew him in ways I never did. I can predict his movements, but to accurately guess what his motivations are- you knew him better than I did.”

“Fine,” Dick conceded, “But I’m not forgiving you for this, Bruce. I swear, you’re going to pay for all the secrets you’ve kept from us, be it by my hand or someone else’s.”

***

“Did you know that your daughter went out last night to see a boy while we were patrolling?” Dick brought up.

He was looking at Bruce’s back, as he always was.

Bruce was on the computers, going through hours upon hours of security footage and traffic cams for Red Hood- for Jason.

It was difficult for him to put the two together. Jason had always been his little brother. Young, naive, inexperienced. And now that same person was the leader of the underground.

It was definitely difficult.

“Alfred mentioned she went out, but I didn’t know it was to meet a boy,” Bruce replied without glancing his way.

“Well, she lied to me about it at first,” Dick sank in a chair, looking at his nails. “Got pretty defensive when I brought it up. Even tried to deflect by using Jason against me.”

Dick knew you meant to hurt him with your words, and it worked.

He was definitely surprised that you would stoop that low because he always saw you as a sweet, kind girl.

People change. That’s what happens when you stick with Batman.

But Dick didn’t expect you to change so fast.

“She… used Jason against you?”

Bruce finally turned towards him, the ever constant frown a little bit deeper that moment.

“Yeah,” Dick straightened, “It was the first time she’s ever spoken to me that way.”

“What did she say exactly?”

“That I was distracting myself by using humor as a coping mechanism, and that I should come to terms with the fact that it was my brother who kidnapped and sexually assaulted her,” he repeated bitterly.

“What did you say to her that she responded that way?” Bruce asked.

“I was just making fun of her boyfriend,” Dick shrugged, “Why? Do you think she’s hiding something?”

At first, Dick thought that you were genuinely angry at the both of them because you were right- Jason did kidnap you. Jason did do those things to you. And Jason was supposed to be under both Bruce and Dick’s responsibility.

Dick didn’t blame you for it, because he would have probably been angry if the situation was reversed.

It was one of the mistakes he always made as Robin when Bruce was teaching him how to accurately deduce by reading people. Never assume that someone’s motivations would be the same as your own.

“She hid that she has… someone from me. There must be a reason why.”

“Or she knows how you are and would rather not have your nose in her business, Bruce. She did find out about that tracker you put in her necklace. How did she even react to it?”

Bruce had done the same with both Dick and Jason while they were Robin, though it didn’t come disguised as a pretty, shiny piece of metal.

On the contrary, during Dick’s Robin days, Bruce had hid it behind his third molar while he was unconscious. He only found out after a year, when he was held hostage by a mercenary who wanted to use him to lure Batman. Said mercenary had detected the tracking device and pulled it out along with the tooth.

It made him increasingly more hostile towards Batman and his never ending need for control, but at least it saved him a trip to the dentist.

From what Dick knew, Jason died with his tracker on him.

Bruce had said that it was all done in the name of safety.

But would you tell Jason the same thing now?

“I apologised and never replaced the one Red Hood damaged. I thought that would have been sufficient for her to trust me again.”

Dick let out a bark of laughter at that, but it was void of any humor. “Only you would think that not replacing her damn tracker would make her trust you. No wonder she hasn’t told you anything.”

It was probably best not to mention that you were now also sexually active.

“Do you think she’s hiding something important?” Bruce asked.

“Are you actually asking for my opinion?” Dick smirked, “No, but it’s too soon to tell, anyway. Relax, Bruce. It’s like you forgot what it was like to be young and in love.”

That was obviously a joke. Bruce grew out of his childhood the moment he saw his parents getting killed in that alley.

As for being in love, did Bruce ever allow himself that?

***

“What did you say she called herself?” Nightwing asked softly.

The poor girl was scared out of her mind to the point where Dick found it difficult to extract important information from her ramblings.

Well, that’s what happens when someone makes you kill a person.

It was difficult, so difficult, to face the fact that it was Jason behind all of that.

“I t-think, V,” the witness- Elena- stuttered. “She with him. But try to stop him.”

Behind him, he felt Batman pause. He was walking around the club and analysing evidence while listening to the conversation.

“She tried to stop him? Him as in Red Hood?” Dick frowned.

“Yes,” Elena looked down and rubbed her arms.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but,” Dick tried, “You told me they were partners.”

“Yes, but she try to stop him,” she repeated, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Dick offered a smile, “Thank you very much. You’ve been a huge help.”

“Am I going to prison?” she looked at him with big, wet eyes.

“We’ll make sure you won’t,” Dick assured, “You’ll get the best defense team in Gotham.”

“You can do that?” she asked, hope in her voice.

“It’s the least we could do,” Dick answered, a sad smile playing on his lips.

He’s our responsibility.

“Thank you,” she gave a watery laugh, “Even prison better than with him, I want to be free.”

Dick heard footsteps approaching. As he turned around, Gordon entered the crime scene, followed by his team.

“Of course you’re here first,” he sighed at Batman.

“Gordon.”

“You might have to speak to the police again, okay?” Dick told Elena who was suddenly nervous again by the presence of so many people. “I’ll make sure they know you’re innocent. Gordon is the only one you can trust, okay?”

She nodded, her gaze turning downwards.

“Gordon,” he approached the aging man. He was used to talking with Gordon in Batman’s stead, even when he was Robin, and remembered feeling proud of himself whenever he finished speaking to Gordon regarding cases without Batman having to add anything.

“Nightwing,” he blinked, “It’s been a while.”

“Desperate times calls for desperate backups,” he grinned, “Anyway, the girl. She’s a victim of Victor Ibenescu’s human trafficking trade. Romanian, only thirteen when she was kidnapped. She was forced to shoot Victor by Red Hood.”

“This Red Hood likes his poetic justice,” Gordon snickered.

“It’s still first degree murder, or at least, that’s how the law would make it seem,” Dick reminded him, “But I assure you she’s innocent. Red Hood threatened to kill and rape her if she didn’t shoot.”

That was a lie, on both his part and Elena’s. Judging by the way she averted her eyes and touched her own arm, Dick could tell that she wasn’t telling the whole truth about being threatened by Red Hood- but he also knew that he couldn’t expose her and get into more trouble.

He wanted to let out a tired sigh, but that would give him away in front of Gordon and the other officers. He still needed to maintain his air of hopefulness, and he couldn’t seem like he was troubled by his thoughts.

Time to meet Bruce back at the cave and watch the surveillance footage.

***

“He’s got a partner now,” Dick voiced out his findings, “Since when did Red Hood partner up?”

Bruce’s frown was deep as he stared at the screen.

Dick pursed his lips. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Whether this is Red Hood or Jason?” Bruce hummed, “This definitely does not seem like anything Red Hood would do. He’s always tried to separate himself from others because it furthers his authoritarian agenda. He does not get friendly with people because people are disposable to him.”

“So you think this is Jason, then?” Dick concluded, “Well, Jason never had much of a problem working with others in the past, and he made some friends. He wasn’t the type to be hostile to people.”

“He did have trust issues,” Bruce pointed out, “At the very beginning.”

“Yes, and he kept a lot of things to himself,” Dick agreed, “But he did have friends.”

“Special friends,” Bruce added, “Friends who gained his respect and trust. So the question is- who is this girl and how did she manage to gain his trust?”

“Hey, play it back again,” Dick said, “Those moves.”

Bruce played the security tape, showing the mysterious girl and Red Hood taking down Victor’s men.

“Arnis,” Bruce pointed out.

“It’s a little different.”

“She has incorporated silat in as well. Low stance,” Bruce observed. “She’s skilled, but not polished. It could be anyone.”

There was something familiar about the girl that Dick couldn’t pinpoint. Dick usually had strong intuition- a gut feeling that enabled him to know which facts to focus on during an investigation, or a strong ability to see through people.

But the problem was that it wasn’t solid proof or evidence, something Batman heavily focused on. It was a gut feeling that told him he knew who the girl was.

“Do you think it’s-” he broke off without completing his sentence. There was nothing to back his claims.

“She has no reason or motive to work with Jason,” Bruce shot the idea down, “He’s hurt her. And… She wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“She’s been keeping secrets, Bruce,” Dick reminded, hating the fact that this time it was him who was suspicious.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Because he never would have thought that Jason was capable of torture and murder, either.

Why didn’t he come to me?

“As you clearly pointed out prior to this,” Bruce grit, “She has her reasons as to why she’s keeping secrets. And it is most probably because of me. All of you kept secrets. But this time, I’d like to let her keep hers.”

It was sweet, seeing Bruce that way.

“Is it guilt?” Dick asked.

“It’s repentance.”

Dick hated playing the bad guy.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be. He was the one people looked up to for inspiration, he was the light to Batman’s darkness, he was the smiles and charms and laughter.

He wasn’t the one who would accuse his little sister of fraternizing with the- was Jason the enemy?

Shit. Jason had messed with his senses. Dick’s head was chaotic, his emotions causing him to tense up.

Was he wrong? Was he just like Bruce? Was he jumping to conclusions just because Alfred told him you were out? Should he investigate this Carter you said you were with?

No. I’m not Bruce.

And now, you were looking at him with angry eyes, betrayed and appalled by his accusation.

*** Large.

That was the first thing that came to Dick’s mind when he saw his little brother.

The last time Dick saw him, he was much shorter, and definitely not as bulky.

And the last time Dick saw Jason, he was giving him a hug goodbye, complaining that Dick had messed up his hair.

And now, Jason was aiming a gun at him.

The gunshot didn’t hurt nearly as much as the thought that Jason had indeed shot him. Did Jason hate him that much?

You’re almost as guilty as he is, Jason’s voice echoed in his head.

“Bruce,” he gasped in the comms, “I’m down. They got away.”

“I heard a gunshot,” the deep voice in his ear spoke.

“Yeah, Jason shot my leg,” Dick winced, “Didn’t hit bone but I think it nicked my artery.”

“There are children here,” Batman said, “I was right. He’s sabotaging the Powers’. Gordon should be here soon. You control your bleeding.”

Dick nodded to himself and took a deep breath before plunging his finger into the gunshot wound to keep himself from bleeding out.

***

“...suspects that the crime lord only known as Red Hood and an unidentified female were behind the home invasion. Maria and Joseph Powers were left in a gruesome state according to reports, but their only child Carrie Powers was unharmed. The authorities are not sure what Red Hood’s motive was, but more will be elaborated during Commissioner Gordon’s public address later this afternoon...”

Dick heard you close the door.

“You didn’t come home last night,” he lowered the volume of the television.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered.

Dick looked over at you. You seemed tired, eyes swollen and red from crying, wearing an oversized t-shirt that he didn’t recognize.

“I was at-”

“Carter’s?” he finished your sentence for you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting down next to him on the sofa.

Dick frowned to himself. Your arms were crossed, you were avoiding eye contact, your body was angled away from him.

“You heard about the Powers’?” he turned his gaze towards the television.

“I saw the news on the way here,” you monotoned.

You smelled like a different shampoo. It was familiar, but Dick couldn’t remember where he had smelled it before.

“So you know that-”

“Yes, Jason did it,” you said rigidly.

“Along with-”

“His partner.”

Ah, now he remembered the smell. Jason’s favorite shampoo. He used to make fun of him for choosing one that was called what it was called. He didn’t really care about it, Dick kept his hair soft and fluffy with multiple women’s hair products. He just liked to rile Jason up because he was so defensive about it.

And with that, Dick let out a long, disappointed sigh.

“Bruce is in the cave. I suggest that you think long and hard about what to tell him,” Dick offered you a soft smile, “But no matter what you choose to say, you’ll always be my sister, and I’ll always love you no matter what, okay?”

You gave him a look of shock, and then realised that he had figured it out.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” you lips trembled, your eyes started brimming with tears.

“No, kid. I’m sorry,” he replied, “Go.”

You nodded and left.

Despite being right all along, he didn’t feel any sense of achievement. Dick couldn’t help but partly blame himself. For being so absent, for being neglectful, for being a bad brother.

Dick wasn’t perfect, but like hell would he stop trying to be.

***

For years Bruce had tried to stop feeling guilty for being relieved whenever someone else takes care of a problem he couldn’t solve- especially when it involved murder.

Bruce had tried to take down the Powers for almost a decade, and everytime he got close, there was always another obstacle in the way. It was difficult to expose the rich and powerful without resorting to violence, without resorting to breaking his principles.

So Bruce was ready to stop himself from internally celebrating their deaths. This time, however, he wasn’t as pleased. Because this time, it was Jason who brutally murdered two people. Jason, who was supposed to be under his care and responsibility.

“Bruce?” he heard your timid, small voice from behind him. “I have to tell you something.”

And there it was.

Bruce turned around and looked straight at you, piercing your eyes with his own as he waited on your confession.

A minute passed.

“I’m V,” you struggled to speak, “I’ve been meeting up with Jason for a few months now. I didn’t know he was Red Hood until you told me. But when you did tell me, I chose to confront him and team up with him anyway.”

Bruce didn’t say anything.

“He- he’s not a bad person, Bruce,” you justified, “He’s just really hurt. He needs help.”

You were telling Bruce things he already knew.

“I- I fell in love with him,” you continued, “And I let my feelings cloud my judgement and betrayed your trust. At first I thought that he was onto something, that his… methods were better than yours. And I was angry that you kept secrets from me. But after last night- after what I saw- I couldn’t- I couldn’t stay.”

Bruce clenched his jaw.

He suspected it. Dick suspected it. But for your sake, the both of them chose to put their trust in you. He had tried so hard to change from his old ways. He learned his lesson with both Dick and Jason.

He didn’t want you to go through the same thing they did.

So, he chose to blindly trust you anyway, hoping that he wasn’t right.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” you were sobbing now, “I’m so sorry. Please, say something.”

After another minute of watching you break down in front of him, Bruce finally spoke up.

“Hang up your colors. You’re no longer my Robin.”

#Red Who #Red Hood x Reader #jason todd x reader

317 notes · View notes

wordsinwinters · 3 years ago

Text

Then Again, Chapter 15: A Quick Detangle

Summary: After an intense fight and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Betas: @fanboyswhereare-you and @girl-tips-from-satan

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Then Again, Chapter 15: A Quick Detangle

(Word count: 736)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29,

It’s 6:13 when I wake up again.

A faint brush of almost-sunlight is highlighting the window curtains, illuminating the rest of the room as if through a thick film. Still, everything is sharper now. I can actually see the buttons on the alarm clock, for one thing.

For another thing, I can finally see Peter— see him well enough that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to, or else trace the three freckles just under his jaw to mimic his hand thing from last night. Don’t even think about it. But I do — think about it — and the ache that accompanies the thought verges on painful. This is too much. Maybe it would’ve been better if he hadn’t come back at all.

No, that’s not true. Not even slightly. I can handle this crush, no matter how deeply I keep sinking into it, but I couldn’t handle it if our fight actually ended my and Peter’s friendship. I just need to focus on the competition. I’ll deal with the emotional consequences of everything later. Today is about the team, about Michelle and all of her hard work to get us here. I cannot mess this up.

For that reason, I know I ought to force myself up, start getting ready, and steer my mind back in the right direction. Though… though maybe it wouldn’t hurt to wait another thirty to sixty seconds.

God, why does he have to be so comfortable and warm?

I’m still lying on top of him, like before. My body rises and falls slowly to the tide of his breathing. His arms are wrapped around me, loosely hugging my middle while his chin sits on the top of my head. My face is buried in his neck, hands lying onto his bare shoulders. Our ankles are still tangled together beneath the blanket. The…problem is gone.

I let myself soak in the moment before it dissolves.

I am really glad you came back, Peter. More than I should be. This is such a mess, isn’t it? I try my best to shut off my brain.

After thirty seconds, I lift my head up and carefully reach behind my back to push away the blanket and set Peter’s arms back on the bed. I move my feet to either side of his legs, my hands similarly pressed into the mattress beside his shoulders, and I gently push myself up.

It’s far easier than last time, at least. Peter’s dead to the world.

I keep my eyes on his the entire slow crawl backward on the bed, however. I’m determined to drop to the floor the moment he wakes up— if he wakes up; I’m not sure how he might react to me hovering over his body while he sleeps. I can only pray his fighting instincts wouldn’t kick in.

As I near the end of the bed, I feel a sudden burst of relief, realizing that I’ll have at least one answer within the next couple hours. After that little blip of an apology last night, those few sentences, I can tell Peter that the only thing I want him to do is explain why he came back. That’s all I’ll ask. For now.

Hopefully, things will go back to normal today.

From here I cannot — I refuse — to let my feelings get in the way of our friendship. I really can’t lose him; I know that now without doubt or hesitation. One argument, one night where I thought he might slip out of my life and never speak to me again, and it was like a nest of sharp wires had been shoved into my gut. I can’t risk that again.

Not to mention, sharing a bed for one night doesn’t erase that photo of him looking at Liz. God. That image still tastes metallic, like a teaspoon of blood under my tongue. He doesn’t care about me in that way and he never will. Liz is who he likes. Liz is the type of person he likes. And I’m not Liz.

I need to remember that.

I slip off the bed.

Before tiptoeing to the shower, I glance at him one last time. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear he has that expression again, that look of disheartened longing from the picture. Or maybe it’s just a blank face from sleeping.

I wonder if he’s dreaming about her.

Next chapter

Tag List: If you’d like to be tagged, send me a(n) ask/message or reply to this post!

*Notice: If you reply, I may not respond back; if you need/want confirmation, send me an ask/message instead :)

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine

35 notes · View notes

katb357 · 2 years ago

Text

14. Hogan's Heroes AU: Beware of Shiny Rocks (Reader’s Digest Version)

A/N: This is a condensation of a multi chapter story I have been working on for a while. I just thought it would be fun to present the concept here to see what people thought. Thank you Xav for finishing it with me!

Colonel Robert Hogan stared at himself in the cracked mirror which hung in his quarters. He shook his head in disgust. He was getting too old for this. He thought about his situation as he shaved. He had been in charge at Stalag 13 for a long time…he chuckled. Of course, that’s not how the Germans would look at it…but, there it was. And he was tired. He glanced heavenward. “God, I really am tired, y’know. We could all use a break around here.”

He stared down at the latest message from London. It was a request for yet another mission. Another miracle he was supposed to pull out of his hat. What worried him was that his men were also tired. They had all been on short rations for a while now, since the war was not going well for the Germans. On one hand, the fact that the Allies were winning was a great thing, obviously. But the reality of it was that there were less and less supplies and food available to Hogan and the other prisoners as German supply lines were cut. And it was telling on all of them. London had only one answer… “Soldier on, and get the job done.”

It was not that he expected anything else from HQ. It was just disheartening to watch his men suffer. And they would not appreciate his coddling them, or reminding them. They knew as well as he did that this is what they had signed on for. But it did not make it any easier. And it made him angry. Perhaps this would explain his mood as he pulled on his bomber jacket and crush cap. Robert Hogan was in a funk.

He sighed deeply and stepped out into the main room of the barracks. The weather had been cold, so his men were bundled up as well as they could. There was a small fire in the old wood stove, but they had to conserve the little wood they had, and so the room was still cold.

LeBeau sensed his mood and silently handed him a cup of coffee. He sat down at the table, cupping the mug in his hands to warm them. Even the normally ebullient Carter was lying silently in his bunk. Only Newkirk, seemingly impervious to the privations, was the same as always. Across from Hogan, he sat and shuffled his cards, smoking another in an endless chain of cigarettes. He managed to keep a steady supply, because cigarettes were the currency used in the poker games he ran in camp.

Hogan glanced around the room and noted that it was very quiet. No one had much energy, and he began to wish that something unusual would happen to pull them all out of their melancholy mood. He sighed and stood. “I’m gonna go for a walk. The sun is trying to come out, and I need some air.” With that, he left the barracks and began to trek across the camp, aiming for the area behind the rows of barracks. It was a bit of a hike, and he hoped the clear and bitter air would help clear his head.

What he had not realized was that one should always be careful what one wished for. One might just get it. And that is precisely what happened. As he reached the deserted parade grounds, he slowed his pace, and meandered through the thin layer of snow. He enjoyed this, because Klink never required parades, and since they assembled for roll call in the square toward the front of the camp, this area was disused and pristine in the morning light. If he stood in a certain spot, he could close his eyes and pretend that he was home…at least for a few minutes.

This time, a bright, shiny object in the snow caught his eye. He reached down and picked it up. It was a small, oddly shaped rock, of a color and composition he was not familiar with. It was pitted, scored, and black, yet shiny. He smiled. Well, he could always use a good luck charm, especially in this place. He dropped the rock into his pocket and promptly forgot all about it.

~HH~

Early the next morning, the men were startled by a hoarse, high-pitched cry coming from Hogan’s quarters. LeBeau was the only one up, so he was the first one to reach Hogan’s door, although the others were not far behind him. He knocked urgently, and called, “Colonel, are you alright?”

There was no answer. Concerned, he started to open the door. He stopped when Hogan called out, “No, don’t come in. I’m fine. Just…stay out.” His voice sounded odd, like it was strained or something.

The men looked at each other in confusion. Kinch was not one to accept any situation at face value. He knew there was something wrong. He motioned the others back, and knocked again, this time more softly. Calmly, he asked, “it’s me, Colonel. What is it?”

There was silence for a long moment, and Kinch thought there would be no answer, but eventually one came. “Come in, Kinch. But just you. Nobody else.”

Kinch was confused but was not about to argue. “Sure, Colonel. Just me.” He turned quickly to exchange worried glances with the others. He then opened the door a crack and slipped inside. The others, who had crept back to the door, were shocked at Kinch’s next words. “Colonel! What the hell happened to you?”

They were equally shocked at the anguished reply. “How the hell should I know?”

Kinch stared at the bunk, unable to believe his eyes. “Colonel?” The scruffy teenage boy sitting there stared ruefully back at him. “It’s me. Not sure what happened, but I woke up like this.”

He was wearing the Colonel’s bathrobe, but it was now much too big for him. The boy Hogan was much slighter and shorter than his adult counterpart. He had apparently abandoned the shorts and t-shirt he had slept in…obviously, they no longer fit.

Kinch shook his head, trying to make sense of the situation, and Hogan seemed to realize it. “Don’t bother. I don’t think there is a plausible explanation.”

Kinch frowned. “No, there has to be. Because everything else is exactly the same. So, something happened in here…just to you. No matter how weird it is, it happened.”

Mockingly, Hogan replied “You mean that line from Sherlock Holmes? The one about the improbable and the truth? Yeah, I kinda thought about that.”

Kinch couldn’t help but chuckle. The boy did not look exactly like his commander at the moment, but he certainly spoke like him, even if his voice was an octave higher.

“Now we just have to find out exactly what happened, and how to fix it.” He eyed the boy critically. “You can’t run around like that all day. Hang on.”

Kinch went around to the various men in the barracks and collected clothes and boots he thought would fit the colonel. The men were mystified by his requests, but he promised them an eventual explanation. He returned to Hogan’s office with the clothes.

He handed the pile of clothing to Hogan and dropped the boots onto the floor. “Here, get dressed. I did the best I could. You might wanna hurry, because we have roll call in less than—” He broke off, suddenly realizing they had a major problem.

Hogan grinned. “Yeah. You got it. I knew you would.”

He finished putting on the borrowed clothing, most of which fit fairly decently… except Olsen’s pants, though the right length, sagged on him. At least that was easily fixed. Kinch looked at his commander and said. “I have an extra belt…somebody left it awhile back. Be right back.”

He made his way to his footlocker, and pulled out the belt. He went back into the office, amid a flood of questioning looks, but he chose not to answer this time. The men would see for themselves soon enough.

He and Hogan cut down the belt and punched an extra hole in it. After he had put it on and cinched it, he stood up and asked, “Well?”

Kinch nodded. “It’ll do. You look okay.” He paused. “Ready to face the gang?”

Hogan shook his head. “Not yet. Give me a minute.”

He stepped over to the mirror and studied his reflection carefully. He looked exactly as he had when he was thirteen. For a moment, he appreciated the irony. Yesterday, he had felt so old looking into this mirror. And now? Now, he was a kid. He studied his features. They were as he remembered them…dark, short hair, a narrow face, and brown eyes. Eyes that reflected his question…What the hell?

Kinch touched his arm, and Hogan took a deep breath. Though the bomber jacket was much too big for him, he pulled it on anyway. His crush cap, likewise, no longer fit, but he pushed it onto the back of his head, at a rakish angle. He had to have something to ground him…something familiar to hold onto. Otherwise, this nightmare just might sweep him away for good.

He straightened himself to his full height and glanced over at Kinch, who now seemed taller and more imposing than ever. Hogan reckoned he had lost at least four or five inches. He was taller than LeBeau, easily, but shorter than Newkirk. He sighed, and looked at his second.

“Let’s go.” And he opened his door and stepped out into the barracks.

There was sudden dead silence as they took in his appearance. Though they might have been forgiven if they hadn’t recognized him, no one had that problem.

As usual, Newkirk was not silent for long. “Blimey, guv! What happened to you?”

And Carter piped up immediately. “Maybe it was one of those secret German experiments, you know. I’ve been reading about them, and although I haven’t read about any age experiments, I bet that’s what happened. Did you see anybody come—“ He broke off at the baleful stares from his barracks mates.

Hogan fixed Carter with as stern a look as he could muster. “Carter…can it.” The tech sergeant nodded silently and sat back down at the table.

Just then, they heard Schultz‘s voice hollering for them. “Raus, raus, roll call, boys!” He would be in the door in the next thirty seconds. Hogan made a dive for his quarters and got the door shut just in time. The front door flew open, and a new, very strange day began in Stalag 13.

Roll call was dicey that morning, because they were not prepared for Hogan not to appear. After the shock they had all received it was a bit hard to think on their feet, but to their credit, they did it. “He’s sick, Schultzie.” Newkirk pushed the big guard out the door. “Very sick. Wilson said ‘es got a very severe case of collywobbles”

“Collywo—what? Was ist das?”

Carter smiled helpfully. “Montezuma’s revenge.”

Schultz looked even more confused. “Who is Montezuma? Please boys! Where is Colonel Hogan?”

Kinch rolled his eyes. “It’s all right, Schultz. Colonel Hogan just ate something that disagreed with him, and it made him sick, that’s all. He should be up and around by this evening.”

“Nein! You know I must account for all prisoners personally!” He reversed direction and pushed open the Colonel’s door before anyone could stop him. The men all braced themselves for the inevitable, but apparently Hogan had been listening at the door. When the door flew open, he was burrowed under his blanket, with his bathrobe pulled around him. He faced the wall and was snoring loudly.

Predictably, Shultz softened and backed off immediately. “He is really sick, then?”

LeBeau immediately took over. Shooing them all out, “He will not get any better if you keep disturbing him. I will take care of him, and he will be fine.”

They all headed out to roll call. Fortunately, Klink seemed disinclined to linger this morning, and so the men were back inside the barracks within half an hour.

Kinch knocked on Hogan’s door. “Come.”

Kinch came in and sat down in the chair as Hogan sat up and faced him. “Now what do we do, Kinch? I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out how this happened. I got nothing.”

Kinch sighed. “Okay, but more importantly, how do we deal with it until you change back, and what if you don’t change back?”

Hogan flinched. That was the question that he’d been avoiding. He was pretty sure he could avoid Klink for a few days till whatever had happened wore off, but what if it didn’t?

Baker came upstairs from the radio and knocked on Hogan’s office door. He had a feeling the colonel was not going to be happy about the message he was about to deliver. He wished Kinch had taken it. At least then Kinch would have been in the line of fire and not him.

“Come in.” Hogan cleared his throat and said it again, trying to pitch his voice lower. If he could just get back to his proper age, he would never complain about it again.

“Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but London has an urgent mission for us.” He handed over the green message sheet.

Hogan grimaced as he took the sheet and studied it. The mission would normally have been a walk in the park, but with Hogan in his current condition, that threw a monkey wrench into the entire operation. They were to infiltrate a local bomb making factory and take it out, while stealing the plans for the bombs they manufactured at the same time. It was a big job, and they would need all hands on deck… including Hogan’s. And they wanted it done tonight!

He looked up from the papers. “I can’t do it. Not like this!”

Kinch was thoughtful. “Maybe we can figure something out, sir. Why don’t we have a general meeting of the core team and at least talk it over? I can always radio London if we can’t take the mission.”

“But it’s crucial or they wouldn’t be asking us to do it. We have to figure out a way to make it work.” Hogan shook his head. “I can’t even leave the barracks like this. There are too many things that could go wrong.” He threw up his hands. “I mean, what if the changes aren’t done--I could wake up even younger tomorrow!” He sighed heavily. “All right… general meeting it is. Get the core team together.”

Andrew was standing near the stove, smoking as they gathered around the table. One thing Hogan noticed was he tended to get cold easily. He’d sat down at the table, but forgotten his jacket. He noticed Andrew was closest to his quarters.

“Carter, can you hand me my jacket?”

“Sure, Colonel.” Andrew went and got the jacket, which was lying on Hogan’s bunk. A shiny black rock fell out of one of the pockets of the jacket and Carter picked it up. He started to put it back, but the composition of the rock fascinated him. He realized it was a small piece of a meteorite. He’d once seen one in a museum. He stuck it in his pocket to examine more closely later. He also made a mental note to ask the colonel if he could borrow it for a while. Then he took the jacket to the colonel, and in the process of getting involved with the discussion about the mission, he forgot all about the rock in his pocket.

They hammered out the particulars of the mission, who would handle what aspect and how Hogan would be smuggled out of camp. It was decided that Andrew would take point, since bombs were his specialty. Hogan’s part was to get to the plans in the office, as they figured he was smaller and quicker now than the rest of them. He wore a spare set of blacks that Olsen loaned him. Much to the relief of all involved, the mission went off like clockwork, and no one was hurt. And Hogan did not change during the mission, nor when he got back to the barracks. Newkirk kidded Hogan on their way home that they were sorry they had kept him up past his bedtime. The look he got in return told them all that Newkirk was flirting with disaster if he kept it up. They all changed their clothes in the tunnel and went to bed, with no idea what the morning would bring.

Carter woke up in the middle of the night and remembered the meteorite. He headed down to his lab to run some tests on it. He left it in a beaker on his lab table. After an hour or so, he got tired, and decided to call it a night. On the way back up to his bunk, he stretched his tired muscles. Man, I must be gettin’ old. He climbed into his bunk and practically passed out, he was so tired.

An hour before roll call Newkirk woke up to some strange noises coming from Andrew’s bunk below him. He leaned his head over the edge and his eyes widened in shock. Oblivious to the sleeping men in the room, he hollered, “Guv, I think we got a problem!” at the top of his lungs.

The “problem” stared back at Newkirk and around himself in bewilderment.

Hogan came running out of his room. The clothes he’d gone to bed in were too tight now, as he was back to his old self, and he’d sprung some holes in the seams because of it. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and then he saw for himself. In Carter’s bunk was a little blond kid. Not a teen, but a toddler, no more than two or three years old.

Schultz, no doubt summoned by Newkirk’s shout, came tromping into the barracks. He took one look at the jug-eared kid in Carter’s bunk and wagged his head in disbelief. “I know nothing! I see nothing!” and then scurried away.

Andrew Carter simply sat in the middle of his pile of clothes and his blanket and giggled.

The End

#falling for hogan's heroes #hogan's heroes #robert hogan #andrew carter

5 notes · View notes

diavolosthots · 4 years ago

Text

DARK DECEPTION CHAPTER 15

READ CHAPTER 14 HERE

Warnings: choking, threats

Pairing(s): no pairs, Diavolo, Barbatos, Beelzebub, Lucifer

“Where is she?!” To say he was angry is an understatement. Two hours. He was gone for two hours and you were left in Barbatos’ care with all the doors locked. He didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to jump off the balcony, either, but apparently he was wrong, considering the doors to the balcony were open and you were gone. You couldn’t have done it alone, though, but Barbatos swore that, although Beelzebub was there, he was with him the whole time. Hell, even if Beelzebub wasn’t, he doesn’t know his way around the castle like that. It just doesn’t make sense to him. You shouldn’t have survived the fall but there was no blood anywhere so someone must have taken you. Maybe one of the guards betrayed him? Possible. Right now, Diavolo is just seething with anger though and every time he thinks someone might know something, he’s met with empty answers and another dead body lying in front of him. If Michael hadn’t distracted him… “Angels?” No… no he would sense if an angel was in the Devildom. They stand out and Michael was the only one with him.

“Damnit!” “You know, anger won’t help you think.” Beel. God, he’s such a buffoon, still eating his crab cakes as if his Queen didn’t just get kidnapped. “No offense, but you’re not helping my case, Beelzebub. Tell me again what you were doing here.” This is probably the sixteenth time Beel had to tell his story, forced to follow Barbatos and Diavolo around the Devildom in search for you, but at least he had his crab cakes. “I told you. I couldn’t stop thinking about those crab cakes from the wedding… I took all of them home the day of the wedding but I ate them all and Lucifer told me not to bother you for more.” Honestly, none of that is actually a lie. Those crab cakes were heavenly and he did inhale pretty much all of them in a matter of seconds. “I just figured since it’s been a while since then, Barbatos may have time.” And he did. Barbatos had way too much time but that was on Diavolo. He knows he can’t blame the Butler. All he told him was to keep anyone away from you and to bring food at the required meal times. That’s it. Diavolo didn’t like Barbatos to be with you for too long because although the demon never betrayed him, he just doesn’t want you to smell like anyone other than him.

A deep growl escaped Diavolo, his wings twitching behind him. It was a natural instinct to switch into his demon form the minute he was notified of your disappearance and sadly, a lot of people had to suffer because of it. “Can I go home now?” “No!” Why was he taking Beel along again? The guy was of no use. He seemed innocent and he was with Barbatos the whole time, too, “unless…. Tell me where your brothers were, Beel.” Beel stiffened slightly but kept a poker face; no way was he going to rat them out. “Probably at the house? Asmo might have gone to the spa.” Seems believable, right? “Are you sure?” Beel nodded. Of course he knew better, but not even he knew where Lucifer took you. The guy didn’t say anything, but if he had to guess, maybe back to earth? “I doubt Belphie ever left his room and you know that just as well as I do.” Diavolo knew, yes. If Belphegor ever willingly moved, everyone needed to find shelter because something is wrong. “Okay. So you were with my servant, Asmo may have been at the spa, and Belphegor was sleeping. What about the other four?”

“I’m assuming Levi was in his room, he’s just like Belphie after all.” Makes sense. Diavolo nodded, crossing his arms and motioning toward Beel to go on. “Mammon…. I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since yesterday, if I’m being honest.” So Mammon is a suspect. The thought of that demon gambling you off or something may seem ridiculous but it makes Diavolo angry and he’s digging his fingers into his skin, “next. Satan?” Beelzebub shrugged. Has he ever really known anything about Satan? “We don’t hang out a lot…. But he does make some mean ice coffee! He always puts extra whipped cream on mine and sometimes he drizzles me a heart with some choco---” “Beelzebub.” embarrassment rushed through the glutton when Barbatos called him out on his rambling and Diavolo was glaring daggers at him, putting Satan on the suspect list too. “And Lucifer.” Beel looked up, right at Diavolo, although his face was just as stern as the King’s. “I’m guessing he was in his office.” “guessing?” Beel nods, starting to glare because if it wasn’t for Diavolo, none of this would be happening in the first place, “I don’t know if you noticed but you took something from him.”

A laugh escaped the Demon Lord, but it wasn’t a laugh felt in the heart, no. It was just… insensitive. Emotionless. It was merely a sound. “He got over it.” Beel narrowed his eyes because he knew better than that, “He has been holed up, drowning himself in paperwork more than usual.” Because of you, is what Beel meant to add. Lucifer meant a lot to the guy. Lucifer helped Beel a lot and he always believed in him; he always found a way to cheer for Beel. The least Beelzebub can do is acknowledge his brother’s feelings. “He literally never leaves his office anymore, and if he does, it’s to eat a few crumbs of food. I have to finish his plate for him.” “I’m sure that’s not a real issue to you, Beelzebub.” Never. Never has Beel wanted to commit violence like he does right now. Diavolo calls Lucifer his best friend and yet he backstabbed him. He lied to him. And now he’s making fun of the guy. What a great friend he is.

But Beel knew better than to talk back. He won’t say anymore in fear of spilling something. “So Mammon and Satan are suspects, Barbatos. Remember that.” What? Beel’s eyes grew wide momentarily and he stepped up, almost getting in Diavolo’s face until Barbatos stopped him, “what? You don’t think they’d have anything to do with this?!” Diavolo looked at him, almost unimpressed, and brushed Barbatos’ hand away from between them, stepping up too until he almost bumped his horns against Beel’s head, “no one is not a suspect, Beelzebub. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and admit that Satan was more likely it than Mammon. The latter doesn’t really have the brains to plan this out, has he?” A growl escaped Beel. Although Mammon could be stupid, and all of his brothers knew that, Beel didn’t like that Diavolo talked to him like that. His fists clenched, as did his teeth, but he’s trying to hold back. “Mammon might not be as smart as Satan, but he isn’t completely dumb, either.” “So you think he could have done it? Interesting. Didn’t think you’d rat your own brother.” What? Beel blinked in confusion, leaning back a bit. “Maybe they worked together….” Diavolo went on and that’s when Beel started to realize that the guy is stalling; he’s playing a game.

“It’s not just a coincidence that you were there during that time, Beelzebub, is it?” More confusion rushed through him and he gave Diavolo exactly that face. “What do you mean?” “Fine. I’ll play your game. You were a distraction, weren’t you?” A cold shiver ran down his spine but he kept his face of confusion as best as he could. How could Diavolo possibly know? No. He couldn’t. “You see, I thought it was odd that Michael wanted to talk to me. Granted, I needed to talk to the guy anyway and I rather not have the celestial realm on my back all the time about keeping a human. It was a conversation long overdue and desperately needed. It seemed normal enough, although I deemed his timing off. But then…. Then I come home and find my wife gone, which I’m sure you know is not just treason against myself, but also kidnapping and potential murder of the Queen, depending on what happened, and maybe an heir.” Heir? No. No way you’re pregnant. Just the thought is disgusting to him and he hopes it’s not true. “It’s too soon to tell, so maybe that charge will be off the criminal’s back.” Thank father; Beel let out a sigh of relief. Maybe stress caused you to never fall pregnant, let's hope.

“Then, you happen to be oh so conveniently there at a time that I’m not, and you’re thinking that I believe this is all a coincidence? Beelzebub, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I know everything.” Barbatos. Beel’s eyes glanced at the butler before glancing back at Diavolo, who’s smirking now. “That’s right. Truthfully, I am hurt that my dearest friend would betray me like that, but I suppose it is payback. I don’t think he would hurt her, either. After all, he does hold a soft spot for her. However, there’s still one problem.” His smirk dropped and he grabbed Beelzebub by the throat, anger radiating through him again as he spoke through clenched teeth, “Barbatos can’t see where she is. He can’t see Lucifer either, which means he protected himself. You, Beelzebub, are going to tell me exactly where they are and in return, I’ll drop all charges against you and force you to only watch one of your beloved brothers die. If you don’t, I won’t hesitate to snap your neck, but not before I rip your brothers to shreds, starting with your favorite, Belphegor.” “Drop him, Diavolo. He doesn’t know anything.” Lucifer. Beel’s eyes landed behind Diavolo to watch the guy. Black. Gold. So that’s where he went. The smirk returned to Diavolo’s lips as he dropped Beelzebub back down, turning to face his dearest friend.

“Welcome home, friend.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #lucifer x mc #lucifer obey me #lucifer avatar of pride #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub obey me #beelzebub avatar of gluttony #swd lord diavolo #obey me lord diavolo #shall we date diavolo #obey me diavolo #barbatos obey me #shall we date barbatos #dark deception

145 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 4 years ago

Text

Sugar and Coffee [15]

Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 15.5 OR Chapter 16

➜ Words: 3.4k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

The white noise rings your ears. It’s cramped — your legs are aching and you try to shift your other butt cheek off to alleviate the soreness of your bottom. There’s a baby crying a few rows away, the lavatory doors opening and closing, and not to mention, the constant whirring of the plane engine. You look over to your left. The bitch Jeon Jungkook stole the window seat and now he’s oblivious to your suffering. His doe eyes are pinpointed on the small screen in front of him, headphones in, watching some kind of action movie. Your eyes stray to the screen for a second, but the flashing gets too much and you shut your lids. You should’ve gotten one of those neck pillows to rest in, even if they were grossly overpriced at the airport. But there’s no other choice. You put your elbow on the armrest, palm trying to hold up your heavy head and support the weight. As you doze off, your head bobs painfully. You lean back again, trying to find a spot, but to no avail. You nod off again and your neck nearly snaps. Jungkook suddenly takes off his headphones. “Hey. You can use my shoulder, you know.” “It’s fine,” you mumble, waving him off. He stares at you for a second and then goes back to watching. Though out of the corner of his eye a few minutes later, he notices your head lolling down, neck snapping again. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Tch.” And Jungkook guides your head gently to his shoulder. Then, he flops his head on top of yours to keep it in place. Your breathing eventually steadies and he smiles, returning to his movie. // It’s a relief when you finally touch down and after several minutes, you’re finally able to grab your luggage and shuffle off the aircraft after hours of sitting there. Every bone in your body aches from the stiff seat, but you begin to feel a lot better when you step out of the airport. The balmy weather hits you, the warm temperature embracing your being. You inhale the fresh air, able to see the blue ocean hugging the horizon, shimmering in the bright sunlight. “Welcome to Tahiti, kids!” Namjoon looks over at the scenery with an equally satisfied expression as his wife. “Taxi ride is only six minutes away.” “How was the flight for you two?” Sejeong asks. “Not bad,” you answer, stepping on Jungkook’s foot when he mumbles something about his shoulder being sore and he laughs at your feigned ignorance. The car drives all four of you to the resort and once you arrive, you’re overwhelmed by the warm welcome the people greet you with. The place is called the Intercontinental Tahiti Resort and Spa and it’s especially fancy for what you’re usually used to. The lobby is grand, white pillars and high ceilings, bustling with tourists. There are people walking back and forth, flowers in their hair and around their necks, women’s dresses flowing, kids running about. The scent of the salted ocean fills your senses as the air conditioning cools your skin. You can’t believe you’re here. “Feel free to get settled in today, you two. Take a look around and relax. We start baking tomorrow.” Sejeong hands you the confirmation forms to check yourselves in. Both her and Namjoon are staying at one of the junior suite bungalows. They apologize for only being able to book the standard room for you and Jungkook, but you’re more than thankful already considering that this was a trip all-paid for. You two are next in line at the lobby as Namjoon and Sejeong wave farewell, dragging their suitcases with them. The woman behind the desk smiles. “Hello. How can I help you today?” “We have a reservation.” “Of course. Let’s take a look here.” She scans the paper and begins typing. “And your name is Jeon Jungkook?” “That’s me.” He offers an ID and she nods, eyes skimming over it with a smile. The woman hands over the key card and a booklet set with pamphlets. “Your room is two hundred twenty three on the second floor. Breakfast and lunch is included, this is also non-refundable. Your check out time will be at eleven a.m. There’s a few packages you can take advantage of during your time here. Room service is twenty four hours. If you ever need anything, feel free to call or come down to the lobby and we’ll help you out. Enjoy your stay!” He nods slowly, but the woman looks off to the next people in line and you stop her before she can call them. “Wait. Is there….uh...my room?” You point to yourself. She looks at you and then at her monitor. “It says two people are staying in this room. The standard room, correct?” “Yes, but there’s supposed to be two rooms. One person in each, not one room.” The woman takes the papers again, shuffling all of them. She types something into her computer and then shakes her head. “My apologies, it still says there’s two people staying in one room.” “There must be some sort of mistake.” “Should I call Namjoon?” Jungkook holds up his phone, brows knitted together. “No, we shouldn’t bother them.” You don’t want to when it was clear they had plans to enjoy themselves for the rest of the day. With a sigh, you lean over the counter to the woman. “Umm...is there another room I can book?” “Let me take a look here for you.” She clicks away. You wait with bated breath and yet again with your shittiest luck, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. It looks like we’re fully booked here until the end of the month.” You’re at a loss and you plead with the woman again as if it’ll somehow help. “Is there really nothing you can do?” “My apologies. There aren’t any rooms available, so there’s nothing we can do at this time. We can give you free vouchers to the lounge area if you’d like for the trouble you’ve been through.” She takes something from underneath the front desk and slides it across the counter. “We get our wine from the famous winery here in French Polynesia.” You don’t cry. Even if you want to. But you take the vouchers since it’s still better than nothing. When you’re off at the sidelines, Jungkook stands with you, suitcases by your side. “We can go talk to Sejeong and Namjoon.” “Then what? They’re fully booked.” “Then you can stay with Sejeong and I’ll stay with Namjoon.” “They’re at a bungalow, Jungkook. This is practically their second honeymoon and I don’t want to bother them.” You take a deep breath and shrug. “It’s fine. It’s whatever. We’ll just stay together.” “Are you sure?” Jungkook’s brows lift, eyeing you. “Psh. Why not? We’re friends.” You bat your hand. “And I don't have germs or cooties like you think I do, Jeon. Promise I shower every day, so you don’t have to worry about it.” The man scoffs with a small smile. “Fine by me then.” But in spite of you the both trying to convince yourselves, it’s not a fantastic situation. The room has a one king-sized bed, not two twins like you had hoped on your way up the elevator. It’s a whopping three hundred and seven square feet to share with Jungkook. One bathroom to your left as you enter, the bed taking up most of the space, a cabinet with a television and one table with two chairs. You slide the glass doors open to let in fresh air. The private terrace is small too. At any other time, you wouldn’t mind dorming with your best friend but considering the circumstances of your relationship lately, you can feel the tension in the air. It makes your palms sweaty. “This is a really nice place,” you breathe out. “Yeah.” Jungkook drops his duffle bag by the table. “There’s not even a sofa. Should we request one?” “Where would we even fit it?” “Right.” You look around. Even if Jungkook would opt to sleep on the floor, there’s no spot for him unless he wants to lay underneath the table. Or in the hallway by the bathroom door where you could potentially step on him in the middle of the night during a trip to the toilet. “We’ll make do,” you reassure. “We can sleep with our heads on opposite ends.” “What if I kick you in the middle of the night?” he asks and when your expression washes over into impassivity, he grins. “Just saying. Can’t promise I won’t….” “Fine. We’ll sleep normally. The bed is big anyway and sorry, Jeon, but your muscles aren’t as massive as you think they are.” He laughs and falls back onto the soft mattress like it’s a pile of snow and he’s trying to make a snow angel. In one second, he’s ruined the fresh sheets and wrinkled them. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Jungkook lifts his head. “What?” “You’re lying on our bed with your dirty clothes.” You approach and try to push him off to no avail. “We were just on a plane for god knows how long.” The boy grins and gets up. “God, you’re so uptight.” “No, I’m clean,” you correct, glaring. “We’re not living like pigs. Try being neat for once. Just for a week.” Jungkook sighs and as he brushes past you to the balcony, he ruffles your hair tenderly. “You’re lucky I like you.” You scoff, trying to fix your hair while watching his broad backside, how he leans on the railing to soak in the view. In the free time that you have, you get yourself cleaned up and take advantage of the bathtub for a bubble bath. You indulge as much as you can, trying to enjoy the resort before you have to start working hard on the cake. You come out wearing one of your sun dresses and Jungkook looks up from his phone. “Pretty,” he murmurs while a tiny, modest smile spreads into his cheeks. You swallow hard, trying to keep your face from heating like a furnace. “Of course. What else would you expect of me?” Jungkook laughs boyishly. “That’s true.” You didn’t expect such a genuine response. But he doesn’t pay any mind to how caught off guard you are, merely getting up from his spot and grabbing clothes from his luggage. “My turn. You better wait for me. I don’t want to walk around by myself.” “Or else what?” you taunt playfully. Jungkook’s eyes darken right before he shuts the door. “Or else I’ll tackle you.” Unfortunately for him, of all the things he was worried about, he didn’t consider the bathroom part. The moment the door closes, the scent of your shampoo and body wash surrounds him. It’s suffocating, thick in the air. He’s overwhelmed in your aroma and his pants unwillingly stir. Jungkook rolls his tongue in his cheek, frustrated by his predicament and it hasn’t even been a full hour yet. By the time he’s out of the bathroom, you're appalled. “What took you so long?! Did you take three dumps?!” “No,” he sharply answers and you don’t push when he’s surprisingly so defensive about it. “Well, let’s go before it gets too late.” You grab the vouchers and swiftly exit your room. Jungkook is decked out in a full tourist outfit — khaki shorts and a blue collared shirt. You’re in a floral print dress that would look perfect paired with your sun hat, but you’re saving the outfit for another day. The two of you walk around, taking a peek at all the facilities they offer — the spa, swimming pool, tiki bar, restaurants, gift shops, and the venue where the wedding is being set up. You run into Chungha and her fiancé too. He introduces himself while she embraces you, thanking the both of you for coming and hoping the flight went well. But the pair of them only linger briefly to talk before they’re running off to take care of other things. After grabbing a bite to eat, you and Jungkook decide to take advantage of your lounge vouchers. “Are you sure this is alcohol?” You swirl the deep liquid inside your glass. Taking a sip and smacking your lips together, you try to decipher the taste on your tongue. “Tastes more like grape juice.” Jungkook smells his own drink. “This one tastes like raspberries. They said it was alcohol though.” “Huh. It’s pretty good then.” He hums, taking another mouthful. “Would you like another, miss and sir?” The waiter comes by with a kind smile and a cloth draped over his arm like a personal butler. “You still have credit on your voucher.” You look at Jungkook who shrugs. “Might as well use it all.” “What would you recommend?” You direct your attention to the waiter. Between you and Jungkook, you both try nearly every kind of wine they offer. You muse that the woman at the front desk must’ve felt really guilty to give you such a great deal. But you don't feel so upset anymore over having to share a room with Jungkook. At least not once you’ve gotten a taste of all the berry wines, another grape, fruit wine, dried cranberry, and one licorice flavored. While you’re not a wine expert and there’s little you can comment on, aside from the fact that it’s very fruity and the acidity is high, you can tell it’s delicious. You actually forget it’s alcohol. You give the beer a chance, but it’s disgusting enough for you to give the entire thing to Jungkook. You don't keep count on how much you drink with him, but it’s enough that the waiter comes by with some glasses of water. Your words slur together. “You know what I hate?” “What?” Jungkook languidly grins, an easy smile on his features that has you feeling some kind of way. “Everything. But also small spoons. I can’t eat out of a teaspoon! Why do they think I want to eat my ice-cream or crème brûlée with a—” “Toothpick,” Jungkook finishes your sentence as laughter bubbles out his throat. Your spine straightens and you look at him in surprise. Did he read your mind? “Yeah! How’d you know?” “I think you’ve told me before.” You wonder if you’ve really spent that much time with him that he knows such a small detail, but you’re baffled at how he can recall so easily. “How’d you remember?” Jungkook shrugs and then burps. You wrinkle your nose until you hiccup too. The boy is resting his head in his hand, elbow propped up on the table. His lids are seemingly heavy, every blink slow and gradual. But he stares at you intently like you’ve got something on your face. “Do you hate me?” “Sometimes,” you answer truthfully without missing a beat. “But not really.” “You don’t hate that I like you?” He leans in closer, but you don’t mind. If anything, he’s too far for your liking. You like it when he’s close. You tap the tip of Jungkook’s nose like he often does to you. “I couldn’t hate you, hate you. You’re my best friend, silly.” “I can’t be more than that?” “I don’t know. I don’t really wanna talk about it.” “I do.” You pout, eyes straying off and then you gasp. “Look! The sun’s going down. You know what I’ve always wanted to do, Kookie? Walk on the beach to watch the sunset. We should go look!” He follows after you, but not before stopping to ask for the bill until the waiter reminds him that it was all free of charge. You and Jungkook happily hop across the resort with you leaning on his arm. “You think we’d get kicked out if they knew we were drunk?” “Why?” “Cause public intoxication. Is a resort public?” “I think so. Just don’t make it obvious.” “How do I not make it obvious?” “Maybe stop giggling and whispering to me,” Jungkook says louder than what your voices have been and laughs at your reaction. The pair of you get onto the beach, stumbling together. The sky is painted in orange and pink hues, the golden hour glowing on your skin. You can hear the sound of the waves lightly crashing against the shoreline, the spray of the salty mist in the air, the tide bubbling and fizzing away. But it’s hard to enjoy it when you’re bumbling all over the place. “Ugh! I hate the sand!” “Then why’d you wanna walk on it?” Jungkook giggles, holding onto you before you trip. “I don’t know. Cause ‘s romantic, I guess.” But at the moment, it isn’t romantic at all. There’s sand grating in between your toes, exfoliating your feet and hurting with every step you take. You swear it’s going to get in your underwear somehow. You step towards the shore where the sand is flat and softer, wet by the water and where it’s more bearable. “Woah. The water’s so blue.” Jungkook treads right up to where the tide kisses the beach. He quietly observes, watching the ocean and you come up behind him. When the timing is right, you shove the boy with all your might. “Fuc—” He shouts, loses balance and puts his weight onto his knees, kneeling in the water. You laugh hysterically, cackles coming from your stomach. You bend over, hugging your stomach. The boy stands up in dismay, shaking water from his hands. His khaki pants are completely soaked like he peed himself. “Why I oughta—” “Stop! Jungkook!” You shriek with tipsy laughter as he starts chasing after you. “I’m sorry!” “Too late!” He screams back and sprints after you as fast as he can with a dark vengeance. You obviously don’t make it far with sand flailing everywhere and his legs being longer than yours. Jungkook ends up grabbing you by the waist and pushing you into the sand. “Ha!” He starts to laugh in absolute mirth, taking pleasure in your demise as sand gets into your underwear. Now it’s going to follow you around for the rest of your life. “I just showered!” You laugh, getting up and trying to get rid of the tiny grains to no avail. “How do you think I feel?” His grin is infectious and Jungkook tries to wring out his soaked khakis. Watching him makes you giggle. “It’s fine. We can shower together afterwards. It’ll be quick and painless.” “Yeah? In your dreams, Jeon Jungkook!” “Oh, it’ll be in my dreams alright,” he teases, astounding you with his outright shamelessness. The both of you eventually calm down enough to realize you probably look crazy screaming at each other on the beach during the calm sunset. You slowly make your way back, still infected by drunken giggles that seem to be unable to stop. Jungkook tries to walk without his wet shorts sticking to his skin and you take off your sandals altogether, attempting to clap them free of sand. On your way back, however, you’re interrupted by a cute lifeguard getting off her shift. She’s a beach blonde with a beautiful tan who boldly introduces herself to Jungkook. She even shakes his hand and invites him to a beach party happening tonight, leaving the two of you utterly stunned. When she leaves, you wiggle your brows. “What was all that?” “You tell me.” You grin at him. “Are you going to go to that party?” “Nah.” Jungkook throws his arm over your shoulder, keeping you from losing your balance before you make it back to the hotel room. “I’d rather spend time with you.” “Psh. Sorry to say, Jeon, but I’m pretty boring.” “No, you’re not.” He looks down at you, an endeared smile gracing his features that makes you divert your vision elsewhere. You feign nonchalance. “She was cute. You should totally go for it! Get it while you’re still young. You’re not always going to attract the ladies like this, you know! Gotta take advantage of it as it comes.” Jungkook laughs in that boyish way that makes you feel funny. “Why would I need to when you’re the only person that actually matters.” You almost choke on your own spit. Jungkook laughs, lightly knocking his head against yours. “I’d rather you’d be the one to notice me.” Little does Jungkook know you do far more than notice him.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook reader insert #jungkook baking AU #jungkook baking!AU #jungkook x reader #I know this chapter is on the shorter end #but good news - they'll be another chapter posted this Friday!#from now on actually #it's just gonna be Sugar and Coffee on my blog until I knock this out of the park #so updates every Monday and Friday!!#hope y'all are excited #cause we are riding to the ultimate climax of the series

607 notes · View notes

tlou-1 · 4 years ago

Text

Joel Miller x Reader (Home) - Chapter 18

Chapter 18 - Joel pulls out all the stops for your second wedding anniversary (warning for smut and cuss words. There is also a bit of fluff)

Songs mentioned from The Dance 1997 Fleetwood Mac Album

The house felt quiet when you walked through the front door, you had just gotten back from an afternoon patrol and normally Bruce or Patrick would be at the door to meet you but nothing.

“Hello… anyone home?” You call out hanging up your jacket and kicking off your boots.

“Don’t move, just stay where you are” you heard Joel’s voice call from upstairs. His loud footsteps soon follow, a smile on his face. He places his hands over your eyes and leads you from behind into the living room. When he removes his hands you can see the room was lit with candles, fairy lights strewed across the ceiling, a blanket placed on the floor and the film projector usually used in the church hall was set up in place of the tv.

“Happy second anniversary” smiles Joel when you turn around to face him, you also have the largest smile on your face. You hadn’t been able to celebrate your first wedding anniversary together, you were pretty preoccupied with a four month old baby, but this completely and utterly made up for it.

You press a quick kiss on Joel’s cheek before saying, “I should really go get cleaned up from patrol first”. Joel had already thought about this and leads you upstairs to where he had drawn a bath, he added some more hot water whilst you removed your clothes. He turns to leave you once you have climbed into the tub but you reach out for his hand, the water dripping onto his. “And where do you think you’re going?” You chirp. Joel smirks, “Scoot” he begins removing his clothes and climbs in behind you, your head resting on his chest. His hands alternate between running through the end of your damp hair and running up and down your chest, grazing your breasts as he did, you shivered as he did it which made him chuckle. “How is anyone supposed to relax with you doing that” you sigh, you actually felt completely relaxed but you couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of Joel’s hand.

“I can’t help it” he whispers in your ear, “You know how much I love your breasts and every time I look down, they are staring me in the face”.

To toy with him you turn around to face him so as that he has a complete eye full, he rolls his head back and groans “Jesus woman” before pulling you in for a deep kiss. He trails him mouth and turns his attention to your exposed wet breasts, slowly licking and flicking your nipple with his tongue before wrapping his mouth completely around them. “We shouldn’t stay in here too long, you left the candles burning downstairs”. You can hear him huff, knowing you were right but there was the entire rest of the evening alone together.

You dried off and changed into a one of Joel’s flannels before meeting him in the living room where he had everything set up.

“So husband, what are we watching this evening?” You ask sitting down next to him on the blanket and picking up the wine he had poured for you both.

“Well it took a bit of searching but” he simply hit play and the film began. There was a roar of a crowd as the titles appeared, the bass of a kick drum started and a title appeared on screen, ‘The Dance, Fleetwood Mac, 1997’. Your head shoots from the screen to Joel who is smiling at you, “Is this real?” you ask and he responds with a nod. You had mentioned a few time that had only been to one concert in your life before the outbreak and it was a regret you had never seen more, you always wanted to Joel to sit and tell you about any music he had ever seen. You didn’t know a lot of Fleetwood Mac songs but that didn’t matter. You could see Joel tapping his foot to the beat of the song he called, “The Chain”.

One of the women began singing this song, “time cast a spell on you but you won’t forget me. I know I could have loved you but you wouldn’t let me”. You turn to Joel, “She looks in actual pain singing those words”. He goes on to explain the man across from her playing the guitar was who it was about, that they had been together but split up and continued to write and sing about each other in the band. “The sounds of my voice will haunt you. You will never get away from the sound of the woman who loved you” the women sang the words directly across to the man. “Jesus” was all you could say, “right?” Joel agreed. You had heard music but to see someone sing like that on stage, well it was incredible, it was an incredible gift that Joel had given to you.

The band start playing another song, this one you recognise. You get up on your feet, Joel Asks “What are you doing?” To which you respond by placing your hand out. He shakes his head and says “I ain’t dancing” before putting his hand in yours with a defeated sigh . He never could refuse you these rare requests. You both slowly sway to the sound of Dream playing in the background, you feel Joels slightly damp hair on the side of your face and inhale the clean smell. “God I get so scared sometimes” you whisper.

“What about?” He asks as you continue to dance, you hold him a little tighter as you answer “How much I love you, it can be terrifying. I literally feel tied to you, like there is a little string between us that is knotted to us both, tying us together”.

Joel shifts back slightly so he can place his hand under your chin to look up at him, he leans down and kisses you gently.

“I never in my life thought I would meet someone like you. I thank god every day for bringing me here and letting me love a woman who is so strong, kind and” he trails off “I have something for you”. Joel had already given you so much, even this evening had been beautiful, what more could he give you.

He opens a drawer and hands you a wooden sculpture. There is a large hand, it looked a like Joel’s and it was holding a woman figure, she held one child a her breast and another older child sat at her knees holding her hand. It was beautiful and so detailed.

“Joel this is” you cant even find the words, he puts his hand up to your face and smiles. He knew what you wanted to say, you kiss the palm of his hand.

Joel slowly takes the sculpture from your hand sitting it down and replaces it with his own hand to pull you in closer. His lips gently find yours, “I love you” he whispers against your lips which sends this wave of gentle peace over you. You take your time with each other, removing each piece of clothing one by one. Joel scoops you up and walks back to the sofa where he sits down with you hovering over the top of him. You can feel his cock stiff beneath you, grazing between your folds as you relaxed onto him. It made you wet and you couldn’t help but grind against it, both of you moaned in response.

Joel positioned himself and bucked his hips so he was inside you, “Oh Fuck” he cried out and his head fell forward resting against your breasts. You could feel him hitting the right spot as he got into a rhythm and when he used his hand to tend to you clit, well you were crying out for him at that point. He asked you to cum for him, “I want to come for me baby” and when you did he responded “yes that’s it. Do I make you feel good?”, all you could do was nod and pant. When Joel was close to edge your instinct was to pull him closer and deeper inside you, you collapsed on top of his shoulder when you felt him tense. You stayed like that with each other for a few minutes, just breathing against each other and him still inside you. “You better keep fucking me like that when we get to our 20 year anniversary” you murmur against his shoulder and you both laugh for a long time about the joke but he also promised he would.

You both are lying in bed a few hours later, you’re facing each other and Joel Asks what you are thinking about, “Nothing” you lie and ask what he is thinking about. “You” he smiles “and what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours”.

“I just - I just wonder how long it will take for her to forgive us. I miss her” you say trying to avoid Joel’s stare.

“I don’t know Y/N but at least she is here in Jackson and she is safe” he brushes his rough fingers up and down your arm.

You don’t know why but you ask “You won’t ever leave here?”.

“Never” he says seriously and follows with “I promised I am planning on making love to you and sleeping next to you in this bed until I am an old man”.

You don’t say anything for a moment and then whisper “But Joel darling… you already are an old man”.

“Why you cheeky -“ he laughs and begins to tickle at your sensitive spot above your hip, he makes good on his promise again that night.

#tlou #tlou part 2 #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #The Last of Us #The Last of Us Part 2 #The Last of Us Part ii #tlou fanart #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction

66 notes · View notes

maatryoshkaa · 5 years ago

Text

young god | chapter 14

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 5.7k

warnings: mild violence, foul language, dark themes and mental health.

description: Han Jisung’s overheard confession sends the precinct -- and the rest of Miroh Heights -- into chaos, forcing law enforcement, police, and citizens alike to choose sides. While he’s locked up, though -- making the acquaintance of a strangely familiar inmate along the way -- Jisung remains unaware of just what lengths some of the people around him are willing to go to in order to save his life.

watch the trailer here!

14| monsters and men.

The interrogation room held a chill that seeped deep into Jisung’s bones.

Across from him, the woman — prosecutor — that had been questioning him tapped her fingers on the table’s cold steel surface, her thinning lips the only indication of her growing impatience. They had been sitting for over an hour now — granted, there was no clock on the room’s bare walls, so Jisung could only guess — and he hadn’t spoken a single word.

“Staying silent isn’t going to help your case, you know,” the woman reminded him for what seemed like the thousandth time. She had curling brown hair and tired eyes — it seemed to Jisung like a recurring trait amongst law enforcement workers — and a thin line of a mouth.

She had been nice enough, reading him his rights and asking questions calmly, but Jisung just couldn’t will his lips to move. He’d been absently studying the handcuffs clasped tight around his wrists with his head bowed. Kang had grudgingly called in a physician to perform first aid on the numerous cuts on his body — including the shallow stab wound above his hip the blonde man had inflicted — and after spending hours in the cold interrogation rooms the sharp aches of pain had eventually grown numb. Every word they spoke to him sounded as if it were in another language, bouncing off before they reached his ears, as if Jisung was enclosed in a muddled, soundproof bubble.

They had brought in a psychologist, too, after he’d stayed silent for an hour — a stout man with watery blue eyes whose tone was too warm for Jisung’s liking.

“On a scale of 1-10, how are you feeling?”

“Can you tell me what’s going on in your head right now?”

“I’m here to help you, kiddo — cooperate with me a bit.”

But another hour dragged by, and so the prosecutor had returned.

Jisung’s mind kept wandering — to the sickly warm feeling of blood, your blood pooling onto his shaking hands, your blood drained face on the hospital cot, Chan’s feverish eyes as he’d held onto Jisung’s slack shoulders with a fatherlike sort of firmness.

Just as the woman let out a sigh of defeat, the metal door behind Jisung swung open with a screech. Behind his golden spectacles, Prosecutor Kang’s beady eyes darted from Jisung’s empty expression to the woman’s tired one and scowled.

“He’s still refusing to talk?”

The woman nodded. Jisung felt the weight of their stares boring into his head. Kang jerked his head towards the door and the woman stood to leave as the older prosecutor took her place across the table.

“You’re holding out longer than I thought.” When Jisung didn’t react, Kang continued with a smirk, “Though I suppose I would expect nothing less from a cold-blooded killer.”

Killer. The note of truth in the word stabbed through Jisung’s gut like a switchblade.

“Well, boy, you’re sly, I’ll give you that —” Kang narrowed his eyes, “But I’m warning you now, we’ve already gathered enough incriminating evidence. DNA from the crime scenes, CCTV footage — you’re only a couple of lab tests away from a guilty conviction, Han Jisung.”

He was lying, Jisung knew he was — lying to get him to panic and talk. Minho had long since erased all fingerprints and disposed of all evidence, after all. Jisung had watched him do it with his own eyes.

Scowling at Jisung’s silence, Kang stood suddenly and slammed his hands onto the metal table, sending the pad and pen skittering. He leaned in closer, his voice a rancid whisper. “Talk or not, you’re not going to be leaving police custody anytime soon. I’ve seen cases like yours. You look all—innocent—on the outside—” Kang’s eyes were almost pitying, his tone condescending— “But deep down, inside? You’re fucked up to the core, and you know it, too. You know you’re a defect of society — so why are you trying so hard to pretend that you’re normal?”

Jisung didn’t realise how tightly he had been gritting his jaw until it began to ache, his clenched fists shaking white. It was like Kang was pulling every fear Jisung had ever had out of the dark crevices of his mind, forcing them beneath the harsh, burning light.

“No matter.” Kang drew back, raising his eyebrows. “You’ll crack sooner or later—just like you always do, eh?” He took off his spectacles, wiping them with a cloth from his breast pocket without taking his eyes off of Jisung. “Like yesterday morning, no? Two men dead and three comatose. Not to mention the poor girl hanging onto her life by a thread as we speak—”

At this, Jisung’s eyes flickered upwards for the first time since they had detained him. The light above him was bright and seared at his retinas, but all he could focus on was Kang’s jeering face. The older prosecutor raised his eyebrows, a flash of triumph rippling across his features.

“You haven’t heard? Or did you simply not care? An innocent young woman, and a switchblade to her heart—” Kang clicked his tongue. “The surgery isn’t going well, I heard. She’ll be lucky if she’s able to stay in critical condit—”

Jisung stood up so quickly his handcuffs banged onto the corner of the table and sent a bruising pain through his wrists. He whirled towards the door, already mapping out the shortest route from the precinct to the hospital—but Kang was onto him, rough hands seizing him by the back of his shirt and pinning him painfully against the desk with an echoing bang. He could feel the stab wound reopen beneath the bandages, a shock of fresh pain in the numbingly cold room.

“—go,” Jisung gasped out, his cheekbone crushing against the smooth steel. “Let me — need to see her, make s-sure she’s okay—let me—”

Kang’s disbelieving bark of laughter sent chills down Jisung’s spine. Jisung knew he could overpower him if he tried—but what about the officers standing guard outside, the dozens patrolling the precinct? The thought of the life fading from your eyes was enough to make him want to throw up.

“No need to pretend you care, Mr. Han—save that energy for the rest of the trial, yes?” At that, Jisung heard the metal door screech open again, and two officers’ hands replaced Kang’s on either side of his shoulders.

The older prosecutor dusted off his hands, then fixed Jisung with a satisfied look. “You’ll be kept under custody until enough evidence has been gathered and processed to begin the trial.”

“Can I—see her? Please, you can—trail me, you can do whatever you want with me, I just—one moment—”

Kang cut him off. “You gave us nothing for nearly five hours. Even if you had, you have places to be, Mr. Han—the state prison, to be exact.” Seeing the confusion flash across Jisung’s whitened face, he continued with a savage glint in his beady eyes. “You’ll be a temporary inmate until you’re called for trial.” He glanced at his watch, then nodded at the officers, who began escorting Jisung from the room.

Behind him, Kang called slyly, “You’ll be cohabitating with the worst of the worst—or shall I say, your own type?” He could hear the smile in the prosecutor’s voice. “We’ll see how long you last.”

━━━━━━━━

The bus ride to the prison was strangely peaceful.

Jisung caught a glimpse of the clock before he took a seat at the back. 12:00. Dead midnight. The streets were cleared, and there were nearly no cars on the road—the aftereffects of the lockdown had likely sent the citizens in a state of paranoia. Because of me, Jisung thought numbly. Because of the Mass-Murderer of Miroh Heights. Besides two accompanying officers and the driver, the shuttle was empty.

No other inmates. Jisung was alone.

He had never really gotten used to the loneliness, though it had followed him his entire life. Each time it came back, it seemed more suffocating than the last. A voice in the back of his head told him that maybe this was how it was supposed to be. That maybe, for someone like him, he deserved nothing more.

The overwhelming feeling of emptiness began to numb his chest. Eventually the rocking motion of the bus pulled him into a cold wash of dreamless sleep. The last image he saw behind his drooping eyelids was your face.

━━━━━━━━

Jisung was woken two hours later, and they spent the early hours of the morning taking pictures and recording his information before he was given a change of clothes and finally escorted to a cell. Other inmates were waking up, some taking walks, but none spared him a second glance. They were all wearing the same stiff uniforms, with a number stamped on their breast pockets. Jisung almost laughed—for once, nobody cared who he was, who he might be. For once, he had nothing to hide.

The air smelled of dust and salt, and the inside of his mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. The prison guard motioned towards the last cell in the corridor, and Jisung stepped inside, watching the light in the room disappear as the heavy doors slammed shut behind him. As his eyes adjusted under what little patchy sunlight the barred windows let in, he realised with a start that there was another man in the cell.

“You planning to stand there for the rest of your sentence?” His voice took Jisung by surprise — it was mild, nonchalant — no hint of threats, hostility, or ulterior motives. Compared to the last forty-eight hours, it was like a breath of fresh air.

Jisung looked around the cell, not quite sure where he was supposed to go. The man chuckled and gestured across from him, and so Jisung awkwardly took a seat on the floor in front of him. The man was contemplating him with slightly raised eyebrows, and Jisung was beginning to get the feeling that somewhere, somehow, he’d seen his face before. His eyes had a familiar crescent lilt, and the corner of his lips were wide and upturned, making him look as though he were always smiling—fox-like features, but with none of the slyness. He was middle-aged, his thinning hair streaked with gray.

“You look like you could use a nap, son,” the man finally remarked, and Jisung subconsciously rubbed at his eyes. Son. Why did the word sound so strange to his ears? “What’s a kid like you doing in a place for monsters?”

Monsters. The old man certainly didn’t look like one. He looked like he could be someone’s uncle, professor, or father. He had said it lightly, almost as if he didn’t take it seriously, but the word still made Jisung’s heart sink. “Are you...a monster?” He finally asked, and the man laughed, but there was a sad edge to his voice.

“Well. That’s what they called me, ten years ago. You can make of that what you want, eh?”

Ten years ago. What had he done to earn such a long sentence? There was a brief silence, before Jisung felt compelled to speak again. It was as if the hours of silence had finally taken a toll on him now, and his tongue was beginning to burn with words and questions. “You don’t look like…”

“A monster?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Neither do you, son. But we’re both in here for a reason, no?”

“What’s yours?” Jisung was surprised at his own boldness — the man could turn on him any moment, after all. But he realised that he was already far beyond the point of caring whether or not he got hurt.

The man studied him for a long moment, and seemed to make a silent decision before finally speaking. “I...killed a man. I killed a man who had hurt someone dear to me.” He let out a deep sigh, and Jisung watched his face cloud over with memory. “A few said it was justified, but the prosecutor in charge was a stubborn one. Headstrong. The world of law is a cold one—killers are convicted without pardons, and murder is murder regardless of the circumstances.”

Jisung swallowed a painful lump in his throat, but his voice still came out sounding like he was being choked. “I killed people who...hurt someone I loved, too,” he murmured quietly. For a moment, he thought the old man hadn’t heard—his voice was nearly inaudible—but when Jisung lifted his gaze, he saw that the man was listening intently, warm brown eyes focused on his face. “B-but in the end, I...hurt the person I loved the most. Because I couldn’t...stop.”

The man sighed. “I know.”

This took him by surprise. Confused, Jisung followed his gaze to the corner of the cell, where there sat a stack of newspapers. The one on the very top had bold headlines that screamed, MASS ASSAULT AT LOCAL DINER. TWO DEAD, FOUR IN CRITICAL CONDITION. Just the black-and-white picture of Mia’s Diner on the cover sent a twist of nausea through his gut. “I’ve been following the case—the Miroh Heights Murders. It’s you, isn’t it?”

Jisung could only nod, exhaling shakily. “Unlike you, I...I deserve what they call me.”

They were silent for another couple of minutes, the man contemplating Jisung with that same, strangely familiar look in his eyes, and Jisung avoiding his gaze and staring at the dusty ground. He was already filled to the brim with self-loathing. The last thing Jisung needed was a convicted criminal looking at him in disgust, too—he didn’t think he would be able to take it.

Instead, the man simply said thoughtfully, “They can—and trust me, they always will—call you what they want. Whether or not you choose to believe it, though, that’s up to you. You know what I learned, son?” Jisung finally lifted his head to meet the man’s gaze, hesitant but curious. “The more you accept those words and let them explain your past, your actions — the longer you let their voices replace your own…the more those words end up becoming your truth. You know yourself better than they do.”

Jisung looked down bitterly. Did he? “You can’t — make those excuses for me. I’ve killed people, I’m a killer, I’m a monster—”

“Are you the monster they claim you’ve always been?” The old man interrupted gently. “Or are you forcing yourself into the mold of the monster they’re making you out to be?”

Jisung was silent. The sun had changed positions while they were talking, the glare in the cell softening into a golden glow. “Why are you telling me this?”

The man sighed, stretching. “I’ll be honest, I’m not too sure, myself. I haven’t talked this much in a while. I’ll say, though, boy, I’ve seen my fair share of monsters—been in here for ten years, and I’ll be in here for the rest of my life. You’re not one of ‘em. As a matter of fact, you remind me of...myself.”

Jisung looked over at the newspapers again. “Why were you following the case?”

“You need to find a hobby to keep yourself sane in here,” the old man scoffed. “I would usually say it’s out of boredom, but...not this time. I have a son,” he finally confessed, a softer note in his voice. He tilted his head, studying Jisung’s features thoughtfully. “He’s a few years younger than you. Just got into university, I heard. Miroh Heights. I worry...about how he’s doing.”

Jisung nodded, a sour taste in his mouth. Imagine living with the serial killer from your son’s campus. Suddenly, the lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing a guard. “Mealtime,” was all he said, and the old man stood.

Before they were escorted out, Jisung asked one last question. “What’s your— what should I call you?”

The old man thought for a moment, then smiled. “People in the town used to call me Old Yang.” He shrugged, a wistful look in his eyes. “Yang is fine.”

━━━━━━━━

Prosecutor Kang was in the middle of lighting a cigarette when Seungmin stepped outside the District 9 Precinct. The interrogations had just ended, and Seungmin had been told to stay behind and drive a couple of his higher-ups back to the law firm. Judging from the sour look on Kang’s already taut features, the questioning hadn’t gone well.

“Kim Seungmin,” Kang called by way of greeting, and Seungmin gave a curt nod. “As you may have heard, the serial killer — ah, the Han Jisung case, I should say—has been transferred to me.” When Seungmin forced himself to stay silent, Kang glanced over and gave him a clap on the back. “Now, now—don’t feel too ashamed, Kim. Everyone makes rookie mistakes. They may have assigned the wrong case to you, but rest assured — it’s in proper hands now.”

“Is it?” Seungmin couldn’t help blurting, and instantly regretted it. Kang’s face darkened, and the older prosecutor turned to face Seungmin head on.

“Have something to say to me, Kim?”

Too much, Seungmin thought, except he could never get the proper words out of his mouth. They would bubble and foam on the tip of his tongue before his own anxiety and apprehension would push them back down hastily. “I’ve just — never understood the way you handled cases, sir.”

“Seungmin.” Kang took a short drag of his cigarette, then took a step closer. Seungmin could smell the bitter tobacco, mixed with mint, on his breath. “Allow me to share a word of advice. They won’t teach you this in law school.”

He took another drag, then continued. “Your job as a prosecutor is not to judge the defendant fairly.” When Seungmin opened his mouth in indignant protest, Kang cut him off. “If you want a smooth career...all you need to do is make sure you’re appealing to the right people. In other words, listen to what the public wants.” Kang jerked his chin; a couple of blocks down the street, the familiar flashing of police cruiser lights were illuminating Mia’s Diner. “Please the public; don’t waste a single damn about the defendant. You spent all your precious time worrying your little head over the killer’s motives, and now that we finally have him, you’re still worrying over the severity of his sentence. Murder is murder, Kim Seungmin, and actions speak louder than motives. You can show lenience towards a mass-murderer, or you can sweep his sorry past under the rug and bring closure to dozens of families. Which would make you a richer, more popular man?”

Seungmin grit his teeth, a sour taste flooding his mouth. “Is that how you got to where you are?” Everyone knew Kang was one of the most affluent prosecutors in the firm — no, in the entire city.

Kang only smiled, spectacled eyes flashing like a snake’s. “Think, boy. As far as anyone needs to be concerned, the cold-blooded killer is caught, peace is re-established, families are soothed, justice is served once again — and I come out the hero. You saw that boy’s wretched past. Even he can’t handle it. So why poke at wounds that aren’t meant to be reopened?”

Kang flicked his cigarette, not catching the way Seungmin was shaking with anger. “You think you’re being kind? Justice isn’t meant to be kind, Kim.” He shrugged. “Make up the easiest case to solve and do everyone a favour.”

Just then, the precinct’s glass doors slid open and a couple of prosecutors stepped out. Kang waved them over into one of the parked cars, Seungmin in the driver’s seat, and they sped off, leaving the parking lot eerily empty.

Yang Jeongin stepped out from the corner where he had been standing, concealed in the shadows, the confused nurse he had guilted into letting him “take a quick walk” trailing by his side.

“We best be going, sweetheart,” the old woman said worriedly, eyes darting nervously between Jeongin and the IV drip still connected to his arm. “Fresh air is good, but it’s best you don’t overexert yourself this soon.”

Jeongin nodded absently, and let her guide him back to the hospital while clutching his arm. He felt stronger, but his head was beginning to pound again.

He glanced down at his other hand, where he had been holding out the voice recorder, and pressed END RECORDING.

━━━━━━━━

“Hey, chin up, kiddo. Look at me.”

Even though Bang Chan was sitting on the other side of the plexiglass, Jisung couldn’t bring himself to meet his friend’s eyes. He heard the detective sigh.

“When the trial starts. Plead not guilty, you hear? I know what you’re thinking, but if you plead guilty, that Kang bastard is going to eat you alive.”

“I can’t.”

“Jisung—”

“I can’t, Chan. I’m not innocent. Shit, I — I can’t even remember half the murders they’re accusing me of, but I know my hands are bloody.”

“If you can’t remember, that factors into the investigation. A mental impairment, a handicap--” Chan was in detective mode, hands gesturing wildly as if he were moving his thoughts and theories through the air. “We need to find out why.”

“Woojin visited before you,” Jisung said in a dead tone. The police captain had been the most distressed Jisung had ever seen him, pacing the room with a locked jaw. It seemed to be a habit of his.

“Han Jisung, I’ve seen numerous murder cases before. This isn’t...right. Your sentence shouldn’t be as heavy as Kang’s making it out to be, but he’s removed both Chan and I from the investigation. We couldn’t gather more counter-evidence if we tried…” the captain looked up at him, his dark eyes troubled. “Unless you give it to us.”

The detective fell silent as Jisung repeated Woojin’s words. The younger boy’s voice was shaking with so much raw, unconcealed emotion Chan felt his own two hands clench into shaking fists. “And I won’t. So please, Chan—and tell this to Woojin, too—don’t throw away your reputations to save me. I...don’t deserve it.”

At this, Chan stood up abruptly, slamming his hands on the desk so hard the Plexiglass screen between them shook violently. “To hell with reputation. I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you it all over again: Jisung, you don’t deserve the death penalty.”

Jisung got to his feet, too, staring his older friend down with shaking pupils. “I don’t want to hurt anything — anyone — for as long as I live. Never really have, although I can’t exactly tell them that, can I? It needs to stop. This—I—need to stop. This needs to end — and if a death penalty is the only way to do it, I’ll take it.”

Chan raked a hand through his unruly blond hair. “Take a lawyer at least, ‘sung, haven’t they told you you have the rights to one? Hell — do it for y/n. She needs you. She needs you to stay alive.”

At this, Jisung swallowed a painful laugh. “I think I’ve learned better than anyone that in order for her to live, I need to stay out of her life. For good. She is the reason why I need to do this, Chan.”

Before Chan could respond, the timer buzzed and the door clicked open, and Jisung was dragged out of the distressed detective’s sight again.

━━━━━━━━

Fire.

That was the first thought that flashed in your head, the first word accompanied by a twinge of searing pain that pulled you ever so slightly out of the murky darkness. You were burning up, an inferno that sapped all the energy from your veins and made you want to curl up and lose what little consciousness you had just regained.

There were tiny pinpricks of light poking through your vision now, and the fire was beginning to concentrate on one area in your chest. Your lungs were aching, trying to steal back the air that the fire was consuming and as your mouth pried itself open to catch your breath your eyes shot open and you were thrust into a world of blurry white and muffled sounds.

Blinking groggily, you began to register your surroundings — a familiar white, speckled ceiling, the rhythmic beeping of a heart machine. A pinch of wires attached to needles biting into your arm. And the awfully sore, burning throbbing underneath your left collarbone.

A nurse that had been replacing the IV fluid nearly dropped the sack when she saw your open eyes. “Sweetheart? Can you hear me? Blink twice if you can hear me.”

You blinked rapidly, and she gave a sigh of relief. “I’ll call the doctor, you sit tight, alright?”

She returned with an older woman who spoke so quickly you could barely catch her words. You were lucky they didn’t have to undergo open-heart surgery—the wound was deep, but missed a major artery in your heart by a thread. Instead, you had a punctured lung they had resected, which explained the burning ache in your left side. And you had been unconscious for nearly three weeks.

You had been unconscious for nearly—

“Three weeks?” You sat up suddenly and the nurse’s eyes bulged at your abrupt movement.

“You’d best not move too much if you don’t want to be unconscious for more,” she scolded. “You poor thing. Don’t you worry, though, sweetheart—that monster who attacked you’s supposed to stand trial soon. He’ll be paying for his sins in no time.”

Her words only hit you after a beat of silence.

Stand trial.

Pay for his sins.

Han Jisung.

The memories came back in a violent flood—you had been woken by an echoing crash from the living room and gone back to sleep briefly. By the time you had thought to go and check, Jisung had been long gone. After a chase down dead ends under a growing thunderstorm, you had followed the muffled sounds of pain and fighting all the way back to the back lot of Mia’s Diner, where the only boy you had ever loved had been kneeling like an avenging angel over five unmoving bodies.

You had called out his name like a shout into the void.

And when he finally heard you, there had been a flash of pain that sent you doubling over. You remembered the switchblade sticking out from your ribs, how it had felt like your body was no longer your own. And you remembered the last thing you had seen before you had slipped unconscious—Jisung’s horrified, tear-filled eyes.

You had wanted to say something to him then, but the words hadn’t made it past your lips. They had echoed in your head when you slipped away, and they came back to you now.

Don’t blame yourself.

Because it was me who chose to stay. To listen. To fall in love with you — each and every part of you, Han Jisung.

And somehow, I don’t regret a single choice I made.

Your fingers absently trailed to your side, where a thick layer of bandages rose beneath the hospital’s scrubs, and found your mind wandering to a memory of Felix and Hyunjin. It hadn’t been too long ago — a couple of semesters after the three of you had first met as freshmen.

“Complexes?” Felix had repeated, and you nodded.

“It was the topic for my psych lecture today. It’s a core part of your subconscious — shaped by perceptions, emotions, and memories. It can be a fear, or a belief, but it usually has a theme of some sort, and like all subconscious influences it affects the way that people act. You know, like an inferiority complex, or an Oedipus complex.”

Hyunjin snorted. “Felix definitely has an Oedipus complex. I’ve seen him call his crushes “mommy” one too many times.”

Felix smacked the taller boy, mouth falling open in protest. “It was a joke, bro!”

The barista had rolled his eyes, pulling a new bag of coffee beans from the shelf. “Jokes always stem from truth, my friend. Anyways, if we’re talking about complexes, you can’t deny that y/n has a hero complex.”

Felix had nodded rapidly at this, and you had raised an eyebrow. “Not that you want to be a hero or anything, but it’s like, you kinda want to save everyone, all the time. You can’t stand to see anyone suffering. I’ve never seen anyone more fitting — or less fitting, depends on how you look at it — to be a therapist.”

Hyunjin had made an amused sound of agreement before you could argue. “You remember that stray cat with a limp we found behind the shop in freshman year? She wouldn’t stop crying until we brought it to the vet. And the bird with the broken wing that crashed into the window upstairs—wouldn’t leave its side until it could fly again.” He shook his head, smiling at the indignant look on your face.

“Your complex extends to humans, too, you know,” Felix continued without missing a beat. “You walk home the little kids whose parents are at work during the winter because it gets dark early. That girl who used to get bullied by her classmates would come to Glow Cafe, every morning last semester, just to talk to you. The list goes on.” The blond journalist hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe we’ll make it a new segment in the paper: Good Samaritans of Miroh Heights.”

“Don’t you dare,” you had snapped playfully, “That sounds even more ridiculous than the damned Matchmaker of Miroh Heights.”

“You can’t save everyone, y/n,” Hyunjin had said, giving you a small, well-meaning smile. “Someone going into your field ought to know that, sooner or later. No matter how stubborn you are, no matter how much you want to.”

As if on cue, Minho’s words from the rooftop echoed in your head, sending a chill down your spine. There is little you can do for people who don’t want to be helped, y/n.

You gritted your teeth in defiance. To hell with it.

All you knew was that if there was something you were going to save, it was going to be Han Jisung’s life.

The nurse opened the curtains, letting bright beams of sunlight cast their warmth into the room. The light was blinding, but it felt good on your face nonetheless. Before she left the room, she turned to you. “Is there anything I can get you, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip. “Can I have my laptop?”

━━━━━━━━

Your paper was just as you remembered it — you had thought the rough draft was completed, save for a few points that needed tweaking and a few references you needed to track down and cite, but now you quickly scrolled to the bottom and deleted the entire conclusion. You had all the puzzle pieces in your hands — not just the voice recordings and notes from the final interviews, but you now had access to police statements (Chan and Woojin were one phone call away) and numerous newspaper articles. Now you knew which concepts to apply, now you had all the theories and evidence you needed.

This wasn’t just going to be a final paper.

You had to get it published as a formal case study.

By the time you had finalized your thesis and made the finishing touches, the moon was threatening to drop from inky night sky, the hues of dawn slashing through the velvet horizon. Your room was dim, but you could feel the city below — and the rest of the hospital outside your room — thrum with a sort of life, a neverending heartbeat. Your phone was still warm by your side, having made nonstop calls to whoever you could get ahold of that was working on Jisung’s case. You picked it up to make one last call.

You peeked at the clock. 5:02 A.M. “Rise and shine,” you muttered, and punched in the number.

He picked up on the seventh ring. “...ngh? Whuhsh hap’ningh?”

“Felix,” you breathed. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed your best friend, and his familiar, groggy voice made you smile. “Felix, it’s me.”

You heard him sit bolt upright and choke before clearing his throat, fully awake now. “y/n? Holy shit, you — are you okay? I mean, what the hell, of course you’re not fucking okay — when did you wake up?”

“This morning,” you told him. “Look—”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I— I don’t even know what to say. If I could go back to the day I set up that stupid blind date —”

“I’d let you,” you interrupted him, and you heard him fall silent in confusion before you continued. “Listen, Felix. If you really want to make it up to me, check your email and read the paper I’m sending over.”

“You...want me to read over your psych paper?” There were a few beats of silence as the blond skimmed over the documents you had sent, and realisation dawned on him. “Y/n — these are — you mean —”

“Today’s Saturday. The weekly campus paper goes out on Monday. I need you to cover this story, ‘lix.”

You heard him swallow uneasily. “Shit, y/n, I—you realise these directly contradict the local press? They’ve been throwing up story after story about how Jisung’s a — a cold-blooded psychopath, and that lead prosecutor keeps egging them on. The campus newspaper is far bigger than your average school newsletter, heck, I’ve been bragging about it since before I joined, but…” he hesitated before saying the worry that had been tugging at the back of your mind. “Will it even stand a chance?”

You exhaled slowly. For a long moment, all you could hear was your pounding heartbeat, synchronised to the high-pitched beeping of the heart machine by your bed. “We won’t know unless we try.” Your voice faltered, giving into your own creeping anxiety. “What do you think?”

At that, you heard him let out a slow, decisive breath, and something changed in the blond’s voice — a grit and determination you always saw when Felix was working on a new story, setting his mind to a challenge — and it immediately gave you a newfound surge of confidence, a feeling of assuredness you hadn’t felt in a while.

“I think,” Felix began, and you could almost see the glint of determination flickering over his usually mischief-bright eyes, “It’s time to kick some prosecutor ass.”

793 notes · View notes

illfoandillfie · 4 years ago

Text

5 Simple Rules For A Successful Fake Relationship: Ben’s POV

5 SIMPLE RULES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summery: 14 scenes told from Ben's Perspective.

Warnings: A whole lotta angst and badly handled feelings. swearing, drinking, a little bit of smut/masturbation (18+) basically everything from the other chapters but from Ben’s side lmao

Words: 22 790 (oh god im sorry, but all the sections are separated so you don’t have to read it in one hit!)

A/N: I know it's like super duper late but here is the final chapter of this series that I promised! Basically just a collection of blurbs (maybe a few oneshot length parts too) that tell the story from the other side. Some are his point of view of things that occurred in the main chapters, some fill in gaps that reader wasn't around for.

I had a lot of fun writing from a perspective I don't normally write from! It was a bit of a challenge at times but definitely something I'd like to do again.

Taglist: @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @taron-egrotten @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies

@coni-martina @hardforbenhardy @cubedtriangle @vicouscirce @arianabrashierstuff @pattieboydwannabe @maggieroseevans @theprettyandthereckless @friccinfricks

“Pick up Joe, pick up,” Ben mumbled to himself, pacing around his trailer. The phone rang out and he let out a grunt of annoyance as he switched to text message.

I fucked up. Call me.

It was an anxious ten-minute wait in which Ben found it hard to sit still or focus on anything other than what a colossal mistake he’d made. He tried to go over his lines instead, tried to focus on the next scene you’d be filming together but all he could think about was you. You and how badly he’d fucked up. Finally Joe put him out of his misery. “Thank Christ,” “Sorry I was asleep,” a yawning Joe said from the other end of the line, “What happened that you needed to contact me at 6am?” “I said yes,” “To?” “Joe, I know it’s early for you but please try to keep up. I said yes.” There was a pause as Joe tried to work out what Ben meant and then realisation dawned, “Nooooo,” “Yes. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Oh my god,” Joe groaned, sympathetic, “You said yes? To the fake dating schtick?” “I wasn’t going to,” “I should fucking hope not. After everything we talked about yesterday? After we agreed it was a horrible idea?” “I know! I know,” Ben had to pause to gulp in a breath, his chest suddenly feeling too tight to handle the oxygen, “I was going to say no. I came in with a plan to say no and it was on the tip of my tongue for the entire meeting. They were going through these pages explaining it all and all of the rules we’d have to follow and I was ready to say no, I was going to say no,” “So what happened?” Ben flopped down onto his couch, the one he liked to nap on when time allowed, running his hand through his hair as he spoke, “I looked over at her and my mind clouded over and I said yes,” “Did she ask you to?” “Nope. I think she knew what I was thinking through the whole thing, she seemed shocked when I agreed to it. Fuck, why did I say yes?” “Cause you’re a fucking idiot.” “You can say that again,” “I could but I won’t.” Joe exhaled slowly into the receiver, “Jesus man,” “Yup. You wanna know the worst part though?” “Agreeing to it wasn’t the worst part?” “I’m not totally disappointed,” “Ben,” Joe sounded mildly horrified so Ben hurried to explain. “I mean, I know it’s bad. I know there were a thousand ways to better handle it...sticking to the plan and asking her out after we wrapped being the least of them. But...I have date ideas picked out already. There’s this wine and art place she’d love and the ice-skating rink and I’d love to take her to that Chinese restaurant near me. And I’m kind of happy I have an excuse to look at her now, touch her. I don’t have to worry about if she’s caught me staring or if I’m doing a bad job of hiding my feelings because everyone’s going to think we’re dating anyway so what’s the fucking harm,” “Alright Ben, I’m gonna stop you there. You need to get this shit under control. I suggest going to a bar, getting drunk, and getting into the pants of the first girl who talks to you.” “Can’t,” “Oh don’t give me that bullshit. You’re not so hung up on this Y/N chick that you can’t think about sleeping with someone else, are you?” “Doesn’t matter, I literally can’t unless I want everyone to think I’m cheating on her. Don’t think that’d go down well with the studio or anyone else really. They’d crucify me for fucking up the plan after less than a day.” “Would you have followed my advice even if that wasn’t the case?” Ben mad a non-committal noise, “Probably not. I just want her,” “Doesn’t she have a boyfriend? I distinctly remember you whining about a boyfriend.” “Apparently it was never that serious. He was boring.” “You’re boring too Ben. Hate to break it to you but you’re dull, unexciting, tedious. She’s not going to want to date you either. Might as well give up now,” “Have you got a thesaurus sitting in your lap?” Joe laughed despite himself, “I thought this was going to be a crush Ben. Short lived.” “Me too. It’s not though. I can’t get her out of my mind. When I’m with her I don’t want to leave and then when I have to leave all I can think about is when I’ll next see her. She’s so wonderful and beautiful and kind-hearted. She likes pulling faces at me from behind the camera and she’s got the cutest laugh…When she’s nervous about a scene she bounces her leg. Every time. And she’s so sweet to everyone on set, always chatting with whoever is around and making jokes and stuff. I want to make her laugh. I want to calm her when she’s nervous. I want her.” “Maybe you should just tell her how you feel now. I know you wanted to wait until after the movie but I think that horse has bolted,” “I can’t tell her now, are you insane? If I tell her now she’ll call up her agent and cancel the whole fake dating thing and she’ll never want to see me again,” “Maybe she wants to date you too,” “Nope. She literally said to me she wouldn’t date me in real life,” Ben paused, thinking, “d’you reckon there’s a chance she might fall for me too? Like, with the whole pretending to date thing? Maybe I could convince her I’d be a good boyfriend,” “Don’t get your hopes up Ben,” “You’re right. She’s not going to change her mind about me. We’re friends and that’s it. And I’ve just gotta focus on finishing this movie and getting through the whole relationship without her figuring anything out.” “I don’t envy you, buddy.”

***

It took Ben a few moments of lying in the dark to remember why he felt so nervous first thing in the morning. But the waiting message from Peter about what time the photographer would arrive was enough to remind him. He lay there a little longer, trying to prepare himself for everything, trying to convince himself that seeing you first thing in the morning would be enough of a turn off to stop him from feeling the way you made him feel. It didn’t work, the convincing or the seeing you. If anything, seeing you yawning as you left his spare room just made it all the worse. You, in his pyjamas. It made his stomach flip. He found it hard to pull his eyes from you as you drank your coffee, found it hard to not enjoy the sight of you in his pyjamas in his kitchen. You’d never been there before but you didn’t feel out of place. He could imagine other mornings, making pancakes together, you with a spot of batter on your nose that he’d wipe away and replace with a kiss, or else making you the first tea or coffee of the day and bringing it to you in bed, snuggling under the covers with you, your head resting on his chest as you talked quietly about whatever was happening that day. But planning out how you’d look for the camera was a sharp reminder that it wasn’t real, that you were only there because of work.

“And, um, he was very careful in how he worded it, but they want us to look like we fucked. Also I told them I’d take you home so there may be someone waiting for us there too, he never got back to me on it.” “Shit, okay. Umm, guess I’ll just wear this then?” he watched as you indicated the pyjamas you’d borrowed, his pyjamas, “might lose the pants though, help sell it a bit more.” “Yeah, guess so,” Ben had to clear his throat and avert his eyes, terrified that you’d be able to see what he was thinking, willing himself to stop thinking about helping you out of them. “What time is it?” He glanced at the oven, thankful to have even the smallest of diversions, “Twenty past eight,” “God I haven’t been up this early on a weekend in months.” “Not one for farmers markets or anything then?” This was a better topic. Boring, safe. “Not really. Much prefer lying in bed doing nothing.” Shit, “Me too,” he laughed, trying not to imagine you in his bed in just his shirt (fuck the pants they were too big for you anyway). “We’re meant for each other,” Ben took another sip of coffee to keep from groaning. You had no idea what you were doing to him and he wasn’t going to be the one to tell you. Not now at any rate. He’d killed any chance of anything happening when he’d agreed to this stunt and now he had to suck it up and deal with it. “Did you want to have a shower or anything?” “Nah, you can if you want though,” “Might as well wait until I get home. But I am gonna clean my teeth, especially if we have to kiss.” Jesus, the kiss, he’d almost forgotten about that, “Maybe mess up your hair too, make it look like you didn’t sleep much.” This is dangerous territory. “Well how could I when you’re such a good lover,” Oh god oh god oh god, “I know you’re joking but if anyone asks, I’m incredible. You came like three times,” “Did I now?” “Of course,” “Good thing no one’s gonna ask then, don’t think I’m great at lying,” Ben wanted to stop, wanted to switch back to talking about farmers markets and breakfast options but he didn’t seem to have control over himself anymore, “Besides, it’s not really a lie, I am that good. You just haven’t experienced it personally.” You poked your tongue out at him as you turned back towards the bathroom. As soon as he heard the door shut Ben collapsed forward against the kitchen counter, leaning on his palms as he grappled with what had just happened. He’d need to keep his wits about him from now on. Flirting like that couldn’t happen again, he’d been lucky that you'd treated it like friendly banter. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the voice that suggested you’re lack of awareness was proof of how disinterested you were. It was only when he heard the bathroom door swing open again that he forced himself to move.

“How do I look?” you asked as you re-entered the room. Can’t avoid looking at her now, she wants your opinion, “Gorgeous.” It was true. Everything you’d done to make yourself look like you’d had a late night just made you even more desirable. The messed up hair, the smudge of makeup around your eyes. He gulped when he noticed the undone buttons of the flannel shirt, just enough to tease, and the missing pants. Tell her you want to pin her to the wall and undo the rest of those buttons. Tell her you want to wake up to that sight every morning. “But do I look like I’ve been thoroughly fucked?” “Oh, right, ummm,” he gave you another cursory look, trying not to linger on any part of you for too long, “yes, I think so,” “I feel like there’s something missing,” suddenly you turned on your heel and stepped back towards the bathroom. Ben waited where you’d left him until, “Oh! I know. Might be taking it a bit far though.” Clearly he was supposed to be part of this conversation, so he followed you to the doorway, stepped just over the threshold, “What is it?” You were scrutinising your appearance in the mirror and he let himself watch your reflection, “what if you gave me a hickey?” Ben’s breath caught in his throat though he managed to stutter out your name. “Yeah, I know, that’s a weird thing to ask. Don’t worry, I think we’ll be fine without it,” He inhaled deeply wondering if your backtracking was a sign that you’d worked out what was going on in his head. He couldn’t let that happen. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to give you a love bite, though he’d prefer to be covering you in them. Slowly, he let the breath go again, “no, you’re right. A hickey will definitely make it look more authentic,”

“It’s not totally inappropriate for me to ask?” Babe this whole thing is inappropriate, “No, no, we have to make it look legit. Here, I’ll uhhh,” With another, less than steady, breath, he stepped behind you, close enough that you were practically leaning against him. His heart began to beat faster, his stomach did summersaults. Carefully he wrapped his arm around your waist to steady himself, pull you closer, as he pushed your hair to the side. He glanced at your reflection, waiting for you to stop him, to notice his shaky fingers and burning skin and to jump away from him. But you didn’t. You let him lean in, let him press his lips to your neck, let him mark you. He felt your own breath speed up, felt you tilt your head, inviting more. And then. It was only a small hum, but it had definitely come from you. He glanced at the mirror again, saw you had your eyes shut. You liked it. He was giving you a hickey and you were enjoying it. This might be his only chance to do that, to make you feel that way. He refocused on your neck, where his lips met your skin, soothing the fresh brand with his tongue. He could happily have given you ten more, was tempted to go in for a second at least. Instead he let you go, stepped backwards as quickly as he could manage. If he waited too long he’d end up saying something he’d regret. “Will that do?” “It’s great Ben really ties the whole look together,” He tried to match your smile though it felt like there was a warning siren going off in his head, “Good. Good. Okay then, I’ll umm, what time is it?” “Just after nine. Wonder if the photographer is here yet,” “I think I will jump in for that shower actually, by the time I’m done he will definitely be here,” he needed some time to compose himself before he even thought about stepping outside the door with you, “Make yourself comfortable though, watch some TV or something.” “Alright. Thanks for being so cool about all this. I know you’re a little sceptical about the benefits and everything.” “It’s fine Y/N, no need for any of that,” he forced another smile as you left but the moment you’d pulled the door shut it slipped again. Slowly he made his way to the tap, splashed his face with cold water. His fingers still tingled where they’d rested against you. The echo of your hum was stuck in his head. Your perfume still lingered in the air. “Fuck,” Ben directed the curse at his reflection, unsure any other word could sum up better than that. The fact that you didn’t want him was fucked, having you here looking the part of the perfect girlfriend was fucked, giving you a hickey for the performance was fucked. And the fact that he was sporting a semi from it was really just the cherry on top of his totally fucked sundae. He couldn’t go back out to you in such a state, especially not when you were going to have to make out for the camera. A shower to relieve himself was the only answer, though he felt bad about you being only a couple of rooms over.

With a final prayer that you wouldn’t overhear or work out why he’d changed his mind about the shower, he turned the taps on and began undressing, wincing a little as he stuck his arm under the scalding hot water. With some adjustment he was able to fully step into the shower, pausing for a moment to relax under the steady beat of the water before reaching for the soap. Of course, you were on his mind as he wrapped his hand around his cock and slowly started stroking himself. The way you looked in his shirt, the swell of your breasts just barely exposed, tantalisingly so. The hem of the shirt draped over your bare thighs. You’d make such a sight dressed like that, lying in his bed, the sheets tangled around your legs. Better still his legs tangled between yours. He thought of the hum you made as he’d sucked at your throat. On the verge of a whine, maybe even a moan. Would you whine if his lips were on your chest instead? What about your thighs, leaving a trail up to… His breathing was faster now, hand moving at a similar speed. We’re made for each other. Your voice, your words. You’d say it, half pant it, while he was inside you. Made for each other. And you’d hum that hum of pleasure. Your thighs, under his shirt. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close as he pulled your hair aside. What if you gave me a hickey? The warmth of your body leaning against his, such a contrast to the cool bathroom tiles. That hum. Those thighs. The way you say his name. Made for each other. Your lingering perfume. Your lingering warmth. Your lingering hum. His name on your tongue. He bit his lip to keep from making any sound as he came onto the floor of the shower. It took Ben a few moments to right his breathing, eyes pressed shut so he could hold onto the fantasy for just a little longer. But he knew he didn’t have the time. At least you get to kiss her again. He rushed through washing his hair, scrubbing himself clean. As he stepped out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and swiped his palm over the fogged-up mirror. He forced himself to smile, tried to make it seem natural but that just made it feel more fake. Maybe you wouldn’t notice. With a final exhale he left the bathroom, heading towards his bedroom to find some clean clothes. Your laugh cut through the mostly quiet house. Something on the tv, a cartoon by the sounds of it, had made you laugh and Ben couldn’t help but smile for real at the sound. It made it all seem worth it.

***

It had been a bit of an odd week. Everyone at work knew about the relationship and Ben had found himself set upon by well meaning set dressers and ADs who were curious to know when it had started and how they’d kept it such a secret because “seriously Ben, no one suspected anything.” That was nothing to his friends though, who were shocked he’d never brought it up even in passing and who demanded to know when they could meet this secret girlfriend of his. “Someone’s gotta tell her about the time you pissed your pants at the fair,” “I was seven and had drunk a lot of coke,” “Excuses, excuses. What’s your excuse for never mentioning her before?” “I thought we were going to play FIFA, not talk about my love life,” “We were but that was before we all saw your girlfriend’s arse online,” “You can’t see her arse in that shot,” “Near enough. And we can definitely see the giant fucking hickey on her neck. Now explain yourself,” “Alright mum,” Ben shook his head, “I mean, you know I don’t normally date people I work with. Neither does she. We both wanted to give our selves some time to see if it worked, to make sure what we thought we were feeling was legit and not on screen emotions carrying over or anything like that.” “Well it looks legit judging by photos,” “Shut up,” Ben sighed, rolling his eyes, “I actually really like her,” “Hey, I have a question. When the fuck have you been seeing this chick? Because your down time is spent with us.” “Oh, umm, y’know, after work and stuff. I don’t spend all of my time with you guys,” “Uhhh beg to disagree,” Ben tried to keep his tone normal though his heart was racing. If they figured it out now it could all be over, “Fuck off I have a life outside of you. And just because I was hanging with you guys in the evening doesn’t mean I didn’t see her earlier in the day.” “Nooners?” “Lunch dates.” “Uh huh. Okay, lunch dates. She’s a good shag though, right?” “Oh yeah, fucking….great shag,” “You gotta give us more than that mate,” “Sure, okay, but first can one of you kill me,” “Boooooo,” Ben laughed as he was pelted with crisps, “I’m so going to kick all your arses, now hand me a controller.”

The week had also brought him a copy of your rules. He’d taped the sheet to the bottom of his sock draw where no one else was likely to see it but he could still have a daily reminder that none of it was real. Being around you made it easy to forget you weren’t actually his girlfriend, the lines between friendly banter and flirty teasing becoming too blurred. Of course, he also had Joe reminding him to keep his head straight. He’d called after he saw the morning-after photos. The conversation had started with Joe calling Ben a moron but quickly shifted into Ben ranting for close to an hour because he’d, that morning, heard all about the conversation with Felicity and how you’d spent so long talking up his prowess. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream. “Is this some kind of punishment? Did I do something completely fucked up in a past life and now I’m paying for it?” “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a lesson on why you don’t agree to something because a pretty girl smiles at you.” “Oh bugger off, you’re absolutely no help,” “Well what do you want me to do?” “I don’t know.” “I could talk to her for you.” “Mate, that’s you’re worst idea yet.” “When’s the date?” “This Saturday.” “Just keep reminding yourself you’re there as friends. Don’t get sucked in by the act.” “I’m trying.” Easier said than done, especially when he’d had the date planned for a solid few months. Not officially of course, but in the back of his head. You and him and a bottle of wine as you sat close together and painted. When he imagined the date you wore a sun dress and decorated your canvas or plate, or whatever it was he pictured that time, with little hearts and lipstick kisses. He’d make you laugh with some kind of joke and you’d lean your forehead on his shoulder. Everyone else would melt away as you looked up at him, still smiling. And you’d say something about how you should have realised you loved him sooner. “Because I do, Ben, I love you,” Which is when he’d kiss you, softly.

Ben shook his head to clear it, focusing back on the script in his hand, though you’d soon distracted him again. The real you, not the fantasy date one. The one who was bouncing her knee and staring off into space. He gently touched your shoulder, “Hey, are you okay?” “Huh?” “You’re jiggling your leg a lot which you only do when something’s worrying you, what is it?” “Oh, nothing,” He didn’t believe you, “Is it about our date tonight?” “What if it’s bad? What if we don’t look like we’re actually together and Mary and Pete have to cancel the whole thing?” What a blessing that would be. I might actually be able to get over you. I could stop imaging you in my bed, “I’d get a decent night sleep not thinking about us,” “What?” Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that last bit out loud, “I’ve been worried about it too.” You nodded, your leg twitching as if gearing up to bounce again. “But I think we’ll be okay. It’s not like we’ll be starved for conversation and we’ll have the paint and the wine and we’ll be fine. Plus, weren’t you the one who said this would be easy?” “Yeah I was, but-” “No buts. It’ll be a piece of cake,” Ben didn’t necessarily believe it himself, or at least not for himself. He was going to struggle. But you didn’t have any underlying feelings to fight. For you it really was just a good time painting, “they’ll get whatever shots they get, and they’ll spin it so we look like a couple,” “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry,” “It’s okay,” before he could stop himself he’d reached for your hand, rubbing the back of it. He wanted to do more, to hold you tight and tell you it would be okay. But that would be too much. Instead he rubbed your hand and tried to distract you, “I’m honestly so much more nervous about shooting that scene tomorrow.” “The one where we’re playing matchmaker?” “Yes! Have you seen how many names are in there?” “Theres like six, Ben,” “Yeah but they’re all repeated, and I know I’m going to get the order wrong,” You laughed. It was the best sound in the world and he was determined to make sure he heard it again on your date.

It took Ben an hour to decide on an outfit. He’d had one set aside but looking at it in the mirror it felt too dressy, he needed something more casual. He paused for a calming smoke and then had to brush his teeth again. On set he chewed gum after a smoke, especially if there were kissing scenes, out of politeness more than anything. But the small part of him that hoped you were treating the date as an audition for the roll of real-life boyfriend worried that it would hurt his chances if he tasted like cigarettes. Assuming you’d kiss. So he brushed his teeth again and changed into an outfit he didn’t hate and then worried that he was overthinking it and should have gone with his first outfit, and needed another smoke. Which meant he had to brush his teeth a third time. It took all his willpower to not ask the uber to pull over so he could have another quick puff. But then he was at your place and you were there and he wasn’t panicking anymore. Maybe it was because you looked jittery and nervous and something in his brain overrode his own anxiety to ease yours, or maybe you just had that effect on him. Whatever the reason it meant he could focus on helping you relax. “D’you wanna grab something to eat?” He was nearly positive you hadn’t eaten yet, too anxious. “Uhh, s’pose so,” “Has anyone ever told you you’re indecisive?” “I swear I’m not normally.” “Oh? Do I make you nervous, snookum?” Ben inwardly groaned. When the fuck did snookum become a thing? Why won’t you stop me Y/N? Please god stop me from flirting with you! It was a relief when he made it to the McDonalds without any more slip ups and he could focus on his food and encouraging you to eat yours. He felt things were going well as you walked hand in hand through the bottle shop. He’d squeeze your hand if he felt you tensing up, make you laugh again, distract you. But then you had nudged him and pointed out the photographer. “Relax, he’s not important,” he said softly, pulling you into his side, trying to keep his own breathing even. Your face had paled at the sight of the camera, and Ben was hit by an overwhelming urge to protect you. He kept you as close as he could, soothed you as best he could. It became easier once you’d reached the shop and could get lost among the other couples and groups of friends, though he caught you checking for the photographer through the glass of the shop front. Ben hesitated for half a second before he turned your head towards him, “Forget the photographer Forget Mary and Peter. Forget our arrangement. We’re just two friends having a fun night out, okay?” This wasn’t the carefree date he’d been fantasising about for months. But he held out hope it still could be. If only he could make you see it. He opened the wine, talked about the art options, anything to distract you from the world outside of the shop. You took a little to warm up but he was glad to see you looking around the room as he went to collect your blank ceramics, taking everything in, and soon enough you were both contemplating designs for mugs, the photographer and the reason for the date seemingly forgotten.

Ben’s hope grew with each passing minute. The longer you were there, the more at ease you became. He got to hear your laugh again, frequently. And the conversation flowed naturally as each of you concentrated on your artwork. The design came to him quickly and he went slow, trying to make his lines as straight as possible and trying to make the engagement ring look like the one you’d spent so much of the shoot wearing. We’re really good at this dating thing. Part encouragement to help when you got nervous, part wishful thinking perhaps. But it was a quote from the movie so you wouldn’t read too far into it. He couldn’t wait to see your reaction to the mug and, as soon as he was done, announced it. “Alright, show me then,” Ben watched closely as you examined the still wet design, chewing on his lip as he tried not to care if you cared that the lines weren’t totally straight or the colours didn’t work. But as soon as you realised what the quote was you smiled. He found himself grinning as you told him how much you loved it. “Thought it was kind of fitting. Plus, it’ll be a nice little souvenir once the movie wraps.” “That was a fun scene to shoot. Best proposal I’ve ever had,” Ben turned the mug back towards himself, double checking for any flaws. He wanted it to be perfect for you, “Best proposal I’ve ever given.” He was on the verge of adding, “My real one will be better though,” but stopped himself short. That would lead to a topic of conversation he didn’t want to deal with. Not with you. Not now. He was a little surprised as you leaned in close and lowered your voice. “Promise I’ll get to keep it after we break up?” “Promise,” he said leaning closer as well. From the outside you must look like a proper couple, whispering sweet nothings as you ignored the rest of the room. His eyes darted to your lips. Kiss her. He could, couldn’t he? He could get away with it. That was what you were there for, to be a couple, to have photos taken of intimate moments. No one would question it if he just closed the gap, not even you. But he hesitated too long, the shriek of laughter from another table interrupting the moment. He leaned back in his seat, trying to put some distance between you before he lost his head again, “So do I get to see mine?”

Ben was nearly speechless when you did eventually let him see it. The guitar with the lyrics beside it. He couldn’t have stopped from smiling even if he’d wanted to. “And how did you know that’s one of my favourite songs?” “It is? It’s just the song I overheard you playing that one time.” That one time. A few weeks previous. Between scenes, as he’d waited for the cameras to be organised around the new set. He hadn’t meant for anyone to hear him, least of all you. But he’d been starting to feel tense and wanted to unwind before filming resumed so he’d gone back to his trailer and taken out his guitar. It was a song he’d always liked but he’d been listening to it more often since meeting you and it was the song his fingers had begun to play without him realising. Now here it was, on the mug you’d painted for him. And you had no idea that when he sang about the stun gun lullaby, he was singing about your laugh, or that you so completely had his attention that no other woman could compare. The song might have been written for someone else but whenever he heard it, it was you being sung about. Was that a sign to not give up hope? His heart ached with how much he wished you loved him the same. Fuck, love? He’d never let himself think the L word before, that was serious shit. But it fit. He was hopelessly in love with you and there didn’t seem like there was much he could do to change the situation.

***

Ben looked up from his laptop to see you, brows furrowed, digging through your bag. “Something wrong?” he asked as you pulled your lips between your teeth, worrying at it absentmindedly, in what he had to admit was an adorable fashion. “Uhh, I think I need to go home,” “How come? If you forgot something I have a replacement here. What was it sunnies? Chapstick? A book?” “No, it’s not that sort of-” “Then what? You already have a toothbrush and PJs here,” “No it’s something else... I just think I’d be more comfortable at home today,” Ben tried to keep his voice steady but his mind was whirring with the possible reasons for your sudden wish to leave. Did you know about his secret? “Well a-are you sure I can’t help. We’re meant to be seen together this afternoon and if we leave now they won’t be able to get a shot of us smooching,” You chuckled at his word choice and he found it hard to repress his smile. “I’ll apologise to Mary and Peter, tell them something came up and see if we can reschedule,” “Are you positive there isn’t anything I can do?” You shook your head slightly, “if you really must know my period is a little early and I don’t have any tampons on me. Happy?” “Oh,” he began to laugh at your slight embarrassment, more relieved than embarrassed himself, “is that all? Y/N, you’re not the first girlfriend I’ve had, fake or not. I’m a 29 year old man I can deal with talking about periods, and I can certainly run to the shop for you,” “No, no, you don’t have to go out of your way like that. I’ve got plenty at home I just didn’t think I’d need any today,” ““Y/N, I promise, it’s no trouble. I feel bad I don’t have anything here for you already. Been a while since I’ve lived with a girl and it didn’t even cross my mind. Seriously, it’ll take me two minutes.” You didn’t look convinced, eyeing the doorway to the hall. “Plus, if I go we won’t ruin Peter and Mary’s plan for today. And the Paps can get a shot of me staring at boxes of tampons like a good caring boyfriend. It’ll help our image.” You hesitated a moment longer, “oh alright, as long as you don’t mind,”

It took Ben two minutes to collect his shoes and wallet and car keys and then he was out the door, assuring you he’d be as quick as possible. On his way out he saw the photographer, getting into position by his front gate. He shot Ben a questioning look at the detour from the set plan as Ben hopped into his car. As he reversed out of the driveway he caught the photographer’s attention. “Making a run to the shop to pick up something for Y/N. Might be a good photo in it,” Ben felt odd talking to the man – a man who he recognised well enough, who had witnessed every intimate moment he’d shared with you (and who had been the catalyst for a number of them), but a man he knew next to nothing about. But he hoped that by leading the photographer away he was ensuring you’d have a peaceful respite from the constant intrusion of knowing you were being watched. The photographer nodded, replaced the lens on his camera and headed to his own car, following Ben to the closest supermarket. The distraction of communicating with the photographer was almost enough to make Ben stop kicking himself for not being more prepared for this eventuality. It was only once he was at the store, standing in front of a shelf of feminine hygiene products that he was truly side-tracked from his lack of foresight, and realised he had no idea what you wanted. You picked up your mobile on the third ring. “Hey, it’s Ben, what do you want?” “Don’t tell me you forgot already,” “No, I mean, what sort. There’s hundreds of boxes to choose from, I have no idea which brand you like or what, um…strength you need.” “Oh,” you laughed and described what your go to brand’s packaging looked like. He scoured the shelves, trying to block out the snap of a phone camera as the photographer got his shot. “Ah, got it,” he said as he finally located the right one, pulling down a box for you now and one to keep in his bathroom for future use, “see you in a few.” “Thanks Ben,” “It’s nothing,” he refrained from closing the call with a love you, instead just saying, “Part of the boyfriend package.” On his way back towards the register he detoured into the tea and coffee isle, picking out a box of herbal tea bags that said For Women on the box, hoping they’d sooth whatever cramps you were dealing with, and then grabbed a box of chocolates in case you wanted something sweet to snack on. The photographer was outside already, waiting to get a shot of him leaving with a full bag.

It made Ben’s heart swell to see how grateful you were for his haul. He went to the kitchen to make you a tea and himself a coffee as you ducked into the bathroom. “Did you find the Panadol?” he asked, rattling the box of painkillers as you joined him in the lounge. “Yeah, thanks. I took two but I might need more in a few hours, if I’m still here. I’ll buy you a new box if I use too many,” “Don’t be daft. How are you feeling?” “Yeah fine. A few cramps but it’s nothing.” “Do you want a cuddle?” he asked without thinking. “What?” Ben shrugged, “I don’t know, my ex said that cuddling up with me made her feel better. But that’s a different- she probably said it so she had an excuse to make out a bit,” You laughed, “a cuddle would actually be very welcome right now,” “Oh, well in that case,” Ben shuffled over, patting the space beside him, and tried to remember that you weren’t really dating. But he couldn’t stop himself from pulling you tight against him and breathing deeply.

***

Ben wasn’t drunk. Not properly so anyway. He was too much of a chatty drunk to trust himself when he was sloshed. He’d had enough to loosen up and to dull the ache he felt whenever he looked at you. And to leave his keys at the bar. Nothing a glass of water and some TV couldn’t fix. He’d lost himself in the show when his phone dinged, nearly jumping at the unexpected noise. It was a text from Joe.

WTF?

It took Ben a few seconds to work out what it referred to but then the afternoon came back to him, the last scene you’d filmed, the photo he’d posted. Shit. “Ah, shit. Forgot I said I’d call Joe. Do you mind if we pause the ep?” he cast around for a reasonable excuse, “We’re trying to organise travel stuff for him and it’s easier if we talk it through rather than texting it all.” “Sure,” you said, already pressing buttons on the remote. “I promise I won’t be long,” “Take your time, it’s fine.” Ben smiled though it slipped as he left the room and pulled up Joe’s number. He shut the door of the room he used when he stayed over, already sure this would not be a conversation he’d want you to overhear. “What the fuck is that photo Ben?” “It’s nothing,” he sighed, “just the last day of filming,” “Are you alright, you sound weird?” “We went out for a drink.” “You and Y/N?” “And the rest of the cast and crew. And, before you say anything, no I didn’t get so drunk I blabbed about anything. I do have some self control,” “I wasn’t saying anything,” “No but you were thinking it. Anyway, I think I’m allowed to have a few drinks under the circumstances. Not exactly easy being secretly in love with your co-star who you’re also fakely dating,” “Alright, alright, point made. But that doesn’t explain the photo,” “Like I said, last day of filming,” Joe waited for more and begrudgingly Ben continued. “It was our last scene together and I wanted to commemorate it,” “Thank you Y/N for being the perfect Edith to my Andy. And thank you @theperfectmatchmovie for finding me my perfect match.” “Y/N said it was a bit cheesy,” “Uhh yeah, little bit,” Joe laughed, “you’re not worried it was a bad idea?” “No. We got told to post stuff, which you already know since Y/Ns posted tonnes and you’ve commented on nearly all of them. Figured I should pull my weight,” “Someone has to keep an eye on you two. Stop you from doing something stupid.” “That’s what you’re doing is it?” “You sure you didn’t post the photo with that caption because you’re dying to tell her how you feel and this is a safe way to do so?” Ben scuffed his foot along the carpet, digging his toes into the rough material and feeling like a school boy being admonished by a teacher, “So what if it is?” “All I’m saying is be careful. You’re keeping two very large secrets and–” “Yeah Joe, I fucking know but I don’t have much of a choice here,” “That’s what I’m saying…look, I know you’re a bit of a romantic at heart but you’re also not the sort to get this hung up on unavailable skirt so I believe you when you say you love her. But don’t let it slip out because that’ll just make things worse.” “I don’t know what I was thinking getting into this mess,” “Neither do I. Frankly I don’t think you were thinking. At least, not about yourself.” “Yeah maybe. Doesn’t really matter though now does it?” “Alright. This is going to sound harsh, but it’s coming from a place of friendship. Just stop.” “What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t just call it quits now, the story is doing too well and Peter has assured me that the numbers are promising or whatever I don’t really know how they measure it. All I know is that people are going to see the movie because of us.” “That’s not what I meant. I understand you can’t get out of the fake relationship stuff. But, maybe you can get out of the other side of things. Just tell her. Intentionally, tell her. I know it’s not what you want to hear and I know you’re going to argue with me and say you can’t but why not? If you tell her and she admits she likes you then great, you can be together for real. Or, if you tell her and she says she doesn’t feel the same then she can’t get out either and you can be miserable together and she’ll at least stop hanging around you so much when you don’t have to be seen together and you can get over her.” Ben shook his head, “It doesn’t matter Joe. It doesn’t matter how I feel,” “I just think this whole situation…sucks for you. A mirthless laugh rose in Ben’s throat, “of course it sucks. It’s fucking shit man. I just keep waiting for her to tell me she feels the same but it’s not happening,” “Are you sure she doesn’t feel something, even if she’s not saying it?” “No I know it’s completely one sided.” “Is there any chance she already knows? You’re not the most subtle guy in the world Ben, maybe she figured it out before you were approached about the fake out,” “No, I don’t think she knows. She wouldn’t have wanted to do it in the first place if she knew,” Ben heard Joe sigh, “I don’t know what to say then man,” “I just wish things were different. I love being around her and being able to hold her and kiss her. But it fucking sucks that it’s only in public.” “What about now that the movie’s finished?” “I don’t know. Maybe not filming together will make it easier to stop thinking about her…I doubt it though. It’s not like I haven’t tried already. I spent the whole of pre-production and the first weeks of filming trying to get her off my mind and I couldn’t I don’t know how and I don’t think I could unless we literally stopped talking to each other entirely and, honestly I don’t know that I could handle that. But again, we’re back at I don’t have a choice here. I have to keep seeing her and being with her and being her boyf-” A door slammed at the other end of the house, making Ben jolt. “What is it?” “Nothing, I think Y/N just went to the bathroom or something.” “She’s at your place?” “No, I locked myself out of my place. I’m at hers. I should go though, we’re halfway through an episode.” “Ben. Be careful.” “Always am.”

Ben hung up with a sigh. Joe could tell him to move on or spill the beans all he liked but it wasn’t so simple. He slapped his cheeks and shook his head to clear it, pulling a smile back onto his face as he headed back to the living room. He was a little surprised to see the room empty but settled himself on the couch once again, pulling a throw blanket over himself. It smelt like you. Without thinking he pulled up Instagram on his phone and revisited the photo. You’d commented on it, less cheesy but there were heart emojis strewn throughout. A similar sentiment to his original caption. He sighed and shook his head, clicking out of the app to find something else to read until you returned. The sound of your footsteps drew his attention. Something had changed. You looked pale and unwell. “Are you okay?” “Fine, thanks. Just tired. Might call it quits after this ep.” He didn’t think you’d drunk that much but maybe it was just starting to catch up with you now. Then again, it had been a long and emotional day. You had every right to be wiped out by it and especially now that you were home with no filming or celebrating to distract you from how exhausting it all was. He offered you a spot under the blanket in case it would make you feel better to have some human contact. Just for that reason of course, nothing to do with wanting to hold you. He shrugged it off when you refused and didn’t really think of it again until the episode ended and you went off to bed. He was still too alert to sleep himself, still dwelling on the conversation with Joe. So he flicked TV channels until he found something mildly distracting, a rerun of a dumb home renovation show that was easy to get sucked into.

When he did finally feel tired enough to go to bed he turned off the TV and the lights and began to tiptoe down the hall to his room. But there was light coming from your room. Not the yellow light of a bulb but the blue light of a phone or laptop. You were still up. Maybe you really weren’t feeling well. He wondered if he should check on you, offer to make you a tea with honey and lemon or something else comforting. Did you need tissues? A pot in case you had to throw up? Someone to hold your hair back? He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and sighed. This is exactly what you shouldn’t be thinking. He glanced at the light under your door again and then turned and continued his path up the hall. But, after that, he felt awake again. Unable to sleep. There was too much to think about. Maybe the caption on the photo had been a mistake. Maybe Joe was right and he should tell you. Maybe, maybe, maybe. When it came to you that’s all there was. A noise interrupted him, you groaning and the creak of springs as you shifted in the bed. Is she having a wank? That was his first thought. Does she need help? Was his next. Dangerous. Everything fell silent again and he realised you must have just rolled over to try and get comfortable. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed. He rolled onto his side, pulled the blanket up a little higher, willed himself to fall asleep but it was out of the question. You shifted again, your bed creaking with the movement. Maybe he should check on you, in case you were unwell. Or maybe there was something on your mind too. Maybe he could help. It was bound to be easier to solve than the mess he was in at any rate. He was on the verge of swinging his legs out of bed again when he was reminded of what Joe said about trying to forget you. He could feel that need to protect you, look after you, rising in his chest again. That wasn’t helpful, it wasn’t what he needed. He sighed and stayed in bed and listened to your tossing and turning until he finally managed to sleep himself. Only to dream of you.

***

Ben settled the bill, walked out of the restaurant and kept walking. The entire time thinking back on the days, weeks before the fight was due to occur. Something had seemed off about you. Or maybe that was just hindsight. If he had noticed anything, if he had ever thought you seemed out of sorts, he’d put it down to stress from auditions, trying to find the next job. It wasn’t always easy lining up another project after one had finished. He understood how stressful it could be, especially for an actress like you who was on the cusp of something bigger, looking for your big break. But maybe he’d been blind. After that dinner, after everything you said, there was no denying that something more was going on.

You’d been…not your usual self. From the moment you arrived. He’d asked if you were nervous, but he hadn’t been able to see any of the usual signs. No bouncing let, no bitten lip. So nervous wasn’t it. But you weren’t happy either. He had been though, happy to see you, happy to be with you again. Even with the looming argument. Truthfully, he’d been thinking of what would happen after, when you were alone together and able to just hang out or whatever. He should have realised things were going south the moment you told him to stop looking so happy. He just kept repeating the evening over and over, rewinding and rerunning every moment as if he could figure it all out just from that. Another moment leapt to the front of his mind. “So having a public spat doesn’t bother you but you almost lost your lunch over our first date?” “That was just because the whole situation was new and I felt weird about going on a date with you.” That had hurt though he knew he shouldn’t have let it. Of course you’d have felt weird about going on a date with someone you had no interest in just for the sake of a movie. But still, it had hurt. A taste of what was to come. “Are you nervous?” You didn’t really seem to care what he said. Of course, he hadn’t given you the whole truth. It wasn’t totally dishonest to say argument scenes made him more nervous than love scenes but that was omitting bigger elements. Maybe it would have been more truthful to say the concept of a public fight wasn’t something he was particularly fond of. But at the time he’d felt like if he’d said then he’d have ended up admitting that it was especially true when you were involved. That all he wanted to do was look after you and love you, not argue in a room full of strangers just trying to enjoy a nice meal. After that he felt like he hadn’t been able to get you to say more than a few words. You who was usually so open and conversational. You who he’d spent more time with recently than just about anyone else. You who he could always talk to, joke around with. It was frustrating that you wouldn’t just tell him. He remembers feeling frustrated, of getting short with you. He regretted that. But that was when he was sure something was wrong. He might have ignored all the signs before that but as soon as he felt you had closed yourself off, he wanted to know why. Wanted to figure out what was bothering you, what could have happened. A fight with Felicity? Bad news about an audition? Maybe he’d said something offhanded and hadn’t realised he’d upset you (god if thats the case I want to know even more so I can apologise a hundred times over). He asked about it all, wanted to make things better, but then you were letting rip. Completely off book and unscripted, even when he gave you cues to get back on track. He would have been impressed with your performance except he was so taken aback by it. Without thinking he’d reached for your hand. He can see it happening in his mind, as if he were viewing the scene from above. The way you’d wrenched your hand away, leaving his sitting uselessly in the middle of the table. And all he could hear was “clingy and needy” in your voice with such…what was it, disgust? Hatred? And before he could so much as open his mouth to stop you, you were gone. That’s not what was meant to happen. You were meant to leave together and laugh about it afterwards. He wasn’t meant to be walking through London on his own, trying to figure out what went wrong.

It was then that Ben looked up and realised he didn’t know where he’d walked to. He considered stepping into a bar with all the noise to drown out your voice, all the alcohol he could handle to make him forget. Clingy and needy. But he thought better of it and turned to hail a cab instead. What he couldn’t stop himself from doing was calling you, though he was left disappointed when it went straight to voicemail. He listened for the beep as if he were going to leave a message but when the beep came he didn’t know what to say. What could he possibly say? What changed? Am I really so clingy? What can I do? Closer to home he tried again but the same thing happened. He hung up before the beep.

As he was letting himself inside his phone rang and for the length of a heartbeat he thought it was you. But it wasn’t. It was just Peter telling him that the video had gone live, congratulating you both for putting on such a good show, being so convincing. He ran through some early statistics, something about how many times it had been shared already, and then followed it by saying they wanted separation for a few weeks, until the make up dinner. Ben listened in a daze. When Peter finally hung up Ben opened twitter. The video was easy to find. He put his phone down on the kitchen bench and moved to pour himself a drink. Maybe he didn’t have quite as much alcohol as a bar, but he had enough to do the trick. His phone was staring at him the entire time. He shook his head, moved the phone to his pocket and headed to his bedroom. His guitar was there, the perfect way to clear his head. He picked it up, sat on the end of the bed and, without thinking, he played the opening chords of that song. Your song. With a slight clatter as his hands knocked the wood, he let the guitar drop back to the bed, trying to dig his phone out of his pocket. The video was still there, waiting for him. Proof. It wasn’t a nightmare, it wasn’t made up. He couldn’t see your face from the angle it was taken. But he could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you pulled your hand back as if you couldn’t think of anything worse than having him touch you. And he could hear you. Clingy and needy.

Ben watched it just the once, unable to suffer through it again. It wass already playing on a loop in his head, he didn’t really need the visual reminder. And then he called Joe. There wasn’t really much else he could do. No one else he could talk to about it. Joe had seen it, had watched it, and he commented on how good it looked, how real it seemed. “I think that’s because it was. Y/N went completely off book. We didn’t plan it to be like that,” “Is that why you look so shocked?” “Yeah, guess so.” Ben gulped down a mouthful of his drink and wished he’d brought the bottle with him. “I’m trying very hard not to call her something beginning with B right now,” “Joe she’s not a bitch, she’s…I don’t know. Something must have happened, I just don’t know what. “Maybe she’s starting to crack? Pressure of keeping up a fake relationship is getting to her,” “Can you try not to sound too excited by the idea. I’d remind you I do actually love her and if things work out between us I’d like for you to meet her.” “You can’t blame me for disliking her when I get a call from you every other day telling me she’s broken your heart again,” “You’re such a drama queen,” “Fine, I’ll try to keep my dislike to a minimum. But could it be that? I know she doesn’t have the same baggage as you but it’s probably not easy for her either,” “She called me clingy. Needy. Why would she say that?” “Because she’s a bitch.” “Bloody hell Joe,” “Unless…” “Unless what?” “Is there any chance she knows?” “You mean about me? Come off it, absolutely not. It’s not like I tell everyone I meet about it. You’re the only person who knows.” “Alright, then it must be something else.” “What do I do? I can’t,” Ben sighed, “It was meant to be different. We were going to have words at the restaurant and then go home together looking tense and then laugh about it when we were alone but instead…instead I’m home alone with half a bottle of whisky and a fake girlfriend who won’t answer my calls. What the fuck am I meant to do with that?” “Just give her some space Ben. You don’t know it was you. It could have been any number of things. It might just be that she was having a bad day and because you were already set to have the spat, you caught the brunt of her frustration. She’ll call in a day or two, embarrassed and apologising and you can go back to pining in peace. Out of curiosity, what was the fight originally going to be like?” “Oh, um…We’d decided that I was going to suggest she meet my family and she was going to say she wasn’t ready for that and it was all getting too serious or something like that.” “Well, that’s pretty much what she actually said isn’t it?” Ben thought for a moment. He’d been so wrapped up in her description of him, he’d not really thought about the overall message of her monologue, “Yeah, I suppose it is.” “See, she wasn’t as off script as you thought. She just jumped the gun a bit and took you by surprise. I’d guarantee that it’s something else entirely and you just happened to be the unlucky outlet for her anger.” “Maybe you’re right. She did say that thing about pretending everything was okay and acting like we’re serious….how I love her more than she loves me,” “And you’re certain she doesn’t know,” “100 per cent. She’s never had the chance to find out,” “Then of course I’m right, it was just an issue of timing and you being in the line of fire,” “Maybe I should see her,” “No! Bad idea Ben. Really bad idea.” “I just want to be sure it wasn’t my fault. If I’d been less wrapped up in pretending she was my girlfriend then may-” “Stop beating yourself up. Just try not to drink too much and get some sleep. She’ll sort herself out and call when she’s less mortified by the whole thing.” “Okay, yeah,” “And for fucks sake, stay off twitter,” Ben hung up, feeling marginally better but unable to shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault. Clingy and needy. Clingy and needy. Clingy. And needy. The way you’d spat the words at him. The way you’d stormed out. He sighed, slumped forward, and ran his hands down his face. No, Joe’s right, it’s not you. But, as much as he repeated it, Ben still found tears clinging to his palms as he pulled them away.

***

Ben looked at his phone and bit his lip. His eyes shifted back to the ocean of brake lights ahead of the car and then back to his phone. He was already running late and the traffic didn’t seem to be moving. God he did not want to be late. Not after everything that had happened. Not after you’d cleared up the mess from the fight, not after he’d made such an effort to be less clingy, to give you more space. Things weren’t back to normal by any stretch but at least you were talking again, at least you’d missed him. The conversation you’d had the previous night, staying on the phone to watch TV. He’d been surprised by your suggestion but equally as thrilled. It had to be a sign that you felt something too. People don’t just watch episodes of TV over the phone for anyone, do they? He was in with a chance, he knew it. But, in the hours after the episode had ended and the call with it, he’d come to one conclusion. He had to tell you. He had to bite the bullet and tell you. If he wanted something real with you, you had to know. And if he kept it secret any longer it could lead to more arguments which he definitely did not want. What he wanted was for you to understand why he’d become so attached, and hopefully, to reciprocate. So he was going to tell you. And he couldn’t be late.

As the car inched forward Ben made up his mind. He was going to be there on time, one way or another. With a thankful word to the driver he got out of the car and hurried onto the pavement, beginning to walk towards the restaurant. He’d spent all day feeling like he was about to have a heart attack, chest aching with how badly he wanted to see you and how nervous he was about your reaction. He wasn’t going to fuck up now. As he walked a display in a shop window caught his eye and he quickly stepped inside. The bell tinkled as he entered, getting the assistant’s attention. She gave him a up and down glance as she greeted him, as if trying to determine the occasion based on his outfit alone. “Welcome to Coming Up Roses, what can I do for you?” “I need a bouquet,” “I can certainly help with that. Any flowers you had in mind?” “Uhhh not really. Spur of the moment,” “Well what’s the occasion then? I have flowers for everything from weddings to funerals, I’m sorry to Congratulations,” “Um, I’m about to tell the girl of my dreams that I’m in love with her,” The woman smiled, “I’ve got just the thing,”

A minute later and Ben was once again hurrying up the street, clutching the freshly wrapped bouquet, his heart pounding as he tried not to worry about how much time was passing. He had to pause at one point to get a map up on his phone, unsure of the restaurant’s exact location. He was further away than he thought and quickened his step, threading through groups of people on nights out, trying not to bump into anyone. You were already there, waiting. He could see you from half a street away and ran to meet you, kissing your cheek and handing over the bouquet before he really registered that that’s what he was doing. It was only as you were smelling the flowers and complementing them that he realised you were there, actually there, and he suddenly felt extra nervous about it all. “I saw it in the shop and, um yeah, I don’t know, they seemed nice, a-and I know you, um, like nice things, so,” Ben wanted to die, wanted to be sucked into a hole in the ground, sent through a time warp, anything to not be there babbling at you like a fucking idiot. “It’s very sweet of you, thank you,” “I’m glad you think so because right now it feels kinda cliché and cheesy.” Shut up “Now you have to carry them around all night,” fucking shut up, “what was I thinking?” for the love of all that is holy, “And god can I just shut up. Sorry.” He didn’t know what had come over him, but he wished it would go away. And things only got worse as he looked you over, took in your whole appearance. Seeing you just made him want you even more, especially with how gorgeous you looked. He wanted to kiss you, tell you. But he had to be able to speak to tell you and he wasn’t going to be able to do that until he relaxed a little. A drink, that’s what he needed. He downed his first one fast, willing it to work its magic. It did help calm him, though your laugh just made his heart race again. Halfway through the next glass he felt like he could say it and was on the verge of just getting it out into the open when you were interrupted, shown to your table. He took it as a sign that it would be bad timing and that he needed to wait. Instead he focused on just having a good night with you. The memory of your last dinner was still in the back of his mind but he pushed it away by reminding himself that things were better now. He felt himself relax more as you talked and with every touch you gave him. The drinks were definitely part of it too but he put it down to you mostly. How much you sooth him, how happy he finds himself when he’s in your presence. He could breathe properly again. You startled him a little by saying Joe would want to meet you but of course, you don’t know that he knows that it’s all a big production so you just meant it in a friend-being-curious-about-the-girlfriend type way. Very far from the truth. But Ben agrees and changes the topic.

When dessert arrived, he thought maybe that could be a good time to say it because it’s the end of the meal and you can leave quickly if you need to. But before he get’s to it he finds himself asking something else instead. “Can I ask about these last couple of weeks?” He hoped he hadn’t wrecked the evening by bringing it up but he was curious too, “Was it good? The space, did you get what you wanted from it?” Ben worried at his lip as he watched you slowly finish your mouthful and set the spoon down. “Yes. I’m not going to lie and say it wasn’t helpful because it really was. Just, having that break from everything. I think I really needed it. But I really really missed you too.” That was a relief. Proof that you were on the same page again, back to normal. And proof that you did care about him. “I’m glad. It was hard not seeing you but yeah, helped me figure some stuff out too. Confirmed some other stuff.” “Like what? If you don’t mind me asking.” This is it, this is your moment, “Like, um,” He wanted to say it, had the words picked out already but, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t risk driving you away again, causing another scene. Maybe he could say it back at his place, away from the cameras and the interested public. Maybe that would be smarter. All the same, he felt disappointed with himself for not having the guts to just tell you, and to try to cover the moment asked if you wanted to leave. As you step outside he remembers the kiss that was expected and he leans in to remind you. It’s more than a kiss though, different to all the other times you’d kissed. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it. Any excuse really. And he says as much when he, somewhat accidentally admits to having missed kissing you. It was a thought that somehow slipped out of his mouth, but either you didn’t hear him or you were too caught up in the moment to say anything. Or she feels the same. He pushed the hopeful thought down as you kissed him back. His heart pounded as he felt your hands on his chest, as if it were trying to tell you what he’d been too much of a coward to say. And then you whined and settled on his lap and god what a fucking gorgeous sound. He’d spent months getting off to the memory of a hum and now you were gifting him a whine? An eager, excited whine at that. The sort of thing he’d been trying to imagine and it was so much better than anything he’d come up with. Your hand was in his hair and he very nearly echoed your noise back to you from that alone, but it caught in his throat as you kept kissing him, tongues twisting, your chest pressed against his. He wanted to hold you close and touch every part of you he could reach all at once, unsure of whether to grab your arse or you hip or the back of your neck. So he did a bit of it all, slid his hand along your arm and then down your back and then to your arse. And all too soon it stops. He could have cursed that driver and the heartless car horn that interrupted and sent reality crashing back down around him.

Once you were inside the safe zone of his house, away from the act, he expected things to go back to normal. You’d take off your makeup and then make a cup of tea and fill a glass of water for your flowers and you’d wind down with something on TV before you both went to bed. He’d have to have a shower to get off without you suspecting anything because there was no way he was going to be able to sleep with the memory of your tits pressed against him and your whine and your kiss swimming around his head. But you don’t walk to the bathroom like you normally do. He pulls the wallet from his pocket, places it deliberately next to his keys. But you still haven’t moved. He turns slowly, notices the way you swallow and lick your lips and he swears he’s on the verge of asking what you’re doing or saying something about it being a mistake, at least the thought crosses his mind, but you were standing so close (when did she get so close?) and when you kiss him again he just kisses back.

It’s a mistake probably, definitely, he knows that. He can hear the siren in his head again telling him to stop, pull away. But the problem is that it doesn’t feel like a mistake, doesn’t feel like it should be, and when he takes a step back you step with him and again and again until he’s somehow on the couch with you on his lap again. And why would he stop that, why would he say no to you when you fit there so perfectly and you feel so good? And all he can think about is that whine and that hum from all those months ago and he wants to see what other sounds he can pull from you so he drops his lips to your neck. “Wait, wait,” He’s confused as to why you’re stopping him and even more confused when you’re not in his arms anymore. “It’s rule one Ben,” Bugger rule one. Bugger all the fucking rules, you’ve broken most of them tonight anyway if they weren’t already broken. A voice in the back of his head reminds him what a big mistake that would be, but it can’t argue against making out. Making out isn’t against the rules and you know it too, you hesitate when he says it out loud. “I’d be good to you Y/N, you know I would,” he’s not sure if he’s talking about here and now, physically, or something deeper, something in the realm of boyfriend but what does it matter because both are true. You shake your head, “You know this isn’t real, right Ben?” And then it all comes out. That you knew about his crush. And everything stops. Just stops. He can’t breathe, air doesn’t exist anymore, and he’d say his heart had stopped too except he can hear it pounding in his ears, drowning out whatever you’re saying. You knew? You’d known for months? All those times Joe had suggested it, all that time he spent worrying about keeping it from you and you already fucking knew? And then everything seems to speed up all at once. The air rushes back, as loud as his heart, which only doubles it’s pounding until he can feel it trying to punch a hole through his chest and escape. Rational thought returns, connecting dots and drawing conclusions almost faster than he can keep up. “Is that why you were upset before the argument? Is that why you didn’t want to see me for the last two weeks?” “I thought some space might help you stop feeling that way.” He has to laugh at how fucking ridiculous an idea that is. That space would have ever helped him purge you from his system. Love isn’t that easy to get rid of. And his tongue must have sped up with the rest of his body because he’s saying it, the thing he’s been putting of saying, the thing he’s been wanting to tell you all night, and he wishes he could stop because this isn’t how he wanted it to go. This wasn’t how you were meant to find out. But no matter how much he screams at himself he can’t take it back. It’s out there. And you look horrified. “You love me?” Three words have never been spoken with more contempt than you managed to cram into that once sentence. “You don’t have to say you don’t feel the same, I know.” Your silence cuts through him like a knife, shredding what little hope remained. His heart isn’t beating against his chest anymore. It’s been kicked across the room and lies lifeless against the wall. “That’s what I thought.”

He can’t be here anymore, can’t look at you. He wants to leave but he remembers all the cameras outside, reminds you of their presence in case you’re planning the same escape he is. He’s trapped there and so are you. So he puts as much space between you as he can, heads to his room and slumps heavily onto the end of his bed. All he can think about is those three words, you love me? Not a hopeful question. Not even stunned surprise. More of an accusation. He tastes blood but otherwise barely notices when he tears his lip with his teeth. You must hate him for getting you both into this mess. He hates that he’s done it, that he’s put you in this position. And he knows you’re never going to want to speak with him let alone see him again. And he knows that as soon as the cameras leave, you’ll leave too. And that thought hurts just as much as everything else. You’re moving about, he can hear you walking around. It sounds like you’re pacing. Five steps and then a turn and then five more steps, another turn. Something about the rhythm breaks through his overactive, panicking, worrying mind. Something about it calms him. Maybe it’s that knowing you’re restless and agitated makes him want to comfort you, despite everything he’s feeling. Or maybe it’s just because the sound of your footfall means you’re still here. And if you’re still here then maybe he can smooth things over. He doesn’t expect to fix everything. He’d understand if you still wanted to erase him from your contacts and pretend you were only ever colleagues. But if he can just explain himself, explain that he never meant for this to happen, explain why he kept it from you or tried to anyway and maybe explain what he’d wanted tonight to be instead of the clusterfuck it’d become. If he can get any of that out then maybe you won’t hate him quite so much.

He says your name softly, not sure he’s allowed to say your name, “I heard you pacing.” “Sorry, I’ll keep the noise down.” “No, that’s not- it’s okay. I just thought, since we’re both clearly awake and since they haven’t left yet, I thought you might like a cuppa.” “I didn’t think you drank tea,” Have you really not noticed yet? He never bought tea bags, until you started coming to stay over regularly. Twice you opined about not being able to have a cup of tea before bed and that was all it took for him to start keeping them in his cupboard along with the biscuits you prefer. That’s how he knows it’s love. He took a breath as he pulled out mugs and stuck the kettle on, resolutely not looking at you. If he looks at you he’ll spill his guts and won’t be able to stop. He has to make tea first. Just the way you like it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.” It comes out the second he looks at your face and it’s only that you’re telling him you understand that he doesn’t immediately say more. He drops his eyes to the brown liquid in his mug, undrinkable in his opinion, but a perfectly adequate distraction. He needs to get the words right this time. No stumbling and stuttering, no blurting things out without thinking. He needs to say it right so you’ll listen and understand what he’s trying to do. “I promise I understand where you’re at and I’m not going to try and convince you or to chase you or anything like that. I really am trying not to feel this way.” He glances back at your eyes, terrified of what he’d see there. “It’s okay Ben, I know you wouldn’t. I just wasn’t expecting you to drop the L bomb.” “Please don’t hate me,” it’s a whisper compared to everything else he’s said but there’s no way to make his voice stronger. It’s the thing he’s most worried about and admitting it out loud to you is harder than he imagined it would be. “I could never,” the sincerity with which you say it is almost enough to make him cry but the hug is what pushes him over the edge. It’s more warmth and kindness than he thinks he deserves after everything he’s done. And it’s exactly what he needed. Comfort and reassurance in one simple gesture. He wraps his arms around you for the third time that night, his face pressed into the cook of your neck, and you let him, squeezing back, as he lets everything out.

***

The night after you met Joe, Ben visits him again, this time without you. It had always been the plan, to see Joe a few times, as much as the press circuit would allow, while he was in the US. But after the previous night it’s more necessary. And yet, Ben was struggling to vocalise any of his questions. It’s not until after dinner, when Joe suggests they take their drinks out onto the veranda, that any of it comes up. It’s peaceful out there, sitting in the cool night air, each of them taking turns to swig from their beer bottle as they talk. But Ben’s mind is constantly disrupted with thoughts of you. It’s the first time since all the promotion stuff started that he’s had more than a couple of minutes away from your side. Joe isn’t helping, constantly glancing at Ben, frowning, as if he’s trying to work something out. But he’s the first to crack, making it easier for Ben to talk. “How’s it going?” “Press is fine, bit boring. You know how repetitive it can get,” “And you know that’s not what I meant,” “Yeah. Nah, everything’s fine. Mostly,” “Mostly?” “It’s not easy having to share a room with her. I mean, it’s fun though. I’m glad she’s the one I’m doing all this shit with. We’re mates and we’ve been working so closely for so long now that we…get each other. Like there was this interview where one of the questions made me uncomfortable and she knew straight away and broke in to take some of the heat. She just says whatever she can to make me laugh or ease the tension or whatever will help. And I know when she’s getting nervous and needs a break or a fresh cuppa. But when it’s just us in our suite it’s…hard. I don’t know, I’m just trying to keep some distance even though there’s not much to be had. What did you think of her?” “Honestly?” “Of course,” “She’s perfect for you. Except for the not being interested part.” Ben nodded, letting his eyes fall to where his fingernail was digging into the label on his bottle. “Although…” “What?” Ben looked back at Joe, “You think she might be?” “I don’t know. And I don’t want to get your hopes up. She certainly doesn’t think she is. I asked her about it while you were out here last night and she was adamant that she doesn’t think of you that way but that’s not how it looked to me.” “We had a moment yesterday. Just before we came here. Nearly kissed.” “Seriously? Again?” “I stopped it. Kind of wish I hadn’t. Maybe if something happened, she’d change her mind,” “I know I’m not part of this situation and I wasn’t there and can only go off of what you’ve said and the one time I’ve met her but, for what it’s worth, I think you made the right call.” “Yeah?” “I don’t think you want anything to happen with her until you’re both more sure where you stand. Definitely not while you’re stuck sharing a hotel room.” “But what if -” Joe shook his head, “I watched her last night. She looked at you a lot and not just because you were the one talking. She also smiled a lot whenever your attention was on her. I was half expecting her to say she had a thing for you but wasn’t sure if she should tell you or something like that. So I think there is a good chance she is attracted to you but for some reason, doesn’t want to admit it and I think sleeping with her would just make things more complicated and worse for both of you. You said she had her little freak out thing when you were hooking up after that date. You don’t want to let things get further and have her freak out again.” “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just confusing myself because we’ve been in such close quarters. I just wish things were more certain y’know? Like, she keeps saying she doesn’t like me as more than a friend but then we’ll have a moment like we did in the hotel, or like on the plane when she was leaning on my shoulder to help with my crossword puzzle, or when we fucking made out. And then I’m back getting my hopes up only for her to turn around and crush me again. And it’s probably nothing anyway. Just pent up urges since we’ve been fucking trapped in this for months now.” “I don’t know man, it might be more than that. She seemed really into you last night.” “Nah. She’s horny and I’m there and that’s why we’ve had these near kisses and stuff. She’s said she doesn’t like me so that’s it. Maybe it’s better that way anyway.” Joe shook his head again but let the subject drop, “So how long are you here for again? There’s this restaurant up the road I should take you to.”

***

The closer he got to his parent’s place the more tightly wound Ben felt. Bringing a girl home to meet the family was always at least a little nerve wracking – wondering whether they’d like her, whether she’d like them, how many embarrassing stories he’d have to sit through. But he could safely say that with you it was worse than with anyone else. There was so much history with you, despite never having legitimately dated, that he couldn’t stop thinking about. You meant so much to him. And he knew his mum was going to love you (how could she not) and that meant he was going to be asked why it took him so long to bring you around and about where it was headed and they were questions he didn’t really feel up to answering. Of course, on top of all of that, there was the prospect of sharing a room with you, maybe a bed. You hadn’t entirely worked out the arrangement and not knowing was just making him more nervous. Not just for himself either, for you as well. If he was nervous he could only imagine you were too. You were going to be facing questions as well, judgement from a new family. A family you didn’t even want to be part of. So he kept close to you all night. Because it’s easier to pretend to be a couple when you’re by his side and it’s easier to avoid tough conversations when he has the excuse of introducing you to someone else up his sleeve. And it’s so much easier to keep his folks away from you when he’s got your hand in his. He does circuits of the garden with you, chats to everyone with you, repeating the story of how you met and the fiction of how you started dating. And the whole time he’s trying to make sure you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself at least a little because you don’t even have actual feelings for him to push you on. He’d gladly endure first meetings with every single member of your family tree if you asked but he knows you’re only there because you have to be. Unfortunately, he’s also had a bit to drink so eventually he has to relieve himself, silently cursing his bladder because it means he has to leave you on your own. You don’t seem to mind too much. If anything, it feels like you’ve found your feet and are actually having a good night which he’s glad for. But he still goes as quick as he can.

He’s on his way back when he sees you and instantly realises something’s wrong. Your leg is bouncing so rapidly it’s a wonder you don’t knock the underside of the table, and you’re looking around as if you’re trying to find him. His first thought is that someone has said something inappropriate. There’s plenty of drunk cousins around and who knows what one of them might have said or done in a misguided attempt to be charming or impressive or flirtatious. But then he realises who you’re sitting next to and his stomach drops. So he hurries over to the table and takes the seat beside you, laying his hand on your knee to try to calm you. It works well enough for you to be able to sit there a little longer until he can find a reasonable excuse to leave the table and his mum. He’s not in the mood to be at the party anymore and leads you to the exit, politely waving off anyone who tries to convince you both to stay a little longer. “Better?” he asks once you’re outside, relieved when you say yes. “She mentioned us getting married,” “What? Why the fuck would that have come up?” Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d been prepared for a lot but not that. “It was just a passing comment but I….” “It’s okay, c’mon, let’s go home you can tell me everything.” Without thinking he pulled you into a hug, breathing out when he felt you lean into him.

By the time he got back to the house Ben wanted another drink. You’d sat under his arm the entire ride back, keeping quiet, obviously lost in thought as you absentmindedly played with his fingers. Every brush had made him want to take your hand properly and tilt your head up to kiss you, irresponsible and selfish as it might be. One of the upsides of being back home was knowing where his parents hid their best booze, so he dug out a bottle of his dad’s Johnnie Walker, feeling a little like a teenager again, pinching a drink to impress a girl. You laughed though so he counted it as a win. But the reason you were alone together, no longer at the party, was still weighing on him and clearly on you as well. “So what happened back there?” He handed you a glass and waited until you felt you could speak. “I guess it was just harder to be around your family than I was expecting.” Everything you said made sense he supposed. He’d not really considered it that way because he wasn’t so much lying as just playing pretend. But, as much as he wished you were on the same page, he understood where your guilt came from. He tried to make you laugh again but when it didn’t work he set his glass down and took your hand. “Seriously, Y/N, there’s nothing to feel guilty about. The premiere is coming up in a couple of weeks and then pretty soon after that we’ll break up and I’ll tell them it just wasn’t working. They’ll accept it and never have to know the truth. And then we can forget this whole thing and move on.” His chest tightened at the thought of it, not being allowed to even pretend to have you anymore but he clamped down on it for your sake. “But it must be hard for you too. Having me here and everything,” He half shrugged, looking down at where his thumb was brushing the back of your hand softly, “I’m a big boy, I can handle it.” Ben glanced back at you, about to tell you it was sweet of you to care about how he was doing, but when he saw your expression he stopped.

He was a little shocked by the kiss, stumbling back a step or two, the warning siren blaring in his head again. Everything told him to run away and yet his feet were frozen in place. Joe had been right when he said he shouldn’t do this, and he’d been here before. It hadn’t gone well then so what made him think it would be better this time? But somehow he can’t find the words and you kiss him again and he decides he’s going to let it happen. He’s sick of trying to fight how badly he wants you and you clearly want this too. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be trying to undress him. He decides he’s going to let himself be selfish for once and just go with it. After the decisions made it all turns into a bit of a blur really. You’re leaning against the table and then he’s carrying you up to his room and it’s like every almost kiss, every missed opportunity and pent up moment you’d never let yourselves have is breaking all at once. You’re on his bed now and god he’s wanted you like this for so fucking long and who cares if it’s wrong. One night won’t matter. And he’s surprised by how wet you are when you pull his hand towards your cunt but he loves that you’re taking the initiative and that you clearly want him just as much as he wants you. You don’t tell him to stop. You tell him how to touch you, what feels good, and he loves that about you too. Even more than he loves how you sound saying his name as you clench on his fingers and shiver through your orgasm and fuck, he thought the whine from last time was a captivating sound but it has nothing on this, on how you sound when you cum for him. He’s going to be thinking about that moment, about you saying his name like that forever. He wants to be inside you, wants to hear it again, wants to make you feel even better and he’s forgotten where you are and how you got there so he leans over and realises this isn’t this room. This room isn’t as prepared as he’d like. For a moment he thinks that’s it and maybe it’s for the best except then you say you have condoms as you get up and rummage through your bags. He wants to know why – were you planning this or are you always just prepared like that? – except then you’re coming back towards him and he really doesn’t care why, just that you do. You climb on top of him and he feels breathless at the sight. He wants to worship you, every inch of you, and he wants to be as close as possible, pushing himself up to kiss you again because he loves you. He says it without meaning to but he doesn’t care, he’s just trying to get you to moan his name again, rubbing your clit until you’re both finished, breathing hard against each other. You’re kissing along his jaw and he wants to stay like that forever, blissed out and tangled in each other’s embrace. But reality rushes back, ignoring how desperately he’s trying to cling to the moment, and he realises how messy everything suddenly is. It hurts too. Knowing it’s not real, knowing that you don’t want what he wants. He remembers what he said just moments before, that confession whispered against your lips, and it makes him feel queasy with embarrassment on top of the heartache that’s already setting in. How many times does he have to put himself through this pain before he gets it through his head? It’s not reciprocated. It never will be. “I’ve gotta…” Ben nods his head in the direction of the door, hoping you’ll fill in the blank yourself. He wants to leave but he also wants to stay there with you, so he settles on shifting out of your reach and looking over at you, not quite able to meet your eye. “I wasn’t expecting that to happen,” Weren’t you? “Neither. Are you okay?” “Yeah. I, um, it was really good and I-I think I kind of needed it.” Ben tried to smile but it didn’t feel like it worked properly. Sure you needed it. A quick fuck to break the forced dry spell. He wanted to run from the room, flee the scene “It was good for me too. Really good. But it can’t ever happen again.” He averted his eyes again, focused on slipping back into his underwear. There was half a second where he looked around for his shirt before realising it was out at the table with the unfinished whiskies. He’d have to tidy up so no one would be able to work out what happened.

Ben downed what remained of both drinks, the burn of the alcohol a welcome distraction, though much too brief. He grabs his phone from the table, drops the glasses onto the kitchen sink and heads outside to throw the used condom into the garbage bin. As if he was going to leave the evidence of his cowardice and misjudgement inside for anyone to find. Ben turned to head back towards the door, but he didn’t want to walk through it. Inside he’d have to face you and he wasn’t sure how to do that yet. Instead he walked down the sideway into the backyard, taking a seat on the retaining wall by the flower bed of peonies. It’s not exactly warm sitting there in just his boxers and his fingers shake a little as he unconsciously find’s Joe’s name in his contacts. Joe must be busy or asleep or something (What’s the time difference again?) because he doesn’t pick up. Instead the call goes to voicemail. “Joe, it’s Ben here. Um… you’re gonna laugh so hard when you hear how fucking stupid I am,” Ben forces a laugh himself, “So I, uh, I just told Y/N that I love her….again….while we were having sex.” A pause as it sank in, “I’m not even sure how it…how we got to… We were just talking and then we were in bed and…. But it’s okay because I told her it could never happen again,” Ben thinks of how affectionate you’d been after, kissing his jaw and his nose, clinging to him, but it wasn’t real, it was just your post-sex, post-orgasm mood. He starts to laugh, less false but not entirely natural either, “I have to drive back with her tomorrow. Christ. Talk about bad timing, huh. But it’s fine though, it’s fine, totally fine. Joe, it’s fine. Because it wasn’t real. We’ve both been pent up and she spent all day with my family and had to listen to my mum talk about us maybe getting married. This was her reward. And that’s all it was. And I’m the idiot for hoping it could ever be more than that. I mean it’s not like friends don’t sometimes fuck, right? Especially when they’ve been drinking and pretending to date. Sex doesn’t have to mean feelings and it doesn’t for her and that’s fine.” There was that tight feeling in his chest again. Ben cleared his throat. “The drive will give me a chance to tell her it was a mistake. Because it was. This whole thing was a mistake. It was a mistake to fuck her and it was a mistake to bring her to meet my family and it was a mistake to pretend to date her and the biggest mistake of all of them was falling for her. And I haven’t been doing enough to reverse that. I know I said I have been, but I haven’t. I got caught up in the maybes and what ifs and I didn’t really try to move on. But now I…. It’s gotta fucking end sometime. I can’t keep doing this. So I’ve got to tell her it was a mistake and I don’t love her. Maybe I never did. Maybe I’m the same as her and it was all just because I was horny. Whatever. Now I can move on with my life. She doesn’t love me and I don’t love her and she’ll just be some bitch I nailed and we’ll both be happy, right?” Ben sighed and swiped at his blurry eyes. He’s not sure if the voicemail cut out midway through his thought process but it probably doesn’t matter. Movement from upstairs catches his eye. You in his old bedroom, getting dressed and leaving the room. He’s a little worried that if he heads back inside now he’ll bump into you on your way to get a drink from the kitchen but he can’t sit outside in the chill air all night. He takes a breath and swipes his knuckle over his eyes again before heading back inside, creeping towards the bedroom. You weren’t anywhere to be seen, though he guesses that means you’re in the bathroom. When he reached the bedroom again, he dug into the closet and pulled out a number of spare blankets, stealing a pillow from the bed. It’s not a particularly comfortable nest that he makes but it’s warm and doesn’t smell as much like you as the bed does. The pillow still holds a trace of you, but he flips it over and the scent is gone. He’s there when you get back, already pretending to sleep, curled in on himself facing away from you. “Ben?” He squeezes his eyes tighter shut, listening as you flick off the light and tiptoe back towards the bed. There’s a creak of springs as you get comfortable and then another as you move again. “Ben?” Your voice sounds even softer that time and Ben is tempted to answer but he bites his tongue. “Ben I-I…. Goodnight.” There’s another creak as you settle back down again. Ben lies perfectly still until he’s sure you aren’t going to move again. He doesn’t want to hear whatever you’re trying to say. It’ll just be everything he already knows. So he keeps quiet and feigns sleep in the hopes that real sleep will bring it’s respite sooner rather than later.

***

Ben’s phone rang and he admonished himself for hoping it was you. He was meant to be getting over you. Besides, the hope was misplaced. It was his mum. “How did Y/N’s audition go?” “Uh,” It took him a moment to remember the excuse he’d made up, “yeah, well I think.” “She’s lovely, Ben. I’m glad you finally let us meet her,” “Yeah,” He didn’t know how else to respond but his mother didn’t need much more encouragement than that. “You should bring her back soon, I’d love to have more of a chance to get to know her. It was a bit hard with so many people there.” “Yeah, um, I’d have to check when we’re free.” He said, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I’m sure you could find one night for us,” “Yeah. But there’s the premier coming soon and we’ve both got auditions and meetings lined up so I don’t know for sure. But let me talk to Y/N and we’ll find a day that works.” “Maybe a weekend? You could stay for a couple of days then, wouldn’t have to rush off.” “We’ll see. Depends.” “Don’t leave it too long honey,” “I won’t mum. Sorry, I’ve got to run, expecting a call back about something.” “Alright, love you,” “Love you too mum,” Ben threw his phone to the other side of the couch and sighed. He’d been expecting that call but that didn’t make it any easier to get through. Not when he’d spent the last few days thinking about that night and everything that had happened. The way your lips felt on his, the way you’d looked sitting on his lap, the way you’d sounded when you came. He shook his head as if he were an etch-a-sketch but the thoughts didn’t disappear, they just morphed into thoughts of later, in the car on the way home. How you’d nodded when he’d said he didn’t love you, clearly overjoyed with the news but trying not to show it.

Ben hadn’t gone cold turkey with you, there was still some contact, but he refrained from anything too unnecessary, spent as much time as he could with his other friends, and tried to keep any replies to you as simple as possible. Unfortunately his parents was less restrained. A few days later his mum called again, checking if he’d had a chance to invite you over yet. The day after he received a message from his dad suggesting he come down for lunch on the weekend (and encouraging him to bring you along), and then a couple days after that there was another call, one which he ignored. Every time he was thrown back to that night. But not even ignoring the calls helped. It just left him dwelling on everything and it didn’t even deter them. When next his mum called he found himself in yet another conversation on the topic and only just managed to stop himself from hanging up in her ear. He couldn’t do it anymore. It was pointless, all of it. The part of him that had thought you’d fall for him if you slept together had been proven wrong so there was nothing left to hope for. But with his family and friends thinking you were dating, always asking after you, and with you texting him memes and requesting his help, how was he meant to move on? What he needed was a clean break. But the breakup wasn’t scheduled until after the premiere and it wasn’t like a date had been set, it was up to the studio or your agents or someone else. And Ben wasn’t sure how he’d be able to wait it out that long.

A breakthrough came in an email from Peter, an update about the movie Ben had signed on for. Originally it was meant to film in England, but those plans were in the process of changing. Part of it would still be done around London but now it seemed a big portion of the filming would happen in Spain too. Peter seemed unsure as to how this change would clash with the plans for the breakup but Ben saw it as the opportunity he needed. He wouldn’t be leaving until after the premiere anyway so it wouldn’t change your last public appearance together, but it would also work as the clean break he’d been looking for. Plus, as he reasoned to Peter, they could use the distance as an excuse for why the breakup happened. Peter seemed to like the idea and agreed that the change of location wouldn’t affect anything enough to make Ben drop out. Ben was relieved, having been excited about the project since he first picked up the script, and began looking forward to getting away from you properly. Being in a completely different country would give him the time and space he needed to stop thinking about you. It would be easy to sever all ties to you and get on a plane and move on, maybe meet someone who could drive you from his mind. He’d have to break up with you though, not just through the press but as a friend too. He couldn’t have you texting him while he was away or commenting on photos he posted online. It had to be complete. He had to remove you from his life entirely. After the premiere would be a good time to tell you. He’d pull you aside at the party or maybe tell you in the limo on the way home. It’d be hard to explain but you’d understand. She’s probably been wondering how to get rid of you anyway. Surely, you’d be pleased to hear he was going to leave you alone, not bother you with his stupid feelings anymore. You’d agree it was for the best.

***

The night of the premiere snuck up on Ben. He’d been distracted with warding off his parents every invitation, on top of sorting out everything for his trip to Spain. Before he knew it the night had arrived making him feel equal parts excited about seeing the final product of what he’d spent so many months working on and anxious about seeing you. All he could think about was what he was going to say to you. He felt bad about cutting you from his life but there was relief too, knowing it’d be over soon. As he dressed in the suit his stylist had picked out he went over the speech he’d mentally written. It’s just a breakup, you’ve done it before. Tell her you’re sorry but you can’t see her anymore. That’s all you have to do. So, it was with this confusing mixture of emotions that he got into the limo and he only felt more ill at ease as he approached your place to pick you up. “You look lovely,” he said as you climbed into the car beside him. It came out more robotic than he meant it to. But there was a sense that this was the last time he’d be allowed to properly look at you so, while you were getting settled and taking in the interior of the limousine, he allowed himself a final chance to look you over. A hundred other adjectives to describe how beautiful you were, all dressed up and glowing, popped into his head but he kept those to himself. He couldn’t second guess his decision now. It was the only way to stop caring about you. And yet, he could feel his resolve crumbling just from being near you for the first time in weeks. No. Don’t let her get to you. This is why you can’t be in contact. Ben felt his hand curl into a fist as he reminded himself how useful the space would be. What he needed was some rules, guidelines to follow to help him stick to his plan. He ignored the irony as he came up with them. No holding hands. Actually, make that no physical contact. No voluntary physical contact anyway. He was bound to be asked by someone to take a photo with you or appear on camera with you and he couldn’t refuse if they asked for him to touch you or kiss you or anything. Do as many interviews as you can without her. That would hopefully keep interactions to a minimal. Don’t look at her during the movie.

It was surprisingly easy to stick to the rules as you both made your way down the red carpet, but he knew it wasn’t so much his choice as it was how busy and noisy and chaotic everything was. People called his name from every side, reporters looking for quick interviews, fans looking for autographs or photos. He was able to sidestep you easily, answering questions that were thrown at him on his own until someone asked if they could speak to you both at once or get a photo of you together. Whenever you were waved over to join him, he attempted to maintain as much space as he could, but you seemed to have set your own rules just to make it harder for him. You took his hand, leant your head on his shoulder, stood so close your leg brushed against his, stroked your hand over his arm, anything and everything you could to be closer to him. Ben wasn’t sure if you really were acting more affectionate (clingy and needy) than normal or if it just felt that way because he was attempting to hold back. He put up with it though, unable to do much besides press on to the next interview without you. The hardest part was when you reached a bank of photographers who wanted a number of photos of the happy couple. Someone called out for him to kiss you and then suddenly the entire crowd was calling for it. He kept it soft and brief, though a part of him regretted not making the final kiss you’d share better.

After that he was able to escape you for a little, talking to people as everyone gathered in the theatre to watch the movie. He didn’t look at you again until he was on stage with you, introducing the film and saying his words of gratitude and celebration. But even that didn’t last long and then he was able to take his seat and focus his attention on the screen. Watching himself was always a bit of a weird experience. Part enjoying what he’s helped create, part critiquing his performance, and part wondering why it had been edited the way it had been edited. But somehow it was even stranger sitting beside you and watching you play at being in love with him. He recognised expressions, small smiles and looks, that you’d given him on dates during the course of your relationship. Just proof of how fake everything with you was. It left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and an oddly jealous feeling in his gut. And he could feel you looking at him but he stuck to his rules and kept his eyes fixed ahead.

He turned to his other side afterwards to talk to Alfie, wondering aloud how everyone would react to the movie and laughing about how well it had turned out. Ben couldn’t think what to say to you, knowing the inevitable end was coming. It was closer now that everyone was heading to the after party. So he was grateful when Alfie joined the two of you in your car. “You two ready to party?” He laughed, “Fuck I love that work gives me such a good excuse to get plastered.” Ben laughed along but he was stuck by the realisation that of course there’d be drinking. He’d have to watch how much he had, especially around you. He didn’t want to say something he’d regret or not be able to explain himself properly. “I think shots are in order to get us started. Meet you both by the bar?” “Sounds like a plan Al,” “I’m making yours a double Jones. We’ll have him dancing on the table by the end of the night, right Y/N?” “Oh I’d love to see that.” Cameras flashed as the small group got out of the car. Alfie headed off down the line, catching up with one of the others, leaving Ben and you on your own. Ben felt you press into his side, hanging off his arm, and thought about what waited in the club. Alfie with shots followed by champagne and cocktails and whatever else would be pressed on him during the night. He didn’t want to blurt it out or let it slip in front of other people. He had to tell you before he’d had anything to drink, just in case. It was now. It had to happen now.

As soon as he was inside, Ben looked around for somewhere he could have a quiet word with you, somewhere no one was likely to overhear. A nearby mirrored hallways seemed the perfect place. Everyone else was busy heading into the main room and it was out of view of the photographers still hanging around outside, waiting for the stragglers to show up. “Can I speak to you over hear a sec?” he lead you around the corner, looking around to double check for eavesdroppers, “So, there’s something I need to…Y/N?” he realised you hadn’t been paying attention, probably keen to get inside and celebrate. “Yeah, sorry, Um…” Ben didn’t hear what you said next, too busy trying to remember everything he wanted to tell you, “I was going to hold off until later but I don’t want to let something slip after a few drinks or anything like that. I can’t do this anymore. This whole thing was a mistake that I should never have agreed to and I need it to be over now.” He could see how confused you were, “You know they’re going to break us up in like a week, right?” “Yeah well, that’s too long to wait. I’m breaking us up now.” He kept talking, sure the shock of it would wear off and you’d agree with him once you’d heard it all, “And…I don’t think I can see you again, not for a while at least. I need some space to forget this ever happened. I, um, I start my new job in a few days so I think they’ll probably use that in the magazines to explain our breakup. And I don’t expect I’ll see you until after it’s finished. If then. So…good luck with that witch movie. Take care of yourself.” He didn’t want to hear you agree with him, didn’t want to hear you say it was for the best or that you were going to suggest the same thing or even a goodbye. So he pushed past you and followed the noise until he found the bar. As promised Alfie was there, with a few others, a shot glass in each hand. He handed one to Ben. “Where’d Y/N go?” “Oh, uh, loo. She’ll be here in a minute.” “Well here’s to a job well done and hopefully some fucking record breaking box office numbers,” “Cheers to that,” Ben clinked his glass against Alfie’s and downed the shot, hissing a little, “another?” “Read my mind,” Ben lost himself in conversation and drinks, chatting with those around him for a while before moving on to talk to more people. Beer in hand, he headed towards the side of the room where a couple of the other main cast were sitting. Claudia looked up as he approached, “Heya Ben! Where’s Y/N? I haven’t seen her all night,” It was only then that Ben realised he hadn’t seen you come in after he’d left you in the hallway. He glanced around in an attempt to spot you, a pang of worry shooting through him but then he stopped looking. She’s not yours to worry about anymore.

***

Ben woke up with a minor hangover the day after the premiere. Maybe it was karma. Despite what he told himself, he’d kept an eye out for you all night, but never saw you and he was more than a little worried that it was because of what he’d said. It was tempting to call and ask where you’d gotten to but a quick glance at the clock told him you’d likely still be asleep anyway. Besides, he knew he shouldn’t. He’d told you he wasn’t going to see you again and he intended to stick to his word. Instead he sent a group message to his mates and invited them around for one last hang out before he left for Spain. The next call he made was to his mum. “Hi honey. How’d the premiere go? “It was really fun, movie looks good.” “How long before you fly out?” “Couple of days,” “Shame there’s not enough time for you and Y/N to come over for dinner,” “Yeah, um, about that… we broke up.” “What? Why?” “It just wasn’t working. Mutual decision, we both felt it had run its course but decided to keep it quiet until after the premiere. So, yeah, no dinner, even if I was going to be in the country.” “Oh, honey, are you okay?” “Yeah, fine. Like I said, we both knew it was coming so y’know, no hard feelings or anything.” “It’s a shame, she was so lovely,” “Yeah, well, sometimes things just don’t work the way you think they will.”

The boys arrived in the afternoon, bringing a mixture of snacks and a few beers with them. They settled in the living room to play video games. Ben liked the company. It was a good distraction. Or it would have been if talk hadn’t turned to you. “Bit surprised you wanted us here and not Y/N. Figured you’d spend your last days in the UK with her,” “Why would I when we broke up?” “You what? When?” Ben shrugged, “We broke up. Few days ago,” “Jesus man, I’m sorry,” “Don’t be, it’s fine. I dumped her.” “Yeah but you had to go to the premiere with her right? That’s rough,” “Was a bit but there was an open bar so I coped,” Ben laughed. “Might be time we got him back on the market then,” “What? We only broke up a couple of days ago,” “You’re clearly not too cut up about it,” “What the fuck would you know, you’ve been single for what is it, three years now?” “Well you didn’t tell us when it happened, and you never even told us when you got together. We found out through a magazine, so obviously you weren’t really that serious about her” “We were waiting until after all the movie stuff was done, and that’s bollocks.” “Excuses. Besides, getting someone new to suck you off is the best way to forget an ex. This is your phone right?” “Oi give that back,” There was a scuffle as Ben tried to grab his phone back but he was outnumbered and pinned down as the boys redownloaded his Bumble app and signed in for him, laughing about how he used the same password for everything. “She’s fit, give her a like,” “Oh I like her, might be a bit tall for you though Ben,” Ben rolled his eyes as he watched them swipe on profile after profile until they heard a noise that meant one of the girls had sent him a message. “There you go Ben, didn’t take long did it. You’ll forget all about that Y/N chick in no time,” Ben snatched his phone back, “You guys are such wankers,” “That’s not very nice considering we’ve just got you a new girl,” There was laughter and more teasing as controllers were passed around and the game was loaded. Ben closed the app, thumb hovering over it to delete it again. But maybe they were right. Maybe someone new would be good. He set the phone down again and turned his attention to the game.

***

Spain was beautiful and having a new movie to work on was the perfect distraction, especially considering how many stunts, fight scenes, and action sequences were involved. It gave him a chance to meet more people in the industry, people he was excited to work with, and really focus on something other than you. The cast went out together frequently too, dinners at local restaurants, drinks in the hotel bar, getting lost in an unfamiliar city. There was no trace of you there, no reminders of date nights, nothing but work and a new country to explore. Occasionally he’d get a notification that a reporter or curious individual was trying to message him, asking questions about you and the split but he ignored them. Ben deleted the Bumble app too within the first few days, knowing he wouldn’t use it. There was no time, even if he’d wanted to hook up with anyone. He could always reinstall it once he was back home. Once he knew you were in the past. Because the problem was that at some point every night, Ben would get back to his hotel suite and be left alone again. For a while he’d be able to think about what scenes would be filmed the next day, maybe practice some fight choreography. But eventually he’d run out of distractions and then all that was left to think about was you. Peter had sent through the first articles that reported the breakup and since then he’d found himself wondering if you’d moved on yet, found someone else to date now that you were allowed to. He’d considered checking your Instagram account but had held off, knowing it was a step in the wrong direction. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know anyway. He hadn’t gotten over you enough yet to deal with photos of you and another man together.

This night was much the same as the others had been. Everyone met up for dinner, followed by a couple of drinks and then headed back to the hotel to unwind. Ben decided to call it an early night. He’d spent a good part of the day hooked up to harnesses and wires, being flung at a wall over and over. He was sore and tired figured some extra rest would do him good. He was just settling into bed, trying to keep his mind on the TV show he’d put on when he heard the knock. He listened closely for a moment but it couldn’t be for him, he’d put up a do not disturb sign on his door, so he turned back to the TV and flicked to a different channel. Another knock. It definitely sounded like his door but who would it be? Maybe one of the other actors? But they’d all heard him say he was going to have an early night, so surely not. Again Ben ignored it. The third knock got Ben out of bed, stumbling to the light switch and then the door, ready to politely tell whoever it was to fuck off and let him rest. “Sorry but can you not see the do not dis- Y/N? What ar-” Ben was surprised. Surprised you knew where he was, surprised you’d come there after he’d told you he didn’t want to see you, surprised that you were covering his mouth to shut him up. “You wouldn’t reply to my texts and I didn’t know if you’d listen to any voicemails I left you but I have something I need to tell you so that’s why I’m here.” There was a beat as Ben waited to hear what could be so important that you’d come all the way to Spain to tell him. “I love you.” He gasped but your palm was still over his mouth so he couldn’t say anything. It had to be a joke, didn’t it? But you didn’t look like you were joking. He waited, listening as you explained everything. It was wonderful to know you felt the same but his shock didn’t lessen. He’d been so sure about everything. So sure about how little you’d felt for him, so sure you would have understood why he needed space. And now you were here telling him the exact opposite? It was unfathomable. Maybe it was a hallucination? Maybe he’d got a concussion when he hit the wall too hard earlier. Does concussion make you hallucinate? But blinking didn’t make you disappear and the hand against his mouth felt real enough. “I’ve missed you so much, so fucking much, and all I’ve wanted is to see you again and hear your voice and hug you and I’d really like to date you for real, or at least be friends again because not having you in my life is complete shit.” Ben felt tears prickling his eyes as he realised how backwards he’d had it. You loved him. You. Y/N. You loved him so much you’d flown to Spain just to tell him. “That’s all I had to say,” you said softly, pulling you hand away. Ben staired in disbelief for a moment but you looked as if you were fighting the urge to run for it and it brought him back to his senses. “Thank god,” it was all he could think to say as he reached out to hold you, pulling you tight against him and kissing you the way he’d wanted to kiss you for so long. Relief flooded his system when you kissed back. He didn’t have to forget you or force himself to move on. It had been an impossible task anyway. He was glad to stop trying.

It’s only when someone makes a noise further down the corridor that he lets you go, asks if you planned to stay, lead you inside and towards the couch. There were things he needed to clear up first, before he could let himself be fully happy with the situation. He looks at you properly then. You look tired, worn out. He’s not sure if it’s from the late hour or the flight or because you’ve not been sleeping properly but it makes him feel guilty that he upset you. He hates that he pushed you away and wasted months trying to get rid of you when you’d both actually wanted the same thing, to be together. But you’re here now. He reached out to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, almost dizzy with joy that he could do that. “I’m really sorry for how I acted,” You smiled softly as you took a seat and Ben fell into the spot beside you, unable to take his eyes from you. He lets you lead the conversation, trying to sort out his mess of emotions as he explains himself. I thought if I told you I’d never been into you, acted like it, then I could make it true.” “Did it work?” “Of course not,” How could you ever think it would work? That he could just forget you so fast, after he’d fallen for you so hard? “Which is why I pushed you away.” You nodded, seemed to understand where he’d been coming from. He hesitated before reaching out to grab your hand again, a little afraid of touching you lest you turn to smoke and vanish. But you didn’t. He stifled a yawn, hoping you wouldn’t take it as his disinterest in the conversation. He’d stay up as long for as long as it took to go over everything, no matter how tired he was. “Has there been anyone else?” “Anyone else what?” “I saw a thing about you dating again,” That was surprising, not what he’d expected you to bring up. He hadn’t even realised it had been reported on. But he shook his head, explained about his friends encouraging him to move on. It seemed to satisfy you because you leant on his shoulder, let him hold you. He apologised when he yawned again, about to suggest he put a pot of coffee on so he could keep talking. But then you suggested going to bed and he had to agree.

As soon as his head hit the pillow Ben knew he’d fall asleep fast. Even with the excitement of your arrival and the buzz of joy you brought. He kept his eyes on you. Everything seemed too good to be true. You grabbed his hand and placed it around you, shuffling as close as you could. “You’re actually here, yeah? I’m not just dreaming it?” Ben asked, voicing aloud his biggest worry. “I’m here Ben.” She’s here. In your bed. “Don’t leave, okay?” “I won’t.” She’s here and she’s staying. “I love you,” he needed to say it again, to make sure you knew that he still felt the same. “I love you too,” It was comforting to hear you say it again too, made his heart burst as he kissed you again. He didn’t want to stop but he was much to tired to do anything else. Still, he fought sleep for as long as he could. He’d lost so much time being apart from you that, now he had you back in his arms, sleep felt like a waste of precious hours. Hours he could spend kissing you, being with you, making sure you felt loved. He couldn’t fight it forever though, eventually had to give up. The last thing he saw before he shut his eyes was you, smiling at him, as you lay beside him.

***

It had been a long day what with moving you into his house. Even after the boxes were inside and everyone who had been helping out had gone home, there was still a lot to do. Everything needed to be unpacked and put away. Ben had been clearing space on all his shelves and in all his cupboards to fit everything you’d brought with you. Plus there was new furniture from Ikea to unpack and construct. Like the chest of draws he’d been working on before he got up to stretch his legs and grab a glass of water. He caught sight of the magazines that had been left in the kitchen and, chuckling at their stories of marriage and babies, stacked them in a neat pile before he grabbed his drink. As he walked back through the living room he saw you, curled up on the floor beside the box you’d been working through. “Y/N?” Ben shook your shoulder to wake you, trying not to laugh as you blink at him groggily, still half asleep. “Alright, cuddle bunny, up you get. Time for bed, yeah?” “But the boxes,” you argued though it was unenthusiastic and slurred with sleep. “The boxes will be there tomorrow. C’mon, come with me,” Ben half carried you to the bedroom and helped you under the covers, leaving you with a kiss on the forehead before heading back to the draws he was halfway through building.

By the time he was finished putting the draws together Ben was feeling fairly tired himself. He moved the spare screws off the floor so no one would step on them and then headed back to the bedroom. You were still there, sleeping soundly. Ben paused in the doorway to look at you. It was a sight he loved, you in his bed. The first time you stayed over and slept in his bed rather than the guest room had been a monumental occasion though the novelty of it had worn off a bit now, especially with how frequently you’d stayed at each other’s places before the move. But still, he’d never get sick of seeing you beside him, where you belonged. Same as he’d never get sick of making you tea or trying to convince you to eat an actual breakfast or making you laugh. It was in that moment, leaning against the doorway of the bedroom you now shared, one wall lined with boxes of your belongings yet to be put away, it was then that he knew he wanted to marry you. Have a family with you, spend his life with you. He’d go out and buy a ring once you were moved in properly, though he could hear his friends telling him to wait a little longer, see how everything was living with you first. But that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have to give it to you straight away after all. But he knew that was what he wanted with you. And now that you were together, after so much time and trouble, he never wanted to let you go.

#my writing #my fics #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy smut #its currenty 1am #i have to be up for work in about 5 hours #this took longer to edit than i thought it would #(probably because its 22 effing words long lmao)#but here you go!#its done!#i think some of my formatting went a little janky when i was copying it into this post #but whateveri think its just added extra line breaks between paragraphs #so it should still be readable #anyway #im gonna pass out now #i'll see you tomorrow when i come to complain about work

165 notes · View notes